Demon Accords 10: Rogues

by John Conroe

  Just stop. And you were doing so well. Alright, pay attention to Wade. Bye.

  Bye, Stacia.

  Chapter 5

  The dining room smelled delicious. Beef and gravy scents made her stomach rumble. She also smelled the potatoes, two kinds of scotch, a craft beer (heavy on the hops), cigar smoke from the guy reentering the building, and man smell. Lots of man smell. Her senses were all heightened, even more than usual, the pull of the newly risen moon outside bringing her wolf close to the surface.

  Speaking of which, her inner beast was happy, an emotion that didn’t usually fit on a moon-filled night. Somehow, conversations with Declan seemed to soothe the savage creature inside her. No one else had that effect. Uncomfortable with that thought, she took in the big room and its inhabitants as she quietly made her way down the stairs.

  Shorty and the lady from the kitchen were bringing platters of food over to just one of the big round tables, while the guests wandered over and pulled out chairs.

  Each of the big round tables could hold at least eight, but the lodge appeared to hold just the five men she’d noticed on the way in. The two from the football game were already sitting down, but the three card players were just getting settled when she approached the table.

  “Lisa, count all your fingers and toes before sitting down with this group. They bark a lot and some even bite,” Shorty growled as he settled a bowl of mashed potatoes next to a platter of medium rare roast beef on a giant lazy Susan turntable. She pulled her eyes away from the meat and nodded at the men.

  There were two open spots left at the table, and she grabbed one. The man on her left was one of the card sharks and she put him at a lean sixty or so, with a bald head rimmed with short, shorn grey hair. He put out a hand. “Hutch Lenzel,” he said.

  “Lisa Renault,” she replied. The man to Hutch’s left leaned around, slightly younger and thirty pounds heavier. “Carl Rose.” She shook his hand as well. Next to Carl was the youngest of the crowd, mid-thirties, lean and muscled like an endurance athlete and even more handsome then her first impression. Dark brown eyes, black hair, white teeth, and a skin tone that spoke of a Latin heritage. “Kyle Garcia,” he said with a roguish smile. She pegged him as the group’s Lothario. In any group of three or more men, there always seemed to be at least one womanizer, if not more. Kyle’s practiced smile and twinkling eyes advertised more than just a polite welcome. She was immediately glad he was sitting three seats away.

  Next to Kyle and almost directly across from her was one of the football spectators. Tall and ginger-haired, he waved hello, as the distance across the table was too far for hand shaking. “Rodney Allen,” he said. The man on his left was closer and leaned forward to shake hands. “Dustin Wilcox.” He was short and round-faced, with thinning brown hair.

  Shorty arrived at the table with a big bowl of steamed carrots and a bowl of beef gravy, setting them on the lazy Susan before claiming the open spot next to her.

  Every setting had a water glass, and a big pitcher sat dead center of the lazy Susan. She helped herself to water.

  “Oh, we have much better than that. There’s a nice cabernet sauvignon open at the bar,” Carl said.

  “Oh, no thank you. I don’t drink,” she said.

  “No wonder. With your low body weight, you likely have almost no tolerance for alcohol,” Kyle said with a smirk.

  So that’s his game. Heard it before—like a thousand times. Offer a backhanded compliment combined with an insult. Interest her with a challenge then bed her, especially if she got drunk. Hmm, wonder how he’d do with the game reversed.

  “No, I actually have a rather amazing tolerance for alcohol. I stopped because men kept challenging me to drinking contests and then cried like babies when I beat them,” she said, accepting the first cut of beef from Hutch, who was being a gentleman.

  “Whoa, she just called you out, buddy,” Rodney said to Kyle in a tone that indicated he was happy about it.

  “No, she thinks she’s smart, throwing out a statement like that without a chance for backup,” Kyle said offhandedly as he spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate.

  I’ll just let him simmer for a moment, she thought. Turning to her left, she said, “What do you do Mr. Lenzel?”

  “I run a wealth management group for a regional bank in upstate New York,” he said.

  “Really? Where?” she asked.

  “Saratoga Springs,” he answered, watching her face to see if she recognized it.

  “Ah, know it well. Some friends of mine spent the summer there,” she said.

  “What do you do, Lisa?” Carl Rose asked, leaning around Hutch.

  “I have a number of irons in the fire. I work with a sporting goods chain, Lupine Sports, and I’m pursuing a degree in Zoology at Columbia, among other things. That’s why I’m here. My specialty is large carnivores. Wolves and bears, mostly.”

  “You’re here because of Morris?” Dustin asked.

  “Yes. Hoping to shed some light on the mauling,” she said.

  “I’m afraid I have to call bullshit. You’re hardly old enough to have graduated college, let alone developed expertise in predators,” Kyle said.

  “And you’re more than a touch insulting, Mr. Garcia. What exactly do you do that makes you such an ass?” she asked.

  “I own a digital marketing company in Boston,” he said, smile gone.

  “Interesting. I’ll be sure to advise both my employers not to bother with your company’s services,” she said.

