Roaring Shadows: Macey Book 2 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 8) (21 page)

Apparently, Badgley was smart enough to know when he was out of choices, and he stalked off into the glitz and glamour of the gala. That left Macey and Grady alone in the dimly lit alcove.

“I didn’t need your help,” she said, suddenly furious and unsettled at being alone with him—and being the recipient of his unnecessary gallantry. “I was just about to take care of him when you interrupted. Thanks for nothing.” She had to keep her distance and her ire up, but she didn’t find it difficult. She
was
irritated that Grady had ruined the perfect chance for her to blow off some steam.

“Though Badgley would have deserved flying across the room and landing in the middle of the marble floor, I didn’t think it was prudent for you to draw attention to yourself.” He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t exactly glowering at her anymore either. “A little difficult to explain that sort of strength.”

“How did you know that’s what—” Macey felt a rush of heat bloom over her cheeks.

Their eyes met and she knew he remembered too…that moment in his bedroom when he’d undressed her and discovered the elegant little
vis bulla
dangling from her navel.

How strong?
he’d asked, sifting it gently between his fingers, watching her with deep blue eyes.

I could throw you across the room if I wanted. Want to try me?

Ah, no, Macey, lass. I’ve got other things on my mind…

“So,” she said, quickly marshaling her thoughts, reengaging her protective shield, ignoring the memory that was making her insides turn into a hot mush, “dating the boss’s younger cousin, are you? And star investigative reporter now. Moving up in the world, aren’t you, Grady.”

He stepped back a little, a gesture for which she was supremely grateful. For it was becoming difficult to ignore the familiarity of him—the smell of his skin, the sight of the hair through which she’d run her fingers, the lips she’d kissed, the eyes that had looked at her with love. His entire being.

“Carol’s a nice gal,” he said, glancing up as the lights flickered. “But—”

The lights went out. Everything was pitch black.

NINETEEN

~ Standoff in the Gallery ~

Grady wasn’t surprised when
, unlike every other woman in the vicinity, Macey didn’t scream or even gasp when the lights went out.

In fact, she pushed past him, brushing against his jacket sleeve with her quick, compact body. He reacted smoothly enough to grab her arm as she went by. Her gossamer sleeve felt rich and sensuous under his fingers. He remembered the tiny red and black beads glinting in the dark curls at her temple.

“Vampires?” he asked in the vicinity of where her ear should be. He felt the soft brush of her hair against his cheek and caught a good whiff of her—floral and lightly sweet—and closed his eyes as a pang of regret and pain twinged in his belly.

She paused long enough to answer his question—“Not this time”—then was off into the pitch black of the art gallery.

Grady resisted the urge to go after her for a number of reasons; the most relevant being that she didn’t need his help or protection. She, clearly, didn’t want anything from him—something he needed to remind himself. Daily.

He’d been hanging around vampire hunters and counterfeiters too much lately. Just because the lights had gone out didn’t mean anything was wrong—even though, from the number of nervous, high-pitched giggles that still penetrated the darkness, along with low-voiced conversation tinged with concern, no one else seemed to agree.

But before he could move out of the shadowy alcove and make his way back to the main galley, the lights overhead sizzled and popped, then came back on. There was a soft wave of voices lifting with relief and excitement as the party went back into full swing as if nothing had happened. If Grady didn’t know any better, he would have thought Macey planned it all as a way to escape from him. Hell, for all he knew, she had.

He frowned and took the opportunity to unhook the camera strap from around his neck, tucking the pencil and notebook back in his pocket…and it was then he realized the chattering and the undercurrent of uncomfortable chuckles had suddenly turned to silence.

Something was wrong.

Grady heard a soft scuffling sound and absolutely nothing else. He silently put the heavy camera onto the floor deep in the corner and listened, keeping himself tucked behind the large pillar that had hidden Badgley and Macey from passersby.

Then there was a voice. It wasn’t terribly loud, but it carried and it had authority. Or, rather, its words had authority.

“Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen. If everyone will do just as I say, this young lady here won’t get hurt.”

The silence tightened and Grady was desperate to look around the pillar, but he knew he had to make certain he wasn’t seen. Yet his palms had gone damp and his insides swirled because he was certain the “young lady” was Macey. It had to be Macey.

Whatever was going on, she would surely be in the middle of it.

He put that fear roughly from his mind and looked up at the tall, round pillar, tried to tell his heart she knew how to take care of herself. And if he could climb high enough up the column, no one would see him and he could look down and see what was going on.

He considered his options. There was a decorative base at knee height, and then another flourish—like a small platform—just above his head. That would be a good start if he could get there without being noticed.

“Everyone into the center here where I can see you,” came the authoritative voice. “All of you. Move slowly and carefully and keep your hands held high—right where I can see them. Remember, this young woman’s life—and your own—is at stake.”

Swiftly, Grady pulled off his shiny black shoes then stockings, taking care to remain out of sight and soundless. When a shadow carrying a long, ominous shape fell on the floor just beyond his hiding place, Grady froze and flattened himself against the column. He edged around the pillar, matching the speed of the approaching gunman in order to stay out of sight, but taking care not to go too far around the column so he was seen on the other side.

But it was when he was halfway around the column that he was able to catch a glimpse of what was happening. The sight of four men holding Tommy guns pointed at the crowd of people made his insides freeze, but it was a fifth man—presumably the speaker—who was holding a woman up against him, his arm around her throat, and a bent elbow indicating some sort of weapon pointed at her.

The woman was wearing red—like Macey—but that was all Grady could see of her.

The sound of approaching footfalls jolted his attention away from the scenario. He shifted around the column just in time to remain out of sight of the man who’d just passed by. Now he wasn’t alone, however, and was using the slender barrel of his gun to direct two partygoers ahead of him. They too had their hands held high.

“I’ve got two more,” called the gunman as he prodded his captives toward the main gathering. “They were cowering in the toilets.”

Grady didn’t have any time to waste; these bandits—or whoever they were—were clearly going to be thorough about rounding up everyone. He’d already whipped off his tuxedo jacket, tie, and waistcoat, and now he bundled them into the corner with his shoes and stockings.

After removing his suspenders and hanging them around his neck, he climbed on top of the decorative base around the column. It was barely wide enough for him to perch on it tiptoe. He curled his feet down and around the smooth edges, and that little boost in height was all he needed to be able to fully grasp the upper ledge that was now at the level of his forehead. The ledge was hardly any wider than the base, but Grady was able to grip using the column’s vertical grooves for his flexible toes, and the power of his hands and arms to pull himself up to—and then, carefully but quickly, past—the small platform.

The platform was square against the rounded sides of the pillar, leaving small triangles of space for his toes to balance as he wrapped the suspenders around the column, wrapping one end around each hand as leverage to help him climb. After that, everything became a lot easier, but he’d resisted using the suspenders to ascend at the lower level for fear someone would see the black braces moving up the column.

Now, his feet planted solidly against the column, holding himself in place with the suspenders, he was well above the heads of anyone below. And as the covered light bulbs that lit the galley hung from long wires from the high ceiling to bring the illumination close to the ground, he was above them and their shades. This left a good bit of darkness in which he could hide.

By this time, the gunmen had made everyone line up and they were going down the line, two by two, with Tommy guns still trained on the crowd, and divesting each person of any jewelry, money, or firearms they might have.

The jewels and money went into two large canvas sacks, and the weapons were piled in the center of the marble floor. Grady saw that Al Capone was not immune from being frisked, nor was Colonel McCormick, nor even Mr. Vanderbilt.

“Well done,” said the authoritative voice once all of the weapons had been removed and the valuables collected. “And not one casualty. What a well-behaved group you are.” He was still holding the woman in the red dress, but now, all at once, he released her, shoving her roughly toward the other victims. “I’m finished with you for now.”

