House Rules - Chloe Neill Page 0,103

owned by a limited liability company. That company is, in turn, owned by another limited liability company, and so on up the chain. Ultimately, you get to a single owner: Carlos Anthony Martinez.”

“Who is that?”

“I have no idea. I thought you might.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t. My heart sank. I’d been holding out hope the property was owned by Vampire H. Killer or some equivalent name that would ring obvious bells and send me in his direction.

My father looked at me for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. “The land is valuable. If you have discovered untoward activities there . . .”

“You can jump in, buy the property for a song from the current owner, and turn it into something else.”

He nodded. “It’s a good location. An area that’s troubled, but it’s up-and-coming. It could be a positive arrangement if we can make it work.”

And that was how my father operated, and probably the secret of his success. There was always a deal to be done, money to be made. And if the opportunity arose, you didn’t let little things like murder—or your strained relationship with your daughter—impede your financial progress.

“Thank you for the information. If this leads to anything, I’ll let you know.”

My father looked appreciative, which seemed a fair trade for the information. Problem was, I was left standing on the front porch with a map and a reference to a man named Carlos. What was I supposed to do with that?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SEALED WITH A KISS

I rolled up the map and walked back toward Ethan’s office; no point in delaying bad news any longer than necessary. The door was open, but Ethan was gone. Michael Donovan stood in front of the bar.

“Is Ethan around?” I asked.

He looked up. “He just popped into Helen’s office; they’re making arrangements for Margot. Would you like a drink?”

I blew out a breath. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

He smiled thoughtfully. “I knew I liked you.” He opened one of Ethan’s decanters and poured Scotch into two glasses, then handed one to me.

I wasn’t much of a Scotch fan, but tonight I wasn’t going to argue. I sipped it, letting the fire burn down my throat, savoring the warmth. There was too much violence in the air for even an old Scotch to touch, but that didn’t make the sensation any less pleasurable.

“How goes the securing?”

“Slowly. We’re working on cameras right now, making sure we can fill the necessary gaps while still giving the vampires their privacy.”

I smiled. “I can see how that would be tricky. We do like our privacy.”

Michael sat down in one of the chairs in the sitting area and waved me over. He crossed one leg over the other. “What have you got there?”

“Property maps,” I said. “From my father. I’d hoped they’d help us identify the vampire killer, but I’m not sure they’ll actually lead anywhere.”

Ethan walked in just as Michael’s phone rang. Frowning, Michael excused himself from the room and began chatting with the caller.

“Have you heard anything about Margot?” I asked Ethan.

“I just checked in. She hasn’t yet regained consciousness—which isn’t unusual for a wound of this magnitude—but she’s healing very well. Delia expects she’ll make a full recovery.”

“Good,” I said, feeling a wash of relief. Margot was an awesome person and a good friend, not to mention a great chef. She was also a potential witness, and that would be handy in preventing any more attacks.

“What do you have there?” he asked.

I glanced down, just realizing that I still held the rolled-up map in my hand. “Info about the property in Little Italy.”

Michael stepped back into the room. “Ethan, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a personal matter I need to address. I should be back shortly.”

Ethan nodded. “Of course.”

Michael waved at me, then disappeared into the hallway.

Ethan’s desk phone rang, so I took my maps over to the conference table, hoping he might have a clue about our secret property owner. As I waited for him to finish his call, I sat down, my gaze falling on a stack of papers marked with the same kind of crimson wax seal Ethan had used during his second Master ceremony.

I’d always liked wax seals. They were so old-fashioned, so evocative, so secretive. I ran my fingers across the wax, expecting to find the Cadogan House seal there. But instead, the seal was smooth except for three small indentations.

Curious, I rotated the paper—which looked like an elevation of Cadogan House—toward me. The seal consisted of three letters inside a circle.

The letters?