by Deanna Chase
This wasn’t fun. Important, yes, but not fun.
There was a reason I was a Hunter and not an alimentatore. I don’t have the patience for this shit. I’m not a detective, I don’t want to be a detective, and I was unreasonably pissed off at Larson for sitting in a dust-free courtroom while I was locked in the church dungeon with a bunch of bug-infested papers.
I didn’t want to research; I just wanted to hit something.
Unfortunately, there’s never a demon around when you really need one.
Chapter 10
After saying all the necessary good-byes to Father Ben, I headed from the cathedral straight to the gas station, my fingers crossed the entire time as I hoped the Odyssey would maneuver okay burning nothing but fumes.
I’d just started pumping gas when my cell phone rang. “Hello?”
“Mom! We’re done, we’re done! Can you come get us?”
“You’re done?” I stared at my watch. Not even two forty-five. “Why are you done?”
“Mo-om. Half day, remember?”
I didn’t remember, but wasn’t about to confess to Allie that her mother was a space case. Instead, I made a noncommittal grunting noise. Allie didn’t seem to notice.
“And we had our cheerleading meeting and I have about a billion forms you and Stuart have to sign and we already have homework. I mean, it’s only day one. And it wasn’t even a full day, so what’s up with that?”
“The fiends,” I said.
“Yeah. Exactly. So, like, can you come get us?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in ten minutes. You’ll have to finish some errands with me.”
I could practically hear her making a face. “We’ll wait in the car,” she said.
I smiled. “Whatever.”
I found the girls loitering on the steps leading up to the main entrance of the school. They were sitting with three other girls, and a group of four boys was camped out on the far side of the steps. From my vantage point, I could see the girls whispering and casting surreptitious glances toward the boys, who didn’t appear to notice.
“So who are the guys?” I asked as Mindy and Allie piled into the van.
“Huh?” Allie asked.
“Your companions on the stairs,” I said, pointing back in that direction.
“Oh, them,” Allie said, sounding just a little too bored. “Seniors.”
“And football players,” Mindy added.
“Don’t even know you’re alive, huh?” I said.
I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the girls exchange a glance. “No,” Allie finally said. “They don’t talk to freshman girls.”
I raised a silent cheer. My little girl hardly needed to be fraternizing with the football players. Out loud I put on a supportive mom face. “You won’t be freshmen forever.”
The girls just grunted. I tried to stifle my smile as I maneuvered the van back toward our neighborhood.
“So where are we going?”
“Kickboxing class and then the grocery store.”
“Oh, cool,” Mindy said.
“Do we get to take a class today?” Allie asked.
“Not today. I’m just going to find a class and sign us up.”
Without the possibility of imminent fighting, the girls lost interest, ignoring me in favor of the copy of Entertainment Weekly that Allie pulled out of her backpack.
There’s probably a more scientific method for choosing a martial arts class, but I relied on the old P & P method— proximity and presentation. Basically, what I wanted was something close to the house that didn’t look (or smell) like a total dive.
When Eric and I had first moved to San Diablo, it had a true small-town feel. Local businesses lined Main Street, which hosted (and still hosts) a local market day fair the first Friday of every month. Surrounding this downtown area are neighborhoods overflowing with tall trees and wide, shady streets. Over the years the time-worn houses have been renovated into sparkling jewels. Small, but sparkling.
Eric, and I had lived in such a gem when we’d moved to San Diablo. The lack of space in the house for Allie’s toys (not to mention the dearth of kids in the neighborhood for Allie to play with) had made us start to eye the outlying subdivisions greedily. About the time Eric was killed, we’d been seriously thinking about moving. With Stuart, my stint in suburbia officially began.
While downtown San Diablo retains its quaint old-world charm, the rest of the city has become truly California-ized, with strip mall after strip mall and a Starbucks on every corner. (A slight exaggeration. And since I’m a frequent and willing patron, I can hardly complain.)
