Temping is Hell (5 page)

Thomas leaned against the desk. “Al looks like a really old peanut of a man. All he’s asking for is sanctuary from the guys he’s screwed over—guys like Cyril, I imagine. What do you know that I don’t about this guy?”

Yagi pulled his lips into a tight line. “He’s a demon. Rogue, like his workers, but more powerful because he’s able to create his own construct here.”

“What?” Thomas turned. “You told me he was a consultant. One you trusted.”

“I didn’t say I
trusted
him. I said he could get us what we needed. And he has. But I would never say to trust him.”

Thomas ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing his scalp distractedly. This was bad. This was really, really bad. “If he’s so dangerous, why is he so afraid?”

“Because he shifted
himself
here, he’s very frail—he couldn’t construct a warrior body, as most people who conjure up demon forms do. That’s why he looks like a peanut. If he shifts out or tries to rebuild the construct, he’ll be immediately returned to Hell.”

Thomas frowned, feeling a headache brewing as he tried to remember all the metaphysical mumbo-jumbo he’d studied up on. “If he’s powerful, why isn’t he a demon lord himself?”

“I’m guessing he’s working on that,” Yagi said grimly. “If he goes back to Hell, he’ll be hunted by every demon lord who wants him on his team. The fact that Al has made it rogue for this long says he’s very smart. The fact that he’s here at all says he’s powerful. Don’t ever underestimate him. And don’t promise him indefinite sanctuary. Unless, of course, you’re comfortable with a prospective demon lord using your condos as home base for his power-building.”

“Wonderful,” Thomas said, grim himself. “And he was our best option.”

“The scanner idea could still work, however,” Yagi mused.

“Oh? How?”

“Use disposable people,” Yagi said contemplatively. “People that no one would miss. They will inevitably die from the attempts at possession and the insanity that constant contact with full demon script would cause. But we could move through them fairly quickly.”

“No,” Thomas said. “What the hell is a ‘disposable person,’ anyway?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Yagi chided. “It’s not ideal, by any stretch, but we need to be practical. You’ve hired me to regain your soul, and we’ve got one year.”

“There’s another way. We just haven’t looked for it yet.”

Yagi tapped his lower lip with his fingertips. “Your workers wouldn’t get possessed if their souls were signed…”

“No,”
Thomas snarled, then forced himself to back down from his knee-jerk revulsion. “I’m not signing anybody.”

“It’d be temporary,” Yagi said, his deceptively calm voice at odds with the brightness of his eyes. “Once your soul reverts, so would the souls of anyone you had signed. It would be—”

“I said no.” Thomas grimaced. “You set me up with that ‘disposable people’ crack, didn’t you? Trying to sell me on signing a team?”

Yagi didn’t try to deny it. “If you had a pool of souls to draw from, you’d be stronger,” he said bluntly.

“Yeah, and so would the guy who signed me, remember?”

“He’s strong already. A few more souls will be negligible to him,” Yagi pointed out. “But it could be a game-changer for you.”

“Not a chance.” Thomas gritted his teeth.

I don’t care about risking myself. But I’m not dragging anybody else into this. I’m not worrying about anyone else.

Yagi finally backed down, looking disappointed, if not surprised.

“I warned you—hard decisions are coming. This may be one of them.”

“Just clean him up,” Thomas said, staring at Pablo Escrima’s unconscious form. Then Thomas’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen, noticing it was one of the Fiendish vice presidents. “Yagi?”

Yagi paused, one eyebrow quirked.

Thomas took a deep breath. “I’ll think about it,” he said, then answered his phone. “Joel. What can I do for you?”

Chapter Four

That evening, Kate answered her cell phone as she carefully navigated Alameda’s surface streets. Driving wasn’t her strong suit, so she considered ignoring the call, especially since she couldn’t manage driving
and
checking the cell phone screen to see who it was. Still, she thought it might be her brother, asking where his truck was, so she figured she’d answer it via her Bluetooth. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, she reasoned—he did store the thing at her parents’ house, after all, and she wasn’t taking the bus to this particular destination. “Hello?”

