She sat up. “Hello?”
“Ms. Hollis.” Her secretary, Candace, spoke in a whisper and sounded slightly panicked. “The police are here for you.”
Eve brushed her hair back from her forehead. Beneath the oversized T-shirt she wore, Satan’s necklace throbbed between her breasts. “Yikes.”
“I told them you were out to lunch and that you would call them when you returned, but they insisted they’d wait for you to come back.”
“Double yikes.”
Reed sat up.
“Okay’ Eve said. “I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“Thank you.”
“No, no. Thank you. You’re doing a great job. Be there soon?’ She hung up and winced at Reed. “Cops.”
“I heard,” he murmured.
Eve stared at him, unable to look away. As a mal’akh, he suffered none of the aftereffects of sleep that mortals did. His eyes weren’t puffy and he had no morning breath. He was simply gorgeous. Relaxed in a way she’d never seen before, bare-chested with slightly mussed hair that looked as thick and soft as it felt.
Sighing, she tossed the covers back and climbed out of bed. “1 have to go.”
“I’ll take you there.”
Right. She had no car. “Forgot about that.”
Half an hour later, she was dressed in a pencil skirt and silk blouse with her damp hair restrained in a sleek chignon and three-inch heels on her feet that still left her shorter than Reed.
He’d showered with her, then shifted home to change. While he was gone, she thought about how little she knew of him. She’d never been to where he lived, so she had no idea what his taste in furniture and design was like. As a designer, knowing those things would give her a lot of insight into who he was. As would the selection of books he owned or the lack thereof, his MP3 playlists, DVD collection...
“Ready?” he asked.
Eve nodded. “What about your parents?”
“I checked on them on the way back from my place. They’re fine. Dad is snoring on Cain’s couch. Mom’s watching the news and catching up on the soap operas she likes to watch. She says she can miss a year and still not miss anything.” Gripping her biceps, he smiled. “Damn, you clean up nice, babe?”
“You’re never anything but dressed up’ she said, looking at the perfect knot of his tie. No one wore a three-piece suit like Reed.
“Complaining?”
“No way I could when you look so fine. But you know that.”
“Just need you to know it, too. Hang on.”
A few minutes later, Eve’s heels were tapping out a rapid beat down the hallway to her office. She slowed before entering, grateful that her breathing and heart rate remained steady and even.
“Detectives,” she said in greeting as she spotted the two familiar figures waiting in the receptionist’s area of her office. “What a surprise.”
Ingram and Jones stood, Jones with the dreaded worn briefcase in his hand. “Ms. Hollis.”
She gestured for them to follow her into her office. Taking a seat behind the desk, she reached for her phone. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea, perhaps? Or water?”
“Nothing, thank you,” Jones said, with an edge to his tone that told her he was done tiptoeing around her.
“Okay.” Eve clasped her hands atop her desk calendar. “Please don’t tell me there’s been another death.”
“Not yet,” Ingram answered, stroking the end of one side of his mustache as he studied her. “Do you know Father Miguel Riesgo?”
Eve wished she had a good poker face, but knew that she didn’t. The two detectives watched her avidly. Jones leaned forward.
“Yes, I know him,” she answered.
Ingram nodded. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Last night. Why?”
“A missing persons report on Riesgo was filed this morning by a Father Ralph Simmons.”
“A little premature, isn’t it?” she asked. “There is no waiting time in the state of California,” Jones said. “Father Riesgo didn’t show up at the church this morning and his car was found at Glover Stadium here in Anaheim. So was yours.”
“Yes. My boyfriend picked me up for an impromptu dinner.” She cursed inwardly when her mark burned. Give me a break, she thought. It’s pretty damn close to the truth.
Jones withdrew a notepad from his pocket. “Alec Cain?”
“No. Reed Abel.”
“Cain and Abel?” Ingram’s brow rose.
She shrugged lamely.
A knock came at the door just before it opened. Gray Man walked in. He was dressed in a three-piece suit of dark gray, his tall and slender frame moving with an easy grace. His hair and eyes were a lighter shade of gray than his garments, and his thin lips were curved in the vaguest hint of a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes. Eve’s gaze moved past Ishamel to her secretary. Candace offered a reassuring smile.
“Excuse us,” Jones said, pushing heavily to his feet. “Can you please wait outside until we’re done here?”
“I represent Ms. Hoilis,” Ishamel said smoothly, approaching and extending his hand. “Ishamel Abramson?’
“Do you feel the need for counsel?” Ingram asked Eve, eyeing her.
“I am here at the request of Gadara Enterprises,”
Ishamel explained, taking a seat on the sofa near the door. “Ms. Hollis is pivotal in the redesign of the Mondego Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. We want to be certain that nothing interferes with the completion of the project.”
Jones stood motionless for a long moment, then he hummed a doubtful sound and sank back into his chair. He proceeded to ignore Ishamel in favor of focusing more heavily on Eve.
She cleared her throat. “I’m confused as to why homicide detectives would take an interest in a missing persons case.”
Ingram dug into the briefcase. “Once your name was brought into it, we followed a hunch.”
