Living with the Dead

FINN



TWENTY MINUTES AFTER FINN LEFT Sean Nast’s office, the young man had come out the front door and headed to a sandwich shop. Then they’d watched as Nast did exactly what Finn had expected—he’d met someone. Just not anyone Finn expected.

“You said this was Adams’s second work exchange in Los Angeles?”

“Huh?” Damon jerked, blinking, from his thoughts. “Right. She did one a couple of years ago— You think that’s how she knows this guy?”

“She clearly knows him.” Finn waved at the pair sitting in the window. “And it’s gotta be related to what’s going on . . . unless the girl I’ve been trying to contact all day just happens to be messing around with the guy who just blew me off.”

“Hope wouldn’t screw around on Karl.” Damon studied the couple. “It must be connected, but it’s not coming together for me.”

It wasn’t coming together for Finn either.

“How well do you know her?” he asked.

“Hope? Of Bobby’s friends, I know her the best. You know how it is. Well, maybe not, but when you marry someone, they bring their friends along. For better or worse. When your wife tells you one of them is coming over, sometimes you suddenly remember library books that need returning. Sometimes you retreat to watch the game or grade papers. And sometimes you say ‘cool’ and stick around. Hope was one I always stuck around for.”

“They’re close, I take it.”

“Friends since high school. Hope’s got her own stuff going on and they might not spend as much time together as they used to, but if you ask Bobby who is her best friend, she’d say Hope. Hope took this work exchange to help Bobby. I’m sure of it. Whatever is happening here, it’s all about that. Helping Bobby.”

Finn waved for Damon to go inside and eavesdrop on the conversation.



TEN MINUTES LATER, Hope Adams was standing and putting on her jacket. Damon came down the restaurant steps and hurried to Finn.

“So . . .” Finn said.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

Finn gave him a moment before repeating the question. Damon didn’t answer, only watched the shop door, eyes following Hope as she appeared on the stoop with Nast. They walked down to the sidewalk, still talking.

“What did they say?” Finn asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You couldn’t hear them?”

“I just . . . I have no idea what they were talking about. It didn’t make sense.”

“Code?”

“You use code when you don’t want to be overheard saying something strange, right? If that’s what they were doing, they were totally blowing it, because that was the strangest conversation I’ve ever heard.”

“What did—?”

Finn stopped as a cab pulled to the curb. Nast opened the door for Adams, then closed it behind her.

“Go with her,” Finn said.

“Huh?”

“She already gave me the slip once. Get in that cab. I’ll follow. If she loses me, find out where she’s going, then meet me at the station.”





ROBYN



Robyn checked the bedside clock and wondered whether she’d been napping long enough. She felt like she was back in kindergarten, past the age of needing a nap, forced to “rest” before she could zoom back into playtime.

Karl had stepped out to scout the area, leaving Robyn to sleep. Now, though, she was rested and raring to go, and Karl hadn’t returned. She suspected he wasn’t thinking of her at all, just circling the building, waiting for Hope.

She peeked out from behind the curtain, trying several angles, but seeing only slivers of the parking lot. Karl had told her to stay away from the windows and keep the door chained until he announced himself. But they’d been careful to avoid any landmarks on the way here, and as long as Robyn kept her wits sharp, there was no reason she couldn’t peek out, tell Karl she was up and they could go meet Hope.

She did, keeping the chain engaged. But she couldn’t see any more than the same slice of parking lot she had from the windows. So she undid the chain, eased open the door and leaned out.

No sign of Karl.

Maybe she should take a walk—

Maybe you should do what you were told, Bobby. Maybe the guy had a reason for telling you to do it.

Right, of course. Even if it was safe, she didn’t relish getting caught by Karl.

She retreated into the room, pulling the door shut—

It stopped.

She looked up to see fingers holding it open. Men’s fingers, long and smooth, nails perfectly trimmed. She relaxed her grip.

“Sorry, I was just—”

The door swung open. And for the second time in as many days, it wasn’t Karl. This time it was the man from the bookstore, the one who’d been crouching by the boy’s body.

Bracing the door with his foot, he lifted his hands as if to say “see, I’m not armed.” At one time, that might have reassured her. After what she’d seen and heard in the last twenty-four hours, it didn’t. In this new world, “armed” had little to do with “dangerous.”

