“I will.” And hoped that would be enough.
* * *
• • •
I wanted to talk to Lulu, and I wanted to talk to Connor, not necessarily in that order. But first, I wanted to take another look at the scene of the crime.
Tonight, the House’s cafeteria was full of vampires taking their first meal of the day before heading out to their jobs in- or outside Cadogan. The smell of bacon permeated the space, and I was half-surprised my mother didn’t mention it was a bacon day. She and bacon had a special relationship.
It was humid on the back lawn, the torches and lanterns gone, the yard dark but for the occasional path lights and moonlight that filtered through the trees. No vampires, no humans, no CPD crime-scene techs. The site of Tomas’s death was empty of people tonight, which seemed equally fitting and sad.
Even if I hadn’t known the way to the patio, the scent of blood would have drawn me. It had been washed away, the scene already photographed and imaged, but it still stained the air.
The patio bricks were laid in a hexagon. There was a kitchen on one side, and a low brick rail on the other that provided seating.
I walked across the brick from one end to the other, gaze sweeping the ground for anything unusual, anything that might have been missed. I found nothing. If anything had been here, it had probably been taken by the forensic team or determined to be insignificant and washed away, just like the blood.
I checked the grass nearby, found nothing but the divots where supernaturals had scuffled in soft grass. But then something crunched underfoot. Half expecting to find a squished bug, I lifted my shoe to find something shiny wedged between grass and brick at the edge of the patio.
I crouched down. It was a brooch, a complicated knot in a careful gold filigree. I didn’t recognize the piece or the design. But it was near the site of the murder, so I figured that made it worth another look.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the handkerchief I’d borrowed from my father the night I’d arrived and had meant to give back. I picked up the brooch, wrapped it carefully, and put it away again.
Maybe it was evidence; maybe it wasn’t. But at least it was something.
TWELVE
I contacted Seri and Marion when I was in an Auto again. Based on their expressions on my screen, the information about the fingerprints and magical tampering of the surveillance video didn’t thrill them.
“A shifter could not affect electronics with magic,” Marion said.
“No, they couldn’t.”
“But that does not exonerate your friend. It indicates only that there was at least one other party involved in the murder. Someone with magical skills and the intention to use them to cover up a crime.”
That made it sound like a conspiracy, which didn’t bode well for the peace talks or peace in Chicago. “Or one person who wanted to cover their tracks,” I said.
“Yes,” Marion said. “That is possible.” But she didn’t sound convinced. “What are your next steps?”
“I’ve talked to Riley, and I’m going to talk to Connor Keene, Gabriel’s son. He’s Riley’s friend and would know if Riley had enemies.”
“Or a temper?”
It was a logical question, but it suggested she wasn’t buying my theory. “If he has a temper, I’ve never seen it. But I understand and respect your concerns. That’s why I’m going to talk to Connor. If I learn anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“That is as much as you can do,” Marion said. “But I fear for this process. Someone wished to interrupt it. And they have succeeded.”
* * *
• • •
I could hear the music a block before I arrived at Little Red, the low bass line, throbbing drums, and thrumming guitar. Either the Pack had turned up the jukebox or there was a concert tonight at the bar.
I guessed the answer by the dozens of gleaming bikes lined up outside.
I skipped the bar entrance, went in through the office. Berna sat in the lobby on her scooter, staring intently at an e-reader beneath an enormous pair of pink and rose gold headphones. I guess she didn’t like the band. She looked up when I walked in, gaze narrowed.
“Connor,” I mouthed.
“Garage,” she said, returning her gaze to her book.
Permission enough, so I headed through the hallway she’d led me down before. When in doubt, I turned toward the noise.
The door to the bar vibrated on its hinges with each strum of the bass guitar from a band covering Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower.” I pushed open the door and was nearly pushed back by the deafening sound. The tables were full, the air smelled of smoke and spilled beer, and the room buzzed with magic strong enough to raise the hair on my neck. Shifter magic was a powerful thing, and there were a lot of shifters here. That gave it a dangerous edge.
There were also plenty of humans in the crowd, mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings who probably hadn’t come to the bar for the music but for the magic. For the power and the possibility something might happen.
The door to the garage was closed, but shifter free. I walked inside and closed the door, which muted the sound of the band to a dull roar.
I didn’t see any shifters. But the magic in the air said I wasn’t alone.
A low stool rolled through the bikes on the other side of the room with a squeak of rubber on linoleum. On it sat a narrow-eyed Miranda.
She wore skinny jeans, black boots that laced up to her knees, and a black bra beneath a distressed black tank. Her hair was curlier today, soft, dark waves that framed her face perfectly.
The boots said she was ready to fight. And so did the expression on her face.
“You aren’t wanted here,” she said, rising. “You arrested our Pack mate.”
“The CPD arrested your Pack mate because he was literally holding the murder weapon.” But I held up a hand before she could argue. “And I know he didn’t do it, so save us both the lecture. I’d like to talk to Connor.”
“He’s busy trying to take care of Riley. And it’s two days before Alaska.”
It took me a second to get the reference. “Oh, right. The road trip.”
“The return trip,” she said. “It’s important for the Pack.”
“I’m sure it is.” But I didn’t move. “I’d still like to talk to him.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Look,” I said. “I get that you have a problem with me, although I don’t know how that’s possible, since we don’t actually know each other.”
Lips pursed, she looked me over. “I know enough about you and your kind. Brat.”
“That word doesn’t do the damage you think it does. But good try.”
Irritated magic rolled across the room.
The door opened behind me, and she looked over my shoulder at someone who’d entered.
“Connor,” she said, “you have a visitor. The vampire’s here again.”
“I see that,” Connor said, walking toward us. He wore jeans and a gray Little Red T-shirt that snugged against his sculpted abdomen. “Give us a few minutes.”
“She wants to talk about Riley. He’s important to me, too.”
“Miranda.”
Anger boiled in her eyes, but she kept her mouth closed. She walked to the bar door, music spilling into the room like a cresting wave when she opened it, then slammed it behind her again.
“She doesn’t much like me,” I said.
“No, she doesn’t. You’re not her type.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Miranda’s a good Pack member. You’re not Pack. And like many shifters and vampires, she has very specific ideas about loyalty.” Connor kept his gaze on the closed door. “She’s also worried about Riley.”
“Were they together?”
“No,” he said.
He looked back at me, eyebrows furrowed, dark slashes over his blue eyes. Like a man who had things to say but wasn’t ready to say them. It wasn’t hard to guess what he was thinking. “We don’t need more vampire involvement where Riley is concerned.”
“What happened to friendship?”
He gave me a flat look. “He was arrested at Cadogan House.”
“Not by vampires. You know why they had to arrest him. The evidence was there, Connor.”
“He’s in a cage.”
“I know. I went to see him.”