Page 119 of Legacy of Temptation

“I know what a stickler you are for punctuality.” Stryke had always been obsessive about being on time, and he got seriously annoyed when people were late. He glanced back at the elevator. “Sounds like the Germans were not happy with your competitor’s work.”

“No one is. Most people who buy their inferior tech eventually come crawling to us.”

“Probably because of your winning personality.”

“No,” Stryke said, completely ignoring—or not recognizing—the sarcasm. “It’s because our DNA library is more than triple Demonovation’s. There’s been a rise in Nightlash attacks since they figured out how to disguise themselves as humans, and Demonovation doesn’t have their DNA on file. It’s bringing a lot of their customers to us. Of course, they’re accusing us of orchestrating the attacks in order to steal their customers.”

“Are you?” Logan honestly wouldn’t be surprised. Stryke was obsessed with protecting the world from demons and had an achieve-the-goal-by-any-means-necessary kind of mentality. So what if a few innocents died if that meant saving many more?

“If we were,” Stryke said, “I wouldn’t tell you.”

“There was a time you used to trust me.”

“There was a time when it mattered.”

Ouch. Logan wandered over to the bank of spotlessly clear windows and looked out at the Sydney Harbor Bridge. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“You have my brother’s bracelet. You knew I’d want it.”

Logan pivoted to the demon. “You could have asked me to mail it.”

“Would you have done it?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” His finger flew across a pad on his desk, and the symbol closest to him began to glow. He stood as a Harrowgate shimmered into existence over the symbol. “You wanted a face-to-face meeting. Let’s go.”

Logan had no idea where they were going, but he had no reason to think Stryke would lead him into a trap, either. Stryke’s business dealings and ethics were sometimes questionable, but he was, ultimately, playing for the good guys.

Probably.

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“Cool.” He followed the demon into the Harrowgate, where Stryke slid his finger over one of the handful of symbols.

The door opened onto a covered patio of stone and rough-hewn timber. Logan stepped out of the gate into air that smelled like fir and berries. A forest spread beyond the house in every direction, as far as the eye could see. The lulling sound of running water drew him to the railing, where it looked out over a river below.

“I thought you lived in your building’s penthouse.” Logan had seen about a million pictures and videos from there, where Stryke held social events and often gave interviews.

“Everyone thinks I live there,” he said. “By design, of course.”

“But you really live here?”

“Yes.” Stryke looked out at the craggy mountains and rolling hills that seemed to be untouched by human—or demon—hands. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that to yourself. Very few people know about this place.”

“Where are we?”

“We’re in the Canadian Rockies. My house and property are invisible to human eyes and warded against detection from satellites and both Heavenly and Sheoulic beings.”

Of course, it was.

“Come inside.” The sliding door opened automatically for Stryke, and Logan was impressed to find that the interior was as grand as the outside.

Pristine wood floors broken by cabin-themed throw rugs and rustic furniture extended through the open floorplan all the way to the wall of windows at the back of the house, beyond which was a parklike yard with a pool, hot tub, and an outdoor shower.

Stryke had always had a book in his hand as a kid, and his love for reading was obvious in the rows of full bookcases and shelves placed creatively around the rooms. Canoes had been converted into bookshelves, as well as sets of skis and even snowshoes. Only one shelf was bare of books. The only thing on its rough-hewn surface was Masumi’s second jade vase.

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