“Apparently.”
“How does that happen?” As Monty shrugged, she shook her head—and knew that whatever was going on with the missing corpse, it wasn’t good. “Well, I hope they find the damn thing. Hey, you don’t happen to know what kind of bullets were in that vest the victim was wearing?”
“Forties.”
“And I heard there was a tattoo on the body?”
“I don’t know. But I can find out.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
He gave her a wink, and a sly smile. “No problem, Carmichael.”
When she was alone, Mels went through the pictures again, one by one…and decided Caldwell probably had another serial killer on its hands.
Not exactly the kind of job security she or the CPD were looking for.
And she had to wonder if he wasn’t a man in blue.
24
As Devina folded her napkin beside her empty breakfast plate, she smiled across the table at her prey. All in all, things were going well. Matthias was starting to remember, and that little door she’d opened about his father had brought back just the kind of light she liked to see in his eye.
That old man of his had been key, of course, the beginning of the evil, proof positive that infection could happen even human to human, not just demon to human.
But she had to be careful to walk that line.
“I’ll get the check,” Matthias said, lifting his hand to signal to the waitress.
“You’re such a gentleman.” She reached into her bag and started shifting her lipsticks from left to right, counting. “I’m glad we ran into each other.”
…three, four, five…
“Stroke of luck.” He glanced over at the window, like he was making plans. “What were the chances.”
…six, seven, eight…
“What are you going to do today?” she asked, her heart starting to beat as she closed in on the end of the count.
…nine, ten, eleven…
He answered her with something she didn’t follow, but then, she was nearly finished.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
As she exhaled, she took the last tube out and popped the lid. Focusing on Matthias, she willed him to watch her mouth as she exposed the soft, blunt tip of the lipstick and began to run it over her flesh.
He did precisely as she wanted, but the response was not what she was after, the regard clinical, not sexual. As if she were an instrument he was briefly considering using.
Devina frowned. When he’d stepped out to go chasing after that f**king reporter, there hadn’t been any of this remoteness. He’d been naked while fully clothed, trained on that woman like she was something inside of him, rather than separate and apart.
The demon tucked her lips in and released them, feeling her mouth plump back up—and to make sure he got the point, she inserted a thought in his head of her mouth around his cock, sucking, pulling, swallowing.
It didn’t work.
He just glanced over at the waitress, took the check she gave him, and wrote his room number down.
The sound of a hard wind rattling all the windows in the place had people looking around, including Matthias: Sitting across from the guy, Devina seethed, her temper flaring and touching the elements outside the hotel, kicking up a gale that came from the south.
All she could think of was how Jim had toyed with her—and now this lame-ass cripple, who was going back to Hell as soon as this round was over, was blowing her off.
Bastards. Both of them.
She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. “How long are you staying?” she bit out.
“Little while longer.”
True enough. Things were moving fast with him, even if he didn’t know it, and this round was going to be over very quickly.
Maybe she should take him up to his room and remind him that he was a man, not a robot—and that those “injuries” weren’t going to be a problem as long as he was with her.
Good luck with your reporter on that one, she thought.
“I’m heading out right now,” he said. Like he was dismissing her.
Devina narrowed her eyes, and then remembered that she had a role to play. “Well, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“Seems like it. Good luck with your mother.”
As he turned away, she kind of wanted to f**k him for reasons other than the round. He had the same kind of strength Jim did—as well as that essential elusiveness.
She should have paid more attention to this man when she’d had him. Fortunately, he was going to come home soon.
In the meantime, she needed to take care of that reporter. That was not the kind of influence she needed in this game.
And accidents happened all the time. The Maker couldn’t find fault with her for that.
Matthias took a cab to the offices of the CCJ and waited in the parking lot behind the building. He figured Mels had borrowed that Toyota to come over to the hotel, and sure enough, her friend’s ride wasn’t parked along with all the other beaters with trash in them.
As if having a wastepaper basket for a whip was part of the journalist job description.
Hanging out by the back door, he stood to the side, bracing his ass against the building, and leaning on his cane. Overhead, clouds came in and covered the sun, the shadows on the ground taking over as the sunlight faded away.
He was being watched.
Not by the stragglers who came and went out of the exit…or the smokers who lit up, exhaled like chimneys for a brief time, and went back inside…or the people driving around the crowded parking lot looking for a spot.
It was a steady, constant watching from a fixed position over on the right.
Could be someone in one of the cars parallel-parked along the outside perimeter of the newspaper’s lot. The only other option was the roof of the building across the way, as its walls had no windows.
He needed to get some ammo. Without bullets, the forty with the silencer that he’d “borrowed” from Jim was nothing but a delivery system for blunt-force trauma—which wasn’t exactly useless. Just not quite as deadly or long range—
The Toyota he’d been waiting for eased around the corner and pulled in. When the car stopped abruptly, he knew she’d seen him.
Mels parked in the first available, got out, and walked over with her chin up and her hair blowing in the breeze.
“Working off your breakfast with a good walk?” she asked.
A subtle sting inside his chest lit off as he met her eyes, and it gradually intensified, the sensation becoming hard to breathe through.