  “As if they matter,” he said, frowning.

  “Actually, Lupine Sports is pretty big in New York, Connecticut, Vermont, New Hampshire and I even think western Massachusetts,” Hutch said. “What do you do for them, Lisa?”

  “I’m special assistant to the president and his wife, who is the EVP,” she said.

  Rodney laughed. “You can cross them off your prospect list, Garcia.”

  “What other company do you work for? You mentioned two, but how could you have the time?” Dustin asked.

  “I also do some work for the Demidova Corporation,” she said, cutting a goodly sized bite of pink beef and popping it into her mouth.

  The table went silent. She glanced around at the different expressions her comment had evoked. Hutch looked interested while next to him, Carl stared at her with ill-concealed avarice. Kyle looked momentarily shocked, while Rodney frowned. Dustin was looking down at his carrots. Shorty already knew and his face was blank.

  “If I may be so bold, what’s your job there?” Hutch asked.

  “It varies, depending on what they need. Lots of PR work, lots of research and investigation stuff,” she said.

  “And you’re how old?” Rodney asked.

  “I’m twenty-one, Mr. Allen. Some people would tell you that’s too young to know much, but me, I think it’s more about what you’ve done with your time than actual years,” she said.

  Kyle had pulled out his phone and was tapping away on it. He frowned at whatever he saw and then tapped some more before shoving it roughly into his pocket. Rodney, who’d leaned back and looked over his shoulder, suddenly smirked.

  “Wow, Lisa. Kyle just found that you’re listed on both companies’ websites. Impressive work, young lady,” he said.

  There it was. Declan hadn’t mentioned building that kind of backstory into her false identity. Anyone searching Lisa Renault shouldn’t have found anything at either company. Her mother, Lisa Reynolds, worked at Lupine, but hadn’t used her maiden name in over twenty-two years. Yet somehow, both websites had been modified to list her by her false name.

  Sometime in the very near future, she was going to ask that young warlock some very pointed questions about what was really going on. She had a flashback: a severely wounded Declan, lying in her arms, suddenly waking and looking straight into her eyes. “We’re going to have to buy him lots of clothes,” Declan had said. She still didn’t know what that meant. When she had asked him, he’d acted confused, but her senses told her he
was being evasive. She hadn’t pressed him on any of it… yet.

  “So she really might be able to figure out what happened to Morris?” Dustin asked Shorty.

  “That’s why she’s here,” the compact guide said, voice raspy.

  “Do you know them?” Carl asked. She raised her eyebrows in confusion. “You know—Chris Gordon? Tatiana Demidova?”

  “Yes,” she said, biting into more beef. Her plate was heaped with food, a fact that some of the men were just starting to realize.

  “Personally?” Carl pressed.

  She frowned. “Yes. Why?”

  “He’s angling for an introduction. Carl is a partner in a private equity firm,” Hutch said.

  “So you’d want to meet Tanya. Chris doesn’t care about that stuff. Send me an e-mail proposal and I’ll forward it to her. No promises. She gets a lot of this stuff,” she said.

  “Looks like you can cross Demidova Corp off your prospect list as well, Kyle,” Rodney said with glee. Definitely a rivalry of some type there.

  “What do you do, Mr. Allen?” she asked.

  “I’m a dentist. So is Dustin. We have a practice down in Bangor,” he said.

  “You’re all regulars here, aren’t you?” she asked. They all nodded, looking slightly surprised at her insight.

  Rodney answered. “Dustin and I have been here for the last three years. Carl and Hutch have been coming as long as Morris did. This is Kyle’s second year,” he said. “Shorty’s a great guide.”

  “How has the hunting been this year?” she asked.

  “Before Morris died? Pretty crappy. Hardly seeing any deer or even sign,” Hutch said.

  “You think the bear that killed Morris drove the deer away?” Dustin asked.

  “A large predator in a new territory will definitely disrupt game patterns,” she said.

  Kyle got up from the table and went behind the bar, coming back with two shot glasses and a bottle of Tito’s vodka. He set both glasses down in front of her and poured vodka into both and then picked up the one nearest him. Then he set the bottle down in front of her.

  “We got off on the wrong foot, me being insulting and disbelieving you and all. Here’s to new beginnings,” he said, voice way more challenging than conciliatory.

  “Kyle, she told you she doesn’t drink,” Hutch said, annoyed.

  “That’s okay, Hutch. He’s not used to being told no. I’m still saying no—I’m just going to punish him for not listening,” she said, picking up the glass and drinking it down. Then she went back to eating roast beef.

  Kyle frowned but downed his own shot, then refilled the glasses.

  Swallowing her food, Lisa waved her knife around. “A predator in a new territory generally choses to take things slow and learn the lay of the land. But really aggressive ones,” she paused to down another shot, “sometimes seek to dominate a new area through excessive boldness. This can backfire,” she said, pouring the next round “If the predator meets a nastier predator or fails to detect all the inherent dangers of the new zone, well, it can go badly for them.” She pounded down the third shot and then stood up, moving lithely over to the bar, where she procured two rock glasses.

