“He and Uncle Cesar both,” she confirmed. “That’s why I skipped dinner with Miguel. He wanted to go meet them, and I don’t have the energy for it tonight.”
Her friend’s blue eyes clouded with sympathy. “If he calls back, I’ll tell him to go fu—”
Carmen cut in. “If he calls back, I’ll talk to him.” She tilted her beer bottle from side to side, swirling the amber liquid. “Maybe this time, I can make him understand.”
And then he could go home, and she could stop wondering if every innocuous dinner invitation from her baby brother wasn’t so innocuous, after all.
Jackson hurried through the revolving door and skidded to a stop on the polished marble floor before turning to hold up both hands. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Alec stopped, more so he wouldn’t have to run Jackson over than out of any desire to discuss his plan. “No, I’m pretty damn sure I don’t, but it has to be done.”
“Okay, shit.” Jackson glanced around. “Wait here. I’ll go find out which room we’re hitting.”
Jackson sauntered off toward the front desk, his best lady-killing grin fixed firmly in place, and Alec tried not to look too closely at his surroundings. Harrah’s wasn’t his sort of place—this kind of opulence tended to give him unpleasant flashbacks to childhood and his mother’s rigid expectations of class and style. Heidi hadn’t cared for blind consumerism either—given two quarters, she’d donate one to charity.
But he’d brought her here. Once, just after she’d made her first major art sale to a private collector. The suite had cost more than she’d been paid, but Alec took the money from his inheritance and considered it well spent. They’d still been dating then, and he’d been in town looking to buy some land in the one city that ignored wolf politics. He’d been thinking about marrying her.
It had taken another year to convince her marriage didn’t have to mean giving in to society’s institutionalization of love. She’d gotten her hippie barefoot wedding, and he’d gotten tangible proof of what instinct had already decided—that she should be his.
And she was. For four years.
There should have been ghosts here, but instead it was gilded and shiny and so bright and cheerful it set his teeth on edge. He wanted to be gone, not chasing down leads that would bring him face-to-face with the sort of man who valued bloodlines and legacy and all the broken shit in their godawful world.
You wanted to be the boss. Suck it up.
Alec turned to check on Jackson’s progress with the girl behind the counter. He couldn’t quite make out the words they exchanged, but Jackson’s easy smile never slipped, even when she picked up the phone and dialed.
After a moment, she dropped the receiver and nodded, and Jackson blew out a deep breath as he motioned for Alec to join him. “No luck getting the room number until I dropped your name. She called up, and lo and behold—Cesar Mendoza wants to see you.”
That was about as surprising as ice in the arctic. “Great.” Now he knows we’re coming.
“Sorry, man. The charm usually works, but the woman was stone cold.”
“Charm’s never going to work again, Holt. Women can tell you’re a tamed man.”
“Then I need to either get smarter or find another line of work.”
“You’ll manage.” Alec jabbed the call button on the elevator and the doors slid open. “You sure you want to come up with me? They may not be friendly.”
Jackson stepped in, pressed the button for the top floor and shoved his hands in his pockets as he leaned against one side of the car. “All the more reason for you not to go alone. If that kid was telling the truth about the Mendozas’ involvement, there’ll be hell to pay. They might try to shut you up.”
They’d argued about it for most of the drive. Once he’d gotten good and scared, their prisoner had been all too happy to start pointing fingers. Too happy being the key words—anyone betraying the Mendozas should have been pissing himself at the thought of the retribution sure to follow. “I still don’t buy it, unless Kat is mixed up in some seriously questionable shit we don’t know about. I can’t think what could be worth that risk.”
Jackson nodded his agreement. “True, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this business, it’s that sometimes people do ragingly stupid things. I wouldn’t rule it out just yet.”
It would be a waste of breath to try to convince Jackson that Cesar Mendoza wasn’t people. He was a ruthless, cold bastard who didn’t make impulsive decisions, or any decision at all, without considering a thousand possible consequences. Alec couldn’t imagine a scenario where hurting Kat could gain Mendoza anything—
Except an in for his niece. A darkly suspicious thought, but one that held Alec for a split second before he discarded it as nothing but his own paranoia surfacing. A hot Mendoza girl with just enough wolf blood to stir his instincts was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, but only a fool would trust in the precarious series of events that had led to Alec fighting down an uncomfortable attraction to Carmen Mendoza.
