“It was great, babe.”

  Marsten winced as he recognized the privacy-seeking couple from earlier. Guess they’d found what they were looking for.

  A door opened less than ten feet away. Marsten swore and looked toward the corner, but it was too late to run—we’d risk being seen by the departing guard. But if we stayed here, the couple would recognize him, and if the man got belligerent again, the guard would hear—

  Marsten’s mouth dropped to mine. He pushed me up against the wall, his hands wrapping in my hair and pulling it up to shield the sides of our faces. As he kissed me, I felt a stab of disappointment. His kissing was excellent, of course. Polished and perfect, just like the rest of him. For most women an excellent kisser is cause for celebration. But me? I prefer the ardent gropes and kisses of an enthusiastic, if less experienced, lover.

  Behind us, the man laughed. “Looks like we aren’t the only ones looking for a little diversion. There’s an empty office right over there, guys.”

  Marsten raised his hand in thanks. The couple moved on. I let the kiss continue for five more seconds, then pulled away.

  “They’re gone,” I said.

  Marsten frowned, as if surprised—and disappointed—that I’d noticed. I tugged my hair from his hands.

  “Okay, coast clear,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  He let out a small laugh. “I see I need to brush up on my kissing.”

  “No, you have that down pat.”

  “She says with all the excitement of a teacher grading a math quiz…”

  “A-plus. Now let’s move. Before someone else comes along.”

  We reached the office safely. This time, the door was locked, but Tristan hadn’t trigger-spelled it. He must have assumed we wouldn’t come back. The door lock was only for snooping partygoers or privacy-seeking couples.

  Marsten gave the handle a sharp twist, and it snapped open.

  “I’ll find my purse,” I said as we hurried inside. “You pull the body out.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I flipped on the light and looked around. No obvious sign of my purse. It must have fallen—

  “It’s gone,” Marsten said.

  “No, I’m sure it just fell—” I glanced up to see him leaning over the desk. “You meant the body?”

  A grim nod. He pulled the desk farther from the wall, then glanced at me. “Find your purse. I’ll find this.”

  He leaped onto the desk, hopped into the gap behind it, bent and disappeared. I resumed my purse search. I looked under the desk, beside it, between the desk and filing cabinet—every place my purse could have fallen when Marsten yanked me off the desk earlier.

  Marsten popped back over the desk, started to crouch, then noticed me watching.

  “What?” I said when he paused.

  “I have to sniff the floor.”

  “Then sniff the floor.”

  Again, he paused, as if trying to think of a dignified way to do it. I sighed, and turned my back to give him privacy.

  A moment later, he said, “Nothing. They must’ve carried him out.”

  “Meaning you can’t pick up the trail. Not of the security guard, at least. But what about Tristan’s guard?”

  “Questionable. I can try, but it’s difficult to do in human form and without getting on the floor, close to the scent.”

  “Which is a whole lot tougher to do in a semi-public place.”

  He motioned for me to keep looking, and pitched in, checking the other side of the room.

  He continued, “I’ll still try tracking. I know a few tricks.”

  “Ah, so you did get your user’s manual.”

  “Most werewolves do.”

  “Oh, right. Most of you are hereditary. So your father…?”

  “Raised me and taught me everything I needed to know about following a scent.” A quick grin. “Although there was usually a diamond or two at the other end.”

  “Your father raised you to be a thief?”

  His gaze chilled. “My father raised me to have a career suitable for a non-Pack werewolf who can’t stay in one place without being rousted by the Pack or his ‘fellow’ mutts.”

  “The Pack doesn’t let—?”

  He cut me off with a wave, his anger receding. “It’s not like that anymore. Not entirely. But in my father’s day, a nomadic life was a must, and thieving skills helped.”

  “Tell you what, then. You don’t slam my mom for setting me up on blind dates, and I won’t slam your dad for teaching you to steal.”

  He laughed. “Fair enough. No jabs against well-meaning—if occasionally misguided—parents. As for your purse…”

  “It’s gone, isn’t it? Tristan or his guard found it when they were cleaning up, and they took it to erase any sign of me being here.”

