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“A whisper campaign,” she says, lip curling back in a satisfied smirk that shows one of her gleaming white fangs. “Planting some of our own stories, riling up public support in favor of paranormals. Gods know there’s enough out there that we could dredge up.”

A pang of unease moves through me, and Cleo jumps on it immediately.

“None of it will be traced back to the Bureau. Trust me. I know how to do this right.”

I don’t doubt that for a moment.

In another life, Cleo was a ruthless executive in the corporate sector. Back in a time when she wore veneers to hide her fangs and contacts to hide her red eyes, and never let her half-vamp status be known to anyone other than her family and closest friends.

Still, that doesn’t mean I’m not wary about putting those special talents of hers to use now, not when the lives and futures of so many depend on the decisions we make here.

“I can put Ophelia on it,” Cleo adds when I don’t reply right away.

Despite myself, the suggestion draws a short laugh from me. “You think it’s time to call out guns that big?”

Ophelia—Cleo’s younger, fully human sister—doesn’t work for the Bureau. At least not in an official capacity. By all technicalities she’s an independent contractor, but in reality she’s one of the best assets we have when it comes to private investigation. Despite not being paranormal, the woman’s got an uncanny knack for finding the unfindable, and moving in circles no human should rightly have access to.

Cleo grins. “She’s getting bored. It’s been, what? Four or five months since we gave her anything juicy? She’s more than ready to get back in the field.”

“I’ll think about it,” I relent. “Hold tight on it for now.”

She agrees, and we move on to other topics. We spend the next fifteen minutes discussing the HHS visit, and a few changes to some of the benefits programs we’ve been providing for paranormals looking to enter the human world, but when a soft knock sounds from the other side of my office door, we both turn to look.

“You’ve got another meeting?” Cleo asks.

I frown. “Not that I’m aware of.”

When I call out to whoever’s on the other side to come in, Ruthie sticks her head in.

“Mr. Blair. I have Ms. Byrne here for you.”

The weight of both Ruthie and Cleo’s gazes settles on me like a brand, putting me directly under the guilty spotlight I’ve earned for myself.

“Give us a moment,” I tell Ruthie, and she nods before shutting the door softly behind her.

Cleo shoots me a skeptical look, waiting, judging. “I thought you said it’s taken care of.”

“It is,” I say brusquely. “And I’ve still got you on the calendar for later this week to finalize everything for HHS.”

Taking the hint, she lets out a long, exasperated breath, gathers her things, and stands, shaking her head with unmistakable disappointment.

“None of this is going to be for shit if all this mess blows back on the Director of the Bureau,” she says, holding up the newspaper in her hand. “You know that, right? What a disaster this could be?”

“I’m aware.”

With a final admonishing look, she turns to go.

“Cleo,” I call after her.

“Hmmm?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

I stand. “I forgot to say congratulations. On you and Stephanie’s anniversary.”

A slow, wry smile spreads over her face. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Of course I remembered. I was at the wedding, wasn’t I?”

Cleo laughs and shakes her head. “It would be a lot easier to be mad at you if you didn’t say shit like that, you know?”