Great. “A hunch?”
Once again, photographs were pushed across her desk toward her. This time, it was a stack half an inch thick. She flipped through the uppermost layer.
The photos were black and white, and very grainy. Eve looked them over, quickly deducing from the quality and angles that they were stills taken from security cameras around the athletic field and nearby traffic lights. She was relieved to see that neither Satan nor Azazel were visible to the cameras, although in some shots she looked ridiculous because it seemed she was talking to dead air.
“See what we see?” Ingram asked, scooting to the edge of his seat and leaning over her desk.
Eve frowned, not sure what he was referring to.
“Here.” He pushed the photos around, revealing the ones that sat beneath the few she’d glimpsed on top.
Her breath caught at a blown-up image of the chain-link fence behind her. The Nix stood there, fingers linked through the chain, an odd smile on his face. She glanced at Ishamel, who stood and came forward.
“That looks like the guy in the drawing you showed me,” she said to the detectives, sitting back to put distance between her and the image. “The sketch artist’s rendering.”
“Right,” Jones said. “The man we’re looking for in conjunction with the Punch Bowl Murders. We’ve got him on a traffic light camera a block away. He was standing alone on the sidewalk, but he might have an accomplice who managed the abduction.”
“Punch Bowl Murders?” she repeated, finding it horrifying that something so heinous would bear such a ridiculous name.
Ingram’s fingers tapped the stack of pictures. “Unfortunately, the quality of the security cameras around the stadium is poor. They have blind spots and record in intervals, so there are times when neither you nor Riesgo are on film, followed by times when you are.”
Eve silently thanked whoever had the foresight to take care of that.
“So here’s what we’ve got,” Jones said, straightening his tie over straining shirt buttons. “Your neighbor, Mona Basso; your school chum
, Anthony Wynn; your priest, Miguel Riesgo; your car at a possible abduction scene, and a serial killer. You’re smack dab in the middle of everything, Ms. Hollis. I’ve been at this long enough to know that you’re withholding valuable information. Which doesn’t make sense, considering this guy clearly has it out for you. Tell us who he is, before Father Riesgo pays the price.
You don’t want the death of a priest on your con science. -
Eve’s gaze moved between both detectives. “I have no idea,” she said fervently. “Believe me, if there was some way I could help Father Riesgo, I would. Even though he isn’t ‘my’ priest.”
“What business did you have with him, then?” Ingram asked.
She explained, leaving out why she wanted a Bible in the first place. “The last time I saw Father Riesgo, he was picking up bats and mitts.”
Not exactly the truth, but...
“Would you let us take a look at your car?” Jones asked.
“Of course.”
“We also need you to come down to the station and give us a statement about last night. We might have your car finished by then.”
“Can I come by after work? Say around five o’clock?”
“Fine. We’ll send a squad car around to pick you up.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Ishamel assured. “I’ll bring her in. Which station?”
“The one on Harbor. By the way,” Jones’s pen hovered over his notepad. “Which route home did you take with your boyfriend and what does he drive? We’ll want to check the cameras and see if this guy was following you.home.”
“Reed drives a silver Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder. And we took Harbor to Brookhurst.” She glanced at Ishamel, who somehow conveyed reassurance without any alteration in his stance. He would find a way to make her fictitious trip home happen for the detectives.
“Lamborghini, eh? Must be nice. Thank you.”
The detectives rose to their feet. Ingram collected the photos. His gaze lifted and locked with hers. “Think about what happened last night. Every detail. Every word spoken. Anything that might strike you as odd in hindsight. The smallest detail can sometimes break a case.”
“Of course.” She stood along with them. “I’m eager to help.”
Ishamel walked the detectives out. Eve expected him to return, so she waited for him. But he didn’t come back.
Knowing she’d see him on the way to the police station, she set off to find Hank instead.
CHAPTER 15
Raguel smelled the scent of ripe mortal terror before the door to his cell opened. Using what little strength he had left, he altered his appearance, tucking away the wings that kept him warm and altering his features to those of a teenager. He would get out of Hell, and when he did, he couldn’t risk being recognized as the real estate mogul who was so widely known.
The new arrival was pushed into Raguel’s stone enclosure with such force, he stumbled. Shock had already begun to set in. The man’s eyes were dilated and his breathing was too quick.
It took a moment before recognition hit Raguel. Evangeline’s priest. The one to whom she had turned, which had in turn prompted an investigation into the tengu infestation at Olivet Place. She must be the reason why the priest was here.
“Have a seat, Padre,” Raguel said, gesturing to the wide expanse of stone floor. “As you can see, there is plenty of room.”
Like Jehovah, Sammael employed drama for effect. In this instance the allusion was to the Spanish Inquisition, a time when atrocities had been committed in God’s name. Manacles hung from the wall, and distant screams kept nerves on edge and prevented restful slumber.
“Where are we?” the priest asked, sinking to a crouch with unfocused eyes.
“I think you know.”
In a rush, the man stood and moved to the door. He gripped the rough iron bars and tried to see outside. There was nothing out there but fire and heat. No ground below, no sky above. Sammael could choose to make it the most gorgeous of spaces, but that would be too kind. This way, the feeling of safety came from their imprisonment.
