Connor wasn’t the type to show surprise. He generally rolled with the current, whatever it might have been. That was the upside, I guess, of not being too focused on rules. But he definitely looked surprised now.
“You went to see him?”
“I’m not your enemy, and I’m not his enemy. I don’t know how or why he ended up holding a knife, but I know he didn’t kill Tomas. So I went to talk to him, and to find out if he knew anything else.”
“What happened to the deal with the mayor’s office? The ban against Cadogan involvement? I thought you stuck to the rules.”
“I do. But I’m not a Cadogan vampire.”
He blinked. Whatever he’d expected me to say, it wasn’t that. “What does that mean?”
I offered my theory, watched confusion change to disbelief, then appreciation. “You think the Ombudsman will buy that? Or your father?”
“Fifty-fifty on the Ombudsman. And if I have to use it, it’s going to hurt my father. But my father’s not being framed for a crime he didn’t commit.”
Connor watched me again for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. What did you learn by talking to him?”
“That he doesn’t remember anything. That he blacked out or he’s missing time, and he has one hell of a headache when he tries to remember.”
Connor’s brow furrowed. “He told me about the headaches—he was obviously in pain, and I asked him about it. But I didn’t make the connection to his memory.”
I nodded. “Someone was very careful to hide their tracks. Unfortunately, that means Riley can’t tell us what actually happened. And I didn’t get anything else specific—nothing about Tomas or anything weird that happened at the party that might have triggered someone to frame him. Did you get anything else?”
“No.”
“Is there anyone who’d particularly want to hurt him? Not just Pack enemies, but personal ones?”
He walked to Thelma, whisked an invisible spot of dust from her leather seat. “Not that I’m aware of. You know Riley, Lis. He’s likeable. Big and a little gruff, but—and I’ll deny it if you tell him I said this—a teddy bear. He’d chew off his own arm and offer it up if you needed one. That’s why he’s one of us.”
“What about Tomas?”
Connor sneered, and still managed to make the expression sexy. There was, apparently, no expression that didn’t look good on the prince. And that was just irritating.
“My only knowledge of him comes from his displays at the theater and the party. He’s not a man I’d ever want to know, or know more about.”
I couldn’t really argue with that. “Okay,” I said, and pulled the handkerchief from my pocket, showed him the brooch. “Do you know what this is?”
He glanced at it, lifted his brows. “No. Should I?”
“I don’t know. I found it on the patio at Cadogan House.”
“Did someone drop it at the party?”
“I don’t know,” I said. And this time, looking at the brooch tickled a memory I couldn’t fully access. But before I got any further down that path, the door opened, more waves of music following the big man who walked inside.
This was Eli Keene, Connor’s uncle. He was tall, with tan skin, broad shoulders, and dark wavy hair that skimmed the shoulders of his shirt. There were strands of silver in his hair and the scruffy beard that covered his jaw, and they made him look more experienced, more powerful.
Eli looked at Connor, then at me. If he thought anything was odd about a vampire standing in the Pack’s garage, he didn’t mention it.
He gave me a nod. “Elisa. Heard you were back.”
I nodded back, tucked the handkerchief back into my pocket. “Hey, Eli. Building looks good.”
“It does,” he agreed. There was pride in his eyes, but his expression stayed somber. “You’re needed,” he said to Connor.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Eli looked at him as if debating whether to repeat the order, then slid me a glance before looking back at his nephew. “Make it quick.”
He disappeared again, leaving the cry of a squealing guitar in his wake.
“The show must go on,” I said, when the door closed.
“That’s what they say. Responsibilities.”
“Alaska?”
“Alaska,” he said, but his eyes were shadowed. “He was supposed to go with us.”
“Riley?”
Connor nodded.
“I’m sorry. And that someone is using the Pack for this.”
“Why do you care?”
The words put me on my guard, but the tone was quiet and seemed honest. “Because as much as you drive me crazy, I know you. And I know Riley. And it’s not fair.”
He watched me for a minute. “That’s some of it, but not all of it.”
I didn’t like that he’d seen something I wasn’t entirely ready to talk about. But I’d already crossed that threshold with him once. “Because of the Eiffel Tower.”
He frowned. “The attack?”
I nodded. “It was bad, Connor. The vampires walked through a park where people were just hanging out, being happy. And they killed them because they were pissed at someone else. Vampires are fighting like damned children, and they’re hurting other people to do it.”
“You think vampires are behind this?”
“Not necessarily. But I think it’s wrapped up in the peace talks, and that’s a big, messy bundle of supernaturals. I know Riley wouldn’t do it. And I don’t like people using my father or his House for murder.”
There was something deeply considering in his eyes, and I nearly looked away from the intimacy of his evaluation. “You’ve gotten kind of impressive, brat.”
I narrowed my gaze. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“It is.” He gestured toward the door. “Fascinating as it is to see this other side of you, I need to get back to work. But you’ll let me know if you find anything?”
“Sure,” I said, and I left him to prepare for his journey.
* * *
• • •
Lulu had grown up in a house in Wicker Park not far from Little Red. When she got a place for herself, she changed neighborhoods, moving to the Near North Side and a loft apartment. Since I’d failed on the souvenir front, I stopped for coffee on the way.
I climbed out of the Auto to look up at the unassuming brick building, the long rows of windows. It looked like a warehouse, which was the architectural calling card for this particular neighborhood.
The other tenants had names listed beside the buzzers for their apartments. The one I assumed was hers, since her name wasn’t listed, bore a splotch of red paint. I mashed the button with an elbow.
“What? I’m working.” Her voice was irritable.
“It’s me,” I said, and the locks disengaged with a snick. I rearranged the coffee cups and yanked open the door before it locked again, then slipped inside and climbed the wide and beaten stairs in the unassuming lobby.
She was on the fourth floor, and one of only two doors in the long hallway. I walked to hers, and since my hands were full, knocked with an elbow.
“It’s open!” she yelled out.
I managed it awkwardly, found myself looking down at a slender black cat. It stared up with green eyes, a swishing tail, and a very suspicious expression.
“A cat is giving me dirty looks,” I said.
“That’s Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
“Hi, Eleanor.” I gave her a smile.
In response, she hissed at me.
“She doesn’t like nicknames,” Lulu called out. “It’s Eleanor of Aquitaine or nothing.”
I lifted an eyebrow at the cat. She stared back, unblinking and unmoved.
It occurred to me that I didn’t know any vampires who had cats. Maybe cats didn’t like vampires. But I was an adult, so I’d try again.
“Hello, Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
Her tail stopped flicking, but her expression didn’t change. Then she turned and walked away, tail still swishing as she moved.
“Rude,” I murmured, and kicked the door closed.
Lulu’s loft was a rectangle of space with a cluster of rooms in the middle. The floors were wide planks of well-used wood. The walls were sandblasted brick, and were hung with enormous paintings in brilliant colors, art show posters, and weavings of tufted yarn. She’d put some kind of colored plastic over the glass in the long row of casement windows, so a rainbow spilled into the loft from the streetlight outside.