by Michele Hauf
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, miss. I’m just a private citizen who thought he heard something suspicious. I work independently. Call it pest control.”
“Pest control?”
“That’s what it says on my business card.”
“Fine. I know the drill, Mr. Harris. Whoever you are, you probably don’t exist, right?”
“I’m dead serious, Miss Bane, you need to vacate the premises.” He glanced toward the ceiling. Where there was one, there was always another.
A combination of a sneer and a tongue-lashing mocked him from those sassy plump lips. Now she had tapped his last nerve. Jack stalked up to the obnoxious bit of cheek. Brimstone pervaded the air, growing stronger as he gained her—standard demon scent. It was from the fallout. He fitted his stance right up to her boots and pressed his face close to hers. Beyond the layer of demon gunk, he smelled lemons. Yet her kiss had been the furthest thing from tart. Bad form, Jack. You’re not here to make out with a strange woman. But you could get her number for later.
Right. Now he was thinking like a stupid civilian who would get himself killed. Must be the weird fresh smell of her. Just so…intriguing.
“If you don’t leave now,” Jack growled, “you’ll be in serious danger.”
“And if I refuse?”
She was pushing it. Flirtatiously sliding her eyes up and down him from head to waist.
When had obstinacy become so alluring? Jack had been so wrapped up in the quest for demons, he had seriously fallen away from real life, which included socializing and, oh, yes, women.
But were they making them this way nowadays? So…attractively impudent?
“If I can ask,” he said, calmer, checking his anger. Yeah, it was in there. The anger never completely left him. But he could pull on the charm if need be. “What’s with the goggles?”
She reached up and tapped the plastic lens of the goggles. “Demon spit is toxic. They would have come in handy if I’d known the splatter was coming.”
Jack smoothed a hand over his scalp. Hair short as razor stubble was slicked with demon residue. He’d left his own night-vision specs at home.
“As for being a freelance hunter,” she added, “you guys aren’t as covert as you like to believe. We’ve been bemoaning your trigger-happy actions for decades. And now I completely understand why.”
Stalking away from him, she started toward the stairway.
“We?” he called.
“Yep. We.”
“Wait!” Shoving the gun over his shoulder and taking off after the elusive bit of demon guts and defiance, Jack took the iron stairs two at a time.
We? If someone was going to compromise his mission, he needed facts. The woman stopped on the second floor and walked swiftly to the center of the vast room.
“What is that thing?” she muttered. “It’s not standard issue.”
“Kitchen sink,” he said with a proud grin. “Night-vision scope, triggercontrolled camera, rocket-propelled grenade and much, much more. She’s my baby.”
“Uh-huh. Point it away from me, will you, hotshot?”
“Sure.” But not before he pressed the photo button. The digital camera fitted in the scope snapped a flashless shot of his partner in crime. He’d send it on to headquarters later and get to the bottom of Miss Mersey Bane.
This floor was similar to the previous. Stripped to the bare walls and in preparation for remodeling. Plastic had been stapled over the glassless windows and construction dust littered the stained hardwood floors. Oil and dirt scented the air.
Pausing, Mersey motioned to Jack. “Shh.” She pressed a finger to her lips and looked upward.
Jack followed her gaze. Dread tightened his scalp and drained the warmth from his extremities. A feeling he’d been tapping into a lot of late.
“Human or demon?” he whispered, reaching for the EMF clipped at his belt.
“Demon.”
Mersey dug into her pocket and produced a pyramid-shaped stone, the point of it fitted between two fingers that were stacked with black rings. The size of a tangerine, she displayed it on her palm before him. Quartz?
“It’s my turn now,” she said. “Pay attention, hotshot. This is how the professionals do it.”
Jack smirked. He was humoring her in hopes of gaining information about the mysterious we, so he cautioned his anger.
“It’s here,” she whispered. Holding up the crystal, she closed her eyes, seeming to read the atmosphere. “Not an overly threatening force, maybe…more curious. Like the one you took out.”
