THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY IS MY . . . FRENEMY?

Tony might have walked out, but he left a wake of thick tension behind him. We all looked at Gabriel, waiting for direction.

"Let him go," he said, then began piling up the cards that Jason and Robin pitched onto the table. "He'll calm down."

"He usually does," Jason muttered, and I assumed this wasn't the first time Tony had thrown a temper tantrum. His concerns were understandable, the risks real. But dramatics weren't exactly helping.

"I don't know," Robin said, his shaded gaze on the door, "but this feels different." The door opened again, and a man who had Gabriel's same sun-streaked hair and golden eyes looked in, one eyebrow arched in amusement. He wore a snug black T-shirt and jeans, his body long and lean.

His shoulder-length hair was a shade blonder than Gabe's, but his week's worth of facial hair was a shade darker. That difference aside, there was no mistaking the relationship. They both had deep-set eyes and brutally handsome faces, and he exuded the same aura of power and unadulterated maleness.

This was a younger Keene, I guessed.

"Commotion, bro?" he asked.

"Drama," Gabriel replied, then glanced over at us. "Ethan, Merit, this is Adam. Adam, Ethan and Merit.

Adam is the youngest of the Keene brothers."

"Youngest and by far the smoothest," Adam said, checking out Ethan and me in turn. When he got to me, I saw a flicker of interest in his eyes, the appreciation of trim leather and scabbarded steel. His gaze lifted, met mine, and I felt the same punch of power and history I'd gotten when I'd met Gabriel. But Adam's punch, maybe because he was younger, had a greener, rawer feel.

Regardless, it took me a moment to drag my gaze away from Adam Keene and those hypnotic golden eyes, and I got a look of chastisement in green ones when I finally managed it.

Well, chastisement or jealousy.

I arched an eyebrow back at Ethan, then turned to Gabriel. "Brothers?"

"I'm the oldest. Mom wanted a big family, and she thought it would be funny if we were named alphabetically. She made it all the way to baby Adam, here, before she learned better."

"Hello, baby Adam," I said.

He smiled, a deep dimple perking up at the left corner of his mouth. My stomach wobbled a little.

Oh, yeah. This one was dangerous.

"Down, boy," Gabe said. "If she's going to be taken in by a Keene, it's not going to be you." He glanced back at me and winked. If I hadn't seen him with his wife and would-be son and hadn't known he was happily married, I'd have thought he was flirting with me. As it was, I figured he was showing off for baby brother.

Without warning, Gabriel pushed back his chair and stood up, then walked to the red leather door. His expression was severe. Confused, I looked at Ethan. What's happening? I silently asked him. He looked at the door for a moment and, for the first time since I'd known him, seemed unsure of the protocol.

But when the other shifters followed Gabriel back into the bar, Ethan followed. I stepped in line behind him. We found the alphas and the baby brother at the bar's front window, their broad-shouldered backs to us, their gazes on the dark street outside. The bar was silent - the music now off - and their body language was tense, the magic in the air prickly and bated as if they were waiting for something to happen.

"Robin?" Gabriel asked, without turning to face him.

Robin shook his head. "I don't feel him. I don't feel anybody."

"I don't like this," Gabriel said. "Something's off. And it's too quiet out there."

"Sentinel," Ethan said, "do you sense anything?"

"What kind of anything?" I asked.

"The shifter who left," Gabriel said. "Do you sense him . . . waiting?" I closed my eyes, and with some trepidation dropped my guard against the sounds and smells of the world. I immersed myself in a thick, warm blanket of sensation, of latent magic, of the heat and smell of nearby bodies.

But there was nothing unusual. Nothing out of the ordinary - assuming a bar full of very intense, magically leaking shifters was in the ordinary.

"Nothing," I said, opening my eyes again. "There's nothing unusual out there." I spoke too soon. That was when I heard it - the rumble of exhaust pipes. The hair at the back of my neck stood on end, something in the air outside suddenly tripping my vampiric instincts, something that vibrated the air in a way that wasn't explained by the roar of the hog. A tang filled the air - the sharp, astringent burn of exhaust and something else . . . gunpowder?

