“What?”
The only answer that deserved was a snort. Cade downloaded the report and closed the database down as he got up from behind the desk.
“Don’t take too long getting here,” he advised, “or you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Chapter Eleven
IT WAS A DIFFERENTassistant that met them at the elevator this time. The young woman looked flustered and uncomfortable as she clutched her phone in both hands.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted before either of them could say anything. “But Ms. Farnham isn’t available right now.”
“Why not?” Marlow asked.
The assistant pretended that she had to clear her throat. “She’s in a meeting,” she said. “Outside. Not in the office. It’s important.”
Apparently, they hadn’t had time to find someone who was a good liar.
He flashed his badge at her. “Night Shift, TAC team,” he said. “We’ve permission from Mr. Macroy to search the offices.”
Or Cade had. He’d drawled a promise to waive some penalty clause, and Macroy had nearly fallen over himself to agree. Marlow had a feeling that the phone call had cost Cade more than just international calling fees.
The assistant looked cross-eyed at his badge and then over her shoulder. The corridor behind her was empty. No one else at the company wanted to get involved.
“I think I should check,” she said. Her chin went up, stubborn now she’d decided on the right course of action. “Just in case there’s been a miscommunication.”
“If there has, file a complaint,” Marlow told her. “Where’s Parker’s office?”
Her mouth opened and stayed like that for a second. She raised her hand jerkily and pointed half-heartedly over her shoulder.
“Thirty-two B,” she said. “The comet.”
Cade made a rude noise under his breath and stepped around her to head down the hall. Marlow took a moment to say “Thanks” and followed him. He bit the side of his tongue to hold back a reminder that he was the cop, not Cade. That could wait until he found out what Cade knew.
The assistant—after a dithered second—tagged along at their heels.
Each door they passed had stylistic graffiti etched in bright colors. A caricature of a young man on a skateboard, a cartoon dog, one that was just teeth picked out in distressing shades of yellow and gray.
Parker’s had a comet in blue and red.
“I guess he peaked early,” Cade said. “And didn’t want anyone to forget it.”
The assistant fretted behind them. “I think I should call someone,” she said. “This is Parker’s private space. You need a warrant to—”
“It’s Macroy’s private space,” Marlow corrected her. He tested the door. It was locked. “He just lets you use it. Do you have a key?”
He turned toward the assistant expectantly. She started to answer and then changed her mind, lips folded over to pinch her mouth shut.
“If you don’t give him the key,” Cade said, his voice almost as easy and warm as it had been that morning in the elevator. “Officer Marlow will kick the door in.”
The assistant gave Marlow a shocked look. “You can’t do that,” she said. “It’s not the full moon!”
Marlow shrugged. “Yet I still have feet,” he said.
Being put on the spot made the assistant squirm. She wrung her hands around her phone, white-knuckled and sweaty, until she finally decided. “I’m going to call someone,” she said. “You can ask them.”
She walked away to make the call, her back turned to them. Marlow glanced at Cade, shrugged, and stepped back. He braced himself and donkey-kicked the door. His heel hit the wood right next to the handle, and the flimsy lock snapped in half. The door burst open and cracked into the wall behind it.
The assistant yelped and dropped her phone at the bang. She spun around and gasped, “Shit,” one hand raised to cover her mouth.
