Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES) (51 page)

She glanced at Michael, who’d been waiting for her to finish reading. “Want to take a trip to Alabama?”

*   *   *

Within a few hours, the story behind Jason Webber’s vigilantism had begun to take shape. In interviews with Webber’s grandmother and his friends, it hadn’t taken much digging to pull out the rumor that a local drug runner who’d been using the Tennessee River to move his goods from New Orleans to Nashville had ordered the hit on Webber’s father, and that the district attorney had been in the man’s pocket, so no charges had ever been brought up against him.

No charges had ever been brought up against Crystal Webber’s father, either, even though, shortly after she ran away from home at fifteen years of age, he was investigated for sexual abuse. Her mother had supported him, both parents dismissing Crystal’s claims as the product of an overactive imagination and an attempt to avoid being punished for having sex with a boyfriend. She’d been returned to their custody for the next two years, followed by a suicide attempt. Treatment for chronic depression began when she’d moved out and started taking classes at a community college.

Looking at Crystal’s father through her Gift couldn’t tell Taylor that he was guilty of the abuse his daughter had accused him of. But
something
had turned all those threads red.

The sun had begun a downward slide in the western sky when Taylor left the father’s house, her gut churning with sour revulsion. It was warmer here than either San Francisco or Seattle, and they hadn’t rolled down the Bentley’s windows before getting out. The car was hot and stuffy and cramped when she and Michael got inside, and Taylor wanted to punch through the windshield.

She forced herself to start the engine and turn on the AC, instead. As soon as they could drive to some inconspicuous place, she’d vanish the vehicle into her hammerspace and they could teleport back to headquarters.

But first she wanted to get her head into the right place. For now, her anger and disgust toward Crystal’s father was a distraction. No other kids lived in the house. She could come back to him later—if there was anything left to come back to.

She stared at the house through the window—a wraparound porch, wisteria, a white picket fence. “They were just ripe for the picking, weren’t they? Jason and Crystal. Damaged and angry. So the demons saw them, said, ‘Hey, we’ll give you vampire superpowers, and you can make sure that other people get what’s coming to them.’”

“But they still had a choice. And they chose to murder.”

So it was Michael’s turn to be a hard-ass. And he was right. “When my dad was killed, I was so pissed when the DA gave Schreiner that deal. Manslaughter instead of murder, because he snitched on his suppliers. But I never once considered running out and shooting him or his lawyers.”

“You worked to make sure people got what was coming to them, too. But you went about it the right way.”

“I don’t know if I was always right. But at least I didn’t murder anyone.” She sighed. “Jason and Crystal were both dealt shitty hands. But they played those hands. And the demons might have been behind them, urging them on, but no one else was to blame.”

“That’s true.” With a thoughtful frown, he looked toward the house. “But the demons likely chose who died. Beginning with Robert Johnson.”

Michael must have been getting the hang of this detective thing, because that had been nagging at her, too.

“Because if Jason Webber were to kill someone, why did he choose the district attorney, right? Why not the man who ordered the hit? Unless that target was too dangerous.”

“Webber was a vampire. If he’d wanted to destroy the drug runner, he could have.”

True. Security systems and guns wouldn’t be much help against a vampire determined to kill a man. And that wasn’t the only murder that didn’t quite make sense—or rather, it didn’t make sense that another person still
lived
.

“Why not Crystal’s father, too? He fits the profile just as well. He was accused of a crime, but he never paid for it. And in this case, Crystal would know for certain that he was guilty.”

“Because it didn’t suit Lucifer’s purpose—or the sentinels’.” Michael’s amber gaze met hers. “A demon’s ability to persuade cannot be understated. One could have convinced Webber that killing Johnson better served justice. And if killing her father didn’t serve their purpose, a demon might have also persuaded them that it was too dangerous, that they would be exposed.”

“That might have been true. Any investigator would have taken a close look at them.” But she could see where that truth could be used to persuade them again. “But the demons knew exactly who to point them toward next. That was Julian Walker. He’d been accused of molesting his daughter.”

“A substitute,” Michael agreed. “One who served the demons’ purpose better.”

