Great. “You just killed one member of the People in the cross fire, wounded another, and you want me to let you have the rest of the witnesses. I don’t know you well enough to do that.”
The PAD generally stuck to the straight and narrow, but there were certain things one didn’t do: you didn’t turn over a cop killer to his partner, and you didn’t surrender a necromancer to the First Response Unit. They were all volunteer and sanity was an optional requirement. If I gave Ghastek and his people to them, there was a good chance they would never make it to the hospital. The official term was “died of their injuries en route.”
The male voice huffed. “How about this: open the door or we’ll break it down.”
“You need a warrant for that.”
“I don’t need a warrant if I think you’re in immediate danger. Say, Charlie, do you think she is in danger?”
“Oh, I think she’s in a lot of danger,” Charlie said.
“And would it be our duty as law enforcement officers to rescue her from said danger?”
“It would be a crime not to.”
One person dead, one painting the floor with her blood. I guess it was time for jokes.
“You heard Charlie. Open the door or we’ll open it for you.”
I leaned a touch farther from the peephole. If they tried to break in, I could probably take them, but I could also kiss any sort of future cooperation from the PAD good-bye. “Look up above the door. You see a metal paw welded into the wood?”
“And?”
“This business is the property of the Pack. If you’re going to break the door down, you need to be prepared to appear before a judge and explain why you invaded these premises without a warrant, arrested guests of the Pack, and caused damage to Pack property.”
A long silence followed. The Pack’s lawyers were nothing to sneeze at, as I was learning, and they were tenacious as hell.
“What exactly are you saying?” the cop growled.
“First, you kill a civilian in the cross fire, then you break into the Pack’s property without a warrant. That’s a lot for one day.”
“It was a justifiable kill,” the cop said. “I’m not going to debate it with you.”
“Look, I worked with you guys before. Call Detective Michael Gray. He’s got a file on me. If you get him down here or if you bring me a warrant, I’ll open the door. No fuss, no damage, everybody is happy, nobody gets hauled to court. We’re going to need an ambulance pretty soon, too. I’ve got one of the girls in a tourniquet, and if we don’t hurry this along, she’ll bleed to death.”
“Tell you what, open the door, let us take the wounded girl out, and we’ll call Gray.”
Like I was born yesterday. “The moment I open the door, you’ll rush me. I’ll wait until the paramedics get here.”
“Fine. I’ll make the call, but you’re playing with her life. She dies—it’s on you, and I’ll personally book you.”
I slid the metal guard shut and went back to the women.
The dark-haired woman stared at me with haunted eyes. “You’re going to let them have us?”
“If it’s a choice between your friend’s life and your freedom, yes. For now, we’ll wait.”
Emily looked at me. “Am I going to die?”
“Not if I can help it.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ilona Andrews is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team. Ilona is a native-born Russian, and Andrew is a former communications sergeant in the U.S. Army. Contrary to popular belief, Andrew was never an intelligence officer with a license to kill, and Ilona was never the mysterious Russian spy who seduced him. They met in college, in English Composition 101, where Ilona got a better grade. (Andrew is still sore about that.) Together, Andrew and Ilona are the coauthors of the New York Times bestselling Kate Daniels urban-fantasy series and the romantic urban-fantasy novels of the Edge. They currently reside in Portland, Oregon, with their two children and numerous pets. For sample chapters, news, and more, visit www.ilona-andrews.com.