Patricia nodded. “Also, I’ve been approached.”
“Stick or carrot?”
“The stick for now. They’re trying to blackmail me. Walk away or else.”
“Regina?”
Patricia nodded again. She was our knight in shining armor, who made sure our guard force acted as a unit. Without her, we would be dead in the water. Her wife was hiding a secret. Regina was Patricia’s weakness. Of course they would zero in on her.
“Have you told her?”
“Yes.”
“How do the two of you feel about that?”
Patricia smiled, her light British accent crisp. “We are not in the habit of rolling over.”
I let out an internal breath.
“We didn’t meet under the best of circumstances,” Patricia said.
“True.”
When Patricia had walked into our office two years ago, our defenses were in shambles and her reputation was in tatters. She was practically unhireable by most House standards, but we were desperate, and she came highly recommended by Sgt. Heart, one of Connor’s veteran operatives, a scary and competent man whom everyone held in a very high regard. Especially Mom. In the past year their romance had progressed from discreet meetings and Mom casually mentioning that “Benjiro called” to full on dinners in public and chilling together in the pool. They were on the cusp of making it official, and all of us were in favor of it. Patricia couldn’t have come with a better recommendation.
Patricia faced me. “This is home now. We like it here.”
“I’m glad.”
Patricia laughed softly.
“If we do survive this, you will be in high demand,” I said.
She raised her eyebrows at me.
“A security chief who held off Arkan. Whatever stains and blotches are on your record will be wiped clean. Houses will fall over their feet trying to hire you. You could write your own ticket.”
“You realize it’s not in your best interests to point this out?”
“Yes, but it is fair.”
“Then you better think of a way to keep me here, Prime Baylor.” Her tone suggested it wouldn’t be very hard.
“I’ll put it on my list,” I told her.
Chapter 10
I paced back and forth, trying to match the speed of my body to the speed of my brain. I had notified most of our allies and most of the probable high-risk targets that we were under attack and declined a dozen offers of assistance. Cornelius’ sister and brother were in DC on business, in the public eye and well protected. My disaster of an aunt had been pulled off the street in Mexico by a private security firm. They would sit on her until the danger passed.
I had tried Wahl’s cell, but the call went straight to voice mail, which likely meant the FBI agent was still recuperating.
I also had a long and grueling conversation regarding logistics and compensation with the man who would help us make sure Arkan went deaf and blind. It was like swimming in a very small pool with a very large shark. It was so bad, I texted Arabella two-thirds of the way through and let her take over the bargaining.
Alessandro and Konstantin had left an hour ago. They would neutralize Arkan’s mole in the DA’s office. I wasn’t sure what would happen next. Arkan could hit us as soon as he realized his agent had been compromised, or he could wait and gather all of his forces for one decisive assault. Alessandro promised to video call during the meeting. If an attack came, it would be soon.
I had a nagging feeling that I had overlooked something. What was it? What hole did I fail to plug?
“If you keep doing this, I’ll have to replace the rug,” Bern informed me.
He sat at a horseshoe-shaped desk, with an array of monitors arranged around him. When we lived in the warehouse, all of his equipment had been contained in the small room we called the Hut of Evil. Since we’d moved, he had upgraded to a full-blown Lair. The computer lab now occupied the entire first floor of a short tower we had built to Bern’s specifications. The horseshoe desk and the space around it took up most of the floor, with the gaming room featuring a row of computers and gaming chairs separated off to the side by a glass wall. A small fridge stuffed with drinks and a couch on which Runa right now napped completed the furnishings. Bern ruled over his kingdom like an ancient despot, and his tone suggested that he had judged my pacing to be a capital offense.
He’d asked me to come, but when I got there, I was presented with his back and some furious typing.
“What am I forgetting?” I asked him.
“Food. Sleep.”