House of Cards

by C. E. Murphy

  Daisani curled a slow smile and stood. Everyone, including Margrit, followed suit, and Daisani opened his hands in mock apology. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but it appears there’ll be no deal today. I’ll be back in touch after a new legal team’s examined everything.” Insufferably polite handshakes went around, more than one of the businessmen giving Margrit a sour look as they left the room. Daisani turned to her, eyebrows elevated. “Well?”

  She sat down again, rolling her head to loosen her neck. “The tall one down the table from me was watching everything I did. He twitched and tensed up when a couple of those reports were discussed, so I started looking for the smoking gun. You could’ve lost a lot of money.”

  “Unlikely. I was aware of the contract problems, but since you arrived so precipitously I thought I would see where you took things, given your head.” Daisani poured her water over a plant and brought her a new glass, ice ringing against the crystal. “These meetings are, in part, tests.”

  “For me?” Margrit’s voice shot up, offense coloring it.

  “For the men I’m working with. Once in a great while someone’s honesty overtakes his avarice, or the other way around, and that tells me things I wasn’t formerly aware of. I couldn’t have made this a test for you. I didn’t know you’d be here. But it worked out nicely, didn’t it? That was very well done, Margrit, and that’s exactly why I need you. The human perspective is indispensable to me. It’s unlikely I’d have noticed the body language that tipped you off.”

  “That’s flattering, but it’s hard to believe. You must pay attention to that sort of thing.” Margrit’s temper settled at the realization that Daisani couldn’t have known she’d come back during his meeting.

  Delight shaped Daisani’s thin features to a sort of good looks, his smile going further to create an illusion of handsomeness. “My first impulse is to listen for the heartbeat, the taste of fear, the bodily reactions that give someone away. These men are very good at hiding those things. I know human emotion well. I’ve studied it for centuries. But even after so long, my sense for the subtler hints of high emotion is drowned beneath the sound of a beating heart. As a lawyer, you’re trained in body language as much as legalese. And you’ve just proven that you’re willing to step up to the plate, whether you want to or not. You could have turned around and walked out of here.”

  “What, and lose face?” Margrit picked up her water glass and drained it, wishing the action wasn’t so obviously a distraction. “Besides, I needed to talk to you.”

  “I’m at your disposal.” Daisani sat down, hands folded in front of him, the picture of attentive interest. Margrit set her glass aside and studied him for a few seconds, then sighed.

  “Why didn’t you just tell me Russell was in your pocket?”

  SIXTEEN

  DAISANI WENT STILL the way it seemed only the Old Races could, all life in him stopped. A heartbeat later his eyelashes flickered, a tiny motion that in Alban would have gone unbetrayed. Fair enough; Alban couldn’t move as obscenely fast as the vampire could. They all had their strengths.

  Then Daisani was in action again, standing to pour another glass of water. The frozen moment was so thoroughly vanquished Margrit half wondered if she’d imagined it. “What an astounding conclusion,” Daisani said. “Tell me how you came to it.”

  “Oh, for—” Margrit let out an exasperated breath. “Russell got rich off insider trading from one of your companies. He had too many cases overturned on appeal when he’d been defending Janx’s men. You both use the same phrase—that somebody’s got to keep track of the details, and you’re the best man for the job.”

  “It’s hardly an uncommon phrase.”

  “Eliseo.” Margrit recognized the same impatient tone she’d used with her mother a few hours earlier. Daisani tucked his chin in and lifted an eyebrow in surprise. “You also thought there was an obvious reason for me to come to you about Russell’s death, in wake of Janx’s peoples’ deaths. You just said human intuition was indispensable to you. This is my intuition at work.”

  He wet his lips, reminding Margrit unnervingly of how she’d licked her own lips, to get the vampire’s sugary, sticky blood off them. A shudder ran through her, lifting hairs on her scalp. To her relief, Daisani ignored her reaction. “Who else have you told about this connection of dots? You’ve obviously spoken to your mother.” He was at the window, leaving Margrit to blink and try to convince herself she’d actually seen him move.

  “I didn’t tell her about the Janx link. Does she know about you, Mr. Daisani?” Desperate hope drove Margrit to her feet. “Does she know you’re a—”

  “She knows I am extraordinary.” Daisani spoke to the windows, his voice reverberating softly off the glass. “She was younger than you are now when we knew each other. There was an accident. Construction, one of those rare moments when something goes wrong. A cable snapped. I believe it was determined to be sabotage, in fact. I bought the offending company for an embarrassingly low price and sold it seven years ago at a two hundred forty-four percent profit.”

  He fell silent and Margrit stepped forward slightly, afraid to interrupt. “We were to meet for lunch that day, she and Russell and I,” he said eventually. “She was on the opposite side of the street from me, perhaps halfway up the block. I’d just gotten out of my car and she saw me and waved. I think I saw the shadow rather than the girder itself, or perhaps my subconscious comprehended faster than my thoughts could. I pulled her to safety, though I’m afraid I bruised her ribs quite badly. My strength isn’t remarkable, but the cessation of momentum…”

  He turned to offer Margrit a half smile. “I recall it quite vividly. She’s taller than I am, you know, and she wore heels, as you usually do. I remember it very clearly, the way she looked down at me. Humans so typically refuse to believe what they see. Logic dictates that I simply must have been closer than she thought, because no one can move that fast. On the rare, rare occasions when one of us is exposed in that fashion, it’s what people force themselves to think.

