I took off running.

The Jeep sat in the carport, its windows so tinted, they bordered on illegal. I peered through the windshield.

Empty.

I tried the doors. Locked.

I crossed the street and headed around the warehouse to Grandma Frida’s motor pool. Shadow trotted after me.

Grandma poked her head out of a familiar-looking Guardian. Its twin sat on the left, with its doors open. I walked to the tool bench, grabbed the largest flathead screwdriver on it, took the reciprocating saw from the wall, and walked out.

“Safety glasses, Catalina!”

I did a one-eighty, snagged the safety goggles off a peg on the tool wall, and kept going.

“Catalina,” Grandma Frida called out behind me. “When you’re done cutting up the body, call me. I’ll help you hide it.”

I turned and looked at her.

Grandma flexed her arm. “Ride or die.”

I squinted at her. “I’m still mad at you for ratting me out.”

“You looked like death warmed over,” Grandma said. “You may be the Head of House Baylor, but you’re still my granddaughter and I won’t be taking any of your bullshit.”

“How is my sweater coming along, Grandma? Have you knitted more than two inches yet?”

Grandma Frida gave me the Look of Death.

I walked back to the Jeep and stabbed the two tires on the driver’s side. The sound of the air hissing out was very satisfying. Shadow jumped back and hid behind the low stone wall bordering the oak. I put the safety glasses on and jammed the screwdriver into the driver’s-side window. It cracked with a loud crunch but held. That’s what I thought. Laminated glass.

Car windows came in two types, tempered and laminated. Tempered glass shattered into dull pieces. Laminated glass was made by sandwiching a layer of plastic between two panes of glass. Traditional escape tools did nothing to it. The Jeep was new enough to have all its windows laminated.

I pictured Alessandro’s smirking face and stabbed the crack in the window. Stab, stab, stab. The glass finally gave, and I slid the blade of the saw into the small hole I had made.

Abarca came out of the mess hall down the street and zeroed in on me.

Keep going. Don’t see me, don’t talk to me. I have a screwdriver, and I’m not afraid to use it.

I turned the saw on. The blade chewed through glass and plastic. Abarca wandered over and stood next to me.

“Would you like some help?”

Yes, I’d like some help. I’d like you to help me understand how an Antistasi Prime has been driving in and out of our territory, parking his car fifty feet from our front door, and your elite security force, which had this place locked down so tight “not even a squirrel” could get through, has been letting him in and out and accepting his coffee. Help me understand that. “No.”

Shadow poked her head from behind the wall and barked. For a small dog, she sounded surprisingly fierce.

Abarca ignored her. “I realize this might not be the best time to discuss this, but it can’t wait.”

“I’m listening.” Ask me why I’m cutting the window out of this car. Ask me whose car this is. Go ahead, I dare you.

He raised his voice, trying to be heard over the dry grinding of the saw. “As you know, we had to let Lopez and Walton go. It was a difficult decision, but ultimately it was for the best.”

He seemed to have forgotten that I was in the room when Mom told him to fire those two or pack his bags. He didn’t have to make any decisions, just follow orders.

“We need to fill those two open slots as soon as possible. I submitted a list of candidates to Pen, but we don’t seem to be on the same page.”

Same page? He and Mom weren’t even on the same bookshelf.

“The two individuals I’ve chosen have spotless track records, and I have no doubt they would make fine additions to the team.”

The team which would be replaced tomorrow night.

Abarca fell silent, clearly anticipating some sort of response. He was trying to go over Mom’s head to get his guys hired.

“I’m confused. What exactly would you like me to do?”

Abarca smiled at me. “I value your opinion.”

Since when?

“I’d like you to review the candidates.”

“All security matters must go through my mother.”

“But you’re the Head of the House.”

I turned the saw off and faced him. “I am the Head of the House and I’m telling you that all security matters must go through and be approved by my mother. If she wants my opinion, she’ll consult me. Was there anything else?”

Abarca opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “No. That’s it.”

“I’m glad we cleared that up.” I turned the saw back on and continued my slow cutting.

