Personal Demon Page 8

  Cortez-Winterbourne Investigations used to be housed in a cramped spare bedroom, and we hadn't dignified it with anything as formal as a name. It had been something to talk about in bed, late at night, how one day Paige would be able to quit her Web design business, I'd stop taking on commercial legal piecework and we'd run our legal-cum-investigative firm helping supernaturals full time, from an actual office. Now, some days, I walked around to the front door just to see the business name and reassure myself it was real.

  Five years ago, I'd been a new lawyer, unemployed, no fixed address, chasing cases of injustice--and usually getting the door slammed in my face. No one slammed it harder than one infuriating, stubborn and absolutely bewitching young woman determined to protect her ward from the Cabals without any sorcerer's help. I'd gotten the case, though. And gotten the girl.

  As I opened the door to the second floor, the smell of coffee hit me. I paused, still holding the door handle. No one should be here. Paige was at an appointment. Savannah and Adam were in Seattle, doing legwork for a case.

  A pot left on the burner would mean burnt coffee, but this smelled fresh. Had Paige returned early? I smiled as I pulled off my jacket. Then I remembered the empty parking lot. If Paige's car wasn't here, neither was she.

  I moved cautiously to the kitchenette door. A man stood at the coffeemaker, his back to me. His Rolex caught the light as his fingertips tapped the reservoir, waiting for the machine to finish brewing. He'd look at home in any financial district--the tailored designer dress shirt, pressed pants, polished leather loafers. Perfectly groomed, not a lock of dark hair out of place, not a shaving nick or rough patch to be seen. A man easily discounted as a soft urban professional. Just as one might presume that I'd caught him unawares.

  I waited. He took two upside-down mugs from the shelf and flipped them over.

  "Cream?" he asked without turning. "Sugar?"

  "Black."

  "I hope you don't mind that I helped myself."

  "Not at all. I hope you don't mind if I ask for a refund on your work designing our security system."

  Karl turned and flashed me a smile that could, despite the cliche, best be termed wolfish. "What kind of thief would I be if I can't break into a system I created? But if anyone else manages to do so, you're entitled to your money back." He filled the cups. "Or you would be, had you paid for my services."

  "I tried to pay. You insisted on doing it pro bono. In return, one presumes, for some future favor. If you'd like, I can cut you a check right now."

  "No, thank you."

  I really would rather have paid. Karl Marsten wasn't someone I liked being indebted to. Clayton once told me, "Karl's first priority is Karl. And his second. And his third. Being Pack now won't change that." Which was to say that while Karl was a loyal new addition to the werewolf Pack, his loyalty extended no further than his self-interest. The same, presumably, went for his relationship with me. As long as I proved a useful ally, he could be trusted...though not, apparently, to ring the bell before entering.

  "I presume this visit is in regard to the task my father gave Hope?"

  He clanked the spoon against the edge of his cup and handed me my mug before we walked to my office. The smell of the coffee twisted my stomach. The mention of Hope's name didn't help. I'd spent the last two days wondering whether I'd done the right thing.

  I didn't doubt there were rumblings of gang trouble, but I knew my father had another angle. I just couldn't decide what it was and, more important, whether it put Hope in danger.

  If his ploy had been to get me to Miami to protect her, how carefully would he have evaluated the danger before setting her on the job? Was she in over her head while he bided his time, waiting for the panicked call from her that would bring me running? Something told me she'd never make that call, however bad things got.

  Or was it all about Hope? His way of wooing her into Cabal life? If so, should I do something about it? Did I have the right to do anything about it?

  My father had a knack for placing me in impossible situations. Damned if I acted, damned if I didn't. Only this time I feared Hope would be the one damned.

  "So Hope is in Miami," Karl said as we sat. "I've been in Europe. I came back, had business in Philly and thought I'd take Hope to lunch. Her mother told me she was in Fort Lauderdale, pursuing an urgent story. When I heard 'Florida,' my first thought was your father. I'd hoped I was wrong."

  "So you came to Portland to check? I'm sure a phone call would have sufficed."

  "I had business here."