  “Most likely. As for the body, though—”

  “Billy?”

  The voice echoed down the hall. We both froze and turned toward the closed door.

  “Billy? You down here?” Then softer. “Damn kid.”

  It was a security guard, looking for his dead colleague. Marsten waved for me to get behind the desk, and we both jumped on it just as the door opened.

  “You!” the guard said.

  A flashlight beam pinged off our backs. Marsten slipped his arm around me in an awkward, interrupted embrace. We looked over our shoulders to see the same older security guard who’d “helped” me open the janitor’s closet. He speared Marsten with a glower.

  “Get lost on your way to the bathroom again, sir?” he said. “This is bigger than that storage closet, but I’m sure the young lady would be more comfortable in a hotel. There are two right down the road.”

  “Uh, oh, yes, of course,” Marsten stammered. “We weren’t—that is to say, we wanted to look around the museum, see the sights—”

  “Oh, I know what sights you wanted to see, sir.” He waved us off the desk. “You’re a long way from the dinosaur exhibits.”

  We complied, getting off the desk and pretending to straighten up. The guard continued to glare at Marsten, as if disgusted that a man wealthy enough to afford tickets to this gala couldn’t spring for a bed.

  “There’s a Holiday Inn three doors down,” he said as we walked past. “But I’m sure the lady would prefer the Embassy, which is—”

  A movement at the door stopped him. One of Tristan’s guards strode in. He’d swung around the right side of the door, meaning he hadn’t noticed the security guard against the right wall. His attention—and his gun—were on us.

  “I thought I heard voices,” he said to us as the security guard stepped up behind him, surprisingly silent for a man of his size. “Good thing I came back. Tristan will—”

  The security guard pressed the barrel of his gun between the younger man’s shoulder blades.

  “Didn’t see me, huh?” the old guard chortled as the other man stiffened. “A word of advice, boy? Always check the room before you walk into it. Now, lower that gun—”

  The younger man spun, gun going up, finger on the trigger. The security guard’s eyes widened and he froze. Whatever ex-cop reflexes he had were buried under years of chasing kids off dinosaur displays and foiling amateur thieves.

  The old guard stumbled back, as if forgetting he still held a gun. Marsten threw himself at Tristan’s guard’s back. I wish I could say I did the same. God, how I wish I could. But the truth was that I just stood there, shocked into impotence, like the old guard. It all happened in a heartbeat, not even enough time for me to feel the chaos rising, and not enough time for Marsten to make that five-foot leap. The young guard spun on the old, and fired.

  Marsten hit the shooter in the side, knocking him away even as the silencer’s pffttt still hung in the air, even as the old guard was still falling, bloody hole in his chest, even as I was reeling backward from the chaos explosion.

  I hit the floor and, for a moment, could only lie there, system shocked by the high-voltage jolt. If there was any pleasure in that shock, I didn’t feel it. I lay there gasping, mind blank. Then another shot snapped me from my shock and I leaped up, limbs flailing as if I’d been jolted again. Marsten was crouched over Tristan’s guard, who lay in a heap, neck twisted, eyes open and staring.

  “The shot,” I said. “Did he hit you—?”

  Marsten waved to a bullet hole in the wall, but didn’t speak, just stayed crouched with his back to me, his breath coming in sharp, short pants.

  I ran to the old security guard. Even as my fingers went to his neck, I knew he was dead. The bloody spot on his breast now covered half his shirt, and was still growing.

  As I looked down at him, I saw him again sneaking up behind Tristan’s guard, eyes dancing as he imagined himself retelling the story of how he’d single-handedly apprehended an armed man. Again I heard his “see, I’ve still got it” chortle as he put his gun to the young man’s back. The hair on my arms rose, and I rubbed them, trying to chase away the chill, unable to pull my gaze from his body.

  My first murder. My first witness to death. And, only an hour earlier, peering behind this desk, I’d seen my first dead body outside a funeral home.

