Deceiver's Bond: Book Two of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (11 page)

I made it to the FBI’s downtown Seattle office ten minutes early, in spite of my stop at Peabody’s Beans for my espresso and gossip fix. Thankfully, Agent Cunningham didn’t make me wait until the appointed time. He strode into the second floor lobby, shortly after I’d checked in with the receptionist. Since I’d seen him three weeks earlier, his coarse, dark hair had been cut, which made his ears stand out a little more than I remembered.

“Ms. Devon. Good to see you. Thanks for taking the time. Come on back.” He didn’t offer his hand. Cunningham knew how to deal with clairvoyants.

“Nice to see you too. And it’s Lire, remember?”

His friendly smile disrupted the blunt, rugged features of his face. “Of course.”

I followed him through the security door, down a long aisle between dozens of partitioned cubicles, and into the conference room with which I had become all too familiar.

At the massive oval table, a late thirtyish man with light-brown hair stood and stepped away from his chair to greet me. His trim build accentuated his height, six-foot-five at least, but he didn’t appear lanky or awkward. He carried himself with an air of precision, like a dancer or, probably in his case, a trained fighter. As he drew closer, I saw his eyes were a striking pale amber. The word ‘predator’ jumped to mind.

“Ms. Devon, this is Special Agent Fisk from the Atlanta office.” Cunningham took the seat across from the unfamiliar agent, leaving the head of the table open for me.  A wrapped psi-free bottle of water had been set at my place.

Like Cunningham, Agent Fisk wore the seemingly obligatory charcoal-gray single-breasted suit, but instead of going completely conservative, he’d paired it with a jewel-toned tie in a bold geometric print. He made to put out his hand, but wheeled it back in before he’d extended it much more than a few inches from his body. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Devon. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Agent Cunningham has told me all about your instrumental readings in the Circle Murders case.” He gestured toward my chair. “Please, have a seat.”

After we were settled, he continued, “It’s because of your involvement that I asked Agent Cunningham to arrange this introduction.”

“That’s what I hear. I can’t help wondering what about that case makes you think I might be …” I waved my hand in the air while trying to come up with a word that wouldn’t make me sound conceited and settled on, “useful.”

He rested his forearms on the table and laced his fingers together. “We have an individual in custody who we believe is connected to the murders of at least eight people, three of them in the Atlanta area. Unfortunately, the most we’ve been able to charge him with is weapons trafficking, but our key witness in that case disappeared three days ago. There is some evidence to suggest demonic involvement in the witness’ disappearance, in addition to all eight murders.”

I wondered whether these were the murders Vince had told me about—the ones he’d heard about in the news. If so, they’d managed to keep mention of demonic involvement out of the media.

Thankfully, my voice came out sounding steadier than my stomach had me feeling. “And you need me to do a reading to get information about this missing witness?”

“Yes, plus any other information you can glean that relates to the murders.”

“I’m surprised your in-house clairvoyants haven’t given you what you need. If he’s guilty of what you say, I’d think they would have come up with enough information to pursue a murder conviction, not just weapons charges.” I snagged the water bottle and started to unwrap it, an improvement over my last visit to this room, when I could hardly grasp anything without hissing in pain.

“We’ve been told he performs his rituals while naked.”

I stopped fighting with the shrink-wrap to consider him. “To throw off a clairvoyant?”

He nodded.

It wasn’t the first time I’d heard of someone taking this precaution to thwart a psychic reading, but it didn’t work as well as most criminals hoped.

“Okay, but still: Surely he hasn’t spent all of his recent days naked and burning everything he touches. Most people can’t help thinking about what they’ve done, especially when it’s something as emotionally charged as murder. Or working with a demon. Weren’t there clothes or other belongings to read? What about the surfaces in his house, or his jail cell, for that matter?”

Fisk replied, “Our expert did the initial readings—his house, car, everything we could find. It’s how we know the little we do. Those tips led us to the illicit businesses and victims’ names.”

“Then why come to me? Why not get your expert to read this newest item?” Plastic removed, I twisted off the bottle’s cap.

“She’s not available.”

“Oh? Why not?” I eyed him while taking a sip of water, but his cool demeanor told me nothing.

