Pure Blood_ A Nocturne City Novel - Caitlin Kittredge [71]
I examined Calvin’s body cursorily, and saw the swollen red puncture mark on his neck. “Well, at least we know who took her,” I said. The O’Hallorans were getting arrogant.
Victor grabbed my arm, so hard I knew I’d see bruises when I took off my shirt. “Find my daughter, Detective Wilder. Get her back from those bastards or I swear I’ll burn this city to the ground.”
And of course, I didn’t tell Victor Blackburn that he had to follow proper channels, that my hands were tied by the legal system. That Valerie might already be a sacrifice to the O’Hallorans’ struggle to unlock the Skull. I just nodded and helped him up. I was a cop, but I was a were too, and this time my were side won the battle between duty and the older blood code between creatures other than humans.
“I’ll find her.”
Victor watched me grimly as I got into the Fairlane and gunned the engine. “You’d better.”
CHAPTER 21
Nocturne City General informed me that Shelby had checked herself out and gone home, against her doctor’s advice. Dispatch gave me a swanky apartment tower in Mainline, not fifteen blocks from the family’s tower. Seven hells, the O’Hallorans probably owned the apartments too.
I hit the buzzer marked “1023—S. O’Halloran” repeatedly, keeping up a sustained rhythm until Shelby’s irritable and sleep-deepened voice demanded, “What do you want?”
“Let me in,” I said.
“Luna?”
“No, it’s the shoe fairy. I come bearing Prada. Just open the damn door.”
The intercom clicked off and there was almost a full minute before the door buzzed at me and I pushed into the marble-and-bland lobby, complete with faux Italian fountain and soft classical music.
A minute is a long time. Shelby could be going over the balcony. She could be loading a shotgun for my knock on her door.
When did you get so paranoid, Luna? I wondered as the stamped-brass elevator doors closed behind me. I think it was probably right around the time a car bomb went off in my face. I had no reason to trust any of these witches, and even less reason to trust Shelby since she was the only one who had (a) lied to me and (b) could hurt me and © would probably do both if I threatened her comfortable blood-money lifestyle.
The elevator opened on the twentieth floor with a ding, and I went down two doors to Shelby’s. I pressed the bell and felt ridiculous standing out of the way, pressed sideways against the jamb, but that didn’t stop me from doing it.
“Door’s open!” Shelby hollered from inside. Her apartment was done in those soft ladylike colors that I imagine all wealthy people use in their homes—a white sofa and a shaggy tan rug, pastel peach countertops in her kitchen and a large brocade chaise that Shelby was propped on, her bandaged leg on a pile of pillows.
“This beats the hospital,” I said, hesitating to walk on floors that probably cost more than my entire cottage.
“I couldn’t stay in there another day,” said Shelby. She had deep blue half-moons under her eyes and looked drawn, the way anorexics and addicts get sallow and lifeless at the end of their cycles.
“Valerie Blackburn went missing a little while ago,” I said. That brought a spark back into her eyes, but she pretended to be interested in rearranging her cashmere throw.
“Shame.”
“Yeah, it is a shame, especially since I know you know where she is.”
Shelby sighed. “We’ve been over this, Luna—I can’t help you.” Her tone was flat, like she was shooing away a panhandler. My jangled nerves had been looking for an outlet all day, and I picked up the closest object—some sort of pricey-looking terra-cotta vase—and flung it against the wall with all of my strength.
“Don’t tell me you can’t help, Shelby,” I said softly, my voice dropping into the threat register. “And don’t play this game with me again, because you’ll lose.”
Calmly, her right hand appeared from under the throw, holding a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson .38 Special. Powerful little guns. Popular with cops. “Leave,” Shelby told me.
“You’d really shoot me?” I asked. “You’d gun your partner down in cold blood because of this