“And how do you know—”
She put up a palm for silence. “Please, Mr. Harris, could you and that big-arse gun just hold quiet?”
“You get a lot of boyfriends wielding that charm?”
“Don’t need boyfriends.”
“Lesbian, eh?”
“What?”
He chuckled at her affront. “Didn’t seem that way when you were studying my tonsils.”
“Of all the—” Her attention averted quickly.
Jack slapped a hand to the rifle stock. The hairs on his neck prickled. Something was about.
The nonsense verse she began to whisper flowed as easily as a child’s nursery rhyme. Jack didn’t recognize the words, but figured it for Latin.
Intrigued, even against his better judgment, he decided to play along, watch her show. Should something actually come at her, he’d have her back. And she would need him.
Through the murky darkness Jack spied the shadow rippling across the ceiling. The demon did not try to disguise its presence. The faint odor of brimstone drifted closer.
Still chanting, Mersey moved forward into the room, her focus increasing and intent aimed for the demon.
“This is not going to be good.” Jack aimed for the moving demon.
“Hold off, hunter!”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Flicking off the safety emitted a high-pitched tone from the rifle’s computer. Jack tracked the laser across the high ceiling beams. The demon would materialize first as mist. They always did.
Yet there, at the back of his concentration, sang her chant. Knowing, intent and bold. Inexplicably intrigued by the rhythm of her voice and the evocative tone of the musical words, Jack tilted his head to the side.
Who was this odd woman? And why did he allow her antics? Never had he exposed a civilian to the dangers of his work. Not that he expected she would have left if he’d given her the boot.
Dark mist apported above them. No time to struggle with inaction. Mersey lifted the quartz pyramid high and commanded, “Te vincio!”
The air in the room changed, swiftly brushing over Jack’s face and shoving at his shoulders. But while he maintained position, he lost aim. It happened so quickly, he only knew it was finished when he saw Mersey’s hand drop to her side, the pyramid clutched securely. The demon shadow had disappeared.
“Where the hell—?”
Chapter 4
D ark lashes dusted her eyes, and she sent a triumphant grin toward him. “Told you I was a professional.”
“That was it?” Where was the bang, the fallout, a payoff from the kill? Hefting the quartz, Mersey strode to a nearby window where the plastic had torn away and whipped outside like a flag. She studied the crystal in the streetlight that shone through.
Jack joined her. The clear quartz was now completely black, and when Jack squinted he could see minute movement, like swirling mist, inside the stone.
“It’s in there?” he asked. “The whole demon?”
“Safe and sound.” Dropping the pyramid into an inner coat pocket, she then pressed a palm against the window frame, leaning there. “A lot less messy than your method, wouldn’t you say?”
Straightening his shoulders, Jack said, “I use technology, not…hocuspocus.”
“Get over it, hotshot. I’m not a witch. No hocus-pocus up my sleeves. But now, I have a viable entity to bring back to base for interrogation. If luck is with me, I’ll have the source of
this demon’s entry before the sun rises.”
“And where is base?”
“Ah, ah. We’re not sharing that much.”
“Forgot. First date, right?”
“Sure.” Her gaze dropped down his torso and when she looked back up, a tickle lit in her eyes. Cocky bit of sass, wasn’t she? Jack knew exactly what to do with women who tossed out silent propositions.
He leaned in, briefly eyeing the bulge in her pocket that contained the crystal, yet ultimately aiming his focus on the woman’s brilliant eyes. She smelled like spoiled demon, for the bits still clinging to her hair and shoulders, yet with a tinge of fruity freshness.
“I’ll have you know I’m not put off by demon-coated women.”
“Really?” She tugged the white T-shirt away from her ribs, displaying the rusty residue that coated it. “I’ve demon guts crusted all over me, and I’m really not turned on by men who carry big weapons. But if you’re up for it, give it your best shot.”
This bird was easy. Or not. One minute she was kissing him, the next she stood there aloof and challenging.
“You’re not much of a romantic, are you?” Jack asked. And he was?
