Demon's Plaything (6 page)

Demon nodded, and the other man turned and left.

Alone again, Demon considered the conversation. He couldn’t begin to guess what Elah was looking for and also couldn’t imagine what he would know that Elah didn’t. But one thing was clear: Elah wanted him at the fights. It was just the excuse he needed. He leaned back in his chair and smiled, excited at the prospect of seeing the good doctor again.

The next day came way too soon, and Shayla was almost a zombie as she moved through the morning.
He
had been on her mind half the night, and Nana’s doctor appointment had taken up the other half, leaving sleep out in the cold. So she definitely wasn’t at her best, a thought that nagged at her as she walked the halls. The hospital was dedicating a new wing, and her attendance was an unspoken requirement, but Shayla was so not up to this. But she had donned her nice scrubs and freshest white coat, and now she headed toward the atrium, trying to get into the schmoozing frame of mind. The ER was slow this morning so she wasn’t concerned about the patients, but Nana should be at her appointment by now or would be arriving shortly, so she was more distracted than the lack of sleep and seemingly uncontrollable images of him that floated through her brain would dictate. But, on the plus side, maybe the event would help distract her for the next couple hours.

As she got closer to the hospital’s atrium, the soft strains of orchestral music floated at her, and when she turned the corner, she was greeted with the sight of the city’s moneyed elite come to celebrate their generosity. The room was bright with natural light, the four-piece string group off to one side, a spread of hors d’oeuvres laid out, along with champagne. At ten thirty in the morning. She mentally shrugged and headed to the bar for a glass of seltzer. It seemed an incongruously extravagant display for a public hospital, but if this was what it took to get the donations that built new facilities and bridged the gap between state and federal funding, insurance, and what the patients could afford to pay, then so be it.

She looked around and spotted Charlotte Trufant chatting with a well-dressed man and walked in the woman’s direction. Lottie’s father was the president of the city council, and Lottie worked with him in a variety of capacities. In addition to helping her father with his campaigns and the day-to-day running of his office, she devoted a massive amount of time and energy to a variety of causes. Shayla knew her from hospital and other charitable events, and had always found her to be incredibly warm and genuine, a kind acquaintance who would have been a friend if either woman had the time to invest in building a relationship.

“Hi, Lottie,” Shayla said, using her nickname when she reached her, smiling up at the much-taller woman.

Charlotte turned and faced Shayla and leaned in to hug her, a pleasant, welcoming smile on her face. Lottie was extremely tall, full-figured, and the very picture of understated elegance. Shayla had never seen a hair out of place, and today was no exception. She wore black wool pants, a cream silk cowl-neck shirt, simple gold hoop earrings that emphasized her face without being overpowering, and her hair was smoothed into a neat bun. The outfit was the perfect mix of day and evening and managed to be both flawless and effortless. Lottie always was though, be it a softball game, a reception like this, or a high-dollar fund-raiser. Shayla had no idea how the other woman managed. It had to be her superpower or something.

“Shayla. Great to see you! I’m glad you made it.”

“Yeah, I stole a few minutes to share my gratitude or whatever.”

Lottie laughed. “The midmorning cocktail party is not your cup of tea, eh?”

Shayla shrugged noncommittally. “Not particularly, but the company’s good.”

“Thank you. Have you met Gregory Williams, my father’s chief aide?” She gestured to the man standing beside her.

“No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Nice to meet you, Mr. Williams. I’m Shayla Rodgers.” She extended a hand, which the man accepted.

“Please, call me Greg, and the pleasure is all mine.” He finished with a large, toothy smile and pumped Shayla’s hand eagerly.

“Shayla’s one of the hospital’s esteemed emergency-room physicians,” Lottie said, giving Shayla a welcome opportunity to retrieve her hand, which Greg had seemed in no hurry to relinquish.

“I don’t know that I would go so far as to say esteemed, but the flattery is appreciated,” she said.

