Vengeance of the Demon: Demon Novels, Book Seven (Kara Gillian 7) (18 page)

While Steeev navigated orange and white-striped barriers around road construction, I called Bryce and filled him in on the recent excitement. He listened in silence until I finished then said, “Put her on, please.”

“Hey,” Jill said into the phone after I passed it forward. Then, “Yeah, I’m good.” A pause. “Thanks. That means a lot.” She hung up and handed it back to me without another word.

I put my phone away and kept my questions to myself.

 • • • 

Ruthie’s Smoothies and Other Frozen Goodies deserved its fame as the best frozen concoction establishment within fifty miles of downtown Beaulac. Even at well after sundown, half a dozen cars occupied the parking spaces in front of its rainbow-colored storefront. It was
the
place for the teen crowd to hang out and be seen, however, Ruthie maintained a zero-tolerance policy for any of the typical high-schooler shenanigans that might put off adult customers. More than once I’d watched her kick a patron out for disruptive behavior or poor manners. Adults were subject to the same standards of behavior, and rumor had it that a long-time city councilman was counting the days until the end of his one year banishment for an unknown offense.

Steeev parked well away from other cars, but when he climbed out Jill stayed put except to undo her seatbelt. I sent a questioning glance her way as I opened my door. “You change your mind about ice cream?”

“As if! No, I’m not allowed to get out until he’s made sure it’s safe.” She seemed more bemused than annoyed. “He glowers, and boy does he ever have a stubborn streak. I swear to god. You should see it.”

“I believe you,” I said with a grin. “Syraza-stubborn. It’s how we ended up with Fuzzykins. I’ll see if I can hurry him along.”

Steeev was already on the other side of the parking lot when I headed his way. He stood motionless, attention riveted on a man leaning against a car not twenty feet from him. Yet Steeev didn’t appear to be in potential-threat mode. It seemed instead to be a wary curiosity, like a dog encountering a raccoon for the first time.

Steeev’s reaction made far more sense as I moved closer and recognized the man. Arms folded casually across his chest, Marco Knight regarded Steeev with mild amusement coupled with nonchalance.

“Hey, Marco,” I said with a smile. “He’s cool, Steeev. I’ll meet you and Jill inside in a few.”

Steeev relaxed, apparently satisfied with my assessment, and turned away to retrieve Jill.

Marco gave me a smile. “Hey, Kara. Nice night.”

“And only going to get nicer once I get chocolate and lots of calories in my tummy,” I replied. “You here for ice cream?”

“No, I think I’m here because of you,” he said. Apparently, whatever sixth sense he possessed had drawn him to be here, and it was up to him to figure out the meaning behind it.

“From anyone else that’d be creepy as hell,” I said with a small laugh. “From you it’s only the ordinary amount of creepy.”

He let out a dry chuckle. “I’m not sure how I should take that.”

“Best not to analyze it too much,” I said. “Can I buy you an ice cream?”

His eyes went to the door, and a faint wince crossed his face. “I’m not allowed inside at the moment.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t going to ask why. Most likely an incident related to his talent. “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to bring it out for you.” At least I hoped so. Either way, I was willing to risk Ruthie’s wrath for Knight’s sake. “What would you like?”

He inclined his head in thanks. “One scoop of Razzy Snazzy Very Berry in a cup, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m on it.” I headed inside to see Jill and Steeev at a table against the far wall and already digging into their ice cream. I gave them an “everything’s okay” thumbs up then went to the counter to order Marco’s ice cream and a scoop of Double Trouble Fudgy Rubble for myself.

Ruthie took the order with her usual pizazz and cheery banter. Thirty-something, she exuded a freedom of spirit with her spiky blond hair and full sleeve tattoos of vibrant exotic flowers. She flicked a glance out the front windows toward where Marco leaned against his car. Considering Marco’s exile, I expected her to show anger or unease at the sight of him. But to my surprise her expression softened into a look of regret and sympathy, and she let out an almost soundless sigh. A heartbeat later she recovered and schooled her features to her normal perky-yet-tough persona. With practiced efficiency she scooped up both orders and handed the cups over with a bright “Enjoy!”

