Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

Avoiding getting seduced, I thought but shook my head. I understood why Balthasar and his gang made me nervous. But they made everyone nervous. “I thought they might know something about what happened to Ben.”

“And did they?” I shook my head, and she said, “We haven’t done much better. Word is that Faber’s lying low after his ring at the Olympus poker tournament went bust. I haven’t heard anything about him taking Ben. He’s keeping it real quiet.”

“How did you guys end up here?”

“Keeping track of you. Boris and Sylvia are on the hunt.”

“What? I spotted Sylvia at the Napoli—”

“They’re keeping tabs on you. So we’re keeping tabs on them.”

“Are they here?” I said, looking around wildly.

“No, unfortunately.”

Unfortunately? I was counting that a small blessing at the moment.

I sensed movement, another set of footsteps approaching. Evan. He strode from the elevator, scanned the lobby, spotted us, and came over. All business, all focused intensity. Even when he joined us, looking me up and down, nodding once when he found me in one piece, part of his attention stayed outward, watching the crowd. I had a feeling he could tell me a lot about all the people here from a few fleeting details, in Sherlock Holmesian fashion.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You better thank me. I hear that Balthasar guy doesn’t like werewolves. Drives ’em out of town when he can.”

“Oh, he wasn’t trying to drive me out,” I said, my smile thin. Except out of my wits, maybe.

He turned to Brenda. “Boris and Sylvia didn’t track her here. I can’t find any sign of them.”

“But they’re still out there,

and I want to know where.”

“Then let’s go hunting,” Evan said, a quirk to his lips and a glint in his eyes. People like him lived for moments like this, I bet. In fact, both of them were grinning.

“What about me?” I said. “What about Ben?”

“We’re still looking,” Evan said. “We still have leads to follow.”

Brenda said, “There’s a chance those two know something. If they do, we’ll get it out of them.” If this had been a movie, she would have drawn her gun and cocked it right then, to accentuate her point. Not that that would have made me feel any better.

“In the meantime,” Evan said to me, “We’re going to take you back to your hotel. And you should stay there until we know Sylvia’s not gunning for you. Got it?”

My thoughts were too tangled to argue. I wanted to go with them. I wanted to find Ben now. I also wanted to bury my face in a pillow. And get rid of these damned heels.

At this point, it was easier to agree.

They escorted me to a cab, which drove us back to the Olympus. This was very nice of them, I supposed. But I had a feeling they were doing it not necessarily because they liked me, but because they really hated Boris and Sylvia. That, I couldn’t argue with. I got a little more annoyed when they walked me from the front lobby to the elevator, then into the elevator and to the room.

Evan left me with final instructions: “Keep the door locked. Keep the chain on. Don’t answer the door for anyone. Stay here, right?”

“I’m not stupid, you know,” I said. He glared at me like he didn’t agree with that assessment.

“Call us if anything happens. If you spot those goons, or if you hear from Ben, call us.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

They didn’t leave until I closed the door and they heard the chain slide into place. I could tell because watched them through the peephole.

So here I was, safe and sound, with nothing to do but wait for Ben. To wait and see what else went horribly wrong. I took the opportunity to peel off the pain-inducing shoes and change out of the dress and into jeans and a T-shirt. My poor abused dress. The one Ben wanted to take off me.