Darkness Devours

“You won’t see me,” he countered. “But I will be there.”



And with that he disappeared again. I grimaced and grabbed my purse, slinging it over my shoulder as I headed down to the lobby to catch a cab.



I arrived at Chrome a couple of minutes past seven. The place was packed even though it was Wednesday, the music pumping and the air rich with the warm scent of alcohol and humanity. I squeezed my way toward the long chrome bar that ran the length of the rough brick wall to the left of the door and found Jak perched on one of the red-cushioned stools down the far end.



He turned as I approached, but his quick smile of greeting faded abruptly. “You look like shit,” he said, catching my hand to steady me as I perched on the stool next to him. “Are you okay?”



“It’s nothing a gallon of beer won’t fix.” I ignored the reminiscent side of me that wanted to enjoy his touch and gently pulled my fingers from his.



“Already done,” he said, sliding a tankard my way. “What happened?”



“Fell off my bike.” I shrugged and took a drink.



He watched me, eyes slightly narrowed, obviously suspecting there was more to the story than what I was saying. “And the Ducati?”



“Alive but dented. What did you want to see me about?”



His wry smile made my insides twist. God, how I just wished that part of me would get over it. But that, it seemed, was not to be.



“Straight down to business, huh?”



“It’s the only reason I’m here, Jak.”



He snorted softly. “Well, I’m afraid there’s more bad news than good.”



Of course there was. Fate wasn’t likely to give me only good news now, was it? “So hit me with it.”



“As you are aware, John Nadler is an extremely elusive man. He has an office in Collins Street, but is rarely ever there, and while he owns a house in Brighton, none of his neighbors can tell me the last time they saw him.”



“Well, he’s not a ghost, because the heirs of both James Trilby and Gavin Appleby are suing the consortium for a bigger piece of the money pie, and a ghost generally can’t hire lawyers or appear in court.”



“Ah, but he hasn’t yet appeared in court—and won’t, because the case settled out of court yesterday.”



I frowned. “Even if the lawyer handled the settlement, surely Nadler has to appear to sign the papers.”



“He may have to sign the papers, but he didn’t actually have to appear at the meeting to do that. Apparently Frank Logan—the lawyer in question—was meeting Nadler at two today to do all the official stuff, but the meet wasn’t at the office.”



I raised my eyebrows. “And you know this how?”



“Because I talked to the secretary.”



And no doubt raided her mind in the process. It was the only way he’d get that sort of information. I couldn’t imagine someone who had Nadler as a client employing anyone who gave out confidential information, however minor.



“So we have nothing.”



“Not exactly nothing.” A waiter went past and filled up the nearby nut bowl. Jak snagged it and pushed it between us. “We still have the lawyer.”



I scooped up some peanuts. “You’ve made an appointment to talk to him?”



Jak snorted. “The man charges like a wounded bull. On my salary, I can’t even afford his first-appointment rates.”



“So you want me to go talk to him?”



“Well, yes and no—and this is where the good news comes in. He’s apparently going to be at the Financial Markets Foundation for Children gala tomorrow night. I want you to get us tickets.”



Go to a ball with Jak? I wasn’t sure that was a good idea—not when he looked so damn good in black tie. “Mom supported a lot of charities, but I can’t recall the foundation being one of them. And I doubt I could ring up at the last moment and get tickets.”



“You can’t. I’ve already checked, and they’re sold out.”



Which was good for the foundation but not so good for us. “So what do you expect me to do? Beat someone over the head and steal their ticket?”



He grinned, and it lit up his entire face, making that stubbornly stupid bit of me ache. “Well, as a last resort, maybe. But I figure that maybe you should try some of your mom’s contacts first. Surely with all the work she did for charities, someone somewhere would owe her—or her daughter—a favor or two.”



“Nice of you to remember how many charities she supported. Shame it didn’t reach the damn article.”



He patted my hand lightly. “Now, now, you know that’s not true. I did mention it, if only in the introduction.”



“Generous of you,” I muttered, and once again slipped my hand from under his.



Amusement glittered in his dark eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing to me, the bastard. A thought confirmed by his next statement.



