Fate’s Edge (The Edge #3)(25)
Author: Ilona Andrews

Jack clicked his mouth shut and sat straighter.

"I understand, believe me," Kaldar said. "I have an older brother, and I make it a point to disappoint him at least once every month. But you are on my time now. You need to get out of this childish mind-set, because it will get you killed. You can do this stupid sibling-rivalry bullshit on your own time."

It seemed like a really good time to be quiet, so Jack did just that. The city rolled by his window. On the way from the boundary, they had passed through some woods. Old, scarred trees that looked like they belonged in the Weird rather than the Broken. The woods had encroached on the city – he could see places where they had snuck in – patches never cleared between the groups of houses, a huge tree somebody forgot to cut down growing from a small patch of dirt left bare by the pavement, parks . . . It seemed strange that people would want to live here, in a place where it always rained, fighting free of the woods.

Kaldar kept driving: right, left, turning down the gradually widening streets until he finally pulled the car into a large parking lot in front of a tall tower of glass and stone.

"Audrey Callahan works in that building."

"How do you know?" George asked.

"While you were getting pretty and picking out clothes, I made some calls to local PI firms listed in the phone book. I asked for Audrey. This firm transferred me to her office answering machine." Kaldar looked pleased with himself, like a cat who’d gotten into some sweet cream. "Here’s the plan: I go in. The two of you wait here. Look like you’re loitering but watch the doors. I doubt Audrey will be happy to see me."

"Are you going to torture her?" Jack asked.

Kaldar stopped and gave him an odd look. "No. If you see us come out together, you wait until we get to the car. If you see a young woman with red hair come out alone, like she is in a hurry, that means things didn’t go smoothly."

Kaldar reached into his bag and pulled out a small metal box with a flower engraved in its top. He pushed the center of the flower. The metal petals sprang up with a click. Jack inspected the edges. Razor-sharp and serrated at the bottom.

"This is a magic tracker. It works only in the Weird or in the Edge. It’s designed to attach to carriages, but it’s magnetic and should stick to a car as well. George, take this tracker. If Audrey comes out alone, follow her and stick the tracker to the back or bottom of her vehicle. Use the skateboard as a diversion." Kaldar looked at Jack. "While he is doing that, you will follow my scent into the building, find me, and . . ."

"Save you?" Jack asked.

"Assist me. Don’t get ahead of yourself, there."

"Assist." That was a nice way to put it.

"Are we clear?" Kaldar asked.

Jack nodded.

"Off we go, then."

002

ANY day that started with a check was a good day. Audrey grinned and checked the folder in her hands as she walked through the long, carpeted hallway of Milano Investigations. She wore a beige pantsuit that did lovely things for her skin tone, her hair was braided away from her face, and inside her folder a blue pay stub showed $822 deposited into her account. Honest money, honestly earned. She didn’t even begrudge the government biting a chunk off in taxes.

In eighty-two days she would be eligible to apply for benefits. And today promised to be good. She would play second fiddle to Johanna Parker on an attorney case. She’d met Johanna yesterday – she was forty-five, dark-eyed, gray-haired and proud of it, and retired from the Seattle PD. Apparently when a defendant retained a private attorney in a criminal case, that attorney in turn often retained a PI, especially if that PI was a retired cop. The PI would do the legwork, talk to cops, talk to witnesses, review police reports, and so on. And Audrey would get to sit in on all of it and see how the other side worked.

Oh yes. Today would be good. If she wasn’t trying to be professional, she’d run down the hallway squealing, "Wheeeee!" like a four-year-old who had just been told she would get to go to the water park. She reached for her office door.

"Audrey!" Johanna’s voice called behind her.

Audrey turned on her heel. "Yes, ma’am?"

Johanna was leaning out of her office two doors down the hallway, half-in, half-out. "You have a client. Serena put him in your office because George has the conference room."

A client? Already? "Thank you!" Audrey took the door handle.

"He said he’s a friend of your brother."

A little ball of ice burst inside Audrey and petrified her in place. Nothing connected with Alex could be good. It wasn’t her father – Seamus was too vain. He would’ve said he was her father. No, this was either some drug dealer or someone who had gotten wind of the heist and wanted his money.

She stared at the door. Her instincts said, "Walk away." Let go of the door handle, turn around, walk away, and keep walking.

"Anyway, I need you at ten, so you have about an hour," Johanna said. "Do you think you can wrap it up by then?"

Audrey heard her own voice. "Yes, ma’am." Go into your office so I can escape. Go into your office.

Johanna laughed. "You can stop calling me ‘ma’am.’ We’re less formal here on the West Coast. Just ‘Johanna’ will do."

"Okay, Johanna." Audrey forced a smile. Go away.

Johanna turned to stop into her office and paused.

Now what?

Serena was walking down the hallway with a pack of folders. Oh no. Keep walking. Keeeep walking.

Serena stopped by Johanna’s doorway and held out a file. She would have to go by them to get outside. Her escape route was gone.

Why now? Why when everything is going so well? Am I cursed or something?

Audrey swallowed. That was fine. She was a Callahan. She would handle it.

Audrey opened the door. A man stood by the window, looking out. He wore faded jeans, tan leather work boots, and a charcoal hoodie. She could walk outside and find ten men wearing a variation of the same thing. People on the West Coast took it easy and didn’t bother with too much formality. Out here, he could be anyone: an older college student, a college professor, or the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company.

His hair was neither too long nor too short, tousled, and very dark, almost black. His shoulders were wide, his waist mostly hidden by the sweatshirt, but his butt looked like he’d spent a fair amount of time running. Hair and butt said younger than forty, shoulders said older than teens. Probably late twenties. Her entire assessment took about a second.

Audrey beamed a bright, pretty-girl smile, and said, "Hi!"

The man turned.