  “Let’s speed this up,” she said, pouring each rock glass full of vodka. “Sláinte, as a friend of mine would say,” she said, holding up her glass in challenge to Kyle, who was starting to look a tiny bit uncertain.

  “Whoa there. That’s getting a touch serious,” Carl said, clearly concerned.

  “It will be for someone,” Lisa said with a smile. Kyle clinked his glass against hers and then grimaced a bit when she tilted her head and drained it in one go. She raised her eyebrows at Kyle when she saw he still hadn’t swallowed his. With a shrug, he tipped his back and gamely slugged it down. She immediately refilled both glasses.

  “Ah, is anyone else uncomfortable with this?” Dustin asked.

  Rodney looked slightly in awe, his grin growing as he observed Kyle’s discomfort.

  Lisa smiled and held up her glass. “In nature, gentlemen, you have to take time to truly observe with all your senses. Sometimes, what looks like prey is actually far more dangerous than first glances might imply. For instance, a whitetail buck, like most animals, is generally only dangerous when cornered or surprised at close range. But let’s say we transported one of you hunters and your stand directly to Africa and a waterbuck happens by. You decide to shoot it, but only wound it. It takes off and you follow, hot on its trail. You take twenty steps into the thick bush and suddenly find yourself impaled on almost three feet of horn because you assumed it would react like a whitetail when instead of fleeing, it turned to confront its attacker.”

  “Let me guess… you’re the waterbuck,” Rodney said.

  “She’s the wolf that finishes off the waterbuck,” Shorty said suddenly. The others all looked at him, surprised. Lisa narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn’t meet her gaze as he stood to take his plate to the pass-through counter.

  “You’re mixing the wrong carnivores on the wrong continents,” Hutch said.

  “Doesn’t matter. Kyle’s still going to be hurting in the morning,” the guide said.

  The others turned to Kyle, who was holding the back of a chair and wobbling in place. His eyes had gone glassy and unfocused until he became aware that people were paying attention. At that point, he made a sloppy waving motion, as if to brush away their concerns. Unfortunately, taking away one hand from his support chair unbalanced him and he started to lean alarmingly far in Rodney’s direction.

  Grin even wider, Rodney shoved him back upright, then pulled out his own chair and guided the younger man into it.

  “We done?” Lisa asked Kyle. He frowned and started to shake his head but the motion almost took him out of his sitting position. His frown turned to alarm and he visibly stilled himself, looking like a man with his foot on a pressure-sensitive land mine. “We’re done,” she answered herself, getting up and taking her own completely empty plate to the pass through and handing it to the woman who was curiously watching the dining room drama. “I’m Lisa,” she introduced herself. The older woman frowned. “I’m Mrs. Dox,” she said, turning abruptly away and heading to the big sink.

  “She flirts with Kyle, and he rather shamelessly plays on it,” Hutch said in a quiet voice.

  “So I didn’t make any friends there,” she muttered.

  “Well, if you had fallen victim to his charms, she still wouldn’t like you,” Hutch noted.

  “Right. A no-win situation,” she said.

  Hutch was studying her even as he nodded at her words. “True. You’re not even tipsy, are you?”

  “After that much vodka? Who wouldn’t be feeling it?” she asked back.

  “Hmmpf,” he grunted. “Shorty’s right. You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” he said, looking over at Kyle, who had put his arms on the table and was leaning his head on his hands. Because of this, Hutch missed the sharp look she shot him.

  “Well, I’m going to catch the news,” she said, heading toward the abandoned television.

  Hutch sidled over to Shorty, who was picking up serving dishes, grabbing a couple himself. “That’s one seriously sharp young woman,” he said with a smile of admiration.

  “Vein-opening razor sharp, Hutch,” the other man said, tone serious.

  Hutch looked from guide to the girl, who was now leaning back in one of the La-Z-Boy recliners. He frowned as he thought about Shorty’s words. The professional hunter was well known for his own regard for ladies of all shapes, ages, and sizes. In Hutch’s estimation, Shorty would normally be falling all over a pretty young woman like Lisa. His caution was troubling. As if they needed any more trouble.

  Chapter 6

  “Gary, you ever gonna take the damned garbage out?” Florence Ducar yelled from the kitchen.

  Gary Ducar grimaced and swore to himself. That damned crone wouldn’t leave him alone. Do this, get that, move this, haul that. Her mouth was like an inexhaustible river of never-ending
insults and demands. Worse than the damned kids at the damned school. At least there, he could force their respect.

  He set down his beer and pulled himself off the couch, pausing to catch the last bit of the Cowboys failed offensive drive against the Colts. Then, cursing his favorite team under his breath, he pulled up the waistband of his track pants and headed into the kitchen.

  The white plastic bag was waiting for him by the back door, tied up tight like his life, both headed for the dump. Florence didn’t look up from her pile of dishes in the sink, which was a small blessing, as he walked behind her and grabbed the sack of rubbish. She had earphones in and was listening to her damned music again like one of his school kids.