"Ma'am," he said shortly, and the small woman smiled to show flat, even teeth.
"Delighted," she said pleasantly. "If you would excuse us, Detective? Ms. Morgan and I have a need to chat before the game begins."
Glenn bobbed his head. "Yes ma'am. I'll get you both a drink if I might."
"That would be lovely."
I rolled my eyes at the political niceties, relieved when Mrs. Sarong put a light hand on my shoulder and led me away. She smelled like ferns and moss. Every man watched us as we moved together to stand by a window with an excellent view of the field. It was a long way down, making me slightly queasy.
"Ms. Morgan," she said, her eyes not at all apologetic, "it has just come to my attention that you were contracted to retrieve our mascot. A mascot that was never missing."
"Yes ma'am," I said, surprised how the title of respect just seemed to flow out of me. "When I was told, my time and energies were given no consideration."
She exhaled slowly. "I detest digging out prey. Have you been magicking the field?"
Pleased at her frankness, I decided to be the same. "I spent three days planning how to break into Mr. Ray's office when I could have been working on other cases," I said. "And while I admit that isn't your fault, someone should have called me."
"Perhaps, but it remains that the fish was not missing. I am not in the habit of paying out blackmail. You will stop."
"And I'm not in the habit of offering it," I said, having no trouble keeping my temper as her pack surrounded me. "But I'd be remiss if I didn't make you aware of my feelings in the matter. I give my word I won't interfere with the game. I don't need to. Until I get paid, every time a ball goes foul or a bat cracks, your players will wonder if it's me." I smiled without showing my teeth. "Five hundred dollars is a small price for your players' peace of mind." Lousy five hundred dollars. It should have been ten-times that. Why Ray's henchmen wasted bullets on me for a lousy stinking fish was still beyond me.
Her lips parted and I swear I heard a small growl in her sigh. Athletes were notorious for being superstitious. She'd pay.
"It's not the money, Mrs. Sarong," I said, though at first it had been. "But if I let one pack treat me like a cur, then that's what I'll be. And I'm not a cur."
She brought her gaze up from the field. "Not a cur," she agreed. "You are a lone wolf." With a graceful motion, she motioned to a nearby Were, one that looked oddly familiar, in fact. He hastened forward with a leather-bound checkbook the size of a Bible, which took two hands to handle. "It's the lone wolf that is the most dangerous," she said as she wrote. "They also have extremely short life spans. Get yourself a pack, Ms. Morgan."
The rip of the check was loud. I wasn't sure if she was giving me advice or a threat. "Thank you, I have one," I said, not looking at the amount as I tucked it in my bag. The smooth shape of the baseball touched my knuckles and I pulled it out. I set it into her waiting hand. "I'll leave before the game starts," I said, knowing there was no way they would let me back in the stands. "How long am I banned for?"
"Life," she said, smiling like the devil herself. "I, too, am not a cur."
I smiled back, genuinely liking the older woman. Glenn drifted closer. I took the champagne he handed me and set it on the windowsill. "Good-bye, Mrs. Sarong."
She inclined her head as way of dismissal, the second flute of champagne Glenn had brought resting easy in her grip. Three young men lurked behind her, sulky and well-groomed. I was glad I didn't have her job, though it looked as if the perks were great.
Glenn's shoes sounded loud on the concrete as we made our way back to the front gate without the help of Matt and his golf cart.
"You'll tell everyone good-bye for me?" I asked, meaning Nick.
"Sure." His eyes were on the huge signs with their letters and arrows pointing to the exits. The sun was warm when we found it, and I relaxed as I went to stand at the bus stop. Glenn came to a halt beside me and handed me my hat. "About your fee - " he started.
"Glenn," I said as I put it on, "like I told your dad, don't worry about it. I'm grateful for them paying off my I.S. contract, and with the two thousand Trent gave me, I've enough to see me through until my arm heals."
"Would you shut up?" he said, digging in his pocket. "We worked something out."
I turned, my gaze dropping to the key in his hands and then rising to his eyes.
"We couldn't get approval to reimburse you for the canceled class, but there was this car in impound. The insurance agency salvaged the title, so we couldn't put it up for auction."
A car? Edden was going to give me a car?
Glenn's brown eyes were bright. "We got the clutch and the transmission repaired. There was something wrong with the electrical system, too, but the FIB garage guys fixed it, no charge. We would have gotten it to you sooner," he said, "but the DMV office didn't understand what I was trying to do so it took three trips down there to get it transferred to your name."
"You guys bought me a car?" I said, excitement bubbling up into my voice.
Glenn grinned and handed me a zebra-striped key on a purple rabbit's foot key chain. "The money the FIB put into it just about equals what we owed you. I'll drive you home. It's a stick, and I don't think you can handle shifting gears yet with your arm."
