He closed his eyes. Thinking of the real reason he’d moved to Oakland. Thinking, for a moment, of the real—and deadly serious—purpose of the new Fiendish headquarters.
And it’s just the beginning.
“No, Kate,” he said in a low voice, finally taking a deliberate step away from her. “No, I’m really not a good guy.”
…
Kate fell asleep in the town car. To her embarrassment, the driver actually had to nudge her awake when he got to her parents’ driveway. She rubbed her eyes, thanking him, then stumbled up the walk, the motion-sensor security lights momentarily blinding her. She fumbled with the lock, opening the door as she yawned.
There was an audible
click
. Not the sound of the lock—the sound of a gun hammer being cocked back.
She froze, immediately awake.
The light switched on.
Her father stood there in his ratty boxers and a scruffy plaid flannel bathrobe in shades of faded orange and brown. His moccasins were scuffed and there was a hole developing in the sole, she noticed.
He was also pointing a gun at her.
“Damn. And I really wanted to steal that flat screen.”
“You always such a smart-ass when someone’s got a gun pointed at you?” He scowled at her, de-cocking the service revolver in his hand.
“I figure if you haven’t shot me by now, my odds are pretty good.” She’d meant for it to come out as a joke. Considering her history of trouble, she realized it would’ve been funnier if it weren’t so true.
“You break your cell phone?”
“I didn’t expect to work so late,” she said, hanging up her jacket on one of the pegs by the door and kicking off her pumps. She’d forgotten how uncomfortable heeled shoes were—she was wearing flats tomorrow, definitely. “And I’ve got to get back to it by eight forty five tomorrow, so…”
“You were at work?”
The clear doubt in his voice slapped at her. “I really am sorry I didn’t call, Dad.”
“You know we worry,” he said, and there was just a tinge of judgment to it. She was twenty-nine years old, not thirteen, but come home late, and suddenly it was like junior high all over again.
This is what happens when you move back in with your parents.
She straightened. “I got that temp job at Fiendish Enterprises. The lady I’m working for is…”
A real bitch.
“Demanding,” she said instead.
“Do they expect you to come home at two in the morning every night?” he asked. “And who dropped you off? Those headlights were like helicopter floods; they woke me up.”
“Town car. Company car,” she clarified. “The boss—the big boss—said I shouldn’t grab a cab so late. Little did he know that I’d be putting my life in jeopardy just by walking into my parents’ living room, huh?”
“Old habits.” Her dad grunted, putting the gun away. “Think you’ll be able to hold onto this job?”
She stiffened. “I held onto the job at Uncle Felix’s for three years,” she said, not even bothering to keep the resentment out of her voice this time.
“Felix isn’t exactly
demanding
,” he threw back.
“Dad, it’s late, and I’m too tired to have this conversation,” she said, heading for the stairs. “I was at work. I’m doing everything I can to keep this job. Okay?”
Her father’s hair was thinning, going from a sandy brown to a peppery gray. It was standing straight up—he’d obviously been tugging at it. “Are you getting paid well? At this job of yours?”
“Decent,” she said.
“Decent for you,” he asked, “or, like, a normal person wage?”
She bristled. “They’re definitely the richest company I’ve ever seen, and I’m getting paid a little higher on the scale than usual temps.”
Her dad sighed. “You know that we were okay with you moving back as long as you got a job,” he rumbled. “But you also knew that it wasn’t going to be permanent.”
“Trust me, I have no plans on staying permanently,” Kate said before she could stop herself.
Her father glared a little. “You’re not a kid. And we don’t want to make a habit of bailing you out.”
“Do you want me to leave?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral, mostly from the numbness she was feeling.
“No, no,” he said. “But I think that it would be best if you paid rent.”
Pride had her chest lifting up, her chin jutting out. “I have no problem paying rent.” It would mean that much longer before she could save up to move out, which stung. Still—if she paid rent, maybe she could actually be more like a tenant and less like the fuck-up teenager they seemed to still believe she was. “I’ll write you a check in the morning.”
“Fine.” He nodded at her. “Good night.”
She took a deep breath. “I love you,” she said. It wasn’t particularly graceful, but she meant it.
He sighed, weary. “Love you, too, Katie,” he said, then lumbered off toward the bedroom.