  Similar, I'm sure, to the nonexistent business that had him in Philadelphia. But Karl's personal life wasn't my concern and I was happy to leave it that way.

  I sipped my coffee. Stronger than I liked, with grounds peppering the surface. Not someone accustomed to brewing his own.

  "Your father and I had a deal," Karl said. "He was not to call on Hope without notifying me first, and any debt we had, we'd repay together."

  "Did Hope know that?"

  He shook his head and set his cup down, untouched.

  "I don't believe my father would put Hope in any real danger. He knows she's under council protection, and he brought this arrangement to my attention, which would suggest he isn't doing anything underhanded. I discussed the job with them both, and I'm convinced it's a task suited to her talents."

  "What's she doing?"

  As I told him, his face darkened. When I finished, he let out an oath, then sat there, not moving a muscle. His jaw was set so tight that, if I had werewolf hearing, I suspected I'd have heard his teeth grinding.

  "I can't see that it's significantly different from the tasks Hope undertakes for the council," I said. "Except, perhaps, in scale. You don't have a quarrel with her council work--you were the one who brought her to them."

  "Not the same thing."

  "If you mean because she's committing criminal acts with this gang, she cannot be held responsible--"

  "My point exactly."

  "I don't understand."

  "No, you don't, but I'm not sure I can say the same for your father. If he gave Hope this job, knowing what--" He rose. "I'm going to Miami. Put an end to this before it goes any further. Where's Hope?"

  "First tell me what you plan to do, so we can discuss your options with regard to my father." Before he could argue, I went on. "As a member of the Pack, you represent the Pack. Any action you take against my father will be seen as the Pack acting against the Cabal. Is that the message you wish to send?"

  His lips curled and parted, and I knew he was about to say that he'd send any message he damned well pleased, but he caught himself, realizing, perhaps, that such an approach would not be in his best interests.

  "I'm getting Hope out of there," he said. "That's all I care about. Unless your father or his people interfere, there won't be any trouble. I'll deal with your father later--a civilized discussion about finding a civilized way to free Hope from our debt."

  "It's my understanding that this isn't only about what she owes him. She's doing this of her own free will, and you might find she's not so easily dissuaded."

  "Oh, she'll be dissuaded--if I have to pick her up and carry her out of Miami."

  "Ah."

  "Now where can I find her?"

  I hesitated. While I was reluctant to send Karl tearing down there without knowing why he so urgently wanted Hope out, I knew I wasn't getting an explanation. Refuse, and he'd still fly to Miami, then make matters worse hunting her down himself.

  "I don't have the address of the apartment where she's staying, but the gang owns a club called Easy Rider."

  As he nodded, I saw Paige, still wearing her coat, in the open doorway, hand raised to knock. She greeted Karl, who exchanged a few impatient pleasantries with her before brushing past.

  "Did I just hear him say he's taking Hope out of Miami whether she wants to leave or not?"

  "So it would seem, but he was clearly not in the mood to discuss it further and I didn't want him
racing around Miami looking for her."

  "Should we call her? Warn her?"

  I shook my head. "It would only make matters worse. As angry as Karl is, I trust him to be discreet." I paused. "But we should probably clear our schedules. Just in case."

  HOPE

  SWEET SIXTEEN

  Our target was a sweet-sixteen party. When Guy first mentioned it, images of pillow-fighting, PJ-clad teenage girls sprang to mind, and the only profitable crime I could imagine was kidnapping, which would have had me on the phone to Benicio. But as he'd unveiled the plan, it became clear this was no slumber party, but a coming out worthy of a queen.

  I'd heard of such parties in society circles, always described with the contemptuous horror the upper-crust reserved for the excesses of the nouveau riche. There was always a grand historical theme--Roman, medieval, Arabian. Tonight it was Egypt.

  The party was held in a modest hall, one probably used mostly for weddings. Big enough to hold a couple of hundred guests, simple and security-free. This was obviously where they'd tried to cut costs, though it was the only place they had.

  There were two Sphinxes--accuracy be damned--sculpted in ice and flanking the door. The pyramids were papier-mache, and quickly relocated when guests realized how much dance floor space they took up. The mummies were, one hopes, also papier-mache. Propped up in caskets, they wore masks and held trays of masks for the guests who wished to partake. Some of the young men and parents did, but few of the girls--there was no sense getting your makeup professionally done only to cover it.

