Darkness Devours

“Yes.” Jak drew out his wallet and showed her his press pass.



She grimaced. “Fucking press. Man, I’ve done enough talking to you lot.”



She turned to go, but I reached out and stopped her. “We’re doing a story on your ex. We want to out him for the bastard he is.”



She sneered, obviously unimpressed by this bit of news. “He’ll wipe the floor with you. And then he’ll get his press buddies to complete the hatchet job.” She eyed Jak. “You, my friend, won’t even be able to get a job at McDonald’s afterwards.”



“Oh, I doubt that’ll happen,” Jak said calmly. “I’ve got more than a few friends of my own.”



She studied him for several more seconds, then drew up a chair and sat down. “I haven’t talked to you. Understand?”



We both nodded, and she relaxed slightly. “What do you want to know?”



“Everything you can tell us about your brief time with him. Who he associated with, what companies he had at the time, who his friends were, and what he really did to you and your family.”



Her smile was bitter. “That could take more time than I get for a break. And I know squat about his businesses.”



“Just tell us what you can.” I hesitated. “I’ll make it worth your while.”



She eyed me, distrust obvious, then shrugged and began talking. Her story proved to be more than a little harrowing—she’d barely been eighteen when she’d met Nadler, and had been attracted to both his power and his money—the same power and money that had all but destroyed her. Even Jak looked a little sickened by the end of it all.



“If you hated him so much, why not change your name?” I asked curiously. It’d be one of the first things I would have done had I been in her position.



Of course, if I’d been in her position, I probably would have shoved a hand into his chest and ripped his black heart out.



Jacinta grimaced. “Because ‘Nadler’ is easier to say than my maiden name—Gutierrez.”



“We’re talking about a man who did everything he could to ruin your life. Even if you hated your maiden name, you could have changed it to something else. Why keep his?”



Something flickered in her eyes. Shame, perhaps. “I kept it because it annoyed him.”



There was more to it than that, I thought, studying her. “Money.”



She glanced at me sharply. Jacinta Nadler, I suspected, had never been the innocent she portrayed herself to be.



“He paid you to keep it, didn’t he?” It was a guess, but I knew it was right.



She looked away. “I deserved it after what he put me through. And if keeping his name meant I got it, what harm is there?”



“But why would he want you to keep it?”



She snorted. “Why do you think? Men like that never like losing their possessions. At least this way, he retained the illusion of ownership.”



I wondered what other terms she’d agreed to. Wondered what had happened to the money. Surely she wouldn’t be working in a place like this if she still possessed it.



Jak said, “What about Nadler personally?”



She frowned. “What do you mean?”



“Well, did he have any particular habits—”



She snorted. “Aside from smacking the shit out of me, you mean?”



He grimaced. “Yes.”



She frowned. “Not really. Although he did love polo. Used to play it every week.”



“Used to?”



“Yeah. He stopped after the accident. His horse slipped in the mud and came down on top of him. Broke his arm and gashed his ankle pretty bad. He was lucky, though—the only scar he got out of it was from the ankle wound. It would probably be barely noticeable by now.”



Jak smiled at me. If it was barely noticeable, our face-shifter might not have bothered with it. We finally had an identifying mark.



Now all we had to do was actually find him.



I said, “Have you got any photos of him that we could borrow?”



She snorted softly. “I burned every single one of them. Wouldn’t you?”



“Hell, yes.”



She eyed me for a moment, then added, “He’s become something of a recluse of late, but if you want photos you should track down James Blake. He took the wedding photos—you never know, he might have kept them.”



I glanced at Jak. He was already writing the name in his notebook.



“Thanks for your help, Jacinta. We do appreciate it.” I slipped her some cash, and she palmed it with practiced ease.



“Just make sure you burn the bastard good and proper.”



With that, she got up and left. I finished the last of my beer, then handed Jak one of the tickets for the ball. Azriel might be intending to take his place, but I needed to keep up the pretense and not make him suspicious. “We’re at the same table, so I’ll meet you inside around eight.”



He nodded. “Until then, I’ll run a search on the names Jacinta mentioned, and try to uncover some photos of the polo accident.”



“Have fun,” I said dryly as I rose.



