Medium Rare: (Intermix) (7 page)

The barking now turned to baying, as the hounds picked up the scent. If they caught up to her they’d probably tear out something vital, something she needed a lot.

Breath burning in her chest, she scrambled to the top of the embankment, hearing the sound of claws scrabbling over the paving stones at the bottom of the yard. She thought she felt hot breath against the back of her legs, but she didn’t dare look around to see. She slammed the back gate closed and threw the latch across, hoping it would hold them but knowing it wouldn’t.

The back door loomed above her at the end of a short flight of stairs. She scrambled up as fast as she could move. From behind, she could hear the dogs baying again as something large and heavy struck the gate with an ominous thump. She turned the knob and remembered, too late, the recalcitrant lock that always took too long to open.

“Damn, damn, damn,” she gasped.

She leaped down from the steps on the side away from the baying, heading for the gravel drive that led to the front
.

“Just a little longer,” she muttered as she racketed up the driveway. “Just stay there a little longer.” The sharp gravel ground against her feet, but she ignored the pain.

Behind her, she heard the sound of splintering wood and a clang as the latch on the back gate sprung loose. The pack of hounds growled low, muttering, confused and angry. But they’d pick up her scent again any moment now.

She clambered up the stairs at the side of the front porch, staggering toward the door. “Oh, please. Please, Skag. Please be home now.”

Suddenly, she heard the sound of paws galloping along the driveway, monstrous claws clicking on the asphalt. She fumbled for the key she kept in the old mailbox at the door, jamming it into the lock and twisting for all she was worth.

Close behind her, something yipped as she shoved the front door open, half falling through, trying to shove it closed with her shoulder. A large heavy projectile struck her chest with the force of a missile, blowing the door wide and throwing her down full-length just inside. She looked up into an immense mouth full of yellowing fangs. Threads of drool hung a few inches from her face.

She tried to twist away, pulling as far back as she could beneath the dog’s weight. Dread clenched her stomach as she closed her eyes. “Ohgodohgodohgod.”

“Rose!” Skag’s voice echoed through the hall. “That’s a hellhound. Stay absolutely still! Do
not
move!”

She couldn’t have moved if her life depended on it, which, of course, it probably did. The dog’s huge paws still held her shoulders flat against the floor. Its breath blew hot against her cheeks, smelling of old meat and open graves. She struggled to breathe under its weight, tensing for the moment it would clamp its teeth on her throat. She heard the faint creak of its jaws as they opened wider.

And then something large, damp, and utterly disgusting swiped across her cheeks.

She peeked through her lashes up into the dog’s face. Glowing orange eyes stared back as the animal prepared to lick her again.

Hastily, Rose pushed herself upright, reaching out reflexively to keep the dog from falling. It slumped backward slightly, landing in a large, heavy heap in her lap and gazing up at her in surprise.

They sat staring at one another for a few moments. Then she reached tentatively to touch its scarred and lumpy head. The dog’s mouth inched up into a fang-ridden smile. “Nice doggy?” she mumbled.

The hellhound licked the back of her hand.

Skag floated in the living room doorway, staring down. “I’ve never seen one behave like that before.”

“He followed me home,” she gasped, feeling a desperate urge to giggle. “Can I keep him?”

“Her.” Skag turned and floated back into the living room. “And I doubt you have a choice. It appears we’ve just acquired a houseguest.”

Chapter 8

Evan circled King William Park and headed toward the San Antonio River. Finding his way around the narrow streets was hard enough in the daytime. At night, particularly with this strange, unseasonal fog, it was a bitch.

He was beginning to think this decision to share his information with Rose tonight was a really lousy idea. Part of him wanted to turn around and head back to Alamo Heights, but there was still that weird pulse that kept pushing him down the street.
Find her, talk to her, now!

He finally turned on Washington, the street beside the river. A few people walked along the riverside path in the fog, maybe taking in the atmosphere. As far as Evan was concerned, the atmosphere felt like wet wool—damp and clammy.