“You’re going
where
?” Prue yelped.

Kate gripped the steering wheel tighter as Prue’s voice shrieked through the cell phone headset she rarely used—for just this reason.

“It’s a work thing,” Kate hedged.

She’d texted Prue that she was going to be late, and when Prue had asked the reason… Well, obviously Kate should have lied. Too late now.

“And I’ll be by right after, I swear. This shouldn’t take long at all.” Kate paused. “Actually, I’ll be by right after I hit Costco.” She needed to pick up some Ho Hos, she realized. And some bottled water, and some energy bars. If the guys weren’t getting lunch or breaks, she wanted to make sure they were at least getting some kind of food.

God, you’re such a den mother.

“Tell me you’re not going to hang out with that skeevy, nasty little douchetard.”

“Didn’t I just say it was for work?” Kate sighed, pulling up to the dilapidated Victorian in a seedier part of Alameda. “Listen, I’m here, and I don’t want to leave my brother’s truck in this neighborhood for too long after dark. He’ll kill me if I get it stolen. Let me just cut a deal with Tad, and then I’ll be right over.” She bit her lip. “I really,
really
need to talk to you.”

“I’m at Thalossa,” Prue grumped. Then she paused. “You okay? You sound more stressed than usual.”

Kate thought of Slim and the guys slaving away in the basement. They hadn’t left for the day. They’d just kept on working.

Thomas couldn’t possibly know about that.
He’d seemed so warm, such a down-to-earth guy for someone so rich and lofty. He had a nice smile, too, and he joked with her and listened to her, even when she’d insulted his company right to his face. A guy that mellow couldn’t be oppressing workers’ rights in his own basement.

Could he?

“I’m still figuring stuff out,” Kate said as she squeezed the truck into a parking space on the street between a hooptie tri-colored Ford sedan and a pimped out low-rider, “but I’ll tell you what I know. I’ll be at your apartment as soon as I can.”

“Just one question—does the douchetard still live with his mama?”

“See you at Thalossa, Prue.” Kate clicked off, then walked up the broken concrete path to the front door. It was September, and the air was definitely getting chilly.

Tad “Tadpole” Stimes was one of the best computer guys she’d ever met. Considering her dating experience when she went to Berkeley, that was saying something. Prue had often joked Kate attracted more nerds than Comic Con.

Kate and Tad had been lab partners in high school. For whatever reason, she’d taken pity on him, agreeing to go to Winter Formal, and since then, he’d kept the flame of unrequited crushdom burning undiminished. She’d seen him occasionally around the East Bay, and she’d let him friend her on Facebook, but she’d also made it quite clear that there was nothing between them. She wasn’t sure if he’d actually absorbed any of those signals, however, so most of the time she simply did her best to avoid him.

Still, when it came to programming, there was no one better. And right now, she needed the best in a hurry.

She knocked on the door, and Tad’s mother Meredith answered. “Oh, Katie! It’s lovely to see you.”

“Hi, Mrs. Stimes.” She put her hands in her pockets, feeling eighteen again in the worst possible way.

“It’s been a few years,” Mrs. Stimes said with reproach.

“Um, yes.” The house still smelled like wet dog. Kate petted the three shelties that were currently trying to herd her toward the couch.

“Well, I’m glad you’re going to see Tad. I keep telling him he needs to get out more, but he doesn’t listen to me.”

Kate shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I just wanted his help with a work problem.”

“Sure.
Work
.” Mrs. Stimes sounded knowing, and Kate shuddered. “Well, go on down. You know the way.”

Okay, yuck.
The woman was doing everything but the “wink-wink-nudge-nudge” routine. Kate fled through the open door to the basement.

Tad had painted the walls black, and the violet glow of a black light illuminated everything. There were
Star Wars
models hanging from the ceiling with fishing wire, their phosphorescent paint like beacons. Something techno and depressing was playing.

“Really?” she murmured to herself. “You’re going to be
that
guy, Tadpole?”

“Hey, sexxxxxx-ay.”