As far as I can tell, the Universal Code for the Creation of Strip Malls requires each to have a dry cleaner, an insurance agent, a pizza-delivery joint, and a martial arts studio. By my count, there are six malls dotting the landscape between the high school and the entrance to my subdivision.
From my quick glance as I drove by, each studio appeared to be a clone of the one before it. Nothing unappealing, but nothing that screamed exceptional quality, either. In the end the only criteria I cared about was proximity, and I pulled up in front of the Victor Leung Martial Arts Academy, which shared a wall with my neighborhood 7-Eleven. (They know me well in there; it’s where I go when I run out of milk for Tim or realize that whatever I’m trying to make for dinner requires butter or cream or some other item that is sadly absent from my larder.)
“What do you think?” I asked the girls.
Allie shrugged. Mindy mumbled something I couldn’t understand. And with that rousing endorsement, we piled out of the car and headed toward the door.
From the outside the place seemed clean enough, and through the glass (which listed in vibrant red paint everything from karate to kickboxing), I could see a group of kids mingling, their faces bright as they gathered personal belongings from the piles of shoes and backpacks against the far wall. I considered the presence of children a good sign—I may not have done my homework, but presumably some other mother had. Today, I would happily coast on her anonymous coattails.
I pushed the door open, setting a little bell to jingle, and the three of us entered. The kids and a few adults all looked in my direction, but no one moved to greet me. Mindy and Allie took off toward the back of the studio, where someone had hung a collection of black-and-white pictures taken during various tournaments. I couldn’t hear everything they said, but I definitely picked up an “Oh, look at him,” and a “Do you think we’ll learn how to do that?”
I grinned. They could pretend nonchalance, but I knew the truth. The girls were looking forward to this. And, in truth, so was I.
At the moment, though, it wasn’t excitement I was feeling, it was annoyance. Proximity notwithstanding, if someone didn’t offer to help me soon, we were going to get out of there and find some other class. I was just on the verge of gathering the girls when a set of swinging doors at the back of the studio slammed inward and a thirty-something man stepped through wearing a uniform cinched with a black belt. His hair, almost as dark as the belt was pulled back from his head in a ponytail. He sported a day-old beard along with an aura of controlled danger. Honestly, he reminded me of Steven Seagal in Under Siege, one of Stuart’s favorite movies. The urge to ask him if he knew how to cook was almost overwhelming.
“Victor Leung?” I asked as he approached me, his hand held out in greeting.
“Sean Tyler,” he said. “Cutter to my friends,” he added with a smile as he looked me up and down. His fingers were warm against mine, and I realized too late I was blushing. Shit. What was the matter with me?
I tugged my hand away. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Tyler. I was hoping to talk to the owner.”
“You are.” I must have looked confused, because he continued, lowering his voice so none of the lingering students could hear. “There is no Victor Leung. It’s all about—”
“PR. Yeah, I’ve heard this one before.”
He rocked back on his heels, his eyes dark and his mouth curled in
the slightest of smiles, as if I amused him. “So how can I help you, Miss…?”
“Mrs.” I said, probably too quickly. “Kate Connor.” I drew myself up to my full height. “I need a trainer.” I went into more detail, explaining that I wanted some one-on-one training in addition to a class that Allie and I (and Mindy) could take together. I pointed the girls out to him, and they immediately blushed and tittered, then finally turned back to the wall again, as if the pictures were the most fascinating thing ever. Apparently, I’d been right—Cutter was a hottie.
I expected him to rattle off a list of class times. Instead, he said, “Someone stalking you?”
Not a question I’d been expecting, and I grappled for an answer, obviously not finding a good one since I blurted out, “Not exactly.”
He laughed. “Is that like being a little bit pregnant?”
I stared at him, trying to decide if he was an obnoxious jerk or a charming rogue.
“Don’t worry,” he said, as if reading my mind. He grinned, all white teeth and charm. “You get used to me.”
