The Demon Hunters (8 page)

But perhaps fans were not her concern.
Perhaps what had happened to her lover frightened her.

I jotted down the basic information
she gave me: names, addresses and telephone numbers of Rio’s
family, places of employment - although he had not worked since
meeting her - the names of his old friends she could recall, his
credit card accounts, social security number, etcetera, and the
name of the motel in Tremonton. I’m used to people being
uncomfortable when I question them, so I kept it brisk and
impersonal.

Then I leaned back in my chair. “Does
Rio have enemies?”

“
I don’t believe
so.”

“
Did he have enemies in the
past, anyone who would still want to get even?”

“
I. . . . There were little
gang feuds.”

Little gang feuds? That glossed over
the reality of gang life. “They call them vendettas, but you’re
right, they are feuds, ones which can last a lifetime.”

Her face went cold as this sank in.
“If an old rival is involved, I cannot help you. I don’t know who
he ran with back then.”

I gnawed on the end of the pen,
realized what I did and lowered it. “What about you? Could someone
be using Rio to get to you?”

She didn’t even think about it. “I
don’t have enemies, Miss Banks.”

Really? Well aren’t you
the lucky one.
“What about
Daven?”

She visibly hesitated, then said, “I
don’t believe so.”

I hiked a questioning eyebrow. “But
you don’t know for sure.”

She flipped one hand dismissively.
“Daven and I are close friends, but we have our own
lives.”

Next question, then, the one to which
most women take offense. “Did Rio see other women?”

Instead of offense stiffening her
face, a gentle little smile curved her red lips. It surprised me,
as I was beginning to think she’d maybe had too many Botox
treatments to raise a genuine smile. “Rio is faithful to me, as I
am to him. I have absolutely no doubt of that.”

I tapped the pen on the pad. She spoke
with such certainty, I was inclined to believe her. “How did you
meet Rio?”

“
Does it have bearing on
his disappearance?”

“
It could. You’d be
surprised how often small details turn out to be
significant.”

True. But in this instance, curiosity
prompted my question. Why did beautiful, sophisticated and no doubt
wealthy Gia Sabato hang with a Latino street punk?

“
Oh, our meeting was far
from insignificant, although I don’t think describing it will be of
help.”

I wrinkled my brow. “Humor
me.”

Another elegant shrug. I wished I
could shrug like that, a sensual, languid motion. I just push my
shoulders up to my ears.

In Clarion for a few days -
she didn’t say why - she decided to take a look at the city. She
didn’t realize she’d wandered into gang territory. She described
their meeting, but it wasn’t just a description, it was an extract
from a romance novel. Moonlight glinting on water as she stood on a
bridge on Eighteenth Street, the whisper of leaves, the stroke of a
gentle breeze and the shimmer of streetlight. Six Latino youths
coming up to her and one of them
so
beautiful
. She described the way Rio moved,
the color of his skin and hair, and I could imagine the texture of
both. I could picture a face with dusky skin and brown eyes above
which dark brows slashed.

She paused and her eyes had a faraway
look, as if she saw him. I hardly breathed. I know my mouth hung
open and saliva pooled beneath my tongue. No wonder her books sold
out.

She looked at me, met my eyes. “Excuse
me. I didn’t mean to drift off like that.”

“
Oh, no, go on,
please.”

“
Behind us, the rest of the
crowd hooted and made very lewd and graphic suggestions. They
called him Rio. ‘Rio?’ I asked. ‘Alissario,’ he breathed. I leaned
in and kissed him. He was like a rock, unmoving, only his mouth
alive. I breathed into his ear. ‘Alissario, my Rio.’

“’
Your Rio? I don’t belong
to no woman,’ he said, yet he did not move away from me, not an
inch. I smiled into his neck. ‘You do now.’

“
Then I stepped back and
walked to the car. His friends yelled at me, yelled at him. In the
rearview mirror I saw Alissario standing on the bridge. He watched
me as if he did not know what he saw.”

Jesus Christ, Holy Moses, all the
Saints. . . . If Royal had been there I think I’d have jumped his
bones right then - okay, so I wouldn’t, not in front of her, but
you get my gist. A paean of joy and triumph, she worshipped their
first meeting with her words.

“
You see,” she said, “I
knew he was for me and I knew, no matter what he said, he felt the
same.”

Speechless, I swallowed.

Gia rose to her feet. “I think that’s
all for now, is it not?”

“
Uh. Yes. I guess
so.”

She presented a small white card which
had miraculously appeared in her hand. “This is my number. Call me
anytime.”

As she walked out the kitchen she
paused, swung back, and said with a smile which didn’t reach her
eyes, “You didn’t need the gun.”

Until then I hadn’t felt the chill
intimidation she could project. I felt it now.

I watched her walk down the
path and get in the driver’s side of a gleaming black Corvette. Why
did I think she could have added, “
and it
wouldn’t do you any good, anyway
.”

***

I have three bedrooms, so we each have
our own. Not that my roommates need a bedroom, but everyone should
have their private space. I remind myself of that every time they
invade mine. I found Mel and Jack upstairs in Jack’s room, which I
use for storage. Apart from having a bed in there, it doesn’t look
much like a bedroom, but Jack doesn’t care.

I walked in the eight-by-ten room with
its sloping ceilings and small square window. Two wardrobes made of
transparent plastic either side of the door hold clothes I may
never wear again. A narrow path between packing cartons, piles of
old books and an ancient leather trunk leads to the twin-sized bed.
Jack and Mel stood there, as always looking startled and on the
verge of terror, but nonetheless radiating a sheepish demeanor.
Their expressions never alter, but they can and do use body
language. I could liken them to dogs, which can let you know their
emotions although their faces can barely contort to express them
the way a human face can, but that would be impolite to the canine
population.

