Speak of the Devil mk-4 Read online

  “Hello?” I said wearily. If anyone was hoping to pay me a visit right now, I fully intended to send them away.

  “Ms. Kingsley?” the clerk asked. He had a raspy smoker’s voice, and I realized it was Carl, one of the nicest of the building staff. Too nice, sometimes. Engaging him in conversation could kill an hour of your time, easy.

  “Yes.” Keeping responses to monosyllables was always wise when talking to Carl.

  “Is your car a blue Civic with license plate EXY 1902?”

  I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. What now? “Yes,” I responded reluctantly.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Kingsley, but one of the other residents reported it had been vandalized. Do you want me to call the police for you?”

  Great. Just great. I’d ask him how bad the damage was, but since he wasn’t the one who saw it, I assumed he wouldn’t know. “No, thanks, Carl. I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, sounding genuinely distressed on my behalf.

  I heard him take a breath, and instinct told me he was about to sympathize with me some more. Knowing him, about fifteen minutes more. So I cut him off before he got started.

  “Thanks for letting me know,” I said. “I’d better go check and see how bad it is.” Then I hung up without saying good-bye.

  I fought an urge to fling the phone against the wall. Maybe it was time for me to consider taking up residence in some remote little shack in Tibet. A life of peaceful seclusion might be just the thing. But knowing my life, trouble would follow me all the way there.

  “What’s up?” Saul asked me, turning off the TV without having to be told. I gave him a reluctant brownie point for that.

  “Apparently, someone’s vandalized my car.” I dragged myself to my feet. “I’m going to go see how bad it is.”

  He stood up. “I’ll come with you.”

  My usual inclination would be to tell him to stay here, but I was feeling beaten down enough not to bother tonight.

  We rode the elevator in silence down to the parking level. It was about eight o’clock in the evening, which wasn’t a busy time for garage traffic, so we had the place to ourselves. Saul’s sneakers made squeaky new-shoes sounds as we climbed the ramp up toward where I’d parked. I couldn’t see my car yet because the vehicle next to it was one of those super-sized SUVs that made cars like mine look like toys in comparison.

  When we got a little closer, I saw crumbles of broken glass, both red and clear, littering the floor. Great. I’d tried to hope that the vandalism had entailed only some damage to the paint job or some nasty messages written in soap on the windows. You know—the kind of stuff you don’t have to pay to fix. But it looked like I’d be forking out money for new taillights, if nothing else.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Please let it be nothing else, I prayed. Then we got around the SUV, and I stopped in my tracks.

  “Holy shit!” I said with what little voice I could muster.

  To say my car had been “vandalized” was the understatement of the century. It looked like an army of gorillas armed with baseball bats and tire irons had attacked it.

  Every window was shattered. The tires had all been shredded to ribbons. There were so many dents in the doors, they resembled that “hammered copper” look that was popular in decorative plates and vases. Inside, the dashboard had been smashed, and stuffing oozed out of huge rents in each of the seats.

  But bad as all that was, it wasn’t half so disturbing as the message that had been painted in what looked suspiciously like blood on the car’s hood. It was short, simple, and to the point.

  Die, bitch.

  I hugged myself and tried to keep my teeth from chattering as Saul pulled his cell phone off his belt and dialed 911.

  CHAPTER 13

  As soon as Saul got off the phone with 911, he called Adam, which meant that even after I’d answered five thousand thirteen questions and been given the hairy eyeball by what seemed like thirty cops, the ordeal wasn’t over.

  I recognized Adam’s car when he drove by, but he didn’t stop to talk with his fellow men in blue. Instead, he parked in the visitors’ area and waited for all the excitement to die down. I was very aware of him sitting there in the dark, watching, and I’m sure Saul was, too. The officers never noticed. That would have really sucked if Adam had been the homicidal maniac who’d been making my life just that much brighter lately.

  Okay, it’s true, we weren’t sure the guy was a homicidal maniac. As far as we knew, he hadn’t killed anyone. Yet. But it sure did look like he was escalating, and I didn’t want to know what his next move would be.

  When the last police cruiser’s taillights disappeared down the ramp, Adam finally got out of his car and headed in our direction. He was wearing heavy black motorcycle boots with sinfully tight black jeans, a faded blue T-shirt, and a black sport coat. Ah, the off-duty look. Gotta love it. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Saul giving him a similar once-over. Adam had the grace to pretend not to notice either of us ogling him, but I didn’t believe for a second it had escaped his attention.

  Without saying anything, he examined the car, which the police had kindly left for me to dispose of. They’d have towed it away if the love note had actually been written in blood like I’d first thought. Turned out it was just paint, which was a relief.

  Adam circled the car, looking at it from every possible angle while Saul and I watched. What he thought he’d see that the others had missed, I don’t know. Bored with watching Adam and his scrupulous examination, I let my eyes wander. Beside me, Saul was grinning faintly, a look of mingled lust and amusement in his eyes. I followed his gaze and saw the mouthwatering back view Adam was giving us as he bent over to scrutinize the broken taillights. If he’d wiggle his ass a bit, he’d look like he was auditioning for Chippendales in that pose. And he’d probably be hired in a heartbeat.

