Deliver Me from Temptation (20 page)

His brow winged up. “And this has something to do with our first date?”

She nodded.

Damon plopped down on the nearby couch, gesturing for her to sit also. “I have a feeling this could take a while.”

“Not that long,” she said but found herself sliding down onto the opposite end. Her legs rejoiced over the reprieve. She was thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. In fact, if she sat here long she’d simply slip down the rest of the way onto the cushy suede and start snoring.

“You look beat.”

“I am,” she replied, failing the fight to keep her eyes open.

“Long night, babe?” His voice rumbled deep in his chest.

Her eyes snapped back open, but he was smiling at her, his dark eyes twinkling.

She sat up straighter, shaking her finger at him. “You’re bad.”

“I know.” He said this with all seriousness. It was enough to have her frowning, but when he didn’t expound, just gestured for her to go on, she shrugged letting the comment slide.

“So, I’m assuming you remember the case that you dumped on me,” she said.

He nodded. “I may not have ended up working it, but you and Mike have told me enough here and there that I know the basics.”

“You’re aware that our witness identified our suspect, but we had to release him?”

He nodded again, more warily.

She took a deep breath. “Let’s just say that I did something stupid and allowed my emotions to sway me.”

He held up his hand, his eyes narrowed on her in disbelief. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying that this guy you’re dumping me for is involved in the case?”

“I’m not dumping you because of him.”

He gave her a disbelieving look.

“Okay, maybe he was the catalyst but I’m not dumping you for him. The truth is, I was trying to come up with the nerve to do that before this all happened.”

“Oh yeah, and that is
so
good for the ego.”

She cringed, guilt assailing her. Why had she said that? Why was she being so cruel? “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s all right. What is not all right is that you’re personally involved with someone in a police matter.”

“I know.” And she should have told Mike. There must have been some reason she hadn’t…She rubbed her temples, trying to figure it out but her head felt so thick, muddled.

“Wait, it’s not the va—” Damon cleared his throat. “The suspect?”

“Not him,” she scoffed at herself. “Just his best friend.”

Damon sat up straighter, his head turned just slightly as if trying to piece something out. “His friend. Does this friend have a name?”

“I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to tell you that.” She didn’t like the look in his eyes. They’d changed, no longer dark and inviting but dark and, well, foreboding, and in this light almost a freaky, ebony color.

What was it about the men in her life and their changing eye color?

He shook his head, as if shaking off some gloomy thought. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter anyway.” He shifted, fidgeting. “But wow. That is definitely a conflict of interest.”

“Hence the vacation,” she said, sinking her chin into her hands. They sat for another few moments of silence, her head bobbing, though she couldn’t sleep, not with him restlessly shifting on the couch.

She forced herself to sit up, open her eyes. “Do you want some coffee or something?”

“No. Actually I should go. There’s something I’ve been putting off but need to take care of,” he added, standing up.

“Oh. Okay.” She stood as well, having to hold the arm of the couch to steady herself. The room was spinning, though at least she didn’t feel as exhausted as a moment before. She’d practically fallen asleep with him sitting there! She frowned, not remembering asking him to come in and sit down…What were they talking about?

“You weren’t planning on going anywhere, were you?” he asked as he headed toward the door.

“No,” she replied, following him down the short hall. Her legs were steadier. Must have been a bout of exhaustion. All those hours of
not
sleeping catching up with her. Crap, she hoped she hadn’t actually dozed off on Damon.

“Good. And you have both mine and Mike’s numbers on speed dial, right? And you won’t answer the door for anyone.”

“Not without my gun.”

He pinned her with his dark gaze. She met him glare for glare. He leaned in and Jessica felt herself shrinking back.
He’s going to kiss me.
But all he did was tip up her chin.

“Not even with your gun,” he said sternly. “Crushed heart or not, I’m kind of fond of you.” He let go, slipping on his coat on the way to the door. “Be sure to lock up after I leave.”

“I will.”

With one last penetrating glare he left. She closed and locked the door behind him, knowing he would most likely stand there on the other side until he heard the bolt turn. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. He’d certainly seemed antsy to leave.

And distracted. Definitely distracted.

That was okay, she was distracted too. Her mind kept on turning back to what she was going to do next. Turning in that tape may have ended her involvement in the case but it didn’t solve her real problem. Logan knew where she lived. When he was done with, well, whatever it was he was actually doing, he would go to the beach house and then, not finding her, it wouldn’t take him long to guess she’d come here. The question was, when he did, would she let him in?

