“I will only ask you this once,” he said. “Who do you work for?”
“I told you. The—”
“Interracial council? Then tell me, which delegate hired you?”
“I was approached by a representative—”
“Which delegate?”
“He’s not a delegate. He works for the council.”
He exhaled, as if in frustration. “All right, then. Which delegates have you met?”
“None. I only work through my contact.”
He cut me off with a humorless laugh. “Oh, you’re well trained, aren’t you? I’m sure this story has worked for you in the past, but it falls a little flat when dealing with someone who actually knows the interracial council, knows most of the delegates, and knows—beyond any doubt—that they do not employ ‘agents’—”
Voices sounded in the hall. Marsten half turned, his attention diverted just long enough for me to ram my spiked heel into his shin.
I wrenched my hand free. He grabbed for me. I kicked and lashed out, knee driving into his stomach as my nails clawed his face. He fell back. I ran for the door, threw it open, and raced into the hall.
Running toward those voices might have seemed safer, but I couldn’t—wouldn’t—endanger others. I’d already underestimated Marsten once.
I tore down the halls. Marsten’s soles squeaked behind me, a reminder that he was in flat dress shoes … and I was in heels—giving me no hope of outrunning him.
I grabbed the first doorknob I came to. Locked.
I dove for the one across the hall. As my fingers closed around it, I saw Marsten running toward me. The handle turned. The door opened. I darted through and slammed it.
Even as I turned the lock, I knew I might as well not have bothered. It was a flimsy household privacy lock, easily snapped by even a strong human.
I reached for my purse and … my fingers closed on nothing. It must have fallen when Marsten yanked me off the desk. No purse. No gun.
Marsten’s footsteps slowed to a walk. He didn’t need to hurry. I’d trapped myself in an office with no second door, no windows, no way to escape.
Blockade the door.
The council backup team was on the way. I just had to slow Marsten down.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. The knob turned.
Someone laughed, the sound close by, and the knob stopped turning. A drunken giggle. A voice, growing closer.
I grabbed the sides of the metal filing cabinet. It wouldn’t budge.
“Oh,” someone said near the door. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Unless you’re staff, this hall is off-limits,” Marsten said.
“Oh, right, we were just—”
“Lost,” the woman giggled.
“Then I suggest you turn around. Follow the sounds of the party.”
I looked for something to block the door, but anything big enough was too heavy for me to move. Outside, the man was telling Marsten to mind his own business, but his companion’s voice was already moving away as she called to him to just drop it.
My gaze rose to the ventilation shaft over the desk.
Oh, please. You’ve seen too many movies.
I silenced that inner voice and climbed onto the desk while Marsten threatened to call security. As much as I appreciated the distraction the couple was providing, I prayed they would move on before Marsten gave up trying to handle them discreetly.
As the woman tried to cajole her partner away, I grabbed a coin from a bowl on the desk and quickly unscrewed the ventilation cover.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” the man slurred before muttering a parting obscenity at Marsten.
I yanked on the cover. One side came free. I tugged again, but the other side caught.
The footsteps were receding fast. Any second now, a very pissed-off werewolf was coming through that door. Palms sweating, I fumbled for a better hold. The cover popped off with a ping that I was sure could be heard throughout the museum. I shoved the cover into the shaft, grabbed the edges, heaved, and managed to get inside … right up to my breasts. I stuck there, upper torso in, butt hanging out, legs flailing, arms trembling with the strain of just holding myself up.
Goddamn it! Three evenings a week at the gym, and I couldn’t do better than this?
The door handle turned.
Shit, shit, shit!
“And another thing, asshole,” the man’s voice boomed from the end of the hall.
One last push, boosted by a wave of relief, and I heaved in up to my waist.
“Come on, Rick!” the woman called. “Do you want me to go back to the party alone?”
I wriggled, getting my legs in and then twisting around so I was facing the shaft opening. I tugged the cover from under me, hooked my fingers through the slats, and pulled it into place just as the door lock snapped.
Marsten threw open the door fast—as if expecting me to be standing there armed with a heavy stapler. He paused in the opening, his gaze tripping across the room, nostrils flaring.
Nostrils flaring … Werewolf …
He could smell me.
Damn it! I tried to turn around. My shoulder knocked against the metal. A dull thump, but he heard it. Of course he heard it.
Heightened smell, heightened hearing, heightened strength …
I was out of my league. Way out of it, and I would pay for my hubris—
“Let’s make this easy,” he said. “You don’t want to play hide-and-seek with me. I have all the advantages, and a low tolerance for frustration. So we’ll skip the games. If you feel safer in your hidey-hole”—he scanned the room—“you’re welcome to stay there. You can hear me, and that’s all that matters.”
I shifted my shoulders, testing my space limits again. Too tight. I’d been able to turn around with the vent open, but without that added space, I was stuck. No, not stuck. I could move backward. Awkward, slow, and probably loud, but if it came to that, I would.
“Whoever you are, you’re of no interest to me,” he continued. “That means I have no particular desire to hurt you. So you have a choice. Tell me who you’re working for, and I’ll step aside and let you out this door. Refuse, and I’ll use you for leverage. That’s not a position you want to be in.”
I stayed still and quiet.
“I don’t have all night,” he said. “Nor do you. When I hear your associates approach—which I’m sure will be soon—I’ll sniff you out, and the choice will be made. After that, whether you walk out of here depends on how willing your employer is to negotiate.”
I said nothing. As he moved, his nostrils flared, searching. Then his gaze lifted to the ventilation shaft.
A quick leap, and he was on the desk. As he pulled off the cover, I scrambled backward. I got about five feet before my shoulders hit the sides, stopping me. While I struggled to back up, he peered into the shaft and smiled, his teeth glinting in the dark.
“I do believe you’ve backed yourself into a corner.”
I wriggled, but the shaft had narrowed, and the more I moved, the tighter I wedged myself in.
“Are you going to tell me who you work for?” he said.
“I already did.”
“And I already told you that I know better.” His voice was calm, conversational, no trace of the cold fury from earlier. “You’re obviously a bright young woman, so why you insist on sticking to this story—”
“I know who I work for, and nothing you say is going to make me second-guess that—or betray them.”
He lifted his hand to his mouth and rubbed it, his gaze searching mine.