He emerged from the bathroom holding a towel around his waist with one hand and a toilet plunger in the other. “Kara?” Shaving cream covered half his face, but he had a look in his eye that said he was ready to take down whatever threatened me. With a towel and a toilet plunger, apparently. “What’s wrong?”
I winced. “Sorry. There’s something I need you to look at, but it can wait a few minutes,” I said. “Can you meet me in the kitchen when you’re finished?”
“No problem. Two minutes,” he said and ducked back into the bathroom.
I flipped through the case file folder and chose photos. Less than two minutes later Bryce came in, fully dressed and freshly shaved, with a piece of toilet paper stuck to a nick on his jaw, probably caused by my bellow.
“Reporting as ordered,” he said with a smile. “What’s up?”
“I want to see if you recognize any of these people.” I laid out a half dozen photos on the table.
He peered carefully at them, took his time with each one before moving to the next, then went through them all again.
“Only one of them,” he finally said. “This one.” He picked up a photo of a smiling woman in her late forties standing on a beach with the waves behind, and holding up a whole sand dollar. Laugh lines crinkled around hazel eyes set in an attractive face. Light brown hair with blond highlights waved to her shoulders.
It was the pic I’d hoped he would choose. “How do you know her?” I tried hard to keep my voice neutral, but Bryce was a sharp cookie and didn’t miss the tension and excitement that leaked through.
“She’s a detainee of Farouche’s.”
“Still? When did you last see her?”
“She was at the plantation on the morning of the day I was shot.” His eyes met mine. “Who is she to you?”
Adrenaline surged through me as a floodgate of possibilities opened. “This is Idris’s adoptive mother. We think she’s being held as a hostage to assure his good behavior.”
His expression went from curious to grim.
I pulled the wedding photo of Idris’s sister from the folder, passed it over to him. “What about this one? Was she at the plantation too?”
After a brief look, he nodded. “Yep. Until about a week ago.”
My pulse quickened. “Tell me everything you know about what happened to her.”
Bryce dropped both photos back to the table. “I wasn’t assigned so I don’t know a whole lot, but Sonny was their handler after they arrived,” he said. “They were brought in from out of state at the same time, but kept separately. Neither knew the other was there.” He tapped Amber’s photo. “I never talked to her. Jerry left with her about a week ago. He came back. She didn’t. I don’t know anything more.”
“Jerry?”
“Yeah. Jerry Steiner. Like me.” He shook his head, distaste curling his lip. “No, not like me. He never loses any sleep over the job. Gets off on it.” He sighed out a breath. “She’s dead?”
“Yeah, she is,” I said grimly. I touched the photo of her smiling and beautiful on her wedding day, then tugged out a crime scene photo of the young woman—naked and displayed with the sigils all over her torso and legs.
His expression went flat and cold. “Raped?”
I nodded.
“Jerry would do that,” he said tightly. He continued to examine the photo. “But the cuts? Jerry didn’t do that. Not that he wouldn’t, but those cuts are too careful. Controlled.”
“That’s specialty work with a big dose of the arcane,” I told him. “But he probably brought her to whoever did it.”
“What was her name?”
“Amber Palatino Gavin,” I told him. “I would dearly love to nail her murderer to the wall, but right now I want to get Idris’s mom to safety even more.”
Bryce’s expression remained dark, but I caught the flicker in his eyes. He wasn’t Amber’s killer, but twenty-seven other ghosts haunted him.
“The mom,” he said after a moment. “She was a nice lady. And being kept as a five-star captive.”
That much was a relief at least. “I can’t imagine Idris’s mom not being nice,” I said. “You know Farouche. Do you think he’d move her?”
He folded his arms, considered. “It’s not a black and white answer, unfortunately,” he finally said. “If he thinks she’s compromised in any way at the plantation, then yes, he’d move her. But he feels pretty invulnerable there. If I was to venture a guess, I’d say that she’ll be there until needed elsewhere.”
