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You’re lucky I didn’t call the police.”
    I had the benefit of knowing that calling the police on Elena wouldn’t do any good. Assistant Chief Salas would have showed up and calmed her down, because Elena, for some reason, liked Emilio Salas. Elena liked him, and she liked Mick, and that was it. Everyone else in Magellan, including me and Cassandra, she didn’t consider worth her time.
    I sensed Mick come into the office before I saw him. Usually he left me to conduct hotel business on my own, but he must have returned from the crash site in time to hear my shout of outrage.
    Mick made the room smaller, not only because he was tall and a big man but because Mick dominated any room he walked into. Lesser men faded to nothing in the face of my biker lover with his black hair, blue eyes, leather, and tattoos.
    Most people, upon seeing Mick approach like an animal stalking a kill, would swallow and take a nervous step backward. Ted Wingate gave him a little smile that was almost a sneer.
    “I see,” he said to me. “Having your bodyguard threaten me won’t help you keep your hotel open.”
    Mick’s eyes were changing to black with little sparks of red swimming inside them, the dragon in him ready to come out and play. “Whatever business you have here is one thing,” he said. “How you conduct it is another. Tell Janet what she needs to know and go.”
    Ted consulted his clipboard. “You are Mick Burns? You aren’t listed on the title deed or the payroll.”
    “I don’t work here.” Mick folded his arms. “I live here.”
    “You don’t seem to have a lot of documentation anywhere, Mr. Burns.”
    “I like to keep a low profile.”
    Ted’s eyes almost gleamed. “No one’s profile is that low. Nice tatts.” He cast a glance at the dragons, bared by Mick’s short-sleeved shirt. “My wife is always after me to get tattooed, but I don’t care to.”
    Tattoos might mess up his pretty tan, I guessed. I had tried several times myself to get inked to match Mick, but the etchings always faded by the next morning. My magic, maybe, healing my skin whether I liked it or not. I never scarred, either.
    “Tattoos are not for everyone,” Mick said in a mild voice.
    Mick’s calm told me how angry he was. If Cassandra had fond thoughts of turning Ted into a toad, Mick would be waiting to flame him to a cinder. Between them, we’d have roasted Ted–frog’s legs.
    “Why don’t you leave your list with me?” I suggested. “We’ll look it over and make the necessary repairs. How’s that?”
    “That’s exactly what you’ll do.” Ted took back the clipboard, ripped off the top sheet, and handed the paper to Cassandra. “You don’t, you get shut down by the county sanitation and safety department. You have one week to come up to code.”
    “One week ? How am I supposed to have all this done in a week?”
    “Well, now, that’s not my problem, little gal,” Ted said. “It’s my job to make sure it gets done. Here’s my card.” He handed Cassandra a small rectangle and walked past us, tapping his clipboard to his thigh as he went. “Have a nice day.”
    I slammed my office door behind him and started to swear. I swore long and hard in English and in Navajo and every other language in which I knew bad words. Mick and Cassandra watched me in silence until I collapsed to my desk chair and buried my head in my hands.
    Mick, bless him, came up behind me and gently kneaded my shoulders. Cassandra, still the cool professional, flicked a pristine nail down the checklist Ted had left.
    “We can appeal most of this,” she said. “It’s ridiculous. The wiring is up to code, and so is the plumbing. That was all checked. And many of these things are open to interpretation.”
    “But we’ll have to fix some of it,” I said. “Like the parking lot.” It was a dirt lot, full of potholes, and I shared it with the Crossroads Bar. Barry, who owned the bar, didn’t seem in a hurry to grade his half, and his side