Spellbound (31 page)

“Thank you, Eloise,” Cassandra cut in. “That's very helpful.”

I glanced over to give her shit for interrupting. The expression on her face stopped me. She was staring at the photo. When she caught me looking, she passed the phone back.

“Well, I think that's everything we need,” she said to Eloise. “Savannah? Any final questions?”

“Nope.”

As we got up to leave, Eloise rose, too. “Do you have to go already? I was hoping you could stay for a drink. I'd really like to get to know you better. You seem like such an interesting person.”

What a nice thing to say. It would be even more flattering if she was talking to me.

“We need to check out a few things,” I said. “But we'll call tomorrow if we can make it. Right, Cass?”

“Hmm? Yes, of course.”

Which proved she was paying no attention at all. A middle-aged shlub brushed his hand across her ass on the way out and she was so distracted that she didn't say a word. Nor did she even seem to notice when I veered off track to discreetly return the dog-collar bracelet to the table where she'd found it.

“Okay, what's up?” I said as we stepped onto the sidewalk. “You know that guy in the photo, don't you?”

“He's the man you met? The one who was in charge of the group?”

“Um, yes. It's all in my report. You did read my report, right?”

“I skimmed it. Aaron mentioned something about the leader possibly being a vampire, but he said you'd vetoed the idea, so it didn't concern us. That was the man, though, wasn't it?”

“He's not a vampire. Warm skin. Breathing. Didn't try to charm me, which would have made things easier. The only reason I suspected vampirism was because Roni hinted he'd been around a long time. Oh, and I met Anita Barrington, too. She's the woman who called herself Althea.”

I paused. “Gary Schmidt said something about immortality. If Anita Barrington is a key member of this movement, that must mean something. Maybe they're promising their followers immortality, which is bullshit, but—”

I noticed Cassandra had fallen a few paces behind me. I turned. “Cass?”

“What was the man's name?”

“Giles.”

“Last name?”

I shrugged. “Didn't get one. So you know him? He's not a vampire, is he?”

“I . . . don't know.”

“Okay. Are you going to tell me what's going on?”

“Not yet.”

I stopped and turned to her. “I'm your partner here, Cass. If Lucas brought me here, obviously he—”

“—trusts you to uncover the truth. Which is exactly why I'm not sharing this with you. I need to verify a few things first, and we need to finish helping Lucas with that little boy's disappearance before we launch into something new. You look into this bodyguard situation, while I make a few calls.”

G
reat plan. Except I wasn't sure
how
to look into the bodyguard situation. I guess Lucas wanted me to check out the possibility that Frankie Salas was in desperate need of cash, so desperate that he'd betray the Cabal.

I liked that explanation. It exonerated Bryce. Unfortunately, I'd already forwarded Salas's details to Paige, and she'd sent back a clean bill of financial health. He rented an apartment that fit well within his means. He had a reasonable loan on his car, and he paid it every month. His credit history was clean. If this guy owed money, it was for something less legitimate—drugs, gambling, women. But if he was that kind of guy, he'd never have made it through the background checks to become Bryce's bodyguard.

The only other thing was to search Salas's apartment, in hopes that if he was involved in Larsen's kidnapping, he'd have left evidence there. People do that all the time, even smart people. Home is private. Home is safe. At least until a squad of cops shows up with a search warrant.

So I called Troy and asked him what I could expect in the way of security.

“The only thing my place has is a cat,” he said. “And she's not even mine. Just a stray that lives in the garage and would probably follow a thief home. I spend most of my days guarding Mr. Cortez and most of my nights sleeping at his place. Even guys who are home more don't bother. They're bodyguards. It looks bad if they think they need high-tech security.”

“Don't they need to protect their stuff?”

“Not much there if you're a career bodyguard. Definitely not Cabal secrets. We don't get a lot of paperwork. Well, yeah, I do, but that's because I'm in charge of the guard staff, and you can be sure on my rare days off, I'm not taking it home. Anyway, bodyguards aren't privy to Cabal secrets.”

