Devil Dead (29 page)

Claire spun around to face Black. “Oh, God, not you, Nicky? He didn't know? What the hell's that supposed to mean?”

Black frowned and stepped closer to the bed. He examined the guy's face, which suddenly grew even more terrified. Then he released a heavy and resigned sigh. “Okay, you can take off those cuffs. He's not going to try anything.”

Claire was frowning, too. “You know this guy?”

“You aren't going to like this much, Claire, but this man works for my brother. Has for years. He's harmless.”

Novak watched Claire's expression deepen into full-blown anger. “Are you kiddin' me? He's one of Jacques Montenegro's goons?”

“Well, I wouldn't call him a goon.”

That's when Novak took a step back from the bed and kept his mouth shut. He knew about Black's older brother's purported criminal activities. Jack Holliday had told him, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna step in between Claire and Black. He retreated to the doorway and leaned a shoulder up on the wall, said nothing, but watched with not a little interest. Black looked highly uncomfortable. Claire looked ready to blow.

“You sent him to follow me? Is that what this is?” Claire was saying to Black, her voice tight with anger.

“You know better than that.”

“Then what was he doin' following me? He jumped me in the parking lot, Black, tried to take me down. If I hadn't been ready for him, I might be lyin' out there right now.”

“But you were ready, and you incapacitated him. And rather well, too. He apparently didn't know who he was up against. Anyway, I don't think he was there to hurt you.” Black looked down at the guy again, who was watching and listening, eyes darting from one of them to the other. He kept squirming around, trying to get comfortable with his hands still tightly secured behind his back. Novak knew that the guy would still be feeling the aftereffects of the massive jolt. He was going to be sore for a few days, especially if Claire hit him with the stun gun where Novak had a feeling she did.

Black said, “Go ahead. Tell her, Stevie. What were your orders?”

“The boss's gonna be pissed if I tell her.”

“Just do it. I'll deal with Jacques.”

Stevie didn't look so happy about the development, but he turned cautious eyes back to Claire. “I didn't know it was you, I swear. Jacques don't want you to get hurt no more. Says Nicky's always all upset and worried about that kinda stuff. He was very clear about that, says you're family now. So he's got his people, you know, followin' you around and stuff to make sure you stay okay. You can't blame me for gettin' mixed up.”

Then Stevie turned beseeching eyes on Black. “I saw her comin' outta your house, Nicky, all dressed up like a whore, you know, no offense and stuff, but she was. Just look at her.” He swiveled his gaze back to Claire. “And you got your hair all that black color now and cut off different, so how's I to know who you really was?” He stopped, took a breath, and licked his dry lips. “I thought you was somebody stalkin' you, or somethin'. I told the boss that Nicky wasn't around much lately and there was some hooker goin' in and outta your house, like she owned the place and waitin' tables down at Tit Tats. So he told me to pick you up and bring you in so he could see what you was up to.” His attention went back to Black. “Why's she all dressed up like that, anyways, Nicky, and workin' over at that Tit Tats place? That ain't no place for your fiancée to be workin', you gotta know that, don't you?”

Black sighed again. Heavy and hard. “Don't worry about it. Go on, get out of here, Stevie. You're not in trouble. Tell Jacques I'll call him tomorrow and straighten this out.”

Claire released the flex-cuffs but didn't look happy about it. Stevie struggled to his feet and staggered his way to the door and then out into the hall, still holding his private parts. Yep, Claire had hit him there, all right. They heard him walking drunkenly toward the stairs, his shoes loud on the marble floor. That's when Novak decided to call it a night, not wanting anything to do with whatever was coming next. “Okay, I'm gonna go home and get some sleep. I'll call you before you leave tomorrow, Morgan.”

Then he left the other two standing there in silence, staring at each other. Claire's hands were on her hips and she looked mad. Black didn't look overly concerned, but Novak was very glad he didn't have to hang around. He wasn't sure exactly what the problem was, but one thing he did know, Claire was really pissed off at the guy.

“Okay, let's just hear this from the beginning,” Claire said to Black as soon as Will Novak made himself scarce.

