Elite Operatives: Demons Are Forever Part 11

"What does he read?"

"Uhm, let's see. h.e.l.lraiser, Sandman, Walking Dead, Watch-men, and Landor the Demon."

Brett grinned. "We should exchange numbers, then, in case he ever wants the last one signed."

"You know the author?"

"As much as anyone can know themselves."

"No way! Landor the Demon?"

"Yes."

"It's his favorite. He'll have a fit if I tell him I met the creator.

I'd love to get an autographed copy."

Brett fished her cell out of her pocket. "Why don't you give me your number? I'll call you when the next issue is released. We can get a cup of coffee and I'll personalize it however you want." Heather thought about this. She rarely gave her number to anyone, never to strangers. The cell was exclusively for her brother, work, and friends.

Brett must have noticed her hesitation. "That's okay. You don't know me so-"

"No, it's not a problem." She gave her number before she changed her mind. "Make it out to Adam, if you would." Her brother would be thrilled, and he had so little reason to smile these days she just had to take the risk.

"And what's your last name, Heather?" Brett asked, still in the process of entering Heather's name into her phone.

Heather laughed. "This is getting personal."

"Would you like it to get personal?" Brett asked as she put the phone away.

"I don't have time for personal, I'm afraid."

"Married, career before pleasure, or both?" Brett asked.

"Career."

"What do you do?"

* 91 *

"I work for a small fas.h.i.+on house," Heather said. "Mostly running errands, but I hope to join the big boys one day."

"What do you do when you're not on the clock?"

"I take care of my brother. He has chronic kidney disease. What time I have left, I spend on my own designs."

"And all of the above prevent you from seeing anyone."

"Let's just say I'm not willing to burden another with certain aspects of my life. Nor am I prepared to change the status quo to please them."

"I don't consider taking care of a sick sibling something that should be negotiated or judged. Unless, of course, that's not the whole story." Brett raised one brow, insinuating she knew Heather wasn't being entirely straight with her.

Heather, taken aback by Brett's insight, had to look away.

"You'd be surprised."

"At what people can run from, or at what the whole story is?" Where was Brett going with these questions? Heather wasn't sure, but she felt increasingly uncomfortable. "The first," she replied nonchalantly.

"Of course. The first," Brett said with an edge of sarcasm.

"Uhm, you know what? I should really get back to my friends- round the party animals up and get going. I have to be up early and I'm done with the loud music." Heather knew she was babbling, but she didn't want to leave an opening for further conversation.

Every time anyone pushed her for personal information, her paranoia made it seem as though her escort job was somehow suddenly public knowledge. She knew she risked running into a client, but most of her johns, if not all, were married and wouldn't even acknowledge her outside the brownstone. But what if someone did, or pointed her out to a friend? Heather didn't want to think about that right now, didn't even want to entertain the thought that Brett knew what she did. As always, Heather figured if she made a quick exit, she'd be safe.

"I hope we meet again." Brett sounded sincere.

"Call me when you have the next issue," Heather said, and turned to walk away.

* 92 *

"I will." Chase watched Heather disappear into the crowd, surprised at her inexplicable feeling of frustration. Their interaction had yielded some useful information, but it had spurred more questions than answers. Heather was definitely more complicated than the call girls she knew, with perhaps more valid reasons for doing what she did. And her s.e.xuality intrigued Chase. Heather was undoubtedly lesbian. Yet Priscilla had said she never did girls on the job. She knew it wasn't unusual for lesbian call girls to reserve same-s.e.x coupling for their private lives. But if that was the case, why had Heather bolted when they were obviously attracted and were in one of the city's most notorious pick-up clubs?

No, she wasn't at all the kind of call girl Chase was used to.

For a moment, she regretted she'd never gotten the chance to find Heather for an evening during the countless times she'd called agencies in New York.

Jack materialized by her side, jerking her from a vivid daydream about what an encounter with Heather might be like.

"It's about time. I thought we might be here all night," Jack said."I couldn't very well tell her I knew she was a call girl and ask about her client."

"So what do you have?"

"I'll tell you back at the hotel. Let's get out of here."

"Tell me now."

"It's too d.a.m.n loud in here, okay?" Chase said, irritated.

"What crawled up your a.s.s and died?"

"Nothing. I just need some fresh air." Chase wanted a moment of peace to reflect on her interaction with Heather. She couldn't put her finger on it, but the woman unsettled her. Maybe because Heather was so opposite what she expected. She was cla.s.sy, graceful, well spoken. A dedicated sister and a woman with dreams. A woman whom Chase, under normal circ.u.mstances and in another life, before she swore off feelings and relations.h.i.+ps, would have... Would have what? "I'll be outside. Move it or take a cab back." She pushed past Jack and headed for the door without looking back.

* 93 *

Jack caught up just as she reached the car, halfway down the block. "What the h.e.l.l's wrong with you?" Chase got in and started the engine. "Nothing." She pulled away from the curb and headed toward the hotel.

"And those were my thirty seconds of caring," Jack said. "Now, what happened with the prost.i.tute?"

"Stop calling her that. Her name is Heather."

"Fine. Whatever. Do you think she had something to do with the money transfer?"

"I doubt it, but we can't exclude the possibility. She did volunteer that she's taking care of her sick brother, which has to require significant funds."

"Is that her story for turning tricks?"

"I think she was sincere, but I'll have Reno do a thorough background on her."

Jack dialed Reno's number and Chase relayed what she knew.

Once at the hotel, Jack hesitated outside her door. "I saw her give you her digits. Are you going to call her?"

"I told her I would."

"When?"

"Soon."

"How soon?"

"I said soon."

