AN OFFER THEY CAN'T REFUSE

We'd eaten, danced, and sipped champagne for nearly an hour, and still saw no sign of my father or the Breckenridges. It was hard to play Nancy Drew without evidence.

When I caught the interested rise of Ethan's brows, I looked automatically in the direction of his gaze, expecting to see Joshua Merit nearby.

But instead of my father, in the midst of a circle of laughing men, stood the mayor.

At thirty-six, Seth Tate was in the beginning of his second term. He'd named himself a reformer, but hadn't been able to produce the economic renaissance he'd promised when campaigning against the Potter political machine that had ruled Chicago before his election. He'd also given my grandfather his position as Ombud, thereby officially opening the city's administration and enforcement wings to Chicago's sups.

Tate was tall and surprisingly fit for a man who evaluated policy all day. He was also almost ridiculously handsome. He had the face of a rebellious angel - black hair, crystal blue eyes, perfect mouth - and a patented bad-boy brood that no doubt made him the fantasy of more than one woman in the Windy City. He'd been named "America's Sexiest Politician," his face splashed on the covers of more than one newsmagazine.

Despite the press, Tate was still single, but it was rumored he'd installed mistresses in a sprinkling of Chicagoland neighborhoods. None, as far as I was aware, were vampires.

Although, having seen the voluptuous nymphs that ruled the segments of the Chicago River, it wouldn't have surprised me if he'd slipped one of them into his rotation.

I looked back at Ethan, his gaze on Tate, and saw a strange look of covetousness on his face. That's when the gears clicked into place.

I knew Ethan wanted access to my father and those of his ilk. Our attempt to keep the raves out of the press was a handy means toward building that connection. But the raves and the story aside, Ethan wanted access to Tate. Access that Tate hadn't, at least until now, been willing to provide.

"You should say hello to our young mayor," Ethan said.

"I've already said hello," I said. I'd met Tate twice before. That had been plenty.

"Yes," Ethan said. "I know that."

Slowly, I slid him a glance, my eyebrows raised. "You know that?"

Ethan sipped his champagne. "You know that Luc researches his guards, Merit, and that he did his background on you. I've reviewed that background, and I can read the Tribune as well as anyone."

I should have known. I should have known they'd have found the article, and I should have known Luc would have given it to Ethan.

I'd been home for a long weekend during my junior year at NYU. My parents got tickets to the Joffrey Ballet, and we'd run into Tate outside the theater, where a Trib reporter snapped a shot of Tate and me shaking hands. That's not the kind of thing that would have normally been picture-worthy, except for the fact that it almost perfectly mirrored a Trib picture of us from six years earlier. The first time around, I'd been fourteen with a bit part in a big ballet production. Tate had been a young alderman at the time, two years into law school. Probably to make inroads with my father, he'd delivered flowers to me after the performance. I'd still been in costume - leotard, tutu, pointe shoes and tights - and the photographer caught him in the middle of handing over a paper-wrapped bouquet of white roses. The Trib reporter who caught us at the Joffrey performance apparently liked the symbolism, and both shots ended up, side by side, on the local news page.

I suppose I couldn't fault Ethan for thinking ahead, for milking every drop of opportunity, but it stung to play middleman again.

"Humans are not the only political animals," I muttered.

Brows lifted, Ethan glanced over at me. "Is that a review of my tactics, Sentinel?"

Shaking my head, I looked back at the crowd and, surprisingly, found appraising blue eyes on me. I smiled slyly. "Why, no, Sullivan. If you have the perfect weapon, you might as well use it."

"Pardon me?"

"Let's see how well I can act, shall we?"

Before he could ask what I meant to do, I put on my brightest Merit-family smile, straightened my spine, and sauntered over to the mayor's throng.

His gaze following me as I moved, Tate nodded absently to those around him, then steered his way through the crowd and toward me, two men in stiff suits behind him.

The entourage was not a turn-on, but I appreciated his decisiveness.