Maybe because of that last dose of training, my mouth and body were moving before my brain had a chance to catch up.

"Get down!" I ordered, taking the necessary steps forward, my hands at their shoulders, pressing them down, and when they didn't budge, I yelled it again. They hit the ground just as the hammer clicked outside, milliseconds before bullets shattered the glass in the picture window. Adam had dropped on top of Gabriel, his arms a protective cocoon over Gabriel's head. Ethan had done the same thing to me. His body was over mine, his arms over my head, his lips at my ear. The contact made me shudder with desire, even as chaos broke out around us. And I wasn't thrilled about the role reversal; I was his guard, after all. I was supposed to protect him. But my rank as Sentinel didn't stop him from surrounding me with his body and from yelling, "Be still!"

even as I struggled beneath him, trying to reverse our positions to keep him out of harm's way.

Be still, he silently repeated, as I huddled on the floor, enveloped by the feel and warmth and smell of him.

"What the fuck is this?" Gabe yelled out, his voice thick with fury, magic peppering the smoke-and-glass-filled air.

"Everyone behind the bar!" Jason said, glancing up, equal menace in his eyes. I'd only ever seen two shifters angry - Nick Breckenridge and his father, Michael. At the time, they'd been pissed at me and Ethan, thinking we'd leveled a threat against them. They'd been protecting family, a shifter instinct. Now I saw the same ferocity in Jason's eyes - the anger at being threatened, the need to protect family.

I nodded at Jason, pulled one of Ethan's hands into mine, and gave his body an instructional shove.

"Bar," I yelled at him as bullets continued raining around us, a hailstorm of steel. The vicinity of it prickled my instincts further, making me want to fight and give chase - and not just because my Master, the one who'd made me, was in the line of fire.

No - I wanted to fight because I was a predator, two months past the first time I'd felt the tug of flight-or-fight. I'd tempered my steel with my own blood . . . and I was ready to feed that steel with someone else's.

Ethan maneuvered his body off mine, then let me tug him to his feet. We did a half run, half crawl to the bar, then dropped behind it, moving to the end to give the shifters room to join us. They crawled in behind, then turned to put their backs to the bar, whipping out weapons to respond to the cavalcade of bullets.

"Put the guns away!" Gabriel said over the din. "This is going to be enough of a police clusterfuck. We don't need our bullets being analyzed, too."

Guns were dutifully lowered, but cell phones quickly replaced them; calls were made, I assumed, to the alphas' respective Packs. I turned back to Ethan, giving his body a once-over. You're all right? I silently asked him, then raised my gaze to his eyes. They'd gone silver.

My stomach sank, my first thought that one of the shifters had been shot and Ethan was vamping out.

There could hardly have been a worse time for biting. But then he lifted a hand to my cheek, his silvered pupils tracking across my face, as if assuring himself that I was okay. I'm fine, I told him.

That was when Gabriel, on my other side, let out a string of curses. I immediately looked to the left and offered my own swear - Berna had just emerged from a door on the other side of the bar, shock in her expression.

"What in the sam - "

Someone called out, "Berna - get down! Go back!"

She looked toward us, but she was too surprised to process the order, even as bullets flew through the air. Someone had to get to her.

Someone with speed.

I was up and moving before Ethan could stop me, vaulting over alphas on my way to her side. Bullets still rushed around us - the perpetrator well armed and apparently prepped for a prolonged assault - but I ignored them.

After all, I was immortal.

She was not.

I felt the tear of bullets as I ran toward her, knife-hot pain ripping through skin and muscle. There was panic in her eyes when I reached her, a cloud of astringent fear marking her spot in the bar. I'm sure my eyes had silvered - not from hunger, but from adrenaline - and the sight of it must have frightened her.

But we needed to move, and I didn't have time for comforting.

I also had less than a second to make the decision whether to move her back into the room she'd come from, or take her away to the bar. I had no clue what - or whom else - that door led to. The kitchen?

The back exit? If so, a secondary assault on the building?