She stumbled but caught herself and staggered into the crowd, sobbing softly. That was when Grady realized it wasn’t Macey who’d been the hostage, and he found himself scanning the cluster of people in hopes of catching sight of her.

Maybe she’d escaped notice as well, and had gone to contact the authorities. Or—and this he hoped wasn’t the case—she was lurking in the shadows as he was, looking for an opportunity to put a stop to this robbery. For bullets were just as deadly to a vampire hunter as they were to any mortal. While she might be brilliant with a stake—though he’d never seen her in action—this wasn’t Macey’s area of expertise.

“Now, everyone—this way.” The leader made a gesture to the right, and his gunmen lined up on either side to direct the crowd toward one end of the long, narrow exhibition.

It only took Grady a moment to see what was going to happen. The hostages were being herded past the tall metal security gates that reached from floor to ceiling and barricaded that end of the gallery. Thus he wasn’t surprised when, once all sixty or so of Chicago’s elite—and a few of the not so wealthy and powerful—were hustled through, the gunman pulled the gates shut with a loud clang.

“This should keep you all nicely put,” said the leader as one of his men stood aside, holding a slew of heavy chains. Three other gunmen trained their weapons on the crowd so as to keep them from rushing the doors as it became clear the chains were meant to lock them inside.

But it was the last thief who’d caught Grady’s attention. He was dragging in a large black object about the size of a travel trunk. Grady couldn’t see what it was from his vantage point, but it looked like some sort of engine or machine.

Something very unpleasant trickled down his spine. Up until now, Grady had felt confident things would end nonviolently. Clearly, these men were thieves and were taking advantage of the exclusive gathering of the rich and powerful to relieve them of their valuables…at least, that was what he thought until he saw the black machine.

He’d figured, being on this side of the metal gate, he’d easily be able to free everyone quickly and readily, and perhaps even contact the authorities before the thieves made their escape.

But this big black machine…this changed everything.

Because it looked an awful lot like a bomb.

TWENTY

~ In Which We Meet Betsy ~

Macey had had to keep herself
from searching for Grady during the entire jewelry heist. Though she caught sight of Carol McCormick (“
nice gal
”), her uncle the “Colonel,” Capone, Mr. Washington, and even the odious Mr. Badgley, Grady was nowhere to be seen.

She’d left him behind when the lights went out, relieved to have the opportunity to escape the rest of that conversation—whatever it might have been. She wondered what he’d been about to say…and where he was now.

She gave a mental head shake.
Focus, Mace.
She had much more important things to think about now—like an opportunity to keep these bold jewel thieves—all of whom had been acting as waiters until they simultaneously threw off their kimonos and pulled out their weapons—from making off with all their valuables, whether she knew where Grady was or not.

At first—when the lights came on and the partygoers had, one by one, noticed the terrifying tableau before them and gone silent—she’d been consumed with somehow keeping the young female hostage from being injured. But with armed gunmen everywhere keeping strict eyes on all of them, Macey hadn’t had the opportunity to do anything yet.

Thank goodness the young woman had been released unharmed. And now that she’d joined the rest of the crowd, Macey’s current biggest concern was stopping the criminals before they escaped with their loot. Yet having been taken completely by surprise—at least with vampires, she would have sensed their presence—and having no weapons, Macey was nearly as helpless as the rest of the hostages.

And the last thing she wanted to do was cause a disruption that would get herself or someone else killed. Still…she felt as if she should be doing
something
. And from the sidelong look Capone was giving her, he felt the same way too. Perhaps he was right—who would think of a slender, petite young woman doing anything to challenge these thieves? It was the mobsters like Capone and his ilk that needed to be more carefully watched.

Which was clearly why each person had been searched from head to toe, with the men’s hands thankfully being impersonal but thorough. Even Capone’s second pistol, tucked into his stocking behind the knee, had been removed.

When the stake Macey had slipped into her garter was discovered, the man searching her held it up and looked at her as if she were mad. “What da hell is this for? A wooden stake? Ya growin’ tomatoes?” He tossed it away without a second look.