But I wasn’t here to gawk at the expensive furnishings, so I moved over to the desk in the back of the room near the window that I’d just slithered through. To my disappointment, the golden wood was spotless, as though it had never been touched, much less actually used, and not so much as a pen or a paper clip littered the smooth, shiny surface. Then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Damian Rivera didn’t have to do something as common as work. From what I knew of him, his favorite hobbies were drinking, smoking, shopping for antiques, and flitting from one woman to the next. Not necessarily in that order.
Still, I’d come here to search for information about the Circle, so I opened all the drawers and tapped all around the desk, looking for hidden compartments. But the drawers were empty, except for some stacks of cocktail napkins and paper coasters, and no secret hidey-holes were carved into the wood.
Strike one.
Since nothing was in the desk, I moved over to the bar, perusing the shelves underneath it and the wooden ones behind it. But all I found were more napkins and coasters, along with several sterling-silver martini shakers and other old-fashioned drink-making accoutrements.
Strike two.
Frustration surged through me, but I forced myself to stay calm and search the rest of the office. I ran my hands over all of the furniture, looking for any secret compartments. Examined all of the vases, carvings, and statues for false bottoms. Tapped on the walls, searching for hidden panels. I even rolled back the thick rugs and used my magic to listen to the flagstones, just in case a safe was hidden in the floor.
But there was nothing. No secret compartments, no hidden panels, no floor safes.
Strike three, and I was out.
My frustration mixed with disappointment, both burning through my veins like bitter acid. A couple of weeks ago, I’d found several safety-deposit boxes full of information on the Circle that Fletcher Lane, my mentor, had compiled. For some reason that I didn’t understand, Fletcher had only photos of the group’s members, but it had been simple enough for me to get their names, especially since many of them were such wealthy, prominent Ashland citizens.
I’d scouted several of the Circle members, and Damian Rivera proved to be the easiest target with the least amount of security. So I’d broken in here tonight in hopes of learning more about the group, especially the identity of the mystery man who headed the organization, the bastard who’d ordered my mother’s murder. But maybe there was a reason Rivera’s security was so lax. Maybe he wasn’t as important or as involved as I’d thought.
Still frustrated, I turned to the fireplace, which took up most of the wall across from the bar. Since any little bit of information could be important, I pulled out my phone and snapped shots of all the framed photos propped on the mantel, hoping that one of them might hold some small clue.
Not only did Damian Rivera love the finer things in life, but he also loved himself, since most of the photos were softly lit glamour shots showing off his wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, bronze skin, and startlingly white teeth. Rivera was in his prime, in his early thirties, and he was an exceptionally handsome man—and a thoroughly disgusting individual, even by Ashland’s admittedly low, low standards. Not only was he a trust-fund baby, living off his family’s wealth, never having worked a day in his life, but he’d also never faced any consequences for any of the despicable things he’d done.
And he had done plenty.
Silvio Sanchez, my personal assistant, had been looking into Rivera for only a few days, but he’d already found several arrests, mostly for DUIs, stretching all the way back to when Damian was a teenager. Rivera also had a violent temper and some serious anger-management issues. He’d beaten more than one girlfriend over the years, servants too, and had even put a couple of them in the hospital with broken bones and other serious injuries.
But all of that was nothing compared with the woman he’d killed.
One night during his college years, Rivera had gotten into his SUV and decided to see how fast he could drunkenly navigate Ashland’s mountain roads. He’d come around one curve, crossed the center line, and plowed head-on into a sedan being driven by a single mother of two. She died instantly, but Rivera walked away from the crash with only minor injuries. He never was charged in the woman’s death, thanks to his own mother, who pulled all the right strings and paid off all the right people to cover the whole thing up.
But Damian hadn’t learned his lesson. He hadn’t learned anything, since he’d been arrested for several more DUIs over the years, including his most recent offense on New Year’s Eve just a few days ago. Not that he would face any consequences for that one either. His mama was long dead, but Damian still had someone to clean up his messes: Bruce Porter, a dwarf who’d been the Rivera family’s head of security for years.
I stopped in front of a picture of Maria Rivera, a beautiful woman with long golden hair, brown eyes, and red lips. In the photo, she was smiling and standing between Damian and his father, Richard Rivera, with a dour-looking Bruce Porter hovering behind them in the distance. I raised my phone and snapped a shot of them—
“You’ve been in there a while now.” Finn’s voice sounded in my ear. “Does that mean you’ve finally found something good?”
“No,” I muttered. “Just a lot of liquor, antiques, and photos.”
“What kind of liquor?” Finn chirped with obvious interest. “Anything I would drink?”
I slid my phone into my jacket pocket and took a closer look at the rows of gleaming bottles behind the bar. “Oh, I think that you would drink them all, especially since Rivera’s tastes are even more expensive than yours. Why, you would cackle with glee if you could see all the spirits he has in here.”
“Well, why don’t you bring me a bottle or two so I can cackle in person?” Finn chirped again. “I might as well get something for standing out here in the cold.”
