Sharon Ashwood - Unchained

“How is he choosing his properties?” Reynard asked. “Are there certain strategic locations he’s after?”

“I don’t know. He just wanders around town. Once he settles on a place he likes, it’s up to me to convince the owner to sell. And up to me to pay for it.” Bannerman hung his head as if he’d lost the strength to lift it. His eyes were screwed shut. “You’ve got to stop him. I can’t.”

It dawned on Ashe that Bannerman had just volunteered information, despite the pain. She flashed back to her first interview with the lawyer, when his office had started dripping slime. In a roundabout way, he had asked her to save him from Tony then. He still wanted her to save him now.

“And if the owner declines to sell?” Reynard asked.

Bannerman shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

Ashe felt another layer of anger spreading over her soul. “I am so going to ice this hellspawn.”

Reynard stepped back from Bannerman and reached into the car. When he straightened, he had a file in his hand. “Does this give the particulars of the sales?”

Bannerman opened his eyes and nodded.

Ashe took the file and glanced at the papers. She was no lawyer, but it looked as if every last detail of the transactions was documented there. She couldn’t stifle a grin. “You’re not getting a retainer, are you?”

Straightening, the lawyer returned a look meant to boil flesh from the bone, suddenly the Bannerman she’d first met. “I could still file for assault, you know.”

“But you won’t. You need us to save your skinny ass.”

“You violent, arrogant . . .”

“I wouldn’t throw stones, bud. You’re the one who hired someone to kill me, right?” Ashe shot back.

“You can’t prove that!” But Bannerman turned the color of bread dough, his eyes going wide. “As far as a court’s concerned, that’s pure speculation.” He was panting, his short, shallow breaths wheezing painfully.

Ashe let her disgust show. “Is that the demon talking, or just your own cover-your-ass legal bluster? Grab a brain. You just finished saying you needed us.”

Reynard peered over the top of his sunglasses, flagrantly unimpressed. “Shall I blow his head off for you, my dear?” Despite the breezy tone, Reynard’s fingers tightened on the Smith & Wesson.

Ashe put a hand on his arm, reluctantly letting go of her anger. “As much as I hate to admit it, he was under compulsion.”

“Yes.” Bannerman nodded feverishly. “I wasn’t responsible for anything.”

“Except greed and stupidity,” Reynard replied in an icy tone, raising the gun with a casual air that said he’d have no qualms about pulling the trigger.

“No,” Bannerman said, flailing against the car in his terror. “Oh, God, no, I beg you!”

Reynard turned to Ashe. “It’s up to you. He’ll be a threat at least until the demon is banished.”

Ashe gritted her teeth in frustration. It was tempting to let Reynard do it. Neat, clean, quick, and final. But illegal. Bannerman wasn’t a monster. He was a demon’s thrall. If they could get rid of Tony, the lawyer would most likely revert to being ordinary scum instead of homicidal, hit man- hiring scum. She could throw him that lifeline, at least—if not for him, for the family she’d seen in the photo on his desk.

“Let him go,” she said regretfully.

Reynard lowered the gun and stepped back, eyeing the lawyer with contempt. “I think we’re done with you.”

Bannerman was in the car as fast as mortal limbs could manage. The motor started with an expensive purr.

Ashe pounded on the window. Bannerman lowered it a crack. “What?”

“Where in the mall is he?”

He gave her a hollow look. “Oh, you’ll find him.” Ashe had to jump back before he ran over her feet.

Reynard caught her, one hand to her back. “I would say he doesn’t appreciate our good efforts.”

Ashe flipped the file open again. There were legal documents, printouts from the Internet showing warehouses, shops, and even an auction house. “We’ve got to stop Tony before Bannerman hits the Multiple Listing Service. Y’know, I almost feel sorry for the guy. He’s kind of like a Renfield.”

She closed the cover and slid the file inside her coat.

“Most demons start out as human servants,” Reynard said. “Another reason to stop this specimen. We don’t want him making friends. Demons are an epidemic waiting for an opportunity.”

That had always been one of those irrational, late-night terrors for Ashe: a world where demons slowly infected every human around her. Families, cities, countries would fall to their insatiable hunger. She couldn’t handle the thought that those paranoid fantasies might come true. “If they’re an epidemic, then I’m a great big bottle of antiseptic.”

She took out her phone and started dialing.

Reynard looked at her. “Who are you calling?”

“The police. I don’t care what kind of a legal wall Bannerman’s buddies are building around him; that folder you grabbed has clear evidence that he’s been selling property to a demon. That’s good for five to ten years if he’s convicted. Even if he isn’t, it should keep him on ice long enough for us to clean up this mess.”

“How very crafty of you.”

“You didn’t think I’d let him off that easily, did you?”

She looked across at Reynard. Now that Bannerman was gone, his face had fallen into lines of weariness. The fight had cost him. Whatever grace period Grandma and Holly’s magic had provided was running out.

It took them another twenty minutes to reach the mall. Just as they got off the Ducati, a red T-bird turned into the lot, heading for the underground parking.

“That’s Holly and Alessandro,” Ashe said, setting a rapid pace toward the parking entrance. “Come on, let’s catch up.”

They started to run. Reynard slowed suddenly, pulling his sunglasses off and scanning the front of the mall.

“What’s wrong?” Ashe asked, skidding to a stop.

“My urn is in there. I can feel it.” He suddenly looked energized, as if someone had put in fresh batteries.

“Great. Let’s go get it.” Ashe grabbed his hand, pulling him into the shadows of the underground parking garage.

Alessandro was already out of the T-bird by the time they approached. “Hey, fang-boy,” Ashe said.

He grunted and clapped her shoulder by way of greeting. Beneath a long, leather coat, the vampire carried a broadsword that contained enough silver to be fatal to most magical creatures.

A fatality was a distinct possibility when dealing with a vampire roused before dusk. He looked bleary and cranky.

Holly got out of the driver’s side of the car and promptly yawned. “I suppose we don’t have time for coffee before saving the city from the ultimate evil?”

“Sorry,” said Ashe. “The coffee they sell here is the ultimate evil.”

Then she did a double take, looking at Alessandro and then Holly. “He let you drive his precious Thunderbird?”

Holly gave the vampire a sidelong glance that spoke of a barely cooled argument. “No way I’m letting him drive during the day. He may look awake, but I’m not convinced.”

Alessandro narrowed his eyes, but Ashe couldn’t tell if he was annoyed or drowsy. She handed Holly Bannerman’s file. “Put this in the car. It’s a file with the future addresses of our demon.”

Reynard had drawn near the car and touched the glossy red hood with his fingertips. It didn’t take a mind reader to see the auto lust in his eyes. A low growl from Alessandro prompted him to remove his hand with a guilty jerk.

“What’s the plan?” Alessandro asked. “I’ve called other vampires who can walk in the daytime, as well as the hounds and wolf packs. They’re on standby.”