Jenna Black - Speak of the Devil

At this point in my life, I had way too much experience being interviewed by the police. I knew that the questions would get repetitive, and that the repetition would irritate the crap out of me. I would then proceed to irritate the crap out of whoever was interviewing me, which would make the whole thing last longer.

Color me shocked, but the process went just about like I expected. As an extra giggle in this already fun-filled afternoon, I was lectured by some pimple-faced rookie with Dumbo ears about how I should have called the police sooner. I managed to refrain from lecturing him about the wonders of Clearasil.

The cops found a bunch of fingerprints on the bubble wrap, but I had a hunch they would all turn out to be mine. Adam was right—whoever was after me wasn’t stupid or careless enough to leave fingerprints. The cops would check the fingerprints they found anyway. Conveniently, my prints were already on file from when I’d been arrested for illegal exorcism. Lucky me.

It was well past my usual dinnertime, and the cops were just packing up to leave, when Brian showed up. This, of course, meant I couldn’t get away with any delay tactics—I had to tell him right away about the lovely gift I’d received. At least the police were gone by the time I finished giving Brian the details, though they had left plenty of fingerprint powder behind. Yay, an excuse to do some more cleaning!

When I’d finished telling Brian about my day, he leaned back into the cushions of the sofa and let out a heartfelt sigh.

“You’re just unbelievable,” he muttered.

“Hey!” I said, punching him in the shoulder. “It’s not my fault some wacko decided to send me a hand in the mail.”

He smiled faintly as he rubbed his shoulder. “I’m just saying that your life is too eventful to believe. I’m not saying it’s your fault.”

I couldn’t disagree with his assessment.

Since my day was already shot to hell anyway, I decided to add a little more stress and misery to my plate and forge ahead with the conversation I usually would have done my best to put off.

“So, are you still pissed at me?”

Another sigh. “I’m not pissed at you. I never was.”

“Your nose is growing, Pinocchio.”

He propped his elbow on the back of the couch and half turned to face me. “I wish you had told me what was going on before last night. I wish you could be a quarter, or even an eighth as open with me as you are with Lugh.”

I started to say something indignant, but Brian cut me off.

“I know you don’t have a choice with Lugh. But you do have a choice with me.”

“Brian—”

“Let me finish.” He took my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “You’re probably the most frustrating person I’ve ever met, but I’ve known that for a long time, and I still love you.” His lips quirked in a half smile. “Even though you drive me crazy.” The smile faded. “But I need you to trust me every once in a while.”

“I do!” I responded instantly. I’d loved Brian from the first moment I’d met him, even though logic had insisted—and still continued to insist—that we were all wrong for each other. And I trusted him more than I’d ever trusted anyone else in my life—not that that’s a ringing endorsement.

He quirked an eyebrow at me and looked skeptical.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about what Lugh was up to earlier. I just thought things between us were complicated enough without adding that to the mix.”

“And that’s the perfect example of what I mean when I say you don’t trust me enough. What bad thing would have happened if you’d told me as soon as you knew Lugh was interested?”

I crossed my arms and gritted my teeth. “You’d have gone all macho-man on me and gotten jealous.” I had to admit, I was surprised he seemed so much more upset about my failure to communicate than about the thought of Lugh trying to seduce me.

“Okay. I’m a normal guy. I don’t like finding out that some other guy is making moves on my woman.” He suddenly looked me straight in the eye while seeming to look right through me. “You hear me, Lugh? Morgan’s taken, and I’m not willing to share!” His eyes focused on me once more. “So I’m annoyed at Lugh. Big deal. You don’t think I’m going to dump you just because someone else wants you, do you?”

Reluctantly, I shook my head, because he was making way more sense than I liked.

“As long as you didn’t actually sleep with him, there’s only so upset I can get,” he concluded.

There he went with his impeccable logic again. “I still didn’t want to upset you.”

“So you’re never going to tell me anything that might upset me?” He was starting to get all pissed again. “You’re going to keep me in the dark, packed in cotton like some fragile glass ornament you only bring out at Christmas? How would you feel if I treated you that way?”

Once again, he had a point. My internal defense mechanisms wanted me to attack right back—I’m one of those “offense is the best defense” people—but I fought that instinct, taking a deep breath to calm myself down before I spoke.

“You’re right,” I admitted.

Brian looked startled.

“I’d hate it if you did that to me. And I’ll try my best not to do it again.”

His look was one of classic skepticism. “You’re going to stop hiding things from me ‘for my own good’?”

I grimaced. “I’ll try,” I promised. I thought of the big secret I was still keeping about what I’d let Adam do to me. But that was an old secret, and I was only promising not to keep new ones, right? “I’m probably going to screw up now and again, because it’s second nature to me. But I’ll try hard . Can you live with that?”

He regarded me for a long time before he answered, and I got the feeling he was searching every nuance of my expression for hidden clues. Finally, he sighed.

“I can live with that,” he said guardedly, “as long as your attempts meet with some success. Consider yourself on romantic probation and be on your best behavior for a while, okay?”

I didn’t like the way he’d phrased that—it sounded suspiciously like an ultimatum—but he was being pretty reasonable under the circumstances, so I nodded my acceptance.

I was still trying to figure out whether I should ask Brian about staying with him for a little while, just until we discovered who my secret admirer was, when the phone rang. I grabbed the phone and glanced at the caller ID. Jack Hillerman.

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but it took me a moment to place it. Then I remembered that Hillerman was Maguire’s attorney, the one Laura thought was trying to make a name for himself at my expense. Just who I wanted to talk to right now.

“Who is it?” Brian asked as I sat there stupidly staring at the phone.

“Maguire’s lawyer.” The phone rang for a fourth time, and my answering machine picked up. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear whatever Hillerman had to say. I noticed Brian wasn’t bugging me to answer it, so I figured I was making the right decision.

The answering machine beeped, then started to record.

“Ms. Kingsley,” said a deep male voice with an upper-crust accent that immediately made me think “pretentious snob.” “This is Jack Hillerman. I am Jordan Maguire’s attorney. It is my understanding that you made an attempt to contact my client this afternoon.”

Brian raised an eyebrow at me. I held up a hand in a “wait a minute” gesture.

“From now on,” Hillerman continued, “I must insist that any attempts to speak to my client be made through me. If you call him or speak to him again, I will have a restraining order put on you. My client has been through enough trauma without having to be harrassed by the author of his troubles.”