No Humans Involved (29 page)

Division Of Duties

JEREMY TOLD US HIS thoughts as Karl scavenged through Hope's fridge, pawing past the take-out cartons and pulling out the leftovers.

When Jeremy finished, he looked at me. "I know you should accompany me. After all, this is your investigation—"

"No. Well, yes, I'd love to follow through, but under the circumstances, you don't need to be checking over your shoulders, making sure I'm okay." I glanced at Karl. "I presume you're going with Jeremy? As backup?"

"I am." He turned to Jeremy. "Fried chicken or pork vindaloo?"

Jeremy's gaze slid to Hope.

"Eat up. I have so many leftovers, I can barely squeeze in a carton of milk. The perils of cooking for one. Jaime?"

"Nothing for me, thanks."

"The vindaloo, please," Jeremy said to Karl.

"Good choice," Karl said, scooping out the stew for Jeremy and some of both for himself. Then he opened a container of what looked like potatoes au gratin. "So, if I'm playing bodyguard, someone needs to stay behind with Jaime."

"Not if I'm in Brentwood," I said. "The house is surrounded by cops, so Hope can go with you two—"

"I'd prefer you had backup, Jaime," Jeremy said. "If Hope doesn't mind."

From the disappointment that flickered across Hope's face, she
did
mind. Not much fun babysit when there was an adventure going on.

She could have played the sexism card, but she didn't, probably realizing gender had nothing to do with it. Out of a necromancer who can talk to the dead, a half-demon who can see visions of chaos, and two werewolves with superhuman strength and senses, it was obvious which two should head into battle. They could have used Hope's chaos detector, but someone had to stay behind to guard the main target.

Hope covered her disappointment with a smile. "Sure. That's fine."

Karl paused, spoon in a bowl, his gaze on her, steady and piercing. She glanced at him and they exchanged a look. He nodded, and put one of the plates into the microwave.

AN HOUR later we were back at the Brentwood house, where Hope and I would wait while Jeremy and Karl met Zack Flynn and, with any luck, used him to infiltrate the group.

With the ongoing confusion at the house, no one questioned me bringing guests in. Didn't seem to notice, even when I took three people up to my room.

Karl and Hope were on the balcony, door closed to give them privacy as they talked. Though I couldn't hear a word, I could tell it wasn't their usual banter. Karl was doing most of the talking, his fingers resting on Hope's arm, leaning down to her, face grave.

Hope's fingers grazed the gun under her jacket. Jeremy had been happy to see that gun… and even happier when Karl assured us that Hope could use it.

I pulled my gaze from the balcony as Jeremy returned from scouting.

"All clear?" I asked.

He nodded. "Nothing has changed with the police, and May hasn't returned."

"Before you go, could you draw a couple of your runes for me? The protective ones?"

"You don't need to humor me, Jaime. I know that whatever irrational urge I have to draw those is just that: irrational. A symbol can't protect someone."

"Please?"

He looked around, fingers drumming against his leg, as if almost hoping he wouldn't see anything to write on. I took a sheet and pen from the tiny writing desk. He sketched a few runes, not even pausing to consider which to do, as if he already knew. Then he quickly folded the sheet in quarters and reached around me to tuck it into my back pocket, using the opportunity to lean close, body pressing against mine.

I whispered, "If we finish this tonight, you won't need to rush back to New York before morning, will you?"

"Make a mess and leave you to clean it up? That wouldn't be right. I'd have to stay an extra day or two, to help."

"Good."

AFTER JEREMY and Karl left, Hope slipped away to get a better picture of the house—entry points, escape routes, "safe" rooms and such. I doubted we'd need any of them. Jeremy had told Zack Flynn that I'd flown back to Chicago to escape the media attention.

But scouting the property probably made Hope feel more useful, so when she suggested it, I said it sounded wise and promised to stay in my room until she returned.

While she was gone, I took a moment to sort out my thoughts. I was worried about Jeremy. Though I didn't doubt he could look after himself, I wasn't comfortable having Karl Marsten as his only source of backup. And I knew Jeremy was equally uncomfortable with it, as much as he'd pretended otherwise.

