Marsten only shrugged. “If you say so.”

Marsten stepped forward, as if ready to go with them. Then he stopped.

“I’ll suppose you’ll want me to tell you where I hid that security guard you had killed. Backup plan, I presume?”

Tristan said nothing, only reached for his cell phone. Marsten’s gaze flicked to the vent shaft, then back to Tristan.

“So you didn’t trust your girl to do the job. If she failed, you’d still have a mauled security guard, found at the scene of a jewel theft, a little tale you could take to the interracial council.”

Tristan only smiled, gaze still down as he checked messages on the phone. “I think the Pack would be more interested in that story.”

“Ah, of course. The werewolf Pack. A clever plan, and one that might have worked…if I hadn’t been part of the Pack myself for the past two years.”

Tristan looked up.

Marsten laughed. “Not very good at doing your homework, are you? That’s obvious from that preposterous story you told the girl. Working as an agent for the interracial council? I’m sure Aaron, Paige, Adam, and the other delegates will be thrilled to know they have a team of secret agents working on their behalf.”

Marsten caught Tristan’s look and smiled. “Surprised I know their names? Your story probably works much better on those who don’t know the delegates personally. I could toss a few more names at you, including the werewolves, but I doubt you’d recognize them, and they wouldn’t appreciate me filling that void for you.”

He paused, head tilted, feigning deep thought. “Oh, but I do have another name, one you might find infinitely more interesting. You know who Paige Winter-bourne’s husband is, I presume. You can’t possibly be that out of touch.”

Tristan stiffened.

“Ah, you do know. A very nice young man. I did some work for him last year. Quite pleasant.” Marsten frowned. “I hear his father isn’t always so pleasant, though. A decent employer, I’m sure…unless he finds out one of his employees has been building his own little spy network behind his back.”

“I haven’t been doing anything behind Benicio’s back. He knows all about my initiative. And he’s very impressed.”

“Oh? So this is a Cabal-sanctioned hit? Funny, I could’ve sworn it smelled like personal revenge. Well, what do I know? A Cabal kills a Pack werewolf…that shouldn’t cause too much trouble. Or I suppose it won’t if the Cabal doesn’t know about it.”

Tristan waved to the guards. “Get him out of here.”

He turned, and Marsten started to follow. Then one of the guards spoke up.

“Sir? What about the girl?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about her,” Marsten said. “She’s quite resourceful. I’m sure she’ll get herself free, if she hasn’t already. But the security guard? Now that’s a problem. You should—”

Tristan turned sharply. “Hope’s still alive?”

“Is that her name? Of course she’s alive. You didn’t think I’d—” Marsten shook his head. “I suppose, considering who I’m talking to, I shouldn’t need to ask. Oddly enough, I find the best hostages are the live ones. Yes, Hope is fine and, as I said, will almost certainly free herself, so there’s no need—”

“Where is she?”

“The question is: where’s the dead guard? The girl can take care of herself. That guard, sadly, is beyond—”

“Where is she?”

Marsten paused and rubbed his chin, as if realizing he wasn’t going to talk his way out of handing me over. I’m sure he had some self-interested reason for not wanting to do so, but I was grateful for the effort nonetheless. I didn’t know how I’d face Tristan, knowing the truth.

Oh God…the truth.

My stomach heaved. I’ve been tricked. The whole time I’d been up here, listening as the facts rolled out, I’d processed them without absorbing them. Without letting myself absorb them—

“She’s in a janitor’s closet,” Marsten said. “Tied with her own handcuffs, which I thought was appropriate. I can take you there—”

“You’ll wait here. I’ll come back for you when I’m finished with her.”

Finished with me? What did he mean by—?

I pushed the thought away and, as Marsten gave Tristan directions to the closet I’d used earlier, I scrambled for an escape plan. Yes, escape. Maybe I was being paranoid, and Tristan had only meant he’d return when he’d finished freeing me. Yet Marsten’s life was in danger. And I’d put it there.

Tristan left with one guard. When he was gone, the second one backed up to the desk and, gun still trained on Marsten, slid his rear onto it.

I eased the vent cover out. Marsten’s gaze shot up, but he looked away before the guard noticed, then flicked his fingers, telling me to stay where I was.

As quietly as I could, I moved the cover into the shaft, and laid it down beside me. Marsten’s gaze met mine and he shook his head, in case the waving hadn’t been understood.

When I grabbed the edge of the vent, he threw me one last glare, then cleared his throat.

“You do work for the Cortezes, I presume,” he said to the guard, his voice loud in the small room.

The guard said nothing.

I gauged the distance between us, then pulled my legs forward, moving into a crouch.

“I’ve heard the Cabals frown on this,” Marsten continued. “Employees taking outside jobs. Yes, I know, you’re working for a Cabal AVP, so one could argue it’s not truly moonlighting, but I suspect Mr. Cortez wouldn’t be so quick to see the distinction.”

I braced myself on the edge of the opening.

Marsten continued. “An AVP using Cabal resources for a personal vendetta? I’ll wager Mr. Cortez would like to know about that, and would richly reward—”

I jumped. Marsten leaped to the side, out of the range of the gun. I hit the guard in the back. An oomph, and he fell forward. Marsten snatched the gun. Then he tossed it to me. The move caught me off-guard, and I scrambled for it but was too late, and my hand knocked it flying. The gun ricocheted onto the desk, and tumbled down behind it.

Marsten grabbed the guard around the neck. The guard flailed. Marsten swung him off his feet and bashed his head against the filing cabinet. As the guard’s body went slack, Marsten looked over at me, still crouched on the desk, staring.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I didn’t kill him.”

The last licks of chaos rippled through me. I shuddered, eyes rolling in rapture. Marsten’s brows arched. I turned the shudder into a more appropriate shiver of fear.

“You’re sure?” I said. “He looks—”

“He’s fine.” Marsten kneeled beside the guard as he pulled my handcuffs from his pocket. “Though I do hate to waste these on him.” Another dig into his pocket and he tossed me my scarf. “Since you did such a good job tying this earlier…”

We secured the guard. Then Marsten waved me to the door as he double-checked my knot. My fingers brushed the knob, but Marsten yanked me back.

“I was going to look first,” I said.

“You don’t need to. I can hear them.” He looked around. “You take the vent.” He grabbed my arm and propelled me to the desk. “Go headfirst this time, and you’ll be able to squeeze through.”

“After you,” I said.

“No time. Just—”

“After you.”

He gave me a look, as if contemplating the chances of stuffing me in the shaft himself, then, with a soft growl, hopped onto the desk. He grabbed the edge of the shaft, and easily swung himself up and in, then paused in the opening, his rear sticking out.

“It’s very narrow,” he said. “I’m not sure I can—”

“Try,” I said, and gave him a shove.

He wriggled through, then reached back between his legs, and helped haul me up. The door clicked. No time to replace the cover. I pulled my legs in, scrunched down on my hands and knees, and followed him.