Her uncle was many things, but not a fool.
The elevator doors slid open, and Jackson nodded to the end of the hall. “That’s the suite number. What’s your approach?”
Alec stepped from the elevator and considered the door. “The one thing they’ll never see coming. The truth.”
Jackson raised both eyebrows. “And if they deny it, but they’re lying?”
“You asking how I’m going to tell, or what I’m going to do?”
“Telling’s the easy part. The hard part is explaining to the hotel manager why you slammed the lid of a baby grand on his guest’s head.”
“I did the piano thing once, Holt. Let it go.”
“Hey, it was quite the memorable performance.” Jackson lifted a fist and pounded on the door.
A man built like an NFL offensive lineman opened the door. “Jacobson?”
“And Holt,” Jackson added genially. “Your boss around?”
The man nodded once and stepped back. “He’s expecting you.”
The suite was as lavish as he remembered, and Cesar Mendoza met them with a smile and an outstretched hand. “Alexander.” He was dressed in dark pants and a white Oxford shirt, and he looked as though he’d just discarded a tie. “How have you been?”
Alec ignored the outstretched hand and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Been better. Got a wolf in my basement babbling that he mugged our secretary on your orders.”
Cesar looked genuinely taken aback. “I can assure you that I’ve done no such thing. My brother and I are in town to visit his children.” He gestured to the sofa and sat in an adjacent chair. “Diego’s younger son has been attending Tulane for several years now, and his daughter recently moved here.”
“I know.” They could take that however they wanted, though they’d probably view it as tacit acknowledgement of the rumor that Alec kept tabs on every supernatural in the city of New Orleans. He waited for Jackson to sit, then leaned against the arm of the couch and raised an eyebrow. “So who’d you piss off so bad they’re trying to use me to break your face?”
“Could have been any number of people.” Cesar signaled the guard by the door. The man nodded and stepped into the other room. “My presence in New Orleans may simply make me a convenient scapegoat.”
“Mm-hmm. I assume you know who my secretary is?”
Cesar smiled again. “I make it my business to know. I think you understand that.”
“Yes, I do. So you know that this little attack on her isn’t going to end up swept under the rug. What pisses off her cousin pisses off the Alpha’s daughter, and John Wesley Peyton’s already been contacted. An extraction team will be here to take the kid into custody tomorrow.”
He held up his hands. “It’s in my best interests for him to be questioned by the Conclave. Surely that would clear me of involvement.”
Not a flicker, not even a hint of worry. Alec trusted his instincts, and his instincts said Cesar Mendoza was telling the truth. “I didn’t think it was your sort of deal,” he acknowledged. “You wouldn’t have left any witnesses.”
“And I would have used my own men,” he added. “But you’re right. It’s not the sort of thing I’d do. I prefer more directness in my dealings.”
Alec didn’t care that his amused snort was a blatant insult. “I hope you don’t have any dealings in New Orleans that don’t involve visiting your brother’s kids. We don’t want your politics or your messes here.”
Cesar’s smile turned cold. Calculating. “New Orleans falls under the purview of the Southeast council, and I am a member. Who denies my right to be here? You?”
It was a trap, but Alec had been playing his game too long to walk into it. “No one’s denying you anything. Just expressing a lack of interest.”
“And how far does that lack of interest extend?”
“Miguel’s a kid at college. Your niece is working on neutral ground. They’re not here to bring trouble.”
“Of course they’re not.” Cesar rose and walked to the small bar in the corner, flashing Jackson a meaningful look as he passed. “I thought we might be able to talk in private, Alexander.”
It fell just short of being a rude command for Jackson to leave, but his partner stood anyway. “I’ll wait outside.”
Alec straightened as the door swung shut behind Jackson. “If this is about the empty Conclave seat, you’re wasting your time.”
He shook his head. “This is something of a more personal nature. Drink?”
Warning bells went off. “No thanks.”
Cesar poured a scant amount of whiskey and raised the glass to his lips. “I’d like to introduce you to my niece.”