Cunningham cleared his throat. When I glanced over, he didn’t look happy. I sensed an undercurrent of anger and wondered why. “Lire, did you know Jena Purcell?”

I frowned, replacing the bottle’s cap before replying, “Yes. She died a week or two ago.”

“She was the clairvoyant who did the initial readings.”

There were very few clairvoyants who worked with law enforcement, and most of us knew each other, if not personally, then by reputation. Jena had been a few years younger than me. I’d met her at a fundraiser a couple of years back, but she hadn’t been much more than a passing acquaintance. She’d been one of the few clairvoyants who lived on the east coast.

“I heard she died after a week long coma. Psi-induced, most likely.” I peered at Agent Fisk. “You know what put her under? Was she doing a reading for you? On this case, maybe?”

The clear aspect of his gold eyes unsettled me. They wouldn’t look out of place on a wolf, or maybe a lion.

Fisk regarded me for long enough that I suspected he didn’t want to answer, but he finally issued a terse, “Yes.”

“She succumbed after touching the item you want me to read today? Or is this now a different item?”

“Different item.”

I nodded, fingering the water bottle. Did I want to get involved in this? I trusted Cunningham, but something about this agent put me off. I sighed. “I’d like to help you. I really would, but I’m going to have to pass on this one. I’ve done a few too many difficult readings lately. And, frankly, one experience with a demon is more than enough.” I glanced at Cunningham. “I said as much on the phone.”

Fisk asked, “Would it make a difference if I told you all the victims we’ve recovered so far have died in a similar manner as Brian Stalzing?”

The vision of the Circle Murderer’s limp body, dangling from Paimon’s cruel grasp, swam into my mind. Blood, and other unspeakable things, had been everywhere—on me, the ground, the demon …  I wondered if the dirt was still stained where he’d been killed.

It is time you recognize the increase in mass slayings and demonic possessions for what they are.

I clicked my teeth together and sat back in my chair. I shook my head emphatically. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Ms. Devon, I’ve come here because you’re the only clairvoyant who is capable of doing this reading. Your extraordinary efforts in the Circle Murders case prove it. There is no question this man will murder again if he goes free. You don’t have to worry. You’ll have protection twenty-four-seven.”

Round the clock protection didn’t mean jack if a demon haunted your dreams.

“Is that what you told Jena?” I shook my head. “Once a demon sets its sights on you, there is little hope for escape.”

“Yet, here you are.”

“Pure luck.”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” he said, appraising me. “I doubt that very much.”

There was no way he could know about my other abilities or the exact specifics of how I escaped Paimon’s clutches, but his cocky expression and determined stare told me he thought otherwise. The scars around my wrists throbbed. I made an effort to relax my hands. “Have you ever encountered a demon, Agent Fisk?”

The muscles in his neck twitched. “I’ve encountered their aftermath.”

“Trust me, nothing can prepare you for the real thing. And until you’ve had that displeasure, I’d refrain from claiming you can offer someone protection from one.”

His smile didn’t touch his eyes. “I will bear that in mind.”

“You do that. I’d also suggest speaking with an expert from the Order of the Holy Cross. From what I understand, their warriors are among the few mortals who have the skills to take on a demon. But I’m willing to bet even they won’t promise protection.”

“If I could get one or more of their members to offer their expertise, would you change your mind?”

Frowning, I clasped my trembling hands together in my lap to prevent them from making random nervous gestures. “It would depend on what they have to say about these murders and the demon that’s involved.”

Cunningham shifted in his seat. “We won’t press. But if you change your mind, call me right away. The trial date’s been set, but without a witness …” He shrugged. “It doesn’t look good.”

I nodded, wondering whether Fisk would follow through on his threat to get help from the Holy Cross. Part of me hoped not. I didn’t need any further run-ins with Paimon or another demon stalking me, with or without a Holy Cross sidekick. It was already hard enough to get a decent night’s sleep. Of course, the families of the murder victims probably weren’t getting much sleep either.
Damn it.

As we pushed our chairs back and stood, Cunningham smiled and asked, “Where are you headed tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” I had to push my dark thoughts aside and think. “Oh. Las Vegas. The folks who produce
Pawn Kings
want me for another episode.”

