"Hand out of the drawer," I ordered, then jabbed a finger at one of the chairs across from her desk. "Round the table, and sit here."

Her expression barely flickered. "Why?"

"Is the gun pointed at your face not enough incentive?"

Her lips twitched just once, the humor gone so quickly that I wondered if I'd only imagined it. Her hand still hadn't moved.

"You'll kill me no matter what I do. Perhaps I wish to deny you the satisfaction of doing it cleanly. One of my girls will hear the shot and call the authorities. This is a very well-policed area. Even with a veil in place, that could be inconvenient for you. How long do you think you can hold it?"

"Long enough," I said flatly. "And if I wanted to kill you, I would have cut your throat while you were doing paperwork. You wouldn't have seen or heard me coming. When I want someone dead, they die. Period. I want to talk. The Glock is here to keep you from going for the semi-automatic in your desk. Now, are you going to sit, or do I have to drag you over the desk?"

The barest flicker of surprise. I had a feeling that was the most emotion she'd shown in a while. Not much could penetrate the ice she cloaked herself in. Her emotions were dulled to almost nothing. It wasn't the blankness Marcone could retreat into, which I put down to some pretty severe compartmentalization. Ms. Demeter was bordering on sociopathy. A cultivated state, not something she'd been born with. She was dissociating to an almost absurd degree.

"You're too young to be so cynical," she murmured.

"Age is a number. Experience is what matters, and it's turned me into a nasty bitch. One last chance to sit down before I start breaking some of your less favored parts."

Ms. Demeter paused for a beat before carefully withdrawing her hand. Her expression had smoothed into neutrality, giving me nothing. There was a bittersweet flavor to her usual blandness. When she looked at me she saw someone else. I wasn't sure who, and I probably didn't want to know.

"Look what he's turned you into," she said as she rounded the desk and settled in the chair I'd indicated. I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or just to herself.

"I was like this long before I met John Marcone, believe me. This is the PG-13 cut. You'd have hated to meet me when I was a hard R."

That would have made most people nervous, but not Ms. Demeter. She was still impassive. She'd probably go to her death like that, never giving anyone the satisfaction of knowing she was frightened. If she even was frightened. That was the chilling thing about sociopaths. When you refused to read the social contract, you could do anything. Doubly so if they believed you had nothing left to lose.

Ms. Demeter brushed wrinkles from her skirt and sat up a little straighter, not quite giving me direct eye contact. The shiver of power around her told me she was a practitioner, though not an especially strong one. She knew better than to meet my gaze for long.

"When will he arrive?"

I didn't have to ask who she meant. There was only one 'he' that mattered now.

"He's not coming."

She tilted her head a fraction. "Why not?"

Again with the whys. You'd think she'd just be relieved that her criminal boss wasn't going to stroll in and put a slug between her eyes.

"Because I know what you are to him."

That earned me a chilly smile. "Oh, do you now?"

I continued, choosing to ignore the mocking question. "I don't think he could remain objective where you're concerned. He can't win, no matter what he decides to do with you. Doing the deed himself will cost him personally but sparing you would be worse. No one follows a weak leader. I'm making things simpler. I'm his knight. Taking out threats is in my job description."

Ms. Demeter inspected my face and her expression softened ever so slightly. "Oh, you poor, poor fool. You care for him, don't you? I'd warn you off, but I doubt any well-meaning speech will deter you."

"He's my boss," I said coolly. "And with the Fomor trying to knock down our doors, I'll do what it takes to keep Marcone on top. You should be in this boat with us. The Fomor won't let you live when you cease to be useful."

"I know," she said simply. "But I don't care."

"I'm not letting this city fall for your petty agenda."

"Petty," she repeated dully. "Yes, I am so very petty. Go ahead and shoot, oh Knight. This is getting tiresome."

I kept my arm steady, glowering down the barrel at her. It was almost impossible to negotiate with someone in this frame of mind. She didn't care whether she lived or died, and only one option kept Marcone's empire safe. It would be the logical thing. I could even make it painless. But...

"I want to know why."

Her gaze didn't leave my face. Her scrutiny was so intense it was uncomfortable, but I couldn't lower my weapon without a plan in mind. If she thrived in Marcone's inner circle, she was dangerous. For all I knew, she'd stashed another 9mm in one of the potted ferns.

"You look a lot like my little Amanda," she said finally. "She was my miracle, you know. Four rounds of IVF. I almost lost her after she was born. Twenty-five weeks. She was in the NICU for so long. She took a bullet meant for Marcone at eight. She died three weeks later when her life support was terminated. Or, so I was told."

My stomach performed an uneasy roll. I had an idea where this was going.

"She's not dead, is she?"

Ms. Demeter's lips curled into an expression too terrifying to call a smile. The manic gleam in her eye was the most animation I'd seen on her face so far.

"He buried it deep. Dummy corporation after dummy corporation, with several layers of secrecy after that, but I found it. I found her. My miracle is hooked up to feeding tubes and respirators in a private hospital in a little nowhere town in Wisconsin. He knew. He knew and he kept her from me. My Amanda."

She half-rose from her seat at the last word, her rage slamming a burning fist into my chest. It thawed most of her cool demeanor. Pain. Such unimaginable pain and loss. Hate. Blinding betrayal. I struggled to breathe around the deluge of emotion and had to blink back tears. No wonder she locked it away. How could anyone go on living with this waiting to bind them into immobility? It was the only way to stay alive and sane.

"Like he had any right!" she seethed, completely ignoring me. I didn't even register in her thoughts. They spiraled, a carousel that she couldn't step off of. I knew. I'd been there. It had driven me into the arms of Nicodemus. "Presumptuous, arrogant bastard!"

"Sit," I ordered, gesturing to her chair with the Glock.

Ms. Demeter sat, sagging into her seat like she'd had her strings cut. She was still burning with fury, and her nails tore at the armrests of her chair. There was something not-quite-sane lurking just behind her eyes.

"Is this where you kill me?" she asked crisply, still not meeting my eyes. "For all of my petty scheming?"

I swallowed back bile. This was sick. I'd accepted that I'd have to kill her when I stepped inside the room, but I hadn't expected this. Never this. She deserved an avenger, not an executioner. The revelation had effectively doused whatever warm feelings I'd had for Marcone with a splash of cold reality. He was still a monster. A monster by choice, which some would argue was worse.

I lowered the Glock. She watched it fall suspiciously, flinching back into her seat when I stepped closer. I crouched so that we were on the same level and laid a hand over hers. I jerked it back a moment later. It was like touching a hot stove. Too much.

"I can't let you kill Marcone. We need him. But I will help you."

She blinked slowly. "You will? Why?"

"Because I know a little something about motherhood."

I'd only meant to think it, and couldn't reel the words back when they'd escaped my lips. We shared a solid moment of understanding, then looked away before the eye lock could draw us down into a soulgaze. I didn't want to see the cavern that Amanda's loss had carved inside her.

"I'll get you both out," I continued, voice low and terse. "And after I do, you will never set foot in Chicago again. No more assassination plots. Marcone stays, and you'll be far, far out of his reach. Do I make myself clear?"

She inclined her head after a moment. "We're clear."

"Good. I guess we have a deal."