Hot Demon in the City (Latter Day Demons Book 1)

by Suttle, Connie

  "Keep us informed," I said.

  Davis half waved as he and Thomas headed for the door.

  "Come on, baby, I'll walk you to your room," I whispered against Lexsi's hair.

  * * *

  Lexsi

  My sleep was troubled and sparse that night; I was grateful when Kory knocked on my door and reminded me of our trip to the gym before going to work. Mason and Klancy were still awake—dawn was still two hours away when we left the house.

  My mind still churned about the how of replacing a psychotic killer with another person, who would be executed in his place. If this were another world, I could conjure up a way, perhaps, but Earth in the here and now had no such resources.

  "Stop worrying about it," Kory patted my hand. "Buckle up and let me know if you see anybody following us."

  "Okay."

  I didn't look forward to dealing with Hannah at work on any day. Today was far worse than other days.

  A potentially innocent man had been executed, while the real criminal had gotten away, somehow. My first boss was dead, and had been replaced by another from the legendary Hades. Rick, Anita and Tiburon's homes were nothing but ash. Farin couldn't go home and Kory had a price on his head, placed by vicious vampires. Watson worked for someone I perceived as evil, who was also in bed with previously mentioned vampires, as were the owners of the company I worked for. What else could possibly go wrong?

  "Sweat it out of your system," Kory advised as he drove through an intersection. "I've always found exercise to be a good way to clear my head and put things in perspective."

  "Thank you, Obi-Wan," I said.

  "Just trying to help. I'd like to see a smile on your face again," he added.

  "Yeah, well, there's not much to smile about right now. I have to deal with Hannah the Horrible today."

  "Hannah's not so terrible," Kory teased. "Deep down. And covered by a big pile of rocks."

  The laugh escaped before I could hold it back.

  * * *

  Before Hannah got in, I'd already checked with the station in Texas. I wanted to find out if anyone had interviewed Loftin Qualls' parents. I'd know whether they were telling the truth, too.

  The family requested that the media respect their privacy at this time, while they grieve for their son, came the reply.

  Of course they'd asked for privacy. I imagined that somewhere, they were spiriting said son away to a safe place, so he could plot his escape and murder again. Frustrated, I lifted my now-empty coffee cup and headed for the break room.

  "Any word on the missing again kidnap victim?" Lee was in the breakroom, pouring a cup of coffee for himself.

  "Nothing." I'd checked on him, too, before I began my quest for more information on Loftin Qualls' parents. "They're looking for him—his family, the police, even the FBI is looking. I have the newsfeed from the Texas affiliate; forwarded it to Hannah first thing for her to take a look."

  "I got compliments this morning from on high at the national news level," Lee said. "On your phone camera coverage of the condo explosion downtown. I was told it reminded them of old-school journalism, with a very modern twist."

  I mulled that over for a moment. "What was the holdup on sending a weekend crew down there?" I asked.

  "Well, the way I heard it, both drivers on duty thought they could go out drinking without telling anyone. That left us scrambling to find somebody to drive the van into the city. It took a while, as you well know."

  "Does that happen often?" I frowned at Lee. "That the weekend drivers just go off on their own instead of doing their jobs?"

  "First time ever," Lee shrugged. "Both got fired for it."

  "Wow. That sounds so—irresponsible."

  "Good thing you were there," Lee said. "You saved our bacon. Again."

  "It was an accident," I said. "Farin's dating Tiburon, and her brother's condo was in the same building. We went to see if there was anything we could save. That's why I was there to begin with. At least we got the news out—Rick and Tibby's condos are a total loss."

  "Rick Armstrong, the weather guy?"

  "Yeah. Farin's brother."

  "We tried to hire him, but the other station offered a raise to keep him there. Damn fine meteorologist."

  "So is Farin," I said.

  "I know. The Romes wanted a man as chief meteorologist. Remember, you didn't hear that from me," he added and walked out of the breakroom.

  That information was something I could pass along to Anita, for her files. I needed to talk to her anyway, about George. The wheels were turning as I walked back to my cubicle.