"What the h.e.l.l, Landis? Are your boxers in a knot because you didn't get to hit and quit the hooker?" Jack said, a little too loud.

Chase hated the term anyway, but to hear it right now made her want to punch Jack. Her hands curled into fists. The problem was, the action would have been too complicated for even Chase to a.n.a.lyze. She forced herself to calm. "I'm going to bed." Jack propped her shoulder against the door and crossed her arms over her chest. "In case you haven't been informed, I'm the one running the show. You're here to a.s.sist me because Pierce blackmailed me into taking you along. So drop the att.i.tude and give me answers. Ca.s.s's life is at stake, and I'm not in the mood to put up with your s.h.i.+t. Understood?"

* 94 *

Chase took a few steps and came eye to eye with Jack. "I am n.o.body's a.s.sistant." She poked Jack on the chest. "This is my bus, and if you want to continue riding it, it would be wise to get off my case. I've worked solo for over ten years and there's a good reason for that."

"Let me guess. It's because you're crazy."

"It takes a certain amount of crazy to survive what we see, and that applies to all of us," Chase said, referring to her EOO colleagues.

"Then it's because you-"

"It's because no one can be trusted. No soldier, no op, no government." Chase smiled. "And especially no deserter." She barked the last.

"f.u.c.k you," Jack shouted, and pushed Chase away roughly.

Chase hit the wall across the narrow hall. "You have no idea what they did to me, so f.u.c.k you for taking their side," Jack said, and slammed the door to her room.

Chase checked her watch and went quietly toward her own room. She knew she was giving Jack a hard time for going AWOL, but if Jack thought they could pick up where they'd left off, she was mistaken. And neither was Chase going to take a backseat on this mission and let someone she couldn't trust call the shots. A fellow op was missing and she would do her best to get her back, but she was doing it because it was her duty and not for Jack. Jack had lost the right to expect any favors when she lied, deceived, and ran from the only friend she'd ever had.

She called her publisher and asked him to courier a proof copy of next month's Landor the Demon to the hotel, so she'd have something in hand if and when she needed to see Heather again.

She spent the next half hour making her already tidy hotel room more to her liking. The maid had been in, but Chase stripped the bed, inspected the bedding, and remade it with military precision.

Then she refolded the towels, scrubbed the bathroom, arranged the drapes, and neatly centered the items on the desk. Finally satisfied, she took a warm shower, hoping it would defuse her irritation and restlessness. When that didn't work, she grabbed her sketchpad and * 95 *

sat on the bed, distractedly penciling in some artwork for her next installment.

When Chase checked her watch again, she realized she'd been at it forty-five minutes and should be getting some rest. She put the pad on the nightstand and turned off the light, but sleep was elusive.

Something nagged at the edge of her consciousness. It took a full ten minutes of tossing and turning before it hit her.

She fumbled for the light and reached for her pad. How could she have missed it? Emily, her Demon's dream girl, looked just like Heather.

* 96 *

ChaPter ten.

Mouchamps, France November 18 Gwenn Etienne carried the tea set onto her second-floor terrace just as her good friend Agnes emerged from her aging Citroen on the gravel drive below. "Up here," she called, waving.

"Be right up."

Gwenn had summoned Agnes to relay the latest update on her new neighbor. The best gossip in the village and she was front-row center, right where she liked to be. Among all her friends, Agnes was best positioned to help her in her quest to find out more about the mysterious newcomer, so she'd be first to hear about the overnight developments.

"Good morning." Agnes greeted her with kisses on both cheeks.

"Something new on Monsieur Elusive this morning?" Gwenn poured their Earl Grey. "Indeed. I was up late last night because Cosette was sick, poor darling." She petted the aging cat sleeping beneath her chair. "She's fine now. Must have caught another mouse in the pantry."

"And while you were up, you saw..." Agnes prompted her as she glanced across the wide rows of Gwenn's prized grapevines to the cottage in question.

Gwenn sipped her tea thoughtfully to prolong the suspense. So little happened in their village that any unpredictable element was * 97 *

welcome. "It was after three in the morning when Cosette became...

indisposed," she said. "I happened to look out my window." She took another sip. Agnes knew she'd reach for her binoculars at virtually any opportunity to spy on her neighbor, but she had to maintain her veneer of respectability. "All of the lights over there were blazing. And he came outside to empty his trash. Who does that at that hour, except someone who must go to great lengths to avoid being seen?"

She'd been surprised when she'd noticed the first sign of occupancy at the cottage more than two weeks earlier. No one had lived there for many years and she wasn't even sure it was habitable, but after two straight nights of seeing lights turn on and off, she decided to investigate. Armed with a fresh-baked apple tart, she walked over and knocked, but the new tenant refused to come to the door. The next day, a second attempt with ratatouille met with the same result, and she was certain someone was home both times because smoke poured from the chimney.

Her curiosity piqued, she began to watch the cottage in earnest, certain that the homeowner would emerge at some point to go into the village, or do repairs, or take care of the horrific tangle of weeds and overgrowth that choked the walk and garden. The place was an eyesore.

But she had seen no sign of anyone until the day a village lad delivered groceries to the cottage on his bicycle. Gwenn trained her binoculars on the front door, holding her breath, as the boy ascended the front steps. To her disappointment, he didn't even knock; he just set down the crate of food and departed. She waited impatiently as five full minutes pa.s.sed-then the door opened and she got her first fleeting glimpse of her neighbor as he retrieved the food and disappeared back inside.

A man, middle-aged, no one she recognized, and suspiciously furtive. He glanced about as he picked up the groceries, as though concerned about being seen.

She hadn't glimpsed him again until last night. "Any luck with Franco?" she asked Agnes, referring to the village's sole real-estate broker.

* 98 *