“Oh,” Jeff said, surprise in his expression. “Okay.”
“What we’re trying to figure out,” I continued, “is whether another shifter might have a grudge against the family.”
Jeff frowned. “I’m not following.”
“Jamie’s always been a little aimless, wouldn’t you say, Merit?” Ethan asked.
I nodded. “I think that’s fair.”
“However, it seems the Breckenridge family is now circling around him. No one else, as far as I’m aware, knows that the Breckenridges are shifter in origin. The theory we’re working from is that maybe they’re circling for a reason. Maybe Jamie’s weak, has some sort of magical problem. And maybe some members of the Pack want to do something about that.”
Jeff shook his head. “I still don’t—” Then he stopped, mouth falling open, shock and dismay and, worst of all, hurt, in his expression. He sat back in his chair, as if deflated by the question. “Wow.”
The room went silent, gazes dropping guiltily to the table, the vamps unable to make eye contact.
A minute or two passed in silence. I wanted to reach out a hand, to touch him, both to comfort him and to reassure myself, but the move seemed patronizing. Instead, I looked up, caught Ethan’s eye, that line of worry between his brows.
“No offense, but this is why shifters don’t like vampires,” Jeff quietly said, drawing our eyes back to him. “The rumor, the speculation. That you would actually ask me that to my face—do you kill off members of your Pack? That’s insulting.”
He looked at me. “I know you’re new and maybe you don’t know better,” he said, then looked at Ethan and the rest of the vampires, “but the rest of you have been around. Surely you do.”
None of them, to their credit, offered their ignorance as an excuse.
“Now,” Jeff continued, sitting forward in the chair and putting his elbows on the table, “the fact that we don’t exterminate members”—he gave us all a pointed look, suggesting he knew exactly which supernatural species did, and given the sword belted at my side, I thought he had a pretty good point—“doesn’t mean we don’t have intra-Pack struggles. Just because Jamie won’t actually be taken out doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be bullied by stronger Pack members, that folks wouldn’t use his weakness, whatever it is, against him or his family.”
“Blackmail?” I asked.
“Or extortion. It’s happened before. ‘Give me what I want, and I’ll ensure your kid’s protected,’ that kind of thing. Pack members who are already pretty far down in the ranks try to make themselves feel better. Part of where you stand is, well, you know, immutable. Every shifter has a primary form. The animal they change into. Shifters are born that way. The form a shifter takes, that doesn’t change. You’re born to it, and that affects your rank in the pack. But part of it is muscle, strength. And that strength determines what you do with your rank—do you sit back, let the Pack make decisions? Or do you try to have a role, try to influence Gabriel? The thing about blackmail, about the bullying, is that Pack members don’t report that kind of thing to him.”
“Because that’s the kind of act that makes them seem that much weaker—not being able to handle their own problems?”
Jeff nodded at Scott. “Exactly. Gabriel is sovereign of the N.A. Central, the Pack as a whole, as a unit. He’s not here to arbitrate family disputes or whatever. That’s not his role.”
Ethan held up a finger. “Unless they become Pack disputes.” Jeff nodded. “Sure. If they become Pack disputes. But that doesn’t happen very often. That’s the nature of the Pack. We take care of our own. You get enough Pack members riled up, we take care of it on our own.”
Those words, spoken by a skinny twenty-one-year-old computer programmer, hovered uncomfortably in the air.
“Jeff,” I asked, “do you know anything specific about a plan to harm Jamie, or any animosity toward the Brecks?”
“I didn’t even know they were shifters until you told me. It’s not like there’s a list or radar or something. Remember, we’re still kind of . . . in the closet, I guess. And while we’re lumped into packs, there are only four packs in the U.S., and that’s really just geography. We’re born, not made like you, so we operate on more of a, I guess you’d say, family level.”
“Like the Mafia,” Scott suggested.
“We’re not that bad,” Jeff said.
Ethan looked around. “If Jamie, indeed, has some sort of magical injury, that information could be used to his detriment by other individuals inside the Pack. What can we extrapolate from that?”
“If it’s true,” Jeff put in, although I think the question had been meant for vampires, “and someone discovered it, they’d have found a trigger for the Breckenridges. Something that could completely set them off.”
“Something that has set them off,” Ethan darkly corrected.
“And if the owner of that information was a vampire,” Luc said, fear in his expression, “that trigger could spark a war between us.”
The room went silent.
Ethan sighed heavily, then looked around at the folks at the table. “As we’ve barely half an hour until dawn, if we have nothing else productive to contribute today, I’ll contact RDI and ask that they supplement our investigation during the day. In the meantime, please canvass as best you can to determine if anyone has additional pertinent information. I suggest we meet here, an hour after sunset, to reconvene and share what we’ve learned. Any objections?”
“Best we can do on a short time frame,” Scott said, pushing back his chair. Noah did the same. Scott and Noah nodded at Ethan, then went for the door. Morgan’s exit was slower. He pushed back his chair, rose and waited until Noah and Scott were out the door, probably headed for cover as the sun threatened to peek above the horizon. Morgan looked at me, fury in his eyes, then shifted his gaze to Ethan. Morgan walked toward him, stopped within inches of his body, and whispered something that flattened Ethan’s expression.
Without glancing back at me, Morgan walked away and out the office door, slamming it shut behind him.
Ethan, still standing at the head of the table, closed his eyes. “Someday, if he prepares for it, he could be a leader of vampires. God forbid that day comes before he is prepared.”
“I think that day is here,” Malik muttered to me. I nodded my agreement, but rued my impact on Morgan’s interaction with the rest of the Masters. He’d been flummoxed by me, and yet had tried to be protective when I broached the rave topic. I didn’t really know what to think about that.
“Jeff,” Ethan said, “thank you again for venturing into Cadogan House. We appreciate the information more than we can say.”
Jeff shrugged. “No problem. I’m happy to help correct the facts.” But then he lowered his head, leaned toward me, and whispered, “About the other thing.”
I glanced back at him. “Not here?”
He shook his head, and I nodded my agreement.
“I’ll walk him out,” I said aloud, then pushed back my chair. Jeff did the same.
“You’re dismissed,” Ethan said, walking back to his desk and picking up the handset of his phone. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
It wasn’t until we were outside the House, halfway between the front door and the wrought-iron fence, that Jeff stopped me with a hand on my arm. He glanced around, gaze darting to and fro. He looked like he was casing the House.
“Avoiding the paparazzi,” he explained, “and, no offense, but the guards—I’m not a fan.”
We both glanced over to where they stood, dark and severe, at the Cadogan gate. As if on cue, they simultaneously glanced over their shoulders and regarded us.
“They’re a little creepy,” I agreed, then looked at Jeff. “What did you learn?”
“Okay,” he said, both hands moving as he began to explain, “it took a few tries, but I managed to trace the e-mail address. The IP address was a non-starter, unfortunately. Way too many roundabouts, and even if I found an origin address, that’s only going to give me a location, right? It’s not going to tell me who sent the e-mail.”
I blinked at him for a second. “I seriously have no clue what you just said.”
He stopped talking and looked at me, then waved his hands before starting up again. “Doesn’t matter. The e-mail address is the key. The e-mail to Nick was sent from a generic address. The kind you can set up for free on the Web. I managed to drill down into it, get the original setup data, but the info was fake. The name on the account was Vlad.”
I rolled my eyes. “Points us in the right direction, I guess, but it’s not very creative.”
“Exactly what I thought, so I tried something else. Every time you set up one of these generic accounts, you have to enter another e-mail address. A place the company can send your password if you forget it or something like that.”
“I assume the other e-mail address was fake, too?”