by AE Jones
“Could be. Byron said the demon tried to protect the vampire from the angel, right? So they could’ve been working together.”
I nodded and took a sip of my coffee, then noticed the empty plates on the table. “You didn’t open the dessert?”
“I said I would wait for you.” He opened the box. “Besides, the way you feel about this dessert, I thought you might want to eat the whole thing.”
“Nope, split it in half. I want to be fair.”
He laughed. “Since when?”
He handed me the plate and a coil of heat swirled in my belly. This was ridiculous. When had I turned into Scarlett O’Hara who needed Rhett Butler to carry her up the stairs? Wait, bad analogy, since that had actually happened yesterday.
I concentrated on my dessert, savoring the first bite. Dark chocolate, coffee, and ladyfingers—the triad of all that was holy. The second bite was even better.
“Soooo…what do you think?” I asked.
His eyes bored into mine. “It’s amazing.”
We ate in silence, and, with each bite, the tension grew and took on a presence of its own. I chewed faster, trying to finish so that I could find a way to get him out of my apartment. When we were both done, I carried the mugs back into the kitchen. I turned and found him within touching distance, carrying the plates.
“Let me help you.”
“No, I can finish this later. I’m sure you want to get going.”
“I’m not in any rush.” He walked up to me and reached over to place the plates in the sink, cornering me. This was definitely my fault. What sane woman talked about orgasms and foreplay with a man and didn’t expect to end up in this situation?
My breathing sped up as he leaned into me and blew lightly over my neck. My entire body came to attention, goose bumps shooting up my arms. Then it happened.
My cell phone rang. Crap. I thought that only happened in the movies. He let out a little groan when I ducked under his arm.
The Hawaii 5-0 theme song filled the room. “It’s Misha, I better get it.” I reached for my bag and pulled out the phone, flipping on the speaker.
“Hey Mish, do you have any news yet?”
“Not yet, little one. I’m calling to apologize.”
“For what?”
“This morning in the car, we had talked about going to dinner tonight and I totally forgot about it. I’ll make it up to you another time, yes?”
“No problem.”
“I’m going to stay at the office tonight to work on the computer files. Can you bring me in something for breakfast tomorrow? You know what I like.”
“Yep, I’ll see you in the morning.”
I hung up the phone. Dalton had retreated to the other side of the room.
“I better get going. Thanks for dinner,” he said as he walked to the door.
What the hell just happened?
By the time my apartment door closed, I was wracking my overly tired brain to figure out why he had bailed. What was the one-eighty about? After I calmed down, and my hormones were no longer clouding my brain, I thought about the conversation with Misha and laughed. We had totally sounded like a couple. “Bring me breakfast, you know what I like.” I couldn’t have planned it better myself if I’d tried.
So without any effort on my part, the operation to oust Dalton was back in play. The only problem was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get rid of him anymore.
Chapter 8
My morning routine re-established, I walked into the office and plopped the pastry bag next to Misha, who sat hunched over his computer.
He lifted his face, his eyes gleaming like a small child. “What did you bring me today?”
“Biscotti.”
“I should marry you.”
I laughed. Misha grinned and then peered over my shoulder. “Good morning, Joe.”
I cringed. It was official. The Fates did not want the two of us together. I turned and plastered a smile on my face.
“Dalton.”
“Morning.” He walked over to the counter, reached for the pot and stopped. He glanced questioningly back at us.
Misha piped up. “Don’t worry I made it.”
Dalton nodded and poured himself a cup.
“You’re a quick study, Joe,” Misha chuckled.
Dalton joined us at the table. “Have you found anything in the files?”
“Plenty. I have only gotten through a few of them so far. Most of the business files seem legitimate. Ledgers of items being bought and sold. But I know when I dig further into this, I’ll figure out what he was hiding. I did find something interesting, Kyle. A twenty thousand dollar transaction between Hampton and Kevin Doyle several months ago. Hampton was still in Chicago then.”
Before Dalton could even ask, I enlightened him, “Kevin Doyle runs a pawn shop on Chester Avenue. He’s a smarmy demon who uses the shop to front his illegal import business. If Hampton was dealing with him, then it’s not legit.”
Dalton stood. “I think it’s time to pay him a visit.”
* * *
The annoying little bell rang above the door as Dalton and I entered the Wee Bit o’ Ireland Pawn Shop. A voice with a lilting Irish brogue called out to us from the back of the store, “Be wit’ ye in a minute.”
Pawn shops always amazed me. Shelves of electronics that haven’t been in vogue for decades, jewelry and whatever else could potentially bring in money, lying about in no real order. I walked toward the back counter with Dalton on my heels. I wanted to be as close as I could to the little worm in case he tried to make a break for it.
Kevin Doyle strutted out of the back and stopped abruptly when he caught sight of me. He was maybe five foot six, with buggy eyes. He also had thinning hair and a ridiculous comb over. Apparently, demon males were as vain and clueless as human males when it came to male-pattern baldness.
“What do you want, McKinley?”