I carefully gathered up all the photos and printouts and tucked them back into the folder, then pulled out a photo of Idris, smiling at his high school graduation with his mortarboard precariously balanced atop his unruly mop of curly blond hair. “This is Idris around two years ago. He’s had to grow up fast.”
“Poor kid. He’s in a bad spot.”
I let out a soft sigh. “I’m not sure yet, but I think he may be my cousin.”
Bryce stared at me for a moment then gave a sharp nod. “Kara, we’ll get him back.”
His voice held such conviction that I found myself wondering about his own family. What connections had he been forced to sever when he entered Farouche’s inner circle? Before I could ask, I felt Mzatal’s touch, and when the back door squeaked I looked up. “You got all that, Boss?”
Mzatal strode into the kitchen, his stance taut like a cat ready to spring. “Some, and the remainder now.” His eyes locked on Bryce. “Where is Angela Palatino?”
Bryce stood firm though I wouldn’t have blamed him one bit if he’d retreated a step. “On the Farouche plantation. About seventy miles from here.”
“I will go for her,” Mzatal stated. “I require transportation.”
“You can’t just go for her!” I blurted out.
He turned his gaze on me, darkly intense and questioning.
“She’s a hostage,” I explained, fully aware that he wouldn’t know the Earth/human dynamics. “That means they’ll kill her before you get to her.”
“She’s right,” Bryce said. “I know the layout and operations of everything on the plantation.” He lifted his chin, impressing the hell out of me that he could do so in the face of Mzatal’s intensity. “Here’s the deal. If I was still Farouche’s man, as soon as I got wind that you were on or near the property, I’d hold a gun to the woman’s head, get on the PA and tell you to retreat or I put a bullet in her skull.” He shifted his weight and looked away, and I knew it was shame in the knowledge he’d have done exactly that. “Not to mention there’ll be plenty of armed men to take shots at you.”
“The projectiles are of little concern when I am prepared,” Mzatal stated. He paused and his aura flared like heat from an oven. “Yet, the other perspective is valid.” Anger born of frustration dropped his voice to quiet menace.
“We need a solid plan, Boss,” I said gently. “We’ll come up with a way to get her out of there.”
Mzatal gave a stiff nod, turned and swept out of the house. I watched him go, extended to him, and felt his answering touch. Inaction killed him. I knew that feeling all too well.
“Holy Christ, I’m glad I’m not his enemy,” Bryce breathed.
I snorted. “No shit.”
Chapter 30
Bryce and I headed into the living room. He sank into the chair, face once again in its practiced tough-guy mask, while I flopped onto the sofa, and practiced looking worn out. I found it surprisingly easy to do so. Maybe because I’d been going hard all day on only four hours of sleep?
I snorted. Nah. Too easy. That can’t possibly be it!
My phone rang, and apparently Santa thought I’d been a good girl this year because my phone was in my pocket instead of a million miles away, like in the kitchen or on the coffee table. I pulled it out and smiled at the caller ID. “Hi, Aunt Tessa. You get in to Aspen all right?”
; “Hello, sweetling,” Tessa said, voice perky and light. “We had a little confusion with the rental, but finally got it all straightened out. We only made it to the ski lodge a few minutes ago. The air up here is amazing!”
A few more knots of tension unwound. “That’s good to hear. What lodge are you staying at?”
“Snowy Snake Ski Lodge. Ten thousand feet elevation!” She laughed. “I was ready to take a nap after climbing the stairs. The rooms are absolutely lovely. Everything going all right down there with you?”
The lilt of her happy chatter wound around me like a hug. “Everything’s going great,” I lied. No way was I going to put the slightest dent in her good mood, and up in the mountains was a nice, safe place for her. “Careful with the altitude. Drink lots of water and take naps.”
“I’m chugging a bottle down right now. Oh, wait, I’m getting the signal that we’re heading to dinner soon. I’ll call you back as soon as I’m not altitude-fuddled.”
I smiled. “Do that. And don’t let the bears eat you.”
“I’ll eat them first.”
