Wild Things (Chicagoland Vampires #9)(64)
Author: Chloe Neill

“He did not. Said they put him in the dark room during the day, but they kept him up after sunrise and roused him before the sun set again. Rendition tactics—they’re trying to make him slip up, change his story, give them some doubt to pin an arraignment on.”

Grim as that sounded, it made me smile. As Luc had noted yesterday, there were few as stubborn as Ethan Sullivan. And while he did his unenviable job as Master, I had to do mine.

“Do we have anything on the carnival?”

“Nothing else so far.” He took in my zipped-up jacket, my belted sword. “You going to the hospital?”

“I am. I have my phone if you need me. And I checked in with Jonah—he said things are calm at Grey and Navarre, all things considered.”

Luc nodded. “So we have a momentary lull, at least until we come up with something.”

I took that as a dismissal. “Do me a solid,” I said, heading for the door. “Find me a carnival.”

The amount of grinning I did at the basement door as I typed in my code, heard the hearty click of the tumblers shifting, was probably inappropriate. But I was from Chicago, and I had not only an off-street parking spot, but a heated, indoor parking spot. It was a luxury few of us even bothered to imagine. Like Moneypenny, it was another silver lining from the rioters’ beating of my poor, departed Volvo.

Moneypenny sat, sleek and silver, in her appointed spot. The “Visitor” designation had been painted over, and “Sentinel” stenciled over the white rectangle in vibrant blue.

“This does not suck,” I murmured, and pulled Moneypenny into the cold Chicago night.

The Ops Room had been my first stop en route to visit my grandfather, but I had one more errand before heading south. My grandfather had a sweet tooth and a favorite cookie, and I could only imagine that the food he was served by the hospital didn’t offer much in the way of sugary treats. I grabbed a bag of Oreos from a quick shop along the way and drove to the south side hospital where he was being treated.

I was half surprised my father hadn’t yet transferred my grandfather to their home in Oak Park, the neighborhood where my parents lived. That’s where he’d recuperate when he was discharged. But they hadn’t moved him yet, so I pulled into a visitor’s spot in the garage and followed the stream of families with balloons and flowers into the hospital.

The hospital smelled the same as it had when he’d been admitted a few days ago: like disinfectants and flowers.

My grandfather was muttering when I stepped into the doorway, a remote control in his hand, his eyes on the small television that hung on the opposite wall. He looked like I expected many grandfathers did—caterpillar eyebrows and a halo of hair that didn’t quite cover the bald spot on the top of his head. He usually preferred plaid shirts and thickly soled shoes, but tonight he wore a blue hospital gown.

At the sound of my knock, he glanced up and smiled, then held out his arms. “Come on over, rover.”

I did, offering him a gentle hug. “I’m glad to see you’re up and awake.”

“Awake, anyways,” he said. “Up’s going to take a little longer. My gams aren’t going to be the same.”

I nodded. “Probably no stilettos for you for a while. But you’ll manage.”

“I will,” he agreed.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, atop white sheets, and put a hand over his. His skin was thin and bruised, although I wasn’t sure if that was from his injuries or the tubes and wires that still ran from his body to machines at his sides.

“I brought a present.” I presented the bag of Oreos and loved the sudden, wide pitch of his eyes.

He slid open the drawer on the nightstand beside the bed. “Hide ’em,” he said at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. “Nurse’ll be in here to check in, in a few minutes.”

Sure enough, a nurse peeked in—ponytailed, fresh faced, and wearing blue scrubs.

“You all right, Chuck?”

“Good, Stella. Thanks,” he said, with a little wave.

She smiled and wandered off, and my grandfather sighed.

“She seems nice,” I offered.

“They’re all nice. But they’re nice constantly. Every hour when they check in, every time they open the door in the middle of the night and let the light in. And I’m a cop. Former, maybe, but still a cop. I don’t need to be checked on like a child.” His tone was growly and irritable, and it made me feel infinitely better. Growly and irritable seemed like a stop on the journey toward healing.

“I’m looking forward to a night’s sleep in a dark and quiet room.”

Noise erupted from the television set, drawing our gazes.

“News,” he said. “I was hoping to catch the Blackhawks score.”

I didn’t know much about hockey; the only time I’d been to a game was when Grandpa had gotten tickets from the family of a grateful citizen. He’d been a fan ever since.

“Did they win?” I asked.

He used the bedside remote to turn the volume down. “Not even close. Three to one.”

That seemed close enough for me, but hockey was its own weird world, and I didn’t feel qualified to point out the difference.

“How are you feeling?”

“Today, a little achy.” He shifted uncomfortably.

“Do you need something for the pain? I could call Stella.”

He gestured to the electronic drip at the side of the bed. “Got it,” he said. “But I don’t like to use it. Dulls the mind.”

And a cop, former or otherwise, would not want a dulled mind.

“How long are you going to have to stay here?”

“Doc thinks forty-eight more hours. They want to make sure everything’s in the right place—and going to stay there—before they send me to Oak Park. Your father has hired a slew of nurses and doctors.”

“You sound resigned,” I said with a smile.

“They’re being very generous,” my grandfather said, very diplomatically. He might not have agreed with the decisions my father had made, but he wasn’t much for criticizing.

“Have you thought about where you’ll live when you’re up and running again? Will you stay on the south side?”

Chicago wasn’t a city without problems or violence, and the south side bore much of the weight of those issues. As a cop, Grandpa decided the south side needed him more than the north, so that’s where he and my grandmother had made their home. That was undoubtedly part of the reason for my father’s lifetime quest for money and power.