She went to her own room, turning on the light. It had been her bedroom in junior high and high school. She’d moved out once she got into college, even though Berkeley was only twenty-five minutes away. But the bedroom still had traces of that adolescence. A poster of
Lord of the Rings
on the wall. Dog-eared paperbacks crammed haphazardly into a white bookshelf. A signed CD from some high school band. Framed pictures of her with her brother, Tim, when he graduated from the police academy.
She still remembered when the family had moved here after the disaster in Southern California. The way they blamed her for
needing
to move back up here.
In too many ways, this place had never really felt like home. Now, fourteen years after she’d moved out the first time, it felt like a time capsule of failure and shame.
She had to get out. She’d pay rent. She’d take on a second job if she had to.
And if it meant catering to a psychotic prom queen in one of the lowest rings of corporate hell, then so be it.
Chapter Two
At seven the next morning, Thomas sat at his new desk, in his new office on the top floor. The morning sky was still a pale salmon gray. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, he had a view of Oakland’s Lake Merritt and the Bay Bridge beyond, with San Francisco’s skyline in the distance. The office itself was luxuriously appointed—he did, after all, have appearances to maintain. Everything screamed sophistication, money, and an almost sinful decadence.
He could have been sitting in a cafeteria, for all he cared. His focus was entirely on the old man sitting in the red leather chair across from his desk.
“When I brought you on board two years ago, Al,” Thomas said, his voice mild despite the anger simmering in his blood. “I frankly thought the process would be a lot further along by now.”
The little man snorted derisively, the sound dry as old paper. “Talk to your consultant over there. It’s not my fault you didn’t have my home ready on time.”
Thomas glanced over his shoulder at Yagi, his “consultant.” The guy looked like Yakuza—impeccably dressed in a three-piece pinstripe suit—yet that sense of badass Asian hovered around him.
Of course, the Yakuza would probably pee their pants if they ever met a guy like Yagi.
His face was placid, but Thomas had worked with the man long enough to recognize the irritation in his dark eyes.
They’d both had enough of Al. Too damned bad they still needed him.
“Building an internationally—and inter-dimensionally—acknowledged sanctuary is no simple feat, as you well know, Aloysius,” Yagi said, in his lightly accented English. “Neither is building a military-grade, and paranormally protected, fortress such as this headquarters. If you didn’t have such powerful enemies in the Underworld, the precautions might not have been necessary.”
Al frowned, making the mass of wrinkles on his face shift like a Slinky. “Well, pulling soul contracts from Hell’s archives and ‘relocating’ fifty Ammonite demons isn’t exactly a picnic either, Kato.”
Yagi didn’t respond, but Thomas bristled at the old man’s insolence. “You’re valuable. You’re not irreplaceable.”
“Aren’t I?” Al’s responding look was smug. “You really want fifty demons on the loose in your pretty new headquarters?”
Now Yagi took a step forward, his small smile lethal. “I feel confident I could return them to their homes fairly easily.”
Al tried to stare down Yagi but blanched when Yagi didn’t blink. He shifted his focus back to Thomas, licking his lips nervously. “Yeah, but I’m the only one who can get more demons here if I need to. And
they’re
the only ones who can look through the contracts and find the signatories you need.”
Thomas gritted his teeth. “So again… What’s the hold up?”
“They’re Ammonite demons.”
Thomas waited. “So?”
Al rolled his eyes. “Ammonites are the lowest class of demons. They’re not affiliated with the hierarchy. They aren’t subject to any demon lords. That means that they’re rogues, running scared… or useless, and nobody wants ’em. They’re dregs.”
“So why do
we
have them?” Thomas snapped.
“Boy, do you really think you want a demon foot soldier in here? Or a spy?” Al snapped back. “Ammonites are runty and vicious, stupid and weak. But we’re not looking for fighters. We’re looking for…” He searched for a word.
“Clerks.”
“Can they read?” Yagi asked.
“Enough.” Al shrugged. “Don’t worry about my end,
shinobi
. They know what to look for.”
Thomas noticed that Yagi made the barest grimace when Al used the Japanese word—
shinobi.
It meant covert agent, mercenary.
Apparently, it also meant ninja.
Demon wranglers and ninjas. Thomas sighed, covering his eyes for a moment. Ever since he’d started handling his little soul contract predicament, his payroll had gotten weirder and weirder.
“I need those names, Al,” Thomas repeated, feeling weary.
“Don’t sweat it. The demons will get ’em.”
“You don’t understand,” Thomas emphasized, his voice cold and hard as an Arctic ice floe. “I need them
now
.”