  Before tonight I’d never even seen a dead body, and yet I’d fancied myself some kind of secret agent. What had Marsten said when I’d asked if he thought me a fool? Naïve, probably, but not a fool. Probably naïve? Dear God, could I have been any more naïve? I’d pulled a gun on a werewolf thief. I was lucky Marsten hadn’t done what he just did to Tristan’s guard, and snapped my neck.

  “I need to hide the bodies,” he said, his voice soft. “You can wait in the next room if you’d like.”

  “No, I’ll clean—” I took a deep breath. “I’ll clean up.”

  That’s what I did. Cleaned up the crime scene. When I realized, really realized what I was doing, my blood went cold.

  Oh-ho, so now you’re worried. All this time, playing secret agent, and now that you’re actually doing something illegal, you get scared.

  I chased the thought back. Yes, I was scared, and yes, I’d been the biggest damn fool—

  Enough of that.

  As I wiped away evidence of a crime, and watched Marsten hide the bodies in the ventilation shaft—another handy vent shaft—all I could think about was what would happen to my family if I was caught. The shame, the embarrassment, the humiliation, but most of all the “why didn’t we do more to help” bewilderment and grief. And what could I say? “No, no, you got it all wrong. See, I thought I was helping supernaturals with this interracial council, but really I was working for this sorcerer corporation, and then this werewolf…” I loved my family way too much to inflict that explanation on them.

  “It’s clean,” Marsten murmured behind my head. When I tried to give the tile one last rub, he caught my hand. “It’s clean, Hope.”

  “Out damned spot,” I said, trying to smile.

  “There’s no blood on your hands.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” I said softly.

  I thought of all the cases I’d solved, the “criminal” supernaturals I’d turned in. I could see that one witch, so terrified she couldn’t even cast a spell, begging me—begging me—not to hand her over, swearing it wasn’t that council who wanted her but a Cabal—

  “Hope?” Marsten grasped my shoulder, his grip hard enough to push back the vision.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. “Just…ghosts.”

  “Whatever you did, you thought you were—”

  “Doesn’t matter, does it? It’s actions that count, not intentions. Ignorance isn’t an excuse. That’s what my ethics prof always said. Ignorance isn’t—”

  I champed down on my lip hard enough to draw blood, then pushed myself to my feet. “So no gun, no body, but one guard down.” I paused. “Three guards, I should—” I shook it off. “One of Tristan’s guards. One goal achieved out of three. Not doing so hot, are we? So what’s next? Resume the plan and find a place to hide?”

  He nodded. “We’ll try that.”

  That didn’t sound terribly optimistic but, considering our luck so far, I can’t say I blamed him.

  10

  We discussed options and settled on hiding in one of the less “sexy” exhibits—those displaying artifacts unlikely to interest a bored partygoer conducting his own off-limits tour. The ceramics or textiles galleries seemed like the safest bets.

  Both required passing the party, but we would take the back hall around it, rather than walk through. Seeing two people die had convinced me this wasn’t the time to worry about my abandoned date.

  We hurried into the hall skirting the gala, then veered left. We jogged through the looming skeletons of the dinosaur exhibit, and were crossing to the Greco-Roman wing when I picked up the twang of a supernatural vibe.

  I grabbed Marsten’s arm and told him. He listened for footsteps, then inhaled the scents.

  “Tristan and the other guard,” he said. “Coming right where we’ll be going. Is there another—”

  He stopped and answered his question by looking at the open doors down the hall. A quartet of men lounged in the doorway, ties and jackets off. Beyond them were more gaggles of partygoers.

  “We could go back,” I said.

  “Too late,” he said, and steered me toward the party.

  “We’ll cut straight across to the main exit,” I said as we moved. “From there, the first left will take us to ceramics.”

  We squeezed past the drunken quartet who were ill-inclined—or too unsteady—to move out of our way. Once inside, I motioned to our goal across the room. We were passing the buffet table when I caught sight of Douglas, less than ten feet away, still talking to the Bairds.

