The Devil's Due mk-3 Read online

  The first call was an immediate hang-up. The second call was from a reporter, of all things. He wanted me to call back and talk with him about this afternoon’s exorcism. I couldn’t imagine why he’d be interested. It had been a long time since exorcism had been considered newsworthy. He left a number for me to call, but I just laughed. Like I needed the press in my life!

  I thought surely the third call would be from Adam. I really wish I’d been right.

  The caller ID told me it was from an unknown number, and at first I thought it was going to be another hang-up. My finger was halfway to the Delete button before a voice started talking. A chill ran down my spine from the first digitally-altered word.

  “You’d better pray Jordan Maguire lives,” the message said, the voice so garbled I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. “If he dies, you die, too. This is your only warning.”

  I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. Once upon a time, a threat like this would have had me. . well, not exactly in a panic, but at the very least in a state of high alarm. Tonight. . it scared me a little, but after all I’d been through since Lugh came into my life, it seemed almost more of an annoyance than a cause for serious concern. Oh, for the days when a death threat on my answering machine was the worst problem in my life!

  The “right” thing to do at the moment was call the police. Usually, when I’m reading a book or watching a movie where the heroine fails to call the police when she’s threatened, I berate her as an idiot. But my life had been far too eventful lately, and I’d had too many brushes with the law. Adam had extricated me from my most awkward moments, but I had to be setting off police warning bells everywhere. If I called them now, it might remind certain people to dig out the files about my arrest for illegal exorcism, or about Brian’s kidnapping, or about my father’s death in the “car accident,” or about the break-in and subsequent attack at my parents’ home while I just happened to be there.

  Maybe if I thought the police could actually help me, I’d have made the call anyway. But I seriously doubted someone who was thinking ahead enough to digitally alter their voice would make a call the police could trace, so what would the police do? Except make me wait up for them a few hours and subject me to suspicious looks and leading questions.

  I gnawed on my lip. What was the deal with this Jordan Maguire guy, anyway? Who felt strongly enough about him to threaten me, and why had a reporter called? Since I’d been hired by the state, not his family, the only details I had about him were those directly pertaining to his conviction. Perhaps I should have inquired about his background before taking the case, but that wasn’t part of my routine.

  I really wanted to just fall into bed and forget all about it, but I supposed that wasn’t one of my options. So instead I did an Internet search on Maguire. I didn’t find out much about the guy I’d exorcized, but I did find out that Jordan Maguire Sr. was rich enough to endow his son’s high school with a new multimillion dollar athletic facility, start up a mega-grant program for underprivileged artists in his daughter’s name, and fund a new wing of Pennsylvania Hospital. That made Jordan Jr. somewhat of a local celebrity—hence, the call from the reporter—and Jordan Sr. a potentially powerful enemy.

  I cursed loud and long. I didn’t need any more enemies! I’d had no idea Jordan Maguire was anything out of the ordinary when I’d agreed to do the exorcism. I’d known when he’d come out the other side brain-dead that his family wouldn’t be happy, and it wouldn’t shock me to find out they were blaming the exorcist. There was a small, but vocal, minority who thought hosts who came out of an exorcism braindead—as opposed to “merely” brain damaged—were the victims of incompetent or malicious exorcists. I guess it’s always nice to have someone to blame.

  There’d been a few lawsuits that had made the news, but since there was no way to prove that the exorcist did anything wrong, so far none had been successful. Of course, in a country where McDonald’s can be successfully sued for serving hot coffee, I guess it’s not surprising that lawyers with dollar signs in their eyes still hoped to find a way to hold exorcists responsible.

  With a sigh of resignation, I turned off the computer and told myself that Maguire was no longer my problem. Whoever had left the death threat had probably gotten the vitriol out of their system and things would calm down in the days and weeks to come.

  But I did a lousy job of persuading myself. I made sure to take my Taser to bed with me that night. I’d already seen how porous my building’s security was.

  Despite the anxiety that rattled my brain like a set of maracas, I managed to fall asleep. I probably would have slept until noon if the phone hadn’t rung at eight in the morning. It was the reporter again, asking me if I had any comment about the Maguire family’s decision to pull the plug this afternoon. I had some comments for him all right, but they weren’t about the exorcism or Jordan Maguire.

  I tried to go back to sleep, but the phone rang again at eight-thirty. I was prepared to give the reporter the kind of comments that might get me arrested, but when I checked the caller ID I saw that it was Brian.

  I seriously considered letting my answering machine take the call. Not because I didn’t want to talk to Brian, but because I didn’t want to talk to him about the Maguire situation. I figured there must be something in the newspaper about it, and Brian would want to gallantly support me in my time of trouble. I wasn’t up to dealing with him in knight-in-shining-armor mode. Yes, I’m really bitchy in the morning before I’ve had my coffee.

  Virtue won out over expedience, and I actually picked up the phone.

  “If you mention Jordan Maguire, you’re not getting laid again for at least three months,” I said.

  Brian chuckled. “Guess you haven’t had your coffee yet.”

