To the questions about family history, she added one more: Are you the oldest child in your family?
Around four p.m., Gabby appeared in Dara’s doorway.
“Ben is on the phone.” Gabby looked wary. Dara’s cancellation of his future volunteer shifts had already made its way through the office grapevine. “He’s at the Hyundai dealership in Jacksonville. He had to leave his car for service and he was wondering if someone could come pick him up.”
The Hyundai dealership? Why would he be at a Hyundai dealership?
“I’ll go get him.” Kelsey’s voice floated down the hall. Did she listen to everything that came from Dara’s office, or were her antennae attuned to mention of Ben’s name?
“Couldn’t he get a loaner car?” Dara asked. “Or an Uber?”
“I didn’t ask,” Gabby said.
“I’ll go get him.” Kelsey appeared behind Gabby. She already had her purse on her shoulder.
Over my dead body. “How’s the Robert Wood Johnson grant proposal coming?”
“It’s almost done.” Kelsey’s eyes didn’t meet hers.
“Isn’t it due tomorrow?”
Kelsey’s pretty face turned an un-pretty shade of red. “I’ll finish it when I get back. I was planning to work late anyway.”
Dara opened her desk drawer and pulled out her purse. “I’ll go get him. I have some things I need to talk to him about.”
Kelsey flounced back to her office. Dara pretended not to hear the grant writer’s desk drawer slam as she put her purse away.
Belial was inside the dealership, chatting with one of the saleswomen, when Dara’s rusty old Toyota pulled onto the lot. Excellent. Maybe, given his heroic rescue of her from the cicadas the previous night, she would let him make her dinner.
The prospect of a long, uninterrupted evening made him smile. Without a patient there, playing chaperone, he’d finally have the perfect opportunity to kiss her again. At the thought of her soft body pressed against him, her mouth opening beneath his lips, his groin awoke.
“There’s my ride,” he told the blond saleswoman.
She gave him a long, melting look. “Are you sure I can’t buy you a drink?”
He chuckled and shook his head. While it felt good to have a woman respond readily to his charm, it was Dara’s challenging company he craved. “I have to go to work.”
He expected Dara to wait for him in the parking lot, but she’d gotten out of the car and was almost to the door by the time he reached it. He smiled at her quizzically. She marched straight past him without speaking.
“Are you finally thinking about replacing that old rust bucket?” he asked. Maybe he could help her negotiate a deal on a replacement. He hovered behind her, envisioning her gratitude.
Dara yanked the door open, hard. He was following so close behind that it slammed into his face. He leapt back, grabbing his nose. “Ow!”
She turned. Her eyes widened at the damage to his face, but her lips were pinched with anger. She had done it intentionally. What the devil?
He checked his face in the showroom window. His nose was crooked and his eyes were already swelling.
“You broke my nose. Why did you break my nose?”
She put out her hand as though to touch his cheek, but immediately withdrew it. Her jaw tightened.
“Maybe if you had a little more respect for personal space, it wouldn’t have happened.”
He goggled at her. “What is your problem?”
She stared at him fiercely, with none of the compassion he’d come to expect from her toward anyone in pain. “What happened to your Lamborghini?”
He tried to read her body language to understand what had set her off, but he was reduced to peering through two swollen slits for eyes. Bad had injected too much human DNA, leaving him far too fragile.
“I was forced to downgrade,” he said.
“Why?”
There was no point in lying. She’d already figured it out.
“I needed the money for something else.”
She shot him a glance that should have singed the hair off his head. “To fund that grant.”
“The money went to a variety of—”
“To buy your way into my clinic.”
He watched her, thinking fast. Had she decided his story of being assigned to the Strong Clinic for a past failure was a lie? Her face was stone-like, giving nothing away. He decided truth would serve him best.
“Yes,” he said.
She muttered something beneath her breath that sounded suspiciously like “asshole,” and walked into the dealership. She flagged down the saleswoman he’d been speaking with.
“Did you wait on this gentleman?” Dara jerked her thumb toward him.
The saleswoman gaped at his battered face. “What happened to you?”
“He ran into a door,” Dara said. “He’ll be fine.” When the woman didn’t look convinced, Dara added, “I’m a nurse. I know about these things.”
“Are you sure—”
“I’m okay,” Ben said thickly.
“He didn’t talk you into anything, did he?” asked Dara. “Or out of anything? Like a new car in trade for his old piece of junk?”
“No, no.” The woman swallowed. She clearly thought she’d stepped into the middle of domestic violence. “He said he came in for service. We just chatted while he waited for his ride.”
“Thank you.” Dara turned and stomped out the door. Belial had no choice but to follow her.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” he asked, once they were back in the car. His face hurt like hell.
She turned a fulminating gaze on him. “Like you don’t know.”
Through puffy eyes, he stared at her in astonishment. She was the most extraordinary woman, prickly as a camel thorn tree. “My knowledge of what goes on in this world, while extensive, is not absolute. I have no idea what’s got your hackles up.”
It was fortunate she could only look metaphorical daggers. Otherwise, he’d be a ringer for Julius Caesar by now. She backed the car out of the parking space.