  “Would you like me to get you a pole?” I asked Adam. Then I slapped myself on the forehead like a character in one of those V8 commercials. “Oh, wait, you already have one.”

  Saul snickered, and Adam straightened up to look at us. He seemed genuinely puzzled, though I could have sworn he was purposely teasing Saul and me. I guess he’d been looking for evidence after all.

  He figured out my comment after a brief glance at Saul’s face, and he rolled his eyes. “Get your minds out of the gutter.”

  I decided to just pretend I hadn’t said anything. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “Let’s go upstairs to talk about it, shall we?” he suggested.

  “Good idea,” I agreed. I was sick to death of looking at the ruin that had once been my car. I had a feeling my car insurance company was going to drop me. My last car had been destroyed by the fire at my house, and now here was another one ruined in less than two months.

  The elevators in my building are ancient and slow. I sagged against the back wall as we inched upward toward my apartment. As if we were strangers, we were all staring at the glowing numbers above the door.

  “I’m thinking of moving to Tibet,” I commented in a vain hope that it would break the tension. No one answered. Worse, no one even cracked a smile. So much for my comic relief.

  When we got back to my apartment, I flopped onto the couch and propped my feet up on the coffee table. I didn’t feel too freaked out. I was just… tired. The numbness that Lugh had helped me shake off this morning was threatening to come back. And really, would that be such a bad thing? Because if I let myself feel everything, it might be time to call in the boys with the white coats.

  Adam sat on the other end of the couch, and Saul took the love seat. I didn’t look at either of them.

  “So, did you find anything?” Saul asked when I failed to repeat my earlier question.

  “Nothing the regular cops wouldn’t have found,” Adam replied. “But I have been putting some thought into the big picture.”

  I felt his eyes on me. Probably I was supposed to show some in
terest. “And what did you come up with?” I asked, because if I didn’t, he’d probably start psychoanalyzing me or something.

  “Based on our conversation with Barbie earlier, it seems like Jack Hillerman has something against you personally for some unknown reason. It seems like he’s using Maguire’s death as an excuse to take up his personal grudge with you.”

  I huffed out a frustrated breath. “It doesn’t make sense for him to have anything against me personally! Remember, I’ve never met the guy.”

  Adam pulled a four-by-six photograph from his back pocket and handed it to me. A slightly overweight forty-something guy with a pathetic comb-over smiled out at me. I shook my head and gave Adam a blank look. He took the picture back.

  “It was worth a shot,” he said. “It was possible you really had met him and just hadn’t known his name.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t recognize him. Did you have a chance to find out if he has any Spirit Society affiliations?”

  “Yeah. No connections that I can find.”

  I threw up my hands. “Then what’s his problem?”

  “I don’t know,” Adam said. “But I’m beginning to rethink my position on whether Hillerman is behind the threats or not. What are the chances two separate people would a) hold you personally responsible for what happened to Maguire, and b) be crazy enough to start this kind of vendetta? I mean, I’d think if anyone would take the heat for this, it would be Maguire’s ex-girlfriend.”

  Adam was referring to the ex-girlfriend who’d pressed charges on Maguire for apparently having beaten her up. He’d always proclaimed his innocence, and it was her testimony that put him in the hot seat.

  “Or how about the judge who ordered the exorcism?” Adam continued. “No one seems to be targeting her. Even if you swallow the idea that it’s two different people, you’d think at least one of them would have chosen a different scapegoat.”

  It made sense, if anything could be said to make sense these days. “Okay, I get your point,” I said. “But seriously, can you imagine someone like Hillerman breaking into a funeral parlor and chopping off a corpse’s hand? And hell, he looks like he’d die of a heart attack before he could do that kind of damage to my car!”

  “He hired Barbie. Maybe he hired someone else to do the less subtle work. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask Barbie to do some surveillance on Hillerman, see if we can find any other shady characters he’s hanging out with.”

  Since when had Adam cared if something was all right with me? I’d have liked to object in this rare instance when he was actually giving me a choice—or at least appearing to give me a choice—about something, but I couldn’t see a good reason to.

  “Go for it.” I frowned. “But why Barbie? Can’t you use your resources?”

  He raised one shoulder in a shrug. “We don’t have enough evidence against him to launch anything official.” He met my eyes. “Besides, it’s possible this investigation could lead us to something we’d rather keep off the books.”

  Once again, I had to agree with him, though I didn’t like it. If this all blew up in our faces, the fact that we hadn’t told the police the full story would come back to bite us in the ass.

  “I am going to drop by to visit Maguire’s girlfriend tomorrow,” Adam said. “If she was shacked up with Maguire, and if Hillerman really did launch his little terror campaign out of some weird, overblown grief at the death of a client’s son, I might be able to suss out a reason.”

  “And my assignment is still to sit around doing nothing?” I asked sourly.

  Adam had no sympathy. “Considering the damage this guy did to your car, I think keeping your head down would be a good idea. He’s escalating, and it seems logical that the next strike will be actual violence against you.”