Six years ago, a group of outside werewolves had banded together to overthrow the Pack. Clay had been kidnapped and tortured. Two of Jeremy's Pack brothers had been killed. Only one member of that rebel group survived: Karl Marsten.

In the final battle, Elena had spared Karl because he'd helped her. Then, with Clay's support, she'd asked Jeremy to pardon him. Before the uprising, Karl had never caused any trouble for the Pack—even been on good terms with them. He hadn't participated in the killings or Clay's torture, and had joined the group for a reason the werewolves could understand—the wolf's instinctive need for territory, which the Pack had denied him.

So Jeremy had granted Karl his reprieve and territory in a distant state on the condition that he at least consider joining the Pack. It was all very fair, very Solomon-like, very Jeremy.

Now Karl had joined the Pack and proven himself a loyal and useful member. And the Pack had accepted him. Including Jeremy… or so everyone thought.

Jeremy gave every appearance of supporting and even encouraging Karl's membership. It was what he considered the best way to deal with Karl.

Yet he couldn't forget what Karl had done. Maybe Karl hadn't personally killed Peter or Logan. Maybe he hadn't beaten Clay. Maybe he'd even acted as a buffer, keeping Clay from the worst of his captor's hate. But he'd sanctioned all that by standing aside until he saw the tables turning and only then had he flipped sides.

Jeremy strove to accept Karl as a Pack brother. Clay had been the one tortured, and he'd forgiven Karl, so why shouldn't Jeremy? But, to me, that was the very reason why he couldn't. It was easy to forgive someone for what he did to
you
. Not so easy when he did it to someone you love. Clay looks at Karl now, shrugs and says, "It was just business." Jeremy looks at him and sees the man who stood by and watched his son be beaten within an inch of his life.

Obviously, though, whatever Jeremy's feelings toward Karl, he trusted him enough to track him down this morning and ask him to join us. But I knew he'd rather have any other Pack member at his side. And so would I.

NEXT I contacted Eve, as I'd promised Jeremy. While she couldn't physically protect me, she could keep watch even better than Hope— with no chance of looking suspicious—and could alert me if she found trouble.

When I explained what was happening, Eve sat cross-legged on the bed, considering it in silence for a moment.

"So Jeremy's meeting this kid who says he has info on the group, but really he's a
part
of the group, or so you presume. Meaning he'll likely lead Jeremy into a trap. Being forewarned, though, Jeremy will be springing the trap, not walking into it."

"Right."

Another moment of quiet thought, then she nodded. "Not bad. But I do have a problem with one big part of it."

"Which is?"

"The part that has you sitting here guarded by a chaos demon."

"Hope's not—"

"Oh, I know what she is. A complete stranger, and your life is in her hands."

I shook my head and started emptying the dry-cleaning bag dropped off earlier. Eve strode over and parked herself "on" the bag, her form obscuring it.

"You're ignoring me, Jaime. I'm raising a valid point."

"No, you're being paranoid, which comes from a lifetime of
needing
to be paranoid. Hope isn't some black-market contact like Molly Crane. She helps the council. Jeremy knows her—"

"Elena is her contact, isn't she? And that's mainly professional. They don't hang out together."

"Jeremy knows her and he trusts her."

There was nothing she could—or dared—say to that, so she started pacing as I emptied the bag.

"So while he's gone, you're here, guarded by a chaos demon who's not even around—"

"She's scouting the property. She checked in on me before I called you."

Eve walked to the window and looked out. "Who's backing Jeremy up?"

"A Pack brother. Karl Marsten. He's—"

"Oh, I know who Karl Marsten is. A career criminal and a drifter." She shook her head. "I know guys like Marsten. You and Jeremy don't, so you can be forgiven for not seeing past that suave show of his. How old is he? Your age? Older, probably? He's spent the last forty years not giving a shit about anyone. Guys like that don't wake up one morning and turn team player. He's using the Pack. He doesn't care about anyone in it—"

Not true. Even before he joined, he got along fine with them, and he was always fond of Elena."