  “Your mother did not for one moment disbelieve her eyes. The sidewalk and steel were still ringing from the impact, and I doubted anything I said would be heard, anyway. I put my finger over my lips—” and he did, a light careful motion “—and Rebecca didn’t so much as nod. She simply looked at me for what may have been the longest moments of my life, then turned away to see if anyone had been injured in the accident. No one was,” he added more brightly. “The newspapers called it a miracle.”

  “But why?” Margrit blurted. “Why’d you risk it?”

  Daisani arched an eyebrow. “I wanted lunch.”

  An incredulous laugh slipped out. “Of course. I should’ve guessed.” Margrit flattened her hands against her mouth, then sighed. “I haven’t told anyone about the link. I’m not even sure I could prove it if I did. I don’t imagine you’ve got any obvious connections to Janx.” Relief mingled with regret over having not told Tony more than she had. His suspicion that she was withholding information from him would only make things more difficult between them, but she couldn’t see arguing the tenuous connection in a legal case. The two rivals were linked by an ancient feud, not modern associations. A flare of irritation arose in her and she added, “Even if you did have him get Malik to run me down.”

  Daisani flashed a smile. “But not through a traceable meeting, I’m afraid. I’m glad you haven’t mentioned this to your police officer friend. It would only complicate things.”

  “Do you have any idea how much it complicates my life to not tell him? What do I get out of keeping my mouth shut? Do I get to walk away from here free and clear?”

  “Is that what you want? You acquitted yourself very well earlier. I dare say you were even enjoying it.”

  Margrit admitted, “I was,” grudgingly. “But I still feel like Russell’s death changes everything. How many more people are going to die because of this fight you two have going on?”

  She saw a hint of amusement in Daisani’s eyes and
knew she’d lost the bid to change the subject gracefully, but he responded, “I told you. I’m not responsible for Janx’s losses.”

  “And you’re just going to sit back and let Russell get killed?” A needle of doubt slid into Margrit’s certainty and she forced it out again. Daisani had all but admitted her theory was correct.

  “My talents are many, but bringing people back from the dead isn’t among them. Would you have me escalate this dangerous business even further?”

  She bit back an irrational yes! as defeat sluiced through her. “No. That wouldn’t help. I’d rather have justice than revenge, but if it’s not you, who is it? Who do I go after?”

  “I believe I’ve agreed to give you the time to discover that before you begin working here full-time, Margrit.” Another glint of amusement passed through Daisani’s eyes. “Am I being unreasonable?”

  “Only in so far as you’re not letting me have my own way. Things in my world have changed. It seems like things in yours ought to change, too, to accommodate me.” She lifted a hand, stopping anything he might say. “And I guess you have, giving me time to follow up on this. It’s just…”

  “I do understand,” Daisani said mildly. “But you don’t get to be in my position by being accommodating, I’m afraid. You offered a deal. I accepted it. You’ve cited being a turncoat to Legal Aid as your reason to welsh on our agreement now, but I suspect the real problem is that having given your word, you’re reluctant to go back on it even if you have good reasons.”

  “That and there’s an actual possibility you’ll bite my head off if I refuse. That’s less of a problem in the real world.”

  “You’re afraid of disappointing me.”

  “Literally afraid. Not nervous or worried, but afraid. Because I don’t know which way you’ll jump.” Margrit scowled at the vampire. Admitting fear seemed like a bad idea, but frustration with the situation overrode her caution, pushing her to the truth. “If you were human, I’d expect you to make it hard, maybe impossible, for me to find another job if I wanted to leave Legal Aid. But you’re not, and I don’t know what the hell you do when people disappoint you. I have a pretty good idea of what Janx does, in a mob boss kind of way, and I don’t want to risk that, either.”

  “The obvious solution is to not disappoint me.”

  Margrit’s scowl deepened. “Well, it doesn’t look like I’m going to, does it? Some kind of overdeveloped sense of responsibility made me step up to the plate when I walked in here today. The rest of it is just me making noise.” She sighed and dropped her chin to her chest, both grumpy and relieved at the admission. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Certainly. Whether I respond or not…”

  “Yeah.” Margrit looked up. “Why didn’t Janx stop shunting people to Legal Aid and hire a lawyer of his own instead? He must’ve known Russell was doing your evil bidding.”

  Daisani straightened, clearly caught between offense and amusement. “My evil bidding?”

  “Come on, you were manipulating the legal system to your own ends, and I’m a lawyer. What else would I call it?”

  “Capitalism at its finest, perhaps. You’d have to ask Janx, Margrit. He rarely pays out for his men when they get into trouble. It keeps the connections between them more tenuous. I suppose he may have found a degree of pleasure in keeping one of my people running laps around several of his, as well, but I’m the wrong person to ask.”