Tate didn't stop until he reached me, blue eyes sparkling, dimples perked at the corners of his mouth. Political upstart or not, he was undeniably attractive.

We met in the middle of the room, and I guessed, given his quick glance behind me, that Ethan had followed me.

"Ballerina," he whispered, taking the hands I held out to him.

"Mr. Mayor."

Tate squeezed my hands. When he leaned forward, pressing his lips to my cheek, a lock of soft dark hair - worn a little longer than generally thought appropriate by Chicago's more conservative voters - brushed my cheek. Tate smelled like lemon and sunshine and sugar, a weirdly ethereal combination for a city administrator, but delicious all the same.

"It's been too long," he whispered, and a shiver trickled up my spine. When he pulled back, I glanced behind me, saw enough fire in Ethan's emerald eyes to feel vindicated, and indicated him with a negligent hand.

"Ethan Sullivan, my... Master."

Tate was still smiling, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He'd been excited to see me, for reasons lascivious or otherwise. He was clearly less excited to meet Ethan.

Perhaps he had been avoiding encounters with the city's Masters. And here I'd gone and forced it. On the other hand, there's no way my father wouldn't have mentioned that we were planning to attend the party - that was information he wouldn't have been able to keep to himself. That was warning enough for Tate, I decided.

Ethan stepped forward, beside me, and Tate reached out a stiff hand.

"Ethan, glad to finally meet you."

Liar, liar, I thought, but watched the interaction with fascination.

They shook hands. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Mr. Mayor."

Tate took a step back, gave me an obvious perusal, the grin on his face softening a look that would have otherwise felt completely demeaning. (And, as it was, felt only forty to fifty percent demeaning. Bad boy or not, he was awfully pretty.)

"I haven't seen you in years," Tate said. "Not since the last Tribune picture." He smiled charmingly.

"I believe you're right."

He nodded. "I'd heard you moved back to Chicago to work on your doctorate. Your father was so proud of your academic accomplishments." That was news to me. "I was sorry to hear that you'd... halted your academic studies."

Tate slid a glance in Ethan's direction. Since I'd halted my studies only because Ethan had made me a vampire, the shot at Ethan was completely unsubtle and, frankly, a little surprising. Did Tate assume animosity between us? Or was he simply trying to create it, to drive a wedge?

While I admittedly enjoyed tweaking Ethan, I was still on his side, and I wasn't na?ve enough to think that biting the hand that fed me was a good idea, even to flatter the mayor.

"I believe the immortality more than makes up for the diploma," I told Tate.

"Well," he said, not hiding his surprise. "I see. Apparently, even the mayor isn't always in the know." I appreciated that he took the hit, that he could recognize that his intel about the supposed animosity between me and Ethan, from whatever sources, hadn't been entirely correct.

Nor, to be honest, was it entirely incorrect.

"I wanted to thank you," I told him, changing the subject, "for the trust that you've put in my grandfather." I glanced around, thinking it best to limit what I said about my grandfather's position in mixed company - and in my father's house. As far as I knew, my father knew nothing about my grandfather's duties as the Ombud. I planned to keep it that way.

"Without getting into the details, given that this is neither the time nor the place for that kind of discussion," I prefaced, and Tate nodded his understanding, "he's glad he's able to stay busy, to help, and I'm glad to know I have someone in my corner. All of us are."

Tate nodded like you'd expect a campaigning politician might - seriousness and gravity in his expression. "We're on the same page there. You - all of you - deserve a voice in Chicago."

One of Tate's body men leaned toward him. The mayor listened for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm sorry to leave you," he told me, his lips curled into a melancholy smile, "but I need to get to a meeting." He reached a hand out to Ethan. "I'm glad we were finally able to connect. We should put aside some time to talk."

"That would be appreciated, Mr. Mayor," Ethan agreed, nodding.

Tate looked at me again, opened his mouth to speak, but then seemed to think better of it. He put his hands on my upper arms, leaned toward me, and pressed his lips against my cheek. Then he shifted, his lips at my ear. "When you can get away, get in touch.