Unable to answer that, she moved over to the refrigerator, filling a glass with some ice water. It wasn’t until she’d plunked herself onto the couch that she noticed her message light blinking at her.

Groaning, she dragged her butt back up and shuffled over to the breakfast counter. The first message was a hang-up, and then Damon’s voice crackled through the speaker, the connection poor as he was obviously deep in the concrete bowls of the station, his voice lowered as he first checked to see if she had any free time coming up, then asked what she’d done to put Mike in such a pisser of a mood.

She grimaced a bit at that, then moaned out loud when the next message turned out to be from Mike. As well as the next and the next. That’s right, he said he’d called multiple times. She rolled her neck, listening to the brief messages—
call me; call me now; damn it, Jessica, call me will you?
—and then added them to her list of deleted, simultaneously grabbing up her cup. The next message started. Her hand paused midway to her mouth as a raspy male voice, fuzzed by an even raspier connection, greeted her by name.

She recognized that voice. It belonged to a man who supposedly didn’t exist.

She set the glass back on the counter; her hand trembling as she carefully pressed 2 to save the message and then replayed it one more time just to be sure. Only she really didn’t need to. She’d never forget that voice. Never.

“What the hell is going on?”

Damon stalked down the sidewalk toward the subway, having left his car back at Jessica’s apartment. It wasn’t like he was going to need it where he was going. Just as the goody-two-shoes Paladin had their Haven, the dark brotherhood had their own little hellhole. Literally. Tucked into a condemned portion of the NYC subway system, the little gathering place conceived by the axis of evil—Lucifer, Ganelon, and the former, as in dead, master-vamp Christos—was both in this world and not. And since none of the three had access to His realms, they’d used the next best thing for their little slice of alternate reality: the big ol’ H-E-double-hockey-sticks.

Damon shook his head. Since when did he go around thinking in soccer mom lingo?

When Damon took on the task of becoming a human cop, his assignment was threefold: Find susceptible souls ripe for the picking—easy when working with criminals; use his position to clog up the human’s own quest for justice—which was good for Lucifer’s business; and keep his nose to the ground for any leads on the Paladin and fuck up their plans as best as possible—always a pleasure.

Things had been going fine and dandy. His position on the force solid—the gullible schmucks he worked with were blind as bats—the only clog in the wheels was the occasional sensitive human—like that cop he had to kill a couple months back. Damon frowned. The uneasy feeling rolling down his shoulders whenever he thought of that stupid cop was not good for his welfare. You didn’t live long as one of Ganelon’s minions if you had a conscience, so this little prick at his was not exactly welcome. Especially considering how poor his batting average had been of late.

Thomas Rhodes. The case from Hell. Literally.

It had looked like a perfect opportunity for Damon. A three-fer. A soul ripe for the picking. Check. A lead on one of the Paladin. Check. And now for the triple: use Rhodes to fuck said Paladin over and screw with humanity. Win. Win. Win.

Except then Christos, the vampires’ former leader, fucked up the capture of the fallen Paladin, Roland, creating a pile of shit to clean up. A misread prophecy, a hundred of their army eradicated, Christos dead—though the debate was still out on whether this was a bad thing—and then to top that all off, Thomas Rhodes’s body had resurfaced. Frankly nobody but the vampires gave a rip about that—it was they who’d suffer if word of their existence got out, wary prey being difficult prey. But where others saw nothing but another failure on Christos’s part, Damon saw opportunity. Roland, though fallen, still had ties to the Paladin. Enough so over a dozen of the goody-goods came out to slaughter vampires, demons, and merker alike when Roland’s mate was threatened. And yeah, the vampires were hit the hardest, but that didn’t change the fact that every branch of Hell’s army suffered losses. And losses didn’t please Lucifer. Not one bit. And when Lucifer wasn’t happy? Ganelon wasn’t either. And that? Well, that was actually an opportunity.

Damon figured if he could get Roland back in the NYPD’s spotlight, then it was only a matter of time until at least one of his buddies came running to the rescue. And Damon had vowed to be around to claim that prize when they did. Paladin prizes made both Lucifer and Ganelon happy. And the one who brought them that prize? The reward would be more than his half-demon heart could imagine…and frankly he could imagine a lot.

Except, of course, there was going to be no reward. All Damon’s tweaking and manipulations hadn’t worked. Or rather, he fucking missed the opportunity.

