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"And so long as you're running a tab, here's a bit of advice you can add to it. You've overstayed your welcome, Elena. We both have. The big man is plenty pissed with both of us right now."
"Winsloe." I closed my eyes and winced. "Now what did I do?"
"Enough. I know you must be making escape plans, so I'd suggest you bump them up before he erupts." He lowered his voice to a near-whisper. "Now, two things you have to be careful of when you break out. First is Katzen--"
"The mysterious sorcerer. I haven't even met the guy."
"Neither have I. He's a paranoid son of a bitch. Won't deal with anyone except--"
My cell door opened. Winsloe walked in with Ryman and Jolliffe.
"Too late," Xavier murmured around the rim of his glass. He took a slug, then waved the empty glass at Winsloe. "See what I have to resort to? Jack Daniel's. Barely drinkable. You get me hooked on the good stuff, then keep hiding it on me. Sadistic bastard."
Xavier grinned, and I detected more than a hint of satisfaction in that grin, the pleasure of being able to call Winsloe that to his face and get away with it.
"You owe me a bottle of cognac anyway," Xavier continued. "I like the Remy Martin XO, not the VSOP. You can have someone drop it off at my room later."
Winsloe arched his brows. "And how do you figure that?"
"I saved your girl. Twice now, actually." He grinned at Ryman and Jolliffe. "But we won't get into that first time, wil
l we, guys? I'm no tattletale. Besides, that wasn't a big deal. But upstairs there? Whew. Another minute and she'd have been a goner."
"You think?" Winsloe said.
"Oh, yeah." Xavier slapped my back. "No offense, Elena, but you were in way over your head."
"Thanks," I said, and managed to almost sound like I meant it.
"So you owe me, Ty. Drop off that bottle anytime."
Winsloe laughed. "You've got balls, Reese. Fair enough then. I owe you. You'll get your cognac. Stop by my room in about an hour and pick it up. Maybe I can rustle up a few glasses of the Louis XIII for us, make that XO taste like bad moonshine."
"Sounds like a plan."
Under Xavier's quick grins and Winsloe's easy going camaraderie thrummed a current of tension so strong you could almost see it. Xavier had been right. He was in deep shit. Yet both men chatted away as if nothing were wrong, as if they were just two old buddies planning to get together later for a few drinks. Masters of bullshit, both of them.
"So I'll see you in my room?" Winsloe said. "In an hour?"
"You bet," Xavier said. And I knew he had no intention of keeping that appointment, just as I knew that when he bade me good night he was really saying good-bye and that if he ever collected on that IOU, it wouldn't be within these compound walls. Like all successful gamblers, Xavier knew when to take the money and run.
After Xavier zapped from the room, Winsloe's gaze slithered over me and he pursed his lips.
"That's the same clothing you arrived in," he said. "They've given you other stuff to wear, haven't they? What about that shirt I brought you?"
Actually, I'd tried using it as a spare washcloth, but there wasn't enough fabric to get decent sudsing action. Be nice, I reminded myself. If Xavier was right, I was already on Winsloe's bad side. Again. I couldn't afford to make things worse. No matter how badly I'd been torn up that night, physically and emotionally, I had to play nice. Had to. Whatever he said. Whatever he did. I could not fight back. It would be a greater game of wits and fortitude than my match with Bauer, but I could handle this. I really could.
"It's a werewolf thing," I said, injecting apology into my tone. "Laundry soaps, fabric softeners--the smell's too strong."
"You should have said so. I'll tell the staff to get unscented detergent. Don't bother with the clothes Sondra supplied. I'll order new things for you."
Oh, joy.
Winsloe plopped onto my bed. I stayed standing, back to the bookshelf, trying hard not to feel cornered.
"Can you believe what Sondra did to the doc?" Winsloe asked, eyes glinting like a little boy who's seen his first NHL blood-on-ice brawl.
"It ... happens."