“Well, it’s great to make your acquaintance, Dr. Rodgers. Do you have a card? I’d love to get an insider’s perspective on the hospital’s operations, and I have no doubt that you’d provide a wealth of information,” Greg said, flashing that toothy grin again.

“Oh, apologies, Greg. I don’t, but Lottie has my information, and I’m sure she’d be happy to pass along any questions.”

The toothy grin dropped, and Shayla knew the message had been delivered. She looked at Greg again, noted that he was tall, nicely built but not imposing. He was a couple inches shorter than Charlotte, very sharply dressed, clean-shaven, both head and face. In short, exactly her type. Well, the card line was a touch corny, but still, she should have been all over him. Would have been if not for the owner of the teasing green eyes and the heated, knee-weakening kiss she’d shared with him flashing through her mind.

“Of course,” Lottie said, rescuing Shayla again after a millisecond of discomfort. “I’d be happy to.”

“Well, ladies, I’ll let you two catch up.”

Greg shook Shayla’s hand again, nodded at Charlotte, and walked off, seeming nonplussed by the brush-off. Shayla breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the potentially awkward situation being avoided.

“Sorry about that,” the other woman said, mirth in her eyes. “That’s not like Greg; he’s generally much more smooth and appropriate, though apparently you flustered him so much that he couldn’t muster his usual aplomb. I guess he just couldn’t pass up the chance.”

“Smart man,” Shayla said, and they laughed in unison.

“I don’t know about that, but my dad loves him.”

“I thought you were your father’s chief aide,” Shayla said.

“I was, but not anymore. Right now I work with him informally, but I’m pulling back on that as well. I want to do more in the community, and he needs someone who can be in his office in a full-time capacity. Greg’s been around for years, started out as a campaign volunteer and worked his way up. My dad thinks fondly of him, so it was a natural fit,” Charlotte finished with a smile.

“I see. Well, I’m glad you’re getting to focus on what you enjoy. And I know you’ll do a great job,” Shayla said.

They chatted for a few minutes more, but then Charlotte looked up and Shayla noticed that a pall had fallen over the assembled guests, the low murmur that had hummed through the room cutting off in almost an instant. She looked toward the atrium entrance, and her eyes widened at the sight of the newest addition to the room.

Elah Avakian had walked in, drawing the gaze of every single person in the room. Shayla had seen glimpses of him around the city but hadn’t met the man personally. Still, his reputation preceded him. A few tense seconds of silence followed and then the crowd seemed to release a collective exhale and began chatting again, though the undercurrent of tension had not dissipated.

Shayla looked at the man who stood alone at the entrance but seemed totally undisturbed by that fact. He was meticulously presented, from the top of his head with his neatly styled brown hair down to his polished loafers. He was also the most intimidating person she’d ever seen. He was enormous, tall, broad-shouldered, clearly heavily muscled, the cut of his suit doing nothing to disguise his powerful frame. It occurred to Shayla that he’d be right at home at one of those horrible cage fights. But as physically imposing as he was, it was his gaze that unnerved her. Neither hot nor cold, it was seemingly detached, uninterested, but Shayla had no doubt that the calm detachment was a facade and that he’d assessed every person in the room in the few seconds he’d been standing there. Shayla didn’t know if his reputation was earned, but she did know instinctively that this was not a man to be crossed. If Ian had somehow gotten on his bad side…

Her stomach clenched at the thought.

“Are you okay, Shayla?”

She looked back at the other woman and nodded.

“Yes. I’m fine. Umm…Lottie, may I ask you a question?”

“Of course!” she said, a smile brightening her face.

“Have you heard of…? I mean, do you know if…?”

Lottie waited expectantly, and Shayla considered what to say.
Help! My brother has gotten mixed up in a fucking fight club
, didn’t feel quite right, and she wasn’t sure how much to share, or whether she should share anything at all.

She considered another moment and then said, “Some of the regular ER patients have talked about a…place, where people fight each other for money.”

Lottie’s eyes widened.

“Have you heard of anything like that?”

