He stopped dead and glared at Grayson, who just stood there, like a fucking granite statue. Immovable. Stubborn bastard.
“I was told not to leave until I had an affirmative answer.”
“Yep. Affirmative to telling Saul to piss off. Satisfied?”
Grayson shrugged. Glancing around the pristine office, his gaze settled on the empty desk.
“Happy here?”
“Sure am,” Oliver rasped. “This place runs like a well-oiled machine.”
“Sounds boring as batshit.”
“Was the batshit comment a deliberate dig?”
“Like your stony compliment? Nope.”
The two men stared at one another. Then Grayson cracked a smile, and Oliver followed suit. Vampires and gargoyles had always had a certain rivalry. And yeah, gargoyles’ wing spans were wider, but Oliver liked to think that vampires had more finesse, more style in the air.
“Ah, mate, I’ve missed our chats up on the rooftop.”
“Missed your fine whiskey, I’ll admit,” Oliver conceded, unable to acknowledge that yeah, he’d missed the damn gargoyle too.
“Guess that’s the best I’ll get out of you as far as compliments go.” Grayson smirked, then hunkered onto his haunches. It was the only way for the huge monster to sit down, he wouldn’t fit in any of the chairs.
Oliver sat in an easy chair, crossed his legs at the ankles and flicked an imaginary piece of fluff off his pants. And no, damn it, he wasn’t going to offer the bastard a whiskey, even though he had a fine malt in his desk drawer. “You’ll be here a while. Maisie might wonder where you’ve gotten to.”
“She said she’d have dinner waiting no matter what the hour.”
Another peculiar stab twisted in the region of his heart. He chose to ignore it.
A moment’s silence followed while vampire and gargoyle did their best to outstare each other.
Finally, Grayson tsked in exasperation. “They need you. And you fucking know it. They can’t solve this crime without your expertise. Saul’s a good guy, solid at managing the department, but he doesn’t have your knowledge.” He paused, dropped his voice. “There’s a rumor that Matteus Kominsky is involved. Never been caught, so you know, he could be…”
Oliver’s brows drew down. “Don’t remind me,” he rasped.
Three years ago, Matteus Kominsky had kidnapped a human by the name of Shona Dove. Though she had been rescued successfully, Matteus had vanished into thin air that night. Every lead Oliver had pursued had turned out to be a dead end. It had frustrated the hell out of him. And worse, it was a crime involving his own kind. He should have been able to solve it with his fucking eyes closed.
“You’ve considered Matteus could be involved, surely?” Grayson said.
“I’ve had a gut feeling, yes.”
“And your gut feelings are second to none.”
“Didn’t help us find the bastard,” Oliver grunted. “That fucker just disappeared without a trace.”
“Like these missing humans. No trace. No clues. Nothing.” Grayson paused. “Except for one thing.”
“And that is?”
“There’ve been a couple of reported sightings of Matteus recently.”
Oliver sat up taller. “Where?”
“First time was in Vlad’s dress shop. After hours. Tom, one of my most experienced officers, swore it was Matteus. Then Vlad strode over and pulled the curtains. We questioned Vlad later, but he was his usual evasive, sarcastic self.”
Vlad Kominsky was Matteus’s uncle, a dress designer and a wily, cunning old bastard. But still, one sighting wasn’t enough to go on. “Plenty of vampires buy suits from Vlad—could have been any of them.”