Somewhere nearby he heard dogs barking. A lot of dogs. Not exactly what he expected from King William. Maybe somebody had a posse of rambunctious poodles.

He peered at the addresses, looking for the one that belonged to Rose Ramos. He’d almost come to the end of the block when he finally found it—a three-story Victorian with a square, sloping roof and a front window jutting up from the slope. A wide porch ran all the way around the first floor, dripping with gingerbread trim. All in all, typical King William–style and probably worth a mint. He wondered how a retired librarian could afford it. Maybe her family had money. Although she sure didn’t dress like it.

He parked his car on the street in front of the house, then climbed up the steps to the porch and pushed the doorbell. Somewhere deep inside he heard a faint buzzing. He raised his hand to knock, but the door swung open.

Rose Ramos didn’t exactly look like Rose Ramos. Or anyway, she didn’t look like the Rose Ramos who’d been in his office that morning. Her black leather skirt stopped about three inches above her knees, showing an impressive length of curving calf and thigh. Her blue satin blouse hung untucked and slightly askew, revealing the curves of generous breasts, accentuated by the jeweled pendant that hung in her cleavage. Rich honey-colored curls billowed wildly around her shoulders. Emerald eyes stared back at him, outlined in luxurious dark lashes.

Rose Ramos was a fox. A dish. A knockout. Why the hell had she hidden all of that lusciousness under those awful clothes when she’d been in his office? Did she think he wasn’t worth dressing up for? He felt a purely masculine jolt of resentment.
Just give me a chance, babe!

“Evan,” she croaked. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He cleared his suddenly dry throat, trying to remember just why he’d come in the first place. “Just thought I’d tell you what I found out when I talked to the cops this afternoon. About Alana DuBois.” That sounded even lamer than he’d anticipated.

Rose blinked at him, jerking one hand behind her as if she was pushing something back. “It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, sure. But I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d . . .” He glanced down into glowing orange eyes and moved back a step.

It was the largest dog he’d ever seen. Coal black, with sharp pointed ears, its bulging shoulders were even with Rose’s waist. Its lips were drawn back in a low, rumbling snarl, showing large, jagged fangs, perfect for ripping something—more likely someone—apart.

“Nice dog,” Evan muttered, half to her and half to the hound that seemed on the verge of removing his favorite body part.

Her already-wide green eyes opened wider. “You can see it?”

“Hard not to.”

The dog moved a couple of inches closer, filling up half the doorway. It sniffed at Evan’s shoes.

Rose reached down and grabbed the scruff of its neck. “Get back, hellhound.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Hellhound?”

“Helen,” she corrected quickly. “Helly for short.”

The hound gazed up at her, then broke into a doggy grin, running a tongue the size of a bath mat across the back of her hand.

Rose grimaced, wiping her hand against her thigh. “So what did you find out?”

“Alana DuBois was an alias. Her real name was Sylvia Morris and she did time for fraud in Dallas,” Evan rattled off. Coming here had obviously been a major mistake.

Rose stared back blankly. “Oh, that’s . . . okay.”

“Okay?” Evan grimaced. So much for impressing her with his researching skills. “Yeah, I thought it was okay.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not really processing things right now. I’m not at my best—I’ve had a very rough evening. Give me some time to think about all of this, along with the stuff I found about Bradford. I’ll bring it in when I come to work tomorrow.”

Evan’s practical side wanted to tell her to forget the whole thing and just send him an invoice. But his other side, his Delwin side—all Celtic music and wild laughter—was caught by the faint spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and the arching honey-colored brows over those lush eyelashes. To say nothing of those gorgeous thighs. “Okay, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he found himself replying.

As he turned and headed back down the front steps, he heard her voice behind him, low and sultry. “Evan?”

He turned. Maybe things were looking up.

She leaned in the doorway, one bare leg stretched in front of the black mountain of dog beside her. “I may be a little late tomorrow.”