No, thanks. I opted for the bar and the devils I already knew. I put myself between Berna's body and the window, then used the speed and strength I'd been gifted with to half run, half tow her back to the bar.

When we were tucked behind the barricade, I situated her in the corner, which I thought offered the most protection from still-flying bullets. She looked up at me, her face pale, but her expression just this side of pissed off. Blood blossomed across her shoulder. "Shots!" she said, jerking her chin toward her wound. "At me!"

I ignored the internal prick of interest, the sudden pang of hunger that tightened my stomach. This wasn't just blood - it was shifter blood. Like the difference between tomato juice and a Bloody Mary, the smell carried an extra tang of something - something animal. Something intoxicating.

I shook my head to clear the thought. Now was definitely not the time. . . .

Focusing on the task at hand, I pulled the T-shirt away from her shoulder and found a gouge at the edge of her collarbone. She was bleeding and the skin was torn, but it didn't look like the bullet had actually penetrated.

"I think it just grazed your shoulder," I told her.

"Meh," she said. "Flesh wound."

I looked around the shelves beneath the bar, then grabbed a stack of folded white towels. I pulled off one towel from the wad, lifted her arm (and got a hiss of pain for my effort) and pressed the rest of the stack to the gash. I used the loose towel to hold the make-do bandage around her arm, pulling it tight enough to keep pressure on her wound, but not so tight that I cut off her circulation. She was a waitress, after all; she was probably going to need that arm.

"I've seen worse," she petulantly said, but sat still while I knotted the ends.

"I don't care," I told her, then pointed a finger in her face when she opened her mouth to retort. "You're bleeding, and I have fangs. Don't push me."

She snapped her mouth closed with an audible click.

I sat down again, the sting of the shots I'd taken now beginning to echo through my body as the world began to slow again. Before I could blink, Ethan was in front of me, checking my body for wounds. I heard the plink of metal on the floor beside me and looked down. A bullet rolled across the floor, its end flattened. There was a corresponding hole in the thigh of my pants, the skin beneath it bloodstained, but healthy and pink. Score one for quick-speed vampire healing.

I looked up again and found Ethan's eyes on me, another bullet in his open palm. From the sting in my shoulder blade, I assumed that was where I'd taken a second hit.

You could have been killed.

Doubtful. But she could have.

He looked at me for a moment, concern in his eyes. And then, finally, his expression shifted. Instead of fear, there was pride. My move to help Berna might have scared him, but he was proud I'd made it.

Of course, he'd played the hero, too. Thanks for covering me at the window, I told him.

He nodded, a blush creeping across his perfectly sculpted cheekbones. I gnawed the edge of my lip, the protectiveness in his eyes curling something deep in my abdomen. He didn't speak, but he nodded, as if admitting the emotion in his eyes.

And I had no clue what to do with it.

Heavy seconds passed before I turned back to the shifters. Adam and Robin still had weapons in hand, but they'd obeyed Gabriel's order not to fire back. Jason, on hands and knees, was crawling toward the far door, maybe to find out if it offered us an exit. Adrenaline giving way to fear, that idea was suddenly very appealing. Sure, the shooter was outside and we were tucked behind a solid oak bar. But what was to stop him from deciding he wanted a little one-on-one contact, and rushing the bar? Yes, I'd proven I could play the strong Sentinel when necessary, but the thought of being rescued sure seemed attractive right now.

I thought about Noah's offer and the fact that I'd have a partner in Jonah if I consented to joining the Red Guard. Having backup certainly would have come in handy, although I doubted the shifters would appreciate an underground vampire army's being called in to deal with their problems. Luckily, I was saved the necessity of giving Noah's offer more thought - the shooting suddenly stopped, and the low growl of a bike let us know the shooter was retreating.

Silence felll. . . at least until the cursing began.

Adam popped up first, his gaze scanning the bar front and street outside. "Clear," he said, and the rest of us followed. I helped Berna to her feet, preparing her for a trip in the ambulance that was beginning to whine its way down the street, undoubtedly called by someone in the neighborhood who'd heard the barrage of shots.

