I kicked Carlos in the shin, hard enough to make him teeter. I grabbed his arm, but it tightened so fast I blacked out. When I came to, he’d gone absolutely still. I wedged my fingers between his arm and my throat, and still he didn’t move. I looked up to see Paige across the room, her face pale with concentration.

“I—I’m having trouble holding the spell,” she said. “Can you get away?”

My father stepped forward.

“Stay where you are, Benicio. Lucas?”

I pried Carlos’s arm from my throat and managed a raspy, “I’m fine.”

My father tried to move forward again.

“Not a move, Benicio,” Paige said, “or I’ll do the same to you. You know I will. Lucas, get away from him.

I can’t hold—”

The spell snapped as I lunged to the side. Paige hit Carlos with a knockback spell and he flew into the wall.

My father lifted his hands. Paige turned the spell on him and he stumbled back.

The guards rushed into the room. Paige hurried to me. As she drew near, I could see she was shaking.

“I almost couldn’t cast,” she said. “The first one—”

“I’m all right.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father advancing on Carlos, now restrained by Griffin.

“Papá. No.”

“Didn’t you learn your lesson, baby bro? Stay out.”

“He would have killed you,” my father said. “He killed Hector and William, Lucas. Murdered them in cold blood.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Don’t—?” He shook his head. “He shot Troy. Troy saw him. Are you saying he was mistaken? Lying?”

“No.”

“I know what happened at Hector’s. Carlos was there—the last person to see Hector alive. The butler and Bella both confirmed it for you. Are they mistaken? Lying?”

“We have no proof that Carlos shot Hector.”

“You sent two officers back here after William’s murder to look for evidence that Carlos had been here too.”

“And they found none. His key code hasn’t been used since he left.”

“Do you think he’s stupid enough to walk past the front desk? To use his own access code? For God’s sake, stop being a lawyer, Lucas! This isn’t a courtroom.”

“Isn’t it? You’ve judged him, found him guilty and now you’re ready to carry out his punishment.”

“He would have killed you.”

“Perhaps, but you put me in charge of this investigation. You can’t decide now that you don’t want me acting like an investigator. I plan to see this through, and follow the letter of the law.”

“Whose law?”

“Cabal law.” I turned to Griffin. “Take him into custody. Not to the cells, but to the house arrest room. It’s to be double guarded at all times. He’s to have no visitors except those approved by me. None, including my father.

He’s to have no food except that ordered by me, delivered to me and taken to him by Paige or myself.”

Griffin glanced at my father. He hesitated, back stiff, then he deflated and nodded.

“Lucas is in charge. Do as he says.”

HOPE: RACKING UP CREDITS

The hotel room door opened with a click. Karl peeked around the corner.

“You’re up.”

I yawned. “Just stirring. Being lazy and enjoying it.”

I was curled up in the king-size bed, propped on two pillows, with the rest strewn around me. On my morning bathroom trip I’d grabbed a robe—not for decency, but because it was thick and soft, too tempting to ignore.

“You look lost in that bed and that robe. Very cute.” He smiled at me.

“Cute?” I sputtered. I undid the robe and spread it, then stretched out on top of the covers. “Better?”

His gaze slid down me. “I take it you don’t mind a cold breakfast?”

I noticed the tray in his hands, steam billowing from the plate cover, and I pulled the robe shut.

“Damn,” he said.

He set the tray down, handed me USA Today, then tossed the Wall Street Journal onto the other side of the bed.

“You really are spoiling me.”

“No, I’m racking up credits. I suspect I’ll need them.”

He kissed my cheek as he leaned over to hand me a coffee.

“Speaking of credits,” I said. “I called my mother while you were out. She said dinner Saturday would be wonderful. She’ll make reservations.”

“Too late. Done.”

“You got reservations for Odessa’s on a Saturday?”

His brows arched. “You think I don’t know how to get a table at a popular restaurant? You forget who you’re talking to, my dear.” He set the tray between us as he climbed in. “Dropping your mother’s name helped.”

“I’m sure it did. She likes you, you know. For me, I mean.”

“Good. Though I was on my best behavior that night, which may have skewed the results.”

“I don’t think so.”

Our eyes met. He nodded. “Good.”

I spread preserves on my toast. “She wants me to invite you to the spring regatta.”

“Rowing? Are you competing?”

“I…” A shrug. “I’m out of practice, so it’ll be strictly a social function for me.”

“There’s still time. Consider it a challenge. Get yourself whipped into shape by spring.”

“Are you going to show your support at 5:30 a.m. practices?”

“Absolutely. From the comfort of my bed, I will be cheering you on wholeheartedly.”

I laughed and took a bite of toast.

“I’ll come out when I can,” he said. “In return for breakfast afterward.”

“Sounds fair.”

“And you can tell your mother I would love to come to the regatta. I’m sure it will be a”—a sly grin my way—“glittering affair.”

“Uh-uh. As my guest, you are forbidden to steal from my mother or any of her friends. I’ll show you who you can steal from, provided a portion of the proceeds go to a charity of my choosing.”

“A finder’s fee?”