“What do you want me to say? Jacques is very fond of you. He worries about your getting hurt. Just like I do. Stevie was just doin' what he was ordered to do—looking out for your safety.”

“Did you ask Jacques to put his thugs on me?”

“Of course not. You know me better than that.”

“I do not like this. Not one little bit.”

“Well, I don't blame you. But don't blame me; it's not my fault.”

“I thought we were gonna get a lead on Andrea's whereabouts out of him, damn it.”

“Sorry. I take it that your case is momentarily stalled?”

Claire started pacing, couldn't help herself. “Yeah, we're gettin' leads that aren't panning out. Nothing is coming together for us. Novak thinks Andrea's gotten herself mixed up with a satanic cult. I'm not so sure yet. I think her French boyfriend is involved in her disappearance.”

“Could be both. But good enough. We'll be in Paris some time tomorrow and you can hunt him down and see what he knows.” Black was looking her up and down. “Well now, so that's how you look all fixed up in your Tit Tats attire. What are you supposed to be? Hooker, stripper, drunken starlet?”

“As your friend, Stevie, said, I look rather like a whore. Talk about a sexist establishment. It should be shut down. The manager's a real jerk, too.”

“Yeah, I would expect that to be the case. Can't say I've frequented the place. But if it's your day job now, I might drop in for a burger.”

“Oh, just shut up.” But Claire had to laugh. “What're you gonna say to your brother?”

“I'm going to tell him that you are highly offended that he is having his men watch over you like you're some kind of child, and that you said to back off in no uncertain terms. Then I'll probably tell him that you can take care of yourself, but thanks just the same for the nice thought and that you consider him family, too.”

“Did you happen to ask him if he knows anything about Andrea's disappearance?”

“No, you told me you didn't want him involved.”

“Well, you can ask him that, but you're right, I don't want him involved any more than that, and I don't want his men following me around. Make sure he understands that. I mean it.”

“I suspect they'll be afraid to, considering you and Novak actually kidnapped the guy tailing you tonight. I'm glad he turned out to be friendly and not an undercover FBI agent. That would've been harder to explain to a judge.”

“It wasn't really kidnapping. Like I told you, we were only making sure he was okay before we turned him over to the cops.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, silly me. Why didn't I think of that?” But then he laughed. “Well, well, sweetheart, I do believe you are settling into your new job just fine.”

“I won't be fine until I find Andrea Quinn.”

“You're going to find her. It's just been a few days.”

“She's been gone a long time, Black. Statistics are telling me she's not okay.”

“You can't always rely on statistics in cases like this. Think of Elizabeth Smart.”

Claire nodded but didn't feel convinced. “Why are you back from the clinic so early? You said you'd be late.”

“You have to ask that?”

“Thought Novak was supposed to watch over me.”

“Did he?”

Claire smiled. “Well, yes. He was right there. And I do like him. He's really, well, you know, a real different kind of guy. But he's got my back.”

Black shrugged out of his jacket and loosened his tie. “Good. Now come on, tell me everything that's happened so far, but tell me in bed. It's late. I want you. All this intrigue and that slutty costume you have on happen to turn me on.”

“Everything turns you on.”

“And your point is?”

Claire remained serious. “What do you know about satanic rituals and witchcraft?”

“Talk about killing the romance.” Black sighed again. “Well, I've treated people who think they are demonic or that their family members are, if that's what you mean.”

“Yes, that's what I mean.”

“Okay, I'll tell you about them, but you need to remember that there are forms of Wicca and satanism that are nonviolent. Not all of them deal with sexual violence and murder. Wicca's a true religion in the eyes of many people. Now come on, let's go to bed. It's late, and I'm tired, especially if we're flying to Paris first thing in the morning.”

After they were in bed, Claire mulled over the case. When she and Black flew to Europe tomorrow, she'd have to leave tailing Lydie to Novak. And he could handle it, that was for certain; she was now well satisfied with his competence. Maybe he should just ask the sexy redhead out on a date. Yeah, maybe she'd suggest that scenario. He'd balk, of course, but too bad. She hadn't liked flouncing around in hooker's togs, either, but she'd bitten the bullet. He would have to take a bite out of that bullet, too. She was just sorry she wouldn't be around to watch him actually woo a woman. That would be more than interesting to observe, oh yeah.