  * * *

  I wanted to argue with Hannah about the assignment, but didn't. She'd just call me little bitch again and I was more than tired of that insult. She wanted me to go to a downtown hotel and interview the chef, who'd created a new dish that everyone was raving about.

  "You know something about cooking, little bitch. I don't." She wiggled her manicured fingers, letting me know her hands never touched food except to eat it. "Oh, and if you see Kory, tell him I expect him to drive me to the downtown offices at noon—I'm having lunch with the CEO."

  "Of course." I fumed as I left her office—she was still attempting to get her claws into Kory's back. Preferably during sex.

  "What's wrong?" Farin stopped me as I marched toward my cubicle to call Kory and George.

  "My gag reflex is at def-con five," I grumped. "Can't you smell it from here?"

  "Smell what?"

  "The knee-deep vomit in Hannah's office," I whispered.

  "Oh," Farin covered her mouth to suppress a giggle.

  "I gotta go," I said and waved as I continued down the hall. "Luigi Del Vigo is waiting to be interviewed."

  "Good luck. I hear he's a tyrant in the kitchen," Farin called out.

  "Yeah."

  * * *

  Luigi was just as much a spiteful tyrant as everyone said he was—behind his back. They all claimed he was a culinary genius to his face.

  The dish everyone was making such a fuss over was snapper in a special cream-chili-paprika sauce. The sauce recipe was a closely-guarded secret, and he evaded any questions regarding its ingredients.

  "Here, taste," he offered a plate of snapper with a dollop of the sauce, which had come straight from the kitchen.

  I lifted an eyebrow at my first bite—yes it was very good, but his secret ingredient was guava paste. It paired well with the pepper-jack cheese used in the recipe. The sweet balanced the spicy, making the sauce a desirable accompaniment to the fish.

  I wasn't about to leak his secret—he could keep it. I was determined to improve on his recipe, though, and make the dish at home—with shrimp and pasta, instead of snapper.

  I finished the interview with Luigi, who was more interested in selling himself than his food, helped Chet and Jessie pack up and called for George to meet us in front of the hotel.

  * * *

  Kordevik

  "Have you set a date for your wedding?" Hannah held up a mirror and primped in the back seat of the limo while I drove her toward the main office downtown.

  "Not yet," I said, attempting to keep my voice civil. "Anita and I are discussing it."

  "I think you can do better." She snapped her compact shut and smiled into the rear-view mirror.

  "I've done well enough," I said, trying unsuccessfully not to grind my teeth.

  "She's a nobody," Hannah added, as if she hadn't heard my reply. "Besides, you can always get a little on the side. Nobody will know."

  "I'm not interested in that," I said. "Sorry." I wasn't sorry. Frankly, I wanted to stop the car, jerk Hannah out of the back seat and wring her neck. Maybe a Deputy Coroner liked what she had to offer, but I wanted no part of Hannah (the Horrible) Tilton.

  I hoped the CEO would give her all she wanted, just so she'd leave me alone. I pulled up to the curb and got out to open her door. She held onto my hand too long as I helped her from the back seat; I had to pull it away from hers as gently as I coul
d while mumbling nonsense about parking tickets.

  "I'll text when I need a ride back," she blew me a kiss. The doorman didn't miss the exchange when he opened the door for her.

  Cursing under my breath, I slid onto the driver's seat and buckled in. Gossip would likely travel at the speed of sound, letting Anita know before the day was out that her supposed fiancé was diddling Hannah Tilton.

  While pulling away from the curb, I considered turning in my notice, which would be a direct violation of my parole on Earth. That, in turn, would sentence me to an extra five years in this special version of hell.

  * * *

  Lexsi

  Anita picked me up after work, her mouth set in a grim line.

  "What happened?" I asked.

  "Hannah."

  "What did she do?" I asked.

  "She made a spectacle of herself when Kory dropped her off at the Rome building," she said. "Now everybody thinks my fake fiancé is having sex with her."

  "So they're all talking about you behind your back, then?"

