The Demon Hunters (28 page)

He helped me get my jeans and panties
off while I struggled to push his down past his thighs. I meant to
get them all the way off, but Royal lifted me atop him. There was
no gentleness in our love-making, no foreplay; our urgency took
control. Straddling his thighs, I guided him with my hand and
swallowed him, muscles clamping on his hot, silk-sheathed length.
Grasping my waist in his big hands, he bucked beneath me, and I
rode him like a bronco-buster, gasping and crying out. With a
single shout, he came a second before me. I writhed atop him,
trying to prolong every last frisson of sensation.

I collapsed on his chest.
Snuggling in, my face in his neck, still swimming in the aftermath,
I inhaled his special demon scent.

I could have stayed there
forever, but too few moments later, with a sigh, I made to lift off
him. His hands tightened on my hips to hold me in place.

“
Royal, I want to talk
about Vance!”

Eyes closed, he smiled. “You can do
that right where you are.”

I tried to pry his hands off, but
couldn’t budge them a fraction.

“
You don’t see anything
bizarre on me still sitting . . . where I’m sitting, while we
decide how we get in Vance’s place?”

“
You feel so nice.” His
lips twitched then spread in the slow, wicked smiled I knew so
well. “I have no problem combining business with
pleasure.”

I did. Concentrating would
be awful hard. But not to be outdone, I tried to relax. If he could
keep his cool, so could I.

I couldn’t do it. “I need
the bathroom.”

With another quirk of his
lips, he let me go. I eased off him, grabbed my clothes and walked
the length of the living room to the half-bathroom behind the
kitchen. I did what I had to, climbed into my panties and jeans and
went back to him.

Royal was heading for the
bathroom as I came out. Not only had he
not
put his pants on, he’d taken his
shirt off. I almost walked into the kitchen counter. A tiny smile
tweaked his lips. “Bastard,” I said under my breath, but I grinned
as I moved toward the couch.

I waited, sweet contentment
making me smile. The stiffness and distance between us was gone. I
felt a sense of healing, of wounds closing and emotions swelling,
warm and familiar. I’m not so stupid I believed our relationship
could return to what it once was, but we could have something good,
we could make each other happy.

When he joined me -
thankfully fully clothed - I curled one leg on the couch to sit
sideways, facing him. “Okay, tell me, how do we get inside Vance’s
office?”

He pursed his lips
thoughtfully, which made me want to plaster mine to them. “Not by
the elevator. There are cameras all over the garage, and although I
can get us through there without them picking us up, we will be
stationary inside the elevator. We will not know if there’s
surveillance until we are inside it.”

“
Probably is.” I chewed on
my lower lip as I considered the technicalities of breaking and
entering. “We can’t go through the front entrance, the street is
lit up at night.”

“
But there is the stairwell
in the garage.”

I gently slapped him alongside the
head. “You could have told me right off. Thanks a lot.”

“
Don’t mention
it.”

“
I don’t know if there are
cameras in Vance’s office. I didn’t spot any, but maybe they’re
real small, or I wasn’t looking in the right place.”

“
There should be a room for
their surveillance equipment. We will find what we need to know in
there.”

“
Not if a night guard’s in
there monitoring it.”

“
I’ll know before we go
in.”

Oh, yeah, that demon sensing thing of
his.

“
A lot of places feed their
footage to a security agency after business hours,” he added
helpfully.

I made a face. “Maybe we should forget
it.”

He took my hand. “No. We
cannot.”

I grinned. “We do it.”

“
Tonight,” he
agreed.

***

I parked my Subaru outside the
Megaplex. We strolled toward the big glowing building arm in arm.
The flashing green neon reminded me of Freddie Conroy and I
reflexively glanced up to make sure no bodies dangled over the
marquee. A few people left the giant theater and a whole lot went
inside during the couple of minutes we walked beside it. The heat
from the pavement came through the soles of my sandals, the air
felt heavy and oppressive.

I nodded at Brenda as we passed her.
Her eyes followed me and her hands tightened on the shopping cart,
and I guessed she was disappointed when I didn’t stop to
talk.

We crossed the side street, walked
past an upscale mini-brewery and eatery called Murphy’s Tavern, and
through the alley to the rear of the Emerson Building. I looked up.
The windows were dark.

We stopped at the side entrance to the
parking garage, empty of vehicles but brightly illuminated. Royal
picked me up in his arms, hugged me to his chest and away we
went.

Seconds later, we crouched in a
stairwell just below the first floor, Royal with me on his knees,
his arms tight around me. We sat there longer than necessary before
he sighed and set me down on the step. He put his hand to my hair
and I leaned into it with my eyes half closed. “I missed you, Tiff.
So much.”

I smiled as I laid my palm on his
chest. “Ditto.”

“
Wait here. I’ll come back
for you when I find their operations room.”

And he was gone. Faster than a
speeding bullet, that’s my Royal.

The tile step felt cool and wriggling
my butt didn’t make it comfortable. But I didn’t have time to chew
more than one fingernail before he came back and squatted beside
me. “Found it. Ready?”

“
Ready,” I said, joining my
arms around his neck. His arms clasped me to him, and the next
thing I knew we were in a small room stuffed with two desks, PCs,
monitors, and a bank of screens which showed us views of the inside
of the building. Again, Royal held me longer than needed, his face
in my hair, and as he let me down he took in a deep breath through
his nose, as if pulling in my scent.

He walked about the little room,
looking at all kinds of interesting things, like wires and conduits
snaking down the walls, small metal boxes stuck here and there, and
some larger units with digital readouts.

“
Yes, whatever those
cameras see is going to Gurley Security as we speak.”

