He tilted his head, as if considering it. “A fool? Young, yes. Reckless, yes. Naïve, probably. But foolish? No. Not foolish. You—”
A sound from the hall. A door opening, then closing. He swiveled, his eyes narrowing as if tracking something I couldn’t hear. His gaze shot to the door handle and he mouthed a silent oath.
“Couldn’t lock it, could you?” I said. “That’s the problem with breaking things. They tend to stay broken.”
He shushed me, grabbed the vent cover, and knocked it back into place. Then he peered through the slats and whispered, “If you want to find out whether I’m lying—and I think you do—stay there and stay quiet.”
7
M arsten jumped off the desk and was halfway to the door when it opened. Two men strode in, guns in hand. Part of the council security force. I recognized both from other operations.
I crawled forward, ready to push open the vent. Then I stopped, palms against the cover. I didn’t need to eavesdrop to know Karl Marsten was full of shit. I heard the web of lies he’d spun when I’d first confronted him with the theft. He’d say anything to get out of this—to use me to get out of it. Yet there was reason to stay up here, hidden and silent, the perfect position to watch Marsten, and make sure he didn’t try anything. Or that’s what I told myself.
A man strolled in. Mid-thirties, average height and slightly built, with light brown hair and a delicate, almost feminine face. Tristan, my council contact.
“Ah, Karl,” he said. “I didn’t know you were a patron of the arts.”
“Tristan Robard,” Marsten said. “I’d say I should have known, but I’d be lying. After the last time, I thought you’d have the sense to leave me alone. I guess I overestimated you.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed.
“I should give you credit, though,” Marsten continued. “You have quite a clever setup here. And your young agent. Well done. A beautiful young woman lays the most irresistible traps and, it seems, even I’m not immune.” He paused. “Aren’t you going to ask where she is?”
“Not terribly worried.”
Marsten smiled. “Oh, but you should be. The one problem with using beautiful young women as bait? They make equally irresistible hostages.”
“So you have her.”
As Marsten nodded, I opened my mouth to call out and let Tristan know I was safe—
Tristan smiled. “As I said, not terribly worried.”
I blinked, but shook it off. Of course Tristan would say that. He was a skilled negotiator. He wouldn’t let Marsten know he had leverage.
“I don’t think your superiors will approve of that attitude,” Marsten said. “Oh, but your superiors have nothing to do with this, do they? This is personal. A little boy lashing out because the big bad wolf embarrassed him.”
Tristan’s jaw set.
“I didn’t embarrass you, Tristan,” Marsten continued. “You did it to yourself. You offered me a job. I turned it down—respectfully and politely. But that wasn’t good enough, because you’d already promised them I’d do it. If I refused, you’d need to explain that you’d overreached, and there was no way you were doing that, so you came after me. I was happy to let the matter rest—a rejected business proposition, no cause for animosity—but you came after me. That was your mistake.”
Tristan give a tight laugh. “My mistake? You’re the one being held at gunpoint, and you’re talking about my mistake? Delusional to the end.”
Marsten only shrugged. “If you say so.”
Marsten stepped forward, as if ready to go with them. Then he stopped.
“I’ll suppose you’ll want me to tell you where I hid that security guard you had killed. Backup plan, I presume?”
Tristan said nothing, only reached for his cell phone. Marsten’s gaze flicked to the vent shaft, then back to Tristan.
“So you didn’t trust your girl to do the job. If she failed, you’d still have a mauled security guard, found at the scene of a jewel theft, a little tale you could take to the interracial council.”
Tristan only smiled, gaze still down as he checked messages on the phone. “I think the Pack would be more interested in that story.”
“Ah, of course. The werewolf Pack. A clever plan, and one that might have worked…if I hadn’t been part of the Pack myself for the past two years.”
Tristan looked up.
Marsten laughed. “Not very good at doing your homework, are you? That’s obvious from that preposterous story you told the girl. Working as an agent for the interracial council? I’m sure Aaron, Paige, Adam, and the other delegates will be thrilled to know they have a team of secret agents working on their behalf.”