Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Glenn shrugged, clearly embarrassed. “I got an extra two hours by sleeping here than I would driving home and back. And it paid off. Rachel, your idea about the street cams was a good one,” he said. “Martie, you know about cars, right?”

            “Some,” she said, but her fingers were twitching, and I leaned to check out her shoes. She had a very low heel, and I didn’t think it was because she was already pushing six feet tall. The confident woman was in a career family, and I felt a twinge of kinship.

            “Good.” Glenn rustled about his desk until he found a paper and handed it to her. “I need you to go down to impound and find something that runs but needs work. Oh, and put on street clothes. You have some here, don’t you?”

            “Always,” the woman said as she took two steps backward to the door. “Ms. Castle, Ms. Morgan, I’m looking forward to working with you to recover Mr. Hue.”

            “Um,” I stammered, not sure what was going on, but she was already in the hall, her pace fast as she called out for someone to hold the elevator.

            Jenks rose up, wings rasping. “What do you got, Glenn?” he asked. “Rachel has a couple of finding amulets to prime for Walter.”

            “Great. I’ll send one with Martie for confirmation.” Mouse in hand, Glenn hooked his foot onto his rolling chair and pulled it forward in a practiced motion. “I’ve got a pretty good lead. Come and see.”

            “This is taking too long . . .” Cassie complained, and I looped my arm in hers and dragged her closer. I was pretty sure that Glenn noticed, even if he was focused on his computer, clicking open a folder and finding a video.

            “Right. Here. Take a squint at this.”

            He clicked it to play and dropped away. I inched forward, practically shoving Cassie into the chair right before the desk. Jenks pushed off from my shoulder, landing lightly to watch the fuzzy shot of a city street. The time stamp was this morning, and my pulse quickened as first one, then three figures came running toward it, the last rolling a wheelchair holding an unresisting figure. It was David. It had to be.

            “They took him out in a wheelchair?” Cassie whispered. “The foul-bred curs!”

            Glenn glanced at her. “I pulled this from the street cams a few minutes before I got Rachel’s call.” Silent, he watched as David was slung into a big cab and driven off.

            “I can’t see the plate,” Jenks said as he stood before the screen. “Can you sharpen it?”

            “Nope.” Glenn leaned over me to work the mouse and play it again. The scent of his cologne drifted to me, and I smiled. “But we got it at the next light,” the man added, and a picture of a street cam photo came up. “It was reported as stolen the day before. Golden Key Kab. Unfortunately we lost it in a parking garage.”

            Cassie stared at him. “You didn’t track the plates of every car that left?”

            “We tracked everything that came out for the next half hour. But this particular garage is attached to the subfloors of the Cincinnatian.”

            My shoulders slumped. “And from there, they could go anywhere. The Cincinnatian doesn’t maintain cameras in their undead areas.”

            Wings humming, Jenks went to sit on Glenn’s shoulder, startling him. “They don’t want anyone knowing what they do down there.”

            “Or with who,” I added, stymied.

            “You lost them.” Cassie took control of the mouse, halting the feed and zooming in. “Golden Key Kab.” She reached for her phone. “Address . . . I’m going to go talk to their owner.”

            I stiffened in worry, but Glenn was faster. “Whoa, hold up,” Glenn said, and Cassie’s silver eyes narrowed in challenge. “Walter is using stolen cabs to cover his tracks, but I don’t think the owner is in on it. All the cabs in Cincinnati are equipped with LoJack. The ones Walter lifted were disabled, but he made a mistake.”

            “Which doesn’t mean the cab owner is innocent,” Cassie started, but Glenn had already taken control of the mouse to bring up a map.

            “Agreed, but all the LoJacks went offline at the same spot. Here.”

            Cassie leaned forward, finger tapping the screen. “I know that place,” she said. “That’s a chop shop working out of a legit auto repair. The guy who owns it ran up a thirty-grand tab and offered me a stolen convertible. Thanks for the lead.”