"Who is it?"
"Ethan - "
"Check the goddamn phone, Merit."
My hand shaking with adrenaline, I pulled it out of my jacket pocket and checked the screen. I closed my eyes.
"Who is it?" The words were half question, half accusation.
I opened my eyes, staring back at him, countering his distrust with irritation of my own.
And meanwhile, the phone still rang, the new sound track to our battle. "It's Jonah."
As Ethan's eyes narrowed, my heart raced faster. "Answer it," he gritted out.
"We're in the middle of a - "
"Oh, no," he said. "We are quite done here. Answer the phone, Merit. Let's see what brings the intrepid captain to your door."
His tone was insinuating and insulting, but I wasn't going to argue with him. Not about the RG. I'd made my decision, and he'd live with it.
Or he wouldn't. I replayed his words in my mind. Done here? I mentally repeated. What had he meant by "done here"? Done with me? Done with us?
I raised the phone to my ear, and had to work to keep my hand from shaking.
"I know my timing's bad," Jonah said, and my first thought was that he'd somehow psychically ferreted out our argument. "And you have House issues to deal with. But we have a problem."
"What happened?"
There was silence for a moment as Ethan stared me down. But even he could see the concern in my face, and his expression softened just a bit.
"Two of Morgan's vampires are dead. Decapitated, just like Oliver and Eve. They found them at dusk. Their guard captain just called me. But, Merit, it's worse. The murder was in the House."
I felt the blood drain from my face, even as I wondered - and then answered - why Morgan hadn't called us first. Because it was me, and it was Morgan, and the not-very-interesting history between us still made him weird that way.
"Okay," I said. "Let me see what I can do."
"I'm at Navarre now. Get here as soon as you can."
I hung up the phone and put it back in my pocket. I could see the debate in Ethan's face: Should I show her how angry and hurt I am by asking something snarky, or lose the attitude, given the expression on her face?
"What happened?" he finally asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Two of Morgan's vampires are dead. They found them in Navarre House at dusk."
Ethan's eyes widened. "The killer was inside the House?"
I nodded.
Ethan ran a hand absently through his hair. "You should tell your grandfather. They can assist with arrangements or the investigation . . . whatever's necessary."
I nodded again. "I'm sorry this is happening right now," I said. "I know the timing is atrocious. I didn't mean for you to find out - about the RG."
For the second time tonight, that was exactly the wrong thing to say. I'd reminded him of what I'd done, and why he should be angry.
He snatched his suit jacket from the back of a chair.
"Where are you going?"
He slipped on the jacket, and slipped his phone into a pocket. "I think you'd know that, Sentinel. I'm going with you."
"But the House?"
"We have hours yet, and the lawyers are on it. Perhaps, should the opportunity present itself, I will have words with your new partner."
The expression on his face left little doubt about what those words would be.
* * *
Ethan gave Malik a heads-up that we were leaving. Malik was obviously surprised, but after scanning our faces for a moment, he wisely decided not to argue.
Ethan told him about the deaths at Navarre House and asked him to apprise Luc. I also stood by while he had a closed-door chat with Lacey, no doubt warning her to keep quiet about what she'd seen and dismissing her claim that I was having an affair.
I couldn't imagine he'd tell her about the Red Guard, but I wisely decided not to ask.
Navarre House was in the Gold Coast, north of Hyde Park and near the lake, and I was still the default transportation mechanism.
We drove in total silence. Ethan didn't mutter a word, too angry at me to speak. And I wasn't especially interested in talking to him. I'd opted to put my ass on the line to keep Cadogan safe from the GP. In my position, he'd have done the same thing.
And you know what? If I was the type of girl who quit an obligation because my boyfriend told me to, Ethan wouldn't have been interested in me in the first place.
So I concentrated on driving and not becoming any more furious than I already was.
When we reached Navarre House, an imposing white mansion with a turret at one corner, I parked in the first open spot I could find.
Ethan looked over at me, and his gaze was flat. "I presume, since Jonah called you, Scott knows about the murders."
Scott Grey was the Master of Grey House, the third of Chicago's three vampire Houses. "I would think so. I'm sure word has traveled from Noah."
"Does he know about the RG?"
"No. Just Jonah. And me. And now you."
"Is that why Jonah called you?"
"I doubt it. He knows we've been investigating the Rogues' deaths. Ethan - "
I said his name, unsure how to begin but knowing we needed to talk. But he held up a hand. He'd hear nothing more from me, not right now.
"Let's just get through this meeting," he said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MADNESS
Ethan and I walked side by side down the sidewalk. His body language was clear - we were working together. Nothing more, nothing less, at least until we had a good talk.
But now was not the time for that talk.
We walked inside Navarre House and found the front desk empty. The three lovely brunettes who usually greeted visitors to the House were gone.
We walked into the House proper, and the mood was dark - grief stricken and silent. Every vampire House had a style. Grey House was an urban loft. Cadogan House had a European flair. Navarre House was sleek and modern. Although the exterior of the building looked more like a princess's castle than a vampire enclave, the interior looked like an art gallery. The walls and floor were gleaming marble, with occasional pops of art and furniture.
The first floor was full of vampires, but they'd clustered behind an invisible line, leaving a gap between themselves and the Masters, Morgan Greer and Scott Grey. Both were dark haired. Scott looked like a former college athlete - broad shoulders, small waist, and a dark soul patch below his lips. Morgan looked like a male model. His dark, wavy hair now reached his shoulders, but across his handsome face - strong cheekbones, cleft chin, dark blue eyes - was a mask of grief.
We hadn't exactly had the best working relationship, but this wasn't the time to dwell on our petty disagreements. He was suffering, and we'd do what we could to help. Besides, the last time I'd talked to Morgan, he'd saved my life. Being here was really the least we could do.