My curiosity rose at her reaction to Knight, but I tamped it down. Whatever the story was, I doubted it pertained to me, which meant any nosiness on my part would be tough to justify. I returned outside and handed Marco his cup, leaned against his car beside him, and for the next few minutes we ate ice cream in silence.

“I need to ask you a question,” I said after my spoon scraped the bottom of the cup. “And if I’m intruding on a subject that’s none of my business that’s totally cool. I’ll back off.”

Marco licked red and white swirls from his spoon. “You know better than I do why I’m here.”

I wasn’t so sure of that but was willing to run with it for now, especially since it justified this particular nosiness. “Why did you need to see Pellini the other day?”

“Urgent wild goose chase. Happens now and then.”

“What do you mean?”

He ate another spoonful of ice cream before answering. “I connected him to a place. We got there, and there was nothing.” He shrugged. “I mean
nothing
of interest.”

“What was the place?”

Knight swept his arm in a broad gesture that included the line of shops and parking lot. “Right here. This area. Connecting you to it now.” He frowned. “You weren’t before.”

“
Here?
” I slowly turned a full circle, seeking any hint of arcane activity that Knight and Pellini might have missed. Nada. Not a blip. Ruthie’s, a dry cleaners, a dollar store, and a martial arts studio. All familiar and benign. “Nothing clicked for Pellini?”

“Came up completely empty,” he said. “I didn’t get anything more once we were here either.” He scooped up the last bit of ice cream then took my spoon and empty cup and tossed the trash in a nearby receptacle. “I doubt he’ll be calling me again for anything.”

That took me aback. “Wait. Pellini called
you?
”

“When he couldn’t get you,” Marco said with a faint smile. “I guess he was desperate.”

The missed calls while I was in the demon realm.
“You came all the way from New Orleans to bring him here? That must have been a pretty strong feeling.”

“Yep, it is,” he said, and I noted his use of present tense. “I decided to take a little time off and go fishing while I was over here.”

For a guy who
felt
or
knew
things about the people around him, fishing seemed the perfect hobby. A different form of peace and quiet than most people sought. “This is a great area for fishing,” I said. “Or so I hear. I think I was nine when I last went fishing.”

“It’s not for everyone.”

I smiled. “I’m willing to give it another try when things settle down.” That was me stubbornly clinging to the belief that things
would
settle down. Eventually. “Pellini’s going to be staying at my place for a while.”

“It’s for the best,” he said as if he knew everything about the situation.

“Hope so. We left him with two associates of mine tonight. I’m one of Jill’s birthing coaches now since Zack’s . . . unavailable.”

Marco looked away and remained silent.

My chest tightened into a knot of unease at his reaction. “She’s going to have her baby soon,” I said, watching his shoulders tense.

His voice was low and thick when he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

The knot dropped, taking my stomach with it and leaving a cold fear in its place. Instinct told me to bail, to find an excuse to leave this man’s presence, because no good could come from staying. But I didn’t want to do that. I knew without a doubt people bailed on Marco all the time because of scenarios like this.

“My head tells me I shouldn’t ask
why
you’re sorry,” I said after a moment. “But Jill’s the best friend I have in this world, and I sure hope she and the baby will be fine and healthy and whole and all the other good stuff.”

He shifted his gaze to a swarm of insects around a streetlight. “Some things aren’t easy in the best of circumstances.” With each word the air grew a little heavier. The insects faltered in flight. Distant chatter dropped away.

“What kind of fish do you hope to get in this lake?” I gasped out the question.
Change the subject. Stop whatever’s happening.

Marco smiled, and the air cleared. Insects buzzed, and conversation resumed. “Whatever takes the bait.”

“Do you eat what you catch?” I asked. Keep the subject changed. That’s it.

He shook his head. “Nope. Can’t do it.”

“Must be nice for you out in the boat.”
Away from people who make you feel their terrible fates,
I added silently.

His smile relaxed a bit more. “Especially at night.”