Damn Jessica. She’d just had to keep pushing. Like a dog with a bone, she wouldn’t let it go. One little
t
uncrossed and she went in sniffing like a hound dog. The case was irrevocably fucked. Damon’s opportunity missed, and if things didn’t shift directions in a real hurry, then he was going to have to kill another goddamn cop…though, maybe not. It looked like the vamps were going to take care of that for him.

Unless that damn Paladin came to her rescue again.

Fuck. He was so screwed. Why hadn’t he picked up on the Paladin sniffing around Jessica earlier?

Maybe
because
you’ve been too busy chasing tail?

Damon shook his head. He knew the real problem. And it wasn’t Jessica’s stubborn refusal to give in to his seductions, though she was distracting in a sexy, kick-ass sort of way. His heart just wasn’t in it anymore. He could hardly remember the last time he’d gotten enjoyment out of fucking with a human’s head. It was as if by immersing himself so thoroughly within the cops’ world, their humanity and values rubbed off on him. Things like loyalty and honor, friendship and respect, right and wrong.

Which was suicidal. He didn’t believe in any of that crap, except the loyalty. And his loyalty was to Ganelon. Not weak-minded humans. And not the angel-spawn bastards who hyperventilated every single time one of those humans lost their souls to the landlord downstairs.

Taking the stairs instead of the clogged escalator, Damon jogged down into the bowels of the New York City subway system. A quick pat at his jacket pocket had him swearing. Left his badge in the glove compartment of his car. And since he was currently broke…

No matter. A quick pull of power and he vaulted over the barriers, the guard smiling and waving as Damon passed by. He arrived at the platform just in time and jumped on the 4. A bit of boring stop-and-go later, and he hopped onto the D. All the way to the end at Norwood. Bingo.

There was the typical flush of people getting off, but no one was very interested in anyone else’s business unless it obstructed their own. Still, he waited a few seconds for things to clear out, then with a quick glance over his shoulder, jumped down on the tracks.

It wasn’t far. In fact, the opening to the old, unstable tunnel was well within view of the platform. But people saw what they wanted to see and he suspected very few of them knew about this old section of subway anyway. It was never completed, probably something to do with the huge sinkhole less than a half mile into it. It was actually lucky they put the tunnel structure in before the sinkhole occurred. Otherwise, he bet there would be a missing building instead of an unusable piece of track.

Damon slowed to a stop before the illusion of rough cement, bracing himself for the unwelcome sensation of walking through molten lead. Damon had never figured out if Lucifer actually managed to trap a soul into the shield or if it simply took on its own evil intent from its master. Whatever the case, he guessed he was still bad enough because it let him through.

Ignoring the bickering gerbil talk of a couple imps and the snapping jaws of the hounds of Hell chained in an enclave near the door, he strode down the tunnel, the heat of Hell wafting up at him from the glowing sinkhole that marked its end. He didn’t make it that far, fifty feet in he took a sharp right, sucking in deep breaths of the fresher air that was only slightly tainted with sulfur. His lips curled in disgust at the scents of despair, stale blood, and black hatred, but when he realized what he was doing he grimaced and schooled his face into impassivity.

He entered a chamber that had been carved out of the end of the tunnel, his only greeting a keening cry that went beyond human and signified unfathomable agony. Someone must have angered dear ol’ dad because he was tearing off their hide—literally. Damon didn’t know what the idiot had done but was sincerely glad it wasn’t him on that table because he’d be damned surprised if even a merker could heal from such abuse and not look a monster.

No one else was in the chamber but Ganelon and his victim, everyone presumably having had the brains to go somewhere else. Gluttons for punishment or not, no one wanted to be the focus of the betrayer’s finely honed motivational techniques. Damon would have fled, too, if not for one thing: He was out of time.

Or rather Jessica was. Damn her. He didn’t want to have to kill her, but she was leaving him with no choice. A Paladin. Jessica was getting it on with a Paladin. How fucked up was that, dumping
him
, an incubus, for one of those goody-two-shoes freaks? If he had more time he might’ve risen to the challenge and stolen her back, but since Damon had recently been reproached for “a seemingly long stretch of unproductiveness,” he’d better make sure Ganelon heard of the new development from him and not someone else if he wanted to stay off that table.

He stopped just inside the door, breathing through his teeth as he waited for Ganelon to either notice him or finish. It didn’t take long for either. Ganelon completed his last filet of skin and stepped back, cocking his head as he eyed his handiwork critically.

“What do you think?” Ganelon asked as he dragged the tip of the knife back and forth across his pants.