“Romance—” she looked aside and sighed “—is for faery tales.”
“I agree.” He pressed a palm to the window frame above her head. “But let’s see if this will change our minds.”
He touched her jaw and smoothed the back of his hand along it to stroke the powdery residue from her cheek.
Are you doing this, Jack? Making out with a complete stranger in the middle of a demon-infested warehouse?
Why the bloody hell not? Jack always opened the door to opportunity when it knocked. Sometimes he even got lucky.
First contact with her mouth tasted slightly metallic; must have been the residue. She didn’t protest their contact, yet she did not answer his kiss by pressing back. Just…accepting.
Stepping into her space, Jack tilted his head down to keep the kiss. She didn’t attempt to make it any easier by moving into him. He couldn’t get close enough to press their bodies together because he was so much taller.
But for the moment her mouth was reward enough. Thick lips, soft beneath his own, opened to release a wintergreen sigh. Her breaths came faster, and he liked that. Not impervious, then. Her Jekyll and Hyde approach to seduction was confusing, and yet, it had got him to forget about demons for a few moments, hadn’t it?
Right. Demons. The mission. You ruddy idiot.
When Jack drew back from the powerful contact, he couldn’t help notice she inhaled as if drawing in the scent of a flower. Couldn’t resist taking one last piece of him?
“Nice,” he said. But he hadn’t remembered to slip the pyramid from her coat. Not smart, Jack.
Mersey didn’t say a thing. And yet, her next move released her inner Hyde. She reached for Jack’s shoulder and pulled him back for another kiss. No sweet, tentative touching this time around. This woman liked her kisses hard and deep, if a little unpolished. He reacted to her tongue tracing his mouth and let in her wintergreen cool. Yep, it had been far too long, and Jack had become a dull boy. No longer.
Lifting her by the thighs, he walked forward a few paces, pressing the sassy bird up against the wall. Her shoulders fit between two vertical framing boards and she wrapped her legs about his hips. Jack moaned as all the right parts snugged against all the right places. Instantly hard, he ground his erection against her. Sex with a stranger. He could go there. Hell, he was already there.
Shoving back the coat from her shoulders, he heard the hard clank of what must have been the demon crystal in her pocket. A deadly creature contained in that bit of murky rock, capable of swift murder, and without remorse.
An unwelcome image flickered in Jack’s mind. She hadn’t even seen it coming. One moment Monica stood there, looking to Jack for reassurance—rescue—the next, she was dead.
“What are we doing?” Jack pushed from the kiss and paced away toward the stairs, and then as quickly, reversed and returned toward the object of his lustful curiosity. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me.”
He turned and again strode away. Petite, feisty and attractive, yet unlike the usual eyelash-batting pretties, Mersey Bane was one of those women who wanted to hold their own, without a man to back them up. There was nothing wrong with women like that—unless he couldn’t get there fast enough to protect them when they needed it. And they always needed it.
“What’s bugging you, hotshot?” The tip of her tongue glanced out to trace her lower lip. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Wrong? We’re kissing when we should be saving the world from demons,” he said.
“You kissed me first,” she accused. “Do I scare you, Jack?”
“Scare me?” Nothing scared him.
Almost nothing.
When memory reared its demonic head that put a fright to his calm pulse.
He averted his gaze to the sharp-pointed lump in her coat pocket. “You bloody terrify me to know you’re toting a dangerous demon in your pocket.”
Fingers gripping the air, then splaying out, she punctuated her silent frustration with a curt. “Right. I think that’s my cue to leave.”
“What do you intend to do with that thing?” Jack demanded.
“Take it back to base and interrogate it.”
He thrust out the stock of the M4, catching her across the chest with it. “You don’t know what trouble you’re getting into, little girl. You can’t release that thing. It’ll tear you apart.”
“Listen.” She shoved away his gun. “I’m not telling you how to do your job, so don’t tell me how to do mine. Deal?”
