Antichrist? ’Cause that would just suck. Maybe he was right. Maybe everyone had it wrong. Admittedly, it was a tad hard to get past the fact that he was the son of the most evil being ever to exist. But that didn’t make him evil. Right? Would he really lose his humanity if his corporeal body died? Nobody said he had to follow in his dad’s footsteps. But the thought of him dying, now, after all this time.
At some point, I had to stop and ask myself why I was so intent on finding his body, and the answer was ridiculously simple. I didn’t want to lose him. I didn’t want to lose any chance of having a life with him, which was rather moot, since he’d have to go back to prison and all. But there it was in all its glory. The truth. In many ways, I was as callous and self-serving as my stepmother.
Wow. The truth really did hurt.
Regardless, I had to find a new pool of resources. My dead friends were not really helping. He did have a sister, sort of. And he had a very good friend. If anyone knew where Reyes would stash his body, surely it would be one of them.
I decided to give up on the lure of a decent night’s sleep, get some coffee, and contemplate what to do next in my unending quest for the god Reyes. Mayhap I would query Mistress Marigold, ask her WTF?
Having been born a grim reaper, I was quite used to the departed popping in and out of my life at any given moment. I’d grown rather accustomed to the momentary jolt of adrenaline their sudden presence elicited, especially when a fifty-foot-drop-to-solid-concrete popped in for marital advice. But for the most part, my fight-or-flight response tended to hang back, blend into the background, and let me decide for myself if I should resort to fisticuffs or run screaming. So when I dragged my half-asleep body out of bed to seek the elixir of life often referred to as java, the fact that two men were lounging in my living room barely registered on my Richter scale.
I did pause, however, giving them a once-over, then a twice-over — mostly because they weren’t dead — before heading for the coffeepot. I definitely needed a kick start before dealing with two men I highly suspected of breaking and entering. A third guy who resembled Andre the Giant stood barricading the front door. If my best friend Cookie came barreling through it anytime soon, he was going to have one hell of a headache.
I turned on one of the low-wattage lights under my counter so as not to blind myself — thus giving my adversaries an unfair advantage — and headed for my date with Mr. Coffee. Andre was staring at my derriere. Probably because I was wearing boxers that had JUICY written across the ass. I could have thrown something on, but it was my apartment. If they wanted to enter uninvited, they’d have to deal, same as everyone else who entered my little slice of heaven uninvited.
I scooped coffee into the filter as my guests watched, pushed the ON button, then waited. My new maker brewed much faster than my old one, but it would still be an awkward three minutes. I rested my elbows on the snack bar to study my visitors.
One of the men — I assumed he was the higher-up — sat on my club chair, his jacket off, gun in plain sight. He looked about fiftyish with graying brown hair, a crisp cut neatly combed, and dark eyes to match. He was busy studying me with a genuine curiosity lining his face.
The man beside him, however, the dangerous one, didn’t seem to have a curious bone in his body. He was about my height with black hair and the youthful, sand-colored skin of his Asian ancestry. He stood on guard, almost at attention, his muscles taut, ready to strike should the need arise. I couldn’t tell if he was a colleague or a bodyguard. He wore no shoulder holster like his friend, which meant he didn’t need a gun to protect himself or his colleagues. A fact I found oddly disturbing.
Andre just looked like a big bear. I was certain he needed a hug, but he had a gun as well. All this muscle and metal for little ole me. I felt important. Illustrious. Majestic. Or I would have, had my ass not said “Juicy.”
In contrast, my visitors were quite the dapper gentlemen. Dressed for success, and well suited to charcoal gray. I thought about suggesting they steer clear of anything in a rouge, but not everyone took kindly to fashion advice from a chick in a T-shirt and boxers.
After lacing my coffee with just enough cream and sugar to turn it the color of melted caramel, I strolled to the overstuffed sofa across from boss man, sank into it, then leveled my best death stare on him.
“Okay,” I said after taking a slow, gratifying sip, “you got one shot. Make it good.”
The man tipped his head in greeting before allowing his eyes to drop to the letters on my T-shirt. I hoped the saying didn’t give him the wrong impression of me. NERDY didn’t quite encompass the image I wanted to project. Had it said BADASS INCARNATE …
“Ms. Davidson,” he said, his voice sure, calm. “My name is Frank Smith.”
That was a big fat lie, not that it mattered. “’Kay, thanks for coming. Come back when you have more time to catch up.” I rose to show them out. The deadly one tensed, and I had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t only there to protect boss man. Damn. I hated torture. It was so torturous.
“Please sit, Ms. Davidson,” Mr. Smith said, after staying his man with a gesture.
With an annoyed sigh, I obeyed, but only because he said please. “So, I know your name and you know mine. Can we get on with this?” I took another slow sip as he studied me.
“You have an amazing sense of calm.” His expression turned serious. “I have to admit, I’m a bit impressed. Most women—”
“—have enough sense to lock themselves in their bedrooms and call the police. Please don’t mistake an underactive sense of self-preservation with intelligence, Mr. Smith.”
The deadly one worked his jaw. He didn’t like me. Either that or my use of big words intimidated him. I decided to go with that.
“This is Mr. Chao,” Smith said, noting my interest. “And that’s Ulrich.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Ulrich nodded. All things considered, they were quite cordial. “And you’re here because?”
“I find you quite fascinating,” he answered.
“Um, thanks? But really, a text would have sufficed.”
With a slow grin, he took note of every expression, every gesture I made. I got the distinct feeling he was studying me, assembling a baseline so he would later be able to tell if I was deceiving him or not.
“I’ve done quite a bit of research on you,” he said. “You’ve led an interesting life.”
“I like to think so.” I decided to hide behind my cup, to obscure part of my response to his questions. While the eyes gave away a lot, the mouth betrayed even the best liars. This way, he would only be able to tell if I was half-lying. That’d teach him.
“College, the Peace Corps, and now a private investigations business.”
I counted on my fingers. “Yep, that about sums it up.”
“And yet everywhere you go, things—” He looked up, searching for the right words before returning his gaze to me. “—tend to happen.”
I consciously stilled, tried to dilute my response, to muddy the waters, so to speak. “That’s the thing about things. They tend to happen.”
An appreciative smile crept across his face. “I would expect nothing less from you, Ms. Davidson. As you, by now, would expect nothing but brutal honesty from me.”
“Honesty is nice.” I glanced at Mr. Chao. “Though brutality is unnecessary.”
With a soft laugh, he crossed his legs and sank farther into his chair. “Then honesty it is. It seems you and I are looking for the same person.”
I let my brows arch in question.
“Mimi Jacobs.”
“Never heard of her.”
“Ms. Davidson,” he said, casting a shameful glance from underneath his lashes. “I thought we were being honest.”
“You were being honest. I was being professional. I can hardly talk about my caseload. PIs have this weird code-of-ethics thing.”
“True. I commend you. But might I add that we’re on the same side?”
I leaned forward, making sure my point was clear. “The only side I am ever on is that of my clients.”
He nodded in understanding. “So, if you did know where she was—”
“I wouldn’t tell you,” I finished for him.
“Fair enough.” He inclined his head to the side, indicating average, dark, and deadly with a nod. “But what if Mr. Chao were to ask?”