Eve snorted. "The cute blond who's also the only female of his species? Oh, I bet he's fond of her."

"It isn't like that. And he's always been on good terms with Antonio and Nick. Even Clay doesn't mind him."

She met my gaze. "Elena, Clayton, Antonio and Nick. Leaving someone out there, Jaime?"

Hearing my own fears echoed in her words, I busied myself stuffing a blouse into my closet. "You're right. Karl Marsten isn't my first choice to be watching Jeremy's back. And you're right about him being self-centered. But that doesn't mean he isn't capable of loyalty. Look at Hope. He's very protective of her and that's not the behavior of a guy who thinks only of himself."

Eve turned slowly, her eyes narrowing. "Hope? He knows the half-demon?"

"Sure. That's how she hooked up with the council."

"Through Karl Marsten?"

A rap at the door, then Hope's "It's me." She slid in and looked around.

"Oh, sorry, I thought I heard you whispering and wanted to make sure everything was okay."

I waved toward the balcony door. "It's Eve."

"Ah, right, the ghost."

Eve circled Hope, sizing her up. "At least she's tiny." She towered over the girl by almost a foot. "Even you can probably take her."

"Thanks," I muttered.

Hope looked around, obviously uncomfortable. "If you'd rather I stayed away a little longer, so you can talk to, uh, Eve…"

"Tell her to go," Eve said.

I glanced at Eve.

"Five minutes," she said.

"Maybe that's a good idea," I said to Hope. "I feel rude talking to ghosts in front of people. How about giving me five minutes?"

"Sure, can I get you a drink while I'm downstairs?"

"Coffee would be great."

"Don't drink it," Eve said as Hope left.

"Wha—?"

"The coffee. Don't drink it."

I rolled my eyes and sat on the edge of the bed.

She flipped her hair back over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "You think I'm being paranoid? Let's see whether I have this straight. You and Jeremy call this Hope girl for information because she just happens to be in L.A. on some work exchange—"

I opened my mouth, but Eve continued. "You go to her for local information and the first people she introduces you to just happen to be the same people you now suspect are responsible. She noses her way into your investigation like an eager puppy, following you two around. Then, just when you and Jeremy figure out who the bad guys are, who shows up to protect Jeremy? This half-demon's boyfriend. He takes Jeremy to 'uncover' the group while she 'guards' you. Damned nice setup."

"Setup for what?"

Eve pretended not to hear, strolling over to the balcony doors, eyes narrowing as if distracted by some sign of danger.

"Setting us up for what, Eve?"

"That half-demon thinks she's got a nose for trouble? It's nothing compared to mine, and this stinks to the heavens."

I shook my head. "Only if you slam the pieces in until they fit your conclusion. We went to Hope, on
Elena's
suggestion. Hope didn't even know we were in town. Yes, it may seem coincidental that she just happens to introduce us to the very people we're looking for, but consider what they do. They play paranormal investigators to watch for new magical leads and for any signs that they themselves are in danger of exposure. Who would be one of their main contacts? Tabloid reporters covering occult activity. They worked with Hope's predecessor, then they contacted her. She had no reason to suspect them."

"Really? Seems her nose for trouble doesn't work so well after all."

I hesitated, then shook my head. "She says it's not perfect. She's young and we both know she won't have come into her full demon powers yet, especially when she's untrained."

"Convenient…" Eve murmured.

I pushed on. "As for her and Karl, I don't think she's his girl-rriend— 1 caught h,ve's look. And 1 know you only meant that they have a relationship, which they do. But he came to L.A. to protect
her
."

"So it can all be explained away. And you aren't the least bit worried that they're somehow involved?"

"The key word is
somehow
. How? What they could hope to gain? They had nothing to do with me finding these ghosts or starting this investigation."

"Let me think on it."

"You do that."

Trust Issues

HOPE RETURNED WITH MY coffee, which I only sipped. I trusted her, but Eve had left me a little unsettled.

