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Benicio slipped a look through the bedroom doorway. "I assume Savannah--"
"Is everything in this?" I said, hoisting the file.
Before he could answer, I walked to the window and spread the file on the wide sill, pretending to look through it as I surveyed the parking lot below. I saw Clay and Elena's blond heads bobbing through the scattering of cars, moving fast, Savannah's dark head between them.
"Let's see. Incident reports..." Elena, Clay, and Savannah stopped at a car. A convertible, of course. A moment's pause, then Clay tossed Elena the keys and they climbed inside. "Scene photos, medical reports..." The car peeled from the lot. "Looks like everything's here. Now, you were saying...?"
"Savannah," he said. "I don't see her here, Paige, and I certainly hope you wouldn't be foolish enough to let her wander around the hotel unaccompanied."
"Of course not. She's staying with friends while I investigate this."
"Friends?" He paused. "The woman who just left, I presume. Perhaps you don't realize how serious this is. You cannot turn Paige over to a human--"
"She's a supernatural. Someone who will take very good care of Savannah."
Benicio paused, only for a moment, processing everything he knew about my supernatural contacts in less time it would take most
people to name the capital of France.
"The werewolf," he said. "Elena Michaels."
I'll admit to a moment of disconcertion. The werewolves valued their privacy, which was why I hadn't told Troy who Elena was. When Benicio did his homework, he didn't miss anything.
"Werewolf?" Troy murmured behind us. "She was a werewolf? Shit. Now there's a story that'll buy me a few rounds at the club."
"No," Benicio said. "You won't tell anyone."
Troy straightened. "Yes, sir."
"As a matter of interracial courtesy, we must respect the werewolves' privacy. You may, however, take a few drinks on my club tab, to compensate."
Troy grinned. "Yes, sir."
"I don't mean to criticize, Paige," Benicio said. "And I don't wish to insult your friends, but I must point out that the Cabal is far better equipped to protect Savannah. You lack experience in such matters, and what may seem like a good idea to you is not necessarily the wisest option."
"It wasn't my idea."
"Then who--?" He stopped, realizing the only possible answer. Then he nodded. "If Lucas thinks this is best, we'll leave the girl with them...for now. If the situation worsens, though, we may need to reconsider our options."
"Understood," I said. "Now, what can you tell me about this case?"
Benicio ordered a room-service lunch for us, which we ate in the hotel room while discussing the case. If Benicio had any problem discussing Cabal problems with a witch, he gave no sign of it, but was as generous with his information and offers of assistance as I could want. More generous than I wanted, to be honest. I was uncomfortable enough taking a case Benicio had brought to us. I didn't want to work with him any closer than necessary.
There were a few strategic moves I could make that made me feel less like I'd been suckered into working for Benicio. Earlier, I'd notified the hotel that I'd be staying on, and asked them to change the billing to my credit card. They were less than a third full, with no hope of major bookings soon, so after some dickering, we'd agreed on an affordable rate. I didn't tell Benicio that I'd switched the billing. By the time he found out, it'd be too late for him to argue.
I also gave Benicio back his bodyguard. When he protested I argued that with Griffin on grief-leave, Benicio needed one of his regular guards, and my own investigating would be less conspicuous without a half-demon shadow.
Benicio left at one. Lucas still hadn't called about the necromancer. While I waited, I read through the files. I kept my cell phone on the desk, checked for messages twice, and adjusted the ring volume once. A bit anxious for Lucas's call? Nah.
When the phone finally rang, I checked caller ID, and answered with "You found someone?"
"I apologize for taking so long. Two of my contacts were slow in phoning back, then I had to wait for court to recess."
"But you found someone?"
"A fortuitous collision of circumstances. A first-rate necromancer who just happens to be on business in Miami this week." His voice sounded oddly strained, as if forcing cheerfulness. Must have been the connection.
"Perfect," I said. "When can he meet me? Or is it she?"
