I turned to Ragnar. “My name is Catalina. You and Runa are staying with us for now. Runa helped our family a few years ago and now we’re investigating what happened to your mother and your sister.”
Some color came back into his face. “They died in a fire.”
I really needed Runa for this conversation. “We confirmed that your mother is dead. However, the other body the firefighters recovered doesn’t match Halle. There is a small chance that Halle might be alive.”
He nodded at me, his expression serious and calm. “Okay.”
Magic drain was a hell of a thing.
“When you’re ready, there will be breakfast in the kitchen. Follow the smell of pancakes and bacon.”
“Okay,” he said again, “Thank you.”
I turned to leave.
“Excuse me,” Ragnar said. “Where is my sister?”
Shit.
Five minutes later, I watched the security footage of Runa exiting the warehouse. She got into her Nissan Rogue and drove off.
Damn it. There was no telling where she went.
She wasn’t a prisoner. She was a guest and a client. She could leave as she wished. Even if it was dangerous and stupid.
On the recording, Bern slipped out the door. I whipped out my phone and texted him.
Where are you?
Watching Runa.
What is she doing?
She’s sitting in the remains of her house and crying. I’m going to let her cry it out and then follow her to make sure she gets home.
Ragnar is awake.
I’ll tell her.
I exhaled. Today would be a long day.
When people thought of Houston downtown, they imagined modern towers made of steel and glass. Which was true. But Houston had another downtown, older, more ornate, born during the 1920s and 1930s, when Art Deco skyscrapers set new height records and the recent invention of air-conditioning made the oppressive heat and humidity of the Houston swamps bearable.
The Great Southwest Building, which now housed Diatheke, was built in a single year during that boom. The blocky limestone and brick tower rose above Texas Avenue, rectangular for most of its twenty-two floors, except near the top, where the upper floors were stepped back to mirror the Mayan pyramids that inspired its design. Carved reliefs adorned the walls. Mesoamerican dragons and warriors stared down at passersby from above the ornate arches.
I walked through its doors wearing my work clothes. Dark pants, white turtleneck, and my favorite Burberry coat with my knife in it. I carried a folder containing the legal equivalent of a loaded Howitzer, everything from our license to the limited power of attorney and urgent request for information, which I had Runa sign last night.
The lobby was just as grand as the outside. The polished parquet floor gleamed like a mirror, reflecting red marble walls. To the left, a small marble counter, decorated with an elegant white orchid, sheltered a lone receptionist. Past her, two elevators interrupted the marble wall. Directly across from the receptionist, to the right, a small sitting area offered two plush loveseats and a low coffee table with a glass vase filled with bright Christmas ornaments.
Typically, a lobby would have more than one exit, but the only other door, in the far wall, wasn’t marked as such. It probably led to the stairs. The door looked remarkably solid, steel and modern, with a keycard lock.
I approached the counter. A middle-aged black woman wearing a charcoal suit and a pair of black framed glasses looked up from her computer screen and smiled at me. She had short hair, minimal makeup, and a string of pearls around her neck.
“How may I help you?”
“Catalina Baylor, of House Baylor. I’m here to speak with someone regarding the House Etterson account.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No. However, the principal account holder is dead, and the matter is urgent.”
“Oh my goodness. That’s not good. Please have a seat and someone will be right with you.”
I walked over to the loveseats and sat in the corner, so I could watch both doors. The elevators had a keycard access box, meaning nobody without a card could even call the elevator to the floor. There had to be surveillance cameras, although I couldn’t see any. For an older building, they sure had a lot of high-tech security.
Bug still hadn’t reported in, which meant Alessandro had given him the slip twice. Bug had to be livid. On the other hand, Alessandro was now a challenge and would get his complete attention. No texts from Leon or Bern, which hopefully meant that Runa was still alive and hadn’t murdered anyone. The last I’d seen of