Past experience had taught me that Eve was quick to jump to conclusions about people—always conclusions that saw the worst. If you deal with the magic black market and the people in it, you have to expect the worst of everyone.

Even now, whatever she was doing on the other side, it wasn't playing a harp in the choir of angels. Whenever she needed something from me, it was "contact this dead killer" or "research this unsolved murder case." She might be working for the Fates, but she still had every reason to be overcautious, even paranoid. So I took her fears about Hope and Karl with a whole
teaspoon
of salt… but didn't dismiss them.

As Hope and I waited for news from Jeremy, we talked, mostly about life in L.A.—sharing anecdotes, favorite restaurants and clubs, that sort of thing. As time ticked past, conversation became more strained, both of us worrying about Jeremy and Karl.

Eventually Hope took up Eve's earlier occupation—pacing. She'd head to the window or balcony door, look out, then return to me, try to resume conversation, and falter as she returned for another look outside… or at her cell phone.

"Marsten isn't involved," said a voice to my rear.

Eve strode around me.

"New theory. Marsten's not in on it. Unwitting dupe. Werewolves don't need magic, so the group wouldn't interest him. And he knows if he betrayed Jeremy, Clayton would put him through a hell worse than anything the Fates could dream up. Marsten's only crime is middle-aged delusions. Even players aren't immune to pretty young things."

I opened my mouth, then glanced over at Hope.

Eve continued. "Girl like that, with her powers, she'd be easy prey for this group. Thing I can't figure out is why she's holed up here with you."

"Uh-huh," I murmured under my breath.

"It'd be easier if she'd convinced Jeremy to take you along. Did she try?"

I shook my head.

"Huh. Well, she needs to get you out of this house and away from the guards. Has she suggested you two go anywhere? Out for a drink or a walk?"

Another shake.

"If she does, you stay put. In the meantime I'll keep patrolling… and thinking about this."

EVE HAD only been gone a few minutes when Hope's nerves took a sharp turn for the worse.

"Keep up that pacing and you're going to wear a hole in the floor," I said.

She jumped, as if surprised to hear a voice. Her eyes were wide and blank.

I pushed to my feet. "Hope? Are you seeing—?"

A sharp shake of her head and her gaze focused. "N-no. Just…" She seemed to struggle for words, then said abruptly, "They should have called by now."

"Not unless they're in trouble. Whatever Jeremy has in mind, it's going to take awhile. I know waiting is tough…"

I let the sentence trail off as I realized she was no longer listening. She'd resumed her pacing, gaze jumping from the window to the balcony door, then back, searching the gardens. Her face was taut, but instead of looking pale and drawn with worry, her eyes glittered and color splashed her cheeks. A vein in her neck throbbed.

She walked faster, slowing to gaze out the window, then striding to the patio doors, slowing again to look out, veering and striding back to the window. Like a housecat spotting a bird just outside the window, its whole body quivering in anticipation, unable to take its eyes off its prey.

Lucifer's daughter.

"Hope?"

She wheeled, lips curling back at the interruption. Then, in a blink, the look was gone.

"I just… I'm sorry," she said, her eyes still darting toward the window, as if she couldn't pull her attention away. "There's something out there."

I walked to the window. She reached out, as if to yank me back, then stopped herself and motioned for me to keep my distance. "J-just to be safe. Something's going on out there."

"Someone's here?"

A long pause, and I thought she was considering it. But her gaze stayed fixed on the window, straining to see. Not thinking of an answer—she probably hadn't even heard the question.

Something in the garden. The empty garden vacated by the cops, but still off-limits to anyone in the house.

Voice neutral, I said, "Do you think we should investigate?"

Another long pause. I was about to repeat myself when she strode to the door.

"I'll go," she said. "You stay here."

"Hold—"

I grabbed the door before she could get it open. Her head swung my way, eyes filled with a fury that made my stomach go cold. I stood my ground, and again she blinked it back.

"Something's happening," she said. "I have to go."

"We aren't supposed to leave the house."

