Clearly Joaquin hadn't cleared the plan with Manolo, if the man's expression was any indication. But that was an argument better saved for somewhere not in the middle of the hall, and Hermann stubbornly ushered their guests inside after Newton. He closed and locked the door behind them, movements agitated as he shrugged out of his parka and hung it up on their coat rack.

"We call her Liebling," he huffed, though it wasn't exactly a name, and Newton was actually more fond of rather discourteous nicknames.

Hermann strode into the middle of their living room, then turned on both of them with the uncanny grace of a man with a cane. "I don't have any problems with Mr. Sanchez staying here for a bit, but what are you doing, Mr. Mondragon?"