About that, I believed him. Cutter seemed like the kind of guy who would grow on you, and I followed as he started across the room toward a heavy oak desk covered with papers. The other parents and students had left, leaving just the four of us in the studio. “So do I get the story?” he asked as he walked. “Or do you like the role of mysterious suburban beauty?”
(I should point out that I’m not naive. He was a cute guy—amendment, a hot guy—running a martial arts studio less than a mile from the entrance to one of the nicer San Diablo neighborhoods. Of course he sucked up to the local moms. If he didn’t, some other instructor would be teaching the neighborhood tots to kick and lunge and jab. I knew all that, and yet I still perked up a bit at the “beauty” comment. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but at the moment, I wasn’t inclined to look for it.)
He turned and looked at me, silently prompting me to answer his question.
“Years ago I used to be pretty good at this stuff,” I said, as if it was no big deal. “I realized how out of practice I am, and I want a refresher. And someone to train with.”
“And your daughters?’
“Daughter,” I said. “And her best friend.” I shrugged. “I can’t always be there to watch their backs.” I couldn’t help the edge in my voice. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.
“Fair enough,” he said. “I don’t have any more classes today,” he said. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve got?”
“Oh,” I said stupidly. I looked at my watch. I’d expected to just run down the formalities today. And I wasn’t that excited about the idea of showing Cutter what I had in front of Allie. “I don’t think that’s such a good—”
“Just dump your things over there.” He pointed to the far wall. “Hey, girls,” he called. “Come on over here for a minute. Your mom and I have a little demonstration for you.”
“Cutter,” I hissed.
“What? You’re going to be taking classes with your kid. Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed to fight in front of her. That’s gonna make class a little cumbersome.”
“Fine.” I glared at him again, feeling a bit like we were having a marital spat. My fights with Stuart just never involved actual fighting. “We’ll spar.” There really wasn’t any reason not to. I’d get a feel for his skills, and I figured I could tone my own skills down a bit for Allie’s sake. Besides, Cutter was right. Allie would get the full sense of what Mom could do soon enough.
As the girls sat cross-legged at the edge of the mat, I headed toward the wall to drop off my purse and shoes like Cutter had suggested. The studio walls were mirrored, so I have no excuse for not seeing him coming. All I knew was that a split second after I passed him, he grabbed me around the waist, one hand going over my mouth to prevent me from screaming.
What the hell?
I could hear Allie yelling in the background, but I couldn’t focus on her. All thoughts had faded from my head, replaced only with a deep desire to nail Cutter’s sorry ass. I wasn’t thinking, I was just doing—and I’ll admit it felt good.
I got both my hands on his one over my mouth, then tugged downward, managing to sink my teeth into the soft flesh beside his thumb. As I did that, I twisted, but his arm held fast around my waist despite his howl of protest. I slammed my left arm back, leading with my elbow, and caught him just under the rib cage. He exhaled with a whoof, and his arm loosened just enough for me to twist to the side, hook my leg under his, and send him sprawling backward onto the mat.
“Mom! Mom! Wow, Mom, that was awesome!”
A split second later I was straddling him, my hands tight around his neck, thumbs against his windpipe. “What do you think you’re doing?” I asked as Mindy and Allie raced toward us.
Blood pounded in my ears, and although I wanted to twist around and flash a reassuring smile at my daughter, I couldn’t quite manage. All of my attention was still focused on Cutter. “Why did you jump me?” I demanded.
“You said you used to be good,” he said. I could feel the tremor of his vocal cords beneath my hands. “I just wanted to see how good. Sorry, I should have asked.”
“Yes, you should have.” I was being tested a lot lately, and I didn’t much like it. So far I’d done better defending myself than I’d expected. For that, at least, I gave myself Brownie points.
“Are you gonna get off him, Mrs. Connor?”
“Why should she?” Allie answered. “She totally nailed him. That was so awesome.”
