The receptionist looked to the others behind her. A cry for help that no one answered, all busying themselves with their tasks.

“You can check on that by calling him, can’t you?” Karl said. “If I’m wrong, he’ll send Hector.”

An exchange of looks, then a few murmured words from the receptionist, and the guard escorted us through a pair of doors.

I PRESUMED WE were in a waiting room, but there were no year-old magazines or battered chairs to give it away. It looked more like a home office-the kind you see in magazines, with deep leather chairs, a recessed bookcase and twin oak desks. Pastries rested on a silver platter topped with a glass lid, a dainty container more suited to petit fours than the chocolate chip muffins within. Beside the door was a built-in coffee and cappuccino machine.

The guard left after receiving a call, probably telling him it would be impolite to hover over a werewolf delegate. That didn’t mean we were left alone. Every few minutes an employee found a reason to come to the waiting room, some pausing outside the door, the more daring entering and filling their cups at the coffeemaker.

“Getting a glimpse of the beast,” I whispered.

“All I need is a cage to pace in.”

“It’s your own fault. Benicio would have granted you an audience without involving Jeremy.”

“I know.”

“But that wouldn’t have been nearly as entertaining, would it?”

He smiled and leaned back, stretching his legs and crossing them at the ankles. “They’d be gawking at you too, if they knew what you were.”

“That’s the difference between us-I avoid the limelight; you jump in with both feet.”

“No, I simply tire of clinging to the shadows. Now and then, it’s nice to step out.”

I shook my head and got a glass of water, then sat down again.

“Speaking of shadows, how was business in Europe? Profitable, I presume?”

Karl shrugged. “Profitable enough.”

I waited for details, but they didn’t come. Usually he loved regaling me with tales of his escapades, knowing that I loved imagining myself climbing over those rooftops, narrowly escaping detection. I shivered just thinking about it.

“Getting restless?” he said after a moment. “How about a self-guided tour?”

“I doubt that’s allowed.”

“Think anyone will stop us?”

Karl waited until the hall was empty, then we slipped from the room. He led me to the left, picking up speed as voices turned the corner at the other end.

We spent the next ten minutes prowling the executive floor of Cortez Cabal headquarters-probably second only to major government buildings for security-and no one even noticed.

We slid easily back into our old roles. Karl as the ever-patient, ever-entertaining teacher, instructing not with lectures but by example. Me as the eager student, lapping it up-both the lessons and the chaos, that steady low-level thrum that set my heart thumping but left my brain clear.

I watched and took mental notes. Paid attention to how he could predict where every security camera would be. Noted how he avoided people just as deftly, not darting out of their way, but turning so they saw only his back and passed, intent on their work, presuming he belonged.

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.