Another key card swipe to get into the stairwell, then up to our second-floor offices where yet a third pass of the card is required. I’d grown up with such security measures at the Cabal offices, but I often overheard Savannah and Adam cursing as they fumbled to find their cards. No one complained, though. When it came to the building, we were still in the honeymoon phase.
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 cliché, 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?”