“The question is, who were Lucifer’s real targets—Webber’s victims or someone in their families?”

“We cannot know for certain, particularly if Lucifer devised this plan. All death and pain serves his purpose in some way. He takes enjoyment from it all. But if this does lead to opening the portal, then I suspect the families are the targets.”

Taylor did, too. Now the question was how to protect those families . . . and whether it was already too late. With dread weighing heavy in her gut again, she dialed Joe’s number. Drifter, Jake, and he had been jumping around the country all day.

“Hey,” she said when he answered, and she put the phone on speaker. Michael could hear the conversation either way, but if Michael had a question, now Joe would be able to hear
him
. Unfamiliar voices spoke in the background, the clatter of plates and utensils. “Where are you at?”

“Montana. We just finished up our interview here—heading out of the restaurant where the brother works. I heard you ID’d our guy.”

“We did. We’re in Alabama now. The next town over from Decatur.”

“So he knew Johnson?”

“Looks like it was pretty personal. Any word yet on the demons?”

“Almost all of our families recognized Brandt—or the demon posing as him.”

“Shit.”

“Well, it gets worse—because those are just the people who are around to talk to us. We just spoke with Steven Parkins’s brother. Most of those we’ve interviewed said they only remember Brandt coming around once. Each of them, about a month after the death. But Parkins’s brother says that Brandt visited his father several times. And you’ve got one guess as to who just went to visit his sister in Tulsa, but whose sister didn’t know anything about him coming.”

Taylor closed her eyes. “Parkins’s dad?”

“You got it. And so far, we’ve got two others gone visiting or on vacation, and that’s not including Johnson’s wife. We don’t know how many times Brandt—or the demon, rather—might have visited them before they took off.”

“So four in all are missing?”
Jesus.
The demons just needed one to open the portal. “Have the families been able to contact any of them?”

“Not one. The hotels they said they’d be staying at never had reservations in their name, no plane tickets, nothing.”

Mouth in a grim line, Michael said, “Are you returning to headquarters now, Joseph?”

“As soon as we get to a private place to jump from.”

“Andromeda and I will meet you there.”

“And compare notes? Sounds good.” He disconnected.

Taylor stared at the phone, her mind racing. Four gone. And no idea where they’d gone
to
. But there were a million places to look. She didn’t know how the Guardians would find them in time.

She didn’t even know what time would be too late. Except that every second ticking away took them closer to it.

Her gaze lifted to Michael’s. “You really think Lucifer will open the portal near San Francisco?”

Jaw tight, he nodded. “I am even more certain of it now.”

She hoped he was right. Because that would narrow their search down, if nothing else.

“Then we’d better start looking.”

*   *   *

But two days later, they hadn’t even come across a trace of them—and the Guardians weren’t the only ones looking. At the FBI, Bradford had named them persons of interest in the bombing at Colin’s house. Patricia Johnson, Dennis Parkins, Benjamin Nguyen, and Jeffrey Green. Their pictures had been quietly distributed to every law enforcement office in the country. Novices had sped through thousands of hours of airport, bus depot, and train station surveillance. Taking to the streets, Taylor and Michael had shown their photos to hundreds of taxi drivers and hotel clerks. In forty-eight hours, she beat more pavement around the city than she had wearing a uniform. No need to stop to rest or eat.

But still frustrated and mentally exhausted by the second night, when Lilith called everyone together to the conference room at headquarters to make sure everyone was up to speed on everyone else’s searches and that they weren’t missing any angles.

So they all shared the big fat nothing they’d found so far, and, no surprise—whatever angle they were missing, no one had any freaking idea what it could be. Because if they’d
had
an idea, they’d have already been looking at it.

Taylor sat at the table and mostly kept her mouth shut, because her eggshell was thin and she wouldn’t help anything by cracking. Everyone else was running that same tight line. Hugh had actually taken a chair, and sat rubbing Sir Pup’s ears. Jake hadn’t attempted a joke even once, and Alice’s every move made Taylor’s skin itch with imaginary spiders. She didn’t think that Drifter had let even an inch of space come between him and Charlie in all the time they’d been there. Alejandro was always quiet, but tonight he edged toward brooding. Beside him, Irena stood glowering, and the novices kept sending her wary glances, as if they thought she might go berserk any second.