  "Yes. It didn't bother me at first, until they started calling me blind and stupid."

  "Then call it off. Kory will have to think up another excuse to keep Hannah away."

  "I want to give Hannah a piece of my mind instead. That's not possible, since she's already obsessed by somebody else."

  "Maybe we ought to hunt the one who obsessed her, then," I said.

  "Maybe we ought to rip his head off his neck, after forcing him to remove the obsession," Anita grumbled.

  "My guess is, he's in league with the Romes up to his hairline, in addition to being best buds with Granger and Claudia," I observed. "Did you get the info on George?"

  "It's in my purse. Thanks for the tip on the Romes practicing sex discrimination, along with all the other versions."

  "It's the least I could do," I shrugged. "Since you're engaged to my boyfriend and all."

  "What's for dinner? I'm starved," Anita said.

  "Well, something different if you'll stop by the grocery store first."

  "I'm all over that," she replied and pulled out of the station's parking lot.

  * * *

  "This is like Luigi's sauce, only better," Farin sighed after tasting the shrimp linguini I'd fixed for dinner.

  "You've had his?" I asked.

  "Yeah, Tibby took me. That was good; this is so much better. How did you get him to give you the recipe?"

  "He didn't. I tasted his sauce today during an interview. I knew pretty much what was in it after that, so I thought I'd make some improvements. Turned out well enough," I said.

  "It's better than awesome," Watson held out his plate for more. Kory hid a grin and speared a shrimp with his fork. I could tell he liked the food, too.

  Rick's eyes were on me while I ate; I didn't say anything, although it made me uncomfortable. At that moment, I wanted Kory to have mindspeech, so he'd know. He looked up at me just then.

  "Any word on that missing kidnap victim?" he asked.

  "Just a random report. Somebody who was half drunk while crossing the border back into the States swears he saw the guy in a car with two others, but nobody is giving the report credence."

  "Why would he be crossing the border anyway?" Farin asked. "Seems to me, he'd avoid the area after being kidnapped the first time."

  "That's what most people, including the border guards and local police are saying. Border guards say they never saw anything, and they were checking cars."

  "So there's really nothing new," Rick said, lifting his glass of wine to drink.

  "No, there's really nothing new. Lee gave you a compliment today," I said.

  "Me?" Rick set his wineglass down and blinked at me.

  "He said you were an amazing meteorologist. Said we tried to hire you, once."

  "I remember. It was last year, when Trey Downing retired. I turned it down."

  "He turned it down because of me," Farin sighed and stared at her plate. "Rick wanted me to be promoted. You see how that turned out."

  "Just because the Romes are jackasses doesn't mean you didn't deserve the promotion," Anita pointed out. "Because you did."

  "I agree," I said. "I told Lee what I thought about the whole thing. I mean, Gerald is okay, but he's no Farin Armstrong."

  "Yeah—his clothes are a dead giveaway," Watson quipped.

  Kory snickered before slapping a grinning Watson on the back.

  Farin rolled her eyes while Rick tried not to laugh. "See—this is the difference between men and women," Anita began. "We were discussing Farin's superior abilities, while you three only consider the way she dresses."

  "That's not true," Watson disagreed. "We were considering the way Gerald dresses. Have you seen those godawful golf pants he wears every Fourth of July?"

  "With knee-socks—don't forget those," Rick chuckled.

  "Have you seen him at national conventions?" Farin asked. "I saw him last year—he wore shorts, black socks and sandals to a meeting. When pictures of that got out, Lee told him he could only wear suits at public functions from now on."

  Everyone at the table laughed.

  * * *

  We were clearing dishes away when I got the call from Lee. "Can you come in? Hannah's off tonight and this is important."

  "What's important?"

  "A women's shelter in Austin was attacked. Six are confirmed dead," Lee replied.

  "How?" I asked. "How were the women killed?"

  "The six confirmed deaths all died in their beds. They're checking now for signs of rape before they were—ah—dismembered."

  "I'll be there as quick as I can," I said and ended the call.

