“It’s beyond even the scope of my computers to answer that one,” Stane said, voice dry. “Though it was over fifteen years ago, so the possibility is there that he advised the real one.”
“It may be beyond the scope of your computers, but maybe not beyond that of the coroner,” I said. “When they autopsied the bits of Sands they found after the bomb blast, was there any indication just how long she might have been frozen?”
“Hang on a sec.” He spun away from the vid-phone’s camera and for several seconds there was silence. Then he reappeared. “The report said she’d possibly been frozen for somewhere between five and eight years.”
“So it’s entirely possible Mike was dealing with the real Genevieve.”
“Entirely possible,” Stane agreed. “But don’t forget to factor in his other connections—namely one Jim O’Reilly and an M. R. Greenfield.”
“As in, Michael Greenfield, the registered owner of Pénombre?”
“The very same one.”
And around and around the threads went. Fuck it, when were we going to get a break from the shit being flung at us?
Stane hesitated, then added, “Do you want me to do a background check on your Mike?”
If Mike was involved, then doing a check on him might well be akin to closing the barn door after the horse had bolted. Still, it wasn’t like we had any choice. “I guess it can’t hurt. In the meantime, I might ring him.”
“Do you think that wise?” Stane frowned. “It might achieve nothing more than alerting him that you’re on to him.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take, because we’re running out of time.”
Stane grunted. “I’ll make the background search a priority. Meanwhile, be careful. I’d hate to have to find another source of the best bubbly in town.”
I snorted. “You could, as has been suggested before, buy it yourself.”
His expression became one of shock, though amusement gleamed brightly in his eyes. “Wash your mouth out with soap, woman! I never buy anything.” He paused. “Except the perishables. When it comes to meat and chicken, I do prefer to know and trust the source.”
Suggesting that many of his sources weren’t trustworthy. But then, it was the black market we were talking about. “Contact me the minute you get anything vital. No matter what the time.”
“Will do.”
He hung up and I raised my gaze to Azriel’s. “Do you think he’s right—is it too much of a risk to ring Mike?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps, perhaps not. You do have a legitimate reason to ring—a past connection with a building we are investigating. If he is not involved with our sorceress, then there is no problem.”
“But if he is, he might well run.” I paused and swung my legs off the sofa. “Maybe you need to be there. That way, if he does bolt, you can track him.”
He raised his eyebrows. “That is a good idea, although surely if he is connected to Lauren, it would be one they would be aware of and prepared for.”
“If there is any sort of shielding or protection against your presence, it would be within the offices.” I thrust to my feet, unable to stand still. “But you don’t really have to be present in his room. You could hang about the outside of the building and see if he reacts in any way—like suddenly deciding to leave.”
“And if he does?”
“Then you come and get me, and we’ll question the bastard together.” My gaze met his, my expression grim. “If he is involved, then it’s more than likely he’s been there from the beginning.”
Which meant his relationship with Mom might have been nothing more than a sham. That he’d been using her just as much as Lucian had used me. And as much as I didn’t want to believe that, I couldn’t escape the possibility of it, either.
“It would seem the threads of the Aedh’s deceptions go far deeper than we had imagined.” Azriel’s voice was grim.
“Don’t they just.” I leaned forward and kissed him. “Be careful out there.”
He smiled but didn’t say anything, simply disappeared. I took a deep, somewhat quivery breath, then called Mike and walked over to the window as I listened to the vid-phone ringing. There was a brief pause in the dial tone; then Mike appeared on the screen. I didn’t actually know how old he was—he looked to be in his early forties, but I knew, from various things Mom had said, he was a lot older than that. His hair was black and short, the dark curls clinging close to his head like a helmet. His eyes—a clear, striking gray—seemed to hold aeons of knowledge behind them, and for the first time since I’d known him, I wondered if they actually did. Dark sorcerers had the power to extend life through blood magic, and this dark sorcerer had been involved with an Aedh who knew the magic of an entirely different world.
“Risa.” His voice was deep and as aristocratic as his features. “This is a lovely surprise. I do hope there’s nothing wrong.”
I hoped there wasn’t, either. “I just wanted to ask you a question about a property.”