Even though he was in the woods outside and couldn’t see me, I still rolled my eyes. “I came here for information on the Circle. Not to pilfer Daddy’s booze like some naughty teenager.”
“You say potato, I say opportunity.”
I had started to respond when a faint creak sounded in the hallway outside, as though someone had stepped on a floorboard. I froze. The creak came again, louder and closer this time, and it was followed by something far, far worse: the distinctive snick of a key sliding in a lock.
“Let’s have a drink,” a faint, muffled voice said on the other side of the door.
2
I bolted for the window, intending to yank it up and dive through the opening. Otherwise, I’d be caught, and all of my careful surveillance of Damian Rivera and the other Circle members would have been for nothing.
But I’d forgotten about the white velvet bow hanging from the window frame, and I ran straight into it. Even worse, the fabric decided to stick to me, like an octopus clutching at my clothes.
“Shit,” I hissed, trying to peel off the clinging velvet and open the window at the same time. “Shit, shit, shit!”
“Gin?” Finn’s voice rang in my ear, sharp with worry. “What’s wrong?”
I finally slapped the bow away and grabbed hold of the frame. “I thought you said that Rivera was attending some charity dinner tonight?”
“He is. According to my sources, he RSVP’d several weeks ago. It didn’t even start until eight o’clock, so the dinner shouldn’t be anywhere close to being finished.”
“Well, tell that to Rivera,” I muttered. “Because he’s right outside the office.”
“Get out of there, Gin.” Finn’s voice crackled with even more worry. “Get out of there right now.”
I hoisted up the window, wincing at the faint screech it made. “Way ahead of you.”
As soon as the glass was out of the way, I ducked through the opening and stepped out onto the roof.
At least, I tried to.
My foot caught on that stupid bow again, and my leg stuck straight out in midair, as though I were doing a complicated yoga pose. I ground my teeth and yanked my foot free of the clutching fabric. The sudden, violent jerking motion pitched me forward, but I managed to stagger away from the window and catch myself before I did a header onto the roof or, worse, fell off it completely.
The second I regained my balance, I whipped around and hurried back over to the window, reaching for the frame to push it down.
Across the office, the antique crystal knob turned, and the door rattled, as though someone was putting his shoulder into the wood to force it open.
“Damn door always sticks,” a deep male voice said.
The crystal knob turned again, and the door finally swung open. I grabbed the frame and shoved the window down as fast as I could. But I didn’t have the best grip on it, and I didn’t manage to close it all the way. I grunted, trying to force the window down that final inch, even as a man stepped into the office.
If I could see him, then he could see me, so I abandoned the window and lurched to the side to get out of sight. My heart hammered in my chest, beating up into my throat, and I snapped my hand down to my side, palming a knife and waiting for the inevitable shouts of surprise and discovery.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .
Ten . . . twenty . . . thirty . . .
Forty-five . . . sixty . . . ninety . . .
I counted off the seconds in my head, but more than a minute passed, and no alarms blared. Instead, something else echoed out of the office and through the slightly open window to me.
Tinkle-tinkle.
The distinctive sound of ice cubes dropping into a glass, followed by the crack of a bottle opening and a steady glug-glug-glug of liquid, eased some of my worry. Still gripping my knife, I dropped into a low crouch, crept forward, and peered through the glass.
Sure enough, Damian Rivera had come home early from his charity dinner. He looked the same as in all the glamour shots on the fireplace mantel—black hair, perfect teeth, trim figure poured into an expensive gray suit. The only things that the airbrushed photos didn’t show were the red flush that stained his bronze cheeks and his slow, exaggerated movements. Someone had already had a few too many.
And he was intent on having even more. Rivera tossed back his Scotch and poured himself another, filling his glass almost to the top, like he was dying of thirst. He took another healthy swallow, draining half of the Scotch, before turning and gesturing at someone.
“Well, don’t just stand out there,” he said, his voice a suave purr. “Come in and have a drink.”
A long-suffering sigh sounded, and another man stepped into my line of sight. With his black hair and expensive suit, he could have been an older, fifty-something clone of Damian Rivera, if not for the black goatee that clung to his chin and the displeased pucker of his lips. And unlike Rivera’s sloppy state, this man’s black eyes were sharp and clear and fixed in a cold, flat stare that I knew all too well.
Hugh Tucker, the Circle’s number one vampire enforcer and my nemesis.
I sucked in a breath, my fingers curling even tighter around the knife in my hand.
“Gin?” I heard Finn’s voice in my ear again. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I got back out onto the roof in time. Rivera’s inside the office now. Tucker’s with him.”
“Be careful,” Finn said. “If Tucker sees you—”
“I know, I know. Quiet now. I want to hear what they’re saying.”
A faint sound came through my transmitter, as though Finn had started to deliver another warning, but he fell silent. I scooted forward, tilting my head so that my ear was close to the window opening for optimal eavesdropping.
Tucker joined Rivera at the bar, although he didn’t sit down on one of the padded stools. Instead, he watched his companion grab a second glass and fill it with ice and Scotch. Rivera pushed the glass across the bar to Tucker, but the vampire didn’t deign to pick it up.
