Personal Demon
Page 33

If trapped between a group approaching from either end, he always chose to walk past the suits rather than the clerical staff. He’d square his shoulders, his usual gliding walk shortening to a self-important strut saying to me something like, “And to the left are the photocopiers…”
This seemed the riskier choice, exposing himself to a VIP over a secretary, but soon I understood. Clerical staff knew names and faces, so they could easily run a file down to “Jones in accounting,” and they’d have known Karl didn’t belong. But the executives? They caught a glimpse of a guy in a suit showing a new hire around, and they presumed he belonged there.
We turned yet another corner, and found ourselves in a long narrow hall of unmarked doors.
Karl leaned down to murmur, “Now this looks like a place where they might keep a few things worth stealing. But which door?”
I glanced at each as we passed. “Stockrooms, but nothing important. Nonconfidential files, cleaning supplies, miscellaneous storage…”
I stopped at one with dual locks. “Ah, here’s something.”
Karl slanted a look my way. “You think so?”
“You don’t?”
“I’m willing to make a wager on it.”
“Twenty bucks.”
A small smile. “Twenty it is.”
He didn’t even glance around to make sure no one was coming. He’d hear footsteps. He picked the locks, opened the door and flicked on the light.
“Office supplies?” I stepped in. “No way. There must be something else. They’re using the supplies as a blind.”
“A good idea, but if there was anything more valuable, there’d be more than locks on the door. I think this is all you’ll find. Office supply theft is a serious problem in every business.”
“Guys making a quarter-million a year are going to pilfer—” I reached into the nearest box, “—stick pens?”
“Not just any stick pen.” He took it from me and flourished his hand at the lettering. “An official Cortez Corporation stick pen.” He tucked it into my pocket. “A memento.”
There were boxes of engraved silver pens—probably corporate gifts—right beside it, but his gaze passed them by, knowing if he gave me something of value, I’d feel guilty. A stick pen I could live with, and enjoy a residual chaos surge every time I used it.
“Guess I owe you twenty bucks,” I said as we walked from the room.
“I was being a gentleman, and refraining from the ‘I told you so’s.’”
“There’s nothing of value on this floor, is there?”
“All the critical files, rare spellbooks and bearer bonds are likely in a vault somewhere. But there is something of moderate value in there.”
He gestured at a door we’d passed, as plain as the others, the smooth handle suggesting it didn’t even have a key lock.
“Ha-ha,” I said.
 
His brows arched. “You doubt me?”
“God forbid.”
He took hold of my shoulders and propelled me toward the door. When we were about two feet away, I caught a telltale flash.
“Security spell.” I glanced back at him. “How’d you know?”
“About the spell? Just a hunch. What caught my attention was a less mysterious security measure. Do you see the metal plate running along the door frame? There’s an electronic lock of some sort, probably attached to that.”
He pointed to a wafer-thin slot beside the door, then said. “We should get back.”
 
WE’D JUST TURNED the final corner back to the waiting room when two men approached from the opposite side, one strolling a few paces behind, making no effort to match the other’s brisk stride.
For a moment, I thought the leader was Benicio. He had the same stocky build, dark hair and rounded face, but when we drew closer I saw his dark hair was less gray-streaked and his face was less lined.
The man lagging behind was about a decade younger, also Latino, but taller and well built. I could see similarities in the features, but where the older man was average looking, bland even, the younger was worth a double-take…though I tried not to make mine too obvious.
“Looking for us?” Karl said as we neared them. “My apologies. You keep the restrooms well hidden, it seems.”
The lie came blithely, accompanied by an air that said he really didn’t give a damn whether they believed him or not.
Karl extended a hand to the older man. “Karl Marsten.”
“Hector Cortez. This is my brother, Carlos.”
Carlos ignored Karl and took my hand. “I’d guess this lovely young lady is Hope Adams, but I don’t think I could be so lucky.”
He flashed a smile meant to be as charming as his words, but both carried a smarmy note that set my teeth on edge.
Hector and Carlos Cortez, two of Lucas’s three half-brothers. I’d been wondering whether Benicio himself would come to collect us or would send someone instead. When it came to Cabal relations with werewolves or vampires, every nuance would be noticed and analyzed by the entire corporation.
Only in the last decade had the werewolves reentered the larger supernatural world. As evidenced by the way Karl had been treated, they were still viewed with a combination of curiosity and trepidation. Some weren’t happy that Benicio had initiated contact with Jeremy Danvers, the werewolf Alpha. Sending his sons to meet us was a small step back, but perhaps the politically shrewd move.
“Karl. Hope.”
Footfalls sounded behind us and we turned to see Benicio approaching from the other end of the floor, Troy behind him.
“Meetings never run on schedule, do they? Come along then. We’ll talk in my office.”
As we followed Benicio, I couldn’t help smiling. A deft move. In accompanying Karl personally, Benicio could not be accused of any slight against a werewolf envoy. Yet those who didn’t want to see their leader treating the Alpha—via his proxy—as an equal would argue that Benicio had sent his sons but, after an accidental hallway encounter, the only civil thing to do was take us himself. Another lesson learned.
 
BENICIO LED US through a tiny reception area, then dismissed Troy to an adjoining room.
We entered what was—from the photos on the desk—clearly Benicio’s private office, but it wasn’t much larger than the waiting room. Still it certainly was the best real estate in the building, overlooking Biscayne Bay, with an amazing floor-to-ceiling window that showcased the view.