  The belle of the ball was a chubby, newly minted sixteen-year-old dressed as Cleopatra. On a litter borne by four young men in loincloths, she was carried through the crowd to the front, where her parents waited beside a silver bowl stuffed with envelopes. The guest of honor had requested congratulations in cash only, to fund a yearlong world tour before she went to college.

  There was a single gift--a brand-new Jaguar convertible, rolled in through two huge rear doors as Daddy handed the keys to his squealing daughter. Watching the spectacle, I suspected those doors were the real reason her parents had rented the cheap hall. Having their daughter walk outside to see her new car just wouldn't have had the same impact as this tacky game-show moment.

  The girl beamed as she was squired about the dance floor. She was Daddy's princess and nothing was too good for her. How would any other night--or any other man--ever compare?

  We were about to make this night memorable for a very different reason.

  I watched it all from a storage room above the hall. The crew had prepared for this days ago, after finding the party mentioned in the local society pages. There were four of these hidey-holes, each with a newly drilled spy hole, each manned by a crew member. Mine was a tiny room that stunk of stale cigarette smoke.

  The party was in full swing when Jaz slipped in and crept over to sit beside me.

  "So, did you get a sweet sixteen like this?" he whispered.

  I laughed. "If I'd even suggested it, my parents would have sat me down for a long talk about the responsibilities of privilege. No one I knew got a party like this one. It's a different kind of 'society.'"

  "Old money versus new?"

  "Something like that. Debutante balls? Yes. Egyptian extravaganzas with papier-mache pyramids and a bowl full of money? God, no."

  "Debutante? You?" He grinned. "Say it wasn't so."

  "What?" I waved at my T-shirt and jeans, grimy with storeroom dust. "I don't look like one? I'll have you know I can quickstep with the best of them, sir."

  He laughed, earning a mock glare. "Sorry. I just can't picture you..."

  The sentence trailed off as he watched the party below, then turned to me.

  "No, actually, I can. You have that...I don't know. Aura, I guess." A small smile. "Even with dirt on your cheeks." His head tilted. "I bet you were something. Nothing like the rest of them."

  "If you mean because I wasn't fair-haired and blue-eyed--yes, I did stand out a wee bit."

  "Nah, not that." He shifted, sliding closer. "You'd still have stood out among all those--" he waved at the party below, "--empty girls. They might have been dripping in jewels, but I bet you shone the most."

  My cheeks heated. I'm accustomed to flattery--the smooth, meaningless compliments that pass for greeting in the circles I'd grown up in and, later, the too-practiced, too-polished sweet talk of rich boys. But Jaz's words--so sincere in their inelegance--made me feel like I was sixteen again.

  "I'd love to have been there," he said. "Of course, I'd have been serving champagne instead of drinking it."

  "That's okay. There were a couple of times during my season when I ended up in the garden with one of the servers."

  He grinned. "I can see that. Society guys really wouldn't be your type."

  "Some of them are very nice but, in general, no."

  "Well, if Guy had gone with his first plan, you'd have seen me in a snazzy little white jacket and bow-tie, with a tray in my hand." He winked. "Maybe bring back some memories."

  "Guy wanted you on the waitstaff?"

  "That was the original plan, before he decided it was too ballsy even for him." He slid over to sit beside me, leaning against my side, voice dropping another notch as his arm rubbed against mine. "To tell the truth, I was kind of hoping I would get to play waiter. Not just for the added buzz...though I wouldn't have minded that."

  His head dropped forward, eyes a few inches from mine and, in that impulsive shared grin, I knew he'd guessed I enjoyed a "buzz" as much as he did. I didn't care. It felt good not to care.

  "What I was really hoping for, though," he continued, leaning against me as he whispered, "was the chance to make a little extra on the side. Lift a pair of gold cuff links here, a diamond tennis bracelet there, maybe a--" He lifted a silver-banded watch and peered at the face. "Cartier. Damn, that's nice."