After that, she succumbed rather willingly to the enjoyable things Black wanted to do and tried not to think about the case, and it didn't take her long to forget everything but him. Afterward, when Black slept peacefully beside her, however, Claire lay in his arms and worried about finding Andrea, alive and well. Finally, after an hour or so, she curled up against him and slept like the dead.

During the excruciatingly long flight to Paris, Claire paced restlessly back and forth in the plush main cabin and worried about the lack of progress on her case. Black stayed in the bedroom area at the rear of the plane and slept like a baby under the low rumble of the engines, getting ahead of the jet lag. Her main concern was that a trip abroad, even a short one, could be a waste of her time. Unless, of course, she found Andrea Quinn there, alive and well and watching cancan girls hold up their skirts and strut their stuff at Moulin Rouge, if there still was a Moulin Rouge, while she held hands with good old Pierre Dubois.

Good thing was, Novak was all set to tail her new friend, Lydie Creedy, and would know where she lived and how she spent her time by the time Claire returned home. No date with her in the cards, though. Novak begged off on that until it was an all-out necessity that he would have to do in order to save somebody's life. But, once he got Lydie's home location, they could show up there and confront the woman with some serious questions, and specific threats if need be.

When she heard her phone singing out its latest ringtone, “Blue Bayou,” she grabbed it, hoping it was Novak brimming over with pertinent information. It was not him, but it was Harve, who now had the scoop on everybody on her find-out-if-you-are-a-murderous-criminal list.

“Claire, why haven't you called me back?”

“Sorry, it's been crazy. You got something?”

“Where'd you want me to begin?”

“Tell me about Novak first.”

“Well, the guy's led an interesting life. Been through hell and back, that's for damn sure. Worst, by far? He lost both his wife and two kids on nine-one-one. Stood there and watched the South Tower collapse with all three of them still inside. Little twins, a boy and a girl, barely three.”

“Oh, my God. He saw it happen?”

“Yeah, that's what I found out. He was on duty, NYPD, and had just left the World Trade Center after having had breakfast with his family. Apparently, his wife worked on the one hundred third floor and the little kids were in her company's day care, right down the hall from her. Guess she thought they'd be safe so close to her work.”

Claire felt powerful emotions surging up inside her. She'd seen Zach die, too, held him in her arms, his big, innocent blue eyes, confused and so full of questions, staring up into her face. Oh, God, Novak had lost everybody he loved in one awful instant, his entire family, while he stood below and watched helplessly as they had plummeted down with hundreds of other innocent people in gray ash and rubble right in front of his eyes. What a horrible thing to have to witness. No wonder he had buried himself out in the deep swamps and become such a serious loner. It had been well over a decade ago, but he would never get over it, never. She could tell him that right now. Just like she would never get over losing Zach. She tried to put her baby's sweet little face out of her mind, locking it deep inside her heart where she now kept him safe. “That's just awful, Harve.” Her voice broke. “That's just terrible.”

“Yeah, it is. Novak pretty much lost his mind after that, had some kind of a major emotional breakdown. His wife had been his childhood sweetheart, as far as I could find out. They'd been together since high school and had a really good marriage. After the tragedy, Novak resigned as a sergeant detective in the NYPD, where, by the way, he got all kinds of commendations for valor and bravery, but then he didn't work anywhere else that I could dig up, not for several years, anyway. No record of any kind of employment. One source hinted that he might've spent some time in Australia but that's not verifiable. After some time passed, it seemed that he became like a man possessed, and on a mission to get the people who brought down that tower. Joined the Army but eventually ended up a member of the Navy Seals. Lots of classified stuff after that, but he earned a fierce reputation from members of his unit.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing. I believe every bit of that. He is more than capable. I have seen that firsthand. What about his personal stuff? Where was he born? Family, you know?”

