Personal Demon (25 page)

“I’m not sitting here,” I hissed under my breath. “I’m doing my job. If I leave this room, my cover’s blown—”

“Blow it! For all you know, they’re figuring out how to kill you.”

“Then why leave me without a barrier spell to keep me in? They—”

“You can’t take the chance. Get out of there or I’ll—”

“Stop yelling and listen, Karl. The gang is planning a break-in. They’re in the same room I was in yesterday. When you get here, you can eavesdrop. Find out what’s happening.”

He paused, then asked, calmer, “Where are you? In case I need to find you.”

“The room Bianca was killed in.”

“Get out of there, Hope. You—”

“I need to learn how to handle it.”

He let out a string of curses and let me know what he thought of me torturing myself in the name of Expisco education. After a moment, he said, “If anyone comes to get you, hit the panic button. I don’t care if you think they’re bringing you coffee and doughnuts, hit that button. If it’s nothing, I’ll slip away and no one will be the wiser. But you
will
hit that button.”

“I will.”

LUCAS: 6

AT SIX-THIRTY
I walked into Cortez Cabal headquarters. There was no question that my father would still be there. For him, the day didn’t end for another hour or so. That was a lesson he’d taught me—that if you expect your employees to work nine to five, and your executives eight to six, then, as CEO, you need to be there even longer. Whatever my father’s faults, he treats everyone from the janitors to the board of directors with consideration and respect…at least when he doesn’t need them tortured, maimed or executed.

I hadn’t notified my father of my arrival…or that I was coming to Miami at all. I wanted to see his reaction without giving him time to prepare his defense. I do not enjoy the subterfuge. I can’t say the same for him.

The lobby doors had barely shut behind me before a receptionist and a guard flanked me. Did I need a cab driver paid? A car taken to the executive lot? A coffee? A cold drink perhaps—it was quite warm today. Was I here to see my father? Was there anyone else they could call for me? Would I like a member of the clerical staff on hand for my visit?

Paige urges me to find the humor in this, and it is almost sublimely ridiculous. But I can’t laugh it off—at the root of it is my father’s biggest machination, his grandest scheme: naming me heir.

By naming as his successor the only son who does not want the job, he ensures peace among my three brothers, and safety for himself. The latter says something about his relationship with them—and the real possibility that they would commit patricide to hasten their inheritance. It is a truth my father recognizes. Name me heir, and my brothers must stay their hands and work hard, hoping to persuade the board of directors that they would run the company successfully, should the board wish to exercise its influence on my father and convince him to change his inheritance plans.

Where does that leave me? In the worst situation of all, made worse by my father’s refusal to acknowledge that this is a ruse at all. I have asked—once even pleaded—for him to admit, just to me, that it’s a political ploy. He will not.

The receptionist fell back to her station as the guard escorted me to the executive elevator. That was awkward for all. Considering my anti-Cabal efforts, my guide might look more like an armed escort, though he was only trying to accord me due respect.

The dilemma was resolved when the parking garage elevator opened and out stepped my half-brother, William. On seeing me, he hesitated, as if considering his chances of hastily retreating. Normally, I’d have let him go, but given the choice between discomfiting the guard or William, I decided my brother could handle it.

“William, how are you?” I walked forward, hand extended.

Every employee in the lobby had stopped to watch.

“Lucas.”

He gave my hand a fleeting shake.

“I was just going upstairs to speak to Father. If you were headed that way, we can ride up together.”

He couldn’t escape gracefully, so he said, “Yes, of course.”

The guard relinquished me to him.

Of my three half-brothers, I get along best with William, which is not to say he was going to invite Paige and me to Sunday dinner anytime soon, but he’d never tried to kill me—a sign of resignation, if not acceptance. On the elevator, I asked after his wife and infant son. Another nephew whom I suspected I’d never meet. Hector’s two boys—now teenagers—didn’t even know they had an Uncle Lucas. When they were younger, I’d send birthday and Christmas gifts, but after a few years of having them returned, I’d realized to continue would be mere stubbornness…and an expenditure I could ill afford.

