The Demon King and I (22 page)

 
Gillian,
You disappointed me.
You are next.

 
It was in the same typewritten text as the last note.

“I ask again, do you have any idea who would write something like this?”

“No.” It was an honest answer.
It could be anyone in the universe.
Of course, I couldn’t say that to him.

“You do not seem as disturbed as I might have thought. Have you received something like this before?” The inspector was obviously good at his job, but so was I.

I put on my lawyer face. I couldn’t tell him about the note telling me to kill the demon king, because demons didn’t exist. “No.” I had a feeling it was all tied in to Bailey, but I didn’t have a clue why. “If you check with the Austin police in Texas, you’ll see there have been two murders of people I knew. One was an employee, the other a friend.” I wondered why I hadn’t seen this murder in a dream as I had the others, but then it dawned on me that I hadn’t actually been asleep in a couple of days.

I pulled out a card with Kyle’s information. “This is a private investigator who works with my family.” I wrote down Jake’s number. “Our head of security may also be able to help you. He and Kyle have been working on this together. I know it is a great favor to ask, but would it be possible for you to fax a copy of the letter to them?”

“It is no problem at all. So do you think we have a transcontinental serial killer?”

“As I said before, I don’t know. I’m not a detective, but the murders at home are definitely related. I’d rather not see photos, but was the body posed in a certain way? Were the bones broken so that the legs and arms were bent in an unnatural position? And did they cut out his heart?” I shivered when I said the words. I’d seen many gruesome things in my day, but these murders hit way too close to home. No matter how much Reuben had betrayed our family, he didn’t deserve to die the way that he had. And Jona and Markie were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I felt certain about that.

“Yes.” The inspector stared at me. “I will talk to these detectives. Mademoiselle, I would appreciate it if you would stay in the city for at least the next forty-eight hours should we have any more questions.”

That wouldn’t be possible. I needed to get back to search for Bailey. There was also the problem of the new jumpers since there had been another universal shift. “I will try, but I’m afraid I have business back in the States that is very important. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay. I will, however, make sure I’m available by phone, and should you need me to return I will do so.”

He gave me another long look. They had no reason to hold me here. This was one of those times when my lawyer skills came in very handy. If they tried to detain me, I had many friends in Paris and he knew it. Besides, I wasn’t a suspect. In fact it very much looked like I might be the next victim.

Like I’d let that happen.

“You understand that your life is in danger?”

I didn’t laugh but I wanted to. My life was always danger.

“I do. I want to visit Che, to make sure he is okay.” Che was such a sensitive man, and I knew he’d been friends with the artist. “I also want to see if there is anything I can do for Jona’s family, and of course we will take care of the arrangements to send his body home to the States.”

The inspector nodded.

I handed him another card. “You may call me anytime.”

“I would prefer while you are in the city that one of our officers travel with you. Your safety is important to us.”

I’d also be a giant piece of bait to draw the killer out, and it would be handy to have an officer nearby to catch him or her. There was just one problem: I wasn’t going to be around long enough to let that happen.

I smiled. “That is kind of you, but I know how shorthanded you must be. My driver is a highly trained bodyguard. I will be fine.” I certainly could hold my own against any foe, but I hadn’t minded that Jake had sent Max with me. Not only was he the size of a bulldozer, he was a trained assassin in martial arts. I’d sparred with him several times, and walked away with more than a few bruises. The guy never held back, even when fighting with us girls.

“I hope you are correct. I’d like to ask you one last thing.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Yes?”

“Is there any reason why the murderer would take all of the paintings done by the artist known as Emilio?”

I looked past him to the large white wall on the right. The three paintings that had been hanging there were gone.

Oh. My. God.

 
 
Che’s apartment was just down from the Buci, a
small boutique hotel near Saint-Sulpice.

I’d never seen him in anything other than a suit and tie, but he wore jeans and a sweater when he answered the door to his apartment.