I was almost embarrassed to look at Ethan, the thing that had passed between us in the midst of the attack too personal to acknowledge in front of strangers. Despite our positions, he'd thrown his body over mine with no hesitation, inserting himself between me and danger. And then there was the look in his eyes. It seemed unlikely I was the target of the drive-by, but that didn't make his effort any less meaningful than the last time he'd come to my rescue - the night I'd been attacked and made a vampire.

His bravery notwithstanding, now things just seemed awkward, like we were teenagers who'd suddenly become aware of their attraction to each other. Ethan finally glanced back at me, his gaze emotionless, his expression flat. He'd turned off the emotion, so I adopted the same Master vampire look and nodded back at him, a quick, efficient gesture that said nothing of the thing that had passed between us. Denial seemed the easiest response.

"I'm assuming," Ethan said aloud, turning back to the shifters, "that one of you was the target of that hit?"

"All signs point to Gabriel," Jason said, arms over his chest as he looked across the destruction in the bar. "This ConPack was his idea."

I understood the ruefulness in his voice. The bar was in shambles. There was nothing left of the picture window but the few jagged scraps of glass that remained in the frame; the rest of it was in piles on the checked tile, scattered amidst the remains of the bar's neon signs and shredded beer posters. A breeze swept through the gaping hole in the front of the bar, carrying the scents of hot metal and gunpowder and the sounds of sirens as they hurried toward us.

"There are three Pack leaders in here," Adam pointed out, "not just the leader of the North American Central. The target could have been any one of you."

"Valid point," Gabriel said.

Adam leaned toward me. "By the way, you did good. I'm not sure Sullivan gives you enough credit." I appreciated the compliment. I'd have appreciated it more if it had been accompanied by a pan of cabbage rolls, but a girl took what a girl could get. I grinned at him beneath my fan of bangs. "I know.

I'm kind of a big deal."

He snorted with amusement.

"One Pack leader is noticeably absent from the group," Ethan said. "And the manner of the hit - that we heard a bike before and after - suggests it was a shifter."

"Tony was riled up when he arrived," Robin put in.

There was silence at that suggestion.

Jason finally shook his head. "Tony isn't that stupid. Not to attempt a hit right after storming out of the room. Besides," he added, as three police cars pulled to a stop outside the bar, "this only creates more drama. Draws more attention to the Packs." Car doors slammed as police burst from the vehicles, hands on their holsters.

More attention, I thought. Just the thing the shifters wanted to avoid. And maybe that attention was the shooter's motivation? "Would more drama and attention make the Packs more interested in leaving for Aurora? To stay out of the public eye, I mean?"

Heads turned my way.

"That's not a bad thought," Gabriel said. "It would be a ridiculous plan, if that's what the shooter had in mind, but a good thought." He dropped his voice to a low whisper. "Since we're all about to be interviewed, let's keep the supernatural drama and the complicated lies to a minimum, shall we? Skip the biological details but spill the rest. We were playing poker and planning a family reunion. We wrap up the game and our meeting, and the next thing you know . . ." The next thing you know, Chicago's finest walk in the door.

They took statements from all of us, four uniforms and a couple of plainclothes detectives, walking us through the details of the drive-by as a forensic team plucked through glass and kindling for bullets or other evidence that might lead them to the shooter. I kept to the basics Gabriel had laid out - telling the tale exactly as it had progressed, but leaving out the bit about why the shifters really planned to meet. The cops generally seemed to buy it. They were probably curious about why two vamps were in Ukrainian Village, katanas belted to their sides, at a meeting of folks who were planning a family reunion. But they knew who I was - whether because I was Chuck Merit's granddaughter or Joshua Merit's daughter, I wasn't sure - so they kept the intrusive questions to a minimum. I played innocent (which, of course, I actually was), and they seemed satisfied enough by my answers. After we were interviewed, Ethan and I stood outside on the sidewalk, loath to walk away and leave the shifters alone, but not interested in being charged with interfering in a police investigation. We were still outside when a familiar Oldsmobile pulled up.

"We've got company," I said, nodding toward the car, a smile blossoming on my face.

