Blue Diablo

“You guys really wanted this chicken casserole, huh?”



“No, mi vida. Chance pointed out that you might not be safe here alone.”



At this Eva raised a brow. “I know you’re not saying I can’t take care of myself, Jesus Maria Ortiz Obregón.”



With that knife in her hand, she did look dangerous. Chuch took a step back and raised a hand in a placating gesture. “No, but—”



“What he means to say,” Chance put in quietly, “is that you can’t defend yourself against random explosions.”



“I guess that’s true, but I’m fine. Anyway, I’ve been working on the case, and you were right, IBC owns Southern Sanitation. The funny part is, I can’t find any names. It’s one of those . . . blind corporations? That seems shady, like they’re trying to hide something, you know?”



I nodded, thoughtful. “I’m sure they are.”



So IBC was the parent corporation. They owned the warehouse where Min’s purse was found, where she’d performed the ritual. They also owned Southern Sanitation, whose truck took her away. That was the link then. If we could burrow beneath the privacy screens and layers of legal crap, the names behind IBC would tell us everything we wanted to know.



“If IBC does business in Texas, they must have a registered agent,” Chance said. “You can’t work without one. International corporations do it a lot, so people don’t know their money is actually going to Okinawa.”



Before I could ask, Eva did. “What’s a registered agent?”



Chance went into lecture mode. “The person or entity listed as the public point of contact for a blind corporation. This is the address you’ll find on all public documents. Having a registered agent offers a layer of protection against legal proceedings too.”



“Now, there’s a sweet deal,” Chuch muttered. “For crooks.”



Hm. While I was sure there were legitimate reasons for putting so much padding between a business and the public eye, I suspected IBC did not possess them. Call me psychic. But what kind of operation would benefit from the front of warehouses and a fleet of trucks? Smuggling immediately came to mind. Drugs, maybe?



I glanced at Eva, whose casserole smelled delicious, but I didn’t want to derail my train of thought. “What does IBC stand for anyway?”



She knew that off the top of her head. “Importaciones Bonitas Corporación.”



“Pretty Imports Corporation?” I translated primarily for Chance’s benefit since he was the only one who didn’t speak some Spanish. “Guess that means the hidden owners come from a Spanish-speaking country.”



Which narrowed it down to half the world. I sighed.



“I wonder if we could get something out of visiting whoever fronts for IBC?” Chance turned to Eva with a single brow cocked in the inquisitive expression I’d once found irresistible. “Did you turn up the public address?”



She left her casserole to go get an apple-shaped note-pad. “Sure. I wrote it down. When I Google-mapped the place, it looked like it was downtown.”



Chance nodded. “We’ll check it out.”



My stomach growled. Not to change the subject or anything, but, “You need any help with dinner?”



“You can chop up the celery if you want.” Eva set the knife on the counter and went to Chuch at last with a knowing grin. Tugged on the bottom of his shirt. “So you were really worried about me, huh?”



“That’s not even funny. You know I’d be lost without you, nena.” Chuch wore a look of absolute devotion that did strange things to my insides.



“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”



Chance propped himself against the counter, long and lean. “Forget dinner. We should get our stuff and go. Somebody wants us dead and I don’t want you two caught in the cross fire.”



With his luck, he did well to worry. Maybe he’d learned something from our time together; people suffered all around him while he walked off without a scratch. Yeah, he had a double-edged “gift” all right.



“Forget it,” Eva said.



It amused me that a look from her cowed him more than anything Chuch could say. “You’ve got to teach me that look,” I said to her, smiling.



She grinned back. To give myself something to do, I got the knife and diced up the celery. Eva layered it along with the noodles, carrots, and chicken and then poured the sauce over the top. She popped the casserole dish into the oven, set the timer for thirty minutes, and then washed her hands.



“So are you guys really okay?” she asked. “Did the car actually leave the ground? I bet it’ll be on TV later. Did they interview you?”



“The press hadn’t arrived before we left,” Chance told her.



Thank God. Having my face on the news would be worse than I cared to contemplate, and it would undo a year and a half of lying low. Anyone who was still looking would know exactly where to find me. I hated that idea.



“I have this idea,” she went on. “You think this Maris had something important to tell you, which is why they whacked her, right? So why not bring her back to ask?”



“You mean like a séance?” Don’t ask me why I raised a brow over that. I guess because they’re so easy to fake. Most folks have played at communicating with spirits a time or two; it’s a sleepover staple. “Wouldn’t we need a medium?”



