California Demon (24 page)

“Oh.” I stopped. I was afraid of that. “So it’s in a box in the administrative offices?” I
could
break in there and take a peek. But I didn’t really want to.

“Oh, I don’t think so. I just meant that his nephew already went through it all. He’s
so
dreamy!”

“His nephew?” I asked, wishing it was easier to carry on a linear conversation with Jenny.

“Oh, yeah. And he actually
talked
to me.”

“Jenny, what are
you
talking about?”

She blew out a frustrated breath. “He’s a celebrity, Mrs. Connor! I didn’t even know Mr. Sinclair had any relatives, but then his nephew shows up and he’s, like, a total hunk!”

“Got his picture in the newspaper and everything,” Delia confirmed. “One hot number, that guy.”

“Hot number?” I asked, but Delia was already rummaging on the table for yesterday’s paper. She flipped through, found the Life & Arts section, and handed it to me. And right there, on the first page, was a picture of Cool at Saturday’s cookout, front and center with the surfers lined up behind him.

Sinclair was Cool’s uncle? Maybe. But if not, then what reason did Cool have to snoop through a dead demon’s belongings?

Needless to say, my interest was piqued.

I figured I’d gotten as much information as possible from Jenny and Delia, so I left them to their game and went down to Sinclair’s old room. As I’d expected, it had been picked clean. I searched diligently, though, just in case. The only contraband I found was a Snickers tucked between the mattress and the box spring. Fattening, maybe, but hardly demonic.

I shut Sinclair’s door, perched on the edge of his now-stripped bed, and called Laura’s cell phone. No answer. I tapped my fingers on my knee, waiting for her voice mail to pick up, and then when it did, I had to fight back the urge to blurt everything out. I was pretty sure Laura was the only one who ever checked her cell phone messages. But I wasn’t positive.

So in what was probably more cloak-and-dagger than necessary, I left her a cryptic message about how I’d learned some interesting stuff about the local celebrity we’d been talking about, and maybe she could see what she could find out about him online.

Seemed pretty clear to me. Hopefully, it would to Laura, too.

I’d just clicked off when my phone rang again. I checked the display, saw that it was Cutter, and smiled as I answered. “Hey there. What’s up?”

“My banking advice work out?”

“Sure did. You’re brilliant.”

“Win me any brownie points?”

“Five, actually. Ten more and I’ll have to officially label you a good guy.”

“How many points until you tell me all your secrets?”

“Careful there, Cutter,” I said, my voice stern despite my smile. “Keep pushing and you’ll start earning demerits, too.”

“Damn. And I was so close.”

I laughed. “What’s up?”

“You’re coming in today, right?”

“Sure.” I worked out with Cutter most every Monday. We’d developed a nice little routine, and I was honing my atrophied skills. “Why?”

“That new student I mentioned, the one who needs a sparring partner? I told him to come by around four. That okay with you?”

“Too late now if it’s not,” I said. Cutter had invited the guy to arrive right when my private session was scheduled to begin.

“He’s good, Kate. And he’ll make you better.”

“He’s
that
good?”

“No. Not yet. But he’s surprising. And he’s not me. You’re getting lazy.”

“The hell I am.”

He laughed. “Yeah? Prove it to me this afternoon.”

“You’re an ass, Cutter.”

“I know. But I’m an ass who puts up with you.”

So true. I told him I’d be there, then clicked off, looking forward to sparring with this mystery man. A little fresh meat would do me good.

When I’d first started working out again, I’d been surprised how quickly I’d slid back into familiar routines. But there’s a satisfaction that comes with knowing you can kick the shit out of someone and, truth be told, I’d missed that.

I’d found replacements, sure. I mean, there’s also an intense satisfaction in helping your kid learn to count, in making sure your family has clean clothes (most of the time) and decent meals (if not gourmet). And although I disdain all things housekeeping, there’s even a perverse satisfaction that comes from getting the layer of soap scum off the inside of the glass shower doors. (Lemon oil. Works like a charm. Trust me on that one.)

