Personal Demon Page 6

  The pressure and the doubts should have made me fumble or hesitate. But the risk only added to the exhilaration. Then came those final few seconds, when I knew I was pushing the limit, either I'd succeed or I'd fail and I wouldn't get another chance because if I did fail, the alarm would sound and--

  The blinking light turned off.

  I leaned against the wall, trembling. Bliss. I smiled and closed my eyes, telling myself I needed to catch my breath but savoring every lick of chaos to the sweet end.

  Then I waved Jaz and Sonny up and we set to work.

  It quickly became apparent that these guys were no petty stereo-and-TV thieves. They knew what could be turned over fast, for the most profit, and they knew where to find it. Quick and clean--anything that didn't fit in the knapsacks stayed behind.

  Most of what we took came from the safe. Like the locks and security system, it was a cheap one--a prop to scare off amateurs. It locked with a key, and we found one in our handful of duplicates.

  I made a few suggestions, mostly about covering our tracks and leaving a tidy scene, so the owner wouldn't walk in to ransacked drawers--all tips from Karl.

  Most of Karl's training had been theory, mingled with safe practice, like breaking into council delegates' homes with their consent. A flat line on the chaos monitor.

  The theft with Jaz and Sonny couldn't have been more different. Sonny was enjoying himself, but Jaz was stoked--trumpeting every new find as if he'd discovered buried treasure, darting in to check our progress, prowling the apartment, peering out the windows for danger...and almost seeming disappointed when he didn't find it. He threw off chaos waves so strong and sharp I shivered each time he came near.

  I found a dusty jewelry box on the top shelf of the closet--antique stuff that probably came from an estate. Sonny helped me sort through it, leaving the costume pieces behind. Then Jaz burst into the room.

  "Got trouble, bro," he whispered to Sonny. "We're cutting it close to Guy's time limit and there's a couple fighting in the back parking lot. We'll have a helluva time getting off the balcony."

  Sonny doused his flashlight, lifted the bedroom blind and looked out. "Shit."

  "I know."

  Jaz tried to keep his tone sober, but his eyes gleamed. I could feel the adrenaline pounding through him and turned my face into the shadows so he wouldn't see my response. When I glanced back at the guys, Jaz had his face averted, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to play the cool professional. For my benefit, I presumed.

  "Should we wait or go out the front?" I asked.

  "Front's easier leaving than entering," Sonny said.

  As we talked, Jaz rocked on the balls of his feet, saying nothing, as if knowing he couldn't be trusted to come up with the safest answer.

  "They're still fighting," Sonny said after one last look out the window. "You guys got everything?"

  We nodded.

  "Then let's go."

  I WENT FIRST, sprinting across the hall with my hood pulled up, face down. A survey of the stairwell showed only one camera, at the bottom and easy to pass unnoticed.

  As Sonny shut the door behind them, I whispered a warning about the security camera. When he headed for the stairs, Jaz caught his arm and motioned up.

  "No fucking way," Sonny said. "We're on a schedule and--"

  Jaz caught my elbow. "Come on. I want to show you something." He leaned forward, eyes meeting mine, that infectious grin making my heart skip. "You won't regret it. I promise."

  "Go," Sonny grumbled behind us. "Let's just make it fast."

  HOPE

  VIEW FROM THE TOP

  As Sonny and I tramped past the sixteenth-floor landing, Jaz hit the last flight at a bound. By the time we arrived, Jaz had already picked the roof door lock. He looked out and murmured, "Perfect."

  As Sonny strode ahead, surveying the roof for cameras or other trouble spots, I stayed by the door, letting my eyes adjust. Jaz came up beside me, his fingers touching my wrist above the glove, bare skin making contact. When I glanced over his gaze tripped away, smile unexpectedly shy. A quick squeeze of my gloved hand and he grabbed my elbow instead and steered me across the roof.

  As we walked, his chaos vibes were light, teasing, barely enough to tap my radar. His eyes gleamed, like a boy getting into mischief. I tugged off my glove, then slid my hand into his. He grinned--so big and so bright that you'd think he was ten years old, a girl holding his hand for the first time. Seeing that smile, I knew I was going to fall for him.