She tried to slam the door, quite willing to crush his foot if necessary, but he grabbed the edge again, holding it fast.

“Your bodyguard is at the corner, meeting your friend, who just pulled up in a cab,” the man said. “They’ll be along in a moment. If you want to scream, I can’t stop you, but it won’t get them here any faster, and it’ll only call attention to us. So why don’t we step inside and wait for them?”

Robyn backed up, walked stiffly to a chair and sat, straight-backed, hands in her lap. She felt like a stick figure, barely able to flex even at her elbows and knees.

The man surveyed the room, then took the other chair, positioning it out of sight of the window and out of the line of fire should anyone swing through the door.

When he took off his ball cap, Robyn got her first good look at him. His hair was dark red and his freckles were faint, but the resemblance was clear.

“He was your son,” she said.

His reaction told her she was right. Like the resemblance, it was nothing overt. Just a burst of grief dispersed by a blink. Seeing it made her chest hurt, thoughts of Damon crowding her head.

“It seems we have a collision of interests.” The man’s words were light, but his voice gruff. “I understand why the council got involved. They’re trying to help you out of a jam, and they didn’t realize it involved a clairvoyant, but now that they do, I’m here to ask you to let me handle this. Clairvoyant concerns are not council concerns.”

Whatever this “council” was, it had to be supernatural, and this guy thought she was part of it—or at least a supernatural herself.

She could set him straight. But she didn’t see the point . . . and did see a few good reasons why it might not be wise to admit she was human.

“That’s right,” she said. “We didn’t realize a clairvoyant was involved. But I am involved. Still involved. Meaning I’m not about to step away.”

His chin dipped in a slow, bobbing nod, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Earlier, when they’d talked about him, Hope had called him “the gym teacher.” Robyn could see it now. He looked like a beloved coach. The one teen girls would ogle in his gym shorts, whispering that he was “kind of cute . . . for his age.” Pleasant and unassuming. An impression she couldn’t shake even knowing he wasn’t a gym teacher, wasn’t unassuming, probably wasn’t all that pleasant.

Robyn glanced at the door. Were Hope and Karl really coming? “You said this isn’t council business because it involves clairvoyants. I presume that’s what you are?”

“Hmmm.”

His gaze stayed fixed on a spot by her feet, as if too wrapped up in thought to answer her question. Thought? No. He was lost in a vision, watching Karl and Hope. She shivered.

No time to get freaked out, Bobby. It’s a brave new world. Adjust.

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Do you speak for the clairvoyants, then? Is that what this ‘collision of interest’ is about? The council is trespassing on your jurisdiction?”

“The concerns of the clairvoyants are very specialized. We don’t expect the council to understand.”

“You represent them, though? The clairvoyants?”

He straightened, eyes finally focusing. “Your friend is an Expisco, isn’t she? I heard that, but I thought it was a mistake. Hoped it was. I guess not. Which is going to make this—”

He vaulted from his chair. Robyn didn’t have time to do more than shriek before realizing he wasn’t jumping at her, but toward the bed, executing the kind of perfect leap only seen in movies. He twisted, hands raised, as Karl barreled from the bathroom, surprising Robyn. She gave yet another shriek followed by a mental promise that next time she was leaping up to defend herself like a proper twenty-first-century heroine.

The front door whammed open. Hope flew through, gun swinging toward the intruder. Robyn did manage not to scream. Not that anyone noticed. As always seemed to happen in such situations, the hostage was quickly forgotten, kidnapper and rescuers facing off, focused only on one another.

“I’m not armed,” the man said.

He held his hands up like stop signs, one toward each attacker, his gaze flipping between them, as if trying to figure out which posed the greater threat: the big pissed-off werewolf or the tiny gun-toting half-demon.

“He didn’t hurt me,” she said. “I let him in and we were talking, waiting for you.”

“You’re okay?” Hope asked.

“Fine. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

“We should get you someplace else,” Hope said. “You don’t need to—”

“I’m good.”

And she was. That strange sense of clarity had settled over her now, and she realized it wasn’t shock but balance. She could handle this. Werewolves, demons, clairvoyants . . . A brave new world, Bobby. Take it in stride.

When Karl checked out the drapes, the man said, “I came alone.”