Call my office - they'll put you through, day or night."

The "day" part of that was superfluous, given my little sunlight problem. The rest of it -

the fact that he'd requested a meeting from me, not Ethan, and the access he'd just granted - was surprising, but I nodded at him when he pulled back.

"Good evening," he said, with a half bow to both of us. One of his guards stepped before him and began to tunnel through the crowd. Tate followed into the space he'd made, a second guard behind him.

"He wants me to call him," I tattled, when the crowd had re-formed around us. "He told me to get in touch, anytime. That his office would put me through." I glanced up at Ethan. "What could that be about?"

Ethan frowned down at me. "I've no clue." He kept staring at me, one eyebrow arching into obvious disapproval.

"Why the long face?"

"Is there anyone who isn't infatuated with you?"

I smiled at him, with teeth. "If not, it's because you haven't assigned them to me yet.

Mata Hari at your service. Would you like to add him to the list?"

"I don't appreciate your sarcasm."

"I don't appreciate being handed out like a party favor."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "What would you like me to say to that?"

I opened my mouth to give an answer just as snarky as my question, but a silver tray appeared at my elbow, interrupting me. The tray held only a small white card. JOSHUA MERIT was printed in neat block letters across it.

My heart skipped a discomforting beat, those six square inches of cardstock eliciting the same sense of dreadful anticipation they had when I was a child. My father had wanted peace and quiet and perfection, and on those occasions when he sought an audience with me for some failing in one of those categories, this is how he'd done it.

I reached out and picked up the card, then glanced at Pennebaker, who'd delivered it.

"Your father will see you in his office," he said with a bob of his head, then disappeared into the crowd.

We stood silently for a moment, my gaze on the card in my hand.

"You're ready," Ethan said, and I understood that the statement was meant to be an affirmation.

"Ready enough," I said. I smoothed the silk at my waist, and led him away.

My father rose from a black-and-chrome Mies van der Rohe couch when we slid open the top-mounted, reclaimed-wood door. Where Papa Breck's office had been warm and masculine, my father's was cold. It fit right in with the rest of the house's ultramodern decor.

"Merit, Ethan," my father said, waving us inside with a hand. I heard the door slide shut behind us and assumed Pennebaker had attended to it.

Merit, I heard in my head, as I saw what Ethan had no doubt realized and meant to warn me about - that Nicholas and Papa Breck were standing in my father's office.

Nick was in jeans, a T-shirt, and a brown corduroy sports jacket. Papa Breck, a solidly large, barrel-chested man, was in a tuxedo. They stood together, bodies close and aligned, suspicious eyes on us as we entered.

I looked at Nick, tried to ferret out his mood, which didn't take long given the anger in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw. And when he looked from me to Ethan, took in the dress and the tuxedo, disappointment joined his other expressions. The others were confusing, but the disappointment stung.

Papa Breck nodded at me. That nod was apparently the only greeting he could spare for the (vampire) daughter of his best friend, for his son's former girlfriend. I hadn't seen Michael Breckenridge, Sr., in years, but I'd have expected more than a nod. Maybe words, some indication of the closeness of our families, the relationship that had existed between me and Nick. I'd practically been a member of that family, for all the summer vacations I'd spent at his house, running through the halls, through the grass, along the dirt-lined path to the labyrinth.

On the other hand, I suppose I should have considered myself fortunate, as he didn't even spare Ethan a nod.

"The Breckenridges have received information," my father said, "about a threat of violence against their son."

The surprise was evident in Ethan's expression. "A threat of violence?"

"Don't play coy," Nick muttered. "Don't pretend you don't know what we're talking about."

Ethan's jaw clenched, and he slipped his hands into his pockets. "I am afraid, Nicholas, that we have no idea what you're talking about. We do not threaten violence. We certainly have not issued a threat of violence against you."

"Not me," Nicholas said. "Jamie."

