I WENT TO bed, but didn’t sleep. The tequila and the chaos highs had worn off and now, alone with nothing to occupy my brain, my thoughts slid back to the heist. Unlike my adventures on behalf of the council, there was no second wave of chaos bliss to be found in the replay. I thought of how many people we’d scared-blameless people, terrified by us, just for kicks.

I reminded myself it was a job, like my council work. No matter what I thought of the Cabals and their methods, a crisis with the gangs would ripple throughout the supernatural community. Brokering a peaceful deal-or, at the very least, one with minimal bloodshed-was a just cause.

But the guilt came not from participating in the heist, but from enjoying it. No, reveling in it. I thought of that sixteen-year-old girl, what we’d done to the biggest night of her life, and I recalled what I’d thought-that we were, in fact, doing her a favor. I remembered that, and I was disgusted.

In the morning, the guilt wouldn’t be as sharp, the edge dulled by acknowledging that, yes, I’d made a mistake; yes, I wasn’t proud of myself; and yes, I wouldn’t let it happen again. But now, in the dark of night, lying alone in bed, there was nothing to do but think about it.

If I had the apartment to myself, I’d have gotten up-read a book, watched TV, done whatever would distract me until morning. But with Karl in the next room, I wouldn’t even turn on my bedside light to read, desperately wanting him to think I was sleeping soundly, my conscience as free as his would be after a heist. So I lay there, staring at the wall, watching the clock tick through the hours.

I waited until six-thirty, the earliest I reasoned I could pretend to wake up. I showered and dressed, dragging it out past seven before I finally emerged.

Karl was already at the table, reading the Wall Street Journal and drinking coffee from one of the china mugs supplied with the apartment. On the opposite side of the table was a take-out cup of coffee, a bakery box, a newspaper and a pharmacy bag.

He didn’t say a word as I walked in, just slid over a mug and plate from the center of the table, and resumed his reading.

I opened the bag. Inside was a tiny bottle of eyedrops. I looked from it to the extra-large coffee and knew, as silent as I’d been, that I hadn’t tricked him and I’d been a fool to think I could.

It didn’t matter that Karl had probably never passed a sleepless night after a heist. He knew me. As much as I hated to admit it, the proof lay here before me, not just in the eyedrops and caffeine, but in everything. The coffee, double cream, no sugar. Inside the bakery box, a blueberry bran muffin. The paper: USA Today. Even the eyedrops were my brand, and the “sensitive eye” formulation I used. There were married couples who didn’t know each other as well as we did.

It was a quiet meal. Not like us at all. Usually, even while reading our different papers, we’d exchange a steady volley of comments and quips about the articles. Newspaper reading as a joint activity, like so many other things we did together-each doing our own thing, maintaining our independence and yet finding a way to share it.

That morning there was no anger in the silence, though. It felt almost…cautious, as if fearing that opening our mouths would lead to a fight, and this joint meal-albeit a silent one-was as close to comfortable as we could manage.

After breakfast, I called Benicio for my daily check-in. I said nothing about the heist or about Karl, but did mention that I might learn something later and, if I did, could I call him? He said he’d be at the office all morning.

We left at eight thirty.

THE FIRST HALF of the trip was as silent as breakfast. Then Karl mentioned he’d checked in at Stonehaven after coming back from Europe, and I asked after Elena and Clayton and their eighteen-month-old twins. And there we found the perfect neutral topic: babies.

I asked how the little ones were doing and how they were growing and what milestones they’d reached since I last saw them. As adorable as children were, neither of us had the slightest interest in them, but it was a subject we could discuss without fear of it devolving into a fight. So we stuck with it for the rest of the trip.

WE WALKED IN the front doors of the building that Jaz had pointed out the other night: Cortez Cabal headquarters. I’d wanted to keep our entrance low key, but should have realized things were never low key when Karl was around.

Every female eye turned his way as we entered the lobby. Karl is rarely the best-looking man in a room, but when he walks in, you can be forgiven for thinking he is. He has that proprietary confidence usually only seen in men like Benicio Cortez. In Karl, though, it tipped over into an “I know you’re watching me” arrogance that made it even harder to look away.

Karl ignored the women, but if any man looked my way, Karl met each furtive glance with a level stare. Establishing territory. It didn’t mean anything. He’d do the same with any woman at his side-friend, lover or acquaintance. The wolf peeking out.

The lobby itself was spectacular but not ostentatious, and that’s not an easy look to achieve, no matter how much money you spend. The foyer was large without being cavernous. Dark doors blocked the sun and good soundproofing muffled the street sounds, plunging the visitor into a peaceful oasis, complete with two walls of aquariums, a ten-foot-square “sand garden” with a half-toppled castle, a wall fountain, driftwood benches and a handsome young man gliding about with a tray of iced water.

Those milling about the foyer were mostly tourists. Human tourists, probably here to check out the nineteenth-floor observatory. All good public relations. To them, Cortez Cabal was simply Cortez Corporation-a huge company like any other.

As Karl veered toward the front desk, I excused myself to get a closer look at one aquarium. I knew how Karl planned to get past the receptionist and a man’s charm is always more effective when he doesn’t have a woman at his side.

Before I could leave, his grip tightened on my elbow, holding me back as he surveyed the area-his gaze touching on and evaluating everyone in the lobby. Again, typical werewolf, however much he denies it.

As I admired the fish, I watched Karl’s reflection in the aquarium glass. He was talking to the receptionist, doing nothing as blatant as flirting, simply giving her his undivided attention. She fell for it. They all do. Of course, I’m not one to talk.

A few minutes later the receptionist sent us, with a security guard escort, to a private elevator. We stopped on the top floor. Judging by the generous use of marble and the bank of receptionists and secretaries, I guessed it was the executive level.

“This man insists on speaking to Benicio Cortez. He wouldn’t state his business.”

The receptionist on duty there glowered at the guard, as if to say that we should never have gotten past the front desk. The guard pretended not to notice, probably already preparing his “I did what I was told” defense when this breach of protocol was investigated. Blame would fall on the lobby receptionist, and I felt bad about that, but if she could be so easily swayed by a good-looking charmer, she shouldn’t be in charge of the main gate.

The receptionist turned to Karl. “And you would be…?”

“An emissary, here on behalf of my Alpha.”

“Alpha? You mean-”

The receptionist exchanged a glance with the guard, who took a slow step back from Karl before stopping himself. Karl’s lips twitched, fighting a smile.

“Hector Cortez is in,” the receptionist said. “That’s Mr. Cortez’s-”

“I know who Hector Cortez is. I doubt you want me returning to my Alpha telling him I was granted an audience with the second-in-command. Mr. Cortez understands the importance we place on hierarchy, which is why he always speaks to the Alpha himself.”