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She shook the thought away and examined the contents of the sink. A smashed and waterlogged phone—no doubt Grace Williams’—and a license and a credit card, also belonging to Grace, both snapped in two. They weren’t stupid, the Langeais wolves. The Faucherians had underestimated them time and time again. Not her. She’d come to respect them, admire them even. They were a worthy adversary. She’d tried to warn her father, but he never listened. Not to her. None of the Faucherians paid her much mind. Too much of an old boys’ club for that. They were an organization founded in the Dark Ages and nothing had changed much since then.

“D’Louncrais left the ward intact. No point in breaking it,” said her father as he reappeared from down the hall. He lit a cigarette and leaned on the doorframe. “The secret compartment is open and empty.”

Left unsaid was that the warlock they’d brought with them had taken a big hit breaking Alain d’Louncrais’ ward on the front door. He probably wasn’t up to breaking another one. Score one for the Langeais wolves. “Any luck tracking them?”

Her father puffed out a cloud of smoke before answering. “Non. Dubois called. They lost them in Rennes, and when they backtracked to the service center, they found both of Grace’s shoes by the trash bin at the back of the building.”

She turned away, hiding her smile. Of course they’d found the GPS tracker in Grace’s heel. And had that bitch Irena and Dubois running after the moon. The Langeais wolves hadn’t survived through the centuries by being careless. They were cautious and shrewd, and with the expertise of the Montagne twins at their disposal, tech savvy. Nothing got past the Montagne twins. Not for long, anyway. And they were werewolves. That gave them a definite edge.

Her father shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette. Regis Veilluex never wasted anger on things that went wrong. Perhaps it would be better if he did, then she’d know what he was thinking. One thing was certain, her father always had a contingency plan.

Dutton King limped into the kitchen from down the hall, his face pale, his clothes in disarray and stained with blood from where he’d bled from his ears, nose, mouth and possibly other orifices Joséphine didn’t want to think about. He had a new bruise on his left cheek to match the one fading on his right, a black eye, and he’d busted open his lip again. She suspected he’d at least cracked a rib or two, and from the lump forming on the back of his head, he’d have a concussion.

They’d thought he was dead, that the ward had been too powerful for him. It’d thrown him clear across the foyer and into the glass elevator door, cracking it down the middle. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

It’d taken ten minutes to rouse him, and a few slaps to the face Joséphine had relished. Were she ever to meet Alain d’Louncrais, she might thank him for it. It was a shame Dutton had rallied, though his eyes still had a glazed look about them. She had enough to contend with without him tagging along.

Dutton jerked his head back down the hall, his gaze skipping between her and her father. “You should check this out.”

There was something in his expression, a kind of glee that sent a shiver down her spine. That and the way his gaze lingered on her breasts.

“Seriously,” he said, when neither of them moved, “you should come check this room out.”

She followed Dutton and her father to a room down the hall. A room decked out in black and gold with an extensive collection of restraints, floggers, whips, a St. Andrew’s cross, a sex swing and a bed with a rubber mattress protector. Hm. So the rumors about Alain were true.

Joséphine crossed to the gleaming black bench, beneath a pegboard with every restraint imaginable, and opened the top drawer. Rows of gags—ball gags, a few different sizes of something that looked like a horse’s bit, and others she could only guess at. She slid open the second drawer. Rows of nipple and clit clamps. The man was dedicated.

Dutton stood in the middle of the room beside a chain suspended from the ceiling, his arms out wide, taking it all in. “D’Louncrais was into some kinky kind of shit.”

Americans. They were so prudish when it came to sex.

“This isn’t something you’d be into, would it, Joséphine?” Dutton picked up a whip and slapped it against his thigh. He grinned. There was a gaping hole where two of his teeth had been. “You know, I could be convinced to give it a try. If you’re up for it.”

Her stomach churned. Not at the idea of participating in a BDSM scene, but at doing anything of a sexual nature with Dutton. “You in chains on your knees and me with a whip?” She nodded. “I could see that. I promise you, I wouldn’t hold back.”

Dutton leered at her. “Oh, no, baby. It’d be the other way around.” His expression flattened. “I get on my knees for no woman.”

“And you’re single still, non?”

Her father ripped the whip out of Dutton’s hands and tossed it aside. “Zat is my daughter you are talking to.” The look he gave Dutton would’ve shriveled an elephant’s balls. “She iz off limits.”

Joséphine was used to her father’s protectiveness. Resisted it every chance she had. Not this time.

“Right.” Dutton chuckled. “I meant nothing by it. Joséphine’s not really my type.”

She turned her back on him, though it made the hair on her neck stand on end, and crossed the room to the fireplace, to the grate shoved aside and the hole in the floor.

Her father joined her, staring down at the ladder that disappeared into the dark. “The anomaly on the building’s blueprint was a second exit.”

There was no point in saying I told you so. Her photos and this hole in the floor were proof enough.

“Yeah, well, maybe if you’d listened to your daughter,” said Dutton, standing on the other side of the room, giving the sex swing a push, “we’d have Alain and Grace and the grimoire by now. We’d have caught them down in that alleyway. Saved ourselves a whole lot of trouble trying to find where the fuck they’ve gone to ground.”

If it were anyone else backing her up, Joséphine would’ve been grateful. But Dutton King… She could do without his kind of support. Besides, they already had an idea where the Langeais wolves were. Thanks to her.

“I ’ave seen all I need to ’ere.”

Joséphine cringed at her father’s overdone accent that fooled no one.