Personal Demon (26 page)

As Tony dropped, I hurried over to check his pulse. Karl grabbed my arm. With my free hand, I lifted Tony’s eyelids, making sure they weren’t dilated. I started for the door, but Karl swung me around, nearly flipping me off my feet, and dragged me back toward the club.

“What—?” I began.

“Shhh!” A quick glance and discreet sniff around, then he pulled me behind the coat check and toward the side closet. I was about to tell him the door was kept locked, but saw it was ajar, and realized this was where he’d been waiting.

He pulled me inside. As he closed the door, the room went dark, and his hand stayed on my wrist, gripping hard enough to make me wince.

“What the hell were you doing?” he whispered. “You almost gave me away.”

“It was too late for Tony to react. But when he comes to, he’ll tell the others that I tried to warn him, which will make it seem as if my disappearance wasn’t voluntary.”

“So you can go back and pick up where you left off? It’s over, Hope. Your job is done, and you need to stop worrying about—”

“About whether they’ll realize I’m a spy and change the plans you presumably overheard?”

He went quiet.

“My wrist?” I whispered.

He slackened his grip, and rubbed the spot with his thumb, then pulled me into the darkest section of the closet. I lifted onto my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, but still had to tug his shoulder to get him to bend.

“Can I ask why we’re in here when the exit was twenty feet away?”

“I didn’t want to exit.”

“Then why call me—?” The answer hit. “You son-of-a-bitch.”

I slipped my arm from his grasp. His hand went around my waist before I could step away.

I continued. “You want them separated, looking for me, don’t you? I’m not in danger. You just wanted to sound the alarm—and use the excuse to blow my cover so we can leave Miami.”

“I wanted them out of that room so I can get something in it. And, yes, I want
you
out of Miami.”

“You told me I was in danger, and I trusted you.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence, then, “They have plans in that room. Blueprints—”

“Which you could have gotten without blowing my cover.”

At a sound from outside the room we both went silent. It was Guy and Rodriguez. They’d found Tony. I heard Guy phone Max and tell him Tony had been knocked out. He wanted Max to meet Rodriguez at the front door, then go after me while he tended to Tony.

Rodriguez helped Guy carry Tony away, still unconscious. Once we were sure they were gone, we slipped from the closet.

I followed Karl. I tried to focus on the task, but my nerves were frayed from almost two hours of watching Bianca die.

Why did I insist on trusting a man everyone warned couldn’t be trusted? Maybe I
did
enjoy the chaos of my own suffering, and I was just too deluded to see it.

“Hope? I need you to stand guard here. Are you going to be able to do that?”

“Of course I can.” I snapped the words, then rubbed my face. “Sorry. Yes, I’m fine and I can handle this.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. Karl’s gaze darkened and I could feel chaos strumming from him. Anger? Frustration?

Impatience? Impossible to tell.

He said, “We’re getting you out of here. As soon as I’m done.”

“I don’t need—” I bit off the sharp words and managed a softer, “I’m fine, Karl. Really. Just go.”

His look said he expected me to collapse from chaos overdose the moment he turned his back.

“Go,” I said between my teeth. “I’m fine.”

He left. I rubbed my arms, struggling to stay alert. Fight the fatigue. Experience it, learn from it, then push it aside.

“We need to move now,” a voice said. “Go to the warehouse, get the equipment and strike.”

I was ready to bolt, my tired brain misidentifying the sound as something I was hearing with my ears, not my mind. When I realized otherwise, I closed my eyes and concentrated.

“But if they took Faith after they knocked me out—” Tony’s voice.

“All the more reason to move.” Guy.

“I tried calling her—”

“Her phone switches straight to voice mail. Whoever took her must have it and turned it off.”

Where were they? I couldn’t tell. No, wait, if I couldn’t hear them with my ears, then they weren’t that close.

I took out my panic button, just in case.

“Are you up for it?” Guy asked. “How’s the head?”

“Pounding like a son-of-a-bitch, but those Tylenols should kick in soon. I’m not backing out, if that’s what you’re asking. Those bastards have three of our guys, and we’re getting them back. I’d love to know what attacked me, though. What’s that strong? Werewolf?”