Heart suddenly pounding, I fell into step beside him, scanning the lot. "Which one?"
Glenn pointed, and the sound of my heels on the pavement faltered as I saw the red convertible, recognizing it. "That's Francis's car," I said, not sure what I was feeling.
"That's okay, isn't it?" Glenn asked, suddenly concerned. "It was going to be scrapped. You aren't superstitious, are you?"
"Um..." I stammered, drawn forward by the shiny red paint. I touched it, feeling the clean smoothness. The top was down, and I turned, smiling. Glenn's worried frown eased into relief. "Thank you," I whispered, not believing it was really mine. It was mine?
Steps light, I walked to the front, then the back. It had a new vanity plate: runnin'. It was perfect. "It's mine?" I said, heart racing.
"Go on, get in," Glenn said, his face transformed by his pleased enthusiasm.
"It's wonderful," I said, refusing to cry. No more expired bus passes. No more standing in the cold. No more disguise charms just so they would pick me up.
I opened the door. The leather seat was warm from the afternoon sun and as smooth as chocolate milk. The cheerful dinging of the door being opened was heaven. I put in the key, checked that it was in neutral, pushed in the clutch, and started it up. The thrum of the engine was freedom itself. I shut the door and beamed at Glenn. "Really?" I asked, voice cracking.
He nodded, beaming.
I was delighted. With my broken arm, I couldn't safely manage the gearshift, but I could try all the buttons. I turned on the radio, thinking it must be an omen when Madonna thundered out. I turned "Material Girl" down and opened the glove box just to see my name on the registration. A thick yellow business-size envelope slid out, and I picked it up off the floor.
"I didn't put that there," Glenn said, his voice carrying a new concern.
I brought it to my nose, my face going slack as I recognized the clean scent of pine. "It's from Trent."
Glenn straightened. "Get out of the car," he said in a hard staccato, every syllable laced with authority.
"Don't be stupid," I said. "If he wanted me dead, he wouldn't have had Quen bail me out."
Jaw tight, Glenn opened the door. My car started chiming. "Get out. I'll have it looked at and bring it over tomorrow."
"Glenn..." I cajoled as I opened the envelope and my protests wavered. "Um," I stammered. "He's not trying to kill me, he's paying me."
Glenn leaned to see, and I tilted the envelope to him. A muttered oath came from him. "How much is that, you think?" he asked as I closed it and shoved it in my bag.
"I'm guessing eighteen thousand." I tried to be cavalier, ruining it with my trembling fingers. "It was what he offered me to clear his name." Brushing the hair from my eyes, I looked up. My breath caught. Visible in the rearview mirror was Trent's Gray Ghost limo sitting in the fire lane. It hadn't been there a moment ago. At least, I hadn't seen it. Trent and Jonathan were standing beside it. Glenn saw where my attention was and turned.
"Oh," he said, then a concerned wariness tightened the corners of his eyes. "Rachel, I'm going to go over to the ticket booth right over there..." He pointed. "...and talk to the lady about possibly buying a block of seats for the FIB's company picnic next year." He hesitated, shutting my door with a solid thump. His dark fingers stood out against the bright red paint. "You going to be all right?"
"Yeah." I pulled my eyes from Trent. "Thanks, Glenn. If he kills me, tell your dad I loved the car."
A trace of a smile crossed him, and he turned away.
My eyes were fixed to my rearview mirror as his steps grew faint. Behind me came a roar of fans as the game began. I watched Trent have an intent conversation with Jonathan. He left the angry tall man and ambled slowly to me. His hands were in his pockets and he looked good. Better than good, really, dressed in casual slacks, comfortable shoes, and a cable-knit sweater against the slight chill in the air. The collar of a silk shirt the color of midnight showed behind it, contrasting wonderfully with his tan. A tweed cap shaded his green eyes and kept his fine hair under control.
He came to a slow halt beside me, his eyes never leaving mine to touch upon the car even once. Feet scuffing, he half turned to look at Jonathan. It stuck in my craw that I had helped clear his name. He had murdered at least two people in less than six months - one of them Francis. And here I was, sitting in the dead witch's car.
I said nothing, gripping the wheel with my one good hand, my broken arm sitting in my lap, reminding myself that Trent was afraid of me. From the radio, a fast-talking announcer took over, and I turned the radio almost off. "I found the money," I said as way of greeting.
He squinted at me, then shifted to stand by the side mirror to put his face in shadow. "You're welcome."
I peered up at him. "I never said thank you."
"You're welcome anyway."
My lips pressed together. Ass.
Trent's eyes dropped to my arm. "How long until it heals?"
Surprised, I blinked. "Not long. It was a clean break." I touched the pain amulet about my neck. "There was some muscle damage, though, which is why I can't use it well yet, but they say I don't need any therapy. I'll be back on the streets in six weeks."
