I clamped the towel to my chest and pointed at the window. “Get out.”
He sat up, unhurried, confident, like a big cat stretching, and got up to his feet. If I could have recorded it in slow motion and then posted it online, I’d break Instagram.
“We need to decide what to do about Linus Duncan,” he said.
“We have to tell him,” I said. “His life might be in danger. Also, he might have a reasonably good idea why Diatheke is trying to kill him.”
“Do you think he’ll answer our questions?”
“I don’t know. He’s sort of a family friend, so he might. I’ll call him first thing tomorrow. Alessandro, do you know who Magdalene is?”
“No.”
“More for tomorrow.”
He was looking at me like he was thinking of stealing my towel. And I wanted him to.
No. Bad idea. Really, really bad idea.
A hint of a smile played at his lips. He looked evil. “What are you thinking right now?”
“Nothing.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Thinking about wearing nothing?”
“Out.”
Alessandro sighed. “I’m so tired. Are you sure I can’t just rest right here? I promise to behave. Unless you don’t want me to.”
Yes. No!
“Alessandro,” I pronounced each word as firmly as I could. “Leave my room. My mother has informed Heart that you are permitted on the premises, so there is no reason for you to hide here. You won’t get shot or evicted.”
“You think that’s why I’m here? You think I’m afraid of your new army?”
“I think you enjoy mocking me, why I have no idea. Don’t mistake Heart for Abarca. These are the people who take down Primes.”
He bared his teeth. “Now you’ve made it into a challenge.”
I met his stare. “Are you really contemplating killing people who have done nothing to you and who are here to protect my family?”
He sighed. “No.”
“Good night, Alessandro.”
He turned and walked to the window. My magic pulsed in appreciation, recognizing another swordsman in the sure, easy grace of his movements. I could never spar with him. If we ever tried it, I would end up having sex with him right there, on the spot.
He picked up an object wrapped in tinfoil from the windowsill. “If you scream, I’ll hear you. So if something bad happens, scream, Catalina.”
“That’s great, but there won’t be any screaming.”
His eyes lit up. “Wait for it. Three, two . . .”
“Damn it all to hell!” Leon roared downstairs.
I sprinted out of the room onto my landing. “What is it?”
“Someone took the damn pie!”
“What?”
“He wanted a piece of the pithivier,” Bern called up. “He already had a piece, but he said he was a great defender and deserved more.”
I spun around. A blast of cold air hit me. At the open window, Alessandro winked, grabbed his tinfoil loot, and vanished into the night.
“I just wanted some pie.” The despair in Leon’s voice was overwhelming. “That Italian bastard took it! I know he took it. It’s the kind of rat dick move he would do. I’m going to find him and . . .”
“And what?” Bern demanded. “Shoot him over the pie?”
I closed the door. Leon kept yelling, but I couldn’t make it out. I went to the window, shut it, locked it, and lowered the shades. I slipped on underwear and an oversize T-shirt and crawled into my bed.
The covers smelled like Alessandro.
It had been such a long day and now finally I was safe and cozy. My little dog snuggled into the crook of my knees. I closed my eyes and willed myself to go to sleep.
Chapter 12
Abarca’s corpse hung from a telephone pole at the entrance to our street.
In the light of the early morning, his face was unrecognizable, a swollen purplish mass of flesh. The sun had just risen, painting pink light onto the buildings around the warehouse. The world looked bright and cheery. Abarca’s body swayed slightly in the breeze against this backdrop, his intestines hanging like grotesque garlands from a gaping wound in his stomach. They’d gutted him like a hog.
I hugged myself. It wasn’t that cold, but I couldn’t get warm despite a thick sweatshirt. Five minutes ago, I’d been sleeping in my bed, blissfully wrapped in a soft warm blanket, with Shadow curled against me. And then Mom knocked on my door and told me Heart needed to see me and it couldn’t wait. I knew it had to be bad, but I didn’t expect this.
Next to me Heart waited. He stood like he was ready to repel an assault, his feet planted, his broad shoulders straight, his muscular frame solid. Of Japanese ancestry, he was about my mother’s age or slightly older. Time didn’t apply to him, the way it didn’t apply to a granite crag. He was always battle-ready. His eyes, dark and smart, radiated calm. He had seen worse. I hadn’t. He knew that and he positioned himself to provide support. If I cried, he would offer me a shoulder. If I asked questions, he would answer them. And if I tried to do something rash, he would stop me.
“He was killed elsewhere,” Heart said. “They slit his throat with a serrated blade. Everything else was done postmortem. He was still using the cell phone you had issued to him, and the record shows a call from an unlisted number last night, at ten o’clock. His cell pinged from three towers north of Houston and then stopped. I sent a team to the origin of the signal and they’ve recovered his vehicle and possessions. They’re on the way back.”
“Do you think they lured him out of his house?”
“Yes. It appears he left to meet someone voluntarily.”
I hugged myself tighter. Yesterday, Abarca talked to me. He had opinions and if you asked him a question, he would answer. He was moving around, he was breathing. He was alive. He was a person. Now there was nothing.
“Why would they do this? He was out. He quit, he took his people and left.”
“Someone is trying to send a message,” Heart said.
“There is no escape?”
Heart nodded.
It didn’t matter if you quit, ran away, or got fired. Everyone associated with us was a target. Diatheke offered no mercy.
“What about the rest of his people?”
“As of now, everyone is accounted for. Abarca was the only casualty.”
I let out a breath. Diatheke must have considered the others beneath notice. They were grunts, none of them had magic, and a rash of sudden civilian murders would draw attention. Since they were no longer employed by us, killing them wouldn’t count as House warfare, and the Houston PD took civilian homicides seriously.
“You have two choices,” Heart said. “We can treat this as a civilian matter. He deserted. His employment ended the moment he left his post. We can notify Houston PD and let them take it from there. There will be questions, but ultimately this absolves your House of any further responsibility.”
“What’s the second option?”
“You can treat it as House warfare.”
If we pretended that Abarca died in the line of duty, it would save his reputation. While he worked for us, we maintained a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance policy in case of his death. That policy ended when he chose to terminate his employment with House Baylor.