Laughing, I made my goodbyes and hung up. Another member of my posse safe and sound. I liked that. Yet my thoughts now circled around the issue of Idris’s mother and how to get her to safety. As much as I wanted to see Mzatal storm Farouche’s plantation/compound and reduce it to smoking rubble, it simply wasn’t a feasible plan. And the same went for any other infiltration or attack. First sign of trouble, and a gun would go to Angela Palatino’s head.
Which meant that first we had to get her to safety, and then Mzatal could wring Idris’s location from Farouche’s scummy mind.
Zack could do it, the thought whispered. While on Earth, Eilahn and Steeev had limited ability to travel, or teleport, or whatever the hell the demons called it, and certainly couldn’t do so with a human in tow, but Zack was demahnk and had none of those disadvantages. However, the warehouse incident along with our “discussion” regarding his loyalty had made it painfully clear that, for reasons I had yet to fathom, his demonic assistance was by no means a sure thing. I figured it was a heads-or-tails chance he’d agree to help, but if I never asked, I wouldn’t even have those odds. I yawned and glanced at the clock on the wall. Six p.m. Zack would be home soon. I’d pounce on him then.
The second hand ticked its way around the clock face. Home. That meant something. I was sure of it. I dragged my gaze away from the hypnotic movement of the second hand, sat up and rolled my neck on my shoulders. The feline curled at the end of the sofa lifted her head and growled at me, low and throbbing and laden with menace.
I turned a feral smile on the creature as she stood, bristling. Her growl deepened, and she swiped bared claws toward me—
“Kara! Watch out!” Bryce scooped the cat up and away from me, and I jerked, blinked. “Did she get you?” His concerned gaze tracked over me in a search for claw marks as he expertly cradled her.
Kara? Oh, right. Of course I was Kara. “No, I’m good,” I said, though I checked my arm for blood just to be sure. “Thanks for the save, though.”
Fuzzykins abruptly ceased her growl, shifted to bump her head against Bryce’s chin. He gave a low chuckle and scratched behind her ears. “You silly girl,” he murmured, then glanced to me. “Damn, she really does hate you. I thought she was about to rip your face off.” He shook his head, shifted the cat in his arms then sat again and settled her on his lap. “She seems okay now though,” he said, regarding Fuzzykins with a puzzled frown, then he rolled his eyes as she looked in my direction and gave a bored hiss before snuggling into his lap with a loud purr. “Or not.”
I stuck my tongue out at Fuzzykins. Weird cat. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done to make her go off on me like that. “So, wow, Paul’s pretty amazing,” I said, shifting to a more comfortable subject. “Getting that airport vid was a huge break for us.”
Bryce smiled as he stroked the cat. “He’s a good kid. Got through to me.” His smile faded, and he blew out his breath. “I was the one who kidnapped him in Albuquerque. Sonny and me.”
I angled my head. “How’d you go from kidnapper to taking such good care of him?”
“I got assigned to him twenty-four/seven when we first brought him in,” Bryce said, then chuckled softly. “He grew on me. Farouche saw we had a good rapport, and, since he wanted to keep Paul happy and productive, he put me on as his permanent bodyguard and advocate.”
I smiled. “You two really care for each other. I mean, in a bromance sort of way.”
“Yeah. I think we’re family,” he replied with no trace of embarrassment.
“Does anyone miss him back home?”
He winced, then shook his head. “No.”
“What’s the deal there?” Please please, I thought almost desperately, please don’t tell me you killed them.
“Paul’s mom died when he was ten,” Bryce began, then his face hardened. “His dad, a cop, beat the shit out of him about a year and a half ago. Almost killed him.” Cold anger rose in his eyes. “No siblings. Any other family is distant with no contact or interest. He was on his own in a little basement apartment when we took him.”
“Damn,” I breathed. “Paul told me his dad beat him up, but that’s all.” I scowled. “Why? Paul seems like such a quiet guy.”
He glanced back over his shoulder toward the hallway, spoke quietly. “His dad found out Paul was gay. Lost it. I mean, totally fucking nuts lost it. Whaled on him for a while, left him for an hour or two then went back for more.”