  “Hold on a sec,” I said, thinking furiously. “We’re beginning to think Hillerman is behind everything, right? I mean the lawsuit, the letter to Brian, the psycho stalker—they’re all supposed to be him.”

  “Right,” Adam agreed.

  “If he’s planning to kill me, why the hell would he waste the time and energy to talk Maguire into suing me? And why would he bother ruining my relationship with Brian?”

  “Part of his escalation pattern,” Adam said, but he didn’t sound as sure of himself as usual.

  I let the subject drop, but I had my own theory now: Hillerman didn’t want me dead. He wanted me alive and miserable. I still had no idea why, but I felt pretty sure my psycho stalker wasn’t going to be escalating any further.

  When I woke up the next morning, I felt marginally better than I’d felt yesterday. Saul had made coffee again. It was still strong enough to put hair on my chest, but with a little extra cream and sugar, it was drinkable. We sipped our coffee in what felt almost like a companionable silence.

  During the night, I’d come to the conclusion that I was sick and tired of sitting on the sidelines of my own life. I was confident—to a point—that I wasn’t going to get myself killed if I nosed around a bit, and I knew I’d feel better if I was out doing something than if I was sitting around the apartment playing house with Saul.

  I also knew that after last night’s brutal attack on my car, Saul wasn’t about to let me leave my apartment without an escort. One thing all the demon-possessed men in my life had in common was a protective streak the size of Texas, and I doubted Saul was any different from the rest. Not that it was unjustified—I was hosting their king, after all, and if I died, he’d be forced back into the Demon Realm, where Dougal and his supporters could get their metaphorical hands on him. But for what I wanted to do today, I had to forego the pleasure of Saul’s company.

  My first plan was to slip out while Saul was in the bathroom, but with my building’s slow and cranky elevators, I’d probably still be standing in the hallway pushing the elevator button repeatedly by the time Saul caught up with me. My second plan was to make my getaway when I went down to the front desk to pick up my mail, but my unwanted bodyguard came with me even for that small task. Plan C was to send him to the deli around the corner to pick up some sandwiches for lunch, during which time I would “wait for him” in my apartment. I think he saw through that one, though, because he insisted on ordering delivery.

  That was when I decided subtlety just wasn’t going to work. It was the frontal assault or nothing. Anyone surprised I chose the frontal assault?

  While Saul was finishing up the enormous hoagie he’d ordered for lunch, I casually picked up my purse, rooting through it as though looking for something. As I shuffled junk around, I armed the Taser that was my constant companion and made a surreptitious check of its charge level. It was good to go, so I drew the Taser out of the purse and pointed it at Saul.

  He was too busy stuffing his face to notice at first, but when he did, he froze in the middle of biting off a big, drippy mouthful of hoagie. His eyes widened with alarm, and even after the first moment of surprise passed, he didn’t move, barely even seemed to breathe.

  “Go on and finish that bite,” I told him pleasantly. “I don’t particularly want to get hoagie innards all over my dining room.”

  He bent over the paper wrapper that lay unfurled on the table, then carefully released the hoagie from his mouth. Shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes, and mustard spilled out all over the paper, but at least it wasn’t on my carpet.

  “Let me finish chewing,” he said with his mouth full. Apparently he hadn’t finished his previous bite before he’d tried to stuff another one in. I reminded myself to give him a lesson in table manners later.

  I was worried his request might be some kind of trick, so I put some extra distance between us, making sure I had time to fire off a shot if he came after me. But he just sat at the table and chewed, watching me with wary eyes. Maybe he was trying to make sure his host didn’t choke to death while he was disabled. Electricity mucks with a demon’s control so badly that I wasn’t sure he’d be able to swallow once I shot him.

  His face had paled a bit, and if I
didn’t know better, I would have sworn he was scared. There was even a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. I told myself he had to be faking it, trying to think of some way to keep me from shooting, but I hesitated anyway.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I demanded. “You like pain, remember?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Yeah, but I don’t like being completely helpless.”

  I sympathized. So I pulled the trigger before I had a chance to think about it any more, or I might have changed my mind.

  Saul went rigid when the probes latched onto him, a strangled sound escaping his throat. His muscles were no longer in control enough to keep him in the chair, so he tilted sideways and hit the floor with a thud. This was the first time I could remember Tasering a demon and actually feeling guilty about it.

  I ejected the spent cartridge and shoved the Taser back in my purse. Then I turned Saul over onto his back so his arm wasn’t trapped in an awkward position. He was sweating all over, and my guilt spiked.

  “Sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “You’ll be back in control in ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.” Enough time for me to get far enough away he couldn’t stop me.

  He tried to talk, but since he wasn’t in control of his tongue, all that came out was a garbled groaning sound.

  “Sorry,” I said again, then forced myself to my feet and headed for the door.

  CHAPTER 14

  Jack Hillerman’s office was on Broad Street, within spitting distance of City Hall. A much nicer part of Broad Street than Barbie’s office inhabited, I might add. The building had probably been around since the turn of the twentieth century, and the lobby was dismal and depressing. The elevators were new, though, so they shot me up to the fifteenth floor fast enough to make my stomach have to run to catch up. The doors opened onto a very conservative, genteel reception area.