He smiled broadly. “Congratulations. It’s one of my wife’s favorite shows. She’ll love hearing you’ll be on again soon. She said yours was one of the best episodes.” We headed toward the lobby. “That Randy seems like a sharp guy. Can’t say the same for the brother. They play it up for the show? Or is he that much of a flake?”

“I’ve not had much contact with Brad, so I couldn’t tell you. My guess is they play it up. It’s all about the ratings with most of these shows.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” He held open the security door. “Okay, Lire. You have my number. Day or night. Let me know if you change your mind.”

I nodded and looked at the other agent, trying not to frown. “Nice meeting you, Agent Fisk,” I lied. “Have a safe trip home.”

I swallowed the urge to apologize again for not helping them. Feeling guilty and spineless, I forced myself to walk away.

Downstairs, on my way through the main lobby, I faltered mid-stride when I spotted Daniel’s associate sitting in a chair near the glass entry doors. I approached and nodded at the dark-haired telepath in greeting, looking around for Daniel. “Hello, Michael. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” As he stood, his brown eyes swept over me, his expression neutral. Once again, I was struck by how his imperfect nose, which had obviously been badly broken at some point, contrasted with his otherwise distinct angular features.

I wondered whether he’d tailed me from my apartment or knew ahead of time about my meeting. I wasn’t happy about being followed, but with the way things were going lately, I wasn’t as peeved as I might have been. “Oh? What’s up?”

“Not much.” He shrugged. “Just wanted to tell you I’m watching out for you today. It feels less … I don’t know … less creepy if I tell you, instead of following you in the shadows like a stalker.”

A telepathic bodyguard? You have to be kidding.

“I guess that does make it marginally less creepy. Sort of.”

A smile cracked his sober expression—there and gone so quick, I wondered whether it happened against his will. This was the first glimpse of him looking anything but serious. Not that I’d spent any appreciable time around the guy. I’d only met him once before. After pinning him and Daniel to the wall in a fit of rage and then threatening them with my pyrokinesis, it was surprising he wanted to be in the same room with me. If not for my building’s djinn and their timely interference, not sure he’d be around right now to make that choice. Then again, maybe he hadn’t been given the option. Maybe Daniel had ordered him to be here.

“So, uh … no hard feelings about, you know, last time we met?” It was an effort to keep from shuffling my feet.

Shame flashed across his features and he shrugged. “Given the situation, I’d say you were justified.” He peered at me. “I might ask you the same thing.”

It seemed we’d both done something we regretted—he’d illicitly probed my mind in a half-baked attempt to test my abilities and I’d overreacted at the unwanted invasion. “There was a lot going on. Losing it like I did …” I shook away the thought and gave him a slow, tentative smile. “Yeah. We’re cool. No hard feelings.”

After a moment of awkward silence while he looked at me like he’d just made parole, I blurted, “So, what do you think about of all … this?” I encompassed everything going on with a broad sweep of my hand.

“I think Daniel’s going to have a fit when he finds out you’re still planning to go to Vegas.”

The unexpected response took me aback. “I’m not going to stop living my life. The trip’s been scheduled for weeks.”

“I understand, but don’t be surprised when you see Daniel on the plane with you.”

I thought about Vince. “Just a suggestion, but it might be better if you went instead.”

His left eyebrow went up.

Great.
He either thought I was coming-on to him or didn’t trust myself to be alone with Daniel in Vegas. I sighed. “Vince doesn’t exactly have a soft spot for Daniel, as I’m sure you know.”

“Why is that, I wonder?”

Was he implying the conflict was somehow my doing?

“For a number of reasons,” I replied, “not the least of which is that every time Daniel shows up, things go to hell. For another, he’s brought up the sidhe one too many times. I warned him that Vince is in major denial mode about it, but Daniel didn’t take my advice to butt out.”

“I’m sure Daniel has his reasons.”

“Such as?”

“You should ask him yourself.”

I threw up my hands. “God. I am so sick of the games and the mystery and the cryptic answers. It makes me want to tell you guys to go fuck yourselves. Pardon my goddamned French.”