His eyes were red-rimmed. From the pain etched on his face it looked as though he and Jona had become much more than friends. I’d hired Che straight out of college three years earlier. He had a better eye for art than most people who had been in the business much longer. I’d never even suspected his relationship with Jona. They had been more than discreet about it.

“Che, I’m sorry.” I reached out my arms to hug him, and he wrapped his around me. “It must have been horrible for you to find Jona like that.”

Sniffling, he pulled me from the entry. “I just opened a bottle of wine. Please share it with me.”

I followed him into the tiny apartment, though by Paris standards it probably cost close to half a million. The furniture was an eclectic mix of antiques and more traditional pieces. Art lined every wall.

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but you have an amazing collection.”

Che pursed his lips as he poured the wine. “You are quite generous with my salary. My mother left me this place, so most of what I make goes to investments and art. Well”—he held up the bottle—“and great wine.”

We sat on a soft gray sofa. He had a selection of cheeses and a few pieces of fruit on a china plate.

There was no delicate way to steer the conversation back to the matter at hand, so I decided to just go for it. “Do you know if Jona had family? I’d like to speak with them, and to make arrangements for his funeral.”

Che sighed. “He was alone. A drunk driver killed his parents and sister several years ago. I know you don’t like us to date the artists, but Jona and I had been going out long before you chose him to show in the gallery.”

I leaned back. “You never said anything. You let me think I’d discovered him and then you became friends.”

“You did discover him, in that café across from the gallery. I made sure the manager had a few pieces of Jonas’s work on his walls. I knew if you saw it, you’d want him. He was—so talented.” Che stared off into space for a moment, willing his tears away.

I patted his knee. “You could have just told me.”

He shrugged. “Honestly, it was Jona who refused my help. He wanted so much to prove himself. He was excited about his upcoming show, and couldn’t sleep last night. He left about three this morning to finish the installation of the new pieces.” He sobbed. “I brought in coffee and croissants around nine, and when I didn’t see him I tried to call. I heard his phone ringing in the backroom. I called to him, but he didn’t answer.”

As he remembered, Che crumbled. Tears stained his cheeks. “How could someone do that to him? There was not a kinder, more tender soul.”

I disagreed. There was a reason Jona and Che were well matched. I took his hand in mine and squeezed. “I’ve said this so many times the last few days, but I don’t know how someone could be so horrible. It’s senseless and incredibly disturbing. The police think it may be related to some murders in the States.”

Che didn’t say anything.

I sighed. “I’m sure the police have asked you this a hundred different ways, but has anyone visited the gallery in the last few days? Maybe someone who seemed out of place or suspicious?”

He closed his eyes as if trying to recall. “Our usual clientele. No one I would suspect of murder. Emilio came looking for you. He was upset when he found out you weren’t in town. Seems he had been trying to get in touch with you and someone told him that you’d be here. I asked if you’d had a spat, and he told me it was just a misunderstanding he needed to clear up with you. He asked if you had changed your numbers, and I told him no.

“He didn’t seem happy that Mademoiselle Stewart had bought one of his paintings. He wanted to know the shipping date.”

Emilio again. I’d slept with the guy and he was a creep, but a murderer? I didn’t see his sensitive artist nature allowing him to do something like cutting out a heart. Or breaking bones to stage—I almost choked on my wine. Had he been creating still life?

No. It wasn’t possible. A lothario most certainly, but surely I would have known if I’d been sleeping with a murderer.

I shivered again.

Che set down his glass of wine. “He’s going to be very upset when he finds out his paintings have been stolen. I told him we had interest in both of the nudes. He seemed pleased about that, so I thought it strange that he didn’t want the other painting to go to Mademoiselle Stewart.”

Nothing about Emilio made sense, except that for some reason he was in the middle of this big mess. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out how.

I talked with Che for a while longer, moving the subject to different things, hopefully taking his mind off his troubles.

 
 
Outside Che’s apartment the paparazzi and report
ers had gathered, the lights from the flashes temporarily blinding me.