“The spark is still there, Ris.”



“That spark is nothing more than werewolf nature,” I said with determination. “And it’s not something I’m about to give in to, so stop playing games.”



“That’s hard when—bruises aside—you look so damn good.”



I was half tempted to look down just to see how hard it was, but I resisted. That sort of action would only encourage him—and was no doubt precisely why he’d chosen those words. “Then maybe you should have thought a little more about that story you wrote.”



He was shaking his head before I’d even finished. “We both know I’d sell my soul mate for the right story, and we certainly weren’t soul mates.”



And that one sentence encapsulated why I—even if I could forget about the past—wasn’t about to revive my relationship with Jak. I didn’t need another relationship with a direct line to nowhereville.



And yet, even as that thought crossed my mind, a voice deep inside was whispering, Liar.



He added, “So, do you know anyone who might be able to wrangle some tickets? Otherwise, I’ll have to resort to trying to interview him outside the venue, and given that I normally report on paranormal oddities rather than galas, that might raise suspicions in the wrong quarters.”



I opened my mouth to say he was out of luck, that I didn’t know anyone, but then I paused. Mike—the accountant who looked after the financial side of the café as well as having been my mom’s financial adviser and now mine—had said a few days ago that if I ever needed help with anything outside of financial matters to give him a call. And while I’m sure he wasn’t actually referring to tickets to a gala fund-raiser, it was worth a shot.



“I might.” I slipped off the barstool. “Wait here while I go call him.”



I made my way to the front of Chrome and stood to one side of the entrance, where it was less noisy, to make the call.



“Risa,” a plummy, feminine voice said, “What can I do you for?”



“Hi, Beatrice,” I said. “I’d like to speak to Mike if he’s available.”



“Just a moment, and I’ll check.”



Music came on the line as she switched over, but a second later Mike’s low and pleasant voice replaced the music. “Risa, is there a problem? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until the next business activity statement was due.”



“There’s no problem. I just wondered if you could do me a small favor.”



“You already know I will if I can. It’s the least I can do in honor of your mother.”



He and Mom had been lovers for more years than I could remember, although they were never seen together and seemed content to keep the relationship totally secret. So secret, in fact, that until Mike had all but confirmed it last week by his unusual offer to help me any way he could, I wasn’t entirely sure their relationship wasn’t a figment of my imagination.



“It’s nothing major, as I said. I’m just looking for tickets to the FMFFC ball tomorrow night.”



“The gala?” he said, surprise evident in his voice. “I wouldn’t have thought that sort of thing was your style. Your mother’s, certainly, but not yours.”



“It’s not,” I admitted. “But I have a friend who is doing a story on several people who’ll be there, and he can’t get tickets.”



I felt bad about lying—or half lying—but giving him the truth might be dangerous, and I’d endangered enough people as it was.



“So why is this your problem?” he asked.



“I owe him a favor and he’s called it in.” I shrugged, then remembered the vid-screen wasn’t working. “This will make us even and get him off my back.”



He grunted. “I haven’t got tickets this year, but I’ll ring around and see what I can do. Give me a few hours.”



“Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate it.”



“No promises,” he said and hung up. I shoved my phone into my purse and went back inside.



Jak raised his eyebrows. “Success or failure?”



“Neither. He’s ringing around and will let me know.” I reclaimed my stool, then my drink, taking several sips of the cool amber liquid.



“Huh.” He munched contemplatively on peanuts for a few seconds. “I’ve got a friend of mine keeping an electronic eye out on Nadler’s house. He’ll let me know who’s coming and going.”



“Well, it obviously won’t be Nadler if the neighbors haven’t sighted him for months.”



“No.” He paused again, munching on more peanuts before adding, “I’ve also been researching his family. Seems rather convenient to me that all his next of kin are listed as dead.”



I raised my eyebrows. “Why has that snagged your interest? It happens. Hell—me, for example.”



He gave me a wry look. “But you and your mother are somewhat special cases, and we both know it.”



We did. Only he didn’t know just how special. Mom had been created in a madman’s lab, and while I was the result of a more conventional mating, my father was about as far from conventional as you could get.