Dates From Hell

Tristan stiffened. Found a weak spot there, didn’t I? Now if only I had some clue what to do with it…

“I made a mistake,” I said. “Karl tricked me.”

Tristan smiled. “Charmed you, more like.”

“No, he lied to me,” I said as I looked around, babbling while I searched for a way to help Marsten. “He told me I wasn’t working for the council. He said I’m working for a Cabal.”

One of the guards shot Tristan a confused look, mouthing “Council?”

They didn’t know…

The other two guards had been in on Tristan’s scheme, but these ones had no idea what I was talking about. Marsten said Tristan was working on personal revenge, that the Cabal would never have sanctioned his death. The other two guards had known that, had been moonlighting outside the Cabal with Tristan. But these two weren’t. Interesting.

I called down again. “I don’t know what you hope to gain by killing me, Tristan.” I pulled out the business card Marsten had given me. “We’ve already called—”

I squinted at the card. Earlier, I’d glanced at it just long enough to register the last name—Cortez—and I’d remembered Marsten saying he’d done work for Benicio Cortez’s son, the one who wasn’t part of the Cabal. So that’s the name I expected. When I saw what was really printed there, my heart thudded.

I turned it over. A handwritten phone number. Oh God, was that real? What if it wasn’t?

“Yes, Hope? You were saying?”

I’d been about to say that I’d called the person on the card and told him everything. But that wouldn’t work now. Had I really called already, these guards wouldn’t be here.

Think…think…

“Who am I really working for, Tristan?” I said. “Who sanctioned this job?”

His gaze shot to the guards. “The Cortez Cabal, Hope. You already said that.”

“Yes, but I…I’m confused. You two down there. When you were called in, what did Mr. Cortez say Karl’s crime was?”

The guards looked at one another.

“Wait,” I said. “Mr. Cortez didn’t give the order, did he? That came straight from Tristan. So what did Tristan say Karl’s crime was?”

“He’s a thief,” Tristan said, between his teeth, surveying the forest as if trying to pinpoint my voice.

“Okay…but—well, he’s been a thief all his life, right? And his father before him. But now, out of the blue, Mr. Cortez decides he deserves to die for it? Right after Karl joins the Pack. Right after the Pack joins the interracial council. Isn’t that a diplomatic crisis in the making? I thought Mr. Cortez was pretty careful about stuff like that.”

The guards turned to Tristan, their eyes narrowing, but still expecting a logical explanation.

“I don’t question my orders,” Tristan said.

“Maybe, but I do. I’m going to call Mr. Cortez. Got his card right here.” I read off the office numbers, so they’d know I was telling the truth. “And, while I’m sure those numbers would get me through to some flunky eventually, I can probably save some time by using the number on the back. Benicio Cortez’s personal number.”

“How’d she get—” one of the guards began.

“She didn’t, you—” Tristan clipped off the insult. “It’s a stalling tactic. You really are a naïve little girl, aren’t you, Hope? Where did you get Benicio Cortez’s number? The phone book?”

The second guard snickered, but the first took out his cell phone.

“Here,” he said. “Give me the number and I’ll call.”

Tristan smiled in my direction. “Yes, Hope. Give him the number.”

I resisted the urge to rattle it off, and stammered it out instead, as if I was making it up. Where had Marsten got this number? What if someone had given it to him as a joke? I looked down at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but his eyelids were flagging, as if he was struggling to stay conscious.

My hesitant delivery made Tristan smile, and he made no attempt to stop the guard from dialing, just leaned back against a tree and awaited my downfall.

Ten seconds after the guard finished dialing, his head jerked up.

“Mr. Cortez?”

Tristan chuckled and shook his head.

“This is Bryan Trau,” the guard said. “SA Unit 17. I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but we have a situation here.”

Tristan jumped so fast he nearly tripped. His hand flew out, and he motioned for the guard to hand over the phone, but the guard stepped away. Tristan started to lift his gun, then stopped as the second guard raised his halfway, the threat respectful but clear.

The guard explained the situation, and I swore I could see Tristan sweating. When the guard finished, he listened, said, “Yes, sir,” then held out the phone.

“Mr. Cortez would like to speak to you.”

Tristan stepped back and looked ready to bolt. Then he caught sight of Marsten and must have, in that second, seen a possible way out, the elimination of the only person who could confirm the entire story. He lifted his gun.

A shot sounded.

I didn’t think. I jumped from the tree. The second I started falling, my brain screamed “Idiot!” and I saw the gun still in my hand. I managed to fling it aside before I landed on top of it and shot myself in the gut.

I hit the ground hard, but scrambled up, grabbed the gun, and ran. As I made it to the clearing, I heard,

“Yes, sir.” Pause. “No, sir. He’s gone.”

I flew into the clearing to see the guard kneeling beside a body. Tristan’s body. In the guard’s other hand, he held his gun.

“Yes, sir, I did. You said if he made a move—” A pause, then the guard nodded and glanced over at me. “She’s here now.”

The guard held out the phone. I hesitated, then took it.

“Is this the young woman who was with Karl?” a voice asked. A pleasant voice. Calm and alert, as if he hadn’t been woken in the middle of the night.

He asked a few questions about me, whether I was hurt and what had happened, his tone mild but concerned, almost avuncular, not what I’d expect from the head of the most powerful Cabal. After a few questions, he said,

“You’ve had a very long night, and I’m sorry you had to go through this, but I can assure you, Mr. Robard was acting outside his jurisdiction. Since he is an employee, though, I take full responsibility for his actions, and will do everything I can to put things right, starting with looking after Karl. Is he badly hurt?”

Oh God, I’d been so shocked I hadn’t even checked. I blurted an apology, and raced to Marsten. The second guard was already there, tending to Marsten, who was unconscious. He’d been shot through the shoulder, and his entire side was wet and sticky. Blood must have been pumping out the whole time he’d been lying there.

Mr. Cortez assured me a doctor, one from his local satellite office, would be on the way. Then he left me to help the guard bind Marsten’s wound as we waited.

14

The guards took Marsten back to my house, then left me there to wait for the doctor while they returned to the scene to clean it up. They weren’t even out of the backyard when the doctor arrived. He got the wound cleaned and covered, left antibiotics and painkillers, and told me to call if Marsten’s condition worsened.

The two guards stopped back at the house to let me know everything was cleaned up. They brought something for me, too—my purse, left by Tristan in the van. My bracelet was still in there, as were my wallet and gun. Everything back in order, just as Mr. Cortez had promised.

We’d left Marsten in the living room, on a blanket. I found a second blanket and laid it over him. He looked ridiculous, of course, this huge wolf on my living room floor with a pink and white knit afghan tucked in around his muzzle. At least I didn’t get him a pillow…though I did consider it.

I lay down on the sofa above him, intending to keep watch until he woke, but, within minutes, I was asleep.

I awoke to the sound of ru