“You didn’t kill that security guard, did you?” he said.
“Kill—?” I gritted my teeth. “We both know who killed him, so don’t try pinning that on me.”
“That spot on your dress. I suppose you’ll tell me it isn’t blood.” I snorted. “It’s marinara sauce from the damn mussels you threw at me in the buffet line.”
“I threw—?”
He rubbed his mouth and growled. Or I thought it was a growl, until I saw his eyes dancing and realized he was laughing.
“All right. Here.” He reached into the shaft. “Come on out of there. I believe we both have a problem, and we’d best set about resolving it before your associates arrive.”
“You really think I’m a fool, don’t you?”
He tilted his head, as if considering it. “Young, yes. Reckless, yes. Naive, probably. But foolish? No. Not foolish. You—”
A sound from the hall. A door opening, then closing. He swiveled, his eyes narrowing as if tracking something I couldn’t hear. His gaze shot to the door, and he mouthed a silent oath.
“Couldn’t lock it, could you?” I said. “That’s the problem with breaking things. They tend to stay broken.”
He shushed me, grabbed the vent cover, and knocked it back into place. Then he peered through the slats and whispered, “If you want to find out whether I’m lying—and I think you do—stay there and be quiet.”
SEVEN
Marsten jumped off the desk and was halfway to the door when it opened. Two men strode in, guns in hand. Part of the council security force. I recognized both of them from other operations.
I crawled forward, ready to push open the vent and … I stopped, palms against the cover. I didn’t need to eavesdrop to know Karl Marsten was full of shit. I heard the web of lies he’d spun when I’d first confronted him with the theft. He’d say anything to get out of this. Yet there was a reason to stay up here, hidden and silent, the perfect position from which to watch Marsten and make sure he didn’t try anything.
A man strolled in then. Mid-thirties, average height, and reedy, with light brown hair and a delicate, almost feminine face. Tristan, my council contact.
“Ah, Karl,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a patron of the arts.”
“Tristan Robard,” Marsten said. “I’d say I should have known, but I’d be lying. After the last time, I thought you’d have the sense to leave me alone. I guess I overestimated you.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed.
“I should give you credit, though,” Marsten continued. “You have quite a clever setup here. And your young agent? Well done. A beautiful young woman always lays the most irresistible traps, and it seems even I’m not immune.” He paused. “Aren’t you going to ask where she is?”
“I’m not terribly worried.”
Marsten smiled. “Oh, but you should be. The one problem with using beautiful young women as bait? They make equally irresistible hostages.”
“So you have her.”
As Marsten nodded, I opened my mouth to call out and let Tristan know I was safe—
Tristan smiled. “As I said, I’m not terribly worried.”
I blinked but shook it off. Of course Tristan would say that. He was a skilled negotiator. He wouldn’t let Marsten know he had leverage.
“I don’t think your superiors will approve of that attitude,” Marsten said. “Oh, but your superiors have nothing to do with this, do they? This is personal. A little boy lashing out because the big bad wolf embarrassed him.”
Tristan’s jaw set.
“I didn’t embarrass you, Tristan,” Marsten continued. “You did it to yourself. You offered me a job, and I turned it down—respectfully and politely. But that wasn’t good enough, because you’d already promised your bosses I’d do it, and you had the whole job ready to go. If I refused, you’d need to explain that you’d overreached, and there was no way you were doing that, so you came after me. I was happy to let the matter rest. A rejected business proposition is no cause for animosity. But you came after me. That was your mistake.”
Tristan give a tight laugh. “My mistake? You’re the one being held at gunpoint. Delusional to the end.”
“If you say so.”
Marsten stepped forward, as if ready to go with them. Then he stopped.
“I suppose you’ll want me to tell you where I hid that security guard you had killed. A backup plan, I presume?”
Tristan only reached for his cell phone. Marsten’s gaze flicked to the vent shaft, and then back to Tristan.
“So you didn’t trust your girl to do the job. If she failed, you’d still have a mauled security guard, found at the scene of a jewel theft, a little tale you could take to the interracial council.”
Tristan only smiled, gaze still down as he checked messages on the phone. “I think the Pack would be more interested in that story.”
“Ah, of course. The werewolf Pack. A clever plan, and one that might have worked … if I hadn’t been part of the Pack myself for the past two years.”
Tristan looked up.
“Not very good at homework, are you?” Marsten said. “That’s obvious from that preposterous story you told the girl. Working as an agent for the interracial council? I’m sure Aaron, Paige, Adam, and the other delegates will be thrilled to know they have a team of secret agents working on their behalf.”
Marsten caught Tristan’s look. “Your story probably works much better on those who don’t know the delegates personally. I could toss a few more names at you, including the werewolves’ delegates, but I doubt you’d recognize them, and they wouldn’t appreciate me filling that void for you.”
He paused, head tilted, feigning deep thought. “Oh, but I do have another name, one you might find infinitely more interesting. You know who Paige Winterbourne’s husband is, I presume. You can’t possibly be that out of touch.”
Tristan stiffened.
“Ah, you do know. A very nice young man. I did some work for him last year. Quite pleasant.” Marsten frowned. “I hear his father isn’t always so pleasant, though. A decent employer, I’m sure … unless he finds out one of his employees has been building his own little spy network behind his back.”
“I haven’t been doing anything behind Benicio’s back. He knows all about my initiative. And he’s very impressed.”
“Oh? So this is a Cabal-sanctioned hit? Funny, I could’ve sworn it smelled like personal revenge. Well, what do I know. A Cabal killing a Pack werewolf shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”
Tristan waved to the guards. “Get him out of here.”
He turned, and Marsten started to follow.
One of the guards spoke up. “Sir? What about the girl?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her,” Marsten said. “She’s quite resourceful. I’m sure she’ll get herself free, if she hasn’t already. But the security guard? Now that’s a problem.”
Tristan turned sharply. “Hope’s still alive?”
“Is that her name? Of course she’s alive. You didn’t think I’d—” Marsten shook his head. “I suppose, considering who I’m talking to, I shouldn’t need to ask. Oddly enough, I find the best hostages are the live ones. Yes, Hope is fine and, as I said, will almost certainly free herself, so there’s no need to worry.”
“Where is she?”
“The question is: where’s the dead guard? The girl can take care of herself. That guard, sadly, is beyond assistance.”
“Where is she?”
Marsten paused and rubbed his chin, as if realizing he wasn’t going to talk his way out of handing me over. I’m sure he had some self-interested reason for not wanting to do so, but I was grateful for the effort nonetheless. I didn’t know how I’d face Tristan, knowing the truth.