My entry stirred up the stale air and
motes drifted, glittering in a shaft of sunshine. The room needed
cleaning in a bad way.

I faced them with knuckled
hands on hips. “What was
with
you down there?”

Jack held up his hands as if to ward
me off. “I know this sounds weird, but we thought she was
dead.”

“
We thought she was moving
in,” Mel said.

“
The dead can’t
move in.
You know that
better than anyone. And why did you think she’s dead?”

They exchanged glances. “I . . . I
don’t know. Her body seemed, it seemed, well . . . lifeless,” Mel
said with an apologetic lift of one shoulder.

I leaned on the door frame. “You
realize that is totally bizarre.”

Jack made a helpless gesture with one
hand. “I know. I wish . . . we wish we could explain better, what
it felt like. Nothing came off her, no essence.”

“
Essence?” I asked,
interested. “There’s an essence?”

“
Of life. It’s not
something I can describe.”

“
Try.”

“
We really can’t.” Mel’s
voice went high. “It’s not a physical emanation, something you see,
like an aura.”

I ground the heels of my
hands in my eye sockets. So Gia wasn’t dead – obviously - but
didn’t have this
essence of
life
.
What in
hell’s name are you, lady?

Jack dropped his chin. “We feel like
idiots.”

I pushed away from the door. “You know
what, you acted like idiots. I ask you to keep to yourself and not
distract me and what do you do? I had the hardest time keeping my
mouth shut and my face straight.”

“
But she’s not normal,”
Jack said.

Definitely not, but I didn’t want to
get them more upset than they already were. “I grant she’s a bit
strange.”

“
She could be . . . well,
you know.”

I sighed. I had lost count of the
times I told them werewolves, fae, vampires and other supposedly
supernatural beings don’t exist.

“
Isn’t the phone ringing?”
Mel said.

I heard the machine pick up. I gave
them another glare and pounded down the stairs, my hand sliding
down the banister. I reached the bottom step just in time to hear
Royal say, “I’ll call you when we get back.”

I charged in the kitchen and pounced
on the phone. “Royal? Royal?” It clicked off and I got the dial
tone.

I looked at the phone, willing it to
ring again, but of course it didn’t. I played back his brief
message: “Tiff, Daven and I are going after a lead. Don’t worry
about me. I’ll call you when we get back.”

Going. After. A. Lead. Royal and Daven
going after a lead. I had to repeat the words inside my head. Royal
and Daven, not Royal and Tiff.

I called his cell and let it ring
eight times before I gave up. Then I dialed Star 69 to trace the
number and the recorded voice gave me one I didn’t recognize. I
dialed the number, but got no reply either.

I replaced the phone in the
receiver and sank on a kitchen chair. I didn’t know what to think.
First he refused to answer my questions and now he was off chasing
a
lead
with
Daven?

I felt antsy and my thoughts churned.
I went back upstairs, changed into shorts and a tank top, went in
the bathroom and stepped on the treadmill. I looked over the
programs and settled for one which started slowly on the level,
built up speed, and went up and down different gradients. I hoped
the exercise would distract me. It didn’t. I pounded along so hard,
I almost outran the machine.

I slowed so my feet matched the
revolving mat instead of trying to beat it to the finishing post,
and settled into a steady jog.

Where was Royal? What did he and Daven
have to do which excluded me that he didn’t tell me
beforehand?

Shut up brain!
I concentrated on the bathroom. I love the big
pink freestanding tub, deep enough and long enough so I can sink in
with just my face above water. The pink pedestal sink is as old as
the tub. I think they were installed as a matching bathroom suite.
Someone painted the walls, ceiling and floor-to-ceiling fitted
storage cabinets pale terracotta. I had the separate shower
installed, and the green glass tiles do look okay with the pink. I
especially like the laundry chute, which is cleverly concealed
beneath a flap in the waist-high cabinet near the door. I drop
laundry down there and it ends up in the basement next to the
washing machine.

One of the former occupants of my home
obviously had a fondness for the color pink.

How could Royal be scared
of our clients - maybe not scared, but definitely wary - and at the
same time chummy with Clare? You have to be pretty chummy with
someone to take off with them, leaving your partner, the one person
you should share
everything
with, in the dark.

Thump, thump, thump. I looked down at
my feet, which seemed to have a will independent of my brain, and
made myself slow down, again.

Or did he have a choice?

I tried Royal’s cell before I turned
in for the night and still no answer. I called the other number. On
the fifth ring someone picked up the phone, a public pay phone in
Salt Lake City International Airport.

***

I had a bad night, waking and tossing
till I went back to sleep, and doing so several times before
sunlight pouring in my window brought me groggily awake. Five
o’clock? Good grief! I sat up, fastened my arms around my upraised
knees and ran it through my head yet again. Royal.

Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I
thought I did. It would not be the first time a guy fooled
me.

But I didn’t want to go
back there, to the place in which I lived before I met him, where I
distrusted everyone and imagined ulterior motives for their
actions. I closed my eyes and silently echoed Jack’s words:
oh ye of little faith.
There had to be an explanation.
Had
to be.

I looked over at Mac where he
stretched across his red plaid dog bed. “What do you think,
Mac?”

He lifted his head, ears
perked, eyes inquisitive, his
are
you
finally
getting up?
Now
can I have my breakfast?
look. He was
usually already in the kitchen when I got out of bed, but I’d
surprised him this morning.