The room went silent, at least until I spoke up. "Someone threatened Jamie? What was the threat?" I asked. "And why would you think it came from us?"

Nick's gaze slowly shifted to mine, stubbornness in the set of his jaw.

"Tell me, Nick," I implored him. "I can guarantee you we haven't threatened Jamie. But even if we had, you lose nothing from telling us what you've heard. Either we made the threat, so we know what it is already, or we've been framed, and we need to figure out what the hell's going on."

Nick glanced back at his father, who nodded, then turned back to us. "Before we talked in the garden at my parents', we got a phone call at the house. Unlisted number. She said vampires were interested in Jamie."

She, Nick had said. The caller was female. Had it been Celina? Amber? Some other vamp who had it in for the Brecks, or who was itching to stir up trouble for Cadogan House?

"Today," Nick continued, "I got an e-mail. It had specifics - details about exactly how you planned to harm my brother."

Ethan frowned, clearly confused. "And why do we purportedly want to hurt Jamie?"

"The message didn't say," Nick answered, but the words were a little too quickly spoken to ring true. Maybe he knew about Jamie's story; maybe there was another reason he thought Jamie might be a target. And that wasn't the only problem with his evidence.

"How do you know the e-mail was from a Cadogan vamp?" I asked. "How do you know it wasn't just a hoax?"

"Give me a little credit, Merit. They gave me information to verify."

Ethan and I exchanged a glance. "What information?" he asked, caution in his tone.

Nick looked away, wet his lips, then looked up at me again. There was coldness in his eyes.

"There were details about you," he said, then turned that frigid gaze on Ethan. "And you.Together."

My cheeks flushed crimson. Ethan, apparently much less worried, made a soft, sardonic sound. "Rest assured, Nicholas, we have no plans to harm your brother. And I can most definitely assure you that you were not speaking with a Cadogan vampire. There is no

'together' where Merit and I are concerned."

Not that he hadn't considered it, I thought, remembering our dance.

"Oh?" Nick asked, as if feigning surprise. "Then you didn't share a moment in the library Friday night?" He turned his gaze to me. "I was told that you passed along the story of our meeting in the garden. That you informed your Master that I was 'com ing for you.' "

This time, my cheeks paled. While his implication was wrong - our "moment" in the library had been completely platonic - the gossip part was true enough. Someone had been in the library. Had overheard our conversation. Someone was playing us.

And more importantly, someone was betraying Ethan. Again.

I didn't want to, but I made myself turn and check Ethan's expression. He stood frozen there beside me, jaw clenched, unmitigated fury on his face.

"We did not," he bit out, "nor have we ever issued a threat against Jamie or any other member of your family. That's not the way my House operates. If such a message was sent to you, it was not sent from a Cadogan vampire, and certainly not with my approval. If someone in my House has informed you otherwise, they are... sorely...mistaken."

Despite the gravity in Ethan's tone, Nick's responding shrug was careless. "I'm sorry, Sullivan. But that's not good enough."

Ethan's brows lifted. "Not good enough?"

"We're only asking you not to jump to conclusions," I told Nicholas. "That's all."

"Not jump to conclusions?" Nick took steps, closing the distance between us. I had to steel myself not to step back.

"How na?ve are you, Merit? Or is that some kind of vampire denial talking?"

"Nicholas," Papa Breck said, but Nick shook his head.

"No," he spat out. "I told you that if you tried to harm him, I would come after you with everything I had. I will not stand by while vampires destroy my family, Merit."

"Nick, son," Papa Breck repeated, but Nicholas stayed where he was, inches away from me, staring down at me with eyes of furious electric blue.

"We did not issue a threat against Jamie, Nick."

"Do not lie to me, Merit." Nick leaned closer and whispered in a voice that I assumed was only for me, "They may give you a dress, and they may give you a sword, but I know who you are."