“I didn’t see anyone else,” Robyn added. “But I didn’t get a chance to look either. Like I said, he hasn’t been here long. We didn’t even get to introductions.” She turned to the man. “I’m Robyn.”

He paused, as if he’d rather stay anonymous, then said, “Rhys.”

“He’s a clairvoyant,” Robyn told Hope and Karl. “He was the boy’s father.”

Rhys cut in. “What I want has nothing to do with—” His voice caught. “—with Colm. You’re Hope Adams, with the council, am I right?”

Now it was Hope’s turn to hesitate.

Rhys didn’t wait for confirmation. “I understand you’re trying to help your friend here, but as I told her, the council has no place in clairvoyant affairs.”

“And as I was telling him,” Robyn said, “since this involves me, suspected of a murder committed by a clairvoyant, I’d say I have a vested interest in not handing it over.”

“We aren’t handing anything to anyone,” Hope said. “If you’re suggesting the council has no business investigating a clairvoyant—”

Rhys lifted a hand. “I didn’t say they had no business—”

“You’re getting us tangled in semantics,” Robyn said. “Let’s cut to the chase.”

She thought a smile touched Hope’s eyes.

Rhys said, “The ‘chase’ is that you’re involved in a situation you know little about and the deeper you get into it, the worse it will become.”

“So you want us to back out?” Hope said. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m suggesting we reach an agreement that allows me to pursue this investigation properly.”

“And alone,” Robyn said. “Without us.”

His lips tightened. He didn’t like being forced into a straight answer. Too bad. Robyn had engineered enough snow jobs to recognize one.

“Not entirely alone,” he said finally. “With my people.”

“Who are?” Hope prompted. “The clairvoyants have no governing body. You say the council doesn’t have the right—”

“I didn’t say right.”

“You say they have no place investigating clairvoyants, but they’ve done so in the past. Because clairvoyants, lacking that governing body, don’t have anyplace else to go.”

“In this case, they do.”

Hope nodded. “You. And you are . . . ?”

He said nothing.

“You represent . . . ?”

Still nothing.

“Fine. If you can’t present credentials that I can take to the council, then I’m going to keep investigating this—”

“And get another child killed?”

Hope stiffened, gun jerking up, as if she’d been smacked. “I was trying to save him. He jumped—”

“Because you didn’t understand the situation.”

Karl swung on Rhys, fast enough to make the other man pull back, chair legs squeaking.

“You can leave now.” Karl walked toward Rhys. “In case Grant Gilchrist didn’t tell you how this works, let me explain. You have the rest of the day to pack and leave the city. If you don’t? Come sundown, I hunt you and I kill you.”

Rhys held fast as Karl approached, but Robyn was sure he blanched.

“That was your boy you set on us last night. Gilchrist?”

“I—”

“He didn’t come home last night, did he? I warned him that afternoon. Told him he had until sundown. He didn’t listen. Perhaps you’d like to take that as a lesson.”

“What happened with Grant was a mistake. My mistake. I underestimated how much it would mean to him, to his reputation, to take you down. I thought I had him on a tighter leash than I did.”

The flash in Karl’s eyes said he didn’t appreciate the doggie reference. Robin could’t blame him.

“What happened to your son—” she began.

“—was not intentional.” He looked at Hope. “You had no way to foresee what he’d do, and I’m sure you did try to help him, but my point is that what’s happening here goes beyond the simple help the council has given clairvoyants in the past. If you’ll back off, I can stop this young woman—”

“Adele Morrissey.”

He straightened, a sudden shift to cover his reaction—the one that said he’d hoped they hand’t gotten as far as a name.

“Yes, that’s what they call her,” Rhys said. “I can handle Adele. She won’t bother you again.” Robin noticed he did’t mention getting her off L.A.’s Most Wanted list. “What I need is for you to—”

“Back off and let you handle it,” Hope said. “A clairvoyant. The father of Adele’s partner in crime—”

“Colm was not Adele’s—” He took off his ball cap again, holding it on his lap, finger tracing the bill. “I haven’t been a part of my son’s life for thirteen years. So, no, I don’t know what he was doing, and I should’t defend him. But I’m going to ask you to give me twenty-four hours to handle the situation.”

“To get Adele and anyone else involved out of town, and out of reach of the council.”

“I’m not—”

A crack from the bathroom. Robyn leapt up, brain screaming “gun!” But it only took a second to realize that was’t it at all. A metallic clang, not a bang. Then another.