"Good. That's good."
It had been a quick comment - and it was followed by a long silence. I sat in my car, wondering what he wanted. There was a jittery cast to him, his eyebrows a shade too high. He wasn't afraid, and he wasn't worried. I couldn't tell what he wanted. "Piscary said our fathers worked together," I said. "Was he lying?"
The sun glinted on Trent's white hair as he shook his head. "No."
A sliver of ice dropped down my spine. I licked my lips and brushed a spot of dust from the steering wheel. "Doing what?" I asked casually.
"Come work for me, and I'll tell you."
My eyes went to his. "You are a thief, a cheat, a murderer, and a not-nice-man," I said calmly. "I don't like you."
He shrugged, the motion making him look utterly harmless. "I'm not a thief," he said. "And I don't mind manipulating you into working for me when I need it." He smiled, showing me perfect teeth. "I enjoy it, actually."
I felt my face warm. "You are so full of yourself, Trent," I said, wishing I could shift the car into reverse and drive over his foot.
His smile widened.
"What?" I demanded.
"You called me by my first name. I like that."
I opened my mouth, then closed it. "So throw a party and invite the Pope. My dad may have worked for your dad, but you are scum, and the only reason I'm not throwing your money back in your face is a, I earned it, and b, I need something to live on while I recover from injuries gained from keeping your ass out of prison!"
His eyes were glinting in amusement, and it made me furious. "Thank you for clearing my name," he said. He went to touch my car, stopping as I made an ugly noise in warning. He turned the motion into seeing if Jonathan had moved. He hadn't. Glenn, too, was watching us.
"Just forget it, okay?" I said. "I went after Piscary to save my mom's life, not yours."
"Thank you anyway. If it means anything, I'm sorry now for putting you in that rat pit."
I tilted my head to see him, holding the hair out of my face as the wind gusted. "And you think that means anything to me?" I said tightly. Then I squinted. He was almost jiggling where he stood. What was up with him?
"Scoot over," he finally said, looking at the empty seat beside me.
I stared at him. "What?"
He looked past me to Jonathan and back. "I want to drive your car. Scoot over. Jon never lets me drive. He says it's beneath me." He looked over at Glenn skulking beside a pillar. "Unless you would rather have an FIB detective drive you home at the posted speed limit?"
Surprise kept the anger out of my voice. "You can drive a stick?"
"Better than you."
I looked at Glenn, then back to Trent. I slowly sank back into the seat. "Tell you what," I said, my eyebrows rising. "You can drive me home if we keep to one topic on the way."
"Your father?" he guessed, and I nodded. I was getting used to this deal-with-a-demon business.
Trent put his hands back in his pockets and rocked back and forth once on his heels in thought. Bringing his attention from the blue sky, he nodded.
"I do not believe I'm doing this," I muttered as I threw my bag in the back and awkwardly shifted over the gear stick to the other seat. Taking my red Howlers cap off, I wound my hair up into a bun and jammed the hat back on against the coming wind.
Glenn had started forward, slowing as I waved good-bye to him. Shaking his head as if in disbelief, he turned and went back inside the ballpark.
I buckled my belt as Trent opened the door and slid into the front. He adjusted the mirrors, then revved the engine twice before pushing in the clutch and shifting it into first. I braced myself against the dash, but he eased forward as smoothly as if he parked cars for a living.
While Jonathan hurriedly got into the limo, I snuck a glance at Trent. My eyes narrowed as he took it upon himself to fiddle with the radio while at a stoplight, not moving even when it turned green. I was ready to smack him for messing with my radio when he found a station playing Takata and turned it up. Peeved, I hit the set button.
The traffic signal changed from green to yellow, and he sent the car leaping through the intersection, slipping ahead of oncoming traffic amid squealing tires and horns. Teeth gritted, I swore if he wrecked my car before I had a chance to, I'd sue his ass.
"I won't work for you again," I said as he gave the irate drivers behind him a friendly wave and merged onto expressway traffic. My anger hesitated as I realized he had intentionally sat through the green light so that Jonathan would be forced to wait until it changed again.
I looked at Trent in disbelief. Seeing my understanding, he floored it. A shiver of excitement struck me as he shot me a quick smile, the wind pulling his short hair to hide the green of his eyes. "If that helps you sleep, Ms. Morgan, please, continue to believe so."
The wind tugged at me, and I closed my eyes against the sun, feeling the pavement hum all the way to my bones. Tomorrow I'd start thinking about how I was going to get out of my agreement with Algaliarept, remove the demon mark, get Nick unbound as my familiar, and live with a vampire who was trying to hide that she was practicing again. Right now I was riding shotgun to Cincinnati's most powerful bachelor with eighteen thousand six dollars and fifty-seven cents in my pocket. And no one was going to stop us from speeding.
Not a bad week's work, all things considered.