The Demon Hunters (27 page)

I leaned closer to the screen. “The
agency is a cover. They set up where Dark Cousins were. Then Vance
had them killed.”

Royal stared hard at the data on the
screen. “It looks so. Or where he thought they were.” He swung to
face me. “We have to be careful here, Tiff. We could be jumping to
conclusions.”

“
Yeah, I bet.”

“
I do not think so either,
but it is possible.”

He could well be right. Jumping the
gun happens when you want something so much. But we could have the
Charbroiler, and that sent my pulse leaping.

His fingers tapped a rat-tat-tat on
the desk. “We need evidence.”

I knew, then, he didn’t mean to share
this information with Gia. I stepped back a pace and looked down at
him. “You’re going the legal route. You don’t trust Gia and Daven
any more than I do.”

He kind of laughed, but it cut off in
a snort. “Why would I trust anyone who forced my mouth shut without
a by-your-leave?” He half turned the chair, reached back and
punched at the keyboard to close the programs. “We will look into
this ourselves, but it will not be legal.”

Feigning wide-eyed excitement, I
clasped my hands at chest level. “Oh, goody! We’re going to be real
detectives and detect!”

“
This is so exciting!” Mel
said. Jack echoed her. As always, their faces looked the same as on
the day they died, but instead of being at odds to what they felt,
the expressions seemed to fit their excitement.

Jack struck a pose, crossed his legs
and flicked the brim of an imaginary fedora with one finger. “You
want my opinion, sister?” he growled in a pretty good imitation of
Bogart.

I made for the stairs. “No thanks,
Jack. No time.”

Royal came on my heels. “I will never
grow used to that,” he murmured.

“
Used to what?”

“
You chatting with your two
friends.”

I stopped on the stairs. I knew Royal
felt uncomfortable when I talked to Jack and Mel, he’d told me so,
but those were lighthearted comments. He’d even teased me about
them. But now he had an edge to his voice.

“
I can’t pretend they’re
not here. I don’t
want
to pretend, Royal.” I did it enough throughout the years. I
didn’t see why I should when Royal knew about Jack and
Mel.

“
I am going right off the
man,” I heard Mel say.

Royal ran his palm down his
face.
“
I do
understand.
I know they are here. I know
you all are . . . roommates. But I do not hear them, I am not part
of your relationship. Seeing you, hearing you, it is . . . surreal.
”

“
I know that, I really do,
but it’s not about to change.” I refused to give an inch. My new
philosophy: take me, take my ghosts. I softened my tone. “Please
understand. It’s a fact of my life. They’re like. . . .”
Don’t tell me I’m gonna have to say it out
loud.
I lowered my voice. “They’re like
family,” I squeezed out.

Over his shoulder, I saw Mel and Jack
standing stock-still above him. Jack, for once, did not have a
sarcastic retort. Maybe I surprised them.

I got away lightly. They would save
their smart-mouth comments for later.

I went in the kitchen and picked up
the phone. My oatmeal had congealed in the bowl. I dialed the
Philip Vance Agency.

***

The plan: I had a five o’clock
appointment. I would go to the Phillip Vance Executive Agency on
the pretense of signing on. While in there, I’d scope out security.
Then Royal and I would go back in the evening after the agency
closed.

Presuming Vance would call the names
on my carefully prepared resume, we purposely made the interview
late in the day, hoping he would not do a background check on his
prospective employee until the next morning.

Another e-mail from Daven arrived just
before we left. Isn’t the Internet wonderful? All you need is a
clear view of the southern sky and you can communicate from
anywhere to anyone.

“
For the last leg, my
guide and I rode bicycles along a well-maintained trail. The
ancient city looks how I imagined it would from EH’s description
but more overgrown, although efforts have been made to keep down
the vegetation. Some parts are blackened and one temple is a heap
of charred stones. The locals spoke of EH’s expedition and the end
of the story as we know it. It is part of their lore. I think I
will be here a few days longer. Daven
.”

***

I entered the Phillip Vance Executive
Agency through the main entrance on Temple. The reception area took
up the width of the building to the height of two floors, but there
had to be offices behind it. The door to the west of the
receptionist’s desk probably gave access to them.

Smooth, gleaming, creamy marble
floors, chrome and glass. The front and side walls were
floor-to-ceiling windows, the kind you can look out of but nobody
outside can see through. A curving staircase flanked the south
wall, something like those in the Gelpha High Lord’s House, only
with a chrome banister. Big artificial ferns and tropical plants
sat in pale marble pots in each corner of the room and at the
bottom of the staircase. Leaflets concertinaed along the top of a
chrome and glass table.

The receptionist’s desk was also
chrome and steel, the receptionist a pretty little blonde with
puffy hair who - dare I say it - looked like she should have a nail
file in one hand. Not to sound stereotypical, but she chewed gum,
loudly.

In the otherwise silent building, I
heard only the gentle whir of the air-conditioning and the pop of
the receptionist’s gum. My high heels clacked on the marble floor
as I made for her desk. I don’t often wear heels. I hoped I’d not
fall flat on my ass. I was a bag of nerves.

“
Hi. I’m Hilary West. I
have an appointment with Mr. Vance.”

She popped the gum and smiled at me. I
could see the wad poised for action in the corner of her mouth.
“Mr. Vance is expecting you. Take the stairs and follow the
corridor to the end. It’s the only office up there.”

I smiled my thanks, turned and headed
for the stairs. I spotted surveillance cameras high on the walls.
They would get every angle of the room.

I couldn’t see cameras in the upstairs
corridor, unless they were those miniature marvels of modern
technology. I tugged at my clothes, checked the lay of my wig in
the shiny brass plate on Vance’s office door, and knocked. A
masculine voice told me to enter, the accent slight but distinct.
Austria? Switzerland? I went inside.

