Her authoritative tone didn't leave any room for argument, so we climbed to our feet and walked into the hallway just as Malik placed his open wrist to Margot's lips.
"A knife wound at the neck," Luc said. "Similar MO, if we assume he ran out of time."
"We so assume," Ethan said. "Check the security video. I want to know exactly what happened out there. We work from the presumption this was another act of violence by our killer. And until he's caught, no one leaves this House. Not without the express permission of a senior staff member. I don't care if they're going to work, to dinner, to the bar, or to do a good deed."
Luc grimaced. "Liege - " he began, but Ethan stopped him.
"No excuses. I don't want to hear how it can't happen. I want to hear how it will happen. Figure out a way. Make it clear to them that they don't have a choice. That ass**le has targeted my vampire, which means he's under my authority now."
"On it," Luc said, trotting toward the basement stairs.
Ethan looked at me, helplessness in his eyes. He didn't have to speak for me to know what he was feeling: fear that he'd somehow allowed Margot to be hurt.
"What could we have done differently?"
"I don't know," I told him. "But we'll find out."
The front door opened and shut behind us, and we glanced around.
My father stood in the foyer in a crisp tuxedo, a large set of rolled papers in his hands. The security guards had let him through the gate, probably given our family ties. I sincerely hoped he had evidence in hands.
"Merit, Ethan," my father said.
"Joshua," Ethan said. "What brings you by?"
"Meredith and I are on our way home. We were downtown, and we picked these up while we were there."
"It's nice to see you," Ethan said, "but if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to this."
Ethan disappeared. Given the drama in the front parlor, I opted to guide my father toward the front door. "Why don't we just chat outside?"
Brows knitted, my father glanced back as we stepped outside. "Is everything all right?"
"Unfortunately not. One of our vampires was attacked. We think the murderer might have done it. What have you got there?"
My father unfurled the roll, revealing several large sheets of white paper. There was a building plan, several contract documents, and a map of land plots, dozens of square and rectangular puzzle pieces fitted together to form some part of Cook County.
My first thought was that he'd discovered something about the property in Little Italy, but I didn't recognize anything on the map. The boundaries were strangely drawn, and there were no buildings to be seen.
"What am I looking at?"
He tapped a spot on the map. "That is the address you asked about. These parcels are owned by a limited liability company. That company is, in turn, owned by another limited liability company, and so on up the chain. Ultimately, you get to a single owner: Carlos Anthony Martinez."
"Who is that?"
"I have no idea. I thought you might."
Unfortunately, I didn't. My heart sank. I'd been holding out hope the property was owned by Vampire H. Killer or some equivalent name that would ring obvious bells and send me in his direction.
My father looked at me for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "The land is valuable. If you have discovered untoward activities there . . ."
"You can jump in, buy the property for a song from the current owner, and turn it into something else."
He nodded. "It's a good location. An area that's troubled, but it's up-and-coming. It could be a positive arrangement if we can make it work."
And that was how my father operated, and probably the secret of his success. There was always a deal to be done, money to be made. And if the opportunity arose, you didn't let little things like murder - or your strained relationship with your daughter - impede your financial progress.
"Thank you for the information. If this leads to anything, I'll let you know."
My father looked appreciative, which seemed a fair trade for the information. Problem was, I was left standing on the front porch with a map and a reference to a man named Carlos. What was I supposed to do with that?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SEALED WITH A KISS
I rolled up the map and walked back toward Ethan's office; no point in delaying bad news any longer than necessary. The door was open, but Ethan was gone. Michael Donovan stood in front of the bar.
"Is Ethan around?" I asked.
He looked up. "He just popped into Helen's office; they're making arrangements for Margot. Would you like a drink?"
I blew out a breath. "Sure. Whatever you're having."
He smiled thoughtfully. "I knew I liked you." He opened one of Ethan's decanters and poured Scotch into two glasses, then handed one to me.
I wasn't much of a Scotch fan, but tonight I wasn't going to argue. I sipped it, letting the fire burn down my throat, savoring the warmth. There was too much violence in the air for even an old Scotch to touch, but that didn't make the sensation any less pleasurable.
"How goes the securing?"
"Slowly. We're working on cameras right now, making sure we can fill the necessary gaps while still giving the vampires their privacy."
I smiled. "I can see how that would be tricky. We do like our privacy."
Michael sat down in one of the chairs in the sitting area and waved me over. He crossed one leg over the other. "What have you got there?"
"Property maps," I said. "From my father. I'd hoped they'd help us identify the vampire killer, but I'm not sure they'll actually lead anywhere."
Ethan walked in just as Michael's phone rang. Frowning, Michael excused himself from the room and began chatting with the caller.
"Have you heard anything about Margot?" I asked Ethan.
"I just checked in. She hasn't yet regained consciousness - which isn't unusual for a wound of this magnitude - but she's healing very well. Delia expects she'll make a full recovery."
"Good," I said, feeling a wash of relief. Margot was an awesome person and a good friend, not to mention a great chef. She was also a potential witness, and that would be handy in preventing any more attacks.
"What do you have there?" he asked.
I glanced down, just realizing that I still held the rolled-up map in my hand. "Info about the property in Little Italy."
Michael stepped back into the room. "Ethan, if you'll excuse me, I've got a personal matter I need to address. I should be back shortly."