"I have to go." Each word was icy with warning. A shudder, then she looked at me. "You'll be fine. Just stay here. Whatever happens, stay here."

She tried yanking open the door, but my foot acted as a stopper. "What good will that do? You have the gun."

A flare of frustration, jaw setting, then another hard blink. She yanked the gun from her waistband and slapped it into my hands.

"There. Now—" She jerked the door so hard I stumbled back. "Stay here."

EVE WAS right. This was a setup. If Hope really was chasing some "chaos event" in the garden, she wouldn't leave her gun behind.

But if it was a setup, why give her weapon to me? Maybe it wasn't loaded. Clever ploy. Let me think I was armed, so I wouldn't try to escape or fight when someone came for me.

I turned the gun over in my hands, trying to figure whether there was any ammunition. It was an automatic. Marksmanship was one of Jeremy's hobbies, mainly bows and rifles, but he had a pair of revolvers and had shown me how to use them once. Had this been a revolver, I'd have been in luck. As it was, I had no clue. Even if I could tell whether it had ammo, the gun might be buggered up so it wouldn't fire.

But why leave me in a house filled with potential witnesses… and security guards? I'd offered to come along. Why not just say "sure"?

Maybe because that wasn't May's plan and Hope didn't dare mess with the plan. But why not try to convince me to go with Jeremy in the first place?

I remembered when Jeremy first asked Hope to stay with me. She'd wanted to argue. I recalled Karl, carefully studying her reaction. Maybe her expression had suggested she was up to something, and when she'd seen his suspicion, she hadn't dared argue. So May had switched to a backup plan—this one.

Did that make sense?

Damn it! In my gut, I didn't believe Hope would turn on me. Even seeing that flare of anger in her eyes hadn't changed that.

But I couldn't ignore the possibility. I needed to get out of this room.

I WENT downstairs with every intention of hanging out with the guards. But then I started to wonder whether that was safe. We knew these people had magic, including something like a binding spell.

Would human security guards, ignorant of the supernatural, be able to protect me? Could they get killed trying?

Even if sticking close to big men with guns convinced the group to keep its distance, it wouldn't resolve the question of Hope's allegiance. If she was on May's side, she'd just try again, another way, and maybe that time I wouldn't see through the ploy.

The only way to know was to follow her.

AS I slipped out the side door, I eased the gun out and wrapped my hand around the grip, finger on the trigger. It would help if I knew how to fire it. I told myself it didn't matter. As Eve would say, bluffing is enough. Act as if you can shoot it—and more important,
will
shoot it—and that should give any would-be attacker pause.

I slid through the shadows along the side of the house, heading for the rear. Ahead, a yellow ribbon of crime scene tape waved in the breeze, broken from its moorings, as if someone had walked right through it. Hope? Breaking the tape hardly seemed wise but, if not her, then who? Last time I'd looked, the officers guarding the gardens had retreated to their cruiser.

I darted behind a hedge, then stood on tiptoes to see over it. There, about a dozen feet ahead, Hope walked into the garden with the slow, deliberate pace of a sleepwalker.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I almost fell backward. Eve's glare was murderous.

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Jaime, but you get your ass back in—"

I cut her short with a whispered explanation as I snuck around the hedge, following Hope.

"I don't care what your reason is. Get back in that goddamned house right now."

"It's not a setup. Look at her." I waved toward Hope as she banged her shin against a garden wall and kept walking, oblivious. "She's in some kind of trance."

"She's luring you in. Making you curious. Making you think it's safe to follow."

I kept moving. "I've seen her when she gets a vision and that's just what she looks like."

"And she can't fake that? Don't be—" Eve bit off the rest with a click of her teeth. Then she strode in front of me. "Stop and look around, Jaime. Notice anything about where you are? And where you're being led?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the hedge, which wrapped around the garden, cutting me off from the view of anyone stepping out the side or rear doors. Then I turned to see Hope heading toward the most secluded corner of the yard.

"She's not following any 'chaos trail,' " Eve said. "She's leading you to a spot where no one's going to see what happens next."