  Margrit sighed. “I guess so. I’m just tired of chasing all over hell’s half acre for answers.” She groaned as she looked at the time. “And it’s almost four. I’ve blown most of the day. Again. When I come to work for you I want a twenty-hour-a-week schedule if I’m going to be dealing with your esoteric factions all the time. Otherwise I’ll feel guilty at never being in the office.”

  “I think I can assure you that any time spent out of the office dealing with esoteric factions will not be held against you with an eye toward a completion of more mundane tasks. You’ll be my personal assistant. We can always hire another one for you.”

  “Oh, well, hell.” Margrit raised her hands in acquiescence. “If I’m going to be somebody’s boss, I want my salary doubled. I’ll see you at Rockefeller Center tonight, Mr. Daisani. I’m going to go home and try to be normal for a while.”

  “Cam?” Cole’s greeting came from the kitchen over the sound of food sizzling. “You’re early.”

  Margrit took a deep breath of the rich peppery scent and collapsed against the door with a contented sigh. “No, it’s the other woman in your life. The dusky-skinned beauty, remember? Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

  “Garlic, onions and butter. A healthy evening meal.” Cole appeared in the kitchen doorway, grinning. “The only dusky beauty I ever dated turned out to be just-friends material. Dating was a disaster. Like dating my sister.”

  “Cole Grierson, are you telling me you’ve dated your sister?” Margrit threw her coat over a hook and toed her shoes off, padding to her bedroom. “Because I think that’s illegal even in Louisiana, and you’re from San Francisco.”

  “My disgusting childhood secrets are out,” Cole called, then sobered as he asked, “How was work?”

  Margrit tugged running pants on under her skirt and lifted her voice to answer, “It sucked. A lot of people were out and everybody who wasn’t was walking on eggshells. I was actually out about half the day.” She’d returned to work to find it moribund, no one speaking any more than necessary, and she’d felt no guilt at leaving as quickly as she could. She finished changing clothes and pulled running shoes on before heading for the kitchen. “I spent a lot of time talking to Eliseo Daisani today.”

  Cole turned to look at her, poorly restrained curiosity in his expression. Margrit managed a weak smile. “I think I’m going to take the job.”

  “Whoo.” Cole turned the burner off and folded his arms across his chest. “You sure about this? I don’t want to rain on your parade, but they say not to make big decisions right after something awful’s happened. Have you talked to your parents? Or Tony?”

  “Not really. Not about the job. And you’re right.” Margrit rubbed her hands over her face. “About big decisions, I mean. I still think I could do a lot of good in the public sector, but there are things going on with his corporation that I can make a real difference in.” She offered a tentative smile. “Bleeding heart liberal in charge of their charitable resource funds, you know?” The grain of truth there made it bearable to say, but explaining the aspect of Daisani’s world that Margrit thought she might really make a difference in was impossible. “It could give me the groundwork and connections to do something else in five years. Maybe stop trying to fix the legal system from the inside, and focus on save-the-world organizations instead. I think it’s…” She swallowed, trying to taste the veracity of her own words. “I think it’s the right choice.”

  Cole puffed out his cheeks, then stepped forward to offer her a hug. “In that case, congrats. When’re we moving to Park Avenue?”

  Margrit tilted her nose in the air. “Oh, I don’t know. I may have to audition other people to be my chef. I might find someone better, you know. Agh!” She laughed and stumbled as Cole pretended to shove her. “If I promise to be back at the house by six-fifteen will you make me some of whatever that wonderful-smelling stuff is going to be?”

  “Not if you’re going to be threatening my station as house chef, I won’t. Oh, all right, no fair with the puppy-dog eyes. In honor of your new job, yes. But if you’re going to be home at decent hours, I’m going to make you start doing your share of the cooking.” Cole lifted an eyebrow in warning and Margrit cowered, then put on her best stern lawyer face.

  “You don’t tell Cam she has to cook.”

  “Cam’s culinary skills are limited to hard-boiling eggs and peeling potatoes. I know this from bitter experience. You, however, claim to just be too lazy to cook.”

  “It’s true. Tell you what, I’ll make dinner next week. If I do a bad enough job, I’m p
ermanently off kitchen duty, right?”

  “You’re a perfectionist,” Cole said serenely. “If you cook dinner I don’t think your work code will let you do badly if you’re capable of doing well.”

  “Eliseo said that to me, too. Do I have it tattooed on my forehead, or something?”

  “Ooo-ooo-ooh. Eliseo, she calls him. Eliseo, like—”

  “Cole.”

  “—he’s a pal, not the richest guy on the East Coast. Eli—”

  “Cole!”

  “—seo, boss with benefi—”

  “Cole!”

  He grinned at her so widely it looked as though his cheeks must ache. “Dinner’s at six-thirty. Have a nice run.”

  And that, Margrit reminded herself on the way out the door, was the normal life she wanted to get back to.

  “Ooh, the ice rink! We’ll go with you!” Cameron’s enthusiasm left Margrit spluttering, her protest that she was meeting Daisani proving no deterrent. Cam only demanded, “How many chances are we going to have to meet Eliseo Daisani?” and went charging off to find the ice skates with a child’s enthusiasm.