Blood Games (Chicagoland Vampires 10)

“Is there anything else I need to know before we go in there?”

Ethan’s eyes flattened. “About?”

“That note.”

This time, his eyes flashed. “No.”

I watched him for a moment, gauged his honesty. That he wouldn’t offer more—explain more—knifed at my gut, but I believed that it wasn’t relevant to today.

“Okay,” I said. “Be careful out there. Don’t play the hero.”

A corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. “Don’t I usually give you that speech?”

“You do. But this is my turn.” I put my hands on his face. We’d hardly talked today, hadn’t had time or, considering our current issues, the inclination. But I wanted—needed—a moment to look at him, to see his face.

“You’re mine as much as you are the House’s. Whatever stands between us right now, I prefer you in one piece.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned forward, pressed his lips to mine, offered a slow and lingering kiss. “Let’s both be careful. And let’s both get out of this car, because people are beginning to stare.”

I looked up, found Luc peering, narrow eyed, into the tinted windows. He tapped on the glass. “Let’s go, Romeo and Juliet.”

“Let’s get out before he starts quoting Die Hard again,” Ethan said.

A solid choice.

I stepped outside into the cool air, belted on my katana, adjusted my ponytail. The Cabot House guys inserted daggers into their boots and pulled on shoulder harnesses for handguns. When everyone was outfitted and weaponized, we circled together.

“We go in,” Ryan said, “and we look like we belong.”

“Cover?” Cord asked.

Luc smiled. “I’ve got this one. He’s in the penthouse suite, so the staff know who he is. They’ll have been briefed.” He gestured at his clothes. “We’re vampires, with swords. We’re part of his security detail. Anyone questions you—question them back.”

“Nice,” Ryan said, and he and Luc exchanged manly nods of approval, already the best of friends.

“And now that we’ve honored the bromance,” Cord said with a wide grin, “let’s get this under way.”

We formed a line, moved swiftly and silently to the vendor door. Ryan, Max, and Cord, then me and Ethan, Luc and Lindsey.

Adrenaline rushed through me, and fear evaporated. We were here now. There was no turning back, no running scared. Most important, there was no more waiting, only forward progress. It felt glorious to move, to act, to concentrate on the task at hand.

Your vampire is showing, Sentinel, Ethan said, with what I took to be awe in his voice.

Waiting is the hardest part, I responded. I may not be a great fighter, not yet, but I’ll be damned if the op’s not better than the anticipation.

Spoken like a soldier, he said.

After a year of training, I’d better sound like one.

The lock on the vendor door was busted; the door opened easily. Fist raised to keep us still, Ryan eased the door open, looked inside, then motioned us forward.

We slipped into the hallway behind him, left Luc at the exit to guard the van, ensure we had a way to get out if things went bad.

The staff hallway was unburdened by décor or color: drab gray walls, drab gray floor. Easy to clean, but nothing to look at. The hallway branched several times here and there, and I wished I’d brought flags—or bread crumbs—to mark the way.

We followed Ryan in silence, stopping at another raised fist. He pointed toward the door we’d reached, LOBBY stenciled in all caps across the gray steel.

Ryan pointed to Lindsey, then at the ground, signaling her to stay here, to protect this portion of our escape route. She nodded, her expression as steely eyed as that of the man in fatigues who was leading us. Lindsey might have been high maintenance, but she was a soldier to the bone.

I waited until our eyes met, mouthed, “Good luck,” to her.

She winked in response.

Ryan pulled open the door, peered into the lobby, then signaled with his index finger. One guard on the elevator.

He was Max’s responsibility.

As Ryan held the door, Max slipped into the hallway. My heart thudded in my ears, thunderously loud, as we stood in the dim hallway, waited for our sign.

There was a soft thud, a soft shuffle, and Max’s back appeared in the doorway again, pulling the man on the elevator into the hallway. His breathing was heavy but steady, his head rolling on his neck as Max dragged his deadweight into a service area. Ethan helped Max zip-tie his hands and feet, then pull him into a corner near gas and plumbing access pipes. If our luck held, he’d stay there, conked, until we were long gone.

And now that the man was down, it was our turn to act.

Ryan pulled open the door again, mere centimeters this time, watched the lobby as footsteps sounded, passed. And then, as fast as lightning, he signaled, and we moved. Single file, one after another, silently from the hallway door to the bank of elevators. Ryan pulled a black card from his pocket, flashed it over the access panel, and the doors to the private car slid open.

We funneled in behind him, and Max flashed a thumbs-up, watching the doors close just before the elevator whisked us up and away.

Pop music played cheerily in the elevator as the lights above the door flashed the floor numbers.

“So the Cubs,” Ryan said, scratching absently at a spot on his shoulder. “Good team this year, or . . . ?”

Ethan nudged me gently. “Um, yeah, solid,” I said. “We’ve got a pretty deep lineup right now. You a Yankees fan?”

“Go, Yanks,” Ryan said.

“Yanks rule all,” Cord said behind him, with the staccato tone of a military man.

I shook my head. “And just when I was beginning to like you two.”

The floors ticked upward. Twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five . . .

“Ready,” Ryan said, and the elevator dinged, the door sliding open, revealing a spacious foyer with a marble floor and a wall of windows that overlooked the lake.

A man in jeans and a sport coat, another unfamiliar guard, jumped up from a stool beside the elevator, pivoted to face us.

“Hey, Jack, did you remember the drinks? Fucking minibar’s—”

He stopped short, realizing we weren’t the other guards, who’d apparently gone on a food run.

“Shit,” he said, reaching clumsily inside his jacket for a weapon, but Ryan was prepared—and Ryan was faster. He swept the man’s legs, unbalanced him, and snagged him in a chokehold.