Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)(46)

“I have to go into the Trib’s office this morning,” Grady said. He didn’t look all that hale and hearty and he had circles under his eyes, but he wasn’t moving nearly as slowly as he had been yesterday. He glanced at the clock and frowned. “Well, hell. It’s well past morning, so I have to get there as soon as possible. I have an exclusive to write, after all.” He smiled broadly.

“There’s not much to be done at the moment,” Max said grimly. “I want to go back to The Silver Chalice and see if we can find anything that might help. Macey, do you have any idea where this Flora might be hiding out?”

“I would guess the same place Iscariot was, but we weren’t able to find his hideout.” She looked disgusted with the situation. Or maybe she was just remembering seeing her father in the buff.

Max forced himself to ignore that incident. “To get to the school yesterday without being exposed to sunlight, they had to be transported under some sort of cover. I suspect the white truck that was parked near the servants’ entrance was the vehicle. I’m going to check that as well and try to determine where it came from. Maybe we can trace them that way.”

“I’ll go to the Chalice,” Woodmore said. “See if I can find anything.”

“Where is the crooked tongue knife?” Max asked suddenly. “If we find Flora, we’ll need it when we get in. And do we know what to do with it when we get Rekk’s Pyramid?”

“I’ll look at Temple’s notes while I’m there,” Woodmore replied. “See if she had more information. If not, maybe Wayren will help.” There seemed to be less of a combative nature beneath his words today. Perhaps the thought of going to Siberia after Cezar Moldavi had cooled his ire. “And I have the knife with me. I’ll keep it on my person at all times.”

Max nodded. “Brilliant.” He noticed Woodmore’s face relaxed a bit at that show of trust and support, and he was glad for it. The man was an asset. He just needed to keep his hands off Macey.

That brought his attention to Grady, and then casually over to Macey.

Was Woodmore right? Was Macey in love with the Irish bloke? If so, Max sure as hell couldn’t tell.

And why on earth was he so interested in who was in love with or sleeping with whom all of a sudden? They had work to do.

He looked at his daughter. If possible, she appeared even more strained and exhausted than she had yesterday. As if she hadn’t slept a bit last night.

“Macey, I know you’re going to argue with me, but I would appreciate it if you would stay here just for a while today. Let yourself heal, and”—he rushed on before she could speak her outrage—“be here in the event one of us learns something and needs assistance. Like a home base—there’s a telephone in case we need to use it and someone should be here to answer it. Only for a few hours, while Savina is gone.”

“Where is Savina going?” Macey asked, mutiny blazing in her eyes. Max had a feeling he was going to regret this, but as a father and as the summas—but mostly the former—he really wanted her to take a little more time to rest and heal before whatever terrible challenge they were going to face next.

For he knew it would happen, and he greatly feared how ugly it would be.

“I have a late lunch meeting with the mayor,” Savina replied, entering the room at that moment. “In fact, I’m off right now. We’re meeting at two, and it’s after one.”

“A meeting with Dever? Why?” Macey asked, still a little belligerent but curious nonetheless.

Savina, who looked good enough to eat in a pink suit that made her arse look spectacular and a pair of shoes that showed off her gams, was charmingly bashful. “I’m being considered for the honor of receiving a key to the city. It’s just an initial meeting—I suppose to see whether I qualify.”

“Good luck,” Max told her, his eyes lingering. Damn…that interlude in the lavatory had been something.

She glanced at him, and he swore he saw her cheeks flush slightly more pink. “I can’t imagine I’ll be more than two or three hours, at the most. It’s only lunch.”

Macey reluctantly agreed to stay at Grady’s for the time being, though Max was most definitely the recipient of an icy glare.

Just another to add to the list.



+ + +

As she rode in a taxi to her meeting, Savina quivered a little at the memory of the steamy—literally—interlude in the bathroom that morning.

Then she exhaled a long sigh when she thought about Max asking her to marry him. She was a modern woman, and marriage wasn’t a requirement for her. She’d never really thought about it with Max. She figured he’d already had one marriage, and he wasn’t about to try it again.