My grandfather emerged from the driver's side; his right-hand man, Catcher Bell, stayed in the front seat, a cell phone pressed to his ear. Catcher was twenty-nine and a little rough around the edges, but that gruffness actually enhanced his appeal. His head was shaved, his eyes pale green, his body a slab of tight muscle and the occasional tattoo - including a circle cut into quadrants across his abdomen.

Jeff emerged from the backseat. He was dressed in his usual emsemble - a long-sleeved button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up midforearm and a pair of khaki pants. Jeff was twenty-one and, to the unfamiliar, would have seemed to have the sweet bashfulness of a boy with a very big heart . . . but not a lot of worldly experience.

That assumption would be wildly incorrect. Jeff was a shifter who had a way with the ladies and was rumored, at least by Catcher, to be more than capable of taking care of himself. I took Catcher's word for it.

Jeff ambled over. He smiled at me, then nudged me with a shoulder. "How's my favorite vampire?"

"She likes being someone's favorite, especially on days she gets shot."

"You got shot? How? Where? Are you okay?" He put his hands on my arms and began looking me over. His eyes widened at the hole in my jacket where the bullet had penetrated. "You have to be more careful."

I happened to glance up and catch the smile on Ethan's face; he was clearly enjoying this. I gave him an arch look, but removed Jeff's hands, then pressed a light kiss to his cheek. "I'm fine. Let's worry about your people today. What the hell happened here? I thought the Packs were supposed to be big happy families?"

His expression went unusually serious. "That's exactly what I'm about to find out." Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked toward the bar's front door. The two shifters who stood outside keeping watch moved aside to let him in, both nodding their heads respectfully as he passed. The kid was definitely a wonder.

"Fancy meeting you here," my grandfather said, offering me a smile before offering a hand to Ethan, who took it, then shook.

"Mr. Merit," Ethan said.

"Chuck, please, Ethan," my grandfather said. "Mr. Merit was my father." He looked at me again, and his expression turned to worry.

"You got shot?"

"A couple of times, as it turns out. They aren't lying about the immortality thing." He blew out a breath of relief, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead. "I worry about you."

"I know. I take care." At least as much as possible, I silently added. I cast a sly glance at Ethan. And even when I didn't take as much care as I might, I had a vampire in the wings, ready to take a shot on my behalf.

I wasn't sure if that thought was comforting or not.

"You'd better," my grandfather said, then pulled back.

"Everybody is fine except for the bartender," Ethan explained. "She took a shot in the shoulder, but it looks like it was a through-and-through. Merit played EMT. She did good." My grandfather huffed out a breath. "Of course she did good. She's my granddaughter." He took a step forward and lowered his voice. "It appears you've gotten yourselves involved in another shifter controversy. Word is, you're doing a favor for Gabriel?" Ethan nodded. "He asked that we be a presence at this meeting and the convocation." My grandfather's caterpillar eyebrows lifted in surprise. "So they are convening, then?"

"They managed to reach an agreement," Ethan said. "At least before the chaos set in."

"Not that the chaos is to anyone's surprise," said a voice behind us. I turned and found Catcher frowning at the bar and slipping a cell phone into his pocket. I guessed he'd finished up his call. In addition to his snarky personality, Catcher was a connoisseur of snarky T-shirts. True to his style, today he wore jeans and a black tee that read IT'S NOT ME; IT'S YOU.

"Ethan. Merit," he said, without looking at us. "Attempted hit?"

"That's how it plays for now," Ethan said, then tilted his head at my grandfather. "Given that the city isn't aware of Gabriel's biology or the Pack's, I assume you're here because we're here?"

"The administration knows about shifters," my grandfather explained, "but there's no need to stretch the publicity further than they're comfortable with. Vampires were involved. That means I'm involved. We'll do what we need to do to ensure the CPD has the information they need, without revealing information Mayor Tate doesn't think they need to know." Although Tate knew we existed - vampires and shifters alike - he was standoffish when it came to actually dealing with the Houses.

"He's keeping the biology hush-hush?" I asked.

