database. Even so, shouldn't the fae who'd stolen Lizzie away be able to tell Jacob Mott hadn't been fae? She didn't really know if one fae could tell if another one was around, though she suspected it was so.
Charles was watching Heuter with sudden interest. How she could tell it was Charles and not Brother Wolf was...like how a mother of twins knew which one was which: less about the small details and more about instincts.
Heuter looked at Anna as if he'd forgotten she was there. "Oops," he said. "I don't suppose you can forget that."
"Don't want anyone filing paperwork to see if they are in that database of yours?" Leslie asked. "One of the fringe benefits to working with Cantrip or one of the other, smaller enforcement agencies in the government is that no one ever thinks to file on them with the Freedom of Information Act."
"You'd be surprised," said Hueter in a voice very nearly a whine. "The people who use FOIA do it extensively and well. Answering those requests is the job we give newbies - and that includes Important Senators' Sons, like yours truly, too." He grinned, showing that he didn't think that made him any more deserving of privilege than the rest of the newbies. "But not even the powers that be could keep me there for long. Information gathering about unknown werewolves is a lot more interesting." He looked at Anna. "Anna Latham of Chicago, musical prodigy. Left Northwestern University a couple of years short of a degree - much to the chagrin of the co-chair of Musical Studies, whom I talked to this morning, because he thought you'd become the next Yo-Yo Ma. No one seems to have heard from you since - except for your father, who was pretty short on conversation."
"My father is a lawyer," Anna half explained and half apologized. "He wouldn't say anything without a lot more information flowing his way. And probably a court order, though I wouldn't count on that."
"He wouldn't tell me your husband's name or where you live now - and the IRS is extremely uncooperative."
"Aren't they supposed to be?" Anna asked. "My husband and I came here to help; we did not come here to become names listed in your database - though we knew that you'd probably figure out who I was." He thought he'd pulled a rabbit out of the hat with his revelations about her real identity. She should have let him continue to pat himself on the back, and she knew it. Heuter was one of those people who liked being smarter than everyone else. He'd have been happier if she was mad or worried that he'd discovered who she was. But he was just a little too smug for Anna to be willing to indulge him.
"Where are you staying while you are here in Boston?" Heuter asked.
"Why are you worried about that?" returned Anna. Leslie, who knew where she and Charles were staying, was making steady inroads on the last of her salad. "I promise neither of us is going to go berserk and start killing people."
Heuter tapped his fingers lightly on the table. "I was raised to service," he said. "It's a family tradition. I believe in this country. I believe that innocents need protecting. I believe it is my calling to make sure that they are protected from people like you."
Heuter's voice was cool and controlled, even when he spoke the last bit. If Leslie hadn't drawn in a breath, Anna would have thought she'd misheard. Beside Anna, Brother Wolf stiffened, so she pulled herself together.
"That's funny," Anna said. "I'd have thought that terrorists and murderers would be more troublesome than me." As a comeback it was weak, but she was more worried about the silver bullets all Cantrip agents loaded their guns with. The gun that Heuter had almost pulled in the morgue. She couldn't really remember now exactly when he'd tried to go for it. He'd been so slow and clumsy that he hadn't managed to pull it before Brother Wolf had Caitlin down and contained on the floor. Had he started for it before Brother Wolf jumped, so that he could aim it at the witch? Or had he been too slow and by the time he could have gotten it out, it was already obvious that Brother Wolf wasn't going to hurt the witch?
If he had fired his gun back in the morgue, he might have killed Charles. Her hand reached out and