Cat Adams - Demon Song

That was nothing to get embarrassed about. I was pretty sure I’d gag, too. But okay. This was big. It was in the future and it was actionable. But who to call?

I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers next to my lips. I could call Alex. But if she was still following up on my last tip, she was working to get a squad out to the prison. That was damned important, and I didn’t want to interrupt her. Still, she was my only real contact in the local police. I knew more sheriff’s deputies because that department allowed moonlighting, so I’d met a few guys off-duty, on bodyguard assignments. But a drug bust on the harbor wasn’t a sheriff’s department sort of assignment. Apparently, I needed to meet more people in the city police, and since the local cops couldn’t take a second job, it would have to be the old-fashioned way—dropping in to talk. I filed the thought away for future action.

I saw Maria open her mouth out of the corner of my eye and held up a hand to stop her. “Give me a minute. I have to think.”

A thought occurred to me and I moved forward so suddenly I scared poor Maria. “Got it!” I announced it so she didn’t bolt right out of the chair with a scream. I spun the card index until I reached the “R” section and plucked out a business card that had been taped to one of the slotted ones. I was already reaching for the phone.

After two rings, my call was picked up. “Federal Bureau of Investigation. Special Agent Rizzoli’s office.”

Bummer. He’d answered personally the last time I called. “Is he in? I need to speak to him right away.”

“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t. Her voice was bored and impatient. “He’s out on assignment. Can I have him call?”

That could take ten minutes … or a week. Was it worth the risk? I sighed. “Yeah, I guess you might as well give him the message. Have him call Celia Graves. It’s urgent. And I mean really, really urgent.”

“Spell that for me.”

How hard is “Celia Graves” to spell? Whatever. I spelled it, slowly and politely, just in case she was his boss or something and decided to pitch the message in the trash if I was rude. Just to be safe, I added, “Please tell him it’s about Jorge Encarcion. Again, it’s urgent .”

There was a pause on the line and I was certain she’d hung up. “Hello? Did you get that?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Her voice had changed. Now she sounded interested. “Let me read that number back.” She did. It was right. “I’ll have him call you as soon as possible.”

Had I hit a nerve by mentioning Encarcion’s name? God, I hoped so. I hung up and let out a slow breath. “Okay. We need to find a place where you can be safe for a few days until I hear back from the guy I just called.” In normal circumstances, I would just escort her home and tell her to stay home sick from school for a few days. But Jorge knew where she lived, so that was out, and so was putting her with anyone I trusted to watch over her. The people I trust I also care about, and not everybody is suited to the life I live. What Maria really needed was a caretaker who could also take care of himself. Someone to keep her on the straight and narrow, to dissuade her from believing that the drug trade was a viable career choice. To protect her from herself as much as the outside menaces.

A warrior.

Or … a warrior priest . “What religious faith are you?”

She furrowed her brow, as though it were a stupid question. “Catholic.”

“What would you think about staying at a seminary for a few days with your family? Specifically, with the local warrior priests?” It could be the answer to everything. A lot of the dealers from south of the border were Catholic. They’d think twice about shooting someone on holy ground. Maria could continue her schoolwork and her family would be protected. The warrior priests are kick-butt guys—skilled in both martial combat and demonic battling. Few messed with them. But the ones I’d met were all wonderful, caring men who would definitely be concerned for a young girl like her.

The fear was back in the girl’s eyes, but there was something else there, too. I think it was hope. “I think Mama would be really excited. She’s never met a warrior priest. But she doesn’t know about this. I haven’t told her Manuel died.”

Hadn’t told her? I didn’t think anything else could shock me, but Maria had managed it. “You said he dumped Manuel’s body in front of the house.”

Now she’d clammed up. Crap. I was already in too deep. What the hell had she done with her brother’s body?

Wait. That wasn’t my job. Her brother was dead. I couldn’t help him anymore. I could also understand her panicking when she found his body. Now I’d agreed to protect her. The best way to do that was to get her out of the line of fire. Yeah, she definitely needed some priests around her. If nothing else, for confession and helping her break the news to her folks. The police would have to get involved eventually. Maria had committed a crime by hiding a body someone else had killed, but they probably wouldn’t prosecute if she could help them catch a bigger dog.

I pushed back my chair and stood. “Let’s get you out to the seminary. I’ll call them on the way and have one of the priests go to your house to collect your parents.”

She seemed relieved I didn’t ask anything more about Manuel’s body and happy that I included her parents in my plans. I’d already put on my knife sheaths before she came in, but when I reached for my shoulder holster her eyes went wide. I shrugged. “We can’t guarantee there isn’t someone waiting outside. I want to be sure we make it to my car and to the seminary.”

On the way out, I planned to tell Dawna to implement security level one. It was a literal switch at her desk that would turn on a special perimeter barrier that would sound an alert if anyone approaching was armed with something metal. The door would be locked so that each guest had to be buzzed in and a nitrates sniffer would activate as someone approached the door. We’d do it all the time except the sniffer caught too many things out of the air from the military base down the road. The random sirens had driven us nuts until we figured out why they were going off.

After putting on my blazer, I picked up my purse and motioned Maria to her feet. “We’ll take the interstate. That’ll give us more maneuvering room if—”

The intercom buzzer sounded and I looked at the phone as if it could see me. “Celia? I’m sorry to interrupt. Could you pick up?”

Dawna didn’t interrupt a client meeting unless it was really important, so I reached across and picked up the receiver. “What’s up?”

“Remember that FBI guy who came to the office a few months ago? He’s on line two.”

Rizzoli? Wow! I guess I had hit a nerve. “Got it. Thanks.” I motioned Maria back to her seat and walked back around the desk, the phone’s cord stretching to its limit as I did. I pressed the button and heard the characteristic static of a cell phone. “Rizzoli? Is that you?” For a moment I heard nothing but the sounds of a busy street.

“Make it fast, Graves. And it had better be fucking important to interrupt a deep-cover stakeout.” Wow. I’d never heard him swear before.

“You’ve heard of Jorge Encarcion?”

“It’s why I’m calling. Like I said, give me something useful or I hang up now and go back to looking like a drunk bum.”

I might pay to see that. Rizzoli was very Italian and so very cookie-cutter Fed that I couldn’t imagine him in filthy clothes, sucking on a bottle of cheap wine. “What would you give me for a witness that could hand you Encarcion on a silver platter?”

There was a long pause. “Don’t tease, Graves. You’re too much of a lady.”