Thirteen (Otherworld 13)

It was coffee beans, marked with the logo of a California chain. Reading the label on another box, I ripped it open and tossed him a tiny bag.

"Try those."

"Chocolate-covered coffee beans. Even better."

We let Kaufman and Curry case the room. We didn't quite see the point. It was roughly twelve feet square. The hatch had been under a section of tile that lifted when we came out, then seamlessly settled back in place. There was only one door.

That was all just a little too simple for the security guys, who apparently had to make sure there weren't booby traps waiting to blow up a hapless barista.

"It's a coffee shop, guys," I said. "I can sense people outside. Patrons. Drinking coffee. If I listen carefully, I can even hear them talking. As for why the Nast top-secret executive escape hatch exits into a coffee shop . . ."

"They own the chain," Kaufman said.

"Seriously? No wonder Sean always takes me to these. Cheapskate."

Kaufman shushed me politely, then listened at the door.

"Lot of patrons for this hour," Kaufman said.

"There's a show gets out at midnight around the corner," Curry said. "They come here for coffee and dessert. I had to wait twenty minutes for a coffee on my midnight break last week."

Kaufman nodded and whispered back to me, "I'm going to need to keep my gun holstered as we leave."

"Okay."

"Once we're out, we're getting in a cab. There's a car waiting, but it's a few blocks away. Farther from headquarters."

"Got it."

Kaufman eased open the door and stepped out. Adam followed, then me, with an energy bolt at the ready. Curry whispered in my ear, "It's going to be okay, miss. Everything will be okay."

Did I look nervous? Maybe I was. Silly, considering we were sneaking into a coffee shop. A little surreal, too.

In front of us, Kaufman straightened. We did the same. Just four people walking out of the hall marked Staff Only. Two of them in security uniforms and two wearing blood-flecked clothing that looked like they'd slept in it on a filthy floor. We could only hope everyone was too busy talking about the play to notice us.

As we approached the swinging door into the cafe, the buzz of conversation grew louder. Men and women talking and laughing, forks tinkling against china, mugs clanking against tabletops.

"It's going to be okay, miss," Curry whispered again. "Just stay calm and don't panic, whatever happens."

From the tremor in his voice, I wasn't the one who needed the reassurance. Kaufman waved me up beside him. Adam put his arm around my waist. Casual. Just act casual.

Kaufman pushed open the door. We stepped out. And twenty "patrons" leaped to their feet, guns pointed at us.

TWENTY-TWO

You bastard," I snarled as I spun on Curry. "You set us up."

"I've got kids, miss. I--"

I sent him flying with a knockback spell. As I turned to confront our ambushers, Adam grabbed my arm and whispered, "No."

He was right. Kaufman had his hands raised and he looked two seconds from throwing up. He was a dead man. If he'd thought he had a hope in hell of fighting his way out of this, he would have, but he raised his hands and said, "I want to speak to Sean Nast. This is his sister--"

"You bought that line of bull, Captain?" An officer stepped forward. "I thought you were smarter than that."

"No, she is his sister," Curry said. "Her blood opened the security gate. She's a Nast--"

A rap at the front door. The shades were all drawn, including the one over the door. A louder knock.