She wished Rosalia were here. The woman’s soft, comforting presence would have been a nice addition to this room right now—as would her crazy brilliance. Maybe she would have been able to see a new angle. But she and Deacon were in Europe, visiting every vampire community, letting them know that Lucifer might be coming and the Guardians needed their help. A few other Guardians were doing the same around the world.

In London, she knew that Colin and Savi were doing the same, even as they still searched for Katherine’s killer. Necessary work, but Taylor wished her friend were here, too. Not just because Savi could have probably pulled some magic from her computers. Taylor simply missed her. She even missed Colin.

Kind of.

In the chair next to her, Joe looked ready to collapse into a wrinkled puddle. He’d been going at it just as hard as the rest of them, but without the benefit of a Guardian’s stamina. His chin kept dipping down to his chest before he jerked his head up again, and his eyelids looked as if they weighed a ton. And Michael . . .

Her chest tightened. She didn’t know what was going on with Michael. He was so hard to read. And it didn’t help that he’d spent most of the past two days as Agent Smith. All those unfamiliar gestures and expressions threw her off. She recognized his frustration and worry. But there was something else, too—the melancholy that never quite left, but now seemed sharper, deeper.

And he kept slipping out of his Agent Smith identity. More than once, she’d turned to find the Big Warrior Guardian in a suit, his eyes obsidian and his body rigidly controlled.

But whenever she asked, Michael always said he was fine.

Maybe it was just knowing that in Hell, Anaria and Khavi were about to march with Belial on Lucifer’s throne. Maybe it was knowing that if the Guardians didn’t find the sentinels and these people soon, Michael would join them and fight at Anaria’s side. Maybe he was dreading that. His sister tore him up. When they’d been linked, Taylor had felt how Anaria had ripped his heart to shreds.

And sometimes, he looked as if his heart was being shredded all over again.

Not now, though. He stood against the conference room wall, wearing his toga and his arms crossed over his chest. All hard muscle and bronze skin, confident and strong, and just looking at him made it seem possible that despite the litany of “Nothing found” around her, there was still hope yet.

“All right,” Lilith said when the novices finished the list of dates and surveillance they’d gone through. Though Taylor wouldn’t have dared to call the faint darkness under the other woman’s eyes “shadows,” Lilith was looking pretty worn out, too. “Sir Pup has been all through the city. He hasn’t picked up any of their scents.”

“Neither have I,” Michael said.

“I also did as you asked, and sent Sir Pup to each of their houses, trying to trace their trail,” Lilith told him. “He lost it each time.”

Michael sighed and closed his eyes.

Taylor frowned, studying him. That wasn’t just disappointment at another possible lead gone dry. That was more like something he’d hoped wasn’t true had just been confirmed.

And how the hell could Sir Pup lose a trail? That hellhound had once tracked Ash and Nicholas from halfway across the United States—and they hadn’t been on foot. They’d driven. Yet he’d lost the others? “Lost it where? At an airport?”

“Nowhere. Two on a street, one outside his house, another in his backyard.”

Her brain struggled to make sense of that. Apparently Joe’s was, too. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he shook his head. “So what does that mean?”

“It means that they flew away,” Michael said. “And that the demons took them.”

Lilith nodded. “And
that
means they went willingly.”

Because demons couldn’t just swoop down and kidnap humans without breaking the Rules.

Oh, God. Her stomach dropped. “So does that mean the four of them are putting themselves up as willing sacrifices? Or is it worse—that they are going to be doing the killing?”

Michael held her gaze. “I suspect the latter.”

Because demons were persuasive. And they knew that Parkins had been visited several times by one posing as Mark Brandt. Perhaps the others who were missing had been visited many times, too.

But the others had only been visited once after the murders. So the demons had been—what? Feeling out the family members? Looking to see who would be the most susceptible to their manipulations? Joe had said that each of the families had been pissed off when the local investigations hadn’t gotten anywhere. Then Mark Brandt had shown up on their doorstep. So what had the demon told them?