Abarca walked away. If I wasn’t hacking at Alessandro’s car, I would almost feel sorry for him. It wasn’t altogether his fault. He was trying to do a job that he wasn’t qualified for, but we were the ones who hired him for that job in the first place. I didn’t blame him for taking the position. He’d needed the work in the worst way, from what Mom had said. And I didn’t blame Mom for hiring him. She was trying to help a friend and keep us safe. But I was really glad Heart was on his way.

If only I knew where we could find the money to pay him.

The saw tasted air. I had cut a ragged rectangle in the window. I turned it off and hit the window with the handle of the screwdriver. It fell in onto the driver’s seat.

I popped the lock and opened the hatchback. The back was empty, except for a folded blanket, a rain poncho, and a garment bag. I unzipped the bag. A tuxedo, good quality. Typical.

I opened the back doors and went about searching the car.

I climbed the ladder to my loft, carrying the dog pillow, my arms filled with dog shampoo and puppy pads. Shadow bounded up the steps ahead of me and sprinted into my room.

The Jeep yielded no clues. I found no hidden stashes of weapons or gold coins, no fake IDs or passports, no rental agreement, no paperwork of any kind, not even a fast-food receipt. For some reason Sigourney Etterson had paid Alessandro two million dollars and I had no idea why.

I’d returned the tools to Grandma. Bug was watching the Jeep, so we would know the moment Alessandro reappeared. At least he would be in for a hell of a surprise when he came back to the car. I would actually raid our overstretched budget and pay good money to see the look on his face.

My hip hurt. I would put the dog pillow down for Shadow, then I would wash my hands and go down to eat some lunch, during which I would sit across from Runa and Ragnar and have to think of some way to explain why I hadn’t found their sister yet. Ugh.

I walked into my loft.

Alessandro Sagredo lounged on my bed. He lay propped on one elbow, his large, muscular frame taking up the entire space. He couldn’t be real; he had to be a painting made to tempt women; masculine, handsome, erotic, from the broad spread of his shoulders and his flat stomach to his long legs.

Shadow lay next to him, chewing on some yellow rectangular thing.

Alessandro raised his head. His amber eyes lit up and he smiled a slow, lazy smile, like a wolf cornering a doe.

He was holding the pink frame with his picture in it, which I had left on my nightstand.

The enormity of it hit me all at once. I wanted to fall through the floor, strangle him, grab my dog, and scream at the same time. My brain took those conflicting urges and compromised. I dropped the dog pillow and hurled the pack of puppy pads at his head.

Alessandro caught the pack one-handed and tossed it to the floor. He didn’t even move, the son of a bitch. Just raised his hand, caught the pack, and went back to looking at the picture.

He turned the frame, so I could see his picture in it. “Smoochie poo?”

“It’s Italian for ass clown. What are you doing in my room?”

“Admiring your taste in arts and crafts?” He tilted the frame. “The application of glitter could use some work.”

“Shadow, come here.”

Shadow wagged her tail and stayed exactly where she was.

“What is she eating?”

“A Himalayan yak treat. Unlike you, your dog can be reasoned with.”

“Yak what? What part of the yak?”

“Relax. It’s made of cheese.” He tilted the photograph toward me, so the light caught the pink glitter. “Can we postpone the topic of dog treats and go back to the fact that you have my picture in a pink frame on your nightstand?”

“It came with the frame.”

He grinned.

If I had a gun, I would’ve shot him. I did have a gun. It was locked in the nightstand. Getting it would mean risking being within his reach, and he was very fast.

“I took some pics in Sydney last week, on the beach. With my shirt off. I can send a few to your phone, if you’d like.”

How dare . . . “No, I wouldn’t like.”

Alessandro raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Judging by the condition of my car, you have a lot of pent-up anger.”

He’d watched me take apart his Jeep. Probably while searching my room. It was good that humans couldn’t spontaneously explode, because otherwise I would have disintegrated.

“What does my anger have to do with your selfies?”

“You might find having a hot pic of me by your bed relaxing.”