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The second Amber was out of earshot, Cookie rushed to close her door and whirled on me. “What happened?”
“Sit down first.”
She did as I asked and I explained the entire event in detail, including the part about Captain Eckert. And what he’d been up to. He had to be behind all the panhandlers and the cop with the camera.
“What is that man’s deal?”
“I wish I knew, but I wanted you to be aware of the fact that Amber behaved beautifully, Cook. She never left Quentin’s side. And she’s learning so much sign. I’m terribly proud of her.”
“She just lied to me.”
“Yes, and I promise you, she feels worse about it than you do.”
She turned a hopeful gaze on me. “Really?”
“I give it a day. She’ll tell you the truth. She wants to talk to you about what happened so bad, Cook.”
The corners of her mouth crinkled in a relieved half smile.
I got up to leave. “Before I forget, I want you to find out everything you can about the girl in the cable car. Her name was Miranda Nelms. I want to know if they charged her mother and brother with anything.”
“Her brother, too?”
“Long story. You don’t want to know.”
“No,” she said, holding up a hand in lieu of a stop sign, “you’re right. I already know more than I want to. I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.”
“Perfect. Are you ready for your date?”
And the apprehension was back in full force. “I just don’t know what to wear.” She tossed aside the pair of pants she’d been holding.
“I would definitely suggest keeping the pants, but you do what makes you most comfortable. Besides, your date is gay.”
Surprise lit her face, and the apprehension she’d been feeling dissipated. “That’s great. I don’t have to worry about impressing him. He wouldn’t be into me either way, right?”
“Right. He works for APD dispatch, but I doubt Uncle Bob knows him or the fact that he’s gay.” I snorted. “That would suck. All of our hard work would be down the drain if that were the case.”
“And you’re meeting Robert there, right? To make sure he sees us?”
I checked my watch. “In one hour on the dot. Are you okay with leaving Amber by herself for a while?”
“After what happened? No. I’m leaving the cop Robert sent over with her. And I’ve asked Mrs. Allen to check on her as well.”
“Cook, the last time Mrs. Allen checked on her, Amber ended up in the hospital.”
She nodded before saying, “It wasn’t Mrs. Allen’s fault. She was just trying to check up on Amber.”
“In the dark, with a her hair in curlers and a Scandinavian mud mask on her face. Amber tried to run from her and ran face-first into a doorjamb. I’ll never understand why Mrs. Allen didn’t just turn on a light.”
“It’s okay.” She patted my leg consolingly. “All the swelling is gone now, and I’ve asked Mrs. Allen to just knock and wait for the plainclothes to answer the door.”
“And you think that’ll work, do ya?” I chuckled. It sounded maniacal. It didn’t quite have that refined edge of psychosis that I was going for, but it worked. I pointed to her closet. “Pants? Not that I don’t appreciate a nice pair of pantaloons as much as the next girl, but most restaurants require they be covered.”
I gave Amber a hug before I left and suffered the long trek back to my place. Five steps later, I pried my door open with a hefty nudge from my shoulder, then stumbled inside when it gave. Reyes had patched it temporarily—at least I could open and close it now—but I’d need a new doorframe. That man did not know his own strength. Of course, he hadn’t considered the fact that my door had been unlocked when he decided to crash through it. I righted myself and stopped. Something was different about my apartment. What could it be?
Oh, yeah. My place had been ransacked. Son of a bitch. Every drawer I could see had been turned inside out. Every item I owned upended.
I jammed my fists onto my hips. “Mr. Wong! Didn’t we talk about this? You are the worst guard ever.”
The scene was strangely familiar. I went from room to room, but nothing else had been disturbed. Only the living room and kitchen had been upended. The intruder must have found what he wanted and—
Zeus!
I ran to my kitchen and tore through the knife drawer. Carefully, because it was the knife drawer. I figured hiding the dagger in a drawer full of kitchen knives was ingenious. I was wrong. It was gone.
It would seem that one Mr. Dealer of Souls had decided to visit while I was out. The little shit. He’d pay. Literally. I wasn’t cleaning up this mess. I’d hire a service or something, and make him pay for it. Damn it.
I picked up my bag and went to confront a demon in human’s clothing.
* * *
After finally getting Artemis to scoot over enough for me to fit in, I started Misery up and summoned Angel. I was headed to the last place I’d seen the Dealer and asked Angel where the Daeva lived. I’d assumed he lived close by where the game had been held. According to Angel, I was right.
Artemis decided my lap looked more appealing than the seat Mr. Andrulis had recently vacated. I was going to miss that man. As a result of Artemis’s fussiness, I drove down Central and up San Mateo with a fully grown Rottweiler on my lap until I reached a residential district off a side street. She caught sight of a cat—the horror!—and bound off me, using my ovaries, Beam Me Up and Scotty, as a launchpad. I had to admit, it hurt.
The Dealer’s house was nothing like what I’d expected. It was kind of nice, for one thing, with xeriscaping in front and rich terra-cotta walls with thick wood trim. I walked up to a carved natural wood door with a patina knocker shaped like a deer skull, but he opened the door before I could use it.
“I want the dagger back.”
A smile that was so pretty, it stu
He widened the opening. “Come in.” When I stood my ground, he added, “Please.”
Okay, he said please. How dangerous could he be? Conceding, I stepped across the threshold and said, “I mean it. I want that dagger.”
“So you can use it on me?” he asked, closing the door. “So you can sink it into my chest?”
“Duh.”
He strolled into the open living area. It was very plush with lots of beiges highlighted with a soft Mediterranean green.
It was hard to imagine he actually owned this house. While I realized he only
looked
nineteen, he still
looked
nineteen. He still looked like a kid who should be flipping burgers at Macho Taco—or, well, burritos—when in truth, he was thousands of years old.
“You own this?” I asked him.
“Nah.” He tossed a throw pillow aside and gestured for me to sit. “I killed the owners and ate their souls for breakfast.” When I deadpa
“The knife.”
“What makes you think I have it?”
“Please,” I said, scoffing at him. “What if I promise not to use it on you?”
He sat in a wingback chair across from the sofa, stretching one leg out and hitching it on the bottom of a beautiful iron coffee table.
“I would offer you something to drink—”
“I would just decline it.” I sank onto the sofa.
“Figured as much. That knife could be very dangerous in the wrong hands.”
“Like yours? Is it dangerous in your hands?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he studied me, a curious gleam in his eyes, and it reminded me he had a certain power. He was charismatic and charming, no doubt, but he also had a magnetism that went beyond the average supernatural being. The other demons I’d encountered were nothing like him. For starters, he didn’t have slick black scales or razor-sharp teeth.