  Why does everyone have to find me so goddamn amusing? “I was sound asleep, so no.” So I hadn’t been sound asleep for at least a half hour. What was a little exaggeration among friends?

  “Sorry to wake you,” Brian said. “But I don’t think this can wait. I’m coming over. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

  “Huh?” I glanced at the clock again. “What’s going on? Don’t you have to be at work?” Actually, if he’d been following his usual routine, he’d have been at work a half hour ago. Suddenly, I was feeling much more awake, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  “It’s not something I can explain on the phone,” he said. “Get some coffee in your system, and I’ll see you soon.”

  To my surprise, he hung up. It wasn’t like Brian to be cryptic.

  Giving up my illusion that I might be able to get some more sleep, I rubbed the grit from my eyes and got out of bed. I started a pot of coffee, and by the time I emerged from a quick shower, the heavenly brew was ready for me. I burned my tongue on the first swallow, but it was worth it.

  I was still in my bathrobe when Brian arrived. A girl has to have priorities, and coffee came before clothes for me any day of the week.

  I hadn’t expected this to be a social call, of course, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t unnerved by the grim look on Brian’s face. And that was before he got a look at my bruised and battered face.

  “What happened?” he asked, sounding appalled. “ It’s not that big a deal,” I answered, hoping I could somehow miraculously avoid a big, dramatic scene. “A couple of Tommy Brewster’s pals thought I should lay off him, and I didn’t agree. But really, I’m fine. And yes, I reported it.”

  He stared at me in silence for a moment before he spoke again. As I’m sure he intended, the silence made me squirm, but I refrained from blurting out anything I shouldn’t have.

  “This is the case you insisted wasn’t dangerous, right?” he asked. “The one you told me you’d handed off to Adam.”

  “If you’re going to scold me, then you might as well turn around and get your ass out of here before things get ugly. I’m just not in the mood for it.”

  His shoulders lowered, and he looked slightly less l
ike he was about to explode. “Old habits die hard. But I really can’t leave right now.”

  I remembered how grim he’d looked even before he got a good look at me and knew this couldn’t be good. I served him a cup of coffee just to put off hearing what had put that look on his face. But I couldn’t put it off for long.

  “Okay,” I said with a resigned sigh. “Tell me what’s going wrong now.” I cupped my hands around my second cup of coffee and tried to brace myself for whatever bad thing was about to rear its ugly head.

  Brian put his coffee down and leaned his butt against the kitchen counter. I think he was trying to look calm and normal, but he wasn’t pulling it off very effectively.

  “When I came down to the front desk to get my paper this morning,” he said, “there was a message in my mailbox. The night man said it was delivered by a young woman, but he had no idea who she was or where she’d gone.”

  This didn’t sound good at all. “What was the message?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer, instead reaching into his jacket and pulling a plain white envelope from the inner pocket. He handed the envelope to me, and I saw my name typewritten on the front. The envelope was still sealed.

  I closed my eyes for a moment as I fought a wave of self-pity. Wasn’t there enough shit going on in my life already? Did I really need mysterious letters delivered through Brian?

  “If someone wanted to give this to me,” I mused, “then why did they leave it at your building?”

  “Beats me,” Brian answered, looking worried.

  I stared at the envelope, trying to guess what might be inside. I guess I stared a little too long, because Brian prompted me.

  “Well? Are you going to open it?”

  “Back off,” I snapped, then wanted to slap myself silly for killing the messenger. “Sorry. I just can’t imagine there’s anything good in here, and I’m not in a big hurry to add to my problems.”

  Brian smiled faintly. “Lawyers get to be the bearers of bad tidings on a regular basis. I’m used to being underappreciated.”

  “Ha, ha,” I said, though I’m not sure that was supposed to be a joke. “Can you give me a minute?” I didn’t want him looking over my shoulder while I read, just in case. . Well, just in case.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve done my messenger duty, and now I’m dismissed?”

  I fought the urge to snap at him again. “I’m not dismissing you. I just want a quiet moment to open this and read it. Is that too much to ask?”

  He gave me a reproachful look, but he pushed away from the counter and stomped out of the kitchen. Even after he’d gone, I still had trouble forcing myself to open the envelope, but there was only so long even I could procrastinate.

  Trying to steel myself for all possibilities, I slid a finger under the flap and ripped the envelope open.

  Inside, there was a photograph, along with a neatly handwritten letter. The photo was the one Claudia had showed me at the restaurant, the one of her adopted daughters.

  The letter was from Claudia.

  Ms. Kingsley,

  They have my daughters. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you the truth about why I wanted you to drop the case, but I was told in unequivocal terms that I am to act as though nothing were wrong. Still, while I don’t know you very well, I imagine you’re the kind of person who would be unwilling to drop the case just on my say-so, so I felt I had to take the risk of contacting you.

  They are watching my every move, and most likely yours, too. I can’t contact you personally, but I will try to get this letter to you in a roundabout fashion that will avoid detection. I just hope it doesn’t reach you too late.