“Down!” Karl shouted.

A hiss from the bathroom, like a broken pipe. Karl dove for Hope, knocking her to the floor as Rhys plunged from his chair.

“It’s okay!” Robyn yelled. “It’s not a—”

Karl kicked her feet from under her as the room filled with smoke.





HOPE





Karl knocked Hope to the floor as gas filled the room. She yanked her shirt collar over her mouth, then looked to make sure he was doing the same, but he’d flipped around, grabbing Rhys’s legs as the man dove for the floor.

Smoke swirled around them, thick as Maine fog. The men disappeared into it, a leg or arm appearing for a second, then gone with a crack and a grunt as they fought. Her eyes stung, watering. She blinked hard and peered into the fog, smacking the floor as she searched for her gun.

“Get Robyn!” Karl shouted, knowing she’d be trying to come to his rescue instead.

“Rob?” Hope yelled.

A cough answered.

“Cover your mouth,” Hope called, choking back her own cough as the gas burned her throat. “Close your eyes. I’ll find you.”

She crawled, hunching along on one hand, the other holding her shirt over her mouth. She closed her eyes—she couldn’t see anyway. Chaos eddied through the gas, steady waves tickling over her skin like a lover’s touch, making her shiver.

Robyn coughed again, to her left now.

“Stay where you are!” Hope called.

A grunt of pain and a curse from Rhys. Chaos shuddered through Hope, the demon begging her to stop and enjoy it. She gritted her teeth and told the demon this wasn’t the time. It ignored her until another crack, this one followed by a hissing growl that the demon recognized as Karl in pain. That shut it up.

“Robyn?”

A hacking cough, to the right now.

“Stay put! I can’t—”

Booted footfalls clomped into the room. Shadowy figures appeared in the fog. Hope scuttled to the side and flattened up against the bed. The figures passed.

The room had gone quiet now.

Another cough. Robyn must have mistaken the men for cops. But a murder suspect didn’t warrant a riot squad takedown. Gas and SWAT teams were the Nast’s trademark. Hope knew now who Rhys worked for.

Hope slithered across the floor, toward Robyn. She couldn’t be more than a few yards away—the room wasn’t that big. The footsteps stopped. Hope did, too, lifting her head to listen.

A dull thump right beside her. A voice, muffled, as if by a gas mask, the words indecipherable. When the response came, Hope was concentrating hard enough to make it out.

“Think so.”

A hollow, echoing snort. “Comforting. You gonna . . .” The rest was muddled. The answer was a laugh.

Robyn coughed.

Hope held her breath, but the men kept talking. Then a voice came from the back near the bathroom. “Move it. Mr. Nast wants us on the road pronto. We’ve got to grab that clairvoyant girl before dark.”

“Take his legs and I’ll . . .”

Hope didn’t catch the rest or the response, but the gist of it was that they were trying to get someone outside. Rhys. The gas would hold the rest of them until they’d moved their comrade to safety.

She waited until they’d gone. Then a cough came, so soft it was more a throat clearing. Hope crawled toward it. A sliver of light filtered through the fog from the drawn curtains, meaning Robyn was next to the front door. Perfect. A few more feet and Hope would be—

Her forehead smacked into the door. Hands caught her, tugging her down with a “shhh.”

She reached to pat the hand, tell Robyn she was okay. Her fingers touched a ribbed cuff. Rhys’s sports jacket.

Hope spun, fists flying into the fog. One struck home, the impact jolting up her arm. She swung the other in the same direction. It hit with a smack. Then fingers vise-gripped around her wrist hard enough to make her yelp. Rhys wrenched Hope’s arm behind her back. Her eyes flooded with fresh tears, salt stinging her burning cheeks. She tried to punch with her free hand, but he slammed her onto the floor, nose hitting hard, pain exploding.

Rhys crouched over her back, pinning her down, arm still jacked up behind her back. When she wriggled, he ratcheted her arm higher, making her gasp.

“Shhh!”

She smashed her foot into his leg. He yanked her arm higher and she bucked until the pain forced her to stillness, panting and blinking back tears.

Rhys yanked Hope to her knees.

“Up,” he whispered, with a heave that forced her onto her feet.

