What the hell had happened? Burn marks—maybe from the salamander? The scratches could have been from a dodged spell. A lethal one by the looks of the scraped floor. Maybe Natalie fought them and lost. I looked over the room one last time before deciding that I wasn’t knowledgeable enough about witchcraft to figure out exactly what had happened, and then I headed back to her office.

Had she been taken? The room looked like it had been through a battle, and I was pretty certain that two witches fighting would probably create a mess at least that big. I flipped back a page in her planner and my stomach dropped. Last night, penciled in for seven thirty, was the name Viktor.

I plucked her phone from the cradle and looked at the screen. The fancy output had several sorts of lists, including who she’d called, calls she’d missed, and incoming calls she’d actually answered. I thumbed through the list of outgoing calls for yesterday. Several before seven thirty.

I tried the first. A woman answered with an informal, “Hello?” I muttered a, “Sorry, wrong number,” and hung up the phone. The next number was to a deli down the street—probably her lunch or dinner order. I got lucky on number three.

La Maison.

One of the nicest hotels in the area, it was undoubtedly where Koslov stayed while he was in town. The building was also adjacent to the alley where we’d found the burned remains.

“Viktor Koslov’s room,” I said to the operator.

“One moment, please.” The phone clicked and started ringing through, and I slammed the phone back on the cradle.

This was all my fault. I glanced at Natalie’s picture, propped on her desk. She smiled from the arms of an older woman. My stomach sank. I had to help her. And fast. I itched to call Costa, to tell him what was going on and get his opinion on where we should go from here, but I couldn’t do that. It wasn’t proper procedure, for one. I had to call this in to my boss. For another, I didn’t trust Costa. Oh sure, I knew enough about him to know he wasn’t a criminal, but that didn’t make him trustworthy when it came down to it. I’d only known the man for a few days, and his partner’s words still reverberated through my mind.

I picked up the phone to call the station. Vasquez was going to love this.

The lieutenant didn’t sound happy to hear my news, but after the third time I went through all of the evidence— the dates, the M.O., the mess in Natalie’s casting room— he conceded that I might be on to something.

“All right. But this had better be airtight, Whitman.

He’s a goddamn Covenant council member. Are you still at the witch’s office?” Vasquez sounded irritated, but not angry. That was good. He might actually believe me.

“I’m at Natalie’s, but I’ll head over to La Maison.” I tapped Natalie’s pen against her desk and wished that I had called from my cell phone. At least I’d be more mobile than I was calling from Natalie’s landline.

“The hell you will,” Vasquez grated. “You’re to stay as far away from that hotel as possible. You’re too close to this case, and I don’t need any fuckups in the takedown.”

“This is my sister, Vasquez!”

“I know that.” He lowered his voice. “I’m not saying you haven’t done some damn good investigating here, Whitman. You’ve gotten us enough to pick him up and search his room, at least. But you can’t be there.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.” And with that jaw-dropping announcement hanging in the air, he muttered, “I’ll be in touch,” and hung up the phone.

I gaped at the phone and tried to move past Vasquez’s apology—something akin to a meteor hitting a house in its rarity—to try to plan my next move. I couldn’t go to La Maison. Ignoring Vasquez in this would almost certainly cost me my badge. And what if we didn’t catch Koslov?

Then I’d be completely shut out. No, I couldn’t go there.

I frowned and considered what I knew of Koslov and this perp’s M.O. Chances were very slim that Elaine or Natalie would actually be at the hotel. It was a nice place and while I was certain they gave their best customers a lot of latitude, two kidnapped women would not go unnoticed or unreported. No. He’d keep them somewhere no one would notice them. My money was still on a warehouse or other out of the way dump.

I took a file folder from my bag and then stared at the list that the vampire Magister had given us. Even with me, Costa, and the officers Vasquez had ordered to help, we’d only checked half of the warehouses on the list. I looked at the plotted map and frowned. None of the warehouses were near La Maison, per se. Most were clear across town.

Only two dots stood out on the map that were anywhere near Koslov’s hotel. He’d want to keep her close, right?

“Great,” I muttered. It was a long shot, but what else could I do? Going to the hotel wasn’t an option. I might as well check out the warehouse. I couldn’t just sit and wait to hear back from Vasquez.

