I lowered my gaze. “Please, you don’t need to do this, Jaz. Or whatever your name is.”

“Jaz.” His fingers slid under my chin, tilting my face up to his. “It’s Jaz.”

I looked into his eyes and, for just a second, that chaos sucked me back in. So pure. So absolute. How had I overlooked that? No, not overlooked. Dismissed. Seen what I’d wanted to see.

“Kidnapping me isn’t—”

“I’m not kidnapping you.” That easy smile. “I’m just taking you along. We have a lot to talk about and this isn’t the place to do it.”

“They won’t care, Jaz. As hostages go, I’m useless. An employee, and an expendable one—”

He tapped his watch. I stopped.

“Sorry,” he said. “I probably should have told him longer, but we’re on a schedule. If I don’t meet it…”

An apologetic shrug, as if the consequences of failing to make that call would be nothing more than mildly inconvenient. I glanced over my shoulder. Karl couldn’t be more than a few yards from Sonny. Maybe he’d spring in time. Even if he didn’t, could Sonny catch him off-guard? Karl already suspected Sonny was no innocent victim.

If I—

“Hope.” Jaz’s fingers closed on my arm. “Fifteen seconds.”

I couldn’t risk it. I followed Jaz to the mouth of the alley. He took out a radio and told Sonny to hold off.

“Hold off?” I said. “You promised—”

He lifted his hand. “Sonny’s going to walk away now and head for the street. We have one minute to meet him at the car. If we don’t, he goes back and kills the werewolf.”

Not “takes care of him” or “finishes things.” Kills him. Blunt and unapologetic.

I let him lead me to the car.

LUCAS: 19

PAIGE HAD JUST STARTED HER CALL when my cousin Javier, VP of technology, came to tell me the Nasts were getting impatient…and the St. Clouds had joined them. I checked my watch. I’d said thirty minutes, and it was going on thirty-five.

I caught enough to know Paige was asking Elena about the time she and other supernaturals had been kidnapped and studied by humans. While the Cabals had claimed no knowledge of the project, the Nasts had business ties with the financier—the late software tycoon Tyrone Winsloe—and none of the captives had been Cabal employees. Suspicious, but unrelated to the concern at hand which, from Paige’s conversation, seemed to involve another captive, a man named Armen Haig who’d died before the escape.

I longed to stay a few minutes longer, but Paige and the council didn’t need me and the Cabal did. A strange twist of priorities. An uncomfortable one.

I interrupted long enough to tell her where I was going, then followed Javier out, making the call to my mother on the way.

The meeting went exactly as I could have predicted. The Nasts and the St. Clouds offered their help in our time of grief. We only had to tell them what we needed. Of course, in telling them, we’d reveal our weaknesses, which is what they really wanted to know. It turned into a thirty-minute mutual reassurance session. Thank you so much for the kind offer, but we’re doing fine. No, really, we’re fine. No, I mean it, we’re fine. Thirty minutes with my cell phone vibrating nonstop, messages piling up.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “But I really do have to get back to the investigation. My father has put me in charge—”

“Of finding your brothers’ killers?” Thomas Nast, the CEO, snorted. “Does he want the parties responsible found?”

Sean murmured something to his grandfather, who waved him off, making a face. But he didn’t continue.

Thomas had never been known for his tact, yet he was only saying what the others were thinking.

“Seems your father is putting you in charge of a lot,” Thomas’s son Josef said. “The Cabals are concerned about that. Investing so much power in someone who’d like nothing more than to see this institution collapse…” He tugged at his tie, clearing his throat. “It has us questioning your father’s state of mind, Lucas. He’s suffered a great trauma. There are provisions in the inter-Cabal manifest for this sort of thing, should a CEO be incapacitated and no one able to step into his place—”

“Nice try, Josef.”

My father’s voice came from the doorway. I stood to vacate his chair, but he waved me back down. When I hesitated, I could feel all eyes on me. I sat, but edged the chair to the side, giving him a place to stand at the head of the table.

Condolences filled the room. Any other time, my father would have received them graciously. He was better at this game than anyone. But today he cut them off in midsentence.

“As you can see, I’m not incapacitated. I have placed Lucas in charge of the investigation, using my staff and my resources. I expect when the situation is resolved, you will call an inquest into the proceedings, and I will fully cooperate. As for daily operations, those are also under Lucas for the time being, but all his decisions are being forwarded to me for final approval. Is that acceptable?”

He gave the final word a twist of sarcasm. The younger members shifted in their seats, casting glances at their superiors, who knew enough to remain stone faced.

“It seems you have the short-term situation under control,” Thomas said.

My father’s hand tightened on my shoulder.

“However,” Thomas continued, “it is the long-term one that concerns us more.”

“I’m burying two of my sons tomorrow—”

“And I buried one of mine four years ago. My heir. With nary a hiccup in the progress of daily operations.”

“Have you felt a hiccup, Thomas? Because if you have, I’d love to know about it.”

“We want to know your intentions, Benicio. As regards the naming of your true successor.”

“You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” My father’s voice had slid into a faux breezy tone that for anyone who knew him served like a rattler’s warning. “Who have you named heir in Kristof’s place?”

“I have made my decision—”

“But won’t tell a soul, because the truth is, you haven’t made any decision.” My father circled the table, walking behind the men. “It should be Josef here, who stepped up to the plate after Kristof’s death and filled his shoes admirably…if incompletely. But you won’t make it official because you’re still holding out hope for young Sean, who shows every bit of his father’s promise but, well, there’s that touch of disillusionment settling over the boy. He’s not quite sure this is where he wants to be. Not quite sure he believes in the Cabal anymore.” My father clamped both hands on Thomas’s shoulders and leaned down to whisper, loud enough for us to overhear. “I know what that’s like.”