Free Chaotic by Kelley Armstrong

fell—” I glanced up to see him leaning over the desk. “You meant the body?”
    A grim nod. He pulled the desk farther from the wall, then glanced at me. “Find your purse. I’ll find this.”
    He leaped onto the desk, hopped into the gap behind it, bent and disappeared. I resumed my purse search. I looked under the desk, beside it, between the desk and filing cabinet—every place my purse could have fallen when Marsten yanked me off the desk earlier.
    Marsten popped back over the desk, started to crouch, then noticed me watching.
    “What?” I said when he paused.
    “I have to sniff the floor.”
    “Then sniff the floor.”
    Again, he paused, as if trying to think of a dignified way to do it. I sighed, and turned my back to give him privacy.
    A moment later, he said, “Nothing. They must’ve carried him out.”
    “Meaning you can’t pick up the trail. Not of the security guard, at least. But what about Tristan’s guard?”
    “Questionable. I can try, but it’s difficult to do in human form and without getting on the floor, close to the scent.”
    “Which is a whole lot tougher to do in a semi-public place.”
    He motioned for me to keep looking, and pitched in, checking the other side of the room.
    He continued, “I’ll still try tracking. I know a few tricks.”
    “Ah, so you did get your user’s manual.”
    “Most werewolves do.”
    “Oh, right. Most of you are hereditary. So your father . . . ?”
    “Raised me and taught me everything I needed to know about following a scent.” A quick grin. “Although there was usually a diamond or two at the other end.”
    “Your father raised you to be a thief?”
    His gaze chilled. “My father raised me to have a career suitable for a non-Pack werewolf who can’t stay in one place without being rousted by the Pack or his ‘fellow’ mutts.”
    “The Pack doesn’t let—?”
    He cut me off with a wave, his anger receding. “It’s not like that anymore. Not entirely. But in my father’s day, a nomadic life was a must, and thieving skills helped.”
    “Tell you what, then. You don’t slam my mom for setting me up on blind dates, and I won’t slam your dad for teaching you to steal.”
    He laughed. “Fair enough. No jabs against well-meaning—if occasionally misguided—parents. As for your purse . . .”
    “It’s gone, isn’t it? Tristan or his guard found it when they were cleaning up, and they took it to erase any sign of me being here.”
    “Most likely. As for the body, though—”
    “Billy?”
    The voice echoed down the hall. We both froze and turned toward the closed door.
    “Billy? You down here?” Then softer. “Damn kid.”
    It was a security guard, looking for his dead colleague. Marsten waved for me to get behind the desk, and we both jumped on it just as the door opened.
    “You!” the guard said.
    A flashlight beam pinged off our backs. Marsten slipped his arm around me in an awkward, interrupted embrace. We looked over our shoulders to see the same older security guard who’d “helped” me open the janitor’s closet. He speared Marsten with a glower.
    “Get lost on your way to the bathroom again, sir ?” he said. “This is bigger than that storage closet, but I’m sure the young lady would be more comfortable in a hotel. There are two right down the road.”
    “Uh, oh, yes, of course,” Marsten stammered. “We weren’t—that is to say, we wanted to look around the museum, see the sights—”
    “Oh, I know what sights you wanted to see, sir. ” He waved us off the desk. “You’re a long way from the dinosaur exhibits.”
    We complied, getting off the desk and pretending to straighten up. The guard continued to glare at Marsten, as if disgusted that a man wealthy enough to afford tickets to this gala couldn’t spring for a bed.
    “There’s a Holiday Inn three doors down,” he said as we walked past. “But I’m sure the lady would prefer the Embassy, which is—”
    A movement at the door stopped