The dangerous moment was past. “I’d better go join Jill and Steeev,” I said. “Thanks for talking to me.”

“Call me.”

“I will,” I promised. And I would. I understood a little of how achingly lonely his life must be. His “gift” of clairvoyance—that sometimes expressed of its own volition—likely kept his pool of friends pretty shallow. With a parting smile I headed toward the entrance. In the glass of the door I watched Marco’s reflection as he dropped his head, shoulders bowing under unfathomable weight.

A group of giggling teen girls pushed the door open, dispelling the image. I glanced back but all I saw was Marco climbing into his car. A few seconds later the engine revved, and he pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared down the street.

No one said much for most of the drive back to the house apart from conversational gems such as “Oh, look, they’re building a new Save-Mart,” from Jill, and “Is it supposed to rain tomorrow? I think it’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” from me, and even “Squirrels do not seem to like me,” from Steeev.

But not a word in reference to the attempted kidnapping from any of us. Evidently, Steeev and I both adhered to the well-known adage
Don’t upset the preggers chick while in a moving vehicle
. If Jill didn’t bring it up, we weren’t going to. For her part, she was either avoiding the topic or too deep in her own thoughts to talk. I decided it was probably the latter since, though she knew Marco Knight, she didn’t ask about my little meeting with him. Or maybe she didn’t ask
because
she knew him and his reputation. Instead, she toyed with her phone or gazed out at the exciting scenery of pine trees at night. Steeev remained on high alert as he drove, suspicious of any car that came near us. I sat in the back and tried not to fret.

Despite my best efforts, my thoughts kept circling back to Knight’s reaction when I mentioned Jill’s baby.
Some things aren’t easy even in the best of circumstances.
I knew it was pointless to try and analyze his statement, but I also knew that too much sugar was bad for me yet I continued to load my coffee with it. Did Knight know about Zack? Maybe Zack was gone for good, and Jill was fated to be a single mom. That would certainly count as “not easy.” Or, perhaps Jill would go into early labor, and Steeev and I would have to deliver her baby on the kitchen table.

I suppressed a shudder. Those labor and delivery videos remained vivid and gruesome in my mind. If Jill popped the bean out on my table, I’d be visiting the furniture store the next day.

My thoughts wandered into darker “not easy” territory, and I yanked them back. I didn’t want to imagine what the worst possible scenarios might be. Not for Jill. Not for my best friend and her baby.

“Ruthie added new ice cream flavors since I was last there,” I said, contributing to our scintillating conversation as I fought to distract myself.

Steeev glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I quite enjoyed the Hazelnut Scuttlebutt,” he replied with an overly bright smile—by human standards, at least. As a syraza, it was possible he truly found hazelnut-coffee ice cream deserving of enthusiasm. “Should we return,” he continued, “I would be most pleased for the opportunity to sample the Beachy Peachy Luau Wow.”

“That one’s pretty good,” I agreed. “Be sure to ask for the caramel syrup. Brings out the flavor of the macadamia nuts”

“I will do that,” he said with a serious nod.

Jill let out a soft sigh. “Ice cream didn’t help much.”

With that sentence the mood in the car plummeted. A taut silence descended upon us as Jill alluded to the taboo subject. A dozen different responses leaped to mind, any of which had the potential to upset Jill or start an argument—even ones intended as comfort. Yet a glance out the window told me we weren’t far from my driveway. I only needed to hold back another minute or two, and we’d be home.

Steeev hit the remote for the gate as he slowed to pull into the driveway. Concentrating with inhuman intensity, he assessed the gate’s movement and adjusted the speed of the car to avoid the need to stop. Whether an intentional tactic or simply a game, there was no mistaking the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes when he made it through without a pause. The gate closed behind us, and gravel crunched as we continued up the driveway. A few more seconds and we’d be at the house. I didn’t
really
need to raise an already sore subject with Jill, did I?

Screw it.
“I think you need to start your maternity leave right now,” I blurted then tensed for an acid response.

“I texted my captain when we were at Ruthie’s,” she said with the same ordinary, matter-of-fact tone that she would use to point out that pine trees had needles.