“He was born down there around New Orleans somewhere, on some kind of old plantation place. His mother was French Creole, and her family settled down in that area a couple of centuries ago. His father is Australian. Owns some kind of big sheep ranch in Queensland. Not sure if the dad is dead or alive. From what I could find out, he met Novak's mother while he was captain of a freighter that docked in New Orleans. Novak's mother died in childbirth along with their second child, and then his dad took Will back to Australia and raised him there. Will came back here with his wife when he was around twenty-five. She was Australian, too, and the love of his life, by all counts.”

“Why did he come back?”

“Don't know.”

“What about his recent history?”

“Got outta the Seals and lived alone down in the bayous at his mother's place. Details on his private detective cases are not readily available. He obviously keeps it to himself. I saw a couple of instances where clients praised his work, you know, thanked him publicly, stuff like that.” Harve paused. “I think you got a good one there. He did have a problem with alcohol right after nine-one-one but handled it well enough to become a Seal. Don't know about how he handles it now.”

If drinking was a problem for Novak, Claire could understand the reason behind it. There had been a time when she wished she could drink her miserable life away, too, and become numb and dull and dead. Black had made a concerted effort to help her get past some of the effects of her son's death, but it didn't always work. She would never get over it. She just had to block it out, ignore the pain when she remembered, but there were times, days on end, when she wanted to lie in bed and wish she had died with Zach on that terrible night. Maybe Black could help Novak, too, help him come to terms, but she quickly nixed that idea. She had a feeling that Novak wouldn't let anyone help him but would want to wallow in his misery and survival guilt as a penance for being right there and not being able to save his family. Just like she had done for so many years.

“Claire, you okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Harve.”

“You with Black?”

“Yeah, we're on our way to Paris, believe it or not. And not the one in Tennessee.”

“Taking time off, huh? Good, you need to do that now and then.”

“'Fraid not. Got enough of that in Tahiti. Actually, I've got a lead on the missing girl. What did you find out on Pierre Dubois?”

“You aren't gonna like it.”

“So? I rarely like anything you dig up on my cases. I'll brace myself. So hit me with it.”

“Nothing.”

That got her attention. “Nothing?”

“Nope. His records are all sealed, as if he never existed. Somebody has erased his entire history.”

“He is a real person, though, right? Not some kinda code name?”

“Got me. You said somebody saw him. So, I guess that's a yes.”

“Wow, I wasn't expecting that. Jonas Quinn gave me an address where we could start looking, so apparently he knows him personally. That's what's up with our Paris trip. If he's there, I'm gonna find him, and maybe Andrea will be with him. At least, that's what I'm hoping for.”

“Well, good luck. And don't forget in all this jet-setting around the globe that I'm up here at the lake waiting for you to come back home. Sure do miss you, Claire. All of us do.”

“I know. I miss you, too. Which brings me to this. Just an early save-the-date kinda thing. I want you to give me away at the wedding. Come on, Harve, please say yes. I know it's not exactly your thing, but I won't let anybody else do it. If you say no, I'll just walk down the aisle by myself. Black won't care.”

“I will be honored to give you away, but I don't like that sound of you gettin' hitched. I like you well enough single and footloose and fancy-free. But since it's Nick, I guess I'll give my blessing.” Harve laughed a little. “I got used to you bein' my neighbor and stoppin' by on your way home. But, sure, of course, I'll do it. But there is that thing about my wheelchair. I won't be walking; I'll be motoring you down that aisle.”

“Fine by me. I want you. Nobody else will do. You don't do it. Nobody does. That's just the way it is.”

“You got me then. Of course, you do. I bet Nick's ecstatic that you picked a date. When's all this gonna happen?”

“Sometime this summer around the Fourth of July. Not sure on the exact date yet. And I think I wanna have the wedding at my house. You know, out on the dock. Real small thing, not many people. Black won't like that, so he doesn't know yet. So don't tell him. I want to spring some surprises on him. He likes surprises. I hate them, but he gets off on it.”

Harve gave a low laugh. “I'll be ready. You just be careful. Don't get yourself into any scrapes over there with the French authorities. Call me if you need bail.”