“There was someone else with me,” the priest said roughly. “A young woman.”
“Evangeline is fine. For now.”
“How do you know?”
Raguel wrapped his arms around his knees. His soul was cold when separated from God. “You would be dead otherwise, or not here at all.”
“Who are you?”
“A prisoner like you. Leverage to force those on earth to do a demon’s bidding.”
“Are you one of them?”
“No. I am a servant of God, just as you are.”
“How can I believe you? How do you know Evangeline?”
“You will have to take it on faith, Padre.”
The priest’s knees lost strength and he dropped to the floor. His lips moved in what was likely a silent prayer. Raguel didn’t see the point in telling him that
Jehovah couldn’t hear him here. Hope was something neither of them could afford to lose. They had time enough to talk after circumstances sunk in through the shock. There was no point in questioning the man when his brain wasn’t running at full speed.
A long time passed. Raguel had begun to doze when the priest spoke again.
“She asked me if I believed in demons.”
Raguel scrubbed his hands over his face, hating the smell that coated his skin. “What was your answer?”
“I’m not sure I gave her one.”
“Understandable. Even those with faith have their limits.”
The priest looked at him. “She claims to have no faith, yet she believed. She even hired bodyguards to protect her.”
With narrowed eyes, Raguel asked, “Did you meet these guards?”
“Yes.”
“What were their names? Do you recall?”
“Montevista and Sydney. Why do you ask?”
She was in danger. Somehow, Cain or Abel had known she was at risk before the priest’s abduction. What was happening? Why would Sammael want Evangeline?
“How long have you been here?” the priest asked. “Are you the reason she believes in demons?”
Raguel leaned forward. “You and I have much to talk about if we are to find a way out of here alive.”
“Can we get out?”
“We must.” At the very least, I must.
Cain would have to relinquish the position he’d stolen. Somehow, Raguel would find the tools he needed to make that happen. The priest was all he had to work with and time was short. A prolonged stay in Hell was like a cancer that ate its way in from the outside. The longer the mortal was here, the less of his soul and sanity would remain. Raguel was already feeling the effects and he was far stronger.
“Get comfortable, Padre;’ Raguel murmured. “I will need you to be as precise in your recollections as possible.”
***
Eve had just raised her hand to knock on Hank’s door when it swung open of its own accord. It was dark inside, as usual, with only strategically placed lighting over counters littered with petri dishes and glass tubes. Unlike usual was the racket resounding from the depths of the room. It was the first time she’d visited Hank’s domain when it wasn’t deathly quiet.
“Hank?” she yelled.
He stepped out of the darkness as a man, dressed in black slacks and dress shirt. The somberness of his garments allowed the brilliant red of his hair to take center stage. Eve was slightly envious of that color.
“Eve.” He held out his hands to her. “What brings you to me?”
“What the hell is that noise?”
“Your tengu friend.”
In the distance, she could hear Fred cursing and growling.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“I’ve been experimenting with the fellow, using him as a guinea pig for my masking agent trials. This most recent test involved a higher Mark-to-Infernal ratio and the demon in him is rebelling.”
She winced. “How long will he be like that?”
/> “Another couple hours, at least.”
“I don’t think I can shout that long!”
His smile was charming. “Should we go somewhere else?”
“If you don’t mind.”
They were about to exit when the rapid thudding of cement feet betrayed the approach of the escaped tengu.
“Watch out!” Fred yelled.
“Pretty Mark!” the tengu screeched, before launching like a missile toward Eve.
“Oomph!” She hit the floor on her back, her teeth snapping together painfully.
Her arms wrapped around the heavy beast and she rolled, knowing from experience that it was best to avoid taking the bottom position with a tengu.
They grappled like wrestlers. Eve’s stilettos made it difficult to gain purchase on the polished cement floor. The Infernal took advantage, cackling in a manner she’d never heard before. Less mischievous, more maniacal. With a resonance that sounded almost as if there were multiple beings laughing instead of just the one.
Fred bounded out of the darkness in wolf form, barking.
“Enough,” Hank roared, reaching down to free Eve. But the tengu caught a fistful of her chignon and held fast. Eve screamed as he pulled. In the violent jostling, the necklace fell from the V of her neckline. The moment it touched the tengu’s forearm, the demon stilled. His mouth opened in a surprised O, then he blinked as if waking. The hand in her hair loosened and the arm fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Pretty Mark,” he said in a soft whisper, appearing dazed.
She yelped as she was hauled upward by Hank.
The occultist grabbed her necklace and stared hard at it. “Where did you get this?”
Eve blinked as rapidly as the tengu had. She thought of Satan and hoped that Hank would read her mind as he often did. Instead he glared at her. When the tengu began to stir and rumble low in his throat, Hank pulled the necklace over her head and dropped it around the tengu’s neck. The Infernal quieted, sitting with hands in his lap and his head cocked to the side. His cement fingers caressed the charm reverently.
“Sammael’ Hank murmured, setting Eve on her feet and straightening her collar.