Once off the elevator, aware that others could be watching, William struggled to show a polite return interest in my life by asking about Savannah’s educational plans.

“Well, well, well,” a voice sang out behind us. “If it isn’t the geek crusader. What horrible crime have we committed this time?” Carlos slid past me, planted himself in my path and held out his wrist. “Here, baby brother, get it over with.”

“Hello, Carlos.”

He made a show of looking around. “Where’s the little witch? Is it just my imagination, or do you lock her away whenever I’m around?”

“She’s otherwise occupied this evening, but I’m sure you’ll see her later.”

He flashed his teeth. “Oh, I’ll make sure of it.”

I tensed, but tried not to show it. Let Carlos know he’d struck a nerve and he’d never let up. Paige always repelled his attentions, but with Carlos, rejection only served to whet his appetite.

“If you’ll excuse me, William, Carlos—”

My father’s office door opened and Hector came out.

When my eldest brother steps into a room, the hairs on my neck rise and icy dread settles into the pit of my stomach. William and Carlos dislike me, but Hector hates me—a hatred so pure it vibrates between us. Can I blame him? He’s the oldest son. He’s been a hardworking, vital part of the Cabal since before I was born. Yet he has to suffer the humiliation of my father pretending he’ll hand the business to me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Hector advanced. He’s at least four inches shorter than me, but it took all I had not to shrink back.

“Got your bags packed, Hector?” Carlos said. “Because I think you’re about to be sent on a little trip.”

“Lucas.”

I tore my gaze from Hector as my father brushed past him to embrace me. Even as I returned the hug, he started pummeling me with questions. Where was Paige? When did we arrive? How was our flight?

My brothers might as well have been invisible. The temperature around us seemed to plummet, but my father was oblivious. He ushered me into his office, still asking questions.

When it came to his family, my father was as blind as King Lear, blithely fostering jealousies among his offspring, then seeming shocked when they turned against him. Sometimes it was as calculated as naming me heir.

But more often, it was the thoughtless slights, like ignoring them in my presence or prominently displaying on his desk a photo of me as a child…with my mother beside me. How did my half-brothers feel, seeing that? Their own mother’s picture was farther back, displayed more from duty than from desire. My father would say that they were grown men and knew he hadn’t lived with their mother for years, remaining married only because he couldn’t afford the divorce. Yet it was the emotional impact that mattered, and that he couldn’t see.

“Paige did come to Miami with you, didn’t she?” he said as he closed the door.

“She’s at the hotel, unpacking.”

“Which hotel?”

“The South Continental.”

“Why don’t I have you moved—”

“Paige likes the Continental.”

“I was going to suggest you stay at my house.”

I stifled a sigh. I thought I’d preempt him by refusing his upgrade offer, but I’d only pushed him to something more difficult to decline.

“I’ll discuss it with her. But, having just unpacked, I doubt she’d want to—”

“Tomorrow then. I’m sure she’ll be busy with the case you’re working on so I’ll have my staff stop by the hotel and pack for her.”

Two questions framed as a statement. If I didn’t argue the presumption that I was staying longer than a day and working a case, he’d know both were true.

“We may not be here that long, Papá, and I’m not visiting in an official capacity.”

I waited for his face to fall, disappointed that I’d avoided his trap. Instead, he clapped me on the back and laughed, and I realized I had indeed been trapped…into proving how well I assimilated lessons I pretended to ignore.

“She’ll join us for dinner, though, won’t she?”

I could point out that I hadn’t received, much less agreed to, any dinner invitation, but that would be petty.

Sometimes it was easier to play the game and let him win the small victories, reserving my strength for the larger battles. I said yes.

I took Karl’s envelope from my satchel. I felt my father’s gaze on me and resisted the urge to glance up.

I removed the photographs and, before he could see them, flipped to the second—the security camera picture of Ortega. Then I laid the stack facedown on my lap.

“Does Juan Ortega still work for you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Did he work for you today?”

“I said he still—”

“But
today
. Was he at work today?”

