“So Hope is in Miami,” Karl said as we sat. “I’ve been in Europe. I came back, had business in Philly and thought I’d take Hope to lunch. Her mother told me she was in Fort Lauderdale, pursuing an urgent story. When I heard ‘Florida,’ my first thought was your father. I’d hoped I was wrong.”

“So you came to Portland to check? I’m sure a phone call would have sufficed.”

“I had business here.”

Similar, I’m sure, to the nonexistent business that had him in Philadelphia. But Karl’s personal life wasn’t my concern and I was happy to leave it that way.

I sipped my coffee. Stronger than I liked, with grounds peppering the surface. Not someone accustomed to brewing his own.

“Your father and I had a deal,” Karl said. “He was not to call on Hope without notifying me first, and any debt we had, we’d repay together.”

“Did Hope know that?”

He shook his head and set his cup down, untouched.

“I don’t believe my father would put Hope in any real danger. He knows she’s under council protection, and he brought this arrangement to my attention, which would suggest he isn’t doing anything underhanded. I discussed the job with them both, and I’m convinced it’s a task suited to her talents.”

“What’s she doing?”

As I told him, his face darkened. When I finished, he let out an oath, then sat there, not moving a muscle. His jaw was set so tight that, if I had werewolf hearing, I suspected I’d have heard his teeth grinding.

“I can’t see that it’s significantly different from the tasks Hope undertakes for the council,” I said. “Except, perhaps, in scale. You don’t have a quarrel with her council work-you were the one who brought her to them.”

“Not the same thing.”

“If you mean because she’s committing criminal acts with this gang, she cannot be held responsible-”

“My point exactly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t, but I’m not sure I can say the same for your father. If he gave Hope this job, knowing what-” He rose. “I’m going to Miami. Put an end to this before it goes any further. Where’s Hope?”

“First tell me what you plan to do, so we can discuss your options with regard to my father.” Before he could argue, I went on. “As a member of the Pack, you represent the Pack. Any action you take against my father will be seen as the Pack acting against the Cabal. Is that the message you wish to send?”

His lips curled and parted, and I knew he was about to say that he’d send any message he damned well pleased, but he caught himself, realizing, perhaps, that such an approach would not be in his best interests.

“I’m getting Hope out of there,” he said. “That’s all I care about. Unless your father or his people interfere, there won’t be any trouble. I’ll deal with your father later-a civilized discussion about finding a civilized way to free Hope from our debt.”

“It’s my understanding that this isn’t only about what she owes him. She’s doing this of her own free will, and you might find she’s not so easily dissuaded.”

“Oh, she’ll be dissuaded-if I have to pick her up and carry her out of Miami.”

“Ah.”

“Now where can I find her?”

I hesitated. While I was reluctant to send Karl tearing down there without knowing why he so urgently wanted Hope out, I knew I wasn’t getting an explanation. Refuse, and he’d still fly to Miami, then make matters worse hunting her down himself.

“I don’t have the address of the apartment where she’s staying, but the gang owns a club called Easy Rider.”

As he nodded, I saw Paige, still wearing her coat, in the open doorway, hand raised to knock. She greeted Karl, who exchanged a few impatient pleasantries with her before brushing past.

“Did I just hear him say he’s taking Hope out of Miami whether she wants to leave or not?”

“So it would seem, but he was clearly not in the mood to discuss it further and I didn’t want him racing around Miami looking for her.”

“Should we call her? Warn her?”

I shook my head. “It would only make matters worse. As angry as Karl is, I trust him to be discreet.” I paused. “But we should probably clear our schedules. Just in case.”

Our target was a sweet-sixteen party. When Guy first mentioned it, images of pillow-fighting, PJ-clad teenage girls sprang to mind, and the only profitable crime I could imagine was kidnapping, which would have had me on the phone to Benicio. But as he’d unveiled the plan, it became clear this was no slumber party, but a coming out worthy of a queen.

I’d heard of such parties in society circles, always described with the contemptuous horror the upper-crust reserved for the excesses of the nouveau riche. There was always a grand historical theme-Roman, medieval, Arabian. Tonight it was Egypt.

The party was held in a modest hall, one probably used mostly for weddings. Big enough to hold a couple of hundred guests, simple and security-free. This was obviously where they’d tried to cut costs, though it was the only place they had.

There were two Sphinxes-accuracy be damned-sculpted in ice and flanking the door. The pyramids were papier-mâché, and quickly relocated when guests realized how much dance floor space they took up. The mummies were, one hopes, also papier-mâché. Propped up in caskets, they wore masks and held trays of masks for the guests who wished to partake. Some of the young men and parents did, but few of the girls-there was no sense getting your makeup professionally done only to cover it.

The belle of the ball was a chubby, newly minted sixteen-year-old dressed as Cleopatra. On a litter borne by four young men in loincloths, she was carried through the crowd to the front, where her parents waited beside a silver bowl stuffed with envelopes. The guest of honor had requested congratulations in cash only, to fund a yearlong world tour before she went to college.

There was a single gift-a brand-new Jaguar convertible, rolled in through two huge rear doors as Daddy handed the keys to his squealing daughter. Watching the spectacle, I suspected those doors were the real reason her parents had rented the cheap hall. Having their daughter walk outside to see her new car just wouldn’t have had the same impact as this tacky game-show moment.

The girl beamed as she was squired about the dance floor. She was Daddy’s princess and nothing was too good for her. How would any other night-or any other man-ever compare?

We were about to make this night memorable for a very different reason.

I watched it all from a storage room above the hall. The crew had prepared for this days ago, after finding the party mentioned in the local society pages. There were four of these hidey-holes, each with a newly drilled spy hole, each manned by a crew member. Mine was a tiny room that stunk of stale cigarette smoke.

The party was in full swing when Jaz slipped in and crept over to sit beside me.

“So, did you get a sweet sixteen like this?” he whispered.

I laughed. “If I’d even suggested it, my parents would have sat me down for a long talk about the responsibilities of privilege. No one I knew got a party like this one. It’s a different kind of ‘society.’”

“Old money versus new?”

“Something like that. Debutante balls? Yes. Egyptian extravaganzas with papier-mâché pyramids and a bowl full of money? God, no.”

“Debutante? You?” He grinned. “Say it wasn’t so.”

“What?” I waved at my T-shirt and jeans, grimy with storeroom dust. “I don’t look like one? I’ll have you know I can quickstep with the best of them, sir.”

He laughed, earning a mock glare. “Sorry. I just can’t picture you…”

The sentence trailed off as he watched the party below, then turned to me.

“No, actually, I can. You have that…I don’t know. Aura, I guess.” A small smile. “Even with dirt on your cheeks.” His head tilted. “I bet you were something. Nothing like the rest of them.”