Living With the Dead (Otherworld 9)

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."

"This is a matter of some delicacy," Finn said, in the same measured tone. "I'm sure Mr. Nast would prefer I didn't call on him at home. Why don't you call him and ask if you can give me the number. Or call and hand me the phone."

"Mr. Nast has left for the day. I don't expect him to return. It's Sunday."

"Which is why I'm asking for his number."

/> The guard checked his display screen. "Oh, I'm sorry. Mr. Nast is unavailable this weekend."

"Has he left town?"

The young man's lips pressed together for - yes, Finn counted - eight seconds. "I'm not privy to the personal plans of our employees, sir. Mr. Irving Nast has indicated he is unavailable this weekend and if a situation requiring executive attention arises, it should be directed to another vice president. Would you like me to do that for you?"

At the sound of footsteps, Finn looked to see a man striding from the elevators. He was midtwenties, tall and slender, carrying a briefcase and wearing a navy-striped crewneck and dark jeans. Finn pegged him as a fresh MBA. Part of that expensive education should have taught him that as important as it was to put in overtime, corporate success was just as dependent on image, and the casual look and blond ponytail wasn't going to score him any points with upper management, even on a Sunday.

"Sir?"

Finn looked back at the guard.

"Would you like me to contact an alternate executive?"

"I don't think that would help with my investigation and I'd hate to waste anyone's time. It's very important that I speak to Irving Nast himself, and I can't wait for tomorrow, not on a case that involves four murders, including the deaths of two LAPD officers."

"I'm quite certain Mr. Nast would know nothing about that."

"I'm sure you're right." Finn sucked the sarcasm from his words. "I still need to speak to him."

"Let me contact Josef Nast for you. He's our CFO. Perhaps he can - "

"I don't think you understand. The CFO - "

" - will really not want to be bothered on a Sunday," said the young ponytailed man from behind Finn. "My uncle Josef is at church, as I'm sure your schedule shows, Mark."

The clerk jerked up, like a soldier snapping to attention. In the consternation that crossed his face, Finn saw the first proof that the man was indeed flesh and blood.

"Mr. Nast, sir," the guard said.

Finn took a closer look at the young man, seeing his face full-on, the resemblance to the photo now clear in the coloring and the brilliant blue eyes, though his build and features were thinner. That would explain how he got away with the ponytail.

The young man extended his hand. "Sean Nast."

"Mr. Nast is our COO," the guard said with a note of sourness that blamed Finn for making him look bad in front of a VIP.

Finn shook his hand and introduced himself.

"You wanted to speak to... ?" Nast prompted.

"Irving Nast."

"Ah, you just missed him." Nast checked his watch. "Irving won't be home yet and I suspect if I call his cell, he won't answer." A wry smile. "I spent the morning pestering him with questions on a project and he was eager to be off. Why don't we go up to my office and I'll call his house in a few minutes, explain the situation and get him back here for you? He'll likely prefer not to have the police come to his home."

* * *

COLM

Colm leaned over the stairwell railing, watching the second-floor door, ready to fly up the stairs if it opened. After a moment of listening, he closed his eyes and concentrated. The werewolf's image popped open like a computer window. Colm smiled.

Colm took this as a sign he was back in the gods' favor. He'd tried fixing on the Indian girl or Robyn or the man in the ball cap. But that was pushing his luck.