Forgiven (11 page)

As he reassembled the phone, he decided not to make the call. When he could no longer tolerate the suspense, Beck unlocked his door and went inside the house. The shattered drinking glass still lay on the floor in his kitchen. The chairs were moved around, the table scooted out of place. Someone had opened the door to his storage closet and rummaged among the trapping supplies.

Cursing under his breath, he went from room to room surveying the damage. More drawers open and stuff rearranged. Someone had thrown his Demon Trappers Manual on the floor. He picked it up, smoothed the wrinkled pages with reverence and swore some more.

None of this was needed if they were searching for a five-foot-seven-inch girl. They were messing with his head, letting him know how little they thought of demon trappers, and him, in particular. Since Amundson had been in charge of the actual raid, all this had happened with his blessing.

Beck tidied what was out of order, but it still didn’t do anything for his sense of personal violation. When he finished cleaning up the glass in the kitchen, he broke out a beer. Then another. Eventually, he lined up a six pack of bottles and the opener on the floor next to the couch and began to work through them one by one. That would be more than he usually had in a week.

As he sucked on the brew, his mind conjured all sorts of plots. Had they bugged the place? Was his home phone safe to use? What about his computer? Had they seen his kiddie books and realized he couldn’t read? Had they told Master Stewart that secret?

‘Damn arrogant pricks,’ he said.

All of this could be laid at Riley’s doorstep. He’d done everything he could for the girl, trapped long past exhaustion to earn money to keep her fed and in her own place. She’d blown him off. Worse, she’d ignored every bit of advice he’d given her. Then she’d thrown herself at a fallen angel.

At least Simon wouldn’t have gotten ya naked.
He drained the fourth bottle and began on the fifth. His stomach protested at the abuse while his head buzzed like it was home to a hive of outraged wasps. Beck didn’t care. He wanted to get so wasted he wouldn’t feel any more. Couldn’t think of Paul’s daughter and that fiend together.

Another long swig. ‘What’s so special about that winged bastard?’ he demanded of the empty room. ‘Why couldn’t ya have waited another year or so and then we . . .’ The hand holding the beer bottle began to quake. ‘My God, ya never gave us a chance.’ Because, deep in his heart, he knew he didn’t deserve her.

There was a noise outside his door, someone on the porch. Then a knock.

Beck ignored it. Another knock, louder this time. ‘Go away,’ he bellowed.

‘Lad?’ a voice called out in an unmistakable Scottish accent. ‘We need ta talk.’

Stewart
. ‘Ah, dammit,’ Beck said, rising. He stared at the empty bottles lying on the floor. He could hide them, but there was no way he’d disguise the level of alcohol in his system.

‘Lad?’ The voice was stronger now. ‘Open this door!’

Beck cursed to himself and then let the man inside. Stewart headed to the living room and then sank on to the couch. His eyes took notice of bottles and nudged an empty one with his cane. ‘Is that the first six pack or the second?’ Stewart enquired.

‘First.’

‘Is the booze helpin?’

‘Don’t know yet.’

‘Well, we’ll get back ta that in a bit.’ The older man looked around. ‘First time I’ve been here. It’s a nice place. Feels like a home.’

What the hell is he doin’?
Instead of saying what he was really thinking, Beck muttered his thanks.

‘Riley’s still with the hunters. They’re trying to figure out what ta do with her so they’ve asked Rome for guidance. It’ll be a while before we hear their decision. In the meantime, they’re treatin’ her right.’

‘Where’d they find her?’

‘She came to them.’

‘What? Why?’ Beck demanded.

‘If she hadn’t, ya were gonna go down in her place.’

Ah, God . . . She turned herself in.
It didn’t mean anything. Stewart probably badgered her into it.

‘Tell me about this Fallen,’ the master ordered.

How much does he know? Did Riley tell him the truth?

Beck didn’t care any more. ‘Did she tell ya she slept with him?’ he asked bitterly.

‘Aye. I’m guessin’ that’s the problem ya called me about this mornin’.’

‘Yeah. She came here and started wailin’ about what he’d done to her. As I see it, she brought it on herself.’

One of Stewart’s silver eyebrows ascended. ‘Ours is not ta judge.’

‘The hell it isn’t,’ Beck retorted, the booze boosting his anger. ‘I figured she couldn’t get into too much trouble with Simon, but I never thought she’d sleep with a damned demon.’

‘A Fallen is
not
a demon. They were created by God himself, then took the wrong path. A lot of us are like that.’

‘That doesn’t matter. I never would have wasted my time with her if I’d known –’

Beck realized he’d gone too far, been too honest, but it was impossible to take back the words.

Stewart’s face turned stony. ‘This isn’t just about the Fallen. This is about yer wounded pride. Did ya ever think ta tell Riley how ya felt about her?’

Beck shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Ya can lie to yerself, but not me. Paul told me how ya felt about the girl. I know all of it, so don’t try ta pull the wool over my eyes.’

‘Why do ya care?’ Beck snarled.

‘I have my own reasons,’ Stewart replied testily.

Beck focused on the buzzing in his head. There was no reason for Riley to make a fool of him.

‘I did what I thought was right. She should have listened to me about Ori. Instead she goes off with him. I’m not responsible for that.’

Stewart’s eyes narrowed. ‘As a master ya’ll be responsible for every one of yer trappers, no matter what mistakes they make, and no matter how much of an idiot ya think they are.’

It was a rebuke and Beck felt it keenly. ‘I’m not makin’ master – we both know that.’

