“The kind of person I want to see behind bars,” Donovan replied. Because if someone’s going to all this effort, they’re hiding something big.

  When he placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder, he felt her tremble. “Can you wait for me in my squad car? I’ll drive you back to town in a little bit.”

  After she collected her pack from the deputy’s car, Riley headed toward his cruiser. Though she held her head up and her back straight, Donovan could tell she was scared. She had a right to be. Someone had taken this situation to a new and sadistic level.

  Martin watched her closely. “You sure it wasn’t Beck?”

  “I am. No way he’d do that to any girl. Especially not that one.”

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Interview the neighbors down here and see if they heard anything. Then pull Beck’s and Cole’s phone records, check who they’ve been talking to over the last few days. I’ll swing by the hospital, see if Hadley is in any shape to tell me who’s behind all this.”

  “That’d be like one snake turning on another,” Martin replied.

  “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Donovan waited until they’d reached the main road back to town before he began a conversation with his passenger. “You better now?”

  She nodded soberly. “What about the truck?”

  “As soon as we’re done with it, I’ll have it delivered to the motel. Sorry, but the fingerprint powder makes a real mess.”

  “I’ll deal.”

  “You planning on staying until we have this sorted out?”

  “That’s a definite,” she said, her words clipped. “There’s something you should know about the undertaker.”

  After Riley recapped her conversation with McGovern, he made a mental note to have a talk with the man.

  “Thanks. I’ll check it out.” He cleared his throat. “How much you know about Denver’s past?”

  “Some, but not much. He’s pretty closed about it,” she admitted.

  “Then I’ll give you a little background. When the brothers disappeared, Denver was just holdin’ his own. Sadie had a new boyfriend, a guy named Vic, and he used to beat on the kid. Vic was smart enough to hit where the bruises didn’t show and I never could get Denver to say a word about it.”

  “He wouldn’t have told you. He never left his mom because he was sure his dad would show up someday.”

  Donovan nodded his agreement. “I figured that was what was going on. Up to that point he’d listen to me, take my advice, then the brothers went missing. He and his girlfriend broke up and he spun out of control. After he was in a knife fight, I sent him north.”

  “You did the right thing. Beck’s turned his life around.”

  Donovan pulled past a camper and then cut back into the lane. “I was really worried about him up there since his uncle didn’t really give too much of a damn about the boy and both his grandparents were dead by then. When your father called me, we talked for a long time, and I realized Denver had himself a champion, and one he might respect. Over the years Paul and I kept in touch. That’s how I learned the boy had been wounded in Afghanistan.”

  “My dad really cared about him.” She looked out the window. “I don’t have anyone left except Beck,” she murmured. “I can’t lose him. He’s . . . too important to me now.”

  From the yearning in her voice it was more than friendship.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll find him. One way or another.”

  She swung back toward him. “You didn’t find those other boys.”

  “That’s why I won’t stop this time until I bring him home.”

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Beck was pleased to see that the hole he’d scooped out had about three inches of water in it. He knew it’d taste awful, but dehydration was his second biggest threat right after the demon. He cupped his hand and brought the liquid to his mouth. As it trickled in, he nearly spat it out, but forced himself to swallow it.

  “God, that’s awful.”

  “All the water you wish can be yours,” the fiend said. It was back in its usual location, scrutinizing him like a teenager does a freshly baked pizza.

  “I know the drill,” Beck replied, then took another long sip. “Ya’ll give me everythin’ I want in this world as long as I sign up to be yer slave in the next life.”

  “What is it you wish for, Denver Beck?”

  “For you to go away,” he replied. He went back to the task at hand—trying to free himself from the chain. Bashing the padlock only made his foot ache, so now he was trying to widen the gap in the ring. Where had the Four gotten the padlock in the first place?

  “They hated you,” the fiend continued. “Those two who died. They brought you out here to make fun of you.”

  “I know that now.” He looked up. “Why are ya here? Why would a demon be playin’ tag with the gators?”

  The fiend’s eyes flared. “Punishment, they said. For not honoring the Prince in the proper way.” It spat in disgust. “For not heeding his commands.”

  “Not a fan of old Lucifer, huh?” Beck said, seeing if he could get a reaction.

  The fiend winced at the use of its master’s name, but it didn’t cry out in anguish like most of them did.