She yelped. He’d emerged from the darkness behind her. He still looked the same, she thought… skinny, with stringy unwashed hair and a T-shirt that was almost more holes than cotton. She wondered how long he’d been wearing it; he had doused himself with cologne, so it was hard to tell. His smile was wide and lascivious.

“Hi Tad,” she said, backing away before he could touch her. He kept moving in, and she had to maneuver a chair between the two of them to prevent him from making contact. “You got my message?”

“I sure did.” Same smile as his mom. Which was doubly creepy, now that she thought about it.

Focus
, she chided herself. “So, do you think you can help me with the computer program?”

“Text image recognition? Child’s play,” he said, his thin, pointy nose sticking up with derision. “You might give me a challenge next time. What’s the language? English? Chinese? Farsi?”

“It’s not a language, exactly. It’s some kind of code,” she said, and noticed his ears prick up as he leaned forward with interest. She handed him the slip of paper with the character Slim had drawn for her. “This is what they’re looking for, on a bunch of pages that have variations that look sort of like this contract. I need a program that can pick this out of a bunch of other stuff in this same code.”

“It looks vaguely familiar,” Tad said, and she fought not to roll her eyes. He hated admitting he didn’t know something, so of course it looked familiar. “But even if it wasn’t a word at all, I could come up with something that would pick out this graphic. No problem.”

“How long’s it going to take?” she asked.

“Few days.”

She stood straighter, taking a deep breath… then choked on the cloying scent of Axe body spray layered over dirty laundry.

“Um, how much?” she coughed. “I know your time is valuable, and I’m willing to pay you for it.”

He smiled. “Well, now…”

“Not that kind of party, pal,” she said firmly. “I’m subcontracting, not whoring.”

“Come on, we’re friends, not associates,” he wheedled. “How about dinner as payment?”

“Um, okay,” she said. “I’ll get you a gift certificate to any restaurant in the city.”

His look of hurt stabbed at her as he stepped in closer. Of course, she’d feel guiltier if he didn’t then inappropriately stroke her arm. “I’d like to take you to dinner, Kate. I think that it’s the least you could do, right?”

Oh, God.

He smiled. She could smell his breath—Cheetos and old pizza. His eyes gleamed.

A date? She bet he’d go for a boob fondle, in public or not, or maybe a really awful ass grab. Did she really want this program that badly?

She closed her eyes, picturing Slim’s sad, drawn face. She remembered his words:
They don’t know how bad the Overseer can be. But I do
.

“If I get the program in twenty four hours,” she heard herself say, and shuddered. “Then I’ll go to dinner with you.”

His eyes gleamed, and he licked his lips. Reading the signs, she dodged nanoseconds before he could reach in and hug her. His hands brushed over her ass and she shoved him back.

“And, if on this date, you go for second or even first base,” she pointed out, “I’ll pepper spray you.”

…

“You know,” Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve brokered multi-billion dollar deals, and I’m still trying to juggle the needs of about fifteen different companies—which would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to deal with demon wrangling, contract hunting, and all this metaphysical, paranormal…
crap
.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be able to continue dominating the financial world soon enough,” Yagi said sagely. Of course, it was easy for him—he
was
a sage of some sort, as well as a ninja. “Once all this is over.”

“Once all this is over,” Thomas repeated.

Once Cyril is dead
.

They had arrived at the door of Thomas’s condominium complex “sanctuary” he’d built, the Havens, just off Jack London square. As he did at Fiendish headquarters, Thomas occupied the entire top floor. It was easier that way and, according to Yagi, safer.

Yagi frowned. He stopped Thomas with a quick motion of his hand, and then reached into his suit jacket. One hand held a gun; the other, a bronze, slightly curved knife.

Thomas felt his heart freeze, then pump double-time. He, too, reached into his jacket, pulling out the special dagger Yagi had given him, the one he’d been practicing with for the better part of a decade.

Come at me
, Thomas thought. He doubted that Cyril would be stupid enough to send one of the twelve signatories that Thomas needed to kill… but God, it was a tempting thought.