I sagged.
Damn!
Were we through
before we began?

“
No problem. None of the
monitors show Vance’s office.”

He was right. The reception area from
two angles; a big office divided by partitions into small cubicles,
each with a desk, chair, file cabinet and computer; a long
corridor. But not Vance’s office, or the corridor leading to it.
Nothing stirred. The building looked empty.

“
I’m guessing, but I think
Vance wants to keep what happens up there strictly private,” Royal
said.

“
My thoughts
exactly.”

He came to my side. “Shall
we?”

Another stomach-roiling burst of speed
and we were outside Vance’s office. Royal left me teetering on my
feet while he worked on the door. By the time I had my legs back,
he had the door open and me inside. He went to the computer and got
it up and running.

Vance apparently did run a legitimate
business, and Royal soon had his temp employee files rolling up the
screen. And there were the files of his agency staff. Royal grunted
in his throat.

“
What?”

He took a tiny flash drive from his
pocket and plugged it in a USB port. He flexed his fingers like a
piano player loosening up. “Now, let’s see what else we can
find.”

I hung on his shoulder as data zipped
up the monitor. Royal started typing.

A file folder popped up on the screen.
Royal opened it and sixteen icons appeared, each a picture of a
man. All were young and clean shaven and looked like
weight-lifters, with muscles bulging their suit jackets and shirts.
Royal clicked one of the icons and a new file opened.

Jason Solis. Thirty-two-years-old,
tall, prematurely balding head of thin brown hair. Brown eyes.
Nothing remarkable about him. But underneath, just about everything
there was to know about Jason Solis scrolled up the screen. His
history: born in Tulsa, Oklahoma in 1978, he went to school there
and on to college; got himself a BA in social studies, joined the
US Army. He retired after a four-year stint.

He went to work for Vance in 2005, and
I somehow didn’t think he was registered as one of Vance’s
employees. He was private hire. Very private.

Then it got interesting.

Vance had everything on this guy. His
likes and dislikes, his hobbies, who he dated in High School, what
his parents did for a living and where they lived. Every friend the
man ever had, notes on them and on acquaintances. Where he had
traveled. It went on and on. A man’s entire life on record in
Vance’s computer. Not only his social security number, but bank
accounts, credit cards, how much he spent and where. I had never
seen anything this invasive.

Royal took down Solis’ file and
brought up another. Same thing. Raymond Pickles, Mick Taylor, Gary
Williams. Wendell Morris had white hair—he could be the one who
hired John and Ronald. The files contained extensive information on
all sixteen of Vance’s men.

Royal delved some more and brought up
digital copies of their passports. Fourteen of the sixteen were not
American and listed overseas addresses. Only two were US residents:
Taylor from New York City, and Morris from Chicago. Morris was a
recent hire.

Up came another screen and Royal
hacked into Salt Lake City International Airport’s database. He
looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “Most of his men were
overseas till last week.” He looked up at me. “I think I know why
Vance hired those bums to blow up Daven’s house. When he found
Daven, he couldn’t wait for his little army to arrive, he wanted
the job done ASAP. So he had Morris hire your down-and-outs. But
they are here now, all sixteen of them.”

I puffed out a breath which ruffled
his hair. “Then Vance is our guy.”

“
I don’t doubt it. But this
is not good enough, Tiff. This is not proof he’s involved in the
slayings, or the disappearance of Rio Borrego.”

There wasn’t much else. Royal found a
listing of properties leased by the Phillip Vance Executive Agency:
a house on East Monroe and a storage garage on Warren.

He produced another flash drive,
plugged it in another USB port and copied the data, disconnected
both drives and tucked them in his hip pocket. “Are you up to
taking a look around?”

I knew what he meant. We’d be zipping
all over the place, but I didn‘t think my stomach could take much
more. “Why don’t I wait in the operations room or whatever it’s
called?”

Royal reached out, and I raised my
arms so he could hold me, but he paused, frowning in
concentration.

I started to speak, but he held up one
hand to silence me. “Something strange. . . .”

He walked to the back of the room
where the wooden cross hung, and pressed his palms to the wall
either side of it. I didn’t know what to think as I watched his
hands move over the wall, palms pressing and stroking.

A narrow section of wall, including
the cross, silently slid back a few inches, then to the left and
out of sight, leaving an empty rectangle about three-foot-wide and
seven high. Royal grinned. “I knew there was something odd about
this room.” He stepped through and disappeared.

Heart pounding, I went over there. It
was a doorway, a dark gaping hole. I couldn’t see what lay beyond,
I couldn’t see Royal.

“
Tiff, you have to come see
this,” he said loud in my ear, just as a bright light all but
blinded me.

I jumped and slapped a hand to my
chest. He was right beside me and I hadn’t seen him come back.
“Good grief, Royal! Don’t do that!”

He laughed. I was so not
amused.

“
Ah, there it is.” He
stroked his index finger down my cheek. “That wonderful
flush.”

“
It get’s that way when I’m
alarmed, or angry, or embarrassed. Or just plain hot.”

He looked into my eyes with a smoky
gaze. “You are always hot. I wonder I do not go up in flames when
we touch.”

I swatted air as I felt my blush
deepen. “Aw, flattery will get you everywhere.”

Now he’d turned on the
lights, I saw the opening gave access to a small landing, a steep
stairwell descending beyond it. “A secret staircase? You
have
got
to be
kidding.”

He laid his arm across my shoulders.
“Come on. No cameras down here either and it is
deserted.”

I looked down. “You’re
sure?”

By way of reply, he took my hand and
led me down the concrete steps.