  “Let me guess, yer one of Sartael’s crew but somehow ya didn’t show up for the big battle. Ya thought that crazy old Archangel was going to knock off Lucifer and ya wouldn’t have to be there to help out. Now yer here. A traitor exiled from a bunch of traitors.”

  The demon moved faster than Beck thought possible. He brandished the rifle for protection, but the fiend had already struck and retreated, even as he staggered backward, scowling in pain. Keeping an eye on the Four, he warily bent down to touch a hand to his left leg. It came away bloody. Within an hour or two he’d start to feel the effects, first a fever, then, as the infection worsened, he’d begin hallucinating. If left untreated with Holy Water, the wound would kill him.

  “Now you have no choice, Denver Beck,” the demon snarled. “You will give me your soul, or you will die here and no one will find your bones.” It smiled and gestured toward the patch of ground in front of the other tree. “I’m sure the brothers will embrace you in death.”

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  The body of the slain trapper lay at his feet, the victim’s sightless eyes gazing upward in bewilderment as his lifeblood pooled in the sun’s harsh glare. Ori shook his head at the man’s stupidity. It was as if the fool had wanted to commit suicide.

  He blamed the Creator for mankind’s hubris. In this case, the insane belief that a lone demon trapper could battle a Divine and live to tell the tale. It did happen, but it was extremely rare. It had not happened today.

  Ori had known the man had been tracking him for some time, then finally allowed him his moment of gruesome glory. The newly deceased hadn’t been one of the local trappers—they knew better than to challenge one of his kind—but had come from another city in a brazen attempt to gain fame. In the end there was no fame, only death.

  With a swipe of his hand the body flamed and then disintegrated, but the fire did nothing for the coldness within the angel’s soul. Too long had he slain rogue demons for his master with scant praise. Even now, he was being pressed to kill more of them, and with no additional help. But that would change when Riley Anora Blackthorne returned to the city. Ori would make sure of it. He felt something close to impatience—an utterly human emotion—as the moment drew closer.

  Even now he picked up the faint scent of his prey, a rogue Archfiend in the mortal city of St. Louis. Ori vanished, on the hunt once again. In many ways, he thought the dead trapper lucky. That man had chosen the moment and manner of his death. As long as Lucifer reigned in Hell, Ori would have no such solace.

  SIXTEEN

  Riley knew she was being stubborn and wasting money by keeping the extra motel room, but the moment she packed up Beck’s clothes and moved them into her room she’d be admitting he was gone. Maybe forever.

  Restless, she called Stewart to let him know the latest, but her call went to voice mail. Probably attending yet another meeting between the witches and necromancers in an effort to tamp down the tensions brewing between them. She left a detailed message and then began to pace from room to room, unsure of what to do next. Beck was somewhere and he needed her help, but what could she do without wheels or any notion of where to go next?

  A knock on her door paused her pacing. If this was Beck she’d hug him first, then shout. Then hug him again and never let go. She checked through the privacy portal and found twin blue eyes gazing back at her.

  Simon? He was the last person she’d expected to see in Sadlersville. She opened the door, not knowing what to say.

  “Riley,” he said, clearly as uncomfortable. “Master Harper sent me down to help you find Beck.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  He didn’t move. “I know this is hard for you, but—”

  “We’ll work it out,” she said, waving him in. “You can stay in Beck’s room.”

  Simon didn’t remark about the fact the rooms were connected and that the door between them was open. Luckily the housekeeper had made Beck’s bed or it’d look even worse.

  Riley opened a drawer and gazed down at the tidy piles of socks and underwear.

  “I haven’t moved his stuff because I thought . . . ” She froze, her hands trembling. “It’ll just take me a minute and . . . ” Riley looked up at the ceiling, tears stinging her eyes. “Oh, God, Simon, what if he’s dead?”

  He gently turned her around. She wanted him to hold her, but with what had happened between them, was that even possible? He must have been thinking the same.

  “Stewart said we’re not to come home until we find Beck,” he murmured.

  “But what if—”

  “Then we’ll find who hurt him and introduce them to Hell . . . personally.”

  Riley took a step back, shocked at the malice in his voice. This wasn’t the Simon she knew, the one who used to apologize to demons when he caught them.

  Oblivious to the reaction he’d caused, he gestured toward the open drawer. “Leave Beck’s things where they are. I’ll work around them. He can pack them up when he gets back.”

