We met in the lobby, each group standing together in its own cluster, Morgan standing alone.

“Brody’s outside with the SUV,” Luc said. “Ethan, Morgan, Merit, and I will ride together. Detective Jacobs and the Ombuds’ folks will follow in the van.” He glanced at me. “You’ve got the earbud, and we’ll communicate that way. We’ll also want to track your location.”

“They’ll take any electronics,” Jeff said. “So we can’t track her with GPS.”

“What about my raven bracelet?” I asked, lifting my wrist and glancing at Catcher. “If I wear it, could Mallory use that to find me?”

He considered. “Actually, yeah. She could.”

“Get her,” Ethan said. “And get her on it.”

Catcher nodded, ran for the stairs.

I glanced at Luc. “Has Juliet found Balthasar yet?”

“No visual confirmation. We’ll let you know if we find him.”

Morgan looked alarmed. “Balthasar? What’s he got to do with this?”

“We don’t know,” Luc said. “Possibly nothing. But keep your guard up.” He looked us over, the jeans-clad man, the leather-clad woman, going into battle without so much as a dagger.

“Your instincts are going to be your best defense here. We’ve got the chopper on call to get you out, but if there’s any delay in finding you, you’ll have to keep yourselves alive.”

“That’s on me,” Morgan said, looking at me. “She’s my responsibility, and I accept and acknowledge it.”

“And when you return?” Ethan prompted.

“Then we’ll settle our accounts.”

Chapter Nineteen

FLIGHT OF FANCY

Ethan and Luc escorted us into the building, past the empty security desk, and toward the elevators, where Luc selected the top floor.

“Any questions?” Luc asked.

“Not from me.” I looked at Morgan. “Anything else you’d like to say before we do this?”

Morgan shook his head.

“In that case,” Luc said, “be careful.” He looked at me. “Remember your training, keep your stance strong, and don’t be afraid to kick ’em in the balls.”

Luc obviously favored a sentimental motivational speech.

The elevators opened to a tile-floored foyer and glass doors that led to the helipad outside. The helicopter was waiting for us, a sleek white oval with orange stripes, its blades already thushing, the door open, a big man in black fatigues standing outside, waiting for us to enter.

My heart began to thud with nerves, excitement, the likelihood of battle, the possibility of loss.

Ethan slipped a hand around my neck, pulled me forward, pressed a hard and possessive kiss to my lips that nearly left me breathless in a completely different way. Be careful, he said silently.

I will. Keep that helicopter ready.

He drew back, and I put a hand on his face, took a long look at him, committed his features, his mouth, his eyes, to memory.

I followed Morgan to the helicopter, and the man directed us into our seats, strapped us in. And then we were lifting into the air, the sensation so much as if I’d suddenly been able to sprout wings it brought inexplicable tears to my eyes. I glanced down, watched Ethan grow smaller in the distance, and hoped to God I’d see him again.

*   *   *

The city disappeared behind us in a matter of minutes, and we floated above the darkness of Lake Michigan.

An island, I said to Morgan, an eye on the shoreline so I could keep my bearings, and explain, if it provided necessary, where we were.

Yeah. There aren’t that many close to Chicago. They’ll be able to find us.

If we have to play sacrifice the pawn, don’t volunteer.

You, either. You’re a Master, and I’m a Sentinel. We can handle this.

Some minutes later, a light began to glow in the darkness, a pale hulk growing larger in front of us.

I tapped Morgan’s hand, pointed to the shape.

He leaned over to peer out the window. What is that?

I’m not sure, I said. But when the helicopter began to descend, I decided we were about to find out.

*   *   *

Unfortunately, landing didn’t really improve my understanding. We’d approached a large island and landed on a concrete helipad, the lights bright enough to obscure anything else around it.

We hopped out of the helicopter, duck-walked away from the rotors, looked back in dismay as it lifted off again into the night.

Shit, Morgan said, squinting from the light.

Yeah, I agreed.

As the helicopter receded, the sound of waves crashing on the shore some distance below us filled the air.

“Let’s go,” said the man in fatigues. We followed him to the edge of the helipad where two more figures, also in black and carrying automatic weapons, gestured us toward a well-trimmed and mulch-covered path through dense woods not yet greened by spring. After a moment, we emerged onto the small, flat lawn of what looked very much like a traditional Midwestern ranch-style house, except this one was much, much larger.

“What is this?” Morgan asked.

“Torrance Hall,” the guard said, apparently not seeing the need to be circumspect when it wasn’t expected we’d be leaving the island again. That was concerning.

“It’s where some of the old-school Chicago mobsters kept their booze and money. Ferried it back and forth to the city when supplies ran low.” He shrugged. “Boss likes the ambience.”