Oh, but I'd enjoy wiping that smirk from his face. I dropped my head, closed my eyes, and let the anger rise enough - just enough - to silver my eyes. I had to clench my fists to hold back the rest of it - to keep my fangs from descending, to keep the vampire asleep - and the fight of it kept me quiet for a moment. I was silent long enough to hear shuffling, the rest of the room growing increasingly nervous the longer I kept my head down.

I opened my eyes again and slowly lifted my head, gazing at Nick beneath half-hooded lashes. Predictably, his smile faded, his own eyes widening at the silver in mine. He swallowed, likely at the reminder that I wasn't just a girl he'd known in high school, and I wasn't to be bullied to satiate the anger that flowed from whatever prejudices darkened his soul.

"Nicholas," I began, my voice soft and low and lush, "I stand Sentinel for a House of three hundred and twenty vampires. I will not strike first, but he allows me to carry a weapon because I know how to use it. Because I will use it. I know my position, my obligation, and I will do what's necessary to protect them. Because you and I were friends once, I will warn you once. Step back."

Nick stood toe to toe with me, his body statue-still, until Papa Breck put a hand on his arm and whispered something in his ear. When Nick turned away, strode to the bar my father kept on a concrete table in one corner of the room, I'd have sworn I felt something in his wake. Something tingly, but I was distracted by the sudden sound of Ethan's voice in my head.

There is a traitor in my house, he silently said. Again.

My heart ached for him, for the betrayal he must have felt for the second time in only a few months, even if it was currently blanketed by a thick, righteous fury. I know, I said back, then promised, I'll find him.

Finally Nick stepped away from his father, a decision apparently made. "My father has decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. Assuming that you did not make a threat against Jamie, you have twenty-four hours to find out who did. If you don't contact us within twenty-four hours with a name and your assurances that the threat has been resolved, I will contact the mayor and inform him that Cadogan House made a threat against humans, against my family. That phone call will be followed by calls to the Trib, the Sun-Times, and every television station in the metro area. I may also have to tell them some other things I know. And then they'll be raving mad," he said, putting the emphasis on the word so we couldn't mistake his meaning.

"Your so-called celebrity," Nick continued, apparently not yet done with his tirade, "is delicate, at best. There are plenty of people who think the congressional investigations were a joke, who think you constitute a legitimate threat to humans. There are plenty of people out there who think we'd all be better off if the vampire problem went away." Nick snapped his fingers ominously. "Poof."

I glanced at Ethan, watched his eyes turn glassy green, and guessed he was struggling to maintain his own control. Still, he managed to keep from silvering his eyes, from descending his fangs.

"I can't guarantee Jamie's safety from other parties," Ethan finally answered. "And I can't guarantee resolution of this issue in twenty-four hours, particularly when we will be unconscious for more than half of that time."

Nick's expression flattened. "Then I suggest you and your soldier here get your asses in gear."

Ethan looked down at the floor, then glanced up, but not at Nicholas. Instead, he focused his gaze on Papa Breck. "You should consider the possibility that if threats were made against Jamie, they were made for a reason. That he has stepped on one too many toes, or has involved himself in things that do not concern him. If we investigate this matter further, that information might come to light. Are you prepared for that? For answers you'd prefer to keep in-house?"

I'm not sure what information Ethan was referring to, or if he was merely bluffing. But I had to give him props - it was a good rebuttal.

Nick opened his mouth to counter Ethan, but his father held out a hand. "Nicholas," he warned, then turned to my father. "He's my son. I will protect him at all costs. Do we understand each other?"

"Clearly," my father answered.

"Twenty-four hours," Nick repeated, and began his stride toward the door.

I put a hand on Nick's arm to stop him. The contact didn't dissipate the menace in his glare.

"Is Jamie working right now?"

His lip curled. I figured he was seconds away from growling at me.

"I'm not going to hurt him, Nick. You're asking a lot from us, especially when we have nothing to do with any threat against your brother. If you want us to figure it out, give us something in return." When he continued to stare at me, I added, in a whisper, "Quid pro quo, Nick."

