She didn't even wait for him to respond; she just turned and started off across the room. Of course he followed, and when she pulled him through a secret door courtesy of Bacchus and he saw the man. . . and the wounds. He looked at her.
"What the hell is going on, Macey? Dammit, you better tell me what the hell you've gotten yourself involved in. "
She shook her head, her eyes cool and steady. "It's a whole lot of bad luck. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There's nothing more to-"
"Jesus Christ, Macey, do you really think I'm that stupid? Would you believe it if you were me?" But he was already kneeling at the man's side. Battling anger and disbelief at her continued equivocation, he put that aside for the time being to attend to the man.
Fortunately, the victim was conscious and strong enough to be helped to his feet, but he couldn't walk on his own and there was blood every-damn-where. The sight of it would send people into hysterics. "Where's your wrap?" Grady demanded. "Or a scarf. "
She understood immediately and darted off, returning more quickly than he expected. She had the wrap and her pocketbook back in her possession-which led him to believe she'd put them aside herself and they hadn't been taken from her or knocked away during the assault. A woman didn't just leave her pocketbook. He filed this information away for future contemplation.
Arranging the heavy velvet throw around the injured man's neck, Grady helped him out of the secret room. With no sign of blood, everyone would merely assume the man was drunk.
Macey came along with them, also pretending to be inebriated, announcing to anyone who'd listen that her "man" had so much to drink that he'd decided to wear her shawl, and wasn't he adorable?
If Grady hadn't been so furious, so deeply confused and concerned, he might have been filled with admiration for her play-acting. She was convincing and entertaining
at the same time, petting the soft velvet, stumbling about, batting her eyelashes.
And he was completely besotted with her.
Between the two of them, they got the "drunken" man out of the cabaret, up through a staff elevator, and out a side door of the Palmer. For a variety of reasons, Grady thought it best not to alert security, but to take the man directly
He had one of the bellmen hail a cab, and when the taxi pulled up, Grady eased the injured man into the backseat. "Get in," he said, turning to Macey.
But she was gone.
After she ditched Grady (again), Macey didn't want to go back into the secret cabaret again, for fear of encountering Capone. She wasn't quite ready to face the man with lethal black eyes and power exuding from him.
But if she went home, there was the chance she'd be accosted by everyone from Mrs. Gutchinson to Chas to Grady.
There was always Cookie's, for she knew where a key to the back door was hidden. But then she might have to answer questions about why she wasn't out with Chas, hunting vampires.
So Macey sat in a corner of the lobby of the Palmer for a while, listening to the jazz trio in the corner, watching the people go by. If Chelle or Dottie would appear, maybe she could go home with one of them and sleep at their house, thus avoiding Chas and Grady that much longer.
While she waited, Macey had nothing to do but think. Which wasn't a particularly good thing, considering the fact that she'd just had a very unsettling encounter with the kingpin of all gangsters.
But she couldn't help mentally reviewing everything that had happened in that secret hallway, and all at once it struck her-the chill. The chill at the back of her neck. . . had been gone.
Macey frowned and thought very hard, dragging back into her mind every part of the memory from that moment when he had her by the wrist, his dark, cold eyes boring into hers. She felt terrified, and adrenalin rushed through her. . . but she hadn't been cold.
Which meant. . . Capone hadn't yet been turned undead.
She drew in a deep breath. Exhaled. So I was wrong. I guess that's good; he hasn't been turned yet.
Then a little shiver caught her by surprise. Good grief. I almost tried to stab him.
What would he have done if she had? Macey shivered and felt a little nauseated at the thought. Lordy, she hoped he didn't realize what she'd been up to. Hopefully, he believed her drunken act and wouldn't think twice of it.
Why would a guy like Al Capone be worried about a gal like her bothering him, anyway? Surely he wouldn't even remember the incident.
But what was he doing with a man who had a vampire bite if he wasn't a vampire? Saving him? Perhaps. Or. . .
Macey mentally snapped her fingers. Right. Alvisi was trying to get Capone on his side. What better way to do that than to bring him into the Tutela first? Even remaining mortal, Capone would be a great asset to the vampires, with his network of power, people, and funds. Perhaps even more valuable than if he were turned undead. Chas and Sebastian were wrong.
The vampires didn't want Capone turned. They just wanted him on their side. A full member of the Tutela.
Macey subdued a shudder at the thought of those people who craved the attention of the undead. Likely the man she and Grady had helped was a member himself-or maybe someone Capone had brought as a guest to the undead, just as Alvisi had done to Victoria Gardella a century ago.