‘I’ll be the one making that decision, ya hear?’ the Scotsman retorted. He took a deep breath to steady his temper. ‘That reporter, the red-haired vixen. What is she ta ya? Are ya lovers?’

He meant Justine. ‘Yeah, I’ve been seein’ her for a spell. So?’

‘Were ya with her when Riley called this morning?’

Beck groaned and nodded. This guy could read him like a book.

The frown on Stewart’s face could have been chiselled in stone. ‘Did ya tell the reporter anythin’ about the Fallen?’

‘I asked Justine about Ori a while back. I wanted to see if she could find out something, since nobody around here knew him.’

‘I see. Well, in the meantime, ya be careful what ya say around the woman, ya ken?’

Beck’s temper grew. ‘There’s nothin’ wrong with Justine. She’s been straight with me all along.’

‘That may be true, but watch yer tongue. That’s an order.’

Beck heaved himself to his feet, his head still spinning. He’d had enough of the old master. ‘Is that it?’

Stewart rose as well. ‘Go talk ta Roscoe Clement,’ he said. ‘He tried ta purchase demons from Riley at a dear price, which meant he had a buyer all lined up, one that wasn’t legal. No need ta be polite with him. We need answers.’

That sounded like a plan: Beck was in the mood to thump some skulls.

To his astonishment, Stewart clapped him on the shoulder. ‘We’ll make it out of this yet, lad. Now get sober. Stop tryin’ ta drink away yer problems. I been there and it doesn’t work.’

‘Then why do ya carry that flask of whisky all the time?’ Beck asked before he could catch himself.

The Scotsman smirked. ‘Because it’s better than drinkin’ the whole damned bottle.’

Sitting on the kerb across from Roscoe’s shop, Beck waited for the store to close. He’d expected the place to stay open until much later, but apparently Wednesday evenings weren’t a big night for sales. As he waited he kept thinking of Riley, what it must be like for her to be with the hunters. Though Stewart had said they were treating her well, she had to be frightened. What if they found her guilty of some crime? What did they do to people like her?

Beck ran a hand through his hair.
No way I can handle all this.
He forced himself to focus on what Stewart required of him. That meant working over the guy who owned the shop across the street.

If a human could be lower than a cockroach, it’d be Roscoe Clement. It didn’t trouble Beck that the perv owned a shop that sold adult videos: people had to make a living somehow. What bugged him was that the guy held a demon-trafficker’s licence. Money had crossed palms for that travesty.

There was another reason the sleaze was on his radar: When Riley had come to sell him a few of the smaller demons, Roscoe had hit on her, tried to talk her into starring in one of his movies. No matter how angry Beck was at Paul’s daughter, no one had a right to do that and keep breathing.

A pair of employees exited, talking back and forth as they headed down Peachtree Street. If Beck was lucky, that would leave their boss alone. He had thought of using his steel pipe to get what he wanted, but that was anger talking. The sleaze was a coward: All he had to do was get in the guy’s face and Roscoe would squeal.

When his quarry didn’t make an appearance, Beck put through a quick call to Master Stewart’s house and received the same answer he’d received two hours earlier – Riley was still in the hunter’s custody. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

Beck had barely hung up when his phone began to oink like an agitated pig. He snarled – one of the hunters had erased his
Georgia on My Mind
ringtone and sent him another message in the process.

‘Beck.’

‘You sound upset. What is going on?’ a soft voice enquired.

Justine.
‘Nothin’ much. I’m out gettin’ some air,’ Beck said, ‘What’re ya up to?’

‘Missing you,’ she said. He smiled at that. ‘Did you like the article?’

Ah damn.
He was afraid she’d ask about that and he’d only managed to get through a few paragraphs and that had taken him forever. ‘Didn’t get a chance to read it,’ he fibbed. ‘It’s been kinda crazy.’

She didn’t miss a beat. ‘I heard the hunters don’t know exactly what to do with Riley Blackthorne. Some think she is working for Hell, others aren’t so sure.’

Stewart’s warning replayed in his head. Justine was
too
plugged in for Beck’s liking, though he shouldn’t have been surprised.

‘All I know is that they haven’t set her free yet,’ Beck replied.

‘Will I see you later?’ Her tone was more seductive now.

Beck knew he’d like that. A lot. ‘Not keen to go to that hotel again,’ he admitted.

‘I make house calls,’ she offered.

That was a no-go. He didn’t have girls in his place. Well, Paul’s daughter had been there, but that was different. ‘I’ll have to give ya a call.’

‘I see.’ Justine could execute a verbal pout with the best of them. ‘Are you tired of me already?’

‘No. Got somethin’ goin’ down.’

‘May I join you? I’d love to watch you trapping.’

Before Beck could answer, a door opened and Roscoe stepped outside.

‘Ah, not a good idea, sorry. I gotta go. Things are heatin’ up here.’

‘Hope to see you later,’ Justine replied. ‘I am missing you.’ Then Beck was listening to a dial tone.

Missin’ ya too, honey girl. Even if Stewart thinks yer not on the level.

Beck was across the street before Roscoe finished the locking up. He purposely didn’t give the jerk a chance to turn around, but rammed him face first against the glass door. Luckily the impact didn’t set off the alarm.

‘Evenin’, Roscoe,’ he said, loading his voice with unspoken threats.

‘I don’t have any money!’ the man cried out, shaking. ‘I already made the deposit.’

‘I’m not here for money.’

‘Beck? Is that you? Why did you scare me like that?’

If ya think that’s scary . . .