to the last one.
“Detective Cassidy Morgan?” A man’s low, gruff voice. He sounds nervous in the message, hesitating the way a lot of people do when dealing with cops. “I have some information you want. It’s about your sister.”
My blood turns to ice.
“I know where she is,” he goes on. “Meet me at the old meatpacking plant on Third and Lexington at six. Come alone.”
The blood drains out of my cheeks. I’m gripping the receiver so hard my fingers ache.
At a table across the room, Arcayos raises one of Hawk’s pale brows at me. He gets up and crosses the room, coming down the narrow passage to where I’m standing. Protective concern is etched into Hawk’s features, turning the usual laid- back expression into something closer to one Arcayos’ real face would wear. Hard warrior coolness.
Not trusting myself to speak, I play the message again and hand him the phone. He listens, and over the receiver I hear the caller’s rough voice repeat his instructions.
Arcayos’ mouth turns down at the man’s instruction to come alone. When the message finishes, he hands the receiver back, and I hang up.
“What do you think?” I ask him quietly.
He waves at me to follow him out of the shop. I get it. He doesn’t want to talk about supernatural shit with the customers and staff around to hear. His expression is slate, giving nothing away to anyone who sees us. Anxiety and suspicion eat at my insides, but I force myself not to press.
The guy said to meet him at six. The restaurant’s clock says it’s a little after five. The factory is in the East End of town, not far from Arcayos’ apartment. If we leave now, I have just enough time to drop him off.
We stop at the front counter to pick up our order, then head out to the car. He insists on carrying everything, a tray with two coffees in one hand, a bag with our sandwiches in the other.
“You said Hazuldar has her,” I remind him once we’re in the car. “I don’t suppose you can tell if the voice is a demon over a phone.”
“No. I can’t.” He sets the coffee tray down and reaches into the bag, handing me my corn beef on rye. “Unless he’s using a demon voice, if he’s disguised as a human, there is no way to know without being face-to-face with him.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, if that caller knows where she is or who has her, I have to see him.”
“Someone just calls you out of the blue telling you they have information on Saffron? I smell a trap. Probably set to capture you the way they did her.”
I stare at my sandwich without unwrapping it, then look up at him. “It doesn’t matter. This is the only lead I’ve had in years. He said to come alone. I’ll drop you at the station first, but I’m going to that factory. If there’s a chance this guy knows where she is, I have to go.”
“You’ll do no such thing.”
I click my teeth. “Oh, here we go. Arcayos, I’m trained to deal with situations like this. If I show up with you, you’ll get me killed.”
“Not how this works.” He unwraps his sandwich. It’s roast beef with horseradish. Yuck. “Hazuldar isn’t a kidnapper holding her for ransom in a basement somewhere, and his demons aren’t low-level mobster flunkies being ordered to stand guard. This isn’t a police matter, and these aren’t ordinary criminals. You can’t treat them as such.”
“You told me the other day that the demons he sent might be posing as human mobsters. They might be linked to my dad’s involvement with the mob. If that’s true, they’re Mancini’s men. Would a demon call me up like that, try to set up an ordinary meet like this? Wouldn’t they just come after me directly if they wanted me? The caller might be a human witness.”
“Or it could be a demon lying in wait. Or a human sent to lure you there so that a cavalcade of demons can march you straight into Hazuldar’s hands. You aren’t going alone.” He takes a large bite of his sandwich.
Shit. He has a point. If I show up and there are demons, I have no idea how to fight them. I hate doing anything that implies I need a man to protect me, but I’m not crazy enough to try to face a Tae’agul alone.
“Fine, but for all I know, if