“He killed Bianca. The guy you jumped. I…saw it.”

His gaze swung to mine. He didn’t ask “are you okay?” because he knew I wouldn’t be, and it had nothing to do with the horror of watching someone die. His arm went around my back as he leaned toward my ear and whispered, “We’ll talk.”

“After we get the hell out of here, right? Before someone discovers the body and finds us hiding under the pool table.”

A small smile. “Preferably.”

I pushed up as he backed out from under the table. I was getting to my feet when he pushed me back under and dropped beside me.

“Footsteps.”

A door slapped open, and Tony’s voice wafted in. “—goddamn cleaners. Just like the last time. Guy freaks out, certain the Cortezes broke in. I say, ‘Hey man, couldn’t the cleaners have forgotten to reset the alarm,’ but no…Gotta be a conspiracy.”

“Bianca’s supposed to be here for deliveries,” Max said. “Could have been her.”

“Bee’s going to forget to rearm the system? As if.”

“Looks like she’s still doing inventory. The hall light’s on. We should tell her about the alarm.”

“And get shanghaied into helping count boxes? Enjoy. I’m heading around back, see whether Guy’s here, if he has any news about Jaz and Sonny.”

We waited until Max and Tony stepped through their respective exits, then hightailed it out.

LUCAS 5

LUCAS

5

PORTLAND IS A CITY of many charms. Primary among them is the geography—almost as far as I can get from my father and his Cabal without leaving the continental U.S. As the saying goes, though: act in haste, repent at leisure. I suggested that Paige and I settle in Portland during a particularly dark period between my father and myself, and I have, in some ways, come to regret it. The distance may be comforting, but if trouble arises in Miami, it takes me a while to get there.

While Paige had the insight to pack overnight bags and print out the flight schedule after Karl’s call, it was still late in the day by the time our plane crossed the Florida border.

A trip to Miami is never something I undertake lightly. It is the seat of the Cortez Cabal, and when I am there, I cannot forget who I am.

It’s not that I consider Cabals evil entities. I wish I could. Early life conditions us for a fairy-tale world of good and evil, of wicked witches and beautiful princesses, hideous trolls and stalwart knights. You are good or you are evil and there’s no in-between, no “extenuating circumstances.”

We don’t like extenuating circumstances. They make things messy. We want evil to hide behind a dark mask—cold and faceless. If the villain is not evil, how do you hate him?

If your father is not evil, how do you hate him?