But he’d surprised her this morning, and she’d had plenty of time to think about it while getting ready for her luncheon. Maybe marriage was the only way he could prove his commitment to her—for his own sake. Maybe it was his way of letting her know that he really never would leave her again.

If that was the case, she’d happily agree.

She smiled, suddenly flushed with excitement as she climbed out of the cab. She was going to get married!

Savina put all thoughts of Max and their upcoming nuptials (she’d insist they marry somewhere in Rome) out of her mind as she walked into La Petite Café, a small restaurant inside Marshall Field’s department store. She’d been surprised and delighted when a messenger from Mayor Dever’s office had found her yesterday morning at the Chicago Library while she was supervising the breakdown of her part of the photography exhibit.

She’d dressed smartly in a pencil-slim skirt and matching jacket of pale pink, a white blouse with a large silk flower pinned at the throat, and a splendid cream and navy hat she’d bought in Paris. Her gloves were pristine and white, and her kitten-heeled shoes had been polished for the occasion and gleamed navy. Max had certainly seemed to approve, if the look in his eyes was any indication.

Savina walked into the café, which was just as elegant as the Sainte Antoine in Paris—with its cloth-covered tables, single red roses in black bud vases, and fabric-swathed chairs. A print by Alphonse Mucha hung on the wall, along with other Art Deco decor echoed in vases, trim, and furnishings.

A woman at a table near the corner gave a little wave, and Savina recognized her from the photography exhibit Saturday night. That must be Miss McGillicut, who’d sent the message. Savina had seen the woman with Mayor Dever at the show, and any last bit of nervousness that she’d somehow been mistaken or fooled about the honor of being gifted with the key to the city faded.

Savina made her way across the room and greeted the woman as she approached the table. “And here I thought I’d be early,” she said with a smile, then offered her gloved hand to shake.

“I’ve only just arrived myself,” replied Miss McGillicut. “Please, sit here—it’s such a lovely view to watch the street.”

Savina took the seat next to her hostess and removed her gloves, setting them on the table next to her pocketbook. “I must say, I was quite surprised to receive your message yesterday.”

The woman smiled. “I was very happy that my messenger found you at the library. Mayor Dever wasn’t aware of where you were staying while in Chicago, but I told him I was certain you’d be present while they were packing up your lovely photographs. Of course you wouldn’t take the chance some damage might be done to them.”

“Most certainly not. And will the mayor be joining us?” Savina asked, glancing toward the door. She’d thought the message indicated Dever would be present, but maybe she’d misunderstood. “Or is it to be just the two of us gals?” she added, not wanting to sound as if Miss McGillicut wasn’t worth her time.

“The mayor wanted me to get to know you a bit first. I do hope you don’t mind.” She flashed a broad smile and tucked her bright red hair behind an ear.

“Of course not,” Savina said, then glanced around the café. “What a lovely place. It reminds me of a little slice of Paris, right here in the middle of America.”

“It is, isn’t it? I am particularly fond of that print over there—do you see it?” Miss McGillicut pointed to the Mucha lithograph Savina had noticed. “Do you know what the name of it is?”

“Why, no, I don’t,” Savina replied as a waitress brought over a tray with coffee set up for two and began to pour their drinks.

“It’s called Friendship. What a lovely thing, a friendship. Do you have any close friends, Miss Ellison?”

Savina was momentarily startled at the reminder that her companion and the mayor both knew her by her professional name. Would the key to the city be engraved with her real name, or her professional name? Would she have a choice?

“Do you mean female friends? Girl friends? I’m afraid in my line of work, I don’t have much of a chance to…cultivate many of them. I…er…travel quite a lot,” Savina replied as she added two lumps of sugar to her coffee.

But she hoped, in the deepest part of her heart, that perhaps someday she and Macey might be friends. It would be refreshing and freeing to have a close friend—who wasn’t her lover—who understood what sort of life she and Max lived.