I strode behind the butler, who seemed not at all perturbed by his young employer's predicament...and perhaps somewhat amused to see the boy trapped by a witch's spell.
One guard followed at my heels. The other, after a motion from me, stayed with Paige.
LUCAS
11
THE BUTLER PAUSED at the wooden door.
"I have to knock, sir."
This was one routine he didn't dare break, even at my father's bidding.
The butler rapped. From within I could hear a rock ballad that predated my musical experience, from the seventies perhaps. When I frowned at the lack of response, the butler said, "He probably hears us. Mrs. Cortez was right, sir. He really doesn't like to be disturbed."
"Then I'll take responsibility for doing so."
I tried the door. Locked but with nothing complicated. I removed a card from my wallet and, ignoring the butler's fidgeting, swiped it through the crack.
The office was everything one would expect from a Cabal CEO...or a man who expected to become one. Wood was the primary decorating material, and the air reeked of lemon cleaner. The room was at least five hundred square feet, with a cavernous feel, as if Hector had declared this was the size of office befitting his station, then hadn't known how to adequately fill the space. The lack of clutter made it easy to see that it was unoccupied.
I walked to the bathroom. Empty.
"Is there another exit?" I asked.
The guard said, "No, sir. This room was constructed like your father's home. All the windows are impenetrable and immovable, and secured with spells. There are no exterior exits."
As the guard spoke, the butler's gaze shifted, just a little, to the side.
I turned to him. "Which window opens?"
He flushed. "The farthest on the right, sir. But only from the inside. I know your father insisted on the full security package, but Mr. Cortez..."
"Wanted a personal escape route."
The butler nodded. I knew there was only one reason he'd insist on an exit from this room, into which he could retreat, undisturbed, for hours. An escape route...to visit his mistress. Or I amended, as my gaze lit on a day bed, to sneak her in.
Mistresses were an expected part of a Cabal sorcerer's life, as in any situation where a man marries for duty rather than for love. But a secret way out also gave Hector an alibi when he needed one--his family insistent he'd been within the whole time, never daring to check.
Carlos had arrived at almost precisely the time my father's assassin had driven him into the panic room. He'd entered and left without anyone verifying that he'd actually spoken to Hector. Then he'd made it clear that Hector was not to be disturbed. Establishing a nearly ironclad alibi.
I turned to the butler. "When is the last time anyone saw him?"
"I spoke to him when he got home, around eight. But the cook brought his dinner in at eight-thirty."
I looked at the empty dishes on the desk.
"He calls when he wants them removed. If he's busy, we have to wait until he leaves. When he comes in here--"
"--he doesn't want to be disturbed."
I walked toward the window. It seemed to be ajar.
"Sir?" The guard was on the other side of the desk, looking down.
I saw a leather loafer protruding. I hurried around the desk, and almost slipped in a slick puddle. A pool of blood. Hector lay on his back, blood soaking his shirt front.
I dropped beside him and checked his pulse. I found none.