Ah well. Too much to hope that she’d invite him in for a little get-to-know-you-better nightcap. “Right. Whenever.” Frowning, he headed for his car.

***

The hound, Helen, pressed her cold nose against Rose’s bare thigh and whimpered. Rose knew just how she felt. Evan Delwin had looked faintly disheveled and incredibly hot. And all she could do was send him away.

She glanced down at the huge canine presence at her side. “She looks hungry. What do hellhounds eat?”

“Their victims, usually.” Skag paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, or rather, since his feet never made real contact with the ground, he floated.

“I guess I’ll try giving her whatever real dogs eat, in massive amounts.” Rose started for the kitchen.

“Rose, this is important. We need to talk.”

“We can talk while I feed the dog. I have a feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to let her get peckish.” She opened the refrigerator and checked the meat drawer—a plastic container full of rotisserie chicken and a package of salami. More stuff in the freezer, of course, but she didn’t want to hurt Helen’s teeth.

Hurt Helen’s teeth?
Rose shook her head, glancing at the hellhound’s jagged incisors. Maybe she was suffering from post-traumatic stress. She opened the container of chicken, then put it on the counter while she looked for a bowl.

Helen put her front paws on the counter and swallowed the entire container in a single gulp.

“Helen, no!” Rose cried. “Not the plastic box, too.”

Helen eyed the refrigerator hopefully.

Rose pulled a metal pie tin out of the cupboard and dumped in the salami. “Don’t do that again. Just the meat, not the pan. And this is it for the evening.”

Skag hovered for a moment above the kitchen table, then moved into a chair at the end. “Get yourself something alcoholic to drink. You look like you need it desperately.”

She found a wineglass and poured herself a generous measure of Syrah, shaking her head at Helen when the dog glanced hopefully at the bottle.

Skag materialized his own martini shaker and glass, then poured himself a sizeable portion of smoky liquid.

“Now,” he intoned, “tell me what happened. All of it. From the beginning.”

Rose took a deep breath. Better to get it over with. “I went to the Nightmare to ask Augie about that customer he mentioned.”

Skag narrowed his eyes over the rim of his martini glass. “Alone? Dressed like that?”

“What are you, my mother?” She took a swallow of wine. “Alone. Dressed like this. Has it occurred to you that my social life these days is virtually nil? I was trying to liven it up a little.”

He fished an olive out of his martini glass and popped it into his mouth. “Well, dressing like that at the Nightmare will certainly garner you attention, although, as you discovered, it may not be the type of attention you were planning upon.”

“No kidding. I’m pretty sure the dogs picked up my scent somewhere around the Nightmare. I heard them over there as I was starting the car.”

“You heard them? Close-by?”

“Close enough. I think I saw them behind me as I drove away, but I didn’t know what they were at the time.”

She glanced over at Helen, who was happily chewing her way through the metal pie tin. Rose sighed and turned back.

Skag munched on his olive pensively. “What happened inside the club?”

“Not much. I wasn’t there more than a half hour or so. Augie couldn’t talk to me.”

Skag’s eyebrows rose. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

“Wouldn’t, I guess. He sort of escorted me back to the bar and left me there.”

“And how long did you stay after that?”

“Not long. I danced a little, fended off a couple of passes from the other customers and drank a glass of wine. Then I went back to my car and drove home.”

“And saw the hellhounds before you left?” He poured more vaporous liquid into his martini glass.

“And saw something—maybe the hellhounds.” She moved her shoulders, trying not to shiver. “Something was behind the car for a few seconds as I drove away.”

“Hellhounds, probably. They must have followed you back here.”

“Followed me back?” She set her glass on the table. “I took the freeway most of the way. You’re saying they could go seventy and dodge traffic?”

“My dear Rose, once they had your scent, they could have followed you in the space shuttle. These are not dogs. These are hellhounds. Their only purpose is to hunt and kill.” He drained his glass, his eyes grim.

Helen, having finished her salami and pie tin, flopped down beneath the table, resting her chin on Rose’s foot.

