Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10) by Colleen Gleason Read Free Book Online Page B

sporting glittering gold sunburst buckles.
    Preston Bradley Hall was crowded with people and tall round tables that echoed the curved walls of the room, as well as freestanding easels and temporary dividers that had been constructed to display the photography.
    The exhibition was an elegant affair, with white-gloved waiters weaving through the maze of people and stationary objects, holding trays at the ready. In the corner, a string quartet played something more classical than jazzy.
    Temple snagged a tall flute of something that sparkled like pale sunshine, and Macey looked at it in astonishment.
    “Surely that isn’t what I think it is,” she murmured as Temple lifted the glass to drink. “Mayor Dever wouldn’t allow alcohol to be served so blatantly, would he?”
    Dever was known in the press as “Decent Dever,” because although he was a “wet” person—he didn’t support the Volstead Act—he did his best to enforce Prohibition because it was his job to uphold the law. Much as many of the Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms team of the government did.
    Unfortunately, the same could not be said for more than half of the Chicago Police Department, and this conflict made the city a hotbed of violence, crime, and danger. Not to mention rife with bribery and much looking-of-the-other-way.
    “It’s only carbonated cider,” said Temple, her slender, arched brows lifting. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised if the real thing was around here somewhere. Even Dever…well, I expect if you said the right thing to the right pers—Well, hello there, darling.” Her voice dropped to a purr, causing Macey to look over in surprise.
    A handsome, broad-shouldered man, dressed smartly in a pinstriped suit, snowy-white shirt, and spats, had taken Temple’s hand. He bowed, lifted her hand to press a kiss to the back of it, then raised his face—still holding her slender fingers in his darker ones.
    “Miss Temple,” he said, his brown eyes warm and liquid from behind round spectacles, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anything so ravishing in my life as you tonight.” His voice, like his skin, was deep and dark as molasses, and tinged with a bit of Southern. His wiry hair was close-cropped and held a light sheen from scented pomade. Something like pine. “You are indeed a sight for sore eyes.”
    “You’re looking mighty fine yourself, Joseph,” replied Temple in a low, throaty voice. “Apparently you managed to slip away from your patients tonight, after all.”
    “No one seemed to need a puncture sewn up or an appendix removed, so I felt it was safe to leave on time. And I had a compelling reason to make it here.” He smiled warmly. “I’m delighted you were able to use the tickets.”
    Macey gaped while the two looked at each other as if they were about to devour the other, and all at once things began to fall into place. It was no wonder Temple had been so insistent about attending the exhibition.
    She stood for a moment, feeling the absolutely palpable sizzle of tension between the two, before her friend seemed to recall her presence.
    “I’m sorry, darling,” Temple said, taking Macey’s hand and pulling it toward her as she slipped her arm around Macey’s waist. “This is an old friend of the family’s, who has recently moved to Chicago. N’Awlins’ loss is our gain. Please meet Dr. Joseph Sevin, the new chief of surgery at Provident Hospital. Joseph, this is my dear chum, Miss Macey Denton.”
    Macey noticed her friend’s voice had slipped into more of a Southern lilt since she’d found her old friend, and she smiled. Clearly “friend of the family” was a euphemism for something much more interesting. She beamed at Dr. Sevin, who was just as charming and gallant when he bent over her hand—though Macey noticed he released her fingers more quickly than he’d done Temple’s.
    “I’ll let you two get caught up on all of the news back in New Orleans,” she said, giving Temple a sly look.