“Really, Doyle, it’s been too long. What happened to your lovely Irish brogue? Do you only pull it out for unsuspecting customers?”
“What do you want?”
“We need to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“Charles Hampton.”
“Don’t know him.” His right eye twitched.
“Really, so the money he gave you would not show up in your books?”
He shook his head emphatically. “I deal with a lot of people. Do you think I remember everyone?”
“The ones who give you twenty grand? Yes, I do.”
He growled and Dalton tensed beside me. Up to this point, he had been hanging back, letting me do all the talking. Doyle took one look at him and stopped. I couldn’t see Dalton’s face, but I imagined he was doing one of his classic cop faces. I really needed him to teach me how to do that.
“Are you going to cut the BS now and tell us what Hampton paid you for?”
“I’ll need to check my books.”
“Let me guess, they’re in the back room. Don’t even try to make a run for it. I’ll just stake out your pawn shop until you come back.”
He sighed. “Fine, Hampton wanted me to find him a straend.”
I enlightened Dalton. “Straends are instruments of torture. Very effective, too. Almost all humans succumb to them, and it does a pretty good job on supes, too. Of course they’ve been banned for over a century.”
Doyle sputtered. “He wanted them for ornamental purposes.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Since this transaction was a few months ago, did you send them to him in Chicago?”
“Yes.”
“And he only paid twenty for them? You must be slipping. Did he have you locate anything else?”
“No. Are we done now?”
“You’re awfully anxious to get rid of us.”
“I have a business to run.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the empty shop and then back at him. “They’re lining the aisles. I’ll leave you in peace if you tell me what else you’re hiding.”
“I’m not hiding anything.” His eye twitched again.
Man, he had a ridiculous tell. I would love to fleece him at poker.
“I’ve got an idea. I’m going to find a woman and tweak with her memory a bit, have her remember you propositioning her. Then I’m going to send her to Coleen.”
He turned an interesting shade of puce, and his eyes bugged out even more than normal.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds before he finally caved.
“Word on the street is they’re looking for Hampton.”
I shrugged. “What’s the big deal about that?”
“They are specifically asking for his head and offering money for its retrieval.”
“Do you know who is asking?”
“No.”
Interesting. “If you hear anything else, get in touch with me ASAP, or Coleen will have a special visitor.”
Dalton drove back toward the office while I sorted through everything we had learned from Doyle.
“So who is Coleen?”
I smirked. “His wife. Dalmot demons are matriarchal. The females are dominant and can be extremely powerful. You don’t cheat on them, ever.”
“What happens if you do?”
“They have a giant tail like a scorpion and they beat you to death with it.”
“God!”
“Then they eat you.”
He glared at me. “Kyle…”
“The tail is a bit of an exaggeration.” I laughed. “And demons aren’t into cannibalism.”
“I really need to have Misha tell me more about demons.”
“Might be a good idea.”
“Why would Hampton risk buying a straend?” Dalton asked.
“To ensure he could extract information from someone.”
“What kind of information?”
I shook my head. “Not sure, but if an angel is willing to go all Shogun on someone’s ass, then I think it must be pretty bad.”
“What’s the deal with the head?”
“That one is totally puzzling me.”
“Do you think Doc Miller might have an idea?”
“It couldn’t hurt. I’ll see if she can meet us. Maybe Misha and Jean Luc can throw in their two cents’ worth, too.”
* * *
Dalton and I made it to the storage facility first. Doc Miller had just gotten off her shift at the hospital and would meet us shortly. Then we’d conference in Jean Luc and Misha once she arrived.
I walked slowly through the shelves staring at the different items we had nabbed over the years.
“Does this place creep you out?” Dalton asked.
“No. It’s necessary.”
“So you don’t think people can handle the truth?”
“I think humans would exploit supes if they knew about them.” He locked his eyes on me and I squirmed under his gaze. “What do you think?”
He thought for a moment. “Some could handle the truth, but others would treat it as an excuse for bigotry.”
“What did you do when your captain told you about the supernatural world?”
He smirked. “Honestly, I thought he was losing it. I almost called in a psych eval on him.”
“What stopped you?”
“I started to think about all of the weird cases and the excuses he has given me over the years, and I realized the existence of the supernatural made some kind of twisted sense.”
“So what was the first thing you did when you realized he was telling you the truth?”
“I went on the Internet to do research.”
I shook my head. “A lot of what you find out there is bull.”
“I figured that out the first time Jean Luc walked outside during the day and didn’t burst into flames.”
“Yeah. He can’t stay out too long during the day, but he won’t combust. Don’t try to stake him, either. It doesn’t work. Although it does piss him off.”
“What about garlic or crucifixes?”
“Nah.”
“So what is the truth about vampires?”
“They drink blood and live for a really long time. They are sired by other vampires who gain strength from the connection, so only certain vampires are allowed to sire.”
“Like Sebastian.”
“Right.” Now I was creeped out.
He walked down the aisle and stared at a broadsword. “What about demons?”
