Biting Cold (Chicagoland Vampires #6)(44)
Author: Chloe Neill

An area had been roped off at the front of the stairs for reporters and photographers. Men with cameras and impressive lenses stood behind it, waiting for the cops and their attorneys to emerge from the building. And on the edges of the knot of reporters stood two groups of protestors. One group protested the cops’ release. Their signs read JUSTICE FOR VAMPIRES AND KEEP CRIMINALS BEHIND BARS! The other group’s signs weren’t nearly so pleasant. They congratulated the cops – and rued they hadn’t managed to wipe us out altogether.

The steps were already lined by people waiting for the cops to emerge from the building. There were plenty of CPD officers on the perimeters, and I was momentarily nervous they’d ask for the registration papers I didn’t yet have.

On the other hand, if we were right about what was about to go down, my paperwork would hardly matter.

"Hey," Jonah said, glancing at me.

"Hey."

"How’s Ethan?"

"Alive, so far. I kept him at the House so he’d stay that way."

"Good cal." He looked at me with obvious curiosity.

"What?" I asked.

Jonah shrugged. "I’m surprised you caled. Since he’s back."

"I made a promise to the Red Guard," I said. "I intend to keep it. And my feelings for Ethan aside, the GP’s on my shit list.

Now more than ever."

Jonah nodded. "Darius came by the House last night. I wasn’t privy to his discussions, but Scott was in a foul mood when he left."

That news made my stomach curl. Had Darius confessed to Scott the shofet’s plan to close down Cadogan House? Was that why Scott was upset? I wanted to interrogate Jonah for details, but if Scott wasn’t ready to tel Jonah, his guard captain, what they’d talked about, it probably wasn’t news I wanted to know.

"Do you know what’s up?" Jonah asked.

"Not that I’m free to say. Suffice it to say, the GP is up to something."

"They usualy are," Jonah said with a grin. "We try to stay under the radar. It’s a strategy Cadogan might want to consider."

"Har-har. You know, we can’t al afford to keep our heads in the sand. Especialy not when crazies keep targeting us."

"You do have an awful track record. And I don’t want to dwel on this or make things awkward, but since your boyfriends have a tendency to wind up deceased, it’s probably better nothing happened between us."

I gave him an arch look. "That only happened once." My tone was dry, but I was secretly glad he’d brought it up and put it out there. Better to make a joke out of it than to have something weird and awkward between us.

"I guess that’s true," Jonah said. "I mean, Morgan got promoted."

"You are just hilarious. Are we the only ones here?"

"On the sides of good and righteousness? No. There are two more Red Guards in the crowd. They’l stay quiet unless something pops."

"Like an angel of justice taking them down with his giant sword of righteousness?"

"That sounds like the tagline for a bad  p**n  flick."

"It does, doesn’t it? And yet, it’s true. Or so we suspect. We haven’t exactly had a chance to ask Tate if he’s a dispenser of wrath."

He smiled down at me. "You know, every time I hang out with you, things get weirder."

I nodded. It was hard to argue with that. "It’s a personal flaw. I’m making a resolution for next year to become much more average. Ordinary, even."

"I’m not sure that’s possible. Any known weaknesses for our angelic friend?"

"None that I’m aware of. And it could be friends, plural. Only one showed up to Paulie’s party, but who knows what they’re thinking right now. We can’t even differentiate between them."

Jonah linked his fingers together and stretched out his arms, limbering up for the fight. "I do like to play for the underdog."

He might have been bluffing; he might have meant it. Either way, it was good to have a partner who kept his sense of humor in the face of pretty bad odds.

"So how are we playing this?" he asked.

I offered up the plan Ethan had suggested. "Let’s each take a column. When the cops come out, keep an eye out for the Tates, or one of them. I can’t imagine he’l wait around and risk missing his chance. And the cops know he was involved in Paulie’s murder, so he’l either have to be in disguise – "

"Or he’l have to come in with a bang and not give them time to wrestle him down," Jonah said.

"Exactly. A quick strike either way. I’m sure he could take out a cop or two pretty easily, but there are a lot of people here, and a lot of cops. Unless he wants to be riddled with bulet holes, he’l have to get in, get it done, and get out. So if we can throw him off, slow down his schedule, anything, we might have a chance to keep him from kiling anyone."

"Even if we stop him – or them – tonight, he might take another run at it."

"He might," I agreed. "The cops’ attorneys have already been warned Tate was coming, but they didn’t believe it. Maybe if he shows himself tonight, they’l take the threat seriously. Maybe they can be put into protective custody or something."

"Any chance this ends wel?"

"I can’t imagine that it wil," I said. "But we fight the good fight anyway."

"Spoken just like an RG member. I’m so proud." He gave me a supportive clap on the back. "I’l take the west column. You take the east."

"Sounds good. Good luck."

"You, too."

Jonah disappeared into the crowd, and within seconds the building’s doors opened. The protestors began screaming and chanting en masse, their signs bobbing up and down with the new burst of energy.

The attorneys came out first – four men in expensive suits and probably equaly high-maintenance egos. They were folowed by the officers – four men of various ages and races, stil in uniforms, despite how much they’d tarnished them.

They walked down the steps and grouped together at the podium. The first attorney adjusted the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Members of the press. We are thriled tonight that justice has been done in Chicago."

There was no sign of Tate, but he couldn’t be far behind a statement like that.

Someone tapped my shoulder. "Hey, you can’t have that here."

At the same time, I caught sight of a tal, dark-haired man moving through the crowd. My heart quickened.

"Hey, did you hear what I said? Hand over the sword or we’re taking a little trip into the lockup."

I glanced behind me. A uniformed CPD cop – a barrel-chested man with a thick mustache – tapped my sword with his stick. A second cop moved in closer, probably thinking I was the threat they were supposed to be watching for.