So, my brother’s wife was human, and that made what I was doing all the more difficult. It did, however, mean that getting access to their house was simple. All security had to be human in origin—it would be difficult to explain away a trigger illusion to a wife who knew nothing of the supernatural. It also had to be as unobtrusive as possible. Even the most trusting wife, if forced to live in an armed camp, will eventually start suspecting her husband’s business isn’t as legitimate as he claims. That meant there was only common external security, but everyone from the butler to the gardener to the maid was a trained Cabal security officer.

Hector’s butler had been expecting us, and had the front door open as soon as we walked up the steps.

“He’s in his office,” he whispered.

“Has he been in there long?”

“Since returning from work shortly after eight.”

“And the family?”

“Mrs. Cortez is discussing tomorrow’s menu with the chef. I told him to keep her occupied. The boys are in bed, so you shouldn’t be disturbed.”

We followed the butler. The two guards brought up the rear. We were passing a darkened living room when a woman’s voice came from the doorway just ahead.

“Hello? Oh. I didn’t hear the bell ring.”

The butler stepped sideways, as if blocking me from her sight. An unnecessary precaution. Bella, Hector’s wife, had never met me. I presumed that was the petite blond woman who stood in the semidark doorway.

She was well dressed and attractive, a combination that usually indicated self-confidence, yet she paused a few feet from us, as if uncertain she had the right to question the appearance of strangers in her home.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Cortez,” Paige said, stepping forward. “We asked your butler not to disturb you. We’re from the office, on a matter that I’m afraid can’t wait until morning.”

Bella cast a nervous glance from us to our guards. “Is Hector expecting you?”

“It’s quite all right, ma’am,” the butler said. “I’ll vouch for them, as will Mr. Cortez.”

“But he doesn’t want to be disturbed. Carlos made that very clear.”

“Carlos Cortez?” I said.

“Yes, his—” She colored. “Of course you know who Carlos is. I’m sorry. Yes, that Carlos.”

“When was Carlos here?”

She checked her watch. “An hour—no, I’m sorry, I mean he left an hour ago, so he arrived perhaps twenty minutes before that. He wasn’t here long.”

Which meant both Carlos and Hector had been here when Troy was shot. So neither could be responsible. William as the mastermind? Much less plausible, which is why I’d felt safe sending Hope and Karl after him.

“I’ll call Hope,” Paige murmured, as if reading my mind.