He was Madigan’s shadow backer.
We doubted there was anyone above Trove, though to be sure, Denise shapeshifted into a replica of him and walked into Madigan’s cell. As with Don, Madigan recognized him at once and seemed delighted to speak with him. After several hours of mostly nonsense, we gleaned enough tidbits to convince us that the buck had stopped with Richard Trove. He’d been in office when Don’s operation started, and though he’d left the government since then, he was widely believed to be the power behind several current senators and at least one former president. Plus, he was wealthy enough to finance Madigan’s operations on his own if he didn’t want to run the expenses through a puppet politician.
After some digging, Tai found out that Trove would be in New York City this weekend for a political fund-raising dinner. We didn’t know where he’d be after that, which meant we had to choose between going after him or Katie. Trove won since we already had two vampires and a ghost tracking Katie. We texted Ian the information Timmie had relayed about her potential location, then contributed an astronomical amount of money in order to get reservations for the fund-raising dinner. Finally, we went shopping.
At fifteen thousand dollars a plate, we couldn’t show up in jeans and tee shirts.
Two days later, we checked into the Waldorf Astoria on Park Avenue. At 7:00 P.M. sharp the next night, we stood in line to enter the Grand Ballroom. Security was tight since more than a few prominent political figures were expected. Not a problem; Bones had several aliases who had been law-abiding citizens for decades. All it took was Tai hacking into a few databases to update the photos, then having a trusted forger print the documents, and voila.
“Mr. and Mrs. Charles Tinsdale,” Bones stated to the Secret Service agent screening the dinner attendees. Then he handed over his invitation and wallet, new driver’s license faced outward. After those were verified, he went through the metal detector, the green light signifying that he had no weapons on him.
I was surprised that I didn’t have to remove the gorgeous diamond necklace and earrings Kira had loaned me, or my wedding ring, before I went through that machine. Another Secret Service agent did have me empty out my small clutch bag, though, revealing lipstick, pressed powder, and my cell phone. I smiled as I accepted the bag back from him before linking my arm through Bones’s.
Sure, we were here to kill someone, but we weren’t going to be obvious about it.
Then we proceeded onto the main floor of the Grand Ballroom. The extravagant, three-level white-and-gold room was bathed in a soft blue glow that slowly changed to purple, orange, then pink as we made our way past the ornately decorated tables. Tall stands with candles and roses interspaced them, their shape reminding me of Dr. Seuss’s fabled Truffula trees. The flowers and chandeliers reflected the different hues of the continually changing lights, adding a beautiful luminescence to the already elegant ambiance.
We passed a couple senators and congressman I recognized from C-Span, but aside from a polite nod and smile, I didn’t pay any attention to them. I also tried to tune out their thoughts since the betterment of their constituents wasn’t foremost in their minds. What slipped past my barriers were different variations of the same who are you and what can you do for me? theme, with some jealousy, hatred, and lust thrown in.
Instead, until Trove arrived, I chose to focus on my husband. Bones’s suit was charcoal gray, and his tightly cropped, curly hair was back to its natural deep brown shade. I was glad he’d gotten rid of that shock of white; it brought back too many bad memories. Instead of being clean-shaven, he’d allowed a thin layer of stubble to shadow his chin and jawline, giving a rugged edge to his perfectly chiseled features. No one might know who he was, but his biggest drawback was being unforgettable once you saw him.
As a token disguise, I’d also dyed my hair, choosing black in honor of my dark intentions. It was swept up in a complicated knot that had taken the stylist at this hotel an hour to achieve. Blue contacts covered my gunmetal gray eyes, and my dress was whisper pink, the liner and overlying lace only a few shades rosier than my pale skin. The demure color didn’t match my mood, but I was trying to blend in, not stand out by wearing I’ll-kill-you-dead red.