  For almost a decade now, anytime I'd met a guy and thought I could fall for him, I'd thrown up every barrier. I had too much to hide, too much else going on in my life, and I couldn't afford the ups and downs--and, yes, the pain--of romantic entanglements. But I looked at Jaz, saw myself falling and didn't care. Tonight I wasn't Hope Adams, didn't have all her problems, her insecurities, her responsibilities. Whatever this became, it couldn't last. No reason not to let myself enjoy the ride.

  Jaz tugged me toward the edge, then let go, lowered himself to the roof and stretched on to his stomach, arms crossed under his chin, staring out at the city. After a moment, he glanced back at me.

  "Well, come on." He waved for me to lie down.

  I glanced at the ground.

  "It's not that dirty. You're washable." He peered across the roof. "Yo! Sonny!"

  Sonny appeared, sighed and shook his head, but sat down beside his friend, knees drawn up. I hesitated, then laid down.

  The city stretched out before us, and it was breathtaking. A few blocks away, a bay glittered with the reflection of a hundred lights. Boats bobbed on the water like toy ships. Salsa music drifted on the brine-scented breeze. The humidity from earlier was all but gone, the night air pleasantly cool.

  "People knock Miami, but they're just envious," Jaz said. "Look at it. Sand, surf, sun every day of the year. Goddamned perfect."

  He went quiet for a moment, then stretched out his hand, pointing to the skyscrapers ringing the bay. "You see that one? Third left from the tallest? You know what that is?"

  "No."

  "Cortez Cabal headquarters. I bet if you had binoculars, you could see Benicio himself, up in his penthouse office, counting his billions."

  I laughed.

  "Can you imagine working there?" Jaz said. "A waterfront view from every window? How much does real estate like that even cost? And that's only the location. I hear they have marble floors in the damned bathrooms. The toilets probably run on Evian."

  "Perrier, I think," Sonny said.

  "You know what I mean. All that money. All that power. And where do the Cortezes get it? Not by casting their own spells, that's for sure. They use our powers to line their coffers. The supernaturals working for them think they've got it made. Like our parents, Sonny. Never a bad thing to say about the St. Clouds, no matter what the bastards did to them. They were just happy to have a job. Used them up and spit them out. Like slaves in the cotton fields, pouring out their lifeblood for the masters."

  "You've been hanging out with Guy too long," Sonny said.

  I knew we should be going, but neither seemed in any hurry, and sitting out here, when our mark could return anytime, set my heart tripping with a steady stream of chaos.

  As I glanced at the distant Cabal headquarters, I found my excuse for staying longer: using the opening about the Cabals to get information.

  "So Guy doesn't care for the Cabals?" I said. "I can see his point. They make life cushy for supernaturals--access to health care, special education for our kids, a community that understands us--but the employees pay for those perks. Still, it's not really much different from any corporation. They use your skills and give you a sweet benefits package in return."

  "But in a corporation, if you screw up, they don't kill you. Unless you work for the Mafia."

  "Which is what some say a Cabal really is. So that's what bothers Guy, then? The abuses of power?"

  "More the concentration of power. The old-boys club, to the nth degree." Jaz waved
at the building. "If you worked there, Faith, you wouldn't have a shot of getting to the upper floors unless you wanted to be a secretary. Not because you're a woman, but because you aren't one of them. None of us are. Maybe everyone on those upper floors isn't a Cortez, but you can bet your ass he's a sorcerer. No magicians or druids or half-demons. And if you were a werewolf or vampire? You couldn't get through the front door. Even Guy, who's a sorcerer, wouldn't rise very high, as smart as he is. He doesn't have the connections."

  "Does he talk about this a lot?"

  Jaz laughed. "You mean: are you going to have to sit through political sermons? Nah. He might talk about it now and then, but he's usually quiet."

  "Except with Jaz," Sonny said.

  Jaz shrugged. "He's got a lot of good ideas. I think it's just been bugging him lately, so he wants someone to talk to--someone he can sound off to about the stuff that's been happening."

  "Stuff?"

  "With the Cortez Cabal."

  "There's been trouble?"

  "This and that. Dustups."

  Apparently there were a few details Benicio hadn't included in my debriefing. Surprise, surprise.