  I glanced down at my bare wrist. "How'd you--?" I remembered him moving closer, rubbing against me, and I let out a laugh. "You're good."

  "Thank you." He turned the watch over in his hands. "An older model, but in excellent condition. No scratches on the face. No engraving on the back. I bet I could flip this for two, three hundred."

  "Try twenty bucks. It's a Cartier, but a cheap one. I got it for graduating high school."

  "Must be nice. Know what I got for graduating high school? Well, I didn't actually graduate, but if I had, I'm sure there would have been a lovely Timex in it for me. I still say this is worth at least a hundred, for the name value alone, but I could be persuaded to let it go for less...to the right girl. Perhaps in exchange for a token of appreciation for my amazing talents?"

  "Like a smack upside the head for stealing from me?"

  His eyes glinted and he bared his teeth in a grin that sent a delicious shiver through me. "Perhaps next time. Tonight--" He waved at the party below. "Tonight is for genteel, civilized solutions. Tonight, you are the sixteen-year-old debutante and I'm the cad who swiped your watch and is holding it for ransom." He slid around to face me and dangled the watch between us. "So what would I get?"

  "A smack upside the head."

  He chuckled.

  "But, if it's genteel solutions we're looking for..."

  I leaned forward and kissed him. His lips parted against mine in a kiss as sweet as any I'd hoped for when I had been sixteen, fending off insistent hands and wet lips, dreaming of something a little more...genteel.

  We kissed until a noise from the hall made me pull back. I opened the door and peeked out. It was just Max making his rounds of the second floor. An exchange of thumbs-up and he went on his way.

  Jaz still sat where I'd left him. "I don't suppose you have any more jewelry I can steal."

  I took back my watch. "I do, but you're not going to get it--or find it--that easily."

  "No?" That devilish glint returned to his eyes. "Don't be so sure. I'm a master magician--"

  My phone vibrated. I answered without speaking, as instructed.

&n
bsp; "Five minutes to show time," Bianca said. "Is Jaz up there?"

  I relayed the message to Jaz. He looked as if he was trying to decide whether we had time to pick up where we'd left off. I settled the question by laying on my stomach and peering through the peephole at the party.

  Jaz stretched over me, his body grazing mine. "They have no idea what's coming. Supernaturals could take over the damned world if they wanted, and humans couldn't do a thing to stop it."

  "Nah. Too much work."

  "True. Let them keep the bureaucracy; we'll just reap the rewards."

  Still crouched over my back, he moved his lips to my ear and used the excuse to brush along me, groin rubbing against my rear.

  "See anything you like?" he whispered.

  "Hmm?"

  "Necklace, bracelet...new watch?"

  I gave a soft laugh and shook my head.

  "Oh, come on." He pointed to a fur-trimmed stole on a chair. "Dead animals?" His finger moved to a marble bust on the buffet table. "Butt-ugly statue?"

  "No, thank you."

  "No? How about the keys to that sweet new ride? Might be your only chance to trash a Jag. Say the word and it's yours."

  I rolled over, still under him, looked up and knew he was only half joking. If I asked for something--for anything--he'd get it for me. Steal it for me. I fought a shiver of excitement.

  His mouth moved down to mine--

  My cell phone vibrated, bouncing along the floor.

  "Time to move," he said with a sigh. A moment's hesitation, then he got up. "But I am going to get you something. A surprise."

  WE SNUCK DOWN the rear stairs and met Guy in the back room with Sonny and Max. We five would be on the front line, while Bianca, Rodriguez and Tony worked from the wings.

  "Outfits there," Guy said, pointing at a pile of staff uniforms as we walked in. "Masks over there. You have five minutes and counting. Pull 'em off and get 'em on. Faith, there's a closet for privacy--"

  "Here's fine."

  Sonny tossed me the smallest server uniform. I faced the corner, peeled off my T-shirt and pulled on the uniform top. It smelled of knockoff perfume with a faint touch of body odor. As for the former wearer, presumably she was tied up somewhere. Bianca, Max and Tony had been luring servers out for the past twenty minutes, getting their uniforms. It wouldn't be long before someone noticed a marked decrease in waitstaff.