“I told my grandmother about the locusts in the clinic last night,” she said. Ah, so that was it. His gut tightened. “She pointed out that locusts and lice were two of the ten plagues of Egypt. This morning, a wild animal invaded us.”
He frowned. Lilith had gone too far. “What kind of wild animal?”
“Like you don’t know,” she said. “Would you like to explain what you’re hoping to achieve? Or is this part of your ‘observation of the American health system’?”
Well, bliss. Once again, Belial was aware of the confining presence of the cell phone that relayed his every word back to Hell. He considered tossing it out the window, but that would only send Satan’s suspicions into overdrive. Belial needed a way to handle this that didn’t undercut his greater objective—his promotion.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied. “Nor why you would accuse me. I was the one who got rid of the locusts—humanely—if you remember.”
“Is that what this was? Setting up a situation where you could play hero?”
“No.” Though that wouldn’t have been a bad idea, had it worked. “I have no idea how the cicadas got into the clinic.” He didn’t mind lying, but it was annoying to have to expend so much creativity covering Lilith’s actions. “And you said yourself that you see lice all the time.”
Her conviction didn’t waver.
“The plagues didn’t come from my side,” he pointed out. “They were a punishment on the Egyptians from G—” He couldn’t get the word out. “The other side.”
She nodded like he’d just proved her point. “My guess is you thought it would be funny—this very ironic, hip way to spread your evil.”
Actually, she was probably right. That was likely exactly what Lilith had been thinking. He preferred his own evil a little more straightforward.
“If that was your plan,” she said, “it backfired. I’ve asked Javier to remov
e you from the October schedule.”
He went rigid on the poorly sprung seat. “You’re firing me as a volunteer?” Without the opportunity to spend time in her presence, his chances of success dropped to almost zero.
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. “We both know that’s not an option. You’d go straight to the board and they’d want to know why, and I wouldn’t be able to give them a reason that didn’t sound insane.”
That was exactly what he would do. Such an action was not conducive to seducing her, but neither was never setting eyes on her again. He’d been making steady progress in the clinic, wearing down her ability to resist. Despite her wariness, even despite her current anger, she was attracted to him. He could see it in the way her nostrils flared when he was near, and in the way her color fluctuated when their hands brushed while working with a patient.
“I had Javier schedule you for the pediatrics clinic,” she said.
He stiffened. Those clinics occurred only once a week. “I’m not comfortable working around children.”
“If the shift doesn’t appeal to you, drop out.”
She had him on this. If she fired him for no reason, the board would intervene. But she had run the clinic with great success for the past five years. They were unlikely to interfere with the day-to-day operations.
His cell phone rang.
“Bad’s got an upgrade for your identity,” Satan said. “Get down here and let him install it.”
“I just dropped my car off at the shop.” A headache stirred behind Belial’s eyes. “I’m not sure how soon I can get there.” He didn’t know if it was the bump on the head, the complaints from the boss or his backward progress with Dara that lay behind the pounding in his skull.
“Then ride the Ducati.”
“I’ll have the Hyundai back tomorrow. The Ducati’s too unprotected for that environment.”
Dara’s head whipped around. “Are you talking to Satan?”
It was clear she already knew the answer. He covered the receiver with his hand. “Yes.”
“In my car?”
He nodded.
She plucked the phone from his hand and tossed it out her window.
He stared at her in astonishment. “Are you insane?”
She veered to the curb. “Get out.”
“What do you mean?”
She pulled an atomizer of holy water he hadn’t noticed from the cup holder in her door. “Get out.”
“You broke my nose. And did you see the size of this knot?” He touched his forehead. “I think I may have a concussion.”
She wavered for a moment before her face hardened again. “I’ve seen how fast you heal. A half hour from now, you’ll be good as new. Get out.”
“How am I supposed to get home?”
“Take the bus.” She nodded through the windshield at a Plexiglas bus shelter a few yards away.
He stared at her, aghast. “Demons don’t take buses.”
“Then walk. I don’t care how you get home. You know the rules.”
“He called me.”
“Not my problem.”
“The rule was that I couldn’t talk to him in the clinic. You didn’t say anything about your car.”
“Allow me to clarify. You are not to talk to Satan in my presence. Or in the presence of anyone else who works at clinic. Or around anyone who visits the clinic. Or anyone who walks past the clinic.”
“I must be thirty miles from home.” And he had a hellish headache.
“More like forty. I’ll tell Javier you won’t be in tonight. Out.” Her hand tightened on the trigger of the spray bottle. He crawled from the car.
His head was pounding like Thor’s anvil. He’d barely closed the car door when she peeled away with a squeal of tires.
Chapter 25
It took Belial over four hours to get home. Without the phone, he couldn’t call anyone for a ride. He tried hailing a taxi, but the driver took one look at his bruised face and sped away.
With no remaining options, he made his way to the bus shelter. There was a map on the wall, but between the pounding in his head and his swollen eyes, he couldn’t make out the appropriate route. A heavyset woman pulling a wire shopping cart filled with groceries took pity on him.
