Personal Demon
Page 17

“Guy’s been playing it down, but he’s getting pissed off. I think he—” He tossed a pebble over the edge.
Watched it drop. “Anyway, he’s not the only one who’s worried about the Cortezes. The mood isn’t good, and I don’t just mean in the gangs. The old man isn’t getting any younger.”
“Benicio? He’s not that old.”
 
Jaz shrugged. To him, sixty years old meant wobbling on the brink of a six-foot drop. Jaz was only a few years younger than me, but it had been a long time since I’d felt my age. Working for the council, hanging around with Karl, I’d been trying to act more mature even as I told myself I didn’t care what he thought of me.
“You mean the succession question,” I said.
Sonny snorted. “Question? According to Benicio Cortez, there is no question.”
Jaz rolled onto his side, facing me. “That’s the big problem, one that Guy says proves Benicio Cortez doesn’t give a shit about his employees. He has three sons, all in the business. Oldest is what, forty? Been with the company all his life. Has what it takes to lead, everyone says. But who does Benicio name as his heir?”
“Lucas,” I said.
“The illegitimate youngest son who wants nothing to do with the family business. Who’s spent his adult life trying to fuck up the Cabals in any way he can. This is the guy Benicio Cortez wants to take his job.”
I sat up. “Most people I talk to don’t really think Lucas is the heir. They figure Benicio’s just being wily, keeping his older boys in line.” Lucas himself believed that.
“Guy thinks the old man’s serious. And if he dies? If Lucas Cortez takes over the Cabal?” He shook his head.
“But if Guy thinks it means the end of the Cabal, isn’t that a good thing?”
“It’s not the Cabal concept Guy’s against. It’s the way they’re run—the imbalance of power. He’d love to upset that balance, give some back to the little guys like us. But destroy the Cabal altogether, like Lucas Cortez would do? What would that do to supernaturals in Miami? To people like our parents, with Cabal jobs? To the gangs? Guy wants reform, not annihilation.”
So what, if anything, did Guy plan to do? I couldn’t ask. Not yet. But I had my lead. Benicio was right—
there was trouble brewing.
Dropping the subject was tough. The reporter in me could see the answers lying there, right under the surface. At least I could dig around the site, see what else popped up.
“You guys ever met Lucas Cortez?” I asked.
Sonny shook his head.
“I met a guy who went to college with him,” Jaz said.
“Law school?”
“Nah, undergrad. This was back before Lucas got into his ‘fight the power’ shit. This guy knew who Lucas was because his dad worked for the Cortezes. Otherwise, he said, he never would have noticed him. A geek and a loner, the kind of kid you only talk to if you need someone to do your homework.”
Sonny shook his head. “And this is the son Benicio wants to run the Cabal.”
“I’ve met him,” I said.
Jaz dropped the pebble he’d been playing with. “Lucas Cortez?”
“I was dating a thief who’d had trouble with Lucas. After we pulled one job, he came after us.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously would be overstating it. My ex got rid of him pretty easily. Like you said, he’s a geek. A loser who fancies himself some kind of crusader.” I sent up a mental apology to Lucas.
Jaz considered my words for a moment, then said, “Guy would like to hear this. Get your impressions.
Would that be okay?”
Exactly what I’d hoped. I nodded and said I’d do my best, even call my ex if it would help.
 
CALL MY EX…
I’d spent the break-in trying to focus on Karl in the most neutral terms. My contact. My mentor. My friend.
I’d called him my “ex” with Guy this afternoon and now with Jaz because that would be easy for them to understand. The truth was that “boyfriend” was the one word I couldn’t pin on him, let alone “ex.”
Karl Marsten…
A guy who should never have been part of my life, and there were days when I wished he never had been.
Karl, the werewolf jewel thief I was supposed to capture for Tristan, my bogus council contact. Karl, who’d shown me I was actually working for a Cabal, who’d introduced me to the real council and got me a job with them.
Karl, who knew why I really worked for the council—my less than honorable motivation—and not only knew, but understood.
After that first meeting, almost two years ago, he’d kept coming around, his intentions murky. Chemistry we had, and sometimes even explored, but we both seemed more comfortable with friendship. He’d show up, let me poke holes through his ego, sometimes return the favor. We’d banter for a while, then slide into confessions and concerns neither of us shared with anyone else.
When he’d hinted about coming to one of my mother’s charity galas, I’d teased that he was getting old and needing easier access to jewels. He’d joked that he wanted to meet my mother, see whether she approved of him.
Then, at the Valentine’s ball at my brother’s Texas ranch, he’d shown up on the doorstep, ticket in hand.
If he’d been serious about wanting to come, we should have discussed the pros and cons of letting the supernatural side of my life seep into my family life. But the anger I’d felt on seeing him hadn’t lasted.
Charm was Karl’s specialty, but that night he’d used none of his usual too-clever charm that sent society matrons into vapors as he divested them of their jewels. My mother wouldn’t have fallen for that. Instead, Karl had charmed her by being himself—or as close to it as he ever was around others.
When the party ended, I’d given him the grand tour of the grounds. The stable visit didn’t go so well—his werewolf scent spooked the horses. When the groom had come down, wakened by the noise, we’d raced out like kids caught at a prank.
We’d stopped at the pool, tucked behind the gardens. I’d opened the gate.
He’d peered in. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”
“I can probably find one for you.”
“Don’t bother.”