their heads. That fantasy could easily become reality. Maybe Darius was one of them. Cool and calm one minute, then a seething volcano of violence in the next.
Maybe he heard voices in his head.
Maybe he thought the Devil spoke to him.
Curran frowned. I hear voices in my head.
Maybe the Devil’s talking to me, too.
The problem with this whole thing, he decided, is that there wasn’t one shred of concrete freaking proof. All they were going on was faith.
And Curran was Mr. Faithless.
Another breeze filled the car. This time cooler.
Much cooler.
Cold.
The hairs along Curran’s forearms stood up.
He shivered.
Faith.
Did he believe?
Did he want to believe?
For Lauren’s sake he did.
But for his own sake…
That was another question.
How did Lauren buy into this stuff so easily, he wondered.
He felt certain that her upbringing, the experiences of her teen years with a psychopathic brother played a large role in the woman she was now. But Curran knew plenty of priests and nuns who would have scoffed at the idea of the Devil being resurrected by an antique dealer who drove a silver Saab.
What made Lauren different?
And what made her so appealing? So very appealing?
Curran glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock.
Maybe demons need rest.
He almost laughed out loud. And then he frowned. Was he actually trying to rationalize this stuff now?
What a wishy-washy bastard I am, he thought with a wry grin.
He just couldn’t decide one way or the other if he believed. Cold breezes not withstanding. But even as he fought the contradictions swirling about inside his mind, a small part of him felt certain that within a short time Curran would know, one way or the other, if what was happening in the house was a load of bullcrap.
Or terribly real.
Ten minutes later, the front door opened.
And Darius emerged. He was dressed in a charcoal suit complete with herringbone ankle-length overcoat. Probably no human bone buttons on that one, mused Curran.He ducked.
Darius’ eyes swept over the street. Curran wasn’t hidden, but he wasn’t out in plain sight either, being a good hundred and fifty feet down the street. He was just another car. A friend of a neighbor over for a visit.
Darius locked his front door and then climbed into the Saab. A second later, Curran heard the engine roar as it turned over. Darius gunned it for almost twenty seconds before the motor slowed as he slipped it into drive and sped off down the street.
Away from Curran.
Curran punched Kwon’s number into the phone.
“Yeah?”
“He’s heading your way now. Just left.”
“Okay.” Kwon paused. “Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“Be real careful, man.”
Curran nodded, more to himself than Kwon. “Let me know when he arrives.”
Twenty minutes later, his phone buzzed. “Yeah?”
“Just rolled up.”
“Got it.”
Curran got out of the car, locked the doors, and wandered over to Darius’ house. At this time of day, he hoped there weren’t many people home in the neighborhood who might spot him lurking about. Even more, he hoped Darius was as reclusive as he believed.
He ignored the front door in favor of the more concealed back one.
He kneeled and examined the lock.
A simple deadbolt.
Curran slid out a slim black leather package full of picks and selected two of them for the job at hand. He paused. The he inserted the picks and began working the lock very carefully.
He felt the pins sliding into place.
First one.
Then another.
Until at last they were all properly positioned. Curran exerted enough force to turn the cylinder.
The bolt slid home with a solid thunk.
The door was now open.
Curran glanced around, suddenly feeling like a teenager about to be caught peeping into his neighbor’s windows or something.
The realization of what he was about to do suddenly washed over him.
He would no longer be the by-the-book cop people spoke about. He would cross the line, from law abiding to law breaking.
But if it was in the name of justice — even universal justice — could it be so wrong?
Curran wasn’t sure how the courts would feel about universal justice.
A cool breeze swept over him again.
The cold returned.
Along with the idea of Faith.
Believe.
Believe.
Curran shivered, held fast by the cold surrounding him. He wanted to believe, he decided. He wanted to believe that the world truly was in danger. He wanted to believe Darius was the servant of the Devil here to set his master loose upon the innocent.
And standing there shivering, though morning sun beat down upon his shoulders, Curran finally gripped the doorknob.
He turned it.
Swung open the door.
Took a step.
And then at last -
— crossed the threshold to the other side.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As soon as Curran entered, he closed the door quickly and leaned against it.