“Where do you live?” She surveyed his bruised face curiously but didn’t ask any questions.
“In Alexandria, out by the beach.”
She looked him up and down, taking in his designer clothes and handmade shoes. She pursed her lips. He could almost hear her thinking “drug dealer.”
“You’re a long way from home.” She traced her finger from the red dot marked “You Are Here” and showed him the route. It required three transfers just to get him within two miles of the beach house. She peered at his face. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to a hospital instead?”
“No, thanks.” His identity wasn’t displaying the quick-healing properties Dara had alluded to, but human doctors wouldn’t know what to do with his hybrid body. Once he got to Hell, Bad would be able to fix it. At which time he’d damned well better fix its frailty, too.
The woman reached into her grocery sack. She brought out a pack of frozen peas. “Here,” she said. “Press this against your face.”
The ice pack felt like balm on his bruises. “Thank you.”
With his free hand, he dug out his wallet, but she patted his wrist. “You don’t owe me anything.”
By the time the No. 6 came along, his face felt like it had been pounded to hamburger. He should be healed by now. Why wasn’t the identity repairing itself?
On the bus, the other passengers peered at his battered face, but no one offered any comments. It was, after all, Florida. At the bus terminal, he purchased a ticket for Alexandria, only to learn the bus wouldn’t leave for an hour and a half. He eyed the grubby station with disfavor. Demons should not have to spend time in such a place. Not unless they were targeting someone there.
The boss would be livid about this latest development. His contact with Dara was now limited to a few hours once a week. And because of Lilith’s damned plagues, even then Dara would be on alert the entire time. The possibility that he would fail at this mission loomed large, but he refused to accept that. There had to be a way back into her good graces.
What else could he give her? She had enough money for the clinic, at least for the present, and even if she didn’t, Mammon wouldn’t release any more funds. Buying everyone lunch every day had eaten up what was left from the sale of the Lamborghini. He tried to think what else she had in her life: her grandmother, the cat, who was useful for some tasks, but not really helpful in this situation—and now her friend, Lilith. He smiled grimly. Lilith had created this mess, and she would damned well help him out of it.
The bus arrived in a cloud of diesel fumes. He took a seat by the window. According to the timetable posted on the wall of the bus station, the forty-mile journey to Alexandria would consume two hours. It stopped in every little seaside village along the way.
Once he was back, he would have to head straight to Hell to see the boss and get this identity fixed. Then he remembered that his pathetic excuse for a car was in the shop. That meant he’d have to ride the Ducati down the rings, with insects and debris peppering him every inch of the way.
An obese man with a large shopping bag squeezed into the seat beside him. The man spread his knees and put the bag between them. His plump thigh and upper arm pressed over onto Belial’s side of the divider. Belial turned to ask him to put the bag in the overhead luggage rack and found himself looking at the man’s earlobe. It had a vertical crease. He checked the man’s hairline. Receding. That wasn’t good. Bumpy patches of cholesterol marred the flesh surrounding his eyes. Someone should advise him to get a checkup.
Belial checked the ceiling of the bus. He saw no cameras. DemSec might have tracked him here, even without his phone, but he doubted it.
“Have you had your heart checked recently?” he asked.
; The man twisted in his seat to stare at him.
“I’m a physician.” Belial looked over the telltale signs of heart disease again. The man was a ticking time bomb. “You should have your heart checked out.”
“Right,” the man said. “Because doctors ride the bus all the time. It’s the new in thing to do.” He didn’t say it, but his gaze made it clear that Belial’s injured face further undercut his credibility.
Belial leaned forward to dig his wallet from his back pocket. The seat was so cramped his elbow rubbed against the metal wall of the bus. Why was he even doing this? He didn’t know this man from Adam. Well, not Adam, because Adam didn’t have a navel, and the indentation in at the man’s waistline made it obvious he did. But Belial didn’t know him from any other currently alive mortal on this bedeviled planet.
He was doing it just because he could. With no prying eyes watching, electronic or otherwise, he was free to do as he chose. He took out the ID card that the clinic had provided him and showed it to the man.
The man’s plump lips formed an O of surprise. “You really are a doctor.”
“I am.”
“Yeah, well, here’s the bad news, doc. I don’t have any insurance.”
Belial rifled through his wallet until he located the business card Javier had given him the first night he’d come into the clinic. It listed the address and hours in flamingo-pink script. He handed it to the man.
“Go here. The hours are on the card.” He opened his mouth to say, “Tell them I sent you,” but stopped himself. The man had enough problems without Dara misidentifying him as a demon.
He studied the card. “You really think I need to do this?”
“Yes,” Belial said. “I really do.”
Dara drove back to the clinic, experiencing such a welter of emotions she didn’t know how to process them all. She was still furious at what Dr. Demon had tried to do to her clinic. She felt guilty about injuring him, even though she knew he’d heal quickly and he’d brought it on himself by hovering over her like a stalker. She was terrified of what he might do in the future.
The Demon Always Wins: Touched by a Demon, Book 1 Page 16