My grandfather nodded philosophically. "He's keeping the men and women of this city safely at home, and not out on the streets rioting because they've discovered more strangers in their midst." Since Celina's announcement of the vampires' existence had initially led to riots and chaos, I understood his point. Catcher bobbed his head toward the bar. "Why the hit?"

"Political rivalry," Ethan offered. "There seems to be some strain between the American leaders about whether to stay in Chicago - "

"Or bail," I finished for him.

"The alphas don't seem thrilled about the prospect of staying, of not heading back to Alaska. I know you aren't investigators," Ethan added, "but there's a possibility Tony Marino, head of the Great Northwestern, was the source of the violence. He left in a fit, and the shots were fired by someone on a bike minutes later. Not strong evidence, but maybe it's something to look into." My grandfather nodded. "We'll get on it. I'm not sure what we'll find in the ether, but we'll see." I wondered if Noah or the RG had information that my grandfather didn't have access to. Would it pay to join the RG, to increase my access to information about the Houses on a national scale?

"Did Keene give you any details about the security work he wanted to talk to you about?" Catcher asked.

"Merit and I are the security arrangement, as it turns out. He wanted us here tonight, obviously, and he wants us at the convocation on Friday." Ethan frowned. "But if shifters are willing to take shots at him under cover of darkness, I'm not sure there's a lot we can do beyond minimizing the collateral damage."

"I assume the bartender was some of that collateral damage?" my grandfather asked.

"I think it's a safe assumption the bullets weren't intended for her," Ethan confirmed.

The debriefing accomplished, my grandfather headed for the bar. I shifted my gaze to Catcher. He and I had things to discuss, so before he walked away, I touched his arm. He glanced back, his eyebrows raised in question.

"How's Mall doing?" I asked him, but my silent questions were much different: Has she said anything about me? Mentioned me? Does she miss me?

"Why don't you call her and ask her yourself?"

I gave him a flat stare. "The phone works both ways," I pointed out. Besides, she's the one who'd pushed me about Ethan, and who'd thrown my "Daddy issues" into my face. It might have been immature to avoid making the call, but she had as much to answer for as I did. Catcher rolled his eyes haggardly. "She misses you, okay? My life will be much, much simpler when you two make up." God bless him for being confident that would happen.

"How's her training proceeding?" Ethan asked.

Despite Catcher's unpleasant relationship with the Order, the governing body for sorcerers and sorceresses and Mallory's new bosses, his face blossomed into a proud grin. "Excellent. She's kicking ass."

"Of course she is," I said, and when my grandfather glanced back from the door of the bar, gave Catcher's arm a little shove. "Go play with Chuck."

"Going," he said. "And remember what I said. Do the right thing, Merit. Call her, even if it's awkward." I had no doubt it needed to be done. Unfortunately, I also had no doubt it would be awkward. I was never great on the phone, and as much as I missed my girl and didn't want my fangs and her magic to come between us, it still wasn't a call I was ready to make. Some days it didn't pay to be a grown-up.

It was thirty more minutes before the extra police cruisers began to pull away from the curb, and ten more before Jeff, Catcher, and my grandfather emerged from the bar, leaving the shifters behind them.

"What's the good word?" I asked when they approached.

My grandfather shook his head. "Gabriel doesn't think Tony is capable of this."

"Is he being objective?" Ethan asked.

Catcher shrugged. "Hard to say, but he does know Tony better than the rest of us."

"It doesn't read like an assassination on Gabriel," Jeff said, his delicate features pulled into serious concentration. "The shots were at the bar, not any particular shifter. The shooter could have attempted to push his way inside, used a rifle, tried a sniperlike approach." He frowned. "This reads more like a message - an attack against the Packs or the meeting, not Gabriel specifically."

"The forensics folks will process the bullets," my grandfather said. "Maybe they'll find some trace, figure out the target and the perpetrator."

"I, for one, would feel a lot better knowing the crazy shifter shooter was off the streets," Jeff said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. But then he looked at me, a glint in his eyes. "Unless someone was willing to offer up some one-on-one protection?"

"Keep dreaming," I said, but patted his shoulder cordially.

