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exasperation. “It’ll be in my report. If I ever get to finish my report, that is.”
    I knew a hint when it clubbed me that hard. So I turned around and headed back downstairs.
    Once in my car, I switched on the onboard computer and typed in Alana’s name, looking for anything we had on her. As luck would have it, there was practically nothing. The worst thing she’d ever done in her life was being late to pay a speeding ticket. The Trollops might be hard-loving, life-enjoying women, but it seemed this one, at least, was basically law-abiding.
    I double-checked that the address we had listed was the same as the one in the Rolodex, then started up the car and headed off.
    To say Toorak was a well-to-do suburb would be the understatement of the year. Only millionaires and over could afford to live there—though in recent times, some of the more affluent had been moving out to the trendier beachside suburbs like Brighton.
    The only time I came to Toorak willingly was to visit Dia—a psychic who was on the Directorate’s payroll who’d become a friend—or to go window-shopping along Chapel Street. Actually buying anything more expensive than a coffee was out of the question—the Directorate didn’t pay us that well—and even the coffee came with a higher than normal price tag in this suburb.
    The strident blast of a horn brought my attention back to the road, and I swerved to avoid an oncoming car. Ignoring the rather animated gestures from the driver, I flicked the computer over to satnav and let it guide me to Alana’s.
    It turned out she didn’t live in one of the leafy acre blocks that populated the money end of Toorak, but given her apartment was near the Yarra River end of Kooyong Road, it would still carry a million-dollar price tag. At least.
    I climbed out of the car and looked up at the building. It was only three stories high and modern in design, all concrete and windows. The floors weren’t built directly onto each other, but at slight angles, giving everyone a view and the building an ill-stacked look.
    Not ugly, not stunning, just another building that would probably get knocked down and replaced by something bigger and grander in another twenty years. That seemed to be the way in Toorak of late. Even Dia had received offers for her beautiful old house—apparently the plan was to knock it down and build grand-looking apartments that could be flogged for millions each. Dia had so far resisted the temptation—for which I was grateful, because I loved her place. It was such a warm and relaxing home to visit—especially when compared to the bombsite that was my apartment. A good housekeeper I wasn’t. Neither was my brother—though he tended to be far tidier than me.
    I locked the car and headed in. My phone rang as I jogged up the front steps, and I stopped at the top to dig it out of my purse.
    The minute I hit receive, a sharp voice said, “How many times have I told you that the Directorate is not your personal answering service?”
    I grinned. There was no mistaking that voice—it belonged to Salliane, the vamp who’d taken my place as guardian liaison and Jack’s main assistant. “And how lovely it is to hear your dulcet tones again.”
    “Bite me, wolf girl,” she snapped back. Obviously, Jack wasn’t in the room, or else she’d be all sweetness and light. Sal wanted to get into Jack’s shorts something bad, and I guess she figured bad-mouthing the boss’s favorite guardian while he was in hearing range wasn’t going to help her efforts.
    Of course, I pretty much figured nothing would—not only was there his own ruling to consider, but Jack had been holding firm for months now against some pretty sultry onslaughts, and I very much doubted giving in was in the cards in the near future. But it was fun watching her try. And fail.
    “Sal darling, nothing in this world would get me to bite you. And what’s this about personal messages?”
    “I’ve got one here from a Ben Wilson.