“What about her?” She nodded toward her feet. “Why do I now have my own pet hellhound, who doesn’t seem particularly interested in killing me?”

He sighed. “Truthfully, I don’t know. I’ve never seen this happen before. And I have no idea who could send a pack of them after you in the first place. I don’t know why any supernatural figure would be annoyed with you.”

“You mean aside from the fact that I’m investigating William Bradford and Alana DuBois.”

If it was possible for Skag to pale, he did so. Then he shook his head. “No. This is a more drastic solution than that problem warrants.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I expected her to make a meal of you back in the entrance hall.”

Rose rubbed a hand across her neck, trying to ease the ache beginning at the base of her skull. “Nice to know.”

“The fact that she didn’t must mean something. Perhaps this house has some type of warding spell I wasn’t aware of. Or perhaps this particular hound was tired of being a hellhound.” He narrowed his eyes suddenly. “Were you wearing that pendant at the club?”

She looked down at her chest, closing a stray button at her midriff. “Grandma Caroline’s chalcedony? Yeah. I put it on to go to the Nightmare.”

He nodded slowly. “That could do it. Chalcedony’s natural protective properties, plus Caroline’s particular power, plus being inside the threshold of the front door could create a shield of some sort when you crashed into the house. Perhaps enough to change the dog’s mind.”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Grandma Caroline’s ‘particular power’?”

“Your grandmother was a very powerful woman, as was your great-grandmother. All the Riordans are powerful.”

“Including me?”

Skag looked down at his martini again. “Perhaps. We’ll have to wait and see.”

She reached down absently and scratched Helen’s ears. “Assuming someone sent those hellhounds after me, I’d like to know why. Do you have any ideas?”

He stared down into his martini, his lips a thin line. “No more than a theory or two. But you’re right, it may well be connected to Alana DuBois and whatever happened to her. And it may be connected to Bradford. Perhaps Delwin can help you find out.”

“Delwin?” Her headache spiked. “He saw the hellhound, Skag.”

“Yes.” He nodded slowly. “I noticed that.”

“No one else did. When I was running up the river path, none of the people knew what was happening. They all thought I was crazy.”

“Perhaps the dog took on material form only when she entered the house.”

“Or maybe Delwin actually saw her, even though she’s supernatural.” Rose rubbed her neck again. Definitely time for Tylenol. “What would that mean?”

Skag chewed on a second olive. “It means I need to find out a great deal more about Mr. Delwin.”

Just then Rose’s cell phone began to bleep from her purse. She pulled it out, flipped it open, and checked the number.
Oh, terrific. Just terrific.

“Hi, Ma.” She managed to make herself sound moderately cheerful. “What’s up?”

“Are you all right, Rose?” Her mother’s voice was strained.

“Me?” She glanced down at Helen, snoozing on her right foot.
Well, all things considered . . .
“I’m fine, Ma. Why?”

She heard her mother exhale quickly. “Nothing, I guess. I just . . . all of a sudden . . . I wanted to call, that’s all. But you’re all right, sweetheart?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. Well, I’ll talk to you later.”

Rose stared down at her cell phone.
Curiouser and curiouser.

***

Evan couldn’t sleep. It was the crowning injustice of his day—and night. For two days, he’d thought Rose Ramos was a drab secretary with no social life. Judging from her appearance earlier in the evening, her social life was probably more active than his. The whole situation was annoying as hell.

Screw her.

Of course, that was pretty much what he wanted to do, and that was probably the major reason he couldn’t sleep. Rose Ramos was a real pain in the ass, no matter how you looked at it.

He pulled a longneck out of the refrigerator and sat down at his computer. At least he had Google, although it wouldn’t be as entertaining as sharing a beer with a gorgeous woman in a short skirt.

He typed in “Rose Ramos” and waited for something, anything, to come up. Quite a bit did. There seemed to be a lot of Rose Ramoses, some of them doing things he was pretty sure his Rose Ramos wouldn’t do.