Yagi shook his head, then stood in front of Thomas, opening the door and moving in quietly. There was the large, public “suite,” and then Thomas’s real bedroom hidden in the back, panic-room style. As his bodyguard and main counselor, Yagi was his roomie, as well. The bedroom that Thomas pretended to use, the luxurious, fake one, had the door open. There was obviously someone there. He could smell sexy perfume in the air, the scent of spice, woman, and seduction.

Thomas gripped the dagger tighter. Moving like a shadow, Yagi glided to the door… then kicked it open.

There was a squeaking shriek, then Yagi turned on the light. His almond-shaped eyes went wide.

“This,” he said, tucking his knife and gun away, “is not my area.”

Thomas’s heart was still pounding when he glanced in.

Maggie was wrapped in the chocolate-brown comforter, looking incensed. “Really!”

“Maggie?” he asked, putting his own dagger away. “What are you doing here? Is something wro…”

Before he could finish the sentence, his mind quickly took in the details of the scene. She was in his condo. In his bedroom—at least, the one he supposedly used. And she obviously wasn’t wearing anything beneath the sheet.

He glanced at Yagi, turning slightly and lowering his voice. “Don’t suppose you could take care of this?”

“She’s not my type. And she’s definitely not in my job description,” Yagi murmured back, shaking his head. He didn’t even spare Maggie a second glance as Thomas followed him down the hallway.

“Aren’t you supposed to be my bodyguard?”

“I’m
shinobi
,” he said. “I deal with demons and the metaphysical, as well as the occasional psychopathic assassin. Frankly, you’re not paying me enough to deal with
her
.”

“Coward,” Thomas muttered, then rubbed his hands over his face. When Elizabeth had died, he and Maggie had bonded, sharing their grief, him for his fiancée, her for her sister. Still, as close as they’d gotten—he’d offered her a job and let her know the details of his plans for revenge and retribution—he’d known that one day, she was going to try and shift their friendship to something a little less platonic. He’d also known that, when she put her mind to something, Maggie was like a pit bull.

He stepped into the room, where Maggie was still lying in wait in the bed. “Maggie, I told you, we don’t have that kind of relationship, hon.” He tried to say it as kindly as possible, but damn it, he was exhausted—and Yagi was right. “You’re making things harder.”

She smiled wickedly. “I’d like to make things harder,” she said, reaching for him.

He’d gotten too close, into proximity of her grasping fingers. He quickly moved farther, out of arm’s reach. “Damn it, Maggie. I was engaged to your
sister
.”

“That was six years ago. Since she died, you haven’t been with anyone for longer than what, a week?” Maggie sounded reasonable and just a little wistful. “Don’t you get tired of coming back to this big bed, night after night? All alone?”

She did have a point there. He’d tried some casual affairs, just for the companionship and physical release, but after the last time, when the woman he’d taken to bed tried to kidnap him, he really hadn’t had much in the way of a sex life.

It
had
been a while, he realized uncomfortably.

Still, he’d have to be more than simply hard up to sleep with Maggie. He’d have to be insane. “High maintenance” didn’t even begin to cover the hot mess that was Elizabeth’s sister. And guilty conscience or not, giving her a job was as far as he was going to go.

“I manage just fine, but I do appreciate the concern,” he drawled. “Now, why don’t you go on back to your condo, Mags? Let’s not say or do anything we’re going to regret later.”

She got up, the sheet falling to reveal a perfectly sculpted body with enough solidity to remind him there were bags of salt water involved and enough nipping and tucking to make a quilt. The look on her face told him that she’d used this particular strategy before—on lots of men, if the rumors were true—and it had probably never failed. She was smug, her eyes bright. Any desire in her eyes was overpowered by sheer determination.

She must want something, he realized. Beyond the obvious, anyway. It often amazed him how his cool, sophisticated Elizabeth was related to someone so damned calculating.

Suddenly, unbidden, he thought of Kate, the temp. She wouldn’t pout, or nag, or bulldoze through an extortionate seduction. In fact, he got the feeling that she was the full-blown opposite of calculating.