  "Guy's been playing it down, but he's getting pissed off. I think he--" He tossed a pebble over the edge. Watched it drop. "Anyway, he's not the only one who's worried about the Cortezes. The mood isn't good, and I don't just mean in the gangs. The old man isn't getting any younger."

  "Benicio? He's not that old."

  Jaz shrugged. To him, sixty years old meant wobbling on the brink of a six-foot drop. Jaz was only a few years younger than me, but it had been a long time since I'd felt my age. Working for the council, hanging around with Karl, I'd been trying to act more mature even as I told myself I didn't care what he thought of me.

  "You mean the succession question," I said.

  Sonny snorted. "Question? According to Benicio Cortez, there is no question."

  Jaz rolled onto his side, facing me. "That's the big problem, one that Guy says proves Benicio Cortez doesn't give a shit about his employees. He has three sons, all in the business. Oldest is what, forty? Been with the company all his life. Has what it takes to lead, everyone says. But who does Benicio name as his heir?"

  "Lucas," I said.

  "The illegitimate youngest son who wants nothing to do with the family business. Who's spent his adult life trying to fuck up the Cabals in any way he can. This is the guy Benicio Cortez wants to take his job."

  I sat up. "Most people I talk to don't really think Lucas is the heir. They figure Benicio's just being wily, keeping his older boys in line." Lucas himself believed that.

  "Guy thinks the old man's serious. And if he dies? If Lucas Cortez takes over the Cabal?" He shook his head.

  "But if Guy thinks it means the end of the Cabal, isn't that a good thing?"

  "It's not the Cabal concept Guy's against. It's the way they're run--the imbalance of power. He'd love to upset that balance, give some back to the little guys like us. But destroy the Cabal altogether, like Lucas Cortez would do? What would that do to supernaturals in Miami? To people like our parents, with Cabal jobs? To the gangs? Guy wants reform, not annihilation."

  So what, if anything, did Guy plan to do? I couldn't ask. Not yet. But I had my lead. Benicio was right--there was trouble brewing.

  Dropping the subject was tough. The reporter in me could see the answers lying there, right under the surface. At least I could dig around the site, see what else popped up.

  "You guys ever met Lucas Cortez?" I asked.

  Sonny shook his head.

  "I met a guy who went to college with him," Jaz said.

  "Law school?"

  "Nah, undergrad. This was back before Lucas got into his 'fight the power' shit. This guy knew who Lucas was because his dad worked for the Cortezes. Otherwise, he said, he never would have noticed him. A geek and a loner, the kind of kid you only talk to if you need someone to do your homework."

  Sonny shook his head. "And this is the son Benicio wants to run the Cabal."

  "I've met him," I said.

  Jaz dropped the pebble he'd been playing with. "Lucas Cortez?"

  "I was dating a thief who'd had trouble with Lucas. After we pulled one job, he came after us."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously would be overstating it. My ex got rid of him pretty easily. Like you said, he's a geek. A loser who fancies himself some kind of crusader." I sent up a mental apology to Lucas.

  Jaz considered my words for a moment, then said, "Guy would like to hear this. Get your impressions. Would that be okay?"

  Exactly what I'd hoped. I nodded and said I'd do my best, even call my ex if it would help.

  CALL MY EX...

  I'd spent the break-in trying to focus on Karl in the most neutral terms. My contact. My mentor. My friend. I'd called him my "ex" with Guy this afternoon and now with Jaz because that would be easy for them to understand. The truth was that "boyfriend" was the one word I couldn't pin on him, let alone "ex."

  Karl Marsten...

  A guy who should never have been part of my life, and there were days when I wished he never had been.

  Karl, the werewolf jewel thief I was supposed to capture for Tristan, my bogus council contact. Karl, who'd shown me I was actually working for a Cabal, who'd introduced me to the real council and got me a job with them. Karl, who knew why I really worked for the council--my less than honorable motivation--and not only knew, but understood.

  After that first meeting, almost two years ago, he'd kept coming around, his intentions murky. Chemistry we had, and sometimes even explored, but we both seemed more comfortable with friendship. He'd show up, let me poke holes through his ego, sometimes return the favor. We'd banter for a while, then slide into confessions and concerns neither of us shared with anyone else.