“Oh?” I replied, cautiously relieved. Very cautiously. She might have simply texted her captain about one of her cases. The woman was tricky like that. Steeev pulled up to the house and killed the engine but didn’t get out of the car. It was obvious he desired absolute clarity on the matter as well.

She glanced at the two of us, amusement glimmering in her eyes at his hesitation and my wary tone. “I need to take a file to the lab in the morning, sign off on three cases, brief my replacement tech, and then I’m finished.”

“Yay!” I snapped off my seatbelt and lunged forward to throw my arms around her and her seat. “Maybe Steeev will stop having that pained expression on his face all the time.”

Jill let out an actual giggle. The syraza muttered under his breath in demon as he exited the car then executed a perfect backflip—his own brand of commentary on the matter. He bounded up the steps, and we climbed out and followed at a more sedate pace, smiling at his antics.

Jill paused on the porch to catch her breath as Steeev disappeared into the house. “Before you get any silly ideas,” she warned me, “I’ll be off work, but don’t expect me to take over your chores.”

“Are you kidding?” I let out a deep sigh of mock disappointment. “You got winded going up three steps. You’re useless—ow!” I grinned and rubbed my arm where she’d punched. “Okay, not useless. Still a badass. I’ll let you take the hold-down-the-sofa chore.”

She smiled sweetly. “That’s more like it.”

“If you promise not to punch me again, I might even come over and clean your bathroom.” I opened the door for her to enter, then followed. “I’m just glad those two assholes didn’t—” I choked back the rest of my sentence at the sight of Pellini down the hall at the kitchen table. “—get . . . their ice cream,” I said, blundering to a finish. Pellini didn’t know any details of our interactions with Farouche and his men. It needed to stay that way, and not because I didn’t trust him. Pellini was an active duty police officer. Though I knew he had suspicions, as long as they weren’t confirmed, he couldn’t get into trouble for associating with us.

Jill shot me a perplexed look, then followed my gaze. Fortunately, she caught on and gave an earnest nod. “Right! Wow. Ruthie was ruthless. Sucks for them because that place is
great
.” Okay, maybe a bit too earnest.

To my relief Pellini didn’t seem to notice Jill’s terrible improv skills, and continued to read his newspaper. I rolled my eyes at her in exasperation, but she grinned and continued toward the kitchen. “I’m stealing your butter,” she informed me. “I want to make cookies and—” She stopped as we drew even with the open bathroom door. Steeev leaned close to the mirror above the sink and peered intently at his reflection. “Um, Steeev? What gives, dude?”

He turned to her, forehead wrinkled and mouth pursed. “Kara Gillian observed that I have a pained expression on my face at all times. I wish to rectify this, yet I do not perceive this appearance of agony.”

Jill pressed her lips together to control her laugh. “C’mon, big guy,” she said, tucking her arm through his. “You can help me make cookies, and I’ll explain Kara’s
unique
brand of humor.”

 • • • 

After Jill left with the butter, I grabbed a carton of orange juice from the fridge and poured a glass.

Pellini looked up from the newspaper, brows drawn together and face serious. “You changed gears midsentence with Jill as soon as you saw me.”

Crap. Busted.
I stuck the juice carton back in the door and closed the fridge. “Trying to preserve your plausible deniability,” I said. “You know the deal. Once you know, you
know.
”

The furrows between his brows deepened. “But I
need
to know, don’t I. Even if it associates me.”

“I won’t lie. It would help if you could, ah, participate fully.” I took a sip of my juice then sank into a chair at the table. “However, I don’t want to associate you without your clear consent and understanding.”

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me. “This is serious shit,” he said after a moment. “Gimme a few to think it over.” He dropped the paper onto the table, called for Sammy and headed to the back door. Sammy galloped through the kitchen in his eagerness to get outside.

