I didn't miss the "pay the rent" part, however skillfully he slipped it in. I paid the lion's share of the household expenses. Paid them by choice, I should add. I knew this bothered Lucas-not in an "I am man; I am breadwinner" kind of way, but as a subtler matter of pride.
Lucas barely earned a living wage. Most of his court and investigative work was pro bono, helping supernaturals who couldn't afford a lawyer or PI. What little money he made usually came from doing legal paperwork for wealthier supernatural clients, many of whom could easily and more conveniently have hired a local lawyer, but who retained Lucas as a way of supporting his pro bono efforts. Even that made Lucas uncomfortable, smacking too much of charity, but his only alternative would be to stop taking nonpaying cases, which he'd never do.
It hurt like hell to see him sleeping in fleabag motels, barely able to afford public transit, saving every penny so he could pay part of our expenses. I had enough for both of us. But how could I turn down his contributions without belittling his efforts? Yet another kink in the relationship we had to work out.
We stumbled back into the hotel room just before midnight, having followed dinner with a few rounds of pool and more than a few rounds of beer. Definite advantage to the whole chauffeur/bodyguard deaclass="underline" built-in designated driver. The downside, though, was that Troy beat me in two out of three pool games, a serious blow to my ego. I blamed it on the booze. Deadened my reflexes… though it did wonders for helping me forget the rest of the day. As for Lucas, he was feeling better, too.
"I did not cheat!" I said, struggling to wriggle free of the upside-down over-the-back-of-the-sofa position in which I found myself pinned.
He pulled my blouse from my skirt and tickled my ribs. "You so cheated. Second game. Seven ball, left corner pocket. Minor telekinesis spell."
I squealed and swatted his hands. "I-the ball rolled."
"With help."
"Once. Only once. I-stop-" Another embarrassingly girlish shriek. "You-third game-the eight ball. You moved it out of the way of your shot."
He toppled us over onto the couch and slid a hand under my skirt.
"Diversionary tactics, Counselor," I said.
"Guilty." He hooked his fingers over my panties and peeled them off.
"Not so fast, Cortez. You promised me spell-casting."
"I think you did enough of that at the pool hall."
He stifled my sputtering with a kiss.
"Wait. No-" I wiggled sideways and dropped to the floor, then scooted out of reach. "How about a game? Strip spell-casting."
"Strip-?" He rubbed at his smile. "Okay, I'll bite. How do you play?"
"Just like strip poker, only with spell-casting. We take turns trying the new spell. Each time we fail, we remove a piece of clothing."
"Given the difficulty of that spell, we'll likely both run out of clothing first."
"Then we'll have to get more creative."
Lucas laughed and started to say something, but a knock cut him off. He looked at the main door. I pointed at the one linking our suite to Troy's. Lucas sighed, heaved himself to his feet, and peered around. I picked up his glasses from the floor.
"Thank you," he said, taking them. "I'll be right back."
"Better be. Or I'm starting without you."
Lucas buttoned his shirt on the way to the door. I crawled onto the sofa, straightened my skirt, and stuffed my panties between the cushions.
Lucas pulled open the adjoining-room door.
"There's been another attack," Troy said.
"Where?" I said, popping up from the sofa.
"Here. In Miami." Troy ran a hand through his hair. His face was pale. "I just got the page. They-I'm on call this week. No one took me off the list tonight. Can you phone in and let them know I can't make it?"
"Come in," Lucas said.
"I need-I've got some calls to make. It's-it's Griffin. His oldest boy. Jacob. I should-"
"You should come in. Please." Lucas closed the door behind Troy. "Are you saying Griffin's son has been attacked?"
"I-we don't know. He called the emergency line and now he's missing. They've sent out a search team."
"Why don't you go with them?" I said. "We'll be fine."
"He can't," Lucas said. "He'd be severely reprimanded for leaving me behind. A problem easily solved if I go along. Care to join us?"
"You need to ask?" I said, getting to my feet.
"No way," Troy said. "Dragging the boss's son and girlfriend along on a search-and-rescue wouldn't get me reprimanded, it'd get me fired. Or worse."
"You aren't dragging me anywhere," Lucas said. "I'm going to help, therefore you're obligated to follow. I'll phone in for details on the way."
Welcome to Miami
I sat in the front seat of the SUV, giving Lucas privacy in the back as he called the security department for an update.
A drizzling rain pattered on the roof, just enough to make the road slick and shimmery in the darkness. Our windshield, though, was dry, improving Troy's visibility tenfold. Seeing that, I understood how Troy knew Robert Vasic. Like Robert, Troy was a Tempestras, a storm demon. The name, like many half-demon cognomens, tipped into melodrama and bordered on false advertising. A Tempestras couldn't summon storms. He could, however, control the weather within his immediate vicinity, calling up wind, rain or, if he was really good, lightning. He could also, like Troy, do something as small but practical as keeping rain off his windshield. I thought of commenting, but one glance at Troy's taut face told me he was in no mood for a discourse on his powers. He was so intent on his driving, he probably didn't even realize he was shunting the rain from the windshield.
"Can I ask something?" I said quietly. "About Griffin's son?"
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure."
"Is he a runaway?"
"Jacob? Shit, no. They're tight. Griffin and his kids, I mean. He's got three. His wife passed away a couple years ago. Breast cancer."
"Oh."
"Yeah, Griff's great with his kids. Real close." Troy eased back in his seat, as if grateful for the chance to fill the silence with something other than the patter of rain. "Griffin comes off like an asshole, but he's a good guy. Just takes the job too serious. He used to work for the St. Clouds, and they run things different. Like the fucking military… pardon my French."
"The St. Clouds are the smallest Cabal, right?"
"Second smallest. About half the size of the Cortezes. When Griffin's wife was sick, the St. Clouds made him use vacation time for every minute he took off driving her to chemo and stuff. After she died, he gave two weeks' notice and took an offer from Mr. Cortez."
At a click from the backseat, Troy glanced in the rearview mirror.
"Any news?" he asked.
"They have two search teams out. Dennis-" Lucas looked my way. "Dennis Malone. You met him at the meeting today. He's been called in to coordinate the operation from headquarters. He advises that we begin several blocks from where Jacob phoned. The teams are currently searching the blocks on either side of that point."
I twisted to face Lucas. "Do we have any idea what happened to Jacob?"
"Dennis replayed his phone call for me-"
"Nine-one-one?"
Lucas shook his head. "Our personal emergency line. All Cabal employee children are given the number and told to call it instead. The Cabals prefer to avoid police involvement in any matter that may be supernatural in nature. An employee's family is told that phoning this number ensures faster response times than calling nine-one-one, which it does. The larger Cabals have security and paramedic teams ready to respond twenty-four hours a day."