“Standard and boring unless you’re going through it.”

“Be that as it may, I told them I wasn’t coming back, and they said fine, and that was it. The monthly checks went poof—and honestly, it’s okay. I’m smart, I’m willing to work hard, and I have an education. I’ll make it on my own, just like a whole bunch of people before me have.”

Bill shrugged out of his coat. “May I ask one more personal question?”

“Absolutely.” As she tried her ’cino, she grimaced. Watching that blond man had drained a lot of the warmth out of things. “Anything.”

“You say you were adopted—have you ever thought about looking up your birth family?”

She shook her head. “The records of everything are beyond private—or at least that’s what they told me. I guess my father paid to keep it that way? And it makes sense—I heard that my mother tried to pass me off as hers in the beginning, saying that she had been hiding the pregnancy under loose clothes and then had spent the last month down in Naples or some place like that. As my hair got redder and redder, though, that lie became more difficult to support—especially as she didn’t like the idea of people thinking she’d stepped out on my father.”

“So you never hear from them at all?”

“No, and it’s all right. At this point, hey, my ivy league education’s paid for. If that’s the worst thing those two do to me for the rest of my life, I came out on top of the deal.”

“Well . . .” Bill cleared his throat. “So segue, here—do you want to apply for something at the paper? I know there are a couple of openings and I could put in a good word. You’ve shown me that you’re a helluva good investigator.”

For a minute, Jo just sat there like a lump, blinking. Then she shook herself. “Really? Oh . . . my God, yes. I mean, thank you. I have a résumé I can e-mail you.”

“Consider it done. Like, I know they’re looking for an online content editor right now. The pay has to be about what you’re making as a receptionist, but at least it’s a stepping stone.”

And better than worrying about Bryant’s love life and laundry, she thought to herself.

“Thank you. I mean it.” She flashed him the napkin she’d been writing on. “And on that note, I’ve made a list of the places I’ve visited. I’ve got a couple more to go—I want to check out that closed restaurant where Julio Martinez said he got ambushed by a vampire? And I want to go to this alley where . . . have you seen the footage of the shoot out in the alley? Where there’s this guy up on a roof who kills someone while this other guy runs out into a spray of bullets? There were no fangs in the clip, but it was put up on YouTube by the same guy who posted a lot of the footage of the massacre at that farm.”

Bill took out his phone like he was ready to go ’net surfing. “No, I haven’t seen that yet.”

“Here, let me get it up for you.”

#donteversaythatagain

Assail waited on the periphery of Naasha’s hellren’s great mansion, tracking the movement of the staff and its mistress in the windows on the first and second floors. One advantage of the female being an exhibitionist was that pulled draperies were an anathema to her, and thus the stages of her dressing were on display for all to see.

At the moment, she was in her bathroom, seated in a make-up chair in front of a window that faced due west. Her maid was rolling her hair in curlers whilst she focused on something in her lap. Perhaps it was e-mail on an iPad. Or a phone.

Taking out his cell, he sent her a text . . . and watched as her head came up and she pointed across the way. The maid put down the roller she’d been about to put to use and scampered out of view. And then she was back, placing a device in her mistress’s hand.

Assail’s own phone went off a second later. When he read what she had texted, he looked at his cousins.

“You know what to do.”

“Aye,” Ehric said. “Is the Brother here—”

“Right behind you.”

All three of them turned about to find Zsadist exactly where he’d said he’d be at exactly the time he’d told Assail he would arrive. Like the rest of them, the Brother had a large backpack on, and plenty of weapons with him.

“Shall we, gentlemales?” Assail murmured.

At his nod, his cousins dematerialized to the back of the mansion, to the infiltration point that had been established beforehand.

Assail put his backpack down at the base of the tree he had been taking cover behind, and then he strode into view, straightening his suit coat and tugging out his cuffs. When he hit the walkway that led to the front entrance, his loafers made a clipping sound. Zsadist, who tracked in his wake, made no sound as he stuck to the grass, staying just outside of the light thrown by the short lanterns at the edge of the flagstones.

When Assail got to the door, he tried the handle. No such luck this time; it was locked.

Using the bell, he had a smile on his face as the butler answered the summons. “Good evening, I’m afraid I am a good twenty minutes early. I do not wish to inconvenience your mistress, however. May I tarry in her parlor?”

As the doggen bowed low, Assail checked to make sure there was no one else in the foyer. And then, as the butler straightened, Assail outed his forty.

Such that the servant looked the muzzle eye-to-eye.

“Do not move a muscle,” Assail whispered. “And do not make a sound unless you are answering my questions. Do you wish to live?” Nod. “How many other staff are in the house?”

“S-s-s-seven.”

“Is Throe in residence?” Nod. “Where is he?”

“H-h-he is eating upstairs in his bedroom.”

Zsadist walked right into the house, and the doggen looked like he wanted to faint at the sight of that scarred face and those black eyes.

“Do not worry about him,” Assail said softly. “Focus on me.”

“I’m s-s-s-sorry.”

“Listen to me, and listen to me well. You have seven minutes to get the staff out of the house. That is one minute per person. Do not waste a moment. Do not explain why they have to leave. Tell them to gather at the base of the driveway. Do not alert your mistress. If you tell her of my presence, I will consider you a co-conspirator in the keeping of the blood slave whom I rescued last evening, and I will kill you where you stand. Am I clear?” Nod. “Tell me what I just told you.”

“Y-y-you . . . I have s-s-s-seven minutes to get the staff out. Head of the drive—”

“Base. I said the base of the driveway. I’ll be able to see you, because there is a streetlight there. And what about your mistress.”

A hard look came across the butler’s face, one that very probably was going to save his life. “I shall say not a word to her. She and her lover killed my master.”

“What is your name?”

“I am Tharem.”

“Tharem, I want you to go to the King’s Audience House after this. Tell them everything—what was in that basement, what she did to him, what I am doing here. Do you understand?”

“I took pictures,” the butler whispered. “On my phone. I didn’t know where to go with them.”

“Good. Show them. But go now. Seven minutes.”

The doggen bowed low. “Yes, my Lord. Right away.”

The uniformed male took off at a dead run, heading for the kitchen, and before Assail was even halfway to the main stairs, three doggen dressed in chef’s whites came rushing out through the dining room. One had flour all over his hands, and another had a pot with something in it. Their eyes were wide and afraid, suggesting that the butler had not stayed completely truthful to their bargain.

He clearly had imparted there were deadly forces within the house.

No matter. The motivation had worked, and it was obvious that there was naught to be worried about in terms of allegiances to Naasha. The three chefs took one look at him and his gun—and just ran even faster as opposed to causing a ruckus.