“I knew your father,” Lander said. “I met him and your mother while I was over there making a deal for Carrara marble for Castle Hotel. It was expensive as hell, but I wanted the best.”
The man shrugged.
Panic squirmed through Lander. Words came tumbling out. “They killed my son. They took his money, they used his knowledge and connections, and then they murdered him, and I don’t know why.”
“Do you care why?”
“Yes, but I’ve already hired someone for that.”
“So, what do you want from me?”
“I love my son. He is smart, sharp, sharper than I ever was, and he’s honest. People hate my guts, but everyone likes him because he’s a good man. His wife, Sofia, died three years ago, and he takes care of his kids by himself. Two sons and a daughter. The oldest is fourteen years old. I’ve had a stroke, and now there’s cancer eating at me, but now I can’t croak for four more years. I’ve got to hold on until the oldest boy is old enough to take over. I want those bastards to die!”
Lander clenched his fists. He voice had gone hoarse and some part of him warned him he sounded unhinged. But the hurt was too raw, and it bled out of him.
“I want them to suffer, and I want them to know why. They took my son from me and from his children. They’ve ruined my boy, my handsome smart boy. Everything I built, everything he built, they think they can just rip it all away from me. His voice dropped barely above whisper, rough and dripping pain. “Kill them. Kill them for me.”
Silence filled the study.
Worry drowned Lander. Had he said too much? Did he sound too crazy?
“My father died, but my mother remembers meeting you,” the guest said. “There is a photo of the three of you on the yacht. She was pregnant with me at the time. She said her morning sickness was unbearable and you told her that ginger ale was the best for upset stomachs. There was no ginger ale to be had and you ordered a case of it from Milan by courier.”
The guest stepped up to the desk, splashed a finger of bourbon into the second glass and raised it. “To your son.”
He drained the glass in one swallow and Lander saw the wolf again, staring at him from within the man’s soul.
“Does this mean you’ll take the job?”
“Yes.”
The relief was almost overwhelming. Lander slumped in his chair.
“I’ve reviewed your situation prior to my visit,” the guest said. “It will take time and money. It will be complicated, because it has to be done right.”
“Whatever it takes,” Lander said. He felt so tired now. He’d done it. He could look at Felix’s gravestone now and he could promise his son that revenge was coming.
“The proof of their guilt must be irrefutable.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Lander said. “You’ll have your proof. I only hire the best.”
CHAPTER 1
“House Baylor Investigative Agency,” I shouted. “Holster your weapons and step away from the monkey!”
The orange tamarin monkey stared at me from the top of the lamp post, silhouetted against the bright blue sky of a late afternoon. The two men and a woman under the post continued to grip their guns.
All three wore casual clothes, the men in khakis and T-shirts, the woman in white capris and a pale blue blouse. All three were in good shape, and they held their guns in nearly identical positions, with their barrels pointing slightly down, which marked them as professionals who didn’t want to accidentally shoot us. Given that none of us had drawn weapons yet, they must have felt they had the upper hand. Sadly for them, their assessment of their personal safety was wildly off the mark.
Next to me, Leon bared his teeth. “Catalina, I really don’t like when people point guns at me.”
Neither did I, but unlike Leon, I would be highly unlikely to shoot each of them through the left eye “for symmetry reasons.”
“Montgomery International Investigations,” the older of the men announced. “Pack it in and head back to the mystery machine, kids.”
Usually Augustine’s people wore suits but chasing monkeys through the sweltering inferno of Houston’s July called for a more casual attire. Leon and I had opted for the casual as well. My face was dirty, my dark hair was piled in a messy bun on top of my head, and my clothes wouldn’t impress anyone. Of the three of us, only Cornelius looked decent, and even he was drenched in sweat.
“You’re interfering with our lawful recovery,” I announced. “Step aside.”
The female agent stepped forward. She was in her thirties, fit, with light brown skin and glossy dark hair pulled into a ponytail.
“You seem like a nice girl.”
You have no idea.
She kept going. “Let’s be reasonable about this before the testosterone starts flying. This monkey is the property of House Thom. It’s a part of a very important pharmaceutical trial. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but we have a certificate identifying the ownership of the monkey. I’ll be happy to let you verify it for yourself. You’re still young, so a word of advice, always get the proper paperwork to cover your ass.”
“Oh no, she didn’t,” Leon muttered under his breath.
At twenty-one, most of my peers were either in college, working for their House, or enjoying the luxury carefree lifestyle the powerful magic of their families provided. Being underestimated worked in my favor. However, we’d been looking for the monkey for several days. I was hot, tired, and hungry and my patience was in short supply. Besides, she insulted my paperwork skills. Paperwork was my middle name.
“This monkey is a helper monkey, a highly trained service animal, certified to assist individuals with spinal cord injuries. She was snatched from her rightful owner during a trip to the doctor and illegally sold to your client. I have her pedigree report, immunization records, vet records, certificate from the Faces, Paws, and Tail non-profit that trained her, signed affidavit from her owner, a copy of the police report, and her DNA profile. Also, I’m not a nice girl. I am the Head of my House conducting a lawful recovery of stolen property. Do not impede me again.”
On my left Cornelius frowned. “Could we hurry this along? Rosebud is experiencing a lot of stress.”
“You heard the animal mage,” Leon called out. “Don’t we all want what’s best for the stressed-out monkey?”
The shorter of the men squinted at us. “Head of the House, huh? How do you even know this is the same monkey?”
How many golden lion tamarin monkeys did he expect to be running around in Eleanor Tinsley Park? “Rosebud, sing.”
The monkey raised her adorable head, opened her mouth, and trilled like a little bird.
The three MII employees stared at her. Here’s hoping for logic and reason…
“This proves nothing,” the woman announced.
As it happened so often with our species, logical reasoning was discarded in favor of the overpowering need to be right, facts and consequences be damned.
“What about now?” Leon asked. “Can I kill one? Just one.”
Leon was extremely selective about shooting people, but the MII agents drew on me and Cornelius, and his protective instinct kicked into the overdrive. If they raised their guns another two inches, they would die, and my cousin was doing his best deranged rattlesnake act to keep that from happening.