I locked Natalie’s office door on my way out. It was an easy to open handle lock, but I didn’t have a key for the door outside the waiting room, which could be secured with a sturdy deadbolt. Then I took the elevator down to the lobby and stopped at the reception desk. “When was the last time you saw Natalie Leigh?”

“Pardon?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at my tone.

I flashed my badge to remind her that I wasn’t just a pretty face, and asked her again. “When?”

She shrugged. “No idea. A few days, I guess. I see her going to lunch occasionally, or out for appointments.”

“Days?” I asked incredulously.

“She doesn’t check in with me; I work for the whole building. She’ll send her schedule down occasionally.

E-mail me when she doesn’t want walk-ins. But other than you cops she doesn’t get a lot of unexpected traffic.”

“All right. No one goes into Natalie Leigh’s office,” I told the woman. “No one except cops. Got it?”

Her eyes widened, and she nodded hurriedly. Backup would arrive soon. It would have to do. I couldn’t wait around for them, even if they weren’t under orders from Vasquez to keep me there, which they probably were.

I headed for my car and hoped that Koslov was already being cuffed.

Of the two warehouses that were closest to La Maison, I decided the one by the lake was probably the most likely place. It was slightly farther from the hotel than the other building but was situated in a more industrial area. The other building looked like it might just be close enough to a nearby strip mall for noise to be overheard. Other than a few distant large plants and some storage units, the one I chose to check first was quite isolated.

I parked a block from the warehouse and examined my phone. I should call Costa. I knew that. But I’d be damned if it wasn’t difficult. I considered calling Mac instead, but she’d almost definitely been pulled in for the arrest at the hotel. Besides, I didn’t want to put her job in jeopardy. Astrid would be much the same. Calling anyone on the freak squad was a bad idea. The ones who would help me could endanger their careers by doing so. The rest—like Vasquez—would order me expressly not to do what I planned. My only hope of a career after this was not receiving that direct order. That left Costa.

And his freakishly stunning redheaded partner.

I ground my teeth and hit his number. Three rings and it went to voice mail.

“Flipping A,” I muttered. Was Costa in on the hotel bust, too? I didn’t think Vasquez would likely be willing to pull the OWEA agent in for the bust, but if he hadn’t had a choice...Costa could have been at the station when I called. It would have been difficult to hide an operation like that from the OWEA agent if he’d been in the building at the time. Forgetting to call him was one thing, something Vasquez might do. Lying to an OWEA agent’s face was something else altogether.

Maybe he just didn’t want to talk to me.

Swallowing around a lump in my throat, I redialed his number. This time it went straight to voice mail. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m checking a warehouse near La Maison. Not sure if Vasquez filled you in, but I think our guy might be keeping them here—Elaine and Natalie.” I let out the breath in a big whoosh. If Vasquez hadn’t explained everything to Costa, he was out of luck.

I couldn’t leave all the details on his voice mail. I didn’t have the time or the patience. I left the address of the warehouse in a long rush and then hit end on my phone.

At least someone would know where I was.

I left the car parked a couple of blocks from the warehouse, and then pulled a crowbar and flashlight from my trunk.

Getting in and out quickly was more important than making a quick getaway—I hoped. I stood by a building next to the one owned by the Chevaliers and did my best to stay out of sight. I kept my gun in its holster and carried the crow bar in one hand and the flashlight in the other.

The warehouse was old, but not as old as the ones we’d looked at across town. The metal was rusting in places, but it didn’t look ready to fall over any second.

The only window I could see was in the front door, along the top. Enter through the back or the front? Finally I decided to make my way to the back. I strode around and approached from behind, careful to do my best to appear I belonged. Sneaking around would cause more suspicion if someone saw me. Then again, in this area, dressed as I was in my neat skirt suit and short heels, just the sight of me was likely to draw attention.

Mud squicked around my shoes as I made my way to the back door. An even bigger window than the one that graced the front door was built into it, paned by small pieces of wood forming smaller windows. But the room beyond was dark, so I was just going to have to take a chance.

I smashed the small piece of glass closest to the deadbolt and then paused, listening. My heart thudded so loudly it was hard to make out anything else. So I stopped and breathed, trying to calm myself, trying to listen.

Nothing. I removed what I could of the glass with the crowbar and then reached in and turned the lock. Then, very slowly, I turned the handle and pushed the door.