“Nobody you might piss off. I didn’t hire you for your diplomacy, and you tend to say things you shouldn’t, so just play it cool.”

“I do okay—”

Earl cut me off. “I’ve got one word to sum it up for you…gnomes.”

Crap. He had me there.

We broke up and moved off in different directions to mingle. I had no idea what Earl was concerned about. I could be social with the best of them. After all, these were fellow Monster Hunters, men and women with a higher, nobler calling. Defenders of the innocent, protectors of the good. Like Agent Stark had said, this was a new era of cooperation. This should be a piece of cake.

And then the crowd parted and I was standing in front of three men from Paranormal Tactical, and judging from the scrapes and Band-Aids, they had been at dinner last night. All three of them gave me withering death glares. Earl had wanted discretion, I really didn’t want to go back to jail, and I was already paying for that frigging swan, so I turned and kept walking…only to have the chief jerk himself, Armstrong, step in front of me. I recognized the muscular man standing behind him as Ultimate Fighter, and despite beating the hell out of some of my guys—Melvin’s video confirmed at least two—he didn’t have a scratch on him.

“Owen. I’m surprised to see you here. I heard you took a nasty spill.” The unctuous bastard just oozed sincerity. “Landed in a fountain, if I heard right.”

“No biggie, Rick. The tile broke my fall.”

He looked over my shoulder at his men. “I hope you boys are getting along better after last evening’s unpleasantness.”

“Boys will be boys.”

“I hear you there.” Even his laugh was annoying. It’s weird how some people can be perfectly polite, yet still be complete asshats at the same time. “It’s understandable that your men needed to blow off some steam, especially with all the stress MHI is under.”

“What stress?”

“MHI isn’t used to competition. You’ve got us taking business from you out west, the Vermont Stump Jumpers in the northeast. All these hungrier companies, and MHI is so old-fashioned and stuck in its glory days. It’s got to be tough for you.”

My gosh, I hated this guy. I watched Ultimate Fighter. He seemed wary but relaxed. They weren’t stupid enough to do anything here, what with all of the hotel security being keyed up, not to mention Agent Franks. This was simple Type A personality posturing. Screw it. “Yeah, it is tough being the biggest and best in a world of fly-by-night wannabes, but you get used to it.”

The friendly facade slipped just a little. “Some say the Shacklefords are dinosaurs.”