“Good evening, sir,” the door guard greeted Nico, as if he was not only familiar, but expected. “Penthouse?”
“Yes. These are my guests.”
“Of course, sir. This way, please.” He led them to an open elevator, reached in and keyed what Maeve assumed was the penthouse, then stepped back and said, “Have a pleasant evening.”
The shiny doors closed silently and the elevator started up with a speed that told her this was an express elevator to the top. No tedious stops in between. She held back the million and one questions she had. Obviously, Nico had used magic, but she hadn’t seen so much as a stray finger tick, or a whispered word. How the hell had he done it? Were spells that easily cast, or was he simply that powerful? Did it take a sorcerer to use magic that effortlessly?
Dragan squeezed her hand, as if understanding her need to understand, while at the same time, knowing her questions would have to wait. Damn it.
The elevator doors opened on a small, hushed foyer, with fresh flowers on long stalks sitting in a tall, crystal vase to one side. That surprised her. Sotiris had never evinced any liking for flowers at the lake house, despite the abundance of wild blooms in the spring. She’d often thought of bringing some of the flowers indoors to brighten the cold elegance of the house, but had worried he might have allergies, which was why he’d never took advantage of the natural beauty.
Nico paused at the pair of carved wooden doors facing the elevator, and closed his eyes. She wondered what he was doing. Looking for magical traps? It made sense that a sorcerer would have security of his own surrounding his home. Especially if, as Maeve believed, this was his main residence and the location of his workroom. She was only surprised, knowing what she did now, that he hadn’t had similar safeguards on the lake. But then he couldn’t, because she’d worked there. Had she been just more camouflage? Maybe.
Nico tilted his head with small smile, as if admiring the cleverness of his enemy, then murmured something she couldn’t hear and opened the right-hand door. She blinked and wondered what other locked doors he’d walked through over the course of his life. Famous museums? Palaces? He could have been the best thief in the fucking world.
Ushering her into the penthouse after Nico, Dragan nudged the door shut behind them, while they both stopped and looked around. A huge great room opened in front of them with tastefully placed furniture groupings and floor-to-ceiling windows comprising one entire wall. Sotiris hadn’t bothered with coverings. There was no one up this high to see in. Although she suspected the windows were one-way, anyway. In her experience, he was too private to tolerate even the possibility of anyone spying on him.
Nico had grown perfectly still in front of them, but only briefly before his head swung to the left, where a good fifty feet of unlit hallway stretched out, with closed doors along both sides. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, like a dog tracing a scent, then turned to the two of them and said, “The workroom’s there.” His gaze shifted to Maeve. “His main computer will be elsewhere. Magic fucks with electronics. Find it. Dragan, you know what to do.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Maeve shot a surprised glance at Dragan. My lord? Where had that come from? She hadn’t heard any of the guys addressing Nico by anything but his name. It was another question that would have to wait, she thought, as she stepped farther into the great room and looked around.
By any normal American standard, and with two doctors for parents, she’d been raised well off with part-time household staff and private schools. But this . . . this was beyond well off. This was wealthy. She wondered how much of his fortune had been acquired through the destruction of someone else. She’d bet it was a lot.
“Time is short, Mae,” Dragan murmured.
“Right.” She forced herself to forget the opulence and focus on the structure. Beyond a certain size, houses followed a logical layout. Bedrooms on one side, living areas on the other, with something like this great room dividing the two. She looked around and caught a glimpse of dining room furniture through an open double door. Okay, so dining room there, kitchen beyond, which meant . . . she turned toward the giant windows. “There,” she said confidently. “Let’s go.”
Dragan’s boots cracked dully on the gleaming wood floor, which she couldn’t help but admire. Beautiful wood, beautifully maintained. Not by Sotiris, obviously. A discreet door opened to a short hallway, which smelled of oiled wood and paper. The reason became clear when they passed a small library—small being relative, she supposed, since most people didn’t have an entire room dedicated to books. She would have liked to duck inside and skim the titles, but there was no time. They thought they knew where Sotiris was, but they didn’t know when he’d be back, or if he was even really there. Hell, he could walk in that door at any moment and shout, “Surprise!” And they’d be fucked.
Forcing herself to remain cool . . . ish, she walked several more feet down the hallway and stopped at the open door to a room that smelled oddly familiar. She stepped inside and sniffed. “Son of a bitch,” she swore softly.
“What?” Dragan’s question was sharp, ready to respond to a threat.
“Oh, no,” she said, brushing her hand over his arm. “It’s just . . . this room smells like Sotiris. His aftershave, I guess, but I was never aware of smelling it before now.”
He jerked his chin toward the desk, where a laptop sat open. “That it?”
“I’m guessing yes to that, too, but let’s find out.” She sat down and brought the laptop to life. It required a password, of course. She didn’t know it, but had something almost as good. Pulling a small electronic device from her pocket, she slid it into the USB drive and waited until the screen cleared to the command line interface. She then inserted her own flash drive, typed a command, and after a few seconds, smiled. It would take too much time, and be way too stressful, for her to crack Sotiris’s computer, examine the contents, and copy what she needed, during their short visit. But she didn’t need to do that. All she needed to do was persuade the system that she was a helpful computer tech and convince it to let her make a duplicate.
Most people didn’t realize it could even be done, but a lot of programs, a lot of computers, included language that allowed their techs to remotely access a person’s machine. In the normal course of business, they acquired verbal permission, and recorded that permission to cover their own asses, but it wasn’t strictly necessary.
Maeve knew several people through her gaming activities who worked in tech support, for various companies. And they’d been happy to share what they knew, since they trusted her. She happened to be trustworthy, but wondered if any of them ever made the mistake of trusting the wrong person.