The organization set up thousands of years ago to police the supernatural world, including ridding that world of undesirables. Like her.
It had occurred to her over the years that she was relying on Asmodai for all her information. And he could be telling her whatever he considered would be most useful for her to hear. Useful to him, that was. She had no clue why he had saved her all those years ago. Maybe just a whim. She’d done twelve tasks for him since, but nothing of any significance until the Key. She had a feeling that was important. Which made it all the weirder that he had taken her failure so well.
She’d called Ryan that morning, told him she believed Jessica Thomas was still alive—for now—and described every single detail she could come up with as to her whereabouts, and then warned him she was coming in. She wanted to give him a description of “Jack,” though she somehow doubted he would be on any police files. Well, not ordinary police files anyway.
But she was betting Piers Lamont would know exactly who “Jack” was and could maybe tell her something that would help her save Jessica. All she had to do was maintain her cover, and she would come out unscathed. Probably.
Asmodai’s words came back to her. Piers would try to mesmerize her? Why? To do what? Well, there was only one way to find out.
Catching sight of her reflection in the glass, she winced. She was back in the habit, actually sown into the thing, as she’d ripped off most of the buttons in her rush to get out of it last night. She took a moment to adjust the ugly headdress—rescued from the bin—and smooth down the black robes. Her fingers checked for the bug in her pocket. If Piers didn’t cooperate, she’d plant it in his office, providing she got as far as his office.
There was a woman at the reception desk this morning. She glanced up and smiled, the smile fixing on her face as she caught sight of Roz, hovering just inside the doorway.
Roz forced herself forward, settling her face into a nun-like expression. “I’m here to see Piers Lamont.”
Something flickered in the woman’s eyes. Surprise maybe. “I’m afraid Mr. Lamont is unavailable this morning. Could I take your name and get back to you with an appointment?”
No. If Roz left now, she wasn’t sure she could make herself come back a third time.
“Please,” she murmured. “I’m doing God’s work. It’s important I see Mr. Lamont immediately. I was here last night—Mr. Lamont told me to return if I remembered anything, and I have…”
The woman bit her lip, but nodded. “I’ll try, but he might not be very… happy to be disturbed.”
Hard luck, Roz wanted to snap, but she kept her expression tranquil. He took ages to answer, and when he finally did, the receptionist winced.
“Mr. Lamont, there’s a… a nun here to see you.” She listened for a moment. “I’ll send her right down.”
As she replaced the phone on the desk, Roz noticed her fingers were trembling, but she managed to paste a bright smile on her face.
“You’re to go down. I’ll get someone to escort you, if you’ll wait just one moment.”
Roz waited, narrowly resisting the urge to tap her feet. Instead, she gripped her wrists and held them in front of her in a nun-like fashion. She kept her eyes downcast, only raising them as the elevator door across the way slid open revealing the young, red-haired man who’d been on reception the night before. Last night, he’d been immaculate. This morning, he looked as though he’d pulled on whatever clothes he could find the quickest. He was dressed in grey sweats and a T-shirt and his feet were bare. He smothered a yawn with his hand when he caught her watching.
His eyes widened slightly as he took her in. Then he gestured for her to join him in the elevator. “Hey, you’re back, Sister. Not sure that’s wise.”
Neither was she, but too late now; the doors were closing. “Really? Why is that, Mr.…?”
“Graham. Call me Graham. Well, shouldn’t you be in a convent or something?”
“I’m here to do God’s work.”
He shrugged. “Not a lot of that going on around here.”
I’ll bet. But she kept the words to herself and smiled serenely.
“Piers isn’t always at his best in the morning. So…” he trailed off. Roz got the distinct impression he was attempting to warn her about something, but his loyalty lay first with his employer. Then it was too late. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.
“Good luck,” Graham said.
“You’re not coming with me?” All of a sudden, she didn’t want to be alone with Piers Lamont and his mesmerizing ways.
“Hell, no.” He sounded positively alarmed at the idea. His lips twitched as if he realized he’d been less than diplomatic. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” His brows drew together. “Hey, I’ve got to check—have you got a cross?”
“No.” She should have one, though, shouldn’t she? Who ever heard of a nun without a cross? “I lost it in the attack on the convent.”