“Each clan is different. There are twelve modern clans I’m aware of on earth. Each has their own distinctive features and powers.”
“What does Misha look like?”
“My understanding is that a Shamat has reddish-orange skin with black eyes, but I’ve not seen Misha’s demon side. He doesn’t show it in public.”
“And Doc Miller?”
“I don’t know if Sabrina has a demon side that is visible. A succubus’s ability to siphon life force out of humans is unique.”
“What else do I need to know?”
“A lot. The most important thing to remember is that supes are like humans. They’re both good and bad. Vampires can be noble like Jean Luc, or power-hungry like Sebastian. For demons, the really bad ones are normally not allowed on the planet, which is a good thing.”
“Too bad we can’t say the same thing for humans.”
“Amen, Brother Dalton, amen.”
A voice interrupted my sermon. “Hello?”
I hollered, “Hey Doc, we’re back in the shelves, we’ll be right up.”
We walked through the door. Doc stood in the morgue, dressed to kill in a short black dress with spaghetti straps and three-inch sandals. I didn’t dare check out Dalton’s reaction.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Ah, Doc, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. Where are you going dressed like that?”
“I have a date. He wants to take me to Baltimore for dinner, so we’re going on his jet.”
“What he wants is to take you to bed.”
She grinned. “Well, duh. Now what can I do for you?”
“We need to get Misha and Jean Luc on the phone first.” I entered the number on the speaker phone and clicked on the monitor. After a few seconds, Misha’s face flashed on the screen.
“Hey guys. Wow, Doc, you look great.” Misha turned away. “Jean Luc, hurry up so you can see Doc, she’s smokin’.”
Jean Luc’s face appeared. “Misha is correct. You are beautiful.”
Doc smiled. “Thanks. As much as I enjoy all the compliments, I have a plane to catch. What do we need to talk about?”
I filled the group in on the conversation Dalton and I had with Doyle. Misha almost shot coffee out of his nose when I told him about my threat to go to Coleen if Doyle didn’t help us.
When I finished my summary, Dalton launched the first question. “How do these straends work, exactly?”
Doc frowned. “It’s a metal piece in the shape of an eight or infinity sign. It’s placed at the base of the neck. Small tentacles extend from it, insert under the skin, and link to nerve endings. It causes excruciating pain, especially if the person lies.”
“And why is everyone so hot to find Hampton’s head?” Dalton countered. “Can he be brought back to life?”
Jean Luc shook his head. “No. Once a vampire loses his head, there is no reanimation.”
“Then what can you do with a severed head? And why would someone be willing to pay a large amount of money for it?” Dalton persisted.
“Maybe they want what’s in it?” Doc suggested.
“Brains?” I grimaced.
“No, memories. Hampton used straends on someone to extract information. It makes sense, then, that Hampton would have that information in his memory. Misha, correct me if I’m wrong on this, but I’ve heard stories over the years that certain demons have the ability to extract memories from other beings. True?”
Misha frowned. “I’ve heard rumors of pulling memories from people, yes. But fr
om a dead vampire?”
I interrupted. “Could whatever stopped Byron’s heart also be able to pull memories from a head?”
“Maybe,” Misha agreed.
Dalton nodded. “So we need to find the head first.”
And, I thought, we needed to find out what this vamp knew that could trigger an apocalyptic power struggle.
Chapter 9
Dolly handed me a message before Dalton and I made it two steps into the office. Tim Connor had called. I cringed. I had offered to help his daughter, Trina, forget a horrible experience, but he had not trusted me at the time. Now a couple of weeks had passed. Since he was calling, that meant things were not going well.
Dolly bit nervously at her lower lip. She was aware of the case, since the family were shifters.
“Where’s Jean Luc?”
“He’s in his office. I’ll let him know that you need him to go with you.” Dolly got up and walked into the back room.
“What’s going on?” Dalton asked.
“I’ve got to handle something concerning a previous case. I need Jean Luc to come with me.”
“Do you need help?”
“No, you can’t help with this.” I watched his jaw set and plowed on before he could argue. “It’s a sensitive case, and the family doesn’t trust outsiders.”
“No problem. I’ll stay here with Misha and help go through the computer files.”
Jean Luc and I took the shoreway to the burbs. He drove past Trina’s school and followed the streets she used to walk home so I could become familiar with them. After a few minutes, we pulled up in front of a two-story Tudor house with a well-kept lawn. The American dream.
We walked up to the house and, before I could ring the bell, the door opened. Tim Connor’s wife, Stephanie, stood in the doorway. I bit my tongue to stop from gasping. I had met her two weeks ago, and since then she had aged ten years. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, accenting her haunted green eyes.
I nodded at her. “Stephanie.”
“Thank you for coming.” She stepped back, inviting us into the foyer. “Tim is in his office.”
We followed her through the hall to a door on the far right. Connor sat behind his desk staring out the back window. His wife walked over and rested her hand on his shoulder, practically whispering his name, as if afraid to startle him.