“Ms. Caruthers, can you comment on zee murder at zee gallery?” I couldn’t see who asked the question. The lights burned my eyes and everything was a blur. I couldn’t even see the faces of those who surrounded me less than a foot away.

“No.” I held up a hand over my eyes to see if I could see the car. There were at least twenty photogs and reporters between the street and me.

I sighed. “Please, I’d like to get through.” As I stepped forward they closed in. I’d called for the car but I doubted my driver/bodyguard, Max, could see me in the crowd.

“Are you responsible for the death of—”

“That’s enough,” a man bellowed. I caught a glance of a huge figure cutting through the melee. “She is in mourning for her friend. This is no time to harass someone in mourning.” Max grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me through the crowd, shoving the reporters out of the way.

The car door was open and I climbed in. Max slammed the door behind me. Before I could get situated, he’d pulled away from the curb. “I’m sorry, Ms. Caruthers. When you called I was a few blocks down, only place I could park on these narrow streets.”

“Max, don’t worry about it. I should have known they’d catch up with me eventually. I’m just grateful you were here.”

“Jake wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re all on high alert and we know the family is in danger. I won’t be so far away the next time.”

The universe is in danger.
“Well, I for one am happy to have someone like you around right now. How long till we hit Orly?”

“Traffic’s bad, probably an hour.”

“Thanks.” I picked up the cell and dialed Kyle’s number. I had a job for him.

“We need to find Emilio,” I said as soon as he answered.

“What? The ex?”

“I think he knows our killer. Hell, he may be the killer. He’s definitely involved somehow and I’m going to kick his ass when I see him.”

Kyle gave a slight chuckle.

“What?” Anger tinged my tone. Just thinking about the jerk had my nerves on edge.

“I’m really glad my name isn’t Emilio.” Kyle clicked off the phone.

CHAPTER 26

My breath made tiny clouds. I’d been running, and
my lungs ached. Someone had been chasing me, but when I turned to look behind me, darkness followed.

It took me a minute to realize I was in the middle of a dream. The weird thing was, I couldn’t remember the first part of it, but I’d most definitely been running.

“Where am I?” One of the things I’d been able to do when the dreams began was to control my own thoughts and actions. I’d learned as a child to be an observer, especially during nightmares, so that I wasn’t so frightened by the scary images that sometimes plagued me.

This was different.

I had no control. I tried to visualize my bedroom at home. When that didn’t work I thought about my sisters and their laughter.

A chill settled over me, as all I saw was the darkness. No buildings or people, but something heavy and evil was near.

Get out, Gilly.

“Hello, Slayer.” The voice sent an eerie chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the frigid air.

“Who are you?” Still there was nothing but inky blackness around me. My feet were on the ground, but now it was difficult to move my arms and legs. Someone had a hold on me. The thing had trapped me.

“I’ve been watching you,” the creepy voice finally answered.

In my line of work I deal with the creepy and gross all the time, but this thing was the darkest evil I’d ever come across. Something in me wanted to give over to it, to just let it consume me.

No. You never give in. Fight.
“That’s great. Why don’t you come out where I can see you?” My voice shook a tiny bit, but didn’t betray how I really felt inside. “Why won’t you tell me who you are?”

“Think about it, Slayer. You know who I am. You’ve always known.”

“Uh, no. I’m asking you simple questions even an idiot could understand, and you’re trying to get all metaphysical on me.”

“Insolent witch!” the voice roared. It had a faint accent with a European sound, perhaps a being from another planet that had learned English from tapes or books. And the hollowness of it was almost as if a spirit spoke through another person. I’d seen someone possessed many years ago, and I remembered that dead sort of voice.

“Hey, I’m not the one interrupting a good night’s rest. Last thing I remember is staring at my thirtieth cup of coffee in two days. Then I wound up here. The way I see it, it’s my dream and I can offend you if I want.”