Damn. She had a point.

I glanced back at the house.

"Finally," Eve breathed.

"Jaime?"

Hope was walking back through the garden.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, blinking like a wakened sleepwalker.

"Damn it, Jaime, ignore her—"

"I was worried about you." I lifted the gun. "You left this behind."

She frowned and looked down at her waistband, as if trying to figure out how the gun got from there to my hand. Eve shoved me toward the door, but her hands passed through.

"What happened?" I said.

"I'm… not sure. Someone…" Hope shivered. "I think someone was killed back there. Just now. I can still feel it."

She wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering, but her expression wasn't one of fear or concern. She looked almost… rapturous. The hairs on my neck rose.

"Don't listen to her bullshit," Eve said. "She'll say anything to get you-"

I tuned her out. Hope glanced over her shoulder, toward that far corner.

"I think we should check it out." Her voice was high with barely contained excitement.

"Do you?"

Her gaze stayed riveted to that deepest, most remote, shadow-enshrouded corner of the garden. My fingers tightened around the gun. Eve had gone silent now, tense, as if waiting to jump in, as if she
could
jump in.

Hope motioned for me to follow, took a couple of steps then, seeing I hadn't moved, wheeled back. Her fingers grazed my arm. Eve started a cast. A spell? But it wouldn't work in my dimension.

Hope's fingers wrapped around my arm. I raised the gun. Eve lifted her hands over her head, something materializing between them.

I swung the gun. A crack as it connected with Hope's temple. Her eyes went wide. She stood there, staring at me in disbelief. Then her knees gave way and she crumpled to the flagstone path.

I dropped beside her, my hands going to the side of her neck.

"Forget her," Eve said. "Get your ass back in that house before they realize you didn't fall for the bait."

Hope's pulse was strong. I pushed to my feet.

"Good," Eve said. "Now grab the gun and, next time, try
firing
it, presuming it still works."

"It probably didn't work even before that. Why would Hope hand me a working firearm?"

"Good point. You did the right thing then, braining her with it."

"Don't sound so shocked."

"And you're even wearing sneakers. I'm doubly impressed."

I grimaced and started for the house.

"Eve?"

Kristof's deep voice sounded behind us. We turned as he strode around a garden bed. A brisk nod to me, then his gaze returned to Eve. "There's something I think you should—"

He stopped as he walked through Hope's still form. He frowned down at her.

"The Espisco half-demon," Eve said. "Bitch tried to lure Jaime out here with some bullshit story about sensing a murder."

"Mur—?" Kristof rubbed his chin. "I, uh, think she might have been right. There's a body in the back corner, and a very confused spirit hovering over it, trying to figure out why she's not
inside
that body."

I turned toward the back corner, but Eve jumped in front of me. "Uh-uh. Even if Hope wasn't lying, that doesn't mean it isn't a setup. You're getting back in that house right now."

I stepped behind Hope and grabbed her under the armpits.

"What part of 'right now' don't you understand? There's a body in the back corner. That means there's a killer in this garden."

"Then I'm not leaving Hope out here, am I?" I glared up at Eve. "Not when she didn't betray me."

"We don't know that. Now put her down."

"She's probably a hundred pounds, if that," I said through gritted teeth as I heaved her up.

"And you're a hundred and twenty, if that. Now put her
down
—"

"Eve's right," Kristof said. "I'll watch over her. You get back in the house—"

"Jaime?"

A small woman with long blond hair staggered from behind the hedge. For a moment, I thought it was Gabrielle Langdon. Then she looked up.

"Angelique?" I said.

"You—you can hear me?"

She lurched toward me, but stumbled. Kristof caught her. As his hand made contact, breaking her fall, my gut sank.

She looked up at him as he righted her. "You can see me. You can touch me."

Kristof's face stayed neutral as he nodded.

"Oh, thank God," she said, the words tumbling out on a deep sigh. "I thought I was—" She shuddered and didn't finish.

I stepped closer to Angelique, careful to keep out of touching range.