Al huffed, but there was a little flicker of fear in his dust-gray eyes. “Like I said, they’re stupid. Lazy, too. They’re going as fast as they can.”
“You’d better hope not.” Thomas rested his hands on the desk surface. “You’ve got one month.”
Al looked startled. Then his expression turned crafty. “One month, or what? We’ve got a contract. You promised me a place to live in the Havens—and sanctuary—for as long as I’m working for you. And it’s not like there’s any other way you can find the names.”
“One month, Al.” Thomas’s voice was quiet, and the mildness of his tone only underlined the deathly seriousness of his statement. “Or, not only will I kick you out of the Havens… I’ll make sure all your old employers know exactly where you are—and what you’ve been up to.”
Al turned white, then purple. He scrambled to his feet, hanging onto his cane like a life preserver. “You c-can’t—” he spluttered.
“Don’t fuck with me.” Thomas nodded at the door. “Just get the names.”
With one last murderous glance, Al turned and hobbled out of the room.
When the door closed, Yagi sighed. “We can’t trust him. You know that.”
“You’re the one who hired him.” Thomas walked to his credenza and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I don’t have a lot of options, Yagi. I’m down to one year. Just one damned year to find all these guys and take care of them.”
Yagi was silent for a moment. “Do you think you’re ready?”
Thomas took a big sip of the coffee, scalding the roof of his mouth.
Caffeine
, he thought gratefully. “You’ve been training me for five years. You tell me.”
“You’re ready physically,” Yagi admitted. “Considering you don’t have the powers most signatory bargain for, your reflexes and abilities are fairly impressive. But mentally… emotionally…”
Thomas frowned. “What are you saying?”
“You’re going to need to kill twelve people. Thirteen, including Cyril.” Yagi’s face was stern. “And more than that, you’re going to have to bend rules, break laws. You’ll need to do things you find repugnant, with people you find repulsive. If you aren’t willing to do that,
you won’t be free
. But once you take this path, you can’t go back. So I repeat: are you ready?”
Thomas closed his eyes for a second. He pictured Elizabeth, the first time he’d met her, smiling quietly behind her desk, looking like Grace Kelly. Then later in their relationship, hanging on his arm, dazzling paparazzi in a stunning white dress.
Then much later, writhing in agony in a hospital bed.
Finally lying still, in a pool of blood
.
He grimaced, then forced himself to drink the rest of the coffee, putting the cup down before his hands shook.
This wasn’t about getting free.
This was about revenge.
“I’m ready,” Thomas said, and his voice rasped slightly. “I will do whatever it takes to kill Cyril Roman.”
Yagi nodded, a small smile of triumph hovering around his lips.
“To start with,” Thomas added, turning back to his desk, “I think I may have figured out a way around Al.”
…
Kate walked into Fiendish at eight forty-five on the dot, feeling only a little draggy. To try and counter the slump, she’d indulged in a Venti pumpkin spice latte before she walked into Maggie’s office.
“Good morning, Mag— I mean, Ms. Maggie. Did you get a chance to go over my notes?”
Maggie didn’t even look up from her breakfast—an egg, bacon, and cheese laden bagel thing almost as big as her head—or her iPhone, from which the sounds of dying video game pigs wailed. How the woman remained that stick thin was a bit of a mystery, Kate thought with envy. Maggie finally swallowed, then registered Kate’s presence.
“What are you doing here?”
Kate figured she was kidding, but Maggie’s cool stare obviously wasn’t a joke. “I finished the personnel files you requested,” Kate said.
“You didn’t do what I asked.”
Kate froze. “Excuse me?”
“I asked for a
phone directory
,” Maggie said with slow, condescending exaggeration. “And I don’t see anything on my desk that looks like a phone directory. So I’m a little surprised that you have the nerve to show up here at all.”
With all the crap on your desk, how would you know?
Kate gritted her teeth. “It’s electronic,” she returned in the same slow, insulting cadence. “It’s completely searchable—a true personnel
database
. If you’re going through annual reviews and need to assign raises, you’ll have everyone’s pay rate. If you need to get a password, it’ll be right there. Everything that’s on the questionnaire is included, so you can change one thing without filling in or crossing out anything.” She paused. “
And
you could print off a phone list.”
“Yes, but is it what I asked you to do
?
” Maggie stood up, brushing crumbs off her skin-tight black suit. “I’m afraid I don’t tolerate incompetence.”
