I paused. “Gary Schmidt said something about immortality. If Anita Barrington is a key member of this movement, that must mean something. Maybe they’re promising their followers immortality, which is bullshit, but—”

I noticed Cassandra had fallen a few paces behind me. I turned. “Cass?”

“What was the man’s name?”

“Giles.”

“Last name?”

I shrugged. “Didn’t get one. So you know him? He’s not a vampire, is he?”

“I . . . don’t know.”

“Okay. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not yet.”

I stopped and turned to her. “I’m your partner here, Cass. If Lucas brought me here, obviously he—”

“—trusts you to uncover the truth. Which is exactly why I’m not sharing this with you. I need to verify a few things first, and we need to finish helping Lucas with that little boy’s disappearance before we launch into something new. You look into this bodyguard situation, while I make a few calls.”

twenty-nine

Great plan. Except I wasn’t sure how to look into the bodyguard situation. I guess Lucas wanted me to check out the possibility that Frankie Salas was in desperate need of cash, so desperate that he’d betray the Cabal.

I liked that explanation. It exonerated Bryce. Unfortunately, I’d already forwarded Salas’s details to Paige, and she’d sent back a clean bill of financial health. He rented an apartment that fit well within his means. He had a reasonable loan on his car, and he paid it every month. His credit history was clean. If this guy owed money, it was for something less legitimate—drugs, gambling, women. But if he was that kind of guy, he’d never have made it through the background checks to become Bryce’s bodyguard.

The only other thing was to search Salas’s apartment, in hopes that if he was involved in Larsen’s kidnapping, he’d have left evidence there. People do that all the time, even smart people. Home is private. Home is safe. At least until a squad of cops shows up with a search warrant.

So I called Troy and asked him what I could expect in the way of security.

“The only thing my place has is a cat,” he said. “And she’s not even mine. Just a stray that lives in the garage and would probably follow a thief home. I spend most of my days guarding Mr. Cortez and most of my nights sleeping at his place. Even guys who are home more don’t bother. They’re bodyguards. It looks bad if they think they need high-tech security.”

“Don’t they need to protect their stuff?”

“Not much there if you’re a career bodyguard. Definitely not Cabal secrets. We don’t get a lot of paperwork. Well, yeah, I do, but that’s because I’m in charge of the guard staff, and you can be sure on my rare days off, I’m not taking it home. Anyway, bodyguards aren’t privy to Cabal secrets.”

“Like hell,” I said. “I bet you know more than anyone in the company, including Benicio.”

He laughed. “Why do you think he keeps me around? But you can also bet I’m not writing anything down. It all stays in my head, where it belongs.”

Which is what made him the best bodyguard in the business. And hopefully one who knew what he was talking about when it came to other bodyguards.

Cassandra was so lost in thought that when I stopped outside Salas’s apartment building, it was like she snapped out of a daze, exclaiming, “Is this it? Are we prepared? Shouldn’t you have tools?”

I razzed her, insisting that she’d promised to get the tools, but it was clear that she was so distracted she wasn’t sure I was joking. I told her about my conversation with Troy and she agreed that he made sense.

So we conned our way into Salas’s apartment building. After I picked his lock, she tested inside for inhabitants. When we were sure the place was clear, I sent her outside to guard the parking lot and warn me if Salas came home. Then I began my search.

His apartment looked more like the secondary residence for a guy who only visited L.A. a few days a month. A few clothes in the closet, minimal toiletries in the bathroom, a bottle of ketchup and a case of beer in the fridge. The only reason the guy even had to lock his door was a TV and a couple of game consoles. It quickly became apparent this was a waste of time.

I went into the bedroom for one last look through Salas’s clothing. A floorboard creaked behind me.

“Didn’t I tell you to wait—?” I turned as a man lunged at me. Big and brawny and dark-haired. Frankie Salas.

I tried to dart past him. He grabbed me and clamped his hand over my mouth.

“Cast a spell and I’ll rip out your fucking voice box, witch.”

I kicked his kneecap. My boot heel hit sharp and hard enough to make him relax his grasp. I wriggled out and danced back.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Someone reported that this activist group made contact with you. I’m sure you didn’t join them, but I need to ask if—”

His right fist swung at my gut. As I dodged it, he caught me with a surprise chop to my throat. I gasped and heaved, unable to breathe. He grabbed for me. Still choking, I managed to slam my fist into his stomach. I might as well have been slamming it into a brick wall.

I fought. I do know how to defend myself. Or I could, if I wasn’t fighting a guy twice my size. I figured out fast that I wasn’t taking Salas down, so I set my sights on the door. He figured that one out fast and didn’t let me near it.

I’d like to say we fought for an hour. It was more like ten minutes. Five if I was being honest. He finally pinned me to the wall and jammed a sock—dirty—from his floor into my mouth.

“You think I don’t know why you’re here?” he said. “You’re planting evidence to blame Bryce for the kid getting taken.”

I shook my head and gestured that I could explain, but he still thought I was capable of casting spells and wasn’t taking the sock out.

“You’re a greedy little bitch,” he said. “Just like your mother. You think you can get your hands on Nast money by pretending to be one of them. Well, you’re not. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.”

I could point out that my mother had never named Kristof as my father. The smelly sock gag squashed that plan.