I forced my hand down and said, once our captive had hung up, “Where’s the meeting point?”

“There won’t be one.” The satisfaction so evident in her reply practically oozed from her skin. “Not now.”

“Churton was a code for capture?” Cynwrig asked.

The woman glanced at him, her expression scathing. “Do you think either of us are fucking stupid? We knew who we were dealing with and were well aware capture was a possibility.”

“Giving her a warning means you won’t get paid,” I noted. “All you end up with is a prison sentence.”

“Our agreement included compensation for possible capture. As I said, I’m not an idiot.”

I swore and scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Where was the original exchange point?”

“I would have been told if I’d replied negatively to Churton.”

“Well planned indeed.” Cynwrig took the phone from her hand and glanced at me. “We’ll get the number traced, though it’s likely to be a burner and will probably be dumped.”

“Probably.” I glared at the woman’s smug features for a second, and an idea that was very much tied to the base need of revenge stirred. “What sort of car do you drive?”

“White Ford Transit Courier.”

Which was the perfect little van for this sort of work, because while it was of the smaller cars in the Ford fleet, it processed a decent load space and good fuel economy. I knew this because I once had a date who was seriously into little vans and who regaled me about their benefits while I was trapped in said van with him going to dinner.

“And did your pre-arranged code word also account for the possibility of us taking possession of your van?”

“No—”

“Good.” I made a give-me motion. “Keys, location, and parking ticket if there is one. Also, are there only the four of you involved in this kidnapping stunt?”

“Yes.”

“Then for future reference, neither you nor your people will bid on or accept a contract involving me, my brother, or Lord Lùtair here—understood? And if Vincentia—the woman you know as Minnie Mouse—contacts you, you are not to tell her—or anyone else, for that matter—that we now have your van. In fact, you’re not to say anything to her about anything you’ve seen or heard here tonight.”

She scowled at me and, as I repeated the give-me motion, handed over the three items I’d requested.

“I take it you have a plan,” Cynwrig said.

I nodded and glanced around as the specialized ambulance finally arrived. Several IIT cars followed it into the lane, one Sgott’s.

“I’ll explain everything later. We need to deal with this lot first.”

While Cynwrig led the fae medic over to the bin holding the wounded shifter, I retrieved my purse, shoved my sheathed knives back into it, then pulled out my phone to see who the ill-timed call had been from.

It wasn’t a call. It was an alert from the newly installed movement alarm in the stairwell leading up to my living quarters.