“No,” Lottie said, “I haven’t, but that’s terrible. I can ask my dad about it if you’d like, though. He certainly wouldn’t condone such a thing, and I’m sure he’d be willing to check into it.”

“No!” Shayla said sharply. She took a deep, calming breath and started again. “I mean, no, that’s okay. No need to bother the councilman with idle gossip. I hear so many crazy stories in there it’s sometimes hard to figure out what’s what.”

“I can imagine,” Lottie said, “but let me know if you need anything. I know Daddy likes to keep an eye on what’s happening in the city, and he would be happy to help in any way he can.”

Lottie smiled, and as she did, she quickly glanced over Shayla’s shoulder, and after that brief look, her smile faltered a bit.

“So now it’s my turn to ask. You okay, Lottie?”

She glanced back down at Shayla.

“I’m fine, it’s just…everyone is treating that man like he has plague. His company donated a fairly substantial sum to this new wing, and it just doesn’t seem right to be so unfriendly. I think I’ll go talk to him.”

Shayla resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, a tiny bit afraid she might find Elah’s cold stare directed at her. She admired Lottie’s politeness, but there was no way in hell she’d go over there. She also knew there was little chance of deterring Lottie, so she reached up for a good-bye hug.

“I gotta get out of here anyway. Catch up later?”

“Sure,” Lottie said with another genuine smile.

They both set off in the direction of the exit, Lottie’s strides strong and direct, her intent to approach Elah Avakian clear. Before she made it to him, however, Greg intercepted her. Lottie kept her pleasant smile in place, but Shayla had known the woman long enough that she could tell when she was annoyed. Greg stretched up to whisper in her ear, and when Lottie moved her lips to form what Shayla assumed was a protest, he spoke again and inclined his head toward one of the groups milling in the opposite corner. Lottie trailed her gaze in the direction Greg had indicated and gave a tight nod, face still blandly pleasant but eyes mutinous. She then walked toward the group, comprised of what Shayla assumed were hospital patrons.

Just as well probably, Shayla thought as she slipped out of the atrium. If Elah was involved in this mess with Ian, a nice lady like Lottie had no business talking to him anyway.

••••

“Are you sure this is okay, Nana? I can try to sneak away, or Ian can take you out if you want something different,” Shayla said an hour later as she, Nana, and Ian walked toward the cafeteria.

“No, this is fine, darlings. I love hospital food. It’s delicious.”

Both Ian and Shayla laughed. That was something only Ethel would say, and neither would challenge the statement, untrue as it might be. Ian had arrived about twenty minutes earlier and sat in the waiting room while Shayla worked, both anxious about seeing Nana.

After they’d settled at one of the cafeteria tables, they ate lunch in companionable silence, her the standard salad, Ian the cheeseburger and fries that were hospital staples, and Nana the loaded chili baked potato that made Shayla’s arteries twinge. The conversation to come hung in front of them, but neither Ian or Nana seemed compelled to rush it.

Nana had had an appointment with her pulmonologist, and now she casually ate her potato like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Her nonchalance broke something in Shayla. She could accept that her grandmother wanted privacy, but her reaction was far too calm, and Shayla’s nerves were alight with possible scenarios.

“Well?” she finally said.

Nana and Ian looked up from their plates.

“Well what, dear heart?”

Shayla, through some feat of magic, managed not to scream. Her grandmother could be infuriating, and Ian sitting there with doe-eyed innocence etched on his face, plan or not, didn’t help. Now she looked like the unbalanced one.

Figures
.

“What did the doctor say?”

“Let her finish her meal, Shayla,” Ian said.

She’d never wanted to kill him more than she did in that very moment, or at the very least slap him silly, wipe that smug, superior grin that was apparently invisible to Nana clean off his face—which was saying something given their relationship in the last weeks—than she did in this very moment. He was taking the “good cop” role a step too far, so far in fact that he was hanging her out to dry. It took every ounce of her discipline, heart, and love for her grandmother to keep from stabbing him in the hand with the plastic fork. But she held the utensil tight, almost to the point of breaking, just in case she changed her mind.