“Incompetence?” Kate bristled, half in shock, half in fury.
“Maggie?” Thomas stuck his head into the doorway, frowning. “Listen, I need one of the guys from I.T….
Oh. It’s you.” He shot Kate a small, surprised smile. “We meet again.”
Kate blinked, some of her anger ebbing. Whatever else they might say about the guy, there was no question why Thomas Kestrel routinely led the Most Eligible Bachelor category in so many magazines. She didn’t have a thing for cowboys, but the combination of his drawl and his bright, intense blue eyes caused her stomach to do little flip-flops. She hadn’t had a reaction like this to any guy since she’d crushed hard on Matt Waller in junior high.
Probably not the smartest reaction to have to a super-private billionaire playboy type who regularly dated supermodels and rock stars and such. But not exactly
surprising
, either, she consoled herself.
“Hey, stranger. Staying out of trouble?” she said, then grinned when Maggie’s jaw dropped at the greeting.
“Actually, I was going to scout out some fine a capella talent.” He winked. “If you were up for it, I thought I’d request some Celine Dion. Or maybe Ludacris. You seem versatile.”
“Not much to sing about,” Kate said. “I’m getting fired.”
“What?” Now he stepped fully into Maggie’s office. “Why?”
“She mentioned you wanted a phone list of your direct reports in the main building—”
“And she didn’t give it to me,” Maggie interrupted, quickly crossing the room and going to Thomas’s side. “Really, Thomas, this is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I’d already warned her—”
“I created a database,” Kate interrupted right back, earning a blistering glare from Maggie. “I can print off a phone directory in about five minutes—or pull any information on an employee that you might need. It’s on a secured drive, and I’ve got a password for it. Which I put
in my note
, explaining all this,” she added, staring at Maggie pointedly.
“She just up and decided what she wanted to do, instead of what I told her t-to do!” Maggie spluttered, her Southern accent more pronounced.
Thomas was surveying Kate curiously. “That’s good work,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “God knows it’ll be useful when pay raises come up or if there’s an emergency.”
Maggie choked but quickly got a hold of herself. “You don’t understand. I don’t think we want temps simply going off on their own,” she said with emphasis. “Doing whatever they want. Considering what we do, what we
are…
I simply don’t think that she fits in here!”
“Funny, neither does she,” he murmured, and Kate felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Still, as long as she’s willing to compromise and work with an evil empire like Fiendish, I get the feeling she might be an asset to the company.”
“But
Thomas
…” For a second, Maggie dropped the pouty-cute-blonde act, and a flash of pure fury crossed her face.
Kate abruptly remembered what Steffi had mentioned—something about Maggie’s relationship with Thomas. She felt uncomfortable, glancing at him.
Why in the world would he be involved with this raging bitch?
Of course, considering Maggie’s body, she imagined the answer was probably self-evident.
His glance was stern, unbending as steel. “Mags—keep her on.”
That
shut Maggie up like a coffin. Kate forced herself to hide her grin.
“Can I see this database?” he asked, glancing at Kate. “Maggie, can we use your computer?”
Kate glanced at Maggie, who gestured to her monitor. When Kate turned it on, a blog about
hot bachelors
came up. A picture of Thomas with no shirt on took up the whole screen.
“Oh, my,” Kate breathed.
Maggie’s face turned an unattractive flame red, and she moved to her computer in a blink, shutting down the browser. Thomas’s expression remained blank as he moved to hover by Kate’s side.
Kate swallowed hard, then opened up the database file, trying desperately not to superimpose the image of
hello-hot-shirtless-guy
on the man who glanced over her shoulder as she quickly pulled the names of I.T. employees in the building.
“Perfect. Print that out for me, will you?”
“Sure,” she said, turning as she did.
He was maybe a few inches from her face. She swallowed again, as if that would help the sudden dryness in her mouth.
Damn, he’s good looking
.
Thomas locked gazes with her, and for a second, her breath caught. She forced herself to shift focus back to the black-and-white boring data on the monitor.
“This is good work,” Thomas repeated, stepping toward the printer and retrieving the names. “Mags, maybe we should turn her loose on something a bit more challenging and see how she works out. Okay?”
Maggie nodded, trying to look both serious and like she didn’t just plaster a cheesecake shot of Thomas all over her computer. Which made Kate wonder if the rumors were true. If Maggie were sleeping with Thomas, why would she need the photo, right?