Phillip Vance wasn’t at the big
brushed chrome desk in the middle of the office. He sat at a
computer console off to one side, a younger man than I expected,
with light-brown hair in a crew cut and the physique of a
bodybuilder. His clothes had to be made-to-measure; you don’t find
them in that shape off the rack. Even so, the material strained
across his back as his hands moved on the keyboard. “Please take a
seat, Miss West. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Before I sat, I slowly turned a full
circle, as if admiring the décor, but I didn’t see any cameras in
there either. The reception area was under surveillance, but not
the corridor to the executive’s office, or the office itself, which
seemed to indicate Vance didn’t want what happened up here on
record. Perhaps that was just my suspicious nature at
work.

Vance had a large corner
office with floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls.
I couldn’t miss the crucifix everywhere. The wall
cabinet must have held twenty or so, and small display cases near
the windows several more. A six-foot carved wood cross dominated
the west wall, and on the south wall a big rosary with carved onyx
beads dripped down, with the crucified Christ hanging from the
bottom bead.
Huge, intricate and beautiful,
it would have looked perfect on the walls of an ancient Byzantine
church. Senora Gerarco would have loved it. A
magnificent eight-inch cross of ornately detailed gold set
with opals sat on his desk.

And at back of the room, in a tall
glass cabinet, a sword like Ronald and John carried. This was gilt
in color, and glowing gems decorated the long hilt and a guard
shaped like two crucifix joined together, but it was the same
length, with the same nasty, serrated blade.

Like I said before, I don’t believe in
some types of coincidence.

Vance left his computer and sat at his
desk. My resume already lay there. He picked it up and looked it
over.

The resume was a fabrication, same as
my name and appearance. The navy linen jacket and skirt were a
little tight, as I’d gained a few pounds since I last wore them.
The wig of black ringlets just brushed my shoulders, and I’d
applied a medium shade of base makeup, with a touch of blush. I
made up my eyes with shades of blue shadow and dark-blue mascara. I
doubt I did a great job of it, but I’d had little practice. Why the
disguise? If this didn’t pan out, it would not do for Phillip Vance
to recognize me on the streets of Clarion.

The resume didn’t mention my work with
police departments throughout the nation, my stint as a
telemarketer for Bermans, or as a field surveyor in Wyoming; my one
secretarial position, or all the fast-food restaurant gigs.
According to the piece of paper in Vance’s hand, Hilary West last
worked as personal assistant to a financier. I was knowledgeable,
efficient and discrete.

As I waited, my scalp beneath the wig
prickled and I couldn’t scratch. Talk about torment.

Vance was a hunk, and at first glance
you would label him the friendly, jolly type. A handsome guy in his
early forties, he had a really nice smile which reached his deep
blue eyes. He practically radiated geniality. His light navy suit,
white shirt, black leather brogues and the fancy gold watch on his
wrist shouted expensive price tag. I liked his voice, mellow, and
he took his time talking, no rush-you-in, rush-you-out
involved.

“
Your credentials are
impressive, Miss West,” he began.

As we talked, I loosened up and got
into the role. Vance made it easy. After discussing my skills and
experience and where I had, supposedly, worked, we did the
obligatory getting-to-know the prospective new employee thing. He
asked me a few questions about hobbies, preference in literature,
whereabouts I grew up, etcetera, and I made harmless comments in
return.

“
Your décor is unusual,” I
observed, looking at the many crucifix, and the sword.

“
I’m a collector,” Vance
said with an easy smile.

“
How interesting!” I
returned his smile, but I found his choice of decoration
disconcerting and I bet legitimate job applicants did
too.

***

I turned Vance’s business card over in
my fingers as I crossed Temple, wondering what he would think when
he made the promised call to me in the morning, to a nonexistent
telephone number. Royal and I would be in and out his office long
before then. Vance thought I’d be a good fit for one of two
positions in Salt Lake City, if I didn’t mind the
commute.

I almost liked the man. What a shame
if he was one of the bad guys. All that charisma wasted.

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Royal sat with his back to the window,
knees bent, heels on the edge of the couch. I perched on the facing
couch. He looked boyish. I wanted to give him a cuddle.

I went over there, got behind him and
gave him a cuddle.

He rested his head back on my shoulder
and caressed my arm where it twined his neck. “What’s this in aid
of?”

I spoke into his copper-gold hair. “I
guess because I - ”

Alarm bells! Sirens!
Back off, Tiff! Back off!

“
- feel like a cuddle,” I
concluded.

His arms came up and back, and joined
around my neck. “I wondered if I would ever hold you
again.”

“
Yeah, I know. Me
too.”

Next thing I knew, with one tug he had
me over the back of the couch and on his knees. We sat there for a
while, just holding and feeling good. At least, I felt good and I
figured he did too. I had missed that. I knew Royal and I couldn’t
be only partners, or just friends. It was all or nothing with
us.

I still had a lot to learn about the
Gelpha enforcer who gave in to the demands of his people when he
knew what they did was wrong, and the man who threw wooden spoons
when he lost his temper, and sulked when I paid more attention to
my roommates than to him; who could be maddeningly patient one
moment and the next as cantankerous as me.

I didn’t know where our relationship
would go. Maybe one of us would step over a line too wide to step
back across. Maybe our differences would force us apart. If that
happened, so be it. But not now.

Now, as his lips found my neck, the
flat of his hand brushed over my nipples, I had other things on my
mind. His touch was light, tentative.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I took
his face between my hands and kissed him, my lips frantically
drawing on his. My hands went to the nape of his neck, holding him
there as my tongue explored his mouth. I heard and felt him moan as
he clutched me to him.