Jenna Black - Speak of the Devil

Trying to shake the fog out of my brain, I unhooked my seat belt and gave Adam an annoyed glance. “What?”

He pursed his lips, and I had the impression he was trying to decide what to say. I hoped he’d decide on nothing, but I wasn’t that lucky.

“Are you up to this?”

I looked for the surge of indignation a question like that would usually inspire, but I couldn’t seem to muster it. Instead, I shrugged. “Probably not, but let’s do it anyway.” I started to get out, but Adam grabbed my arm. Again, I thought I should object but couldn’t be bothered.

“There’s no point in you coming with me if you’re just planning to sit there and pout.”

I tried a glare, but I didn’t think there was much heat behind it. “I’ve just had my heart broken. Forgive me if I’m a little down.”

His glare was much more effective. “Down is one thing. Dead is another. And dead is what you’ll end up if you don’t snap out of it and fast!”

I searched my brain for a good retort, but none came to mind. My vision blurred for a moment, and the next thing I knew, I wasn’t in control of my body anymore.

“Morgan needs some time,” Lugh said through my own mouth. “I’ll fill in for her until she’s ready to participate again.”

If I needed proof positive that I was in bad shape, I now had it. I hadn’t made any attempt to lower my mental barriers, and yet Lugh had been able to take control without the faintest hint of resistance on my part. And though I should have felt alarmed—I was too much of a control freak at heart to appreciate being a passenger in my own body—I merely felt… relieved. Adam was right: I wasn’t up to interviewing PI Barbie.

Adam didn’t look much happier than he had a moment ago. “Should we be … worried?” he asked.

Lugh shook his head. “I feel confident she’ll make a full recovery.”

That makes one of us , I thought at him, but he didn’t bother to answer the thought.

We got out of the car and entered a small office building that might have been a bail bonds office in a past life. Barbie’s office was toward the back, down a dismal hallway that had needed new carpet about twenty years ago. One of the ceiling tiles sported an impressive rust brown water stain, and the paint on the walls had so many scuffs you could almost mistake them for stripes. To enhance that aura of genteel respectability, the letters on Barbie’s door proclaimed ARBARA PA ET, RIVATE INVE TIGAT ON .

I couldn’t help wondering how the hell Barbie could afford to keep her sister at The Healing Circle if this was the best she could do for an office.

How the hell did an old money tycoon like Maguire end up hiring a bargain-basement PI? I thought at Lugh.

Good question , he answered.

Adam knocked on the door, and Barbie told him to come in. She had her back to us when we walked in, her nose buried in a battered metal filing cabinet. Her office itself looked a little better than the hallway, though it didn’t exactly scream of astounding financial success. At least it was neat, and the furniture, though no doubt secondhand, didn’t look like it had been stolen from a Dumpster.

Barbie stopped messing with the filing cabinet, shoving the drawer closed with a good bit of muscle. Even so, it got stuck about six inches short of fully closed. She gave it a bang with the heel of her hand, but it didn’t budge.

“Damn thing,” she muttered under her breath, then finally turned and saw Adam and me.

Her baby blue eyes widened in surprise as she looked back and forth between the two of us. “Ms. Kingsley, Mr. White. What a surprise.”

“I’ll bet,” Lugh said, adopting my hostile conversational style.

She blinked innocently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked.

Her poker face was a hell of a lot better than mine. If I hadn’t known better, I might have believed she had no idea why we were here.

“I’m sure you’re aware, Ms. Paget, that breaking and entering is against the law,” Adam said.

Adam has an uncanny ability to intimidate, and it looked like his juju was working overtime with Barbie. Her face paled and her mouth dropped partway open. So much for the poker face.

Adam laughed. “Come now,” he chided. “How can you act so surprised? If you’re going to brag about evidence you found in my house, it should come as no great shock that I know you broke in.”

With a shudder, she moved to the chair behind her desk and slowly sat. Her face had not regained its color. She glanced up at Adam’s face, but couldn’t seem to hold his gaze for more than half a second. She shook her head.

“How exactly did I brag about the evidence?” she asked, her voice shaky.

Maybe she was a really great actress, but it sure seemed to me she was genuinely surprised and distressed by Adam’s accusation. Lugh and Adam shared a look, and I remembered that I wasn’t currently in control of my body. I wanted to peer into Barbie’s face, looking for evidence of a lie. Not that I’m that great at telling when someone’s lying to me, but still…

Lugh reached into my pocketbook and pulled out the letter Brian had received, handing it to Adam, who handed it to Barbie. Annoyingly, Lugh still didn’t look at Barbie, so I couldn’t see her reaction. He seemed inordinately fascinated by the potted fern that languished in one corner of the office.

“Where did you get this?” Barbie asked.

Lugh was still examining the fern, and I felt the first stirrings of real irritation. What’s so fascinating about the damn plant? I asked.

Lugh didn’t answer.

“Are you sure you don’t know?” Adam asked Barbie.

Damn it, Lugh, turn your head!

“I didn’t write it, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It finally occurred to me that Lugh was studiously refusing to look in Barbie’s direction for the sole purpose of pissing me off. It was working, too. Sometimes, his ability to push just the right buttons is downright scary. I didn’t particularly want to be roused from my funk, but Lugh knew just how to goad me out of the soothing numbness.

I hated the fact that Lugh had manipulated me into this move, but I started to rally my mental forces to kick him out.

“But you know who did,” Adam said, and Barbie didn’t answer.

I wasn’t shocked that Lugh resisted my attempt to wrest back control. Damn him, he was going to make me fight for it. Feeling a bit like a marionette on his strings, I struggled harder to shut him out of my mind.

“Ms. Paget,” Adam said, “I found a long blond hair lying on the floor near the whip mentioned in the letter. What do you suppose the chances are it’ll match yours and help convict you?”

I was sure Adam was bluffing about that; otherwise, he would have mentioned it to me earlier. However, Barbie couldn’t know that, and Adam sounded pretty damn sure of himself.

Still, Lugh wasn’t letting me take control back, and a little of my habitual panic was seeping into my efforts. I wanted Lugh out of the driver’s seat, and I wanted him out now . Trying to still the panic while drawing energy from my anger, I visualized slamming the doors of my mind shut, then double-locking them to keep Lugh out.

His resistance faded as if it had never existed, and I was back in my own body, my pulse beating frantically in my throat. My stomach lurched unhappily with my now habitual post-control-change nausea. Thanks a lot, Lugh , I thought as I struggled not to toss my cookies.

I turned to look at Barbie, and she looked as panicked as I had felt a moment ago. Her hands had clenched in white-knuckled fists around the letter, and she was panting like she’d just finished doing push-ups.