Rivera grinned, not bothered in the least by the other man’s obvious hostility. He raised his own glass in a silent, mocking toast, drained all of the amber liquor inside, and smacked his lips. “You really should try the Scotch. It’s Brighton’s Best, straight from Bigtime, New York. Costs a fortune, but it’s worth it.”
Tucker’s reply was a decidedly noncommittal “Mmm.”
Rivera poured himself a third Scotch and moved away from the bar. He staggered across the office and flung himself down onto one of the brown leather couches, making it creak under his weight.
“So, Hugh,” Rivera said, his voice slurring just a bit. “What was so important that I had to leave my dinner and my lovely lady and rush back to meet you?”
Instead of answering, Tucker headed over to the fireplace, moving down the line of photos and staring at each one in turn, just as I had done. His nostrils flared with disgust as he eyed all of Rivera’s glamour shots, but he quickly moved past those, stopping at that picture of Richard and Maria Rivera standing with their son. Tucker’s nostrils flared again, as though something about the photo greatly displeased him, and he nudged the frame with his index finger, so that it was crooked and out of line with the others.
“You know exactly why I’m here.” Tucker crossed his arms over his chest and turned to face Rivera. “It’s the same problem that I brought to your attention several weeks ago. One that you have done absolutely nothing to correct.”
Rivera shrugged. “That’s because I don’t see it as a problem.”
“Well, you should,” Tucker snapped. “Since it is entirely your fault.”
Rivera leaned back against the couch, settling himself even deeper into the plush leather. He toed off his black wing tips and propped his socked feet on an overstuffed ottoman that matched the couch.
“So what if it’s my fault? No one knows about it, which means that no one’s going to do anything about it. That means that it’s not really a problem at all.”
Tucker’s eyes narrowed at Rivera’s breezy tone, but the other man was too boozed up to notice the vampire’s clenched jaw and how his index finger tapped impatiently against his opposite elbow. I got the impression that Hugh Tucker was one more cavalier dismissal away from crossing the office, snatching Damian Rivera up off the couch, and snapping his neck.
Well, that would have been fine and dandy with me. I didn’t much care exactly how the members of the Circle died, only that their reign of terror ended and that they finally paid for ordering my mother’s murder. For once, I actually found myself rooting for Tucker, hoping that he would give in to his anger and take care of Rivera once and for all.
But of course that didn’t happen.
Tucker uncrossed his arms and smoothed his gray tie and matching suit jacket, using the motions to help get his anger and annoyance under control. His voice was as cold as the winter wind tangling my hair when he spoke again. “Well, I know about it, which means that he knows about it. You know as well as I do that he doesn’t like complications, and he certainly doesn’t need them, especially not now.”
My eyes narrowed. He? Tucker had to be talking about his boss, the mysterious leader of the Circle who pulled the rest of the group’s evil strings. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be a complete bust after all.
Come on, Tuck. Say his name. That’s all I need you to do. Say his name, say his name, say his name . . .
Rivera snorted. “Really? He doesn’t want complications? You mean like all the ones you’ve caused by not killing Gin Blanco yet?”
Tucker stiffened at the insult.
Rivera gave him a smug smile, knowing that he’d scored a direct hit. “You know how our little group loves to gossip. I heard all about it. How you thought that you’d forced Blanco into finding and handing over those jewels from Deirdre’s tourist-t
rap theme park. But Blanco hoodwinked you instead, didn’t she? Gave you a bag full of fakes, and you were too stupid to know the difference. Why, the way I heard it, you proudly handed those fake jewels over to our fearless leader, and he was so angry that he crushed them all with his bare hands right in front of you, then made you clean up the mess.”
Tucker’s lips pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t say anything.
“Face it, Hugh.” Rivera’s voice took on a sneering, mocking tone. “You might work for him, but you’ll never be one of us. Not really. Never again. Not only did your father squander your family’s wealth, but he also ruined your position in the group. You’ll never get back that standing, that respect, no matter how hard you try.”
Tucker’s face remained flat and expressionless, but he couldn’t hide the faint red blush creeping up his neck, almost as if he was embarrassed by Rivera’s revelations.
I frowned. I’d thought that Hugh Tucker was second-in-command of the Circle, right below the mysterious he. But Rivera was making Tucker sound like some castoff, some poor country cousin who had fallen on hard times. Some servant the members of the Circle charitably let do their dirty work in exchange for the privilege of hovering in their highfalutin orbit. It almost made me feel sorry for the vampire.
Almost.
“And then, of course, there was your unfortunate choice of a woman back then, which only compounds all your many mistakes with Blanco now.” Rivera’s lips curved up into a cruel smile. “Tell me, Hugh, are you still carrying a torch for Eira Snow after all these years?”
I gasped, shock jolting through my body like a lightning bolt. I lurched back from the window, causing one of my feet to slip out from under me. My other foot went flying, and my ass hit the roof a second later.
Thud.
Snared Page 2