Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            Cassie stood, forcing me back a step. “No.” I reached for her. “You are not taking the pack out there,” I said, and the woman stopped short. She had recently become the pack’s alpha female, and I knew she was stronger willed than even me. Needless to say, my gut was in a Gordian knot. “Please,” I added as Glenn shuffled his feet.

            “Martie is going out to check for suspicious behavior,” Glenn said.

            “Her?” Cassie blurted, and my eye twitched. “She can’t even shift.”

            “She has two years in undercover, and not being a Were is an asset in this particular situation.” Glenn’s attention went out the open door and into the noisy offices. “Please. Sit. We will know a lot more in a few hours.”

            “David might be dead in a few hours,” Cassie said, and I wondered if I’d be handling this any better if it had been Trent who was abducted. Probably not.

            “Cassie, please,” I said, and she glared at me. “They know what you look like. If you show up, even with a busted car, they will go deeper into hiding.”

            “So I go as a fox, or you can magic me into someone else,” she said.

            “Martie has this,” I said, brow furrowed. “Jenks can go, maybe, but not you.”

            “Oh, sure.” Cassie cocked her hip, clearly peeved. “Like he won’t be recognized?”

            “No offense, Rachel,” Glenn added, “but she’s right. If they see a pixy, they’ll get twitchy.”

            Jenks dusted a peeved orange as he flew to the center of the room. “I’ve been sneaking around since before you shot your first popgun, Glenn. No one is going to see me, much less recognize me. We all look alike to you lunkers.”

            Glenn took a breath to protest, then thought better of it, lightly rubbing his neck. He’d gotten on Jenks’s bad side once. Once was enough.

            Cassie deflated with a startling suddenness, seemingly lost as she leaned against the wall beside the door, arms around her middle. “I can’t sit here and do nothin’,” she whispered, and I touched her arm in support. I hadn’t known the depth of her feelings for David. This was more than a fling, and I forced myself to smile—even if she could tell it was a lie.

            “When was the last time you ate?” I said, and her eyes welled. “Let’s grab something at Piscary’s. Give Glenn and Martie time to work. I want to talk to Pike. Maybe borrow his muscle. I don’t want to bring the pack in on this if I don’t have to.”

            “This is a pack matter,” Cassie said, and I wondered how the Were registry was handling a werefox being a female alpha of a traditional Were pack. Probably better than when I’d been one. “I can’t go back to them and tell them that the FIB and Piscary’s vampires are handling it.”

            Silent, Glenn went to one of his dad’s file cabinets, and Jenks joined him as he began to search. “Cassie,” I pleaded. “I know you want to help, but Walter has his own rules, and they pull on the worst practices imaginable. I don’t want you, or anyone in David’s pack, to have those nightmares.”

            Cassie flushed. “You are actin’ like a mongrel bludger. David is my alpha.”

            I glanced at Jenks, not knowing whether that was an insult or not, and he shrugged. “Yeah? Well he’s my friend,” I said forcefully. “Don’t you ever think I don’t care. I am more worried about David than you are.”

            Her brow furrowed. “I beg—”

            “No,” I interrupted. “I’m more worried about David because I know what Walter is capable of. I’m sure you can find him. Crash down on him with half the Weres of the city. But a large attack will be seen. Walter might kill David before we even get close. Subtlety will save David, and that means few, not more. Smart, not force.”

            Our argument was beginning to filter into the common room, but I couldn’t shut the door. I didn’t want to get that close to her at the moment.

            “Ah, Cassie?” Glenn said, and the woman jumped, rounding on him.

            “What?” she snapped, and he dropped an open folder on his desk.

            “Look at this before you marshal your pack into an assault,” he added, and I blanched, recognizing the ugly photos. The first was Nick, beaten up and nearly dead. A photo of Brett Markson was under it—not the pretty one in the Were registry that Cassie had probably seen, but him on a cold slab, his wounds pale and gapingly empty. Glenn had a handful of photos of the room they had found him in, too, complete with blood-splattered restraints and walls. Walter had tortured him, counting him as a betrayer.