She heard fingers sliding along the wall, as if searching for the knob. The door eased open, and a breeze gusted in, pushing the fog back as Rhys propelled her through. The fresh air hit like an icy blast. She gasped. Her throat and lungs and eyes burned. Even her skin felt hot. Her stomach roiled.

Rhys kept pushing her. She smacked into someone. A hard blink and she could make out a short figure in front of her. Another blink brought the face into focus—a preteen girl fixing Hope with a glower before shouldering past, muttering.

Hope glanced behind her. Rhys was blinking hard, eyes streaming. He swiped his jacket sleeve across them and reached into his pocket. Hope threw herself forward. He pulled her back, wrenching her arm up without a beat. A shake of his hand, unfolding his sunglasses, and he put them on.

“Keep walking.”

Hope looked around through the glaze of tears. Another gust of wind rattled along the motel front, shaking the screen doors and sending fast-food wrappers swirling about their feet. The sun needled her eyes. Strands of hair whipped her face. One head shake and she knew she had more hair outside her ponytail than in it.

She pictured what she looked like, rumpled and disheveled, eyes streaming as she grimaced against the sun like a kidnap victim pulled from an underground hole. With a guy at her back, wrenching her arm up, she obviously wasn’t out for an afternoon stroll. If anyone noticed, they decided not to care.

As her eyes and lungs cleared, her stomach chimed in, wanting its share of attention. Typical. Motion sickness or nerves always set her gut roiling like a teakettle, bubbling over at the slightest provocation. And right now, the tear gas had it feeling provoked.

When she stumbled over a sidewalk crack, her mouth filled with bile. She gagged and forced it down, the taste only making the nausea worse.

“What’s wrong?” Rhys said gruffly.

Hope swayed, her free hand clutching her stomach. “The gas. I feel . . .”

“It does that. Just keep going.”

“I-I don’t think—” She took a deep breath, head tilting back. “Okay. That’s better.” She took one more step, then doubled over, moaning and gagging.

“Oh God, I’m going to—”

She swung, so fast his slackening grip fell from her arm. He grabbed for her, catching her wrist. And that is when the Aikido lessons paid off, Hope’s body instinctively recognizing the hold and reacting without instructions. A wrench, a grab, a flip and he was on the ground with his arm now pinned up behind his back.

At that moment, someone decided to notice. A burly middle-aged man lumbered from the parking lot, glaring at Hope from under bushy brows. A woman being forced along a motel sidewalk hadn’t been worthy of his attention, but apparently, that same woman pinning a man twice her size was somewhat suspicious.

“He—he attacked me,” she said, gulping air between words.

“Hope,” Rhys said under his breath. “You don’t want to—”

“The—the manager. Get the manager. Please.”

Hope lifted her teary, reddened eyes, and the man jogged off toward the front office. She flew off Rhys, gave him one hard kick in the ribs and ran.

A man shouted. Rhys? The burly man? She didn’t know and, frankly, didn’t care, just hunched down and pummeled the pavement.

As she veered into the lot, she slowed to a jog. A very fast jog, arms pumping, trying to look like an ordinary runner.

She jogged to the edge of the motel lot, just past the boundary fence, then wheeled, running along it. She measured the distance until she’d be at the rear of the motel. Then she turned to the fence, ready to climb.

In front of Hope was an eight-foot-high sheet of solid two-by-fours. Not a finger- or foothold to be seen, and not a chance in hell of jumping up and grabbing the top.

In the past twenty-four hours, she’d scaled two fences, so she’d seen this one and thought no sweat without making sure it could be scaled without grappling hooks.

The demon growled in her gut. Get the hell over that fence. Get through it. Smash it down. Karl is over there, in danger.

Which was all very fine, but unless the demon could conjure up real superpowers for her, she wasn’t flying over or through that fence. She kept jogging along, hoping a way over would miraculously appear. A ladder would be good. A rope just fine. Hell, at this point, she’d settle for a strong vine or overhanging branch. She found two knotholes, but even her size-five toes weren’t squeezing in them.

Could she get around the back end? If the fence belonged to the motel, it would stretch the full perimeter.

Just get past it, the demon screamed. Around, over, through. Get Karl!

Every second she fussed was another second for the Cabal to load him into a van . . . if they hadn’t already. She had to go back the way she’d come. She turned . . . and there was Rhys, running full tilt toward her.