"Come on, Casanova," Catcher said, steering him toward the car. "Let's go use that hard drive you reformed."

"Reformatted."

"Whatever."

We made our goodbyes, and my grandfather followed Catcher and a sheepish Jeff back to the Olds and their South Side office. The remaining shifters - Gabriel, Adam, Jason, Robin, and a handful of blondish men I assumed to be more alphabetically named Keene siblings - walked outside and congregated near the door. A delivery truck pulled up to the curb, and two more men hopped out, then began lifting flats of particle board to place over the broken window. While the other brothers began to order and direct the repairmen, Gabriel, Adam, and the other Pack leaders walked over to where we stood.

"We appreciate your discretion tonight," Gabriel said.

"It is the better part of valor," I pointed out.

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Vampires no longer have the luxury of discretion, but I understand the need. Will you be able to keep the convocation under wraps after this?"

"I'm not worried about it. We'll get in, we'll meet, we'll get out, and we'll disperse back to our respective territories."

"And whose territory is Chicago?" Ethan asked, his head tilted to the side. "You said Chicago was a city of power. Whose power?"

Gabriel shook his head. "You don't want to know the answer to that one, vampire. While we're waiting for the conference, we'll focus on the investigation here."

"And until then?" Ethan asked, then glanced around between the men. "Do you all have security you're comfortable with?"

Gabriel nodded. "I'm not worried about the day-to-day; it's the en masse meeting of Pack members that has me concerned. Are you still up for working the convocation, given the drama?" Ethan considered the idea. "What are the odds that I'm putting myself and my Sentinel right into the line of fire?"

Gabriel barked out a laugh. "Given what we've seen so far, I'd guess one hundred percent." He leaned in toward me. "Pack whatever steel you can find, Kitten. You'll probably need the arsenal."

"Do you have a final location?" Ethan asked.

"Same neighborhood, but we're finalizing the details." His voice flattened as he glanced back at what was left of the bar. He checked his watch. "It's two thirty now. Let me clean up things here, and I'll give you a call before dawn."

Ethan nodded, then extended a hand to Gabriel. "We'll wait for your call, and we'll be prepared for the worst on Friday."

Gabe barked out a laugh as they shook on it. "You are ever the vampire, Sullivan. Ever the vampire."

"What else would I be?" Ethan mused aloud.

The deal struck, we turned to get into Ethan's car.

"By the way," Ethan said when the car's motor was humming, "I like the jacket." The awkwardness that had seemed to exist between us earlier faded in the close confines of the car.

Maybe because he liked the jacket, maybe because I had to miss out on Berna's cabbage rolls, he let me call Saul's, my favorite Wicker Park pizza stop, to order up a Chicago-style to go. He pulled up to the curb, and I came out fifteen minutes later with an extra-large "Saul's Best" - three inches of crust, cheese, meat, and sauce (in that order). Ethan, surely, would scoff at the grease, but it was perfect to satisfy a vampire's late-night, post-drive-by hunger. Or so I figured, this being my first drive-by. When I returned to the car, Ethan was on his phone. The phone was on speaker mode, so I listened as he filled in Luc and Malik about the night's events, the upcoming phone call with Gabe, and our new Friday night plans.

I got an arched eyebrow when I slid in, pizza box on my lap, probably at the size of the behemoth. It steamed the knees of my suit pants, no doubt leaving a disk of grease in the process. Good thing I had a couple of backup pairs. I didn't think Ethan would approve of a grease-stained Sentinel. When his call was done, and my stomach was rumbling loud enough to fill the car with sound, we began the trek back to Hyde Park.

"It's been a long night," he said. "Assuming you're willing to set aside a piece or two of that for me, we'll camp in my rooms and wait for Gabriel to call." Since I'd been in his apartments the day before - and since I had seven or eight pounds of Saul's Best on my lap - I didn't give that invitation the kind of clearheaded thought it deserved. And it did make sense to think that we would relax over pizza in Ethan's quarters while waiting for Gabriel's follow-up call, mulling the night's events and considering strategy for the convocation and pre-meeting.

Well.

I was half right.