I removed the photographs and, before he could see them, flipped to the second—the security camera picture of Ortega. Then I laid the stack facedown on my lap.

“Does Juan Ortega still work for you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Did he work for you today?”

“I said he still—”

“But today. Was he at work today?”

He pushed a button on his desk. An adjoining door opened and Troy walked in. He smiled when he saw me.

“Hey, Lucas.”

My father cleared his throat.

Troy bowed his head, mock-obeisant. “Mr. Cortez, I mean.”

A sigh from my father. “Was Juan Ortega at work today?”

As my father’s primary bodyguard, Troy would be apprised of all irregularities involving security, including absenteeism. For a division head like Ortega, he’d know whether he was absent without checking his daily log.

“No, sir. He called in sick this morning.”

“Could you follow up on that, please?”

A nod as he stepped back into his office.

“Troy? One moment please.” I turned to my father. “I’d like to follow up myself, with a personal visit.”

“Of course. Find the address, please, Troy. We’ll be leaving within the hour.”

“One more thing.” I plucked the second man’s photo from the stack and held it up, showing it only to Troy.

“Is this Andrew Mullins?”

“Yep. Second-level officer, works under Ortega.” He paused, then pulled out his PalmPilot and checked.

“Also off today. Seems we have an epidemic.”

I thanked Troy. My father waited until he was gone, then said, “I presume your visit has something to do with this epidemic?”

I placed the photograph of Ortega on his desk. “This was taken at 11:21 this morning, at the Easy Rider.

Ortega told Guy Benoit’s second-in-command that he was there to deliver a message from you, then he shot her in the head and left this photo—” I turned to the one of the young men, “—next to her body with the words ‘more to come’ written on the back.”

I resisted the urge to study his reaction. Shock and consternation were expressions my father had mastered decades ago, along with the ability to mask those reactions. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Whoever brought this to you is lying, Lucas. They have a vendetta against me or the Cabal, or they have chosen to blame an easy target.”

“Hope Adams brought it to me. She was outside the room when Bianca was killed. She saw it in a vision, then saw Ortega himself come out of the room, carrying the murder weapon. He and Mullins chased her before Karl’s arrival apparently made them decide she was a problem they could deal with later. We have the security photographs, and two eyewitness accounts. That hardly seems like a fabrication designed to frame the Cabal and tarnish your reputation.”

“Lucas, I did not—”

“This first picture, if you’re interested, is of two members of the gang, who have been missing since last night. Earlier this month, after a lucrative heist, these same young men were beaten and robbed by a man matching Ortega’s description, again bearing a warning from the Cortez Cabal.”

“I did not kill this girl or kidnap these boys—”

“I didn’t say you did. You have underlings to do that for you.”

“Yes, these men are my employees and, yes, if Hope says she saw Ortega kill that young woman, then I have no doubt he did. But they were not acting under my authorization or any authorization that I have knowledge of. While I’d hope that my word would be enough, I know it isn’t and I know that’s my fault. So I’d suggest we pay Ortega and Mullins a home visit and check on their health.”

HOPE: PANIC BUTTON

Bianca died twice more before Karl sent me a message. Three words: get out now.

I messaged him back, asking whether I should try to maintain my cover.

One word: abort.

Had Karl been able to find the exclamation mark, I suspected he would have used it. I considered his command. Yes, he was prone to blowing things out of proportion where my safety was concerned, but however strong his instinct to protect, he always backed down if he was overdoing it.

I sent back “Are you sure?” and got a profanity in response.

I stood just inside the door and mentally ran through my escape route. Once I breached Max’s spell barrier, I couldn’t stop. I threw open the door and started down the hall at a quick march. If they caught me running, I was doomed.

Through the club, into the front hall—

“Faith?”

Tony stood in the doorway between the club and the hall.

“Oh, thank God,” I said. “You guys are still here. I called Guy to say I needed to use the bathroom, and no one answered. I thought I’d been left behind.”

“Nah, we’re just finishing up. Guy was going to send Max to get you in a minute. I’ll take you to him.”

A dark form appeared behind Tony. Three slow, silent steps, and Karl was close enough to breathe down Tony’s neck.

As he reached out, I gasped, eyes going wide. “Tony!”

Karl grabbed him by the back of the shirt and flung him into the wall with a crack that sent plaster flying.

As Tony dropped, I hurried over to check his pulse. Karl grabbed my arm. With my free hand, I lifted Tony’s eyelids, making sure they weren’t dilated. I started for the door, but Karl swung me around, nearly flipping me off my feet, and dragged me back toward the club.

“What—?” I began.

“Shhh!” A quick glance and discreet sniff around, then he pulled me behind the coat check and toward the side closet. I was about to tell him the door was kept locked, but saw it was ajar, and realized this was where he’d been waiting.

He pulled me inside. As he closed the door, the room went dark, and his hand stayed on my wrist, gripping hard enough to make me wince.

“What the hell were you doing?” he whispered. “You almost gave me away.”

“It was too late for Tony to react. But when he comes to, he’ll tell the others that I tried to warn him, which will make it seem as if my disappearance wasn’t voluntary.”

“So you can go back and pick up where you left off? It’s over, Hope. Your job is done, and you need to stop worrying about—”