But none of that matches the thrum of satisfaction that races through you when you execute a perfectly timed kick and nail your opponent cold.

I spent the next few hours doing my typical volunteer routine at Coastal Mists. I asked the residents about Sinclair, but no one had much to say other than the usual ghoulish commentary on how horrible his death was, and how unfortunate to have a heart attack and end up with a spike through your eye.

That got me thinking all over again about everything that had happened, and how much I didn’t know. By the time I arrived at Cutter’s place, I was ready to let off some steam.

“I hope this guy is good,” I said, “because I’m in the mood to kick a little butt.”

“I’m good,” came a familiar voice. I looked up, startled, and sure enough, David Long stepped out from behind the curtain that separated the workout floor from the changing rooms. “Or at least I used to be.” He held up his cane. “But I may not be a match for you.”

My breath caught in my throat, and I realized I was standing there like a statue, just staring at him.

“Kate?” Cutter frowned at me. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said. Except that I wanted to rip David’s demonic little throat out right then and there. What kind of a game was he playing? Getting close to my daughter— getting close to me—and then setting himself up to spar?

Damn demons are getting ballsier every day.

“It doesn’t look like nothing from here,” David said. He took a step toward me. I took a step back. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I feel just fine. How about you? Leg doing okay after the accident?”

“What accident?” Cutter asked, looking between us.

“Mr. Long was in a car accident. Busted his knee. Broke his tibia.”

“That was a while ago,” David said. “I’m doing just fine now. A slight limp, and I keep the cane handy in case the leg gets tired.”

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “David and I are old friends. Aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “We are.”

I shivered, goose bumps rising on my arms as I fought the urge to run. I don’t know where and I don’t know why, but something about his words. Something about his voice . . .

I shook myself, forcing the moment to pass. “I don’t think this is such a good idea,” I said to Cutter. “I don’t like to fight men with canes.”

David spun the cane like a staff, then slammed it down on the mat not two centimeters from my foot. “Why not? Figure you’ll be at a disadvantage?”

“Give it a rest, you two,” Cutter said. His voice was firm, but he shot me one more questioning look. I kept my face stoic and looked pointedly away. “Kate, David is going to spar with the cane.”

“I figure so long as I’m stuck with the thing, I may as well make the most of it and turn it into a weapon.”

“Your call, Kate. But I think it’ll do you good.”

“Fine,” I said. I’d wanted to practice with staffs anyway, right?

I moved to the middle of the mat. “Bring it on.”

David looked me up and down. “You’re not going to change?”

“I’ll ditch my purse,” I said. “But I can fight in jeans. And I don’t think anyone who attacks me on a dark street is going to let me run home and change into my Gi.”

A shadow crossed his face, and he nodded. “True enough.” I gave him a quick nod, then went to drop my purse off. I watched their reflection in the wall of mirrors, and when David turned away to talk with Cutter, I slipped my bottle of holy water out and tucked it into my pocket. Then I pulled my hair back and clipped it up with my favorite barrette. The kind with the long, sharp metal back piece.

As soon as I knew for certain that David was a demon, I was taking him out while his flesh still burned and sizzled. Cutter would see, of course, but there wasn’t much I could do about that. David had gotten too close to my little girl for me to let him off the hook. He wasn’t walking out of this building alive. And if that meant that today was the day that I finally revealed all to my
sensei,
then so be it.

And, honestly, part of me was looking forward to making that revelation.

I stood up, rolling my shoulders and neck, then crossed the mat to where David stood, his cane tucked under his arm.

“I promise to be gentle,” he said, with the tiniest of grins.

“I don’t,” I countered.

And then, before Cutter even signaled for us to start, David lashed out, leading with the cane, and knocked my knees right out from under me. So much for gentle.

Cutter yelled a protest, but I rolled to my side and snapped to my feet, keeping my eyes on David while I gestured to Cutter that it was okay. We sparred lightly for a while, simple jabs and thrusts designed to test each other’s reflexes.

