“What did he do for a living?” my grandfather asked.
That angry flush rose again. “He called himself an entrepreneur. He kind of moved from project to project. Always had a plan or idea, a business he wanted to start, some clever way he could invest money. When we first started dating, he said he’d had a run of bad luck. Once he told me he’d had this great idea for some kind of GPS widget, but his boss had stolen the concept and fired him. He had a lot of stories like that. In hindsight, it was obviously bullshit. I can’t imagine the mob would be interested in him.”
And how were you? I wanted to ask.
“He was charming,” she said, as if answering my unspoken question. “Fun and engaging. Until he wasn’t.”
“It sounds like you figured out he was a bad guy, and you ended it,” my grandfather said.
She nodded. “Yeah, but there was nothing like this. His plans were always financial. Not this violent. Not this . . . felonious.”
“Perhaps he’s escalated,” Ethan said. “The pressure of owing money to dangerous people might have pushed him into something he wouldn’t have ordinarily done.”
While I knew he was trying to soothe Margot, and circumstances could certainly drive people to crimes they wouldn’t have ordinarily committed, kidnapping a pregnant woman seemed to fall in a different orbit.
“Can you tell us where he lives?” my grandfather asked, and Margot provided an address and apartment number.
“It’s in Beverly,” she said, and my grandfather and Catcher shared a glance. Same neighborhood as the car and the Brown Mule.
“I don’t know if he’s still there,” Margot added. “He moved around a lot—always had an excuse about the landlord not liking him, or someone being jealous and getting him kicked out. He had a lot of excuses, always something out of his control, or that wasn’t his fault.”
“You have his phone number,” Ethan said. “If we don’t find him at the address, we can use that. Either way, we’ll get him, and he won’t bother you anymore.”
“I’m glad you kicked him,” I said, angry and sad on her behalf, then squeezed her hand again.
She nodded, her irritation putting a buzz of magic into the room. “Mind if I step out for a minute? I need a little air.”
“Take as much time as you need,” Ethan said, and we watched as she walked to the cart and made a nervous adjustment to one of the serving trays before moving into the hallway. Jonah’s gaze followed her intensely, anger and sympathy mixed in his expression.
“Sounds like this was a chapter she wanted to keep closed,” my grandfather said.
“It’s not her fault,” Jonah said, but there was no heat in it. I had the sense he was less arguing with my grandfather than saying what he’d have liked to tell Margot.
I looked back at Ethan, found the same emotions in his silvered eyes.
“I take it you didn’t meet Rowan, either?” I asked.
It took a moment for Ethan to shift his gaze back to me. Then he shook his head. “I found it odd that I hadn’t, but I don’t meet everyone’s partner, so I didn’t think much about it.”
But he’d thought something about it. That was clear in his pained expression.
“I suppose that confirms one connection between Cleary and the House,” Ethan said. He looked at my grandfather. “What’s next?”
“We go to his house,” my grandfather said, “just in case he’s there. We’ll get fingerprints and DNA, and we’ll run those against the samples we found in the car.”
“I want to go,” I said.
Ethan’s expression was dour.
He attacked me, I silently said, as this discussion was just for us. And he attacked her. Maybe I’m not sure how to be a good parent. But you’ve taught me about protecting people, and facing him down, showing her how to be brave, is part of that.
“I believe we’re all going,” Catcher said with a smug smile.
Rowan Cleary lived in a four-plex, a two-story brick building with four apartments separated in the middle by a central staircase. His was on the top floor, and the building was dark when the four of us—Catcher, my grandfather, Ethan, and I—squeezed onto the second floor landing.
The door across the hall opened, and a human in her early twenties looked out. She had tan skin and dark hair pulled into a messy bun, and wore leggings and a Cubs T-shirt.
“Hey, Ro, I wondered when you were—”
She stopped short when she realized we weren’t the vampire she was looking for.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, frowning as she looked us over. “I thought you were Ro. Rowan, I mean.”
“We’re actually looking for him,” I said, rubbing a hand over my belly to assure her that I wasn’t going to cause any trouble. Not for her, anyway. “Is he home?”
She shifted from socked foot to socked foot. “No, I haven’t seen him. I’m a nurse and I work nights, and sometimes we go for a run, but I haven’t seen him in two or three days.” Her eyes went wide. “He’s not in any trouble, is he?”
“He isn’t,” my grandfather said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We just came by to say hello.”
“He’s getting a lot of that lately,” she said with a smile. “A guy and a girl came by last night to see him, too. He wasn’t home then, either.”
“A guy and a girl?” my grandfather asked, and the girl lifted a shoulder.
“I think they were maybe cops or security? They were big, had on weapons. Guns, I mean.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe I wasn’t supposed to say that? I don’t want to get Ro into any trouble.”
“You haven’t done anything wrong,” my grandfather said. “We’ll just leave him a note and be on our way.”
“Okay,” she said, but still looked a little unsure. And I had a sneaking suspicion my grandfather didn’t intend to leave anyone a note—and might want a little privacy.
“Could I possibly bother you for a glass of water?” I asked. “I’m a little winded after climbing those stairs.”
“Of course, sure. I think I have a couple of bottles. I’ll be right back.”
“Very nice, Sentinel,” Ethan murmured behind me, as I heard Catcher and my grandfather fiddle with the lock.
It popped as the girl appeared in the doorway with the bottle, eyes widening at the half-open door across the hall.
“The door was actually open a little,” my grandfather said, with a concerned expression on his face that I’d certainly have believed. “We just want to make sure there’s no damage in the apartment.”
“Oh, okay,” she said, handing me the bottle and plainly not sure about what she should do. “Maybe I should call the cops?”
“We are the cops,” Catcher said, offering up his identification. “We’re with the Ombudsman’s office.”
She blinked. “’Cause he’s a vampire. Right, obviously.” She smiled. “Listen, if you’ve got this, I’m going to just head back inside. I’ve got to get ready for work.”
“Of course,” Catcher said, and pulled a business card from his pocket, handed it to her. “If you need to get in touch with us, you can use this.”
“Thanks. Later,” she said, then closed and locked the door.
“All right,” my grandfather said. “Let’s go in.”
There was no sign of Rowan Cleary. But there was plenty of evidence of him.
His apartment wasn’t much different from his car: a little shabby and full of debris. The rooms were set up shotgun style—living room led to dining room, which led to kitchen, which led to bedroom and bath. The walls were pretty hardwood, the doorways arched, but the furniture, what little there was, was old, threadbare, and well-scarred. Horizontal surfaces were piled with boxes and papers and products.
It looked like he’d tried several direct sales businesses, as we found separate piles of makeup, cleaning products, and exercise DVDs. The refrigerator held blood, beer, and sports drinks, the cabinets only a few old cans of fruit. The walls were bare but for a motivational poster (EVERY BUSINESS STARTS AT THE BEGINNING) and some old-fashioned beer ads featuring 1940s pinup girls.