My desk phone rang.
It was the receptionist at Saga Partners Investments, our cover office on the surface. Rake Danescu was there to see me.
Speak of the devil. Pun and cliché intended.
“Shall I tell Mr. Danescu that you’re in a meeting?” she asked.
I smiled, though to the guys in the bull pen it’d look more like a baring of teeth.
“No, no. Not necessary. I would love to see Rake Danescu,” I said. “I’ll be right up.”
* * *
Rake stood in the reception area of Saga Partners Investments, impeccably dressed, and looking uncharacteristically grim.
Good. We were in the same mood. It’d save a lot of time getting past pleasantries if neither one of us had any.
When he saw me, grim turned to guarded. He knew I was mad. At him. Yes, the last time we’d seen each other was across a table in a coffee shop when he’d been kissing the palm of my hand. Now he knew that if he went for my hand, I’d give him my fist.
But he didn’t know why, hence, the guardedness.
I was about to enlighten him.
But not here, not now.
What I’d just discovered wasn’t personal; it was business. Rake was now a suspect, if not of murder, then of drug running, or at the very least, collusion—but most of all of being an asshole of a boss who terrified his employees. Until all of those had been thoroughly addressed, the one thing he was not was a potential boyfriend.
“Karen,” I asked the receptionist, “is the conference room available?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Would you put me down for half an hour?”
* * *
I closed the door. The main Saga conference room was essentially an interrogation room with fancy seating. I fully intended to bring Rake downstairs for Ian and possibly Ms. Sagadraco to question, but first I had to confirm that there was justification to take that next step.
“Before we get started, I wanted to thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful, and they were the first pleasant surprise I’ve had in days. Now your turn. You’re here, asking for me, and you’re not happy. Why?”
“You have my employee Jesin Nadisu here. Has he been arrested?”
Interesting. Rake didn’t know he’d been shot.
“No, we’re merely asking him a few questions.”
“With an attorney present?”
“There’s no need for—”
Rake reached for his phone. “I want him to have one. Anything he might have said to this point is inadmissible without an attorney present.”
“I don’t see why he would need one.”
The goblin’s dark eyes narrowed. “Oh, you don’t, do you?”
I wasn’t taking the bait. But with that attitude, I didn’t feel guilty tossing him a curve.
“Because we don’t think he is the one who’s guilty—at least not of murder.”
“Murder?”
“Murder. As to having a kilo of Brimstone on him . . .” I shrugged. “For all we know, he could have been holding it for a friend.”
Rake paused, his long index finger poised above a key. Jeez, the guy had his lawyer on speed dial. I really hoped it wasn’t Alastor Malvolia, though with Rake being his landlord, I wouldn’t have been surprised.
“Unless you think he’s guilty,” I continued, “in which case, you need to seriously reevaluate your hiring practices, hiring psychotic serial killers. I’d have thought you would’ve been more careful about things like that, being a savvy and successful big-city businessman and all.”
“Not guilty?”
“That’s what we think.”
“Then why do you have Jesin Nadisu in custody?”
“We don’t have Jesin Nadisu in custody. We had him in surgery.”
The goblin went dangerously still. “What?”
“He was shot outside a building that was the scene of the second murder in as many days. He had a kilo of Brimstone on him. We’re analyzing it in the lab now. But it would help greatly if you’d care to tell us why the demons peddling the stuff are thinning out the competition by killing drug lords in your buildings?”
“My buildings?”
“Your buildings. You own—and Jesin Nadisu manages—the Murwood, scene of the first murder. Two hours ago, he was shot outside an office building on West Seventy-Ninth Street, aka murder scene number two, also owned by you. And the lawyer who represented both victims—as well as probable future victims—has his cozy pocket-dimension office in yet another of your buildings.”
“Alastor.”
“That’s him. A real sweetheart. Met him this morning. You know, if you’d give us a list of all of your real estate holdings, maybe we could get ahead of the killers and keep Al from losing any more clients.”
“You’ve been busy.”
“I’m not the one hosting a demonic murder convention—and terrorizing your employees.”
“Terrorizing my . . . What the hell are you talking about?”
“We were telling Jesin that he didn’t have anything to be afraid of, that he was safe here. We tried to determine who he was afraid of. When we mentioned ‘your employer’ the poor kid damned near fainted. Imagine my surprise when I found out just now that he works for you.”
“I can’t imagine why he would be afraid of me.”
“Can’t you?”