Serious shit indeed. Once Pellini came on board and learned the full story—including all the pesky illegal parts—he’d be duty bound as a law enforcement officer to report all law-breaking activities to the appropriate authorities. Failure to do so would be . . . what was the term? Oh, yeah: Malfeasance in Office. Otherwise known as Dirty Cop. We could bleat all day that our cause was right and just and worth a few bent laws here and there, but at the end of the day it had to be Pellini’s decision to wade into our particular flavor of dirt. No way would I yank him in against his will.

After finishing my juice, I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Bryce.

I couldn’t help but smile after I hit send. Paul used to call Farouche “Big Mack” or BM for short, and now it served as a useful code phrase on the off chance our calls or texts were being monitored.

His response came in less than a minute.

I snorted. It was one thing to tell Pellini about our role in the events at the Farouche Plantation. It was another to tell him Bryce was the one who put two bullets in BM’s head.

This reply took longer.

I exhaled in relief. Would’ve been tough to skirt that whole issue, but I’d been prepared to figure out a way.

I put my phone away then snuck a peek out the kitchen window. No sign of Pellini. Restless, I pulled the newspaper to me and flipped through it, then stopped and stared at a photo on the third page. Amaryllis Castlebrook. I knew that face all too well because a few weeks ago I’d impersonated her. She’d been targeted for abduction by Farouche, but my posse intervened.

Yet sick horror filled me at the sight of the headline.
Beaulac Woman Missing Since Thursday
. I skimmed the article, frustrated by the lack of details. She’d been last seen as she left work. No suspects at this time. Anyone with information was asked to contact the sheriff’s office.

“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. My gut told me it was no coincidence that she went missing after being previously targeted. Had someone picked up the human trafficking right where Farouche left off?

Before I could retrieve the laptop to check for updates on the case, Sammy bounded in and collapsed into a tongue-lolling heap on the rug by the kitchen sink. Pellini followed at a more sedate pace and dropped into the chair opposite me.

I set the paper down and did my best not to appear impatient for his decision. While I very much hoped he’d choose to hear me out regarding my posse’s dicey history, I wouldn’t blame him if he dodged the whole guilt-by-association bullet.

Pellini flicked his hand toward the Amaryllis article. “Tim Daniels is the hero on that one. He got the vic back alive
and
almost caught the perp.”

“That’s damn good,” I said with undisguised relief. Tim was the all-around good guy and decent cop who I’d once sent on a wild goose chase to search for a nonexistent cat—which was how Eilahn ended up with Fuzzykins. “She’s okay then?”

Pellini’s expression darkened. “Got the dogsnot beat out of her and was raped several times.” He paused. “She’ll recover, though. Physically, at least.”

And a lifetime of recovery for the rest.
I dropped my hands to my lap and clenched them together. This attack on Amaryllis was no coincidence. “Is there a description of the perp?”

“Hold on.” Pellini pulled out his phone and flipped through items. “I was following the reports because it reminded me of the Amber Gavin murder.” He stopped scrolling and clicked a link. “Got it. Inch or two taller than six feet. Brown hair. Possibly a black van. That’s from Tim. Not much from the victim yet.” He turned the phone around to show me a computer sketch. It was a pretty crummy representation—not surprising if Tim didn’t get a solid look at him—but it was good enough for me.

Jerry Fucking Steiner. “Who has the case?” I asked.

“Boudreaux and Wetzer,” he said. “Why? What’s up?”

I leaned back and studied him. “I’d like to tell you one bit of info that will fill in a few gaps without putting you in an untenable position.”

Pellini gave me a slow, considered nod.

“We had intel that Idris was being held at the Farouche Plantation,” I said. “We also learned that Farouche was having people kidnapped to be sent with Rhyzkahl to the demon realm. We found out the identity of the next target, and I took her place as a means to infiltrate the security at the plantation. The name of that target was Amaryllis Castlebrook.”

His eyes widened in surprise before narrowing. “Fuuuuuuuck.”

“It’s not too late to remain uninformed,” I said.

A shimmer of uncertainty lingered on his face. “I don’t know the details of what went down at the plantation that night,” he said. “But I can guess the grand finale, whether you fill in the gaps or not.”

“True,” I said then shrugged. “However, you know as well as I do that
guessing
and
knowing
are two different things.”