Biting Bad (Chicagoland Vampires 8)

I gave him back a smile that was equally predatory. "Maybe not. But do remember one thing." I leaned in. "Whatever happens between us down the road, I'm immortal. And you, Mr. McKetrick, are not."

McKetrick opened his mouth to retort, but before he could speak, the guards moved back to us.

"Time to go, sir," said the guard who'd opened the door, hustling him toward the theater.

McKetrick, I was pleased to see, had a little less swagger in his step.

-

My interaction with McKetrick wasn't a victory. It wasn't even a three-point lead. I'd been, at most, a temporary mild irritant. But maybe - hopefully - I'd reminded him of the stakes (pun very much intended) and the fact that we were paying attention. And specifically - paying attention to him.

That mission accomplished, I drove to Robin Pope's Greektown address, which wasn't far from Lincoln Park.

Robin Pope's building was a fairly new, sleek tower of condos, with coffee shops and other retail on the first floor. I didn't know much about her background, but it seemed an affluent building, not bad for a woman who'd given up her job over a personal dispute.

I parked on the street and left my katana in the car - there were too many cops undoubtedly suspicious about vampires right now to risk pulling it out - but double-checked my dagger was securely tucked into my boot.

I locked the door, glancing back to ensure I'd parked it close enough to the curb to protect it from traffic, but not so close I wouldn't be able to get out without marring the rims. Moneypenny, it seemed, was going to be a high-maintenance mode of transportation. For a moment - a very brief moment - I longed for my Volvo.

At the sound of a car door slamming, I glanced behind me. Catcher emerged from his sedan in jeans and a leather jacket. He was tall and lean, with a shaved head and pale green eyes. He was undeniably handsome, but since his features were usually pulled into irritated frowns or glares, it was sometimes difficult to tell.

Tonight, Catcher wore a typically grim expression as he looked over the building. I gestured toward it, ready to get the show on the road, and we fell into step together.

"I hear you're taking your vampire home to meet the parents."

A surprising revelation, since I'd heard it myself only a little while ago. "How did you hear about that?"

"Your grandfather told me. Ethan RSVP'd, and your father passed along the good news. You're a brave girl."

"Ethan will be perfectly well behaved. It's my family I have to worry about."

"Your father?" Catcher asked.

"More my mom and sister. They'll start obsessing about Chicago wedding locations and whether we should select gold- or platinum-banded china patterns."

Catcher snorted. "I'd almost pay to see Sullivan's footwork on that one. It's bound to be impressive."

"Probably so," I agreed. "Anything I need to know before we go in there? Is she a black belt in martial arts? Does she carry a crossbow? Is Buffy the Vampire Slayer her personal savior?"

"Because that would bum you out?"

"The slaying part would, yeah. Not the Joss part. We all love Joss."

"Her background's clean," Catcher said. "She's got a degree in human resources, but most of her jobs have been admin or lower management. She didn't last long in any one position."

"Sounds like she has trouble playing nice with others. Did she file grievances against anybody else?"

"Not that I could tell. She'd been at Bryant Industries for four months. We can get details on her time there from Charla."

"Charla?"

"Charla Bryant. Her family owns Bryant Industries." We reached the front doors, and Catcher opened one, gesturing for me to precede him inside.

The foyer was dark and sleek and still smelled like new construction: lumber, paint, and adhesives. I liked that smell; it reminded me of childhood trips with my grandfather to the hardware store.

We passed an empty security desk and headed for a bank of elevators. Catcher pushed a button, and we stood in silence until the elevator dinged and the door opened up.

"So what's our backstory with this lady?" I asked when we were in the elevator and moving upward.

"Backstory? What do you mean?"

"Well, we don't have badges, and we're both supernaturals. She isn't going to just up and divulge her nefarious rioting plot, certainly not to us. If we want information from her, we're going to need a convincing backstory."

"In other words, we need to lie."

"That sounds much less pleasant, but yeah."

"You really are a vampire, aren't you?"

That comment was worth the slugging I gave him. "We need to figure out if she's connected to the riots. So, we play like we're vampire haters?"

"Can you do that convincingly?"

I smiled with saccharine sweetness. "I'm sure you can cover for me if I can't. But yeah, I think I can pull it off. I'll just remember some of my initial hatred for Darth Sullivan."

"Have you ever told Ethan you called him that?"

"I have not. And you won't, either, if you know what's good for you. I'm not above biting a sorcerer."

"I'm taken," he flatly said, although I actually took that as a pretty good sign regarding his relationship with Mallory.

We reached the eleventh floor, and the elevator opened into a hallway with muted paint, and carpet in a complicated and probably expensive pattern. A round pedestal table sat in the middle of the elevator area, topped by a vase of very tall trailing flowers.

I followed Catcher to a door near the end of the hall. He lifted his hand to knock, but paused to glance at me. "You ready?"

I nodded, and he tapped gently on the door.

A few seconds later, she opened the door. She was an attractive middle-aged woman with neatly styled hair, blouse tucked into jeans, and high-heeled boots. Her makeup was impeccable, and large diamonds twinkled in her ears.

If this was Robin Pope, she wasn't exactly what I'd expected. Overt bitterness tucked into a VAMPIRES SUCK T-shirt, maybe. But the woman and the apartment behind her seemed posh and completely devoid of an anti - Bryant Industries or anti-vampire sentiment. There were dark wood floors and sleek midcentury modern furniture.

"Hi," I said. "Sorry to bother you. We're looking for Robin Pope?"

"That's me." She smiled a little. "What's this about?"

"We're really sorry to bother you. We just - we hoped you could help us with something. We understand you used to work at Bryant Industries?"

"That's right," she said, her smile fading. "But I have a lawyer now, so any inquiries regarding that situation should go through him."