“Pretty awesome,” Cutter said, agreeably. “Not that this isn’t cozy, but if she got off me, maybe we could show you two a few more maneuvers.”
“Will you, Mom?”
“Not today, hon,” I said. My adrenaline rush was fading, replaced by the keen awareness that I was sitting on the chest of one very good-looking man. At least, I hoped he was a man. At the moment I was leaving nothing to chance.
“Oh, come on, Mom!”
“Sorry, kid. We have to get to the grocery store next.”
“Oh, good,” Cutter said. “A reprieve.”
I made a face as Mindy leaned over us. “Can you teach us how to do that? Flip guys, I mean.”
“Sure, kiddo. That’s why we’re taking classes, remember?”
Allie circled me and Cutter, her finger pressed to her mouth, her expression serious. “I dunno, Mom. Should we take lessons from him? Maybe we should find someone better.”
“Oh, for crying out—” Cutter began. “Your mom definitely knows how to defend herself. I promise I can teach you girls the same thing.”
“Hmmm,” Allie said. I tried to hide my amusement as she turned to Mindy. “What do you think?”
Mindy shrugged. “He’s got all sorts of awards and stuff hanging on the back wall. He’ll probably be okay.”
“Tough consumers,” Cutter said. “Not that this isn’t fun—you sitting on me, I mean—but do you think I could get up now?” He met my eyes, his dark with amusement and something else I wasn’t inclined to examine too closely. “Or we could just stay like this indefinitely.”
“Very funny.” I climbed off of him, but stayed at the ready, standing over him while he looked up, bemused, from a prone position. The truth was, I did need him alone. Just not for that reason. Demon-testing was not for the faint of heart. Neither was it for my daughter to see. “Girls, run over to 7-Eleven and get me a soda, would you?”
“A soda?” Mindy repeated.
“She just wants to get rid of us,” Allie said. “She’s going to chew him out.”
“Smart kid,” I said. “I’ll meet you two outside in a minute.”
“Alone at last,” Cutter said as soon as the door shut behind the girls.
I glared at him.
“Hey, a beautiful woman just laid me out flat. All I’ve got left is my sense of humor.”
I had to admit that, on the whole, he was being a pretty good sport. “You spooked me,” I said simply.
“I gu
ess so. So how long before you get unspooked and quit looking at me like that?”
A very good question. I suppose he could have been a demon, lying in wait in the off chance I decided to train at Victor-cum-Cutter’s studio—but I had to admit the odds were slim. Of course, three days ago I would have said the odds of a demon catapulting himself through my window were nil.
I didn’t intend to take chances.
My purse was still looped over my shoulder, and now I stuck one hand inside so I could rummage in its depths. I found the vial of holy water and managed to open it one-handed. With my hand still inside the purse, I drenched my hand (not to mention my checkbook, pens, makeup, and wallet). “Come here,” I said.
He squinted at me, but complied, and as soon as he was close enough, I reached out and patted his cheek with my damp hand. Nothing happened. (Okay, that’s not exactly true. Cutter muttered a few obscenities and asked the room in general if I was a psychopath.)
I backed off. “Sorry about that.”
I expected him to tell me to get out of his studio. Instead, he just wiped the water off his face with the back of his hand and stared at me. “Any chance you’ll tell me what that was about?”
“Any chance you’ll train with me?” I shot back. “Or teach my daughter’s class?” I hoped he would. Now that I knew he wasn’t a demon, I had to admit I liked the guy. He had gumption, and he didn’t mind (too much) that a woman had bested him. He was also conveniently located near my house, and, as an added benefit, he was easy on the eyes.
“Lady, you don’t look like you need the training.”
“I do,” I insisted. “My reflexes are better than I thought, but my instincts are all off. I should have realized you were coming. You never should have got your hand around my mouth. It took me way too long to bring you down. And to top it all off, my whole body feels sore and bruised.”
“From laying me out?”