Jack clenched his jaw so tightly, his molars scraped. When she started down the stairs, he decided one more try at Mr. Nice Guy, and then the gloves were off.
Jogging toward the stairs, he fished a card from his inner vest pocket. He still carried them, having done so when working upstairs at MI5 as a spook. He handed Mersey the business card, which listed his last name and his cell-phone number.
“Pest control.” With a smirk she flicked the card with a forefinger.
“Two kisses weren’t enough—” her eyes averted to his crotch, where the pain of his restraint tormented “—big boy?”
Jack lunged and gripped her by the coat collar. Fighting the aggressive need to lash out, he growled. Infuriation had never before challenged him with such intriguing green eyes.
“Call me if you need help,” he said through a tight jaw. Releasing her, he did not step back, yet maintained eye contact, which forced her to crane her neck to see him. The struggle not to sink back into her luscious scent threatened. “You will need help—you just don’t know it yet.”
“Sure.” Smiling a wicked grin, the woman tucked his card into a pocket and then started down the stairs.
“Sure you don’t want that help right now?” he called. The urge to follow her could not be ignored. “I can give you a ride home, or to your base.”
Without replying she waved back as she exited the building. You going to let her go, Jack?
By rights, he should let go of Miss Cocky I’ve Got a Demon In My Pocket. She was a dabbler, like those stupid numskulls had been the night of his encounter with the dread demon. And that had ended horribly.
He couldn’t allow Mersey Bane to end up as Monica had. He had to follow her and blast that demon in her pocket to bits.
And if he could gain one more wintergreen kiss while at it, then this night would turn out all right.
Chapter 5
M ersey Bane got on a city bus down the roadway from the warehouse. An easy follow. Jack tailed the red double-decker through London as it headed northwest. The streetlights and businesses were lit for after hours and pub crawls. Bands of drunken compatriots wobbled from one pub to the next. Jack was always up for a crawl, but not when he was working.
He kept an eye to the capped head seated toward the back of the bus. The demon in her pocket must not be released, mos
t especially, on a bus. She wasn’t capable of handling it—in proof, her sexy come-on showed Jack where her mind was. Not on protecting innocents, but instead, focused on sexual endeavors.
It was a little odd because he didn’t get the I’m-a-loose-girl vibe from Miss Bane. But he could be wrong. Jack Harris had never won any awards for knowing a woman’s mind.
One hand on the steering wheel, he leaned across to the passenger seat and popped out the compact flash disk from his weapon. Inserting it into the drive in the car’s dashboard, he uploaded the photo he’d taken earlier. The screen was stashed in the glove box, but he didn’t need to view it.
Sliding his mobile phone from a pocket of his vest, he dialed up headquarters. The phone was answered on the first ring.
“Good evening, Jack, how may I help you?”
“Belladonna, do you ever sleep?”
The female voice purred, which made Jack smile, despite the situation. Jack had come to rely upon the sweet lady’s voice behind the frequent calls he made to check in with P-Cell or gather information for an assignment. Her title was communications contact, and she was definitely high in P-Cell ranks. Belladonna had yet to steer him wrong. And P-Cell’s secrecy was guarded by her anonymity. He figured her to be older, probably in her sixties, but had never met her, nor had any others with P-Cell. The creepy thing? She always answered a call on the first ring. No matter the time of day.
“After all these years, I require little beauty sleep, Jack. So what’s the situation?”
“One confirmed kill to report.”
“Excellent. Did you ID the culprit first?”
“Standard nuisance demon.” Or so he guessed. His attention had been diverted toward the woman in his arms. Diversion entailing ensuring her safety—and snogging. “Got something else for you. I’ve uploaded a photo to the mainframe.”
“I’m accessing it right now. Oh, she’s an interesting take.”
“Name’s Mersey Bane. Pronounced like the disposition, spelled like the river.”
And why he repeated that bit of trivia, he just didn’t know. Had the woman got to him? Slid her sensuous yet awkward allure beneath his skin and imprinted herself on his psyche? Ah! He was tired. Head full of muck and all that.