  I love my son, more than I can say. I desperately wish there were something I could do to save him. But I can’t risk my daughters. They are helpless children, and I can’t bear to do anything to endanger them. The kidnappers have pointed out that with two hostages, they can afford to kill one as a message if anyone “misbehaves,” as they put it. Please, Ms. Kingsley. Drop the case. Don’t ask any more questions. These are very bad people, and I believe they won’t hesitate to hurt the girls. Don’t give them an excuse.

  Claudia

  My heart dangled somewhere around my knees. Just what I needed. A hostage crisis. And after I’d spent last night questioning Shae about Tommy. Please, God, don’t let the bad guys retaliate against those children!

  My throat knotted up, and I swallowed to try to loosen it. There was nothing I could do to change the past, and if Tommy’s friends had found out what I’d been up to last night, then at least one of those children might already be doomed. Tears stung my eyes, and I cursed Tommy Brewster and all his demon friends. While I was at it, I cursed Raphael for having enabled the whole breeding program and for whatever information he might be withholding at the moment.

  I heard Brian turn on the TV in the living room and wondered if I should show him the note. Would he have any better idea what to do about it than I did? I let out a heavy sigh and closed my eyes. This was Mr. By-The-Books I was talking about. His natural reaction to seeing this letter would be to call the police. He and I rate on opposite ends of the cynicism scale. Most likely, he’d believe the police could actually help in this situation. Myself, I believed the police would get those kids killed. Which meant I couldn’t tell him.

  Your Mr. By-The-Books helped me arrange your father’s death, Lugh’s voice whispered in my mind, and it was all I could do to suppress a groan. Obviously I was reaching stress overload, since my subconscious firewall appeared to be failing me.

  Stay out of my head, Lugh, I thought furiously at him. I had the faint impression of laughter, but he didn’t otherwise respond. Maybe that had been just a momentary fluke, a glitch in my defenses.

  He was right about the tarnish on Brian’s suit of shining armor. But that didn’t mean Brian wouldn’t go to the police about this. He’d helped Lugh with my father out of a desperate desire to save me when all other hope had failed. In this situation, he was much more likely to put his hope in the police than in me.

  The TV clicked off, and I heard Brian’s footsteps approaching. I guess he’d gotten tired of waiting. Wishing I could calm the racing of my heart, I folded the photographs back into the letter and stuffed the letter into the envelope just as Brian rounded the corner into the kitchen.

  We engaged in a long staring contest that ended in what I interpreted as a draw. Brian’s eyes were shadowed with pain.

  “You’re not going to tell me what this is all about, are you?” he asked, and the hurt in his voice was almost more than I could bear.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice thick with genuine regret. I wished I trusted him enough to tell him the whole story. It seemed patently unfair, even to me, that I should love him this much and still not be able to give him my trust. But part of what I loved about him was his basic goodness. I loved that he was always willing to do the right thing, even when it wasn’t in his own best interests. I loved his sense of honor and decency, even though sometimes I cursed him for it. I loved his faith in mankind’s goodness, even though I didn’t share it.

  Brian’s gaze dropped to the kitchen floor, and he shook his head. “Why do I bother hoping?” he muttered to himself, and the words hurt like a stab to the heart.

  “Brian—” I started, reaching out to him, but I couldn’t think of anything to say to make this better.

  He twitched away from my reaching hand. I flinched at the rejection, then flinched again when he put on his damn lawyer face. Even so, I forced myself to meet his eyes.

  “I guess I know you better than you know me,” Brian said.

  I frowned in puzzlement. “What the hell does that mean?” I asked, hoping to come off angry instead of hurt. I think I succeeded, but if Brian knew me as well as he claimed, he’d see right through it.

  He folded his arms over his chest, still meeting my gaze, still hiding his feelings behind his lawyer face. “Was it because you were trying to ‘protect’ me again, or was i
t because you’re afraid I’ll go to the police? I couldn’t decide which it would be.”

  I’m capable of being pretty dense at times, but now I had no trouble figuring out what he meant. The fake anger turned into real anger.

  “You opened the letter, you asshole!”

  Brian unfolded his arms, then covered his eyes with one hand as he barked out a bitter laugh. “You’re absolutely priceless, you know.”

  “What?”

  “It’s amazing how you can turn any situation into an opportunity to get mad at someone no matter what you yourself have done.”

  I scowled at him. “If you’re just figuring this out, then you don’t know me as well as you claim.”

  He nodded sagely. “Right. So we’re going to have a big blowup about me reading the letter, and we’ll just gloss over the fact that once again you decided to shut me out of your life.”

  I love Brian to death, but right now, I wanted to smack him. “Don’t be a drama queen about this. There are a couple of children whose lives are in imminent danger, and you want to argue about the lack of openness in our relationship? Get a sense of proportion already.” He puffed up indignantly, and no doubt if I’d let him get a word out he’d have put me right in my place. So I didn’t let him get a word out.

  “I didn’t want to tell you because yes, I was afraid you’d want to go to the police, and yes, I think that’s a piss-poor idea. If I’m wrong and you’d never dream of calling the police, then by all means please, continue to tar and feather me. Otherwise, stuff a sock in it.”

  His lips quirked into a grin that seemed completely out of place given the situation. “May I use your stove?”