Or until we hit a snag like this.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” I didn’t mean it to come out so harsh. Christ, Jill, his mom just died. Give him a break. But the words spilled out. “We’ve got a couple of really serious problems here, and I need you firing on all cylinders. I count on you, Saul.”

Great. Well, I suck at giving breaks. But Jesus…

“I know.” His dark gaze slid past me, as if he couldn’t bear to look. “I just…”

“You just what? I know—look, I really know you’re suffering. Your mom… I mean, you’re grieving, I understand. I’m trying to give you space, you know. It’s just hard when I’m running to solve a case. I don’t have a lot of time. I’m sorry.” The tangle of everything I should have said instead—beautiful things that would help him feel better—rose to choke me, and I swung away from him, looking for a phone. “I’m going to call Montaigne. Take the car and go home, I’ll wait for them to come secure the scene; I’ve got a couple things I need them to take samples of for me. Then I’m going to check out our first victim’s address, and visit Zamba. I’ll be home when I can and we’ll hash this out.”

He wasn’t having any of it. “You think this is about my mother?” He sounded shocked. “So you’ve been—”

“Trying to give you some space. Which I’m going to keep doing. I’ve got shit happening here, Saul. If the hostage ends up dead or we’re looking at a voodoo war, all fucking hell is going to break loose.” And I’ll be on the front lines trying to deal out enough ammo to keep it from killing more innocent people.

“Jill—”

I cut him off. I had to. “Saul. Go home. I’m sorry, I’m a hunter. That comes first. I love you and I’m going to give you the space you need to get your head clear. Go the fuck home.” I took two steps toward the phone. They were hard—every inch of me wanted to turn back, grab him, and hug him and tell him it was all going to be okay.

But I had more than a sneaking suspicion that something was about to break over my city. If the hostage ended up dead, there went the Cirque’s promise of good behavior, and I’d have a hell of a time getting another hostage out of them and making sure they didn’t step outside their boundaries and go hunting instead of just luring the suicidal, desperate, insane, and psychopathic in to play their games. And if a voodoo war broke out at the same time… it didn’t bear thinking about. There was only one of me, and a lot of uppity assholes to kill to keep the peace once chaos was on the loose instead of still mostly contained.

If the two things were connected, someone was making a lot of trouble for me, and I needed to get a handle on it yesterday.

“Jill—” Saul tried again.

“Go on.” I didn’t want to sound harsh. I really didn’t. I tried to take a gentle tone. “Go home. Really. I’ll be along when I can. I love you.”

Lorelei’s phone was at the end of the kitchen counter. I picked it up and dialed a number I knew by heart. Saul’s footsteps were heavy. He headed for the back door.

Don’t go. Come here and I’ll hug you. Everything’s going to be okay. I love you, I can love you enough to make the hurt go away. Come back.

“Montaigne,” the phone barked in my ear.

Saul pulled the back door to but didn’t close it. I felt him, each step taking a lifetime, sliding away around the corner of the house.

“Hello?” Monty bit the word like it personally offended him.

I came back to myself with a jolt. “Monty, it’s Jill.”

“Oh, Christ. What?”

“I’ve got a body I need taken care of, and I need a scene gone over. I also need Avery to meet me here.” I gave Lorelei’s address. “Get them here now—I’m on a schedule.”

“When are you not?” He didn’t ask any stupid questions, at least. “Are things going to get ugly?”

God, I hope not. The pressure behind my eyes wouldn’t go away. Neither would the stone in my throat, but I sounded sharp and Johnny-on-the-spot. All hail Jill Kismet, the great pretender. “Time will tell. Get them out here, Monty. I’ll be in touch.”

“You got it.” He hung up, and I did too. Thank God police liaisons don’t question a hunter’s judgment, even if they don’t know what we’re dealing with most of the time. Those that do know—and Monty had brushed the nightside once or twice—have a better idea than most, and leap to do what we ask.

The alternative really doesn’t bear thinking about, but I’m sure they do.

I turned in a complete circle. I heard the Pontiac’s engine purr into life outside. Oh, Saul. Jesus. I wish I was better for you.

I had work to do, not the least of which was sweeping the scene so I was sure it was safe for the forensic techs who were about to descend. Time to get cracking.

But oh, my heart hurt.

Avery arrived just as I was giving my forensics liaison the rundown. Piper is my very favorite tech. She didn’t even blink when I told her what samples I needed. Lorelei’s house was clear, her basement altar quiet, and the only problem was three live chickens brooding in wire cages downstairs. It’s the kind of problem Piper’s used to solving, and not much disturbs her serenity. She’s got four kids and a husband who does house duty while she’s out at crime scenes, and her sleek brown ponytail is almost never disarranged.

“Chickens?” She barely even raised an eyebrow. Behind me, they were photographing Lorelei’s body.

“I don’t care what you do with them, sell them or something.”

She gave me a look that could only qualify as long-suffering. I’m sure she practiced it on her kids. “Okay. You want a file on the body, of course. Can Stan release it after the autopsy? Anyone likely to want it?”

“I have no clue. Don’t release it until I give the okay.”

“Is it likely to…” Both eyebrows did raise this time, slightly.

“If it was likely to sit up and start causing trouble I wouldn’t let you keep it.” I’d already taken care of piercing the palms and feet with long iron nails. “Have Stan do a full workup, but warn him not to take the nails out.”

She didn’t even blink. “Your wish is our command. Anything we need to be worried about?”

“Of course not. Take pictures of the altar downstairs, catalog the scene—the usual.”

“Got it. Anything I should beep you if we find?”

Someone called her name, she raised a hand to let them know she’d be with them in a second. I mulled the question, shuffling priorities and evidence inside my head. “Nope. Just let me know when the file’s done. See if you can find out if anyone visited her—check the phone and have the black-and-whites ask her neighbors.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

Technically I suppose I should have had a couple of homicide deets there to take care of the legwork, but I’d told Monty not to bother. This was so clearly one of my cases, and there was no reason for anyone to be brought in on call. It wasn’t like I didn’t know what had happened. “Great. Thanks, Piper.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, well. You’re sure this one won’t.…”

“It won’t come back to life, Piper. I promise. Just tell Stan not to take the nails out.”

“Okay.” A shadow crossed through her dark eyes, but she shrugged again and went to work. Which officially finished up my job here.

Avery leaned against the hood of his Jeep, and I got a pleasant surprise. Eva was there too, perched on the hood like a Chrysler-approved pixie. The breeze stirred her dark hair, and I could tell just from the tension in her shoulders that she was still upset over losing Watson. Either that or something else, since Ave looked troubled too.

“How’s our first victim?” I didn’t bother with a preamble. Our second victim was still missing, or I would know about it.

“Funny you should ask.” Ave’s mouth twisted. “Had to sedate him and tie him down again. He was throwing himself all over the cell. I’m surprised he doesn’t have a concussion. He was chanting again, too. It was hinky as hell.”