He didn’t bother with denial. “It is. And it’s easy for me to stand on a pedestal and talk about doing the right thing. But sometimes doing the right thing means getting your hands dirty.”
“Truer words,” I muttered, thinking of all the times I’d fudged the truth to keep my people safe and happy, including recently. “Thank you, Seth.”
“You’re welcome, Ballerina. Oh, and about the girl—I’ve racked my brain, but I can’t think of anything helpful. I’m sorry.”
It took me a moment to switch mental gears. “Actually, I have something specific for you there. Hold on—I’m going to send you a photograph.” I forwarded the picture we’d found in the vardo. “Do you recognize the woman?”
There was a long silence, long enough that my blood began to hum in anticipation.
“Jesus,” he finally said, his voice hoarse with emotion.
That hum turned to a full-on roar.
“Her name was Annalissa Purdey. He met her years ago.”
I scribbled that name, too, and passed it to Jeff. “He?” I asked Seth.
“Dominic.”
I blinked, confused. “I don’t understand. What do you mean he met her?”
“We shared a body,” he said. “I didn’t know it at the time, of course. But looking back now, I realize there were times when he . . . when he was in control, with all his ego and self-righteousness. He was stronger at some moments than others.”
“And he was stronger with Annalissa Purdey?”
“They had a romance. It must have lasted five months, or perhaps six? I only vaguely remember. She was a young lawyer. A litigator. Smart. Bright. Very driven, and her ethics were, let’s say, flexible.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “She was right up his alley.
“He was driven by the attraction—strengthened by it—and he used that to push past me. It’s been—what—nearly two decades?”
“I’d put Regan at twenty-three or twenty-four, so, yeah, about two decades. You’d have been so young.”
Seth chuckled. “When one is immortal, age is negotiable. But what does Annalissa Purdey have to do with the girl you’re seeking?”
I thought of the inscription on the photograph. “We think Annalissa Purdey is her mother.”
He went stone silent, as did everyone else in the room. I could feel the weight of their stares, the tension as they waited for someone to voice the obvious implication.
“Regan is . . . Annalissa’s daughter?” Seth asked. “But that means she’s . . . Jesus,” he said again, and I heard the shuffling of fabric. He was sitting down, I imagined, and deservedly so. I probably should have advised him to do that in the first place.
“Your daughter?” I asked. “Or Dominic’s?”
“I don’t—” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know. Yes? I mean, we shared the body, but he was the one who had the affair. Is she his daughter? Is she my niece? I don’t know. Does it even matter?”
“It matters if it helps us find her. And we need to find her, Seth.”
“I’m sorry—I don’t know how to help you do that.” Frustration was clear in his voice. “Can you find her mother? Trace her that way?”
“We’re looking,” I said. “We’ll let you know if we find anything.”
“I have—he had—a daughter.” This time, he sounded awed. “If you find her . . . ,” he said.
“We’ll let you know,” I promised him. “Thank you for calling, Seth. It means a lot to us. To me.”
“You may have given me a family,” he said. “That means a lot, too.”
We ended the call, and I rubbed my hands over my face. “I swear to God, the sups in this city could have their own reality show.”
“Sex happens,” Luc said. “With demons, too.”
“I guess.” I glanced at Jeff, who was squinting at his tablet, tongue peeking from the right side of his mouth.
“Annalissa Purdey is deceased,” he said, sending a photograph of an obituary to the screen. The story used the photograph, MOTHER still engraved at the bottom. They must have borrowed Regan’s picture.
Luc grabbed his phone. “I’ll ask the librarian to look into her background. Maybe something will help us locate Regan.”
I nodded, glanced at Jeff. “Tammy Morelli?”
“Tammy Morelli,” he said, swiping the screen, “is a con artist.” Another photograph replaced Annalissa’s, and the woman could hardly have been more different.
Tammy Morelli had a hard-bitten look. Her hair was permed, a curly halo around a face I didn’t immediately recognize. Her nose was a little bit thicker, her chin a little bit smaller. But her eyes were the same.
“That’s Diane Kowalcyzk,” I said. “Who was she?”
“A grifter,” Jeff said, tapping the tablet again and pulling up a series of newspaper articles. “Scam” figured prominently in most of the titles.
“It appears she had a fondness for art and insurance fraud,” Jeff said.
Luc whistled, stretched back in his chair, and kicked his feet on the table. “Now, that, my friends, is something I can work with.”
We had a wish list, and now we had information to bargain with. It was time to use it.
With Ethan out of pocket and Malik in charge of the House, Luc was designated as the official House negotiator. He coordinated with Andrew and left for the Daley Center with the hope of reaching a deal with the mayor.
However unethical that deal would be.
We didn’t bother going back to the Ops Room. Jeff brought his screen upstairs, and vampires filled the rest of the parlors on the first floor to wait for news. Malik sat beside me on a couch, reading through a contract, one leg crossed over the other.
Lindsey paced the hallway, afraid Luc would get wrapped up in the city’s political nonsense and he’d suffer Ethan’s fate.
One hour and thirteen minutes later, I received a message from Luc.
WE’RE ON OUR WAY HOME.
I closed my eyes and breathed.
Everyone was excited. But most were smart enough to stay indoors and out of the cold, which sat heavy across the city.
I sat on the front stoop, my hands tucked between my knees to keep them a hairsbreadth from frostbite.
A car door slammed, and my head popped up like an animal sensing her mate. Slowly, I rose from the step.
He strode through the gate as if in slow motion, golden hair streaked with blood, a fading purple bruise across his cheekbone. His jacket was off and fisted in his hand, and his eyes burned like fiery emeralds.