  Seeing me, Douglas blinked, and looked beside him. Figures. Here I was, worrying that he’d been searching for me, and he probably hadn’t even noticed I’d been gone.

  Marsten reached for my arm, to steer me away from Douglas, but I waved him back and veered onto a new course myself. Douglas only lifted his brows in polite question. When I gestured to the buffet table, he smiled, nodded, and turned back to the Bairds.

  “Don’t mind me,” I muttered. “I’m just passing through, killers in hot pursuit. No, no, it’s okay. You go back to whatever you were doing. I’m fine.”

  Beside me, Marsten chuckled. “Your mother knows how to pick them, doesn’t she?”

  As I rolled my eyes, Marsten’s gaze shot back to the door, and I saw Tristan and the other guard brush past the drunken quartet. At that moment, Douglas turned and lifted a finger, motioning me over. Probably wanted me to grab him something from the buffet.

  When I hesitated, trying to gesture back, Marsten grabbed the back of my dress and nearly yanked me off my feet. I backpedaled as fast as I could to keep from tripping, as Marsten dragged me into a large group of people and out of Douglas’s sight.

  “He’s coming,” he hissed by my ear, as I spouted apologies to the partygoers whose circle we’d invaded.

  Tristan’s guard was striding around the back of the buffet table, moving as fast as he dared without calling attention to himself. How he’d seen us in the crowded room, I couldn’t imagine.

  As we broke free from the group, Marsten gave me a shove, none too gently, toward the main door. With him behind me, I hurried out it, then left, toward the exhibits.

  When I rounded the first corner, Marsten caught up and pushed something at me. A tuxedo jacket, which presumably he had grabbed from a chair in the gala.

  “Take it,” he said when I made no move to do so. “Put it on.”

  I almost said, “But I’m not cold,” an automatic response that, under the circumstances, would have made me sound like an idiot. Instead, I settled for an equally idiotic “huh?” stare.

  “Your dress,” he said.

  My…? Oh shit. My canary yellow dress. How had Tristan spotted us in that crowded room? Well, duh. When I’d bought this dress, I pictured myself as a glowing beacon in the black night. Now, I had my wish.

  Marsten steered me through around the next corner.

  “No,” I said. “The ceramics are the other—”

  “I know. We’re circling back. He won’t expect that. Now put this on.”

  I took the jacket as we jogged into a room of Grecian urns. The coat fell past my short skirt, and wrapped around me easily…could have wrapped around me twice. The sleeves hung past my fingertips.

  “A bit big,” I whispered.

  “No, you’re just a bit small. Now move—”

  He grabbed my arm and stopped me from moving. Before I could comment, I caught the distant sound of footsteps—running footsteps, growing louder. Marsten pushed me into a gap between two stelae, and squeezed in with me.

  When only one set of footfalls entered the room, Marsten’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers flexed against my sides. As he tracked the steps, his face went taut and a glimmer of that icy rage I’d seen earlier seeped into his gaze.

  What had Tristan said about a cornered werewolf? That they were ten times as dangerous as any other supernatural. Looking up at Marsten’s face, I knew Tristan was right, and I knew why: no predator willingly accepts the position of prey.

  So when Marsten’s lips moved to my ear, I knew what he was going to say.

  “Wait here.”

  I opened my mouth, but took one look at Marsten’s eyes, and stopped. He was right. Things had changed since the last time he’d halfheartedly tried to keep me from following him into danger. Two men had died and I’d learned this wasn’t some movie jewel heist caper. As much as I wanted to help Marsten and stop Tristan, now wasn’t the time to redeem past stupidity.

  So I nodded, and let him slip off into the darkness alone.

  The footsteps had stopped as if our pursuer had paused to look around. Was it Tristan or his guard? I wished I could tell, but trusted Marsten’s nose could. It would make a difference—facing a sorcerer versus a half-demon…presuming that’s what the guard was.

  I should have tried harder to figure out the guard’s race when we’d been tying him up. I’d need to practice more.

  Practice for what? You’re not—