Free Trace of Magic by Diana Pharaoh Francis Page A

that. We weren’t suspects really, and Price was a cop. I suppressed the urge to clap.
    The woman agent came striding back into the kitchen. “What’s going on here?” she demanded, leveling a steely-eyed glare at Price. “Where’s Reist?”
    “That is the question of the hour, isn’t it?” he drawled, clearly deciding that he wasn’t going to be any more polite or helpful than she was.
    “He’s missing?”
    “Can’t say.”
    She swore. “Is that his blood? Is he dead?”
    “No idea.”
    Her face flushed. “What are you doing here?” She demanded, her frustration practically crackling through the air.
    “I called him,” Taylor said, sounding impressively haughty and collected. You wouldn’t know that five minutes ago she’d been a puddle of anguish. “I found the condo in shambles and the blood.”
    The agent looked at me. “Who are you?”
    “Innocent bystander,” I said.
    The corners of her mouth twisted downward. “Is that so?” she said. “The way I see it, you’re a witness. I might have to take you into protective custody. It could be weeks or months before we get to the bottom of this. The accommodations will not be all that comfortable.”
    “Not your jurisdiction,” Price countered, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s a possible homicide or kidnapping. Maybe a missing person. FBI has no business here.”
    “We have business with Reist,” she declared.
    “You can take it up with him once we find him. Until then, it’s my case.” He smiled in a most unfriendly way, like a hyena to a wildebeest. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.”
    A vein in her forehead throbbed. She was pissed, but apparently she was standing in quicksand and sinking fast.
    She drew a sharp breath and blew it out, then twitched a card out of her pocket and handed it to Price. “I’d appreciate it if you kept me updated,” she said stiffly. “Cranford, Martin, Josephson! We’re leaving.” She marched out of the room and punched the elevator button several times. The three men followed her.
    Price examined the card.
    “Who is she?”
    “Special Agent Sandra Arnow,” he read.
    “What do they want Josh for?” Taylor said. She’d pulled her composure up and around herself like armor. She stood tall, her jaw thrust out, her lips stiff.
    “I don’t know. I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, let’s get you two out to the car. The crime-scene guys will be here soon. I don’t want you in the way.”
    He handed me his keys, and the warning in his eyes told me that I’d better not run. He had me tabbed, and he’d be pissed if he had to waste his time running me down.
    I guided Taylor down to his car, started it up, and flipped the heater to high, then climbed into the backseat with her.
    “What are you doing with a cop?” she asked. “Are you insane?”
    “He hired me for a job. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse,” I said. “Trust me, I tried. And he isn’t just a cop. He works for the Tyet.”
    “Jesus, Riley. What are you going to do?”
    “Do the trace. Not much else I can do. Then I’m going to bury myself in a deep hole until he forgets me. Are you telling us everything about Josh?”
    Taylor’s mouth pinched together. She gave a little shake of her head. “He’s been on edge for months. Some weeks are fine, and then suddenly—he gets uptight. He snaps at everything I say and wants to be alone. A few days pass and then he’s calling me again like nothing happened. He’s lost weight and he’s been drinking. He barely sleeps.”
    “He’s never told you why?”
    She averted her head. “I didn’t want to ask.”
    Meaning she didn’t want to take the chance of pushing him away and losing him altogether. Then my sister did something completely unselfish and made me feel about two inches tall.
    “You should go,” Taylor said. “I’ll be all right. I’ll call Leo and Jamie.”
    Here’s the thing. After my mom was murdered, my dad got