They’re members of the ACW’s version of the Secret Service—only a hell of a lot meaner and more powerful than the guys who guard the president. My parents have a few of them in their employ—less now that we’re adults and more able to take care of ourselves—but enough of them that I know that if they want to talk to me, I don’t have a choice. So much for Declan’s master plan of getting the hell out of ACW headquarters last night before anyone noticed we were there.
“Ms. Morgan, we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”
That’s it. No identifying themselves. No asking if this is a convenient time. Just that flat, dead tone that matches their faces exactly—and refuses to take no for an answer. “Of course,” I tell them. “If you’ll give me a few minutes—”
“Now, Ms. Morgan.” The tall one tells me through clenched teeth.
“Excuse me.” Travis steps forward, goddess bless his protective little heart. “Is everything okay here?”
“I’m fine, Travis. These gentlemen are friends of my father.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy and I don’t blame him. If there are two men on the planet less likely for a sane father to sic on his daughter, I haven’t seen them. Neither, apparently, has Travis.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks, motioning with his head for me to step aside with him.
The short ACW guy—who bears a striking resemblance to old paintings I’ve seen of Napoleon—opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off with a look. They might be from the Council, but I am a princess of the most powerful Hekan coven in the world. I might be a princess about to be accused of murder, but I am still a princess.
He nods and I step aside with Travis. As I do, I wrack my brain about what to say—and how to say it. Travis is a savvy guy, one who knows me pretty well after working with me for the past couple of years. I don’t want him to see how tense I am about these guys, because he’ll feel honor bound to intervene and that’s the last thing I want. These guys play hardball, and while I know they’ll do their best to keep the whole witch thing under wraps—it’s ACW law, after all—they’ll have no problem doing whatever it takes to keep Travis from becoming a problem, either. I can’t let that happen.
“What do they want?” Travis demands the second we’re out of earshot of the others. “And don’t give me that bullshit about your father.”
“It’s fine. They’re private detectives. They work for my dad and they just want to go over a few things that happened last week.”
“They’re being awfully insistent for men on your father’s payroll.” Travis is too suspicious to just let it go that easily.
“Yeah, well, my dad is a results-oriented kind of guy. I’m sure he’s riding their asses.”
“Over what? I thought you said that Kyle guy was working alone?”
“He was,” I say to soothe. “But my dad’s overprotective. He wants to make sure nothing else is going on before he stops worrying about me over here in the big, bad city.” I put in a shrug for good measure, my version of what-can-I-do?
Travis laughs, exactly as I intended. Austin is growing by leaps and bounds, but the crime rate is still really low. Which is a good thing, as I don’t want to spend my life being compelled from one murder scene to the next. I can’t help but wonder about witches who have powers like mine and live in major cities like New York or L.A. or Houston. I don’t even want to imagine the horror of dealing with the sheer number of homicides in places like that.
“You sure you want me to let you leave with them?” he asks after a second.
I nearly laugh. Travis is an awesome guy—smart, inventive and with a wicked sense of humor—but he’s no match for the two men currently standing next to my cash register. They’d eat him for a midafternoon snack and barely even notice.
“I’ve got this,” I assure him. “I’m just going to get my purse from the back.”
My heart is pounding double time as I grab my bag. My cell’s tucked into the front pocket and I pull it out, fire off a quick text to Declan. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’d feel better if he at least had an idea of what was going on. But when I get back to the front, I see Travis on the phone—and the look on his face speaks volumes.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s talking to Declan right now. And that he’s even less pleased than Travis is about my leaving with these guys.
“Can you tell me how long this interview is going to take?” I ask the agents as I approach them. “I have plans in a couple of hours.”