“Chuch can do it. He won’t want to,” Eva added, as her husband backed toward the door. “But he can. His don deals with the dead. His tia Rosario totally possessed him one night after he had too much tequila because she wanted to yell at his cousin Ramon for giving her such a cheap funeral.”



I stifled a laugh.



“I’m trying to forget that, woman. You think that was easy to live down?”



Chance appeared to be considering the idea. “We’d need something that belonged to Maris to guide us. It’s almost impossible to summon the right spirit otherwise.”



I couldn’t believe I was about to suggest this. “Jesse used to date her, so he might have something of hers. That would mean bringing him in, though.”



It would be a test, I decided. If he was working against us, there was no way he’d agree to help with something that could give us vital information. And I needed to know which side he was on.



“Jesse,” Chance repeated. “The cop, you mean?”



“Yeah. Officer Saldana.”



If I called him tonight, that would make three times in one day I’d seen or spoken to him. He was going to think I was crazy about him. Or just plain crazy. It didn’t matter what he thought, though, just what he said in response to this admittedly bizarre request.



“It’s worth a shot.” By Eva’s expression, she knew Chuch hated the idea, but she enjoyed stirring the pot.



“I’m not doing it,” Chuch muttered. “I wouldn’t know how to do it on purpose. Tia Rosario was just—”



I said, “I bet I know some people who can help us with the ritual aspects of it. Can I borrow your computer?”



The mechanic glared at me. “Not helping.” Then he relented, “Yeah, I guess.”



Leaving them to bicker, I headed for his home office and sat down at the desk. He didn’t have a password, so the screensaver kicked right off. First I dug into my bag for the Area 51 log-in info, and then I brought up the browser.



The site didn’t show so much as a picture before I entered the code, and then it took me to a bulletin board of all things, a plain gray bulletin board. As I surfed down some of the subject headings, though, it became obvious this was the real deal.



Need help in Dallas, looking for exorcist.



Have work for clairvoyant.



Fifth down, I saw medium for hire and opened that one up. Since I type about four words a minute, it took me a good while to compose and send the private message. I didn’t know how soon we’d hear back, though.



As I spun in the office chair, Chance gave me a start, standing silently in the doorway. Just watching me. I couldn’t read his expression, but then I never could. In the beginning his beauty had distracted me, but he always possessed a good poker face.



He pushed away from the doorjamb. “You really think it’s a good idea, trusting him all the way?”



I didn’t confide my private doubts; he’d enjoy it too much. Instead I hedged. “I don’t think it’s ever a good idea to trust someone all the way.”



As he knelt beside me, I saw the gold flecks in his amber eyes. “You never get tired of turning the knife, do you?”



“Maybe you just have a guilty conscience where I’m concerned.”



Chance ignored that. “So are you going to call him?”



“Did Chuch agree to give it a try? It’s pointless if he’s not willing. Though I don’t imagine he actually wanted to be possessed by his aunt Rosario, so maybe we just need to ply him with tequila.”



“Eva wants him to. Do you think he ever tells her no?”



I thought about it. “Probably not. I need some of what she’s got.”



“You’re great the way you are,” he said with some heat. “I was wondering . . .” Chance trailed off, as if deciding now wasn’t the time.



“What?”



“Would you ever consider starting over? Us, I mean.” At my stunned look, he added quietly, “I’m never going to find anyone like you.”



Once I would’ve been certain he meant my gift. Now I didn’t know what to believe or whether I could trust my own judgment.



“I don’t know.” From the way his face fell, he wanted to hear something else, but I don’t make promises if I’m not sure I can keep them. “I need to think and I can’t do that right now. There’s too much other stuff going on. I don’t want to make a mistake.”



He reached for my hand. The same sweet thrill went through me as the first night he did that over dinner. “I want you to do something for me,” he said quietly.



Another favor? He had some nerve, I decided.



“I already am. You want something else?”



Chance lifted my scarred palm to his mouth and sealed my fingers over the kiss. “Go home, Corine. This is uglier than I knew. I don’t think they’ll bother you if you back off, so just go. Please.”



I yanked my hand away. “One minute you’re asking me to be with you, and the next you’re telling me to go. Hot and cold, Chance. I swear you do it to keep me off balance. Some crazy power game and I—”



His eyes blazed as he flattened a palm over my mouth. By his expression he wanted it to be his lips, which used to be his favorite method of shutting me up.



“You’re so clueless it’s ridiculous,” he growled. “Remember what I said to Chuch? It applies to you. It doesn’t matter if I want you with me—and of course I do. Christ. You’re sunshine to me, Corine.” Apparently distracted, he traced the softness of my lips with his fingertips, like a kiss.



I couldn’t get my breath, let alone speak.