“But this isn’t the time or the place.”
“We have one chance to sell this.”
Her own pale eyes were dark with what he would have mistaken for grief if he didn’t know it for worry. The room was filling with people come to pay their respects. Most were here for Hadley’s sake. The rest were part of their team. The mixture of the oblivious and the undercover kept his teeth on edge.
Women’s room is clear.
Men’s room is clear.
Parking lot is clear.
Kitchen is clear.
Alley is clear.
Voices whispered through his earpiece as the enforcers, all tested and cleared, made their rounds.
Drawn to her like a magnet, Linus’s gaze found Grier, and he inclined his head toward the door.
Behind him, his wraith, Cletus, hovered above the crowd in his tattered cloak, his cowl hiding the void of his face, as he searched for unseen dangers.
“I have to return to my post.” Grier lifted her glass in acknowledgment. “More guests are arriving.”
As people entered, Grier drew an impervious sigil on each of them, playing the gesture off as a necromantic rite of mourning. The sigil was an invention of hers, a close secret kept by her inner circle. It worked as advertised, making those who wore it impervious to harm.
Between Linus and Grier, Hadley and himself, they had taken every precaution. From the sigils to the location, the trap was set with as much control of the outcome as they could manage between them.
Hadley ended her most recent circuit of the room beside him. “I got nothing.”
“I haven’t noticed any peculiar behavior either.” A heavy sadness filled him. “We know everyone here.”
“We expected the bomber to be one of us.” She rested her hand on his forearm. “It sucks to have it confirmed.”
“It’s not confirmed yet,” he reminded her then checked his phone. “Mom says the party is in full swing.”
“I can’t see them targeting the Faraday a second time.” She kept her head down to hide her expression, but the words were spoken as more of a prayer than a certainty. “They know we’re on to them now.”
“I don’t mean to intrude,” a willowy teen all but whispered. “May I have a word, Midas?”
“Go.” Hadley nudged him toward the young gwyllgi. “I’ll be right here.”
Suspicion bloomed when the girl led him to a quiet corner, and he resented the coven that much more for making him doubt the young among his own people. “How can I help you, Amber?”
“I had an appointment with Doc Liz at the infirmary, but she didn’t show.”
“There must have been an emergency at the hospital.”
Liz was a surgeon who worked at the local human hospital, but she pitched in when Abbott needed a hand, usually with young females in the pack.
“That’s what I thought too, but she’s not returning my calls to reschedule.”
“When was your appointment?”
“The night Choco-Loco burned.” She rested her small palms over her flat stomach. “That’s why I gave it a few days. I didn’t know about the fire until after she missed our appointment, but I figured if she wasn’t working over at the hospital, then she must be helping people hurt in the other bombings. I didn’t want to take her away from that.”
Midas hadn’t seen Liz in a week, maybe two. Their paths didn’t cross all that often, but he didn’t want to admit that and worry the girl. “I’ll call Ares. She can get a message to Liz for you.”
Using Ares to reach Liz set a bad precedent and might leave her feeling like a receptionist for her wife. That was conflict he didn’t want to invite into their home. But the girl was worried, and his inner beast picked up on her nerves and wouldn’t settle until he took action.
Keeping his voice low, Midas asked, “Can Abbott help?”
“It’s personal,” she whispered back. “I would rather talk to another woman about it.”
“I understand.” That is to say, he understood her situation was beyond his ken. “There’s a healer in Buckhead—Briony Timms. She’s a friend of Abbott’s. She can see you if it’s an urgent matter.”
“I’ll wait for Doc Liz,” she mumbled, cheeks pink. “I—I’ll take the number though. Just in case.”
Once he got her squared away, he returned to Hadley, who had been half listening to their conversation if her frown was any indication. Unable to resist, Midas traced the scooped neckline that exposed several inches of her back.
“You’re distracting me.” She bounced her shoulders. “Behave.”
“You’re distracting me.” He relished the chills rising on her skin. “You should have worn a burlap sack.”
“I was fresh out,” she demurred. “All I had in the pantry was cling wrap, and that felt risqué for a wake.”
A mental picture of Hadley bound in clear plastic unspooled into his head and stuck there.
“You’re growling.” She backed against him until her shoulders hit his chest. “Loudly.”
Suddenly, he was grateful she hid the front of his pants. “You paint a vivid picture.”
“Can you two fake it a while longer, or do I need to separate you?”
Midas clenched his fists when he noticed Bishop standing beside them.
“I get we’re all happy there’s evidence to support Boaz and company might be alive, but you shouldn’t be that kind of happy in public, let alone here and now. Think with the head on your shoulders, not the one in your pants.”
As much as Midas wanted to snarl and snap, mostly Bishop’s neck, Bishop was right to call him out on his behavior. There were myriad ways this could still go wrong, and Midas wasn’t doing Hadley any favors if he let her hope sweep him away too.
If the coven had her family, they might be torturing them for information on her weaknesses.
If the coven had her family, since they hadn’t asked for a ransom, their skins might be payment.
If the coven had her family, they might already be dead and their remains kept from their eternal peace.
If, if, if.
None of the outcomes at this point were favorable, and it was dangerous letting