He gave me a smile that just about blinded me. “Oh, the fun will happen tonight. I intend to dance your shoes off, my girl.”



And “dancing” just happened to be a wolf euphemism for sex. I snorted softly. “You’re as hopeless as ever.”



“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said. “Don’t forget to pay the bartender on the way out.”



I did, then headed back to the hotel, where I promptly undressed, crawled into bed, and went to sleep.



The awareness of being watched woke me sometime later. For several minutes I didn’t stir, letting my body wake and my senses capture the warmth of that sensation. It flowed through me like a river, teasingly sensuous.



But before I could fully react to it, it disappeared. Azriel knew I was awake.



Frustration swirled, deeper and stronger than before, but again, I squashed it and simply said, “Did you catch all that info at the bar?”



“Yes.”



His voice was as distant as ever. I sighed. “Thoughts?”



“The information will only prove worthwhile once we pin down the face-shifter inhabiting Nadler’s life. Until then, it does not help.”



“Well, no, but at least it’s more than what we had.”



“True.”



“Have you visited Jak yet?”



“No. He is not home yet.”



I twisted around to look at him. He was standing over near the window again—a favorite spot, it seemed—and despite what I’d sensed when waking, his back was to me. For once, Valdis was as quiet as her master.



“How do you know he’s not home?”



“Because I checked five minutes ago.”



“Oh.” I studied him a few moments longer, then sighed again and climbed out of the bed. He didn’t look at me, though the awareness in the air seemed to sharpen. “I guess I’d better go get ready.”



He didn’t answer, but there was no need to, either. By the time I’d showered, changed my hair color to auburn, and tweaked my facial features enough so that anyone who knew me wouldn’t recognize me, then got dressed and done my makeup—which included body makeup to hide some of the bruises—he’d left.



I grabbed my purse and ticket and went downstairs to catch a taxi. The Central Pier function center, situated behind Etihad Stadium, was little more than a gigantic shed. A long line of taxis and limos waited in front of it, each taking its turn in dropping off passengers dressed to the nines and dripping in jewelry. A thief would have a field day, I thought, though it would be a bold thief who operated where several high-ranking members of the police force were present.



I climbed out of the taxi when it was my turn. The heated evening breeze whisked around me, playing with my dress and revealing teasing glimpses of my legs. The dress was demure by my standards—and positively nunlike compared to Aunt Riley’s—but the bruises that littered my left side and back had forced more of a cover-up than normal. Not even body makeup was adequate to hide some of them. My right leg was the one place that wasn’t rainbow-colored, and the long split up the side of the shimmery dark green dress made the most of that.



I made it inside without a problem and was escorted to my table. Azriel had already arrived and, for the first time, he was fully dressed. But the dark suit emphasized rather than downplayed his lean, muscular body, and he looked fantastic.



“Thank you,” he said, rising as I approached the table.



Heat colored my cheeks and I had no idea why. It wasn’t like he hadn’t caught errant thoughts before—and generally far worse than that. “Why bother with the pretense, though?”



“Because I am actively projecting Jak’s image to all in this room. Wearing his suit lessens the depth of detail I have to transmit, and makes it easier to maintain over a longer period.”



He pulled out the chair for me, his fingers brushing my spine as I sat, just as Jak’s would have. A tremor ran through me. This was dangerous. Possibly more so than if it had been the real Jak.



I placed my purse on the table, then picked up the water jug and poured a drink. Wine was not a good idea. I might not get drunk on the stuff, thanks to my werewolf constitution, but enough of it could certainly dull common sense, if only for the briefest time. Right now, with Azriel looking so good, I needed all the good sense I could get.



“Have you seen Frank Logan yet?” I hadn’t seen our lawyer on the way in, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t here.



“Not as yet. But I walked around when I first arrived. He’s been placed two tables across to your left, next to the man wearing the odd toupee.”



I looked around and restrained a laugh. The hairpiece in question sat on the gentleman’s head like a scraggly gray cat ready to pounce on the next unfortunate person to pass by.



“That cannot possibly be the height of fashion,” Azriel continued blandly.



I turned back and met his gaze. Just for a moment, humor and warmth teased his lips and crinkled the corners of his mismatched blue eyes, and my breath caught somewhere in my throat.