“Bastard,” I chittered, then flipped him off to make sure he understood.

Jonathan’s few wrinkles deepened as he frowned. Long arm swinging, he smacked my cage with the folder in his hand.

Ignoring my pain, I lunged at him, clinging to the bars with my teeth bared.

He fell back in obvious shock. Flushing, the gaunt man pulled his arm back again.

“Jon,” Trent said softly. Though his voice was a whisper, Jonathan froze. I clung to the bars, heart pounding. “You forget your place. Leave Ms. Morgan alone. If you misjudge her and she fights back, it’s not her fault but yours. You’ve made this mistake before. Repeatedly.”

Seething, I dropped to the floor of the cage and growled. I hadn’t known I could growl, but there it was. Slowly, Jonathan’s clenched hand loosened. “It’s my place to protect you.”

Trent’s eyebrows rose. “Ms. Morgan isn’t in the position to harm anyone. Stop it.”

Eyes going from one to the other, I watched the older man take Trent’s rebuke with an acceptance I wouldn’t have expected. The two had a very odd relationship. Trent was clearly in charge, but remembering the bother in Trent’s face when Jonathan expressed his disapproval of Trent chewing his glasses, it seemed it hadn’t always been so. I wondered if Jonathan had seen to Trent’s upbringing, however briefly, when his mother, and then his father, had died.

“Accept my apologies, Sa’han,” Jonathan said, actually inclining his head.

Trent said nothing, returning to his papers. Though clearly dismissed, Jonathan waited until Trent looked up. “Is there something else?” Trent asked.

“Your eight-thirty is early,” he said. “Shall I accompany Mr. Percy back?”

“Percy!” I squeaked, and Trent glanced at me. Not Francis Percy!

“Yes,” Trent said slowly. “Please do.”

Swell, I thought as Jonathan ducked into the hallway and eased the door shut behind him. Francis’s interrupted interview. I paced the perimeter of my cage, nervous. My muscles were loosening, and the movement felt painfully good. I stopped as I realized Trent hadn’t taken his gaze off me. Under his questioning look, I slunk into my hut, ashamed somehow.

I found Trent was still watching me as I curled my tail about myself, draping it across my nose to keep it warm. “Don’t be angry with Jon,” he said softly. “He takes his station seriously—as he should. If you push him too far, he’ll kill you. Let’s hope you don’t need to learn the same lesson he does.”

I lifted my lip to show my teeth, not liking him giving me wise-old-man crap.

A whiny voice pulled both our attentions to the hallway. Francis. I had told him I could turn into a mink. If he made the right connection, I was as good as dead. Well, more dead than I was. I didn’t want him to see me. Neither, apparently, did Trent.

“Mmmm, yes,” he said, hastily getting up and shifting one of his floor plants to hide my cage. It was a peace lily, and I could see past its wide leaves and still stay hidden. There was a knock, and Trent called, “Come in.”