“Like hell,” I said. “I bet you know more than anyone in the company, including Benicio.”

He laughed. “Why do you think he keeps me around? But you can also bet I'm not writing anything down. It all stays in my head, where it belongs.”

Which is what made him the best bodyguard in the business. And hopefully one who knew what he was talking about when it came to other bodyguards.

 

 

Cassandra was so lost in thought that when I stopped outside Salas's apartment building, it was like she snapped out of a daze, exclaiming, “Is this it? Are we prepared? Shouldn't you have tools?”

I razzed her, insisting that
she'd
promised to get the tools, but it was clear that she was so distracted she wasn't sure I was joking. I told her about my conversation with Troy and she agreed that he made sense.

So we conned our way into Salas's apartment building. After I picked his lock, she tested inside for inhabitants. When we were sure the place was clear, I sent her outside to guard the parking lot and warn me if Salas came home. Then I began my search.

His apartment looked more like the secondary residence for a guy who only visited L.A. a few days a month. A few clothes in the closet, minimal toiletries in the bathroom, a bottle of ketchup and a case of beer in the fridge. The only reason the guy even had to lock his door was a TV and a couple of game consoles. It quickly became apparent this was a waste of time.

I went into the bedroom for one last look through Salas's clothing. A floorboard creaked behind me.

“Didn't I tell you to wait—?” I turned as a man lunged at me. Big and brawny and dark-haired. Frankie Salas.

I tried to dart past him. He grabbed me and clamped his hand over my mouth.

“Cast a spell and I'll rip out your fucking voice box, witch.”

I kicked his kneecap. My boot heel hit sharp and hard enough to make him relax his grasp. I wriggled out and danced back.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Someone reported that this activist group made contact with you. I'm sure you didn't join them, but I need to ask if—”

His right fist swung at my gut. As I dodged it, he caught me with a surprise chop to my throat. I gasped and heaved, unable to breathe. He grabbed for me. Still choking, I managed to slam my fist into his stomach. I might as well have been slamming it into a brick wall.

I fought. I do know how to defend myself. Or I could, if I wasn't fighting a guy twice my size. I figured out fast that I wasn't taking Salas down, so I set my sights on the door. He figured
that
one out fast and didn't let me near it.

I'd like to say we fought for an hour. It was more like ten minutes. Five if I was being honest. He finally pinned me to the wall and jammed a sock—dirty—from his floor into my mouth.

“You think I don't know why you're here?” he said. “You're planting evidence to blame Bryce for the kid getting taken.”

I shook my head and gestured that I could explain, but he still thought I was capable of casting spells and wasn't taking the sock out.

“You're a greedy little bitch,” he said. “Just like your mother. You think you can get your hands on Nast money by pretending to be one of them. Well, you're not. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it.”

I could point out that my mother had never named Kristof as my father. The smelly sock gag squashed that plan.

Salas didn't need my input anyway. He was quite happy doing a solo rant.

“You've sucked in Sean,” he said. “I know he gave you a trust fund. He's a decent guy and you took advantage of that. But you can't pull that shit on Bryce. He's a lot smarter than people give him credit for. Someday he's going to be the CEO, and I'm going along with him, which is why I'm not about to let any witch skank spoil his chances.”

I motioned that I wanted to talk. He ignored me.

“So now what am I going to do with you? I know what I'd like to do—dump your body in the Pacific. But if anyone found out, Bryce would get blamed. So I'm thinking—”

“Frankie?” It was Bryce's voice. “How long does it take you to grab clean clothes?”

Salas kicked the door shut. “Just getting changed.”

“And you're afraid I'll peek? Just hurry up, okay?”

Salas leaned closer. “You wait here. I need to get rid of Bryce.”