  When he'd hinted about coming to one of my mother's charity galas, I'd teased that he was getting old and needing easier access to jewels. He'd joked that he wanted to meet my mother, see whether she approved of him. Then, at the Valentine's ball at my brother's Texas ranch, he'd shown up on the doorstep, ticket in hand.

  If he'd been serious about wanting to come, we should have discussed the pros and cons of letting the supernatural side of my life seep into my family life. But the anger I'd felt on seeing him hadn't lasted.

  Charm was Karl's specialty, but that night he'd used none of his usual too-clever charm that sent society matrons into vapors as he divested them of their jewels. My mother wouldn't have fallen for that. Instead, Karl had charmed her by being himself--or as close to it as he ever was around others.

  When the party ended, I'd given him the grand tour of the grounds. The stable visit didn't go so well--his werewolf scent spooked the horses. When the groom had come down, wakened by the noise, we'd raced out like kids caught at a prank.

  We'd stopped at the pool, tucked behind the gardens. I'd opened the gate.

  He'd peered in. "I didn't bring my bathing suit."

  "I can probably find one for you."

  "Don't bother."

  He'd stripped off his jacket and shirt, and I'd known, even as I let my dress fall around my ankles, that this was why he'd come. To take the step we'd been dancing around for two years.

  Afterward, he scooped me up out of the pool, grabbed towels from the cabana and carried me into the woods.

  As perfect a night as any romantic would want. Perfect even for a cynic like me.

  I'd woken to see Karl on the edge of the clearing, his back to me, staring out at the dawn. I'd watched him and I'd felt...

  But it didn't matter what I felt. What mattered, as I'd soon discovered, was how he felt because, with Karl, it was always about that. What he felt. What he wanted. And one night, no matter how wildly romantic, couldn't change that.

  HOPE

  HISTORY LESSON

  I called Benicio the next morning. When he learned I had something to report, he asked me to meet Troy for breakfast and fill him in. In other words, he hadn't exp
ected results so soon and didn't want them conveyed over the telephone.

  I KEPT AN eye out as I left the building. No one in the gang knew where I was staying--even Guy hadn't asked. But I could see him putting new recruits under surveillance.

  When the cab dropped me off, I saw Troy across the road, standing by a storefront, studying a map. His gaze flicked my way as I got out, but he didn't budge.

  The restaurant was an anonymous little diner, the sort you can find anywhere. I took a booth at the back and had a full coffee cup before Troy came through the door.

  He slid in across from me.

  "Everything okay?" I asked.

  "Yeah. The cloak-and-dagger stuff is just protocol."

  He seemed in no rush to get down to business. We ordered breakfast and he asked how I was settling in, how the apartment was.

  "You need anything, don't be afraid to call," he said. "When Mr. Cortez opens his wallet, take advantage. I do."

  He gave me some pointers on the neighborhoods--recommending shops and restaurants near my apartment and the club, along with ones to avoid. If I needed a break, he said he'd be happy to squire me around on his night off, maybe get out of the city, show me the area. The invitation was half flirtatious, half friendly, open for me to interpret as I wished.

  When breakfast arrived, we shifted to business.

  I told Troy what Jaz had said about Guy and his issue with the Cabal.

  Troy snorted. "Same shit, different day. I've been hearing that crap since I was a teenager. Cabals are businesses, not charitable organizations. Sure, they use their employees. Doesn't every corporation? That's the point: use your resources to build your capital. And yeah, there are sides to Cabals that are just plain ugly. You won't catch me waving pompoms and spouting the party line, not even in front of Mr. Cortez. But you know what? As far as he's concerned I'm entitled to my opinions...as long as I don't share them with the stockholders. Whatever my beefs, you don't see me quitting either, and that's not because I'm afraid I'd be fitted for cement shoes. Maybe in the Nast Cabal or the St. Cloud or the Boyd, but where I am, Mr. Cortez doesn't want me here unless I want to be here."

  "Makes sense."

  "You want some guy watching your back if he's only doing it because he has to? I don't do this for a good medical package or to protect some Cabal ideology. I don't believe in that crap. But I do believe in the guy whose back I'm watching."