  "What's this?" Kory took the phone from my hand and tilted my chin up with a finger.

  "I think the real Loftin Qualls just left his calling card at an Austin women's shelter."

  * * *

  "The FBI is now involved," I reported an hour later. "As yet, no witnesses have come forward and information regarding the identity of this killer is unavailable. A massive manhunt is underway and several K-9 units have been called in to join the search."

  Lee, who'd been called in just as I had, gave me a nod when the segment ended. "We'll let the others have it now," he said. "I'm concerned that whoever did this is long gone."

  "I worry about that, too," I said. I had more information than Lee might ever have, and it frightened me. Not only had Loftin Qualls managed to get out of jail, leaving someone else to die in his place, he'd gotten past security at a shelter to kill six women who'd gone to bed early.

  Everyone else at the shelter had to be moved after they were questioned. How had those women died without anyone seeing or hearing something?

  "Still no word on that missing kidnap victim?" I asked.

  "I checked around eight tonight—still nothing," Lee shook his head. "Look, go home. You have an early morning tomorrow. I don't expect Hannah until around noon."

  I suspected that she was spending the night with the recently divorced CEO, but I didn't say it. Lee probably suspected the same thing. Anita would suffer through all the gossip Hannah started, while Hannah would skate through another affair because everybody was afraid to talk about her infidelities.

  Afraid Hannah would get them fired, I reminded myself.

  Maybe she was in bed with James Rome, Jr., who wasn't really James Rome Jr.

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

  How had I not put this together before? Somewhere, the real James Rome, Jr. was likely held prisoner or trapped somehow, because he looked like someone else. At least I hoped he was. Like Loftin Qualls' replacement, he could also be quite dead.

  How were they doing this?

  Why were they doing this?

  Had Laurel found a way to get rid of her husband, and replace him with someone she liked better? I didn't use the word love, because I doubted Laurel actually knew how to do that. When I'd met her, she may as well have worn a T-shirt that said Power Hungry and Self-Serving.


  Loftin Qualls had money; his family had even more money. Had Laurel approached them with an offer, in exchange for an obscene amount of cash or favors of some sort?

  I went in search of Kory so we could go home, while my brain sifted through possibility after possibility.

  * * *

  "Here." Kory set a glass of bourbon in front of me. "It's the best I could find in the liquor cabinet. Watson's been drinking more than I thought."

  I hated bourbon. I intended to drink it anyway, or I wouldn't sleep. While some images of the women's shelter were shown on the news during my broadcast, none of them were the horrific ones—of the hallway splattered with blood after the killer went from room to room.

  Boot prints could be seen, even from the distance the photographs had been taken. My guess was that the shoe size wouldn't match Loftin Qualls'; it would match someone else's.

  "Don't dwell on it tonight; you'll waste the booze," Kory set another glass of bourbon on the island and took the barstool next to mine.

  "Easy for you to say." I lifted my glass and swallowed as much as I could, before setting the drink down and struggling not to gag.

  "Take it easy. I don't mind holding your hair while you barf, but the experience has to be unpleasant for you," Kory teased.

  "Can we not discuss barfing?" I mumbled and buried my face in my arms.

  "Hey, now," he pulled my hair aside and massaged my neck. I wanted to moan with pleasure, his hand felt so good against my skin.

  "You're really tense, onion," Kory breathed against my hair.

  He was right. I felt as if I were about to burst with the information I held inside me—information that still came no closer to a resolution of any kind.

  If Laurel Rome were behind all this, why did she need the Qualls' money? She had plenty of her own.

  Why was she—and the man pretending to be her husband—in league with Granger and Claudia? What parts did they all play in this? Did Hannah know anything? Was the Sirenali who'd obsessed Hannah involved in this, too?

  "This is so fucked up," I muttered. Kory's hand went still on my neck.

  "What's fucked up? Never mind, I know the answer." He went back to massaging my neck, before switching to both hands and moving to my shoulders. Before long, he pulled me to my feet and herded me toward my bedroom. If he'd asked then, I'd have let him spend the night in my bed.