The linguist who’d gone to check with Benloise peered over the banister above. “What you doing?”

So that phrase was both a greeting and an inquiry. One shall make a note of that, Assail thought.

He blew out a blue stream and indicated the closed door panels. “They said we couldn’t smoke out in the gallery.”

“You can’t smoke in here, either.” The man glanced over his shoulder as if his name had been called. “Yeah, okay.” He turned around again. “He said he’ll be a minute.”

“I believe we’ll join you, then.”

The bodyguard just wasn’t on his A-game tonight, was he. Instead of controlling the situation, he simply shrugged and permitted his enemy to get closer to him, to his boss.

Such a gift.

Assail typically took his damned time, but not tonight. He and Ehric hoofed it up the metal flights at a good clip.

He was halfway to goal when he realized he’d made a mistake. Likely because of the coke: There were video cameras all over the facility’s interior—and yet he had done nothing about them.

“Faster,” he hissed under his breath to his cousin.

Reaching the top landing, Assail bowed to the guard. “Where would you like me to put this out?”

“I don’t fucking know. He shoun’t told you to light up.”

“Oh, well, then.”

Ehric, on cue, pulled another dematerialization, appearing behind the guard. With a slap, he covered that mouth, and yanked the guard back.

Presenting Assail the perfect captive target.

With a vicious move, he sliced his blade across that throat easy and quick as a cough. Then it was another case of drag-off once again.

Assail barged through the office door, pushing it wide. Across the vast space, Benloise sat alone behind his raised modernist desk, the glow of the lamp by his side pulling his features out of the darkness so that he rivaled some of Goya’s best portraits.

“…I’m coming up north right now—” Benloise stopped short, his visage becoming instantly impassive. “Permit me to call you back.”

Caldwell’s drug wholesaler hung the phone up so fast, the receiver banged into its cradle. “I believe I told you to wait, Assail.”

“Indeed?” Assail looked over his shoulder. “Mayhap you should be clearer with your subordinates. Although, God knows, it is so hard to find good help, is it not.”

The natty little man sat back in his throne-like chair, his expression unchanging. Tonight’s bespoke suit was in a deep navy blue that emphasized his perma-tan and dark eyes, and as always, his thinning hair was slicked back from his forehead. One could smell his cologne from across the office.

“Excuse me for rushing you,” the gentleman said in that educated, I’m-not-a-drug-dealer accent of his. “But I have another appointment.”

“I would certainly hate to detain you.”

“And your purpose is?”

Assail nodded once, and that was all it took. Ehric flashed behind that raised desk and locked on the wholesaler, dragging him out of his heavy chair by the head. A Taser later, and Benloise was a limp doll in that very nice-fitting navy blue suit.

As his cousin threw the man over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, no words were exchanged. No reason to—they had sketched this out beforehand: the infiltration, the securing, the removal.

Of course, it would have been so much more satisfying to stage a Hollywood movie confrontation whereupon Assail answered the wholesaler’s question as to purpose in violent detail. The real world of kidnapping and intimidation, however, did not afford such immediate gratification.

Not if you wanted to get your man and keep him.

With Ehric tight on his heels, Assail fell into a jog, crossing the office’s glossy black floor and descending the stairs with alacrity. As they hit the gallery space, there was a moment of pause, a quick check for sounds of incoming confrontation.

None. Just the muffled pant of the stabbed guard’s dying breath and the copper scent of blood from his gut wound.

Out through the staff-only door into the office space. Passing by those desks and the hanging mobile made of mangled car parts.

The Range Rover was parked so close to the rear exit, it was practically in the building, and with sure moves, Assail opened the backseat and Ehric threw Benloise in there like a duffel bag. Then it was a case of slam, slam, screech.

They were off and cruising at the speed limit between one heartbeat and the next, Assail in the front passenger seat, Ehric sitting behind him with their cargo.

Assail checked his watch. Total elapsed time was eleven minutes, thirty-two seconds, and they had a good number of hours before sunrise.

Ehric took out a set of handcuffs and clipped them to the “art dealer’s” wrists. Then it was a case of slapping the motherfucker awake.

When Benloise’s eyes opened, he recoiled like he was in a bad dream.

In grim tones, Assail finally answered the question that had been posed to him. “You have something that is mine. And you’re going to return it to me before dawn—or I will make you wish you were never born.”

A half an hour after the epic confrontation with her husband, Beth was in the back of the Brotherhood’s Mercedes S600 with her half-brother beside her and Fritz behind the wheel. The sedan was brand-new, the wonderful smell of fresh leather and varnish like aromatherapy for rich people.

Too bad the sniffy-good wasn’t doing a damn thing for her mood.

As she stared out the tinted window, the descent down the snowy mountain to the rural road at its base seemed to go in slow motion—although maybe that was because the sound track to the trip, which should have been Vivaldi or Mozart if you went by the ethos of car commercials, was the toxic tennis match of that happy little chat with Wrath.

Shit. Her hellren had always been autocratic—and again, that had nothing to do with his station in life: Screw the crown; it was his personality. And over the last couple of years, she’d watched him throw that attitude around in countless situations, whether it was with the Brothers, the glymera, the staff—hell, the TV remote. But with her, he’d always been … well, not subservient. Never that. She’d always had the sense, though, that he deferred to her. Whatever she wanted, when she wanted it—and God save the fool who got in his way.

So yes, she’d assumed the kid thing would be the same—that he’d cave, given how important having a baby was to her.

Instead? Total opposite—

A soft touch on her elbow reminded her of two things: One, she was not alone in the sedan’s vast backseat. And two, she wasn’t the only person who had problems.

“Sorry,” she said as she dropped hands she wasn’t aware of having brought up to her face. “I’m being rude, aren’t I?”

Are you okay? John signed in the dim interior.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely.” She patted his heavy shoulder, knowing this whole thing with the seizures had to be weighing on him: the trip into town, the MRI, the results that were going to follow. “More important, how are you?”

I guess Doc Jane made it to the medical center okay.

“Yup.” Beth had to shake her head, her gratitude to Jane and her human partner, Manny Manello, choking her up. “Those two are amazing. Human health care is expensive and tough to navigate. How the two of them pulled this off, I have no idea.”

Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. He turned his head away. I mean, come on. I’ve had the episodes for how long? Nothing’s ever come of them.

“It’s safer to get everything checked out.”

John’s phone went off with a bing! and he tilted the screen so he could see it. It’s Xhex.

“So she made it there okay, too?”

Yeah. He exhaled in a hard rush. This whole being-driven-in thing is ridiculous. I could make the trip in a heartbeat.