He pushed a button on his desk. An adjoining door opened and Troy walked in. He smiled when he saw me.

“Hey, Lucas.”

My father cleared his throat.

Troy bowed his head, mock-obeisant. “Mr. Cortez, I mean.”

A sigh from my father. “Was Juan Ortega at work today?”

As my father’s primary bodyguard, Troy would be apprised of all irregularities involving security, including absenteeism. For a division head like Ortega, he’d know whether he was absent without checking his daily log.

“No, sir. He called in sick this morning.”

“Could you follow up on that, please?”

A nod as he stepped back into his office.

“Troy? One moment please.” I turned to my father. “I’d like to follow up myself, with a personal visit.”

“Of course. Find the address, please, Troy. We’ll be leaving within the hour.”

“One more thing.” I plucked the second man’s photo from the stack and held it up, showing it only to Troy.

“Is this Andrew Mullins?”

“Yep. Second-level officer, works under Ortega.” He paused, then pulled out his PalmPilot and checked.

“Also off today. Seems we have an epidemic.”

I thanked Troy. My father waited until he was gone, then said, “I presume your visit has something to do with this epidemic?”

I placed the photograph of Ortega on his desk. “This was taken at 11:21 this morning, at the Easy Rider.

Ortega told Guy Benoit’s second-in-command that he was there to deliver a message from you, then he shot her in the head and left this photo—” I turned to the one of the young men, “—next to her body with the words ‘more to come’ written on the back.”

I resisted the urge to study his reaction. Shock and consternation were expressions my father had mastered decades ago, along with the ability to mask those reactions. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Whoever brought this to you is lying, Lucas. They have a vendetta against me or the Cabal, or they have chosen to blame an easy target.”

“Hope Adams brought it to me. She was outside the room when Bianca was killed. She saw it in a vision, then saw Ortega himself come out of the room, carrying the murder weapon. He and Mullins chased her before Karl’s arrival apparently made them decide she was a problem they could deal with later. We have the security photographs, and two eyewitness accounts. That hardly seems like a fabrication designed to frame the Cabal and tarnish your reputation.”

“Lucas, I did not—”

“This first picture, if you’re interested, is of two members of the gang, who have been missing since last night. Earlier this month, after a lucrative heist, these same young men were beaten and robbed by a man matching Ortega’s description, again bearing a warning from the Cortez Cabal.”

“I did not kill this girl or kidnap these boys—”

“I didn’t say you did. You have underlings to do that for you.”

“Yes, these men are my employees and, yes, if Hope says she saw Ortega kill that young woman, then I have no doubt he did. But they were not acting under my authorization or any authorization that I have knowledge of. While I’d hope that my word would be enough, I know it isn’t and I know that’s my fault. So I’d suggest we pay Ortega and Mullins a home visit and check on their health.”

HOPE: PANIC BUTTON

B
ianca died twice more before Karl sent me a message. Three words: get out now.

I messaged him back, asking whether I should try to maintain my cover.

One word: abort.

Had Karl been able to find the exclamation mark, I suspected he would have used it. I considered his command. Yes, he was prone to blowing things out of proportion where my safety was concerned, but however strong his instinct to protect, he always backed down if he was overdoing it.

I sent back “Are you sure?” and got a profanity in response.

I stood just inside the door and mentally ran through my escape route. Once I breached Max’s spell barrier, I couldn’t stop. I threw open the door and started down the hall at a quick march. If they caught me running, I was doomed.

Through the club, into the front hall—

“Faith?”

Tony stood in the doorway between the club and the hall.

“Oh, thank God,” I said. “You guys are still here. I called Guy to say I needed to use the bathroom, and no one answered. I thought I’d been left behind.”

“Nah, we’re just finishing up. Guy was going to send Max to get you in a minute. I’ll take you to him.”

A dark form appeared behind Tony. Three slow, silent steps, and Karl was close enough to breathe down Tony’s neck.

As he reached out, I gasped, eyes going wide. “Tony!”

Karl grabbed him by the back of the shirt and flung him into the wall with a crack that sent plaster flying.