My right hand tightened into a fist. “Where’s his dad now?”
“He got killed,” Bryce said after the barest of hesitations. “I drove Paul to the funeral about eight months ago.”
I heard the edge to his tone. “Got killed how?” I asked, attention fully on him.
Bryce rubbed his eyes, sighed. “A hit. Farouche ordered it. Set up to look like an arrestee recently released from prison did it.”
“You do it?”
“No.” He jerked his eyes to mine, denial firm within them. “No,” he repeated. “Jerry Steiner made that hit. Same guy who took Idris’s sister to get murdered. Paul doesn’t know, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“Yeah.” I gave a slow nod. “I can understand that.” Hard to believe I almost sort of barely agreed in a mildly sociopathic way with Farouche on this particular issue. “He won’t hear it from me.”
“I’ll be honest,” Bryce said. “I’d have pulled the trigger on the motherfucker and not lost sleep.” He let out a low snort. “That’s one of the reasons the hit wasn’t assigned to me. It would’ve been personal, and Farouche doesn’t operate like that.” He picked up the legal pad that had his security camera system proposal on it. “In retrospect, I’m glad I wasn’t the trigger man.”
“Keeps it a lot cleaner between you two.” I gave him a sympathetic wince. “As clean as it can be given the situation.”
The buzz of the gate alarm preceded the telltale crunch of gravel beneath tires. I shoved up from the sofa and tweaked the curtain aside to peer out. Zack’s Impala.
“I need to talk to Zack for a few,” I told Bryce and received a nod of acknowledgment. I headed out front and waited at the bottom of the steps as Zack parked.
He climbed out of the vehicle, keys and laptop case in hand, and quirked a smile at me. “Welcoming committee?”
“Yeah, it’s a new Kara’s Kompound perk,” I said. “Oh, and everyone gets a pony too.”
“I like it,” he replied with a chuckle. “Except for the part about who has to clean up after the ponies.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Okay, maybe no ponies. Anyway, you got a sec? I need to talk to you.”
“I have a ton of case files to go through tonight, but I always have time for you,” he said with a broad smile. “What’s up?”
“The super ultra mega big news is that we know Farouche is hol
ding Angela Palatino—Idris’s mom—at his plantation.” Excitement flickered, but I did my best to hold it in check.
He let out a low whistle. “That’s definitely super ultra mega,” he agreed.
“Right. If we can get her to safety, it takes away much of the Mraztur’s hold over Idris.” I put a hand on his arm. “I was hoping you could give us some special help.”
Zack went still, tilted his head. “What sort of special help?”
“Special help as in going and getting her out.” I gave him a hopeful smile. “Demahnk help.”
In an instant his face slipped from open and relaxed to grim and haunted. “Kara, I can’t.”
My smile melted, and I slumped. Even though I’d known his cooperation wasn’t a sure thing, the pang of disappointment remained sharp. “I don’t understand.”
He shook his head. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least try to explain it to me?” I asked, baffled.
He looked away and remained silent.
My confusion increased. He’d helped us in so many ways before. Even though Zack had initially balked at bringing Mzatal to the warehouse, in the end he had done so. Why was this so different? “Zack, all you have to do is go get her and bring her back,” I said. “What am I missing?”
“I can’t,” he repeated and met my eyes again. “It’s complicated.”
I gripped my head, certain it might explode from frustration. “Would you please stop doing that?” I snapped, far more harshly than I’d intended. Releasing my head, I smoothed down my hair, tried again. “Please stop evading me. Please stop giving give me lame shit like ‘It’s complicated.’ I’m not a child, so could you grant me some basic courtesy and at least help me try to understand?”
I expected him to look defensive or chagrined, but instead his entire posture slumped into apparent weary sadness. “Even that crosses the line.”
Time to regroup my thoughts. “All right, then let’s take a step back,” I proposed. “Tell me what the line is.”
Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian) Page 32