Chasing Midnight. Susan Krinard
retreated, letting Allie into the flat. “Something has happened, Allie…someone has—”
“Sit down, for God’s sake.” Allie grabbed Lou’s arm and led her to the nearest chair. “I should never have left you alone. Let me get you a drink, and then you can tell me what—”
“I’m all right.” Lou took a deep breath and clasped Allie’s hand. “Someone has been in the apartment. I lay down as you suggested, and I must have fallen asleep.”
She made a mute gesture at the room, and Allie looked. At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything wrong, but then she noticed the chair sitting off kilter, the pictures hanging crooked on the walls, the knickknacks scattered across the floor. A glass vase lay shattered beside the sofa.
“I didn’t move anything, in case you wanted to call the police,” Lou said. “I didn’t know where to find you, or I’d—”
“I know. You did the right thing, Lou.” Allie pounded her fist on her thigh. “For you to suffer two attacks in one day…”
“They weren’t after me. It’s obvious that the intruder was looking for something, something he wanted very badly.” Lou rose and took a few agitated steps toward the hall. “I think I woke up when the vase broke. I must have interrupted the thief, because he had barely started in your bedroom.”
Allie clenched her teeth. “How did he get out?”
“Your bedroom window was open. He must have climbed up somehow.”
“What did he take?”
“Only a few pieces of jewelry, as far as I can tell.” Lou turned in a slow circle, her arms folded tightly across her chest as if she were fighting the urge to clean, scour and polish until every trace of the trespasser was consigned to the dustbin. “I’m so sorry. If only I’d woke up sooner…”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Allie put her arm around Lou’s shoulders and steered her into the kitchen. “I’m glad you didn’t, or the bastard might have hurt you.”
She pushed Lou into a seat at the small dining table and searched the cupboards for the tea Lou preferred to anything stronger. Once she’d prepared a steaming cup and left Lou to enjoy it in peace and quiet, she made a thorough examination of the flat from door to bathroom.
Lou had been right; it didn’t seem that much had been taken. Allie’s jewelry box had been upended and the contents scattered over her dressing table. The closet door stood open, boxes strewn and spilling mothballed clothing and last year’s hats across the carpet.
Allie opened her window and looked out. There was just enough of a ledge for a very skilled acrobat to make his way to the fire escape.
A very skilled acrobat.
Allie sat on the edge of the mattress, working her fingers into the quilted satin bedspread. After her conversation with Elisha, she couldn’t help but suspect that the “papers” he was looking for might be of interest to Raoul, as well. Elisha had said Cato had willed these mysterious papers to him purely because he was the only one who could understand them. But in the park he’d been scared to death that someone would see him. What exactly had those notes contained?
And who had been in Allie’s apartment?
Was it you, Raoul? Do you want something else from me besides my submission?
If Raoul was behind this invasion, he’d obviously had reason to make it appear as if a common thief were responsible. Whatever it was he hoped to discover, she intended to find it first.
If you’re spoiling for a fight, Raoul Boucher, she thought, you’ll get it.
Because Griffin Durant was wrong. If it came down to choosing a soul or survival, she would pick survival every time.
“I CAN’T GO BACK.”
The Master heard Elisha Hatch’s puerile excuses with a calm that the human had every reason to mistrust. Hatch cringed, his defiance a matter of one fear pitted against another. The Master could spare him no sympathy.
“I must have them,” he said coldly, holding Hatch still with the power of his gaze.
The human swallowed. “I tried. I asked her. She wasn’t lying…she really doesn’t know.”
“Why should I trust your judgment?”
“I’ve known her ever since she was Converted. She’s never been like the rest.”
“Skilled at prevarication, you mean?”
The human blanched. “I don’t intend any offense.”
“Naturally not.” The Master leaned back in his chair. “Even if she knows nothing of the papers, they may still be in her possession. You must finish searching her apartment.”
“I think I was seen. They’re looking for me already. If I go back now, they’ll find me and question me, and then I won’t be of any further use to you.”
A certain slyness had entered the human’s voice, a pathetic attempt at negotiation he had no hope of carrying off. “Let me wait a couple of weeks,” he said, “so they think I’m really gone. He’ll have enough to worry about soon enough, and then I can slip in with no one the wiser.”
The Master traced his finger over his lower lip. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “But if he gets the papers first, I will hold you entirely responsible.”
Hatch literally shook in his shoes. “I…understand.”
Of course he did. All the Master’s human employees were well aware of the penalty for failure. They were tools to be used and discarded, their petty dreams of wealth and power destined to end along with their short and miserable lives.
“Leave me,” the Master told Hatch. “Stay out of my sight until you’re prepared to complete your task, or I may lose my patience.”
Hatch bowed. “I understand, My Liege.” He scrambled from the room. After a moment the Master rose and went to visit the laboratory, reminding himself that what he sought was almost within his grasp.
Patience, he thought. You have waited thirty years. You can wait another few weeks.
A few weeks, a taste of ambrosia, and the new age of glory would truly begin.
“I JUST DON’T UNDERSTAND what’s happened to her, Grif,” Malcolm Owen said, dropping his head into his hands with a sigh. “It’s been three months since I’ve spoken to her. Three months! I don’t care what De Luca says…she wouldn’t just give me the brush-off like that.”
Griffin steepled his fingers under his chin, regarding his friend with sympathy. “You’re absolutely sure her father didn’t send her away?” he asked, signaling for Starke to refresh Mal’s drink. “Just because he didn’t object before, that doesn’t mean he approved of your plans. It’s one thing for you to take his daughter out to nightclubs and speakeasies, and quite another to marry her.”
Mal laughed bitterly. “You talk as if De Luca was a real father to her instead of a mobster more interested in his profits than any genuine human emotion. He could have stepped in long ago if he’d wanted to put the kibosh on our engagement.” He leaned forward, meeting Griffin’s gaze. “Margot wanted it as much as I did, Grif. She was sick of being a bootlegger’s daughter. She was ready to throw it all away…the furs, the jewelry, the automobiles, everything.”
And live happily ever after in your humble apartment off Washington Square, scraping by on a playwright’s income, Griffin thought. If she was that much in love with you, my friend, why did she disappear?
He frowned. Mal was a passionate lover, just as he was passionate about his plays and music and art and life itself. He threw himself into every scheme with a wide-eyed enthusiasm and guilelessness that belied