“I think he’d be remiss to cross you again.”

“On that I think we can all agree, can’t we Haron?”

The creature made a noise. Not a merker, a demon, Damon decided, though one of the parents had to have been one of the humanoid species. Had its mother been a succubus also? No, the shoulders were wrong and even like this, Damon thought he might’ve felt some sort of kinship for the thing—beyond pity that is.

Pity? Man I’m getting soft.

He dragged his attention back, his gut curling as he noticed Ganelon staring at him unhappily. More alarming, Ganelon had cleaned his knife but had yet to put it away.

Damon cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, wondering if perhaps the disapproval was for someone else who’d entered behind him. Nope, no one.

“What is it? Does my jacket offend you or something?”

“It is rather off-putting.
Fake
leather?”

Damon shrugged. “It fools most humans. Besides, I got sick of paying exorbitant amounts of money to replace the ones Lucifer’s fire demons singe.”

Ganelon murmured something that sounded like a “Hhmm” and picked up a sharpening stone.

“What?” Damon asked, lifting his hands helplessly.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ganelon said, nodding toward the floor. Despite the heat, a coldness seeped into Damon’s veins. He was favored. Not having to prostrate himself to Ganelon, except when they were around others, was something he’d started to take for granted. The fact that he was expected to do so now when the only one present was a half-dead demon did not bode well for his future.

Holding his breath, Damon slowly lowered his head, dropping to first one knee and then the other. Only when he was fully prostrate on the floor and hadn’t been cuffed with a bolt of power did he breathe again.

“Ah. Very good, Damon. You were always one of my favorites.” Damon sucked in his breath again as he felt the tip of the knife slide under his chin and lift, tipping his gaze upward. “Now, how do you greet me?”

“I am here to serve you, master.”

“Yes, very good. Very good. Now.” Ganelon flicked the knife around in his hand, and jabbed the blade toward Damon’s shoulder. Damon repressed a sharp expletive as the blade bit through his jacket and poked into the flesh beneath. “Let’s have a talk about your fashion sense…among other things of course. You did want to talk about something, didn’t you my son?”

Closing his eyes Damon let his head drop back down. His father already knew. And now Damon would pay for his incompetence.

The question was how much.

***

Jessica paced the limited confines of her apartment, which certainly was not enough to work off the excess energy she had. Every few steps, her gaze would dart one way or the other. One time to the clock. Once to the charging cell phone on the counter. And lastly to the knife she’d pulled out from the tube and lain out on her coffee table. The knife he gave her for protection. Because he couldn’t be here to do the bodyguard duty himself.

“He will be. He’ll call back and then he’ll come here and tell me what the fuck is really going on.” Her gaze drifted over to her home phone and the blinking light on the base unit that said she had one saved message.

She was sure the voice on the machine was the man she thought she saw in the garage, the un-Samaritan. Only it couldn’t be. Men did not turn into demons. Only…

What was it Sherlock said? “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”

Well she wasn’t sure anything she was thinking right now was possible, but she was hard pressed to explain away the things she’d seen with anything but paranormal answers. Her logic had been shot down, and she had nothing to go on but gut, and obviously, her gut was having a serious case of the flu. She was going to be sick.

The message on her machine echoed in her mind again:
“Tell your boyfriend that my boss said we’d see him here real soon.”

Where was here? Who, or rather what, was the man and what did his boss have to do with anything? And did he mean Damon or did he assume Logan was her boyfriend? She had no answers to any of those, or the million other questions she’d come up with since then. She tried calling the number back but had gotten an out-of-service message. Dead end.

Maybe she should call Mike and ask him to see if he could trace the number, but what if everything Logan said was true? It was tempting to believe. Logan had managed to touch her in a way that no one else ever had. Being with him, though crazy, was the most freeing thing she’d done in what seemed like forever. And it wasn’t that she condoned the practice of one-night stands. She didn’t. But if there was one thing her belated breaking with Damon made Jess realize, it was that her night with Logan wasn’t one. She cared about him. And though the cop Jessica knew it was the dumbest thing she had ever done, the little bit of the old Jessica that came to life in Logan’s arms was telling her to trust him. Though, if she did, where did it leave her? In a fucked-up world with vampires and demons, that’s where. And how the hell did you combat something like that? Not with a badge, that’s for sure. And without her badge, then what the fuck was her purpose?

Jess wrapped her arms around her rib cage, trying to hold back the sensation of her world exploding.
Stop
it, Jessica. There has to be a logical explanation for all this.