If Rowan Cleary was hoping to become a player, the décor, such as it was, said he hadn’t quite managed it yet.
“If he owes money to the mob or anyone else,” Catcher asked, hands on his hips as he surveyed the man’s belongings, “what the hell did he do with it?”
“Bought his inventory,” Ethan suggested, pointing to a six-foot-high stack of boxes that held nutritional products. “Maybe he figured this is how he’d make his first million.”
“Or lost it gambling,” I said, holding up a worn spiral notebook. “I think this might be some kind of bookkeeping?”
Eyes alight with interest, Catcher walked to me, and I offered him the notebook.
He scanned the pages quietly. “Gambling entries,” he said. “And it looks like he prefers the sports book. He’s been keeping track of his wins and losses, and there are a lot more of the latter than the former.” He looked up, smiled at my grandfather. “Vice would probably find this very interesting.”
“I imagine they would.”
“So he’s got a gambling problem and no obvious source of consistent income,” Ethan said. “He borrowed money from the mob for some new venture, or perhaps owes them directly for his gambling losses. That would make a man hungry for cash. And an unethical man wouldn’t much care how he got it.”
“I wonder if we’ll find him before the mob does,” I said and met Ethan’s angry stare. “Given we’re likely to be gentler, I’m not really sure I have a preference.”
9
Margot knew they meant to find Rowan. They’d confront him and arrest him—unless Ethan and his frigid anger got to Rowan first.
She walked outside, sat on the edge of the House’s backyard brick patio. It was a gorgeous night, warm and breezy, and it made Margot think of June in some tropical port. Except she wasn’t in a tropical port. She was in her home, where her previous relationship—and all the baggage that came with it—had just been spread across her House. The place that had been her respite from drama.
Her ex had attacked Merit. Her friend, her House’s Sentinel, and her Master’s beloved wife. And she knew damn well he hadn’t called her to check in or apologize or because it had been their anniversary. He’d called after his mission had failed, probably because he hoped Margot could help him with some backup scheme.
“Bastard,” she said, clenching her hands into fists. “I was trying to cut you out, not get dragged back into your nonsense.”
She knew they wouldn’t blame her, that neither Ethan nor Merit would think she had any responsibility for what he’d done. But she couldn’t help thinking back—had there been something she’d said, some opinion she’d passed along that had set him on this course? Of deciding Cadogan House was a good target for his greed?
Typical Rowan, she thought ruefully. Just another scheme to get some quick cash. But this still was more desperate than anything he’d tried before, or at least that she knew about.
She sighed, blew out a breath, assured herself they’d find him before he hurt anyone else. Hopefully.
And maybe that would ease the ache in her chest.
This time, Jonah didn’t bother hiding the fact that he wanted to check on Margot.
Hearing about her ex-boyfriend, putting a face to the apprehension he’d seen in her eyes, made Jonah a little too eager to find Rowan Cleary first and offer up a little revenge. He could use a good fight, a little hand-to-hand to work out his frustrations.
Margot had left Ethan’s office, and he declined joining the rest of them on the trip to Cleary’s house. They didn’t need him for that, and he had other concerns.
She wasn’t in the kitchen, so Jonah grabbed two bottles of blood and walked outside to the patio behind the House.
He saw the form at the edge of the steps, and it took only a moment—and the scent of her sweet perfume on the air—to confirm it was Margot. His heart galloped beneath his chest, and he wondered if he’d ever be able to be around her without feeling that rush of emotion.
“Hey,” he said, and sat down on the same step, but gave her several feet of distance. He offered a bottle of blood. “Thought you could use this.”
“Thanks,” she said. She took it but didn’t drink. Just rolled the bottle in her hands.
“That must have been quite a shock.”
“It wasn’t my favorite moment.”
“I’m sorry, Margot. Really.”
She just nodded. And he realized she still hadn’t looked at him.
“You’re working through your issues with him—with that relationship.”
This time, her head came up, and she met his gaze. “Yeah.”
Jonah nodded, had to fight back the urge to wrap his arms around her and comfort away the misery and shame in her eyes.
He wouldn’t touch her. Not unless and until she was ready. But maybe words would help. Maybe he could do that for her, little though it would be.
“You aren’t responsible for his bad acts,” he said quietly.
“I know. But he’s targeted Cadogan House. And I’m the one who first brought him here.”
“Years ago,” Jonah said. “And he only needed to watch the news to learn about their relationship. But either way, it hardly matters.”
Her gaze snapped to his. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning, he’s an adult, an immortal. He’s responsible for his own actions.” Jonah paused. “A man, a vampire, should have a code of honor. Even if you’d given him a minute by minute schedule of her evening routine—which you obviously didn’t—using that information to hurt her, to hurt Ethan, was his decision alone.”
She looked into the dark. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about dating an asshole.”
“I care about you, Margot. And so does everyone who was in that room. None of us, Merit included, want you to suffer because once upon a time you dated a jerk. He doesn’t deserve shame or guilt. And neither do you.”
He didn’t think he’d gotten through to her. But knew no one could, or would, until she felt right about it.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’d like to be alone, okay?”
Jonah looked at her for a long moment, still torn between walking away and pushing her to work through it the way he sensed she needed to. But he wasn’t Rowan Cleary; Jonah could respect her boundaries as much as he wanted to push against them.
He rose and walked toward the door. And it was a hard-fought battle for a man trained to protect and fight.
Jonah paused at the threshold. “You deserve more than him. So much more.” And then he walked inside.
She wanted to call him back. She wanted so much for him to turn around and gather her up, to embrace her and chase back the demons—or the demon—at her heels.
But she couldn’t bring herself to stand up, to say his name. Not when anger and regret had sunk their claws in and held her in place.
She couldn’t say what she deserved—or what anyone else did. She just knew the darkness hadn’t yet lifted. The concern she’d make another bad decision, accept things she shouldn’t be willing to accept.
Someday, she’d be ready.
And until then?
She put down the bottle, wrapped her arms around her knees, and stared into the darkness.
Until then, she’d just have to manage.
10
Since they hadn’t found Rowan at his house, they were using his phone number, offered by Margot, to track his location.
But as the sun prepared to rise, the Ombuddies told Margot that Rowan had called from an untraceable burner phone, so they hadn’t been able to find him.
That meant the drama would continue.
The sun made its arc across the sky, and when it fell again, Margot looked for peace where she often did—in the kitchen. Baking was chemistry, and the careful processes of measuring, combining, heating, decorating were how she found flow, that sense of being completely absorbed in a task so there was no room for worry.
She was sliding a pan of macarons onto a cooling rack when the phone rang. She’d been in the zone—eyes and ears and nose attuned to the feel and scent and sight of the cookies—and she’d answered it automatically.
“Hello?”