“The Cabals don’t hire werewolves.”

The voice faded. I hurried to the end of the hall, hoping to pick them up again, but either they were too far away or the chaos had faded from the exchange. I ran back and found Karl shuffling through a filing cabinet.

“They’re leaving,” I said. “Did you find what you wanted?”

He smacked the drawer shut in response.

“They must have taken it,” I said. “I’m going to follow them. If you want to keep looking—”

He strode past me and waved for me to fall in behind him. As much as I longed to lead, I couldn’t argue with the logic of putting the guy with superhuman hearing and strength in front.

Guy and Tony—and presumably Max and Rodriguez—were gone. That meant Karl had to track them by scent. Easy enough inside. Once outside, though, even if he’d been comfortable sniffing the ground, he couldn’t do it without attracting a lot of attention. So it was slow going. When the sidewalk branched, he had to stoop and tie his shoe to figure out which way they’d gone. Finally, the trail ended…in the delivery lane where Guy usually parked.

He paced, stopping every few steps to sniff the ground, as if hoping he was mistaken about the obvious answer.

Finally he straightened and said, “Gone.”

“From what I heard they’re going after their target now. You saw blueprints. Office? Private residence?”

“A couple of office floor plans, plus one or two that could have been homes. It was too far to see.” He took out his cell phone. “Lucas might recognize them, if they’re Cabal.”

LUCAS: 7

WE PICKED UP PAIGE
on the way to Ortega’s house, so we could head out to dinner right after…and because her witch spells might come in handy. Troy’s partner, Griffin, had gone home, leaving Troy as my father’s bodyguard for the night, as usual. We also brought two security guards.

Paige and my father chatted on the ride—casual conversation, unrelated to the task. My father raised me to see witches as simply another supernatural race, one with which we have an unfortunate history. Yet, our Cabal, like the others, has only one token witch employee and when business partners mock witches, he’d never defend the race.

He will come to Paige’s defense, though. Whatever problem a business contact might have with a Cortez marrying a witch, he’d best not voice it within my father’s hearing. That’s more about defending Paige as the wife of his son, but I’m grateful for it.

His affection for her appears genuine. He certainly takes more interest in her than he does in Hector’s or William’s wife…a fact that also does not go unnoticed by my brothers.

WHEN WE GOT
to Ortega’s house, my father sent the guards around to cover the back while Troy escorted us to the front door and rang the bell. After the third ring, Paige said, “We really should get a look inside.

Lucas and I can come back after dark…”

Her words trailed off as my father took two small envelopes from his pocket, opened one and emptied a key ring into his palm.

“You have keys for all your employees’ homes?” Paige said.

“Management level and those with security clearance only.”

“I don’t want to know how you get them, do I?”

He smiled as he handed the keys to Troy. “Legally, as shocking as that might seem, though some would argue we’re taking advantage of our employees’ vulnerabilities to justify violating their civil rights.”

“I’ve never agreed it was legal either,” I murmured, then explained to Paige. “Included in Ortega’s contract is a stipulation that he allow his home to be refitted with locks and an alarm system. Most employees realize this means the Cabal will retain a set of their keys and alarm override codes, but that is not—” I looked at my father “—

explicitly stated.”

“But as long as they know and don’t argue…”

“They don’t argue because they’re supernaturals, and they rely on the Cabal for more than mere employment, therefore they too readily permit you to violate—”

“Can you tell we’ve had this discussion before?” my father said to Paige. “And it’s not one we should be having on the front stoop. Troy?”

“The dead bolt’s sticking, sir. Just a—There it is.”

When Paige tried to follow Troy into the house, my father caught her arm.

“Troy will disarm the system and perform a cursory search.”

Troy’s voice floated back. “So if Ortega’s set a tripwire bomb, I’m the only one who’ll go ka-boom. This is why you have a Ferratus half-demon on staff, sir.”

“Griffin is with his children. You don’t have any.”

“In other words, no one will care if I go ka-boom.”

“I’d care. I hate training new bodyguards.”

