Sullivan sat behind his desk. There were two chairs in front of him, one already occupied by a man in a police uniform.
“Mr. Sullivan,” Wanda said by way of greeting. “Captain Parker, always a pleasure to see you. Been a while since you’ve visited The Pride.”
“I’ve been busy,” Parker said, as she took the remaining seat. Alistair stood behind her and a little to the side, hands clasped behind his back to keep himself from fidgeting.
Wanda crossed her legs and leaned back confidently in the chair. “None of us were involved with Lena Olmo’s death.”
Sullivan and Parker exchanged a glance, before Sullivan nodded. Parker said, “I’d like to believe that, Miss Gatti, but according to the coroner Miss Olmo was killed by a very big feline. A lion or a tiger, most likely.”
“There are other familiars in Chicago, Captain Parker.”
“True, but not that many who are lions or tigers. Or who recently visited The Black Rabbit.”
Damn it. Alistair wanted to protest, but he bit his tongue. He needed to let Wanda handle this; she was a lot better at leashing her temper.
“That still doesn’t mean it was us,” she said. “Mr. Sullivan is aware of what went down at The Black Rabbit. Ursino’s move was directed at him, not us. The Gatti family has no desire—no motive, in fact—to start a war. Which this will certainly do.”
Parker scowled. “Then who does have a motive?”
“I don’t know, Captain.”
“Where was she killed?” Alistair asked.
Parker swiveled around to look at him. “Now that’s an interesting question…?”
“Alistair Gatti.”
“Mr. Gatti. Her body was found in Grant Park, but the scene was cleaner than it should have been. Not much in the way of blood. She was killed somewhere else, but we don’t know where.”
“And you thought it was us?” he demanded. So much for leashing his temper. “Someone obviously murdered her, then put her body where it would be discovered first thing in the morning. They want us to take the fall and start a war between Sullivan and Ursino! Not much of an investigator, are you?”
Parker’s face reddened. “Excuse my brother,” Wanda cut in, shooting Alistair a withering look. “There’s a reason why we don’t usually turn him loose on the customers. He does have a point, though. This was done to set us up.”
“And who would want to do that?” Sullivan asked, speaking at last. “Have you made some enemies you haven’t shared with me, Wanda?”
“No.” She locked eyes with him. “We were set up, but it was aimed at you, and possibly Ursino. Someone thinks they’ll profit from a war between the two of you. Who, you probably know better than I. In the end, we don’t want Ursino taking over any more than you do. We’ll do whatever is necessary to keep that from happening.”
“I appreciate that,” Sullivan said. “Would you and Mr. Gatti care for drinks?”
Hopefully the offer of hospitality meant he believed them. Wanda shook her head. “No, thank you. We need to get back to The Pride. I’m going to ask everyone to lay low for a while.”
“A good idea. I’ll be in touch.” Sullivan leaned back in his chair, a clear dismissal.
When they stepped out onto the side walk outside the shop, Wanda said, “Someday you’re going to learn not to be an asshole to people who have the power to make our lives difficult.”
Alistair shrugged. “I doubt it.” He glanced at her. “What do you think?”
“I think Chicago just got a whole lot more dangerous for us.” They’d parked at the curb outside, and she slid behind the wheel. “We need to warn the others.”
Sam walked with Reinhold and Teresa down the sidewalk, all of them carrying armfuls of groceries from the nearby A&P. The clerk had been a nice Italian man who chatted amiably with Reinhold and Teresa about the doings of the neighborhood, including a convoluted feud involving one of the local families.
As they strolled back, Reinhold offered Sam a lop-sided grin. “So, you and Alistair, eh?”
“Oh God,” Sam groaned aloud. “Why is everyone so interested in my love life?”
Reinhold laughed. “That’s how families work! We’re always meddling in each other’s business. Who else asked?”
“Holly. Then Wanda acted like I’m sort of-of Jezebel causing trouble between Alistair and Philip.” Just saying the words out loud made him cringe.
“Wanda worries,” Teresa said. “Are you going to bond with Philip?”
“I don’t know. We talked about it. It makes sense for both of us. I’m just…not sure.”
“It’s a big decision,” Reinhold said. “Take all the time you need.”
Sam hesitated, but they knew Philip and Alistair better than he did. “What do you think I should do?”
Reinhold and Teresa exchanged a glance. Then he said, “When Teresa and I fell in love, I told her I understood if she didn’t want to bond. If she wanted to wait for her witch, then I was fine with it. It wouldn’t make me care for her any less.”
“And I told him that life’s too short.” Teresa’s expression grew sober. “I had a lot of friends outside the family at one time. Some of them went to war and never came back. Others were carried off by the influenza. Here one day, gone the next. You just…you never know what’s going to happen. No sense waiting until tomorrow, because there’s no guarantee there will be a tomorrow.”
“If you want my advice,” Reinhold said, “follow your heart. Deep inside, you already know the answer.”
Sam let out a long breath. He wanted to be with Alistair, he knew that. And it was less that he wanted to bond with Philip, than it was the practical thing to do.
Maybe it would be better to become a hexman, even if that meant working with Sullivan. If things didn’t work out, he could always bond with someone later.
“Yeah,” he said. “You’re right, Reinhold. I think—”
Before he could finish his sentence, a car came to a screeching halt near the curb. Startled, he looked up. The sun gleamed off something metallic—
“Get down!” Reinhold shouted. He flung himself bodily on Sam, knocking him to the ground and partially behind the shelter of a parked car, even as the terrifying chatter of a tommy gun shattered the air. Groceries went flying everywhere; women started screaming; pedestrians rushed to get through the nearest door, no matter where it led. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the burst of pain that would signal he’d been hit.
It didn’t come. Instead, there were running footsteps, and Reinhold’s weight pulled off of him.
“Let me go!” Reinhold shouted. “Teresa! Oh, God, Teresa!”
Three men wrestled the struggling Reinhold into the car. The doors slammed, tires squealed again, and the vehicle roared away.
Teresa lay sprawled amidst the dropped groceries, blood soaking her day dress.
“No. No, no, no.” Sam crawled to her side. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow, her fair skin drained of what little color it had to begin with.
He stripped off his sweater and pressed it against the wound in her shoulder. “Help!” he shouted as people began to reemerge into the street. “We need a doctor!”