Thirteen (Otherworld 13)

"I figured it out when he didn't like the idea that it's the Cortezes out there."

But Will's plan hadn't failed. Not entirely. The security team combing the warehouse? It was the Nasts. I just didn't want him yelling for help. I could tell him the Nasts would never let him walk out of here alive, but he wouldn't believe me.

"What do we do?" Jake whispered.

"Find me something to bind him with. I saw a spool of wire to the left. If you can't find it, I'll use your shirt."

He nodded and took off. I winced at the patter of his sneakers, but everything else around us was silent, the security team long gone. Just bind Will and--

The crack of a rifle. Then a thump, off to the left. Where I'd sent Jake. As I rolled off Will, I strained to hear. Will did, too. With his superhearing, if there'd been anything, even the rasp of Jake writhing on the floor, he'd have heard it. Instead he gave a satisfied little grunt. Jake was dead.

I shouldn't have let him go. Goddamn it, I shouldn't have let him go.

Focus. Don't think about Jake. Think about myself and how the hell I was going to get to that van--

Will stiffened. He tracked a noise. As I lifted my head, I saw something moving across the floor. A red spot. My tiny light ball? No, that--

I lunged out of the way just as the dot from the rifle sight began to creep across me. A crack, so close it made my ears ring. The shot hit Will in the side and sent him smacking into the crate, the box tumbling, the crash drowning out everything else as I leaped up, hunched over, ready to run--

"Stay where you are!" a voice barked.

A gun barrel rose from the darkness. I turned to run. A figure stepped from the shadows behind me. Another to the other side. A fourth. Four masked and armed gunmen, their weapons trained on me.

"I'm Savannah Levine," I said, the words spilling out so fast they were barely intelligible. "The Cortezes know I'm here. Sean will know I'm here. My brother. Sean Nast."

Please, please, let one of you be on Sean's side. Let one of you at least believe he'll be your next CEO. I don't care whether you think I'm his sister or not. He thinks I am. That means something.

Silence. Then one gun dropped. Two more inched down, uncertain. The fourth didn't budge, but the gunman shifted his weight, his face mask turning toward his comrades.

The squeak of another pair of booted feet approaching. The officer who'd lowered his gun turned toward the newcomer.

"Sir, it's--"

"Shit." The newly arrived officer muttered the word under his breath. Then he pulled off his mask. "Miss Nast."

The one who hadn't lowered his gun made a noise deep in his throat and shifted again. The senior officer's glare shut him down. I recognized the officer. His name was . . . Damn it, I couldn't remember. Lucas always said it was important to know the names of everyone in a Cabal. It was a lesson he'd learned from his father, and one Sean emulated. Treat your employees with respect, starting with learning their names.

As sweat dripped down my face, I really, really wished I'd listened. When four armed security officers surround you, knowing the name of the guy in charge made a big difference.

"H-hello," I said. "We met in San Francisco."

He nodded. Not rude. Not friendly either. Just polite. A couple of years ago, there'd been some security threat against the inner family, so Sean had to bring two extra guards on our weekend riding trip. This guy had been one of them, which made him Sean's man. He had to be, if he'd called me Miss Nast. God, I hoped he was.

He motioned for the others to lower their guns.

"We're on the same side," I said quickly. "This guy--" I pointed to Will, dead on the floor. "He was your contact. I'd infiltrated the group. The Cortezes know about it--"

He lifted his hand, cutting me off, then turned to the others. "This is level-four security, boys. I'm going to need to take Miss Nast outside. I want you to continue combing the building."

As he waved them off, he took my elbow and whispered, "Hurry."

We got about five paces before a voice said, "Captain Kaufman. Who do you have there?"

Kaufman froze. He started to tell me to run, then snapped his mouth shut. I couldn't run with armed men behind me. Kaufman's gaze dropped in unspoken apology as he took hold of my arm.

"Sir," he said. "It's Savannah . . . Levine."

The man standing ten feet away didn't wear a uniform. Didn't carry a gun. He didn't need to. It was Josef Nast.