Despite myself, I felt a growing respect for the man, even if he was a demon. He knew what he was doing. His moves were practiced and clean, and his reflexes were every bit as good as I wanted mine to be. The limp didn’t slow him down at all, and the cane that might otherwise be a liability had been turned to an asset.

If the man hadn’t been a demon, I really might like him.

No, the trouble was I
did
like him. And I hated what I’d learned.

He sensed that my mind was wandering and kicked into high gear, using the cane to jab and thrust in a pattern that had my feet dancing defensively even as I looked for a way to take the offense.

I found it in the pattern of his thrusts and instead of leaping to the left to avoid a jab, I slid right and caught the cane against my arm, then drew my other hand over to close around the shaft. I whipped it up and out, effectively disarming him. And surprising him, too. That much I could tell from the expression on his face.

“Not bad,” he said. “But now that the fun part’s over, let’s see about getting down to business.”

I tensed, my body at the ready, and he held his hand out in a come-on gesture made famous by Laurence Fishburne in the
Matrix
movies. Then he tapped his nose and pointed a finger at me. I tensed. I’d seen only one person ever make that motion. Just one in all the years I’d been fighting.

My breath hitched in my throat, I wavered, and David Long laid me flat. He’d been waiting for the weakness, had known it would come. And for that, right then, I hated him.

He was on me, holding me down, his hands on my wrists and his knee pressed against my waist. “Do you concede?”

The room turned red with my fury, and my fist tightened around the cane I still held in my hand. Concede?
Concede?
To some goddamn demon who’d stolen my husband’s move? Used it against me to throw me off? Played me for a fool?

No, I didn’t think I was conceding, and in an entirely illegal move, I slammed my head up, cracking my forehead against his. Pain shot through me, the red haze over the world shifting to a blurry gray that I had to fight against.

I was motivated, though, and as David reeled back in surprise, I fought through the pain and brought my knee up against my chest, then shot my heel out and into his pelvis.

Behind us, I could hear Cutter shouting my name. I was even vaguely aware that he was running toward me. I didn’t care. As Cutter’s fingers grazed my shoulders, I leaped forward, knocking David backwards until I was straddling him, the cane tight against his throat, restricting his airway. He struggled, his skin taking on a bluish pallor, as Cutter yelled and pulled, trying to get me to let go.

I did, but only with one hand. And with my free hand I reached into my back pocket for the bottle of holy water. I stuck it in my mouth and screwed the lid off with my teeth.

David watched me, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

“Goddamn it, Kate!” Cutter howled. He’d given up on trying to move me, and now he dove to the mat and wrestled the cane out of my hand.

I didn’t even try to fight him, because I had the bottle open now. And I dumped the contents on David’s face, then held his arms down, anticipating the fresh wave of strength that would come with the pain.

Nothing happened.

I waited, tense, my hands tight around his triceps.

Still nothing. Or, rather, nothing except David sputtering and coughing.

I couldn’t quite believe it. And yet, oddly, it wasn’t embarrassment but relief that washed through me. David Long wasn’t a demon. I could like him without feeling like an idiot. More important, I didn’t have to kill him.

Cutter crouched beside us, the cane tight in his hands. “Dammit, Kate,” he whispered. “You have got to learn to chill out.”

He stood up, then held out a hand for me. I took it sheepishly, managing to fire off “sorry,” toward David, who rolled over onto his side and continued coughing as soon as I was off of him.

I waited for him to catch his breath, then offered my own hand. He looked at me dubiously, then took it, and I tugged him to his feet.

“Um, sorry about that.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to explain?”

“That’s just Kate’s way of getting to know you,” Cutter said wryly. “Good luck getting her to say anything more.”

I just smiled and tried to look mysterious. “Forgive me?”

“If I say yes, are you going to douse me again?”

“I think you’ve been doused enough.” At least, I hoped he had. I had to reluctantly admit that I’d been duped by the holy water test before. Still, I wanted to believe the results. David Long just didn’t seem demonic. Strange, maybe. And even a bit mysterious. But demonic? I didn’t think so.