“Oh, Morgan,” I said on a sigh.
Ethan slid me a glance. “Did you just say ‘oh, Morgan’?”
“I did. In exhaustion, not desire. I’m not looking forward to dealing with him.” Morgan and I had dated briefly, and he still harbored bitterness about the end of our relationship. Not, I think, because he’d truly loved me, but because he didn’t like having been passed over for Ethan.
“I’m afraid we will not be able to avoid it. Not this time.”
“I know. What did you think about Reed?”
“I didn’t interact with him much, all things considered,” Ethan said, skimming his fingers over my hand before entwining our fingers. “Likes material wealth, likes to show it off. Imagines himself very much the king of his castle.”
“His gaudy castle.”
“Just so. He has body men, which is relatively unusual for a businessman in Chicago. Is not used to people disobeying his orders. Certainly isn’t used to those who dare breach the castle walls, interrupt his feast.”
“I can’t get a read on Sorcha. She’s either really smart and very socially awkward, or really, really dumb.”
“And she must be twenty years his junior,” Ethan said, clearly not a compliment to either of them.
e spoke until we exited the house, stood together on the sidewalk.
“Jeff’s in the van if you’d like to say hello,” my grandfather said. “Or good-bye, since it looks like we’re wrapping up here.”
The van, clearly marked as Ombudsman property, sat just up the block. It was a mobile office and response center, fully equipped with computers and gadgets that only Jeff likely knew how to operate.
Brody had squeezed the Range Rover in front of it, and he and Jeff chatted quietly until we approached. Brody nodded at Ethan, who held up a hand, signaling him to wait.
Jeff had, as per usual, paired his floppy brown hair and smiling blue eyes with khakis and a blue button-down, the sleeves rolled up. His eyes widened as he looked me over.
“You took some damage.”
I grimaced at the tatters of dress. “Actually, I did a lot of it myself. It’s hard to kick in a sheath dress.”
“I can’t take you anywhere,” Ethan said, but there was no mistaking the pride in his eyes.
“Sure you can. But next time, get me a gown with legroom.”
“Or maybe just no random Navarre attacks,” Jeff said grimly, glancing back at the House. “Sounds like a pretty bizarre situation.”
“Very,” Ethan agreed. “Have you heard anything about Navarre Novitiates being out of hand?”
“I don’t hear much about Navarre at all,” Jeff said. “What happens in Navarre House stays in Navarre House. Or so I assume.” He tucked hair behind his ear. “I’m not sure if that’s Morgan, or Celina’s leftover crazy, or what. What about you?”
Celina Desaulniers was the former Navarre Master; she’d been forced out of the position after an attack on Ethan.
“Out of the blue,” Ethan agreed, “even for Navarre House, which is saying something. But the severity here strikes me as something that must have festered or percolated for a while.”
“What about supernatural vigilante groups?” I wondered.
“Nothing like that, either,” Jeff said, sticking his hands into his pockets.
“What about Balthasar?” my grandfather asked. “Any further activity there?”
“He’s in a condo on Michigan Avenue,” Ethan said. “We’ve got eyes on him. It seems best for all involved to know what he’s up to.”
“No argument there,” my grandfather said.
“Luc has the details about his location if you’d like it, or want to do any monitoring of your own.”