Nick wet his lips, then nodded. "Investments," he said. "Jamie's selling investments."

Bingo.

"Forward the e-mail to me," I told him. "Use my old address."

He looked at me for a moment before nodding, then went to the door, pushing it to the side with enough force to rattle the industrial hinges. Papa Breck followed him out, without even a glance in our direction.

When Pennebaker slid the door shut again, my father and I both looked at Ethan.

"Is there anything I can do?"

Ethan shook his head at my father's request. "Thank you, Joshua, but no. We'll handle this one internally. I'll call the Masters together. If we could just borrow your office for a few minutes longer?"

"Of course," he said, then left us alone.

"Forward the e-mail to me?" Ethan repeated, eyebrows lifted.

"Jeff Christopher," I reminded him, "in my grandfather's office. He's a computer whiz kid.

He can help us, and he'll be thrilled to be asked."

There was doubt in Ethan's expression. "He's a shifter, right?"

I frowned back. "Yeah. Why?"

"As I'm sure you've discovered by now, shifters and vampires aren't exactly cozy."

"Sure, but isn't Gabriel Keene bringing his Pack to Chicago? This is the perfect opportunity to make inroads."

He considered the idea for a moment, then nodded. "Make the call."

Ethan massaged his forehead with the fingers of one hand, his gaze on the floor. "Jamie is not writing for the Chicago World Weekly; Jamie is selling investments. And although we believed we were the victims here, Nicholas believes that we've issued a threat against Jamie." He lifted his gaze to mine. "What do we learn from that?"

"There is no rave story," I concluded. "Or if there is, Nicholas doesn't know about it. He apparently knows about the raves, but that's a red herring." I shook my head. "No, someone's playing us against each other."

Ethan nodded his agreement. "A woman calls the Breckenridge house the day before we attend a party there and informs the Breckenridges of some vague threat. Nick asks you to meet him in the woods and raises this same issue. Today, before we arrive at another party, information regarding a more specific threat is sent directly to Nicholas."

"They discovered Nick was the point man," I said. "Whoever's behind this mess figured out he was the Breck to work through if they wanted to create chaos."

"Which is exactly what they've succeeded in doing," Ethan muttered. He crossed his arms and walked to one end of the office, then braced his hands on the back of a leather chair.

"Wait," I said. "The information about the story that first came from the Ombud's office - the stuff we talked about with Luc. How did they find out?"

"Anonymous tip," Ethan said. "The information was left at the office."

Damn, I thought. So much for that lead.

"Okay," I said, "then why Cadogan? And why the Breckenridges? We've been pitted against each other, although I have no clue why they'd put us together on the fight card."

"I'm aware of only one connection between us and them," he said, his gaze on me, intensity in his green eyes.

I put a hand to my chest. "Me? You think I'm the connection?"

"You're the only connection between our House and their family that I'm even aware of, Sentinel." Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. "And, unfortunately, I'm aware of only one enemy on your end."

There was a moment of silence as the pieces clicked into place.

"Nick said she called the House," I murmured, then lifted my gaze to Ethan. "Celina? You're thinking Celina?"

Ethan shrugged. "We have no evidence of that, of course, but would you consider it beyond her capabilities?"

"Creating chaos? Hardly. That's practically her calling card."

"Much to our chagrin. And this particular chaos has the added benefit of putting you right in the middle." Ethan shook his head. "That e-mail will have been sent by a Cadogan vampire. Someone who knows that I showed you the library - "

"More importantly," I interjected, "someone who knows what we said in the library, and someone who knows our social schedule. Someone who knows where we've been going, and who's set Nick up with bad information beforehand."

He stood up slowly, hands on his hips, and looked back at me, eyes wide. "What, precisely, are you suggesting?"

"There's only one group of vampires who know about the raves and Jamie's supposed story," I said. "Only one group who know about our excursions to visit the rich and famous."

I paused, wishing he'd reach the conclusion so I wouldn't have to say it aloud.

"Ethan, it had to be a guard."