Twice Bitten (Chicagoland Vampires #3)(21)
Author: Chloe Neill

I looked up again and found Ethan’s eyes on me, another bullet in his open palm. From the sting in my shoulder blade, I assumed that was where I’d taken a second hit.

You could have been killed.

Doubtful. But she could have.

He looked at me for a moment, concern in his eyes. And then, finally, his expression shifted. Instead of fear, there was pride. My move to help Berna might have scared him, but he was proud I’d made it.

Of course, he’d played the hero, too. Thanks for covering me at the window, I told him.

He nodded, a blush creeping across his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. I gnawed the edge of my lip, the protectiveness in his eyes curling something deep in my abdomen. He didn’t speak, but he nodded, as if admitting the emotion in his eyes.

And I had no clue what to do with it.

Heavy seconds passed before I turned back to the shifters. Adam and Robin still had weapons in hand, but they’d obeyed Gabriel’s order not to fire back. Jason, on hands and knees, was crawling toward the far door, maybe to find out if it offered us an exit. Adrenaline giving way to fear, that idea was suddenly very appealing. Sure, the shooter was outside and we were tucked behind a solid oak bar. But what was to stop him from deciding he wanted a little one-on-one contact, and rushing the bar? Yes, I’d proven I could play the strong Sentinel when necessary, but the thought of being rescued sure seemed attractive right now.

I thought about Noah’s offer and the fact that I’d have a partner in Jonah if I consented to joining the Red Guard. Having backup certainly would have come in handy, although I doubted the shifters would appreciate an underground vampire army’s being called in to deal with their problems. Luckily, I was saved the necessity of giving Noah’s offer more thought – the shooting suddenly stopped, and the low growl of a bike let us know the shooter was retreating.

Silence felll. . . at least until the cursing began.

Adam popped up first, his gaze scanning the bar front and street outside. "Clear," he said, and the rest of us followed. I helped Berna to her feet, preparing her for a trip in the ambulance that was beginning to whine its way down the street, undoubtedly called by someone in the neighborhood who’d heard the barrage of shots.

I was almost embarrassed to look at Ethan, the thing that had passed between us in the midst of the attack too personal to acknowledge in front of strangers. Despite our positions, he’d thrown his body over mine with no hesitation, inserting himself between me and danger. And then there was the look in his eyes. It seemed unlikely I was the target of the drive-by, but that didn’t make his effort any less meaningful than the last time he’d come to my rescue – the night I’d been attacked and made a vampire.

His bravery notwithstanding, now things just seemed awkward, like we were teenagers who’d suddenly become aware of their attraction to each other. Ethan finally glanced back at me, his gaze emotionless, his expression flat. He’d turned off the emotion, so I adopted the same Master vampire look and nodded back at him, a quick, efficient gesture that said nothing of the thing that had passed between us. Denial seemed the easiest response.

"I’m assuming," Ethan said aloud, turning back to the shifters, "that one of you was the target of that hit?"

"All signs point to Gabriel," Jason said, arms over his chest as he looked across the destruction in the bar. "This ConPack was his idea."

I understood the ruefulness in his voice. The bar was in shambles. There was nothing left of the picture window but the few jagged scraps of glass that remained in the frame; the rest of it was in piles on the checked tile, scattered amidst the remains of the bar’s neon signs and shredded beer posters. A breeze swept through the gaping hole in the front of the bar, carrying the scents of hot metal and gunpowder and the sounds of sirens as they hurried toward us.

"There are three Pack leaders in here," Adam pointed out, "not just the leader of the North American Central. The target could have been any one of you."

"Valid point," Gabriel said.

Adam leaned toward me. "By the way, you did good. I’m not sure Sullivan gives you enough credit." I appreciated the compliment. I’d have appreciated it more if it had been accompanied by a pan of cabbage rolls, but a girl took what a girl could get. I grinned at him beneath my fan of bangs. "I know.

I’m kind of a big deal."

He snorted with amusement.

"One Pack leader is noticeably absent from the group," Ethan said. "And the manner of the hit – that we heard a bike before and after – suggests it was a shifter."

"Tony was riled up when he arrived," Robin put in.

There was silence at that suggestion.

Jason finally shook his head. "Tony isn’t that stupid. Not to attempt a hit right after storming out of the room. Besides," he added, as three police cars pulled to a stop outside the bar, "this only creates more drama. Draws more attention to the Packs." Car doors slammed as police burst from the vehicles, hands on their holsters.

More attention, I thought. Just the thing the shifters wanted to avoid. And maybe that attention was the shooter’s motivation? "Would more drama and attention make the Packs more interested in leaving for Aurora? To stay out of the public eye, I mean?"

Heads turned my way.

"That’s not a bad thought," Gabriel said. "It would be a ridiculous plan, if that’s what the shooter had in mind, but a good thought." He dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Since we’re all about to be interviewed, let’s keep the supernatural drama and the complicated lies to a minimum, shall we? Skip the biological details but spill the rest. We were playing poker and planning a family reunion. We wrap up the game and our meeting, and the next thing you know . . ." The next thing you know, Chicago’s finest walk in the door.

They took statements from all of us, four uniforms and a couple of plainclothes detectives, walking us through the details of the drive-by as a forensic team plucked through glass and kindling for bullets or other evidence that might lead them to the shooter. I kept to the basics Gabriel had laid out – telling the tale exactly as it had progressed, but leaving out the bit about why the shifters really planned to meet. The cops generally seemed to buy it. They were probably curious about why two vamps were in Ukrainian Village, katanas belted to their sides, at a meeting of folks who were planning a family reunion. But they knew who I was – whether because I was Chuck Merit’s granddaughter or Joshua Merit’s daughter, I wasn’t sure – so they kept the intrusive questions to a minimum. I played innocent (which, of course, I actually was), and they seemed satisfied enough by my answers. After we were interviewed, Ethan and I stood outside on the sidewalk, loath to walk away and leave the shifters alone, but not interested in being charged with interfering in a police investigation. We were still outside when a familiar Oldsmobile pulled up.