“Ms. Demeter,” I said, keeping my tone neutral. “Good day.”

She finished turning off her laptop, folded it shut, and put it away in a drawer before she looked up and gave me a quiet nod. “Mister Dresden. What happened to your face?”

“It’s always like this,” I said. “I forgot to put on my makeup today.”

“Ah,” she said. “Will you have a seat?”

“Thanks,” I said. I sat down across the desk from her. “I apologize if I’ve inconvenienced you.”

Her shoulder twitched in a nanoshrug. “It’s nice to know the limitations of those I’ve appointed my receptionist,” she replied. “What can I do for you?” Then she lifted her hand. “Wait. Allow me to rephrase. What can I do to most quickly get rid of you?”

A sensitive guy might have felt a little hurt by that remark. Good thing I’m me. “I’m looking for Marcone,” I told her.

“Have you called his office?”

I blinked slowly at her once. Then I repeated, “I’m looking for Marcone.”

“I’m sure you are,” Demeter said, her expression never flickering. “What does that have to do with me?”

I felt a tight smile strain my lips. “Ms. D, I can’t help but wonder why you instructed your receptionist to tell anyone who asked after you that you weren’t in the office.”

“Perhaps I had some paperwork I needed to get done.”

“Or perhaps you know that Marcone is missing, and you’re using it as a tactic to stall any of his lieutenants who come nosing around looking to fill the void.”

She stared at me for a moment, her expression giving away nothing. “I really can’t say that I know what you’re talking about, Mister Dresden.”

“You sure you don’t want to get rid of me?” I asked. “You want me to stay here and lean on you? I can make it really hard for you to do business, if I’m feeling motivated.”

“I’m sure,” Demeter replied. “Why would you want to find him?”

I grimaced. “I have to help him.”

She arched a single, well-plucked eyebrow. “Have to?”

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“And not terribly credible,” she replied. “I am well aware of your opinions regarding John Marcone. And even assuming that I had any information as to his whereabouts, I’m not sure that I’d wish to make a bad situation worse.”

“How could you do that?” I asked.

“By involving you,” she replied. “You clearly do not have Mr. Marcone’s best interests in mind, and your involvement could push his captors into precipitous action. I doubt you’d lose a moment’s sleep were he to be killed.”

I would have shot back a witty reply if I hadn’t slipped on a banana peel of self-recrimination, having said more or less those exact words not long before.

“But sir!” came Billie’s voice in protest from the hall outside.

The doorway darkened behind me, and I turned to find several large men standing there. The foremost of their number was a big guy, late forties, with an ongoing romance with beer, or maybe pasta. He wore his heart on his potbelly. His well-tailored suit mostly hid the gut, and it would have concealed the shoulder rig and sidearm he wore beneath it if he’d made the least effort to avoid exposing it as he moved.