I nodded. Sadly, Salas didn't seem inclined to just let me sit on the bed. He grabbed handcuffs from his drawer. I'd seen them there earlier. I suspected they weren't for work.

He didn't seem to have a lot of practice using them, though, at least not on women who were struggling. As he fumbled, his grip on my gag relaxed enough for me to bite him. He yelped and I yanked free.

“Frankie?” Bryce said.

Salas came at me. I backed out of his way.

“Listen,” I whispered. “I don't want Bryce to find me here either, but you're not putting me in those cuffs. Leave now and I'll hide, and we can pretend this never happened.”

“You got a girl in there?” Bryce called. “I don't have a problem with you stopping home for a booty call, but I don't appreciate being lied to.” A pause. “Frankie?”

Salas and I faced off, then he charged. I ducked out of his way, but he knocked my shoulder and I hit the dresser with a bang.

“Okay, that's it,” Bryce said. “Just because I don't treat you like an employee doesn't mean you can act like I'm a loser friend who doesn't even deserve a response.” The door flew open before Salas could grab it. “You show me some respect or—”

Bryce stopped short. “Savannah?”

“It's not what it looks like, boss,” Salas said.

“And what does it look like?”

“That, you know, she seduced me to get to you. I'd never do that.”

“I didn't think you would. Not unless your idea of seduction involves a split lip, torn clothing, and handcuffs.” Bryce paused. “Well, it could, but I'm sure that's not what's happening here.”

“She broke in,” Salas said. “Planting evidence to blame us for that missing kid.”

“Um, no,” I said. “Do you see any evidence on me? Go ahead and search. I didn't bring or leave anything.”

“Do you think I'm stupid?” Salas said. “I watch TV. You've planted hair or DNA or something only the crime scene team can find. The Cortezes took that kid, and you volunteered to frame Bryce, so you took samples from the boy.”

“Is that what you think? Fine.” I turned to Bryce. “Call Sean. He's with Lucas. Tell him I was found here and tell them what your bodyguard thinks I was doing. That will taint any forensic evidence and exclude—”

“If Sean tells them to exclude it,” Salas said. “Maybe he'll decide this is an easy way to take Bryce out of the running for the CEO seat.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, Frankie,” Bryce said. “But I'm not in the running for CEO. Even if I was, Sean would never do that to me.”

“But maybe—”

“No.”

“He's right,” I said. “Sean wouldn't do that. He doesn't even know I'm here. That's why I'd never plant evidence in the first place. Given the choice between believing me and believing Bryce, it's no contest. Bryce would win.”

A look passed behind Bryce's eyes, one that said he wasn't so sure. Yet everyone who knew Sean knew that his little brother came first.

When he turned to me, his voice cooled. “So what was going on here, Savannah?”

I fed him the same story I'd been trying to give Salas. Lucas had heard Salas had been seen with members of the supernatural liberation group. Converting the personal bodyguard of a Cabal son would be a serious problem. So I'd broken in to investigate the allegations.

“But I didn't find anything.”

“Of course not,” Salas said. “Because no one ever approached me.”

“Who thinks I did it?” Bryce said.

“Did what?”

He met my gaze. “You're not chasing down leads on this group. You're investigating Larsen's disappearance, like Frankie said. You didn't come to plant evidence. You came to look for it. So who thinks it's me?”

“I bet it's Sean,” Salas said.

Anger flared in Bryce's blue eyes. “Would you stop that? It's not Sean. It would never be Sean.” He turned to me. “It's Lucas, isn't it? What has he found?”

“Found?”

“If you're breaking into my bodyguard's apartment, it's because Lucas has found something that he thinks points to me. False evidence. Planted by the real kidnapper.”

“There's no—”

“Of course there is. Lucas wouldn't investigate me without a reason. At least give me the chance to prepare my defense, and to find the guilty party. Whoever did this will feel the full wrath of the Nast Cabal on their heads. Bad enough if strangers steal from us. Worse if it's one of our own.”