My father’s eyes twinkled as Troy tossed a few choice words back. A Tempestras half-demon was an odd choice for a bodyguard—being able to affect the weather isn’t terribly useful as a defense mechanism—and more suitable guards regularly applied for Troy’s job, but my father would never consider replacing him. When a man is at your side almost every day, from waking to sleeping, there are more important qualifications than supernatural abilities.

After a few minutes, Troy returned with the “all clear,” and we went inside.

Ortega wasn’t there. His house was tidy, his luggage was missing and his closets contained less clothing than one would expect a man of his income and position to possess. Most damning of all—his safe had been emptied and left open. It looked as if he’d left quickly and of his own free will.

We searched the house, but Ortega wasn’t foolish enough to leave any clues. The computer hard drive had been removed. The filing cabinet was empty, as was his desk. There weren’t even papers on the refrigerator door.

As I fingered an empty kitchen hook, where a calendar had probably hung, I said to my father, “It would appear he’s made a clean—”

“Got something,” Paige called from the living room.

We found her kneeling before the fireplace.

“I never thought I’d see this outside a movie, but he’s burned some papers,” she said. “And he was in such a hurry there are still pieces left.”

Black ashes and gray bits of paper lay in an otherwise pristine fireplace. In Miami, fireplaces were the sort of thing builders added purely for the emotional impact—a potential buyer sees it, pictures romantic nights by the fire or a faithful dog dozing before the flames, and only later realizes the impracticality of such dreams when the temperature rarely drops below sixty.

I retrieved tweezers from the bathroom, removed the largest scorched pieces and laid them on a blank sheet of paper. The edges were charred, but I could make out a few words in the middle.

“That’s the club address, isn’t it?” Paige said.

I nodded. The partial address was visible, and below it “11 AM–invent—”

“It’s telling him when to expect Bianca to be there doing inventory,” Paige said. “It must be a scheduled time—maybe when stock arrives.”

The rest was mostly random phrases: “—must be complete—” “—absolutely no one—” “—message that we—”

I carefully gathered the fragile pieces and put them into a bag for lab analysis.

“We should speak to the neighbors,” Paige said. “Ortega lived alone, right?”

My father nodded. “He’s been divorced for about ten years, with no children.”

“And, as far as we can see, no long-term girlfriend, which means it would be easy for him to cut and run.

But it also gives me an excuse for talking to the neighbors.”

She went to the neighbors and introduced herself as Ortega’s new girlfriend, concerned because she hadn’t heard from him in two days and he wasn’t answering his phones. The couples to the right and across the road couldn’t help. Though Ortega had lived here since his divorce, they knew nothing about him. That wasn’t uncommon—avoiding unnecessary contact with neighbors is another way for supernaturals to hide what we are.

But the neighbor to the left was a divorcée in her forties who’d probably been eyeing Ortega, and who took one look at Paige and couldn’t resist breaking the bad news—that Ortega had been home and probably avoiding her calls. She’d last seen him at nine-thirty that morning, which she recalled because it struck her as unusual for him to be leaving for work so late. Then, seeing him putting suitcases in his trunk, she’d presumed he was on vacation.

He’d driven off, alone.

HOPE: SECURITY CLEARANCE

K
arl tried to relay over the phone what he remembered of the blueprints, but Lucas insisted—quite rightly—that it should be done in person, so Karl could draw them. He agreed, with great reluctance.

“You wanted to dump it on them and walk away, didn’t you?” I said when he hung up.

“What do you want me to do, Hope? Lie to you again?” He turned on his heel and set out toward the rental car. “I suppose if I really cared about you, I’d watch you suffer and do nothing about it. But you’re not suffering, are you? You’re
learning
.”

“I need to learn to handle it, Karl. You’ve said so yourself. You encouraged me to join the council—”

“—because I knew you needed a safe way to enjoy chaos while doing some good. And, yes, I encourage you to expose yourself to more. In small doses. Like walking across burning coals to toughen your feet. But your idea of learning to withstand burning is to throw yourself onto the pyre and grit your teeth, because by God you’re going to prove you can do it or die trying.”

“Karl, I—”

He threw open the passenger door. “Get in and let’s finish this.”

It was a silent trip to the hotel where Lucas and Paige were staying.