I could feel my back tightening in anger. “A lot of time? If you two are wanting to know if we’ve been sleeping together, the answer is a) no, and b) not that it’s any of your fucking business. Sir.”
“Gillian, chill.” I heard him exhale. “That’s good to know, but not for the reasons you might think. The chief apparently talked to one of his FBI buddies, and … well, no one at the FBI has heard of Special Agent Ryan Kristoff.”
I could only blink in shock for several seconds. Finally I found my voice. “I’m not sure I understand, Captain. Do you mean no one in the New Orleans office has heard of him? Or do you mean that he’s on a secret task force and so his name is not well known?”
“I mean that the chief did some checking, and there’s no Ryan Kristoff who works for the FBI.”
“Then who the fuck is he?” I practically shrieked.
“That’s what we need to find out.”
I was already off the bed, snatching for jeans and clean underwear. “I’m on my way in. Fuck. Fuck!”
“Stop by the jail first. There was a message at the desk for you about some prisoner that you put a hold on.”
I went cold. “Michelle Cleland?” Shit! I told Ryan about her last night!
“I have no details. Just the message to call or go by the jail when you got the chance.”
I hung up the phone with a terse good-bye and finished dressing as quickly as possible, struggling to control the horrible sick feeling. Ryan wasn’t FBI? Fooled again, I berated myself as I drove at unsafe speeds to the jail. How about, from now on, if someone shows interest in you, just know for a fact that they can’t be trusted and it was all bullshit? At least I hadn’t slept with Ryan. Small comfort there. But I’d thought he was my friend. Was I really that gullible and desperate? Ugh. Don’t answer that. There had to be some other explanation. Had to be. If he wasn’t FBI, then there were very few reasons why he would have attached himself to me. And within that short list of reasons was one that was terrifying. He knows everything about me. Everything!
My thoughts were still in turmoil when I got to the jail. I entered through Booking, flashing my ID to the bored officer at the front desk, then took the stairs to Main Control two at a time.
The rotund sergeant looked up from the row of monitors as I entered, then lifted both hands. “It’s not my fault. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Shit. So Michelle Cleland bonded out?”
Sergeant Mallory shifted awkwardly in his chair. “Umm, no. PR.”
I stared at him, aghast. “She was allowed to be signed out on a personal recognizance? That’s insane!” That meant she hadn’t even been required to put up bond money, just needed to have someone “responsible” sign for her to vouch that she would show up for court. “How?”
Mallory sighed. “You know it’s always a battle with overcrowding here. The chief called and said that the fire marshal was on his ass again and told us to PR anyone under Code Six.”
I sank into a chair. A Code 6 was a repeat or violent offender. Unfortunately, the scenario that Sergeant Mallory referred to was pretty common. To control jail overcrowding, release priority was given to arrestees who weren’t considered a significant danger to society. And, unfortunately, Michelle, who was merely a drug addict and sometime prostitute, wasn’t a danger to society. But she’s in significant danger!
“Fuck. Fuck. All right, did she give an address when she signed out?”
Sergeant Mallory handed me the paperwork. “No address, but we have the name of the person who signed.”
It didn’t register with me at first. Maybe because the name had been on my mind already. But on the third reading it finally sank in.
The name of the person who had signed Michelle out was Ryan Kristoff.
I DIDN’T GO BACK TO THE OFFICE. THERE WAS NO POINT. Instead, I headed home. Right now all of my focus and energy needed to go into preparing for what was possibly the most important summoning of my life. He was right, I railed, sternly telling myself not to start crying again. Rhyzkahl was right. Ryan was using me. He was too young to be the Symbol Man, but it wasn’t a stretch at all to deduce that Ryan had been working with Peter Cerise, wanting a share of the power that would come with a captive Demonic Lord.
“And he broke my fucking door too,” I grumbled as I entered and locked the back door behind me. Looking down the hall, I had an excellent view of my front door, still barely held in place by a couple of nails. I never had managed to get a sheet of plywood to cover it, but I had plenty of scrap wood out in my shed. I checked the clock in the kitchen. Almost ten a.m., and I had a ton of shit to do to prepare for tonight. First things first. Make sure no one can come in. I pulled open a drawer in the kitchen, removing a hammer and a box of nails. It wouldn’t be pretty, but it would work.