She clacked her nails on her vanity in excitement. “Tell me more.”

“I can’t. I don’t know everything, yet.”

“Then why’re you here?”

“Because I want to make sure you play fairly.”

“Jack, if I’d wanted a club at every casino in this city I could have one, easily. You’re not the only one with contacts—everyone in Vegas walks through my doors eventually.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Because what’s better than having business arrangements is having someone owe you. And finding reasons to have people owe you is harder than you’d think.”

I knew all about how Rosalie liked to be owed. “In case they find out your secret. So they won’t hurt you—or tell.”

“Precisely. So I’ll play fair—mostly—never fear.” There was a knock at her door. She went to answer it and stepped outside, returning not that long after. “Sorry, club business. Now—about what your friend requires....”

“The bunker—immediately.”

She settled herself regally back into her chair. “It won’t be ready until tomorrow night.”

“Why?”

“Surely you realize this is short notice, Jack. We use it for storage.”

“Of what?”

“You don’t want to know. But—what’re your next steps? This is related to your werewolf problem, right?”

“Yes.” I was still reluctant to tell her anything, but Angela herself would be talking to her shortly. My phone buzzed in my pocket—likely Paco telling me they were leaving. “My friend—she’s were. As is her boy. And the Pack can track her. What can you do about that?”

Her eyes glazed in thought. “Difficult—but not insurmountable. I have a magician friend who can help. It’ll cost more, of course.”

“Of course,” I snorted.

“But,” she said, drawing the word out. “How long will they need to stay there? Hiding them is not the same as fixing their problem. Why does the Pack even want them?”

“I don’t know, yet.” I wished I’d gotten a few more minutes alone with Angela in Mark’s wine cellar. I still hadn’t managed to figure out how Bella and her unborn child had fit in. Except maybe…. “The Pack wants what’s theirs?” I guessed.

“The boy?” She considered this. “Werewolves are a slow breeding race—and not for lack of trying, I hear. But why on earth would he be special?” Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s his father?”

“Gray.”

“Their imprisoned packleader?” She leaned back in her chair and cursed.