Claire smiled to herself. “Will do. Thanks, Harve.”

They hung up, and Claire walked back to the bedroom area of the jet, undressed, and slid under the covers and snuggled up close to Black. He roused a bit and pulled her in against him, and then immediately went back to sleep. She closed her eyes and tried to join him in that blessed twilight land where she didn't have to think about missing girls and devil worship. Something told her this trip was gonna be a little on the intense side. So she had better get her shut-eye now while she still could.

Hours later, all of which Claire spent in pretty much a dead sleep beside Black, she felt the jolt of the landing gear touching the runway at the Charles de Gaulle International Airport, which Black had told her was about twenty-five kilometers northeast of Paris. The landing was expert and soft as a feather, mainly because Black only hired the best pilots known to mankind, of course. Since Black was a world traveler of gargantuan proportions, he also had the forethought to have a shiny black limousine waiting to transport them into the so-called City of Lights. Black had a house near the Bois de Boulogne, and just a stone's throw from the Arc d'Triumph on a certain wide boulevard of historical note. Uh-uh, her honey bunch rarely did anything that even smacked of shabby. Truth be told, she had never stepped foot in the place before, or on French soil, either, but his stately three-floor Parisian apartment was quite the awesome sight to behold when they rolled to a stop in front of it. Black did love his pricey real estate, all bought for convenience and future investment, according to him, and while wearing his astute businessman's hat.

This mansion looked very historical, indeed, and equally well-kept-up, as if maybe Marie Antoinette had eaten cake on one of his fancy, iron-edged Juliet balconies before her fellow French folk lopped off her head on the guillotine and carried it around in a fruit basket, or something equally unpleasant. The limo pulled up at the curb on the busy street outside the apartment, and Black unlocked a glass door intricately designed with ironwork set with
mucho
entwined fleurs-de-lis that lay over both sides of the glass and discouraged looters and/or unwelcome guests. Inside the door, there was a giant foyer with black marble floors flecked with gold, and white walls with white wainscoting so spacious that it seemed to take up the entire first floor. There was a wide spiral staircase that went up forever with the same intricate ironwork railings, but Black led her to a big elevator at the back of the room, one with retracting brass doors and everything. Lord have mercy. Black was just in a class all by himself.

“You're gonna have to quit slummin' it in this dump when you come to Paris,” she told him as they were whisked up with slick and silent precision.

“It's a good investment and a convenient place to stay,” he told her, which was what he always said about his properties.

Upstairs, it was all quite modern and airy with some
ooh la la
definitely thrown in, too. All black and white and gold and high end everything, and lots of French doors and French windows with gauzy white drapes galore. They dumped their meager bags and backpacks just outside the elevator. Black looked at her and said, “I really need to get to the clinic and see my patients. One of them has been asking for me.”

“No problem. You go right ahead. I wanna check out the address Jonas gave me for that Dubois guy, and then I want to check out the Quinns' country house outside the city. Shouldn't be too hard, if you let me borrow your limo and that smiley French-speaking driver.”

Black considered her for a moment. “I think I better tag along. It probably won't take long. You don't know the city, and you'll probably need an interpreter who can keep his mouth shut about what you say and do to this guy when you find him. The clinic can wait another hour or so, I guess. When I called out there after we landed, they said the man is sedated right now. But I've got to have a personal therapy session with him before we leave. I have to, Claire.”

“Okay, no problem. I'd like to get a gander at your clinic, anyway. See what you do when you come abroad and stay so long. So, where do you keep your Parisian stash of weapons, Black?”

“We aren't gonna need guns, right? We're just looking for this guy to ask some questions about Andrea, and nothing else? You aren't after a murderer this time. Besides, possessing a handgun is against French law. Except in special cases. They are very strict with firearms in this country.” Claire frowned until he said, “But if we should happen to need them, I know where we can get some. Until then, I have a stun gun and pepper spray here at the house.”

Claire smiled. “That's my sweetie pie. Now let's get going, but give me that stun gun first. I couldn't get mine through customs.”