  That was a thick slice of hope and she clutched at it greedily.

  “Yeah,” she said, “let him do it. No way I’m touching his underwear.”

  Simon gave her a nod and a painfully thin smile.

  Riley left him to unpack. As he moved around the other room, he was already on the phone to Harper reporting that he was in Sadlersville and ready to take up the hunt. Though it made sense that he’d be the best trapper to send down to help her—all the journeymen would be too busy—it was hard to be close to him without remembering their past. She saw Stewart’s hand in this, even though Harper had been the one to send her ex down south.

  Riley had just turned off her computer when Simon stuck his head into the room. “I came down on the bus and I haven’t eaten yet. You hungry?”

  She really wasn’t, but to humor him she nodded. “How’d you get out to the motel?”

  “I hitchhiked. Couldn’t seem to find a cab.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Maybe we can get a ride. She dialed Sam’s number and when the sheriff’s niece answered, she explained the situation.

  “The new dude. Is he a hottie?” Sam asked.

  “Totally.”

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  “We got a ride,” Riley called out, not bothering to explain why.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  A screech of tires in the parking lot announced their driver had arrived. As Riley and Simon walked to the car, Sam rolled down the window.

  “You’re right, he is a babe.”

  Riley groaned. Just shoot me now. “Simon, this is Samantha, aka Sam.” Who has no idea of how to monitor that mouth of hers.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said politely.

  “Yeah, real fine,” the girl replied, and beamed.

  Riley had Simon take the front seat, knowing that Sam would spend the entire drive with her eyes on him. If he was sitting in the backseat, that could get dangerous if they actually encountered any significant traffic.

  “What’s it like?” Sam gushed. “Being a trapper, I mean. Is it all kick-butt stuff, like the TV show?”

  “It’s different,” Simon replied diplomatically. Then he deftly changed the subject to Sam’s life and away from his. Their driver didn’t seem to notice. As she kept talking, Simon made conciliatory noises, but Riley could tell his mind was elsewhere.

  “So where can we eat?” Riley asked. Now that she was out of the motel room, she was hungry.

  “There’s an Italian place. That work for you?” Sam asked.

  “Sounds good,” Riley replied.

  It didn’t work for any of them as the restaurant was closed for a private party.

  “God, it’s like being exiled in Siberia,” Sam grumbled.

  Like moths to a flame, they ended up at the diner and chose a booth in the back. When Sam made sure to sit next to Simon, he seemed amused by the attention. To her surprise, Riley didn’t feel a bit of jealousy. Whatever she’d felt for her ex-boyfriend had been put to rest, reinforced by a drenching in Holy Water.

  At least he doesn’t hate me now.

  As Sam inspected the menu, Simon dug two newspapers out of his pack and set them in front of Riley. “Sorry, I should have given you these at the motel. Stewart wanted you to read them. They’re by the reporter Beck was . . . dating.”

  Dating? That wasn’t what Riley would call it, but she didn’t bother to correct him.

  “Thanks,” she replied and pulled the papers closer.

  She started with yesterday’s newspaper—the article was not on the Atlanta Journal Constitution’s front page, which was a blessing, but buried inside. Beck’s photo was decent, and though she didn’t want to give the Stick Chick any credit, the article was well written. There was nothing inflammatory until you read the last paragraph when Justine began to pose questions about Beck’s early years in Sadlersville. In particular, his role in the deaths of the Keneally brothers. Which meant the masters and all of Atlanta now knew Beck’s darkest secret.

  Grumbling under her breath, Riley switched to the next paper, the one that had been published that morning, and gasped at the headline.

  Is this decorated war hero

  a stone-cold killer?

  Her eyes lifted to meet Simon’s. She could tell he was concerned about her reaction.

  “I’m good.” I will be, right after I rip her lungs out.

  Riley skimmed over the article and found only one error, claiming Beck had been sixteen rather than a year younger when the two boys had gone missing. Still, it didn’t answer the question, but laid out the pros and cons of the case. At the end there was another teaser: Was Denver Beck the scapegoat for someone else’s heinous crime?

  “Stewart thinks the reporter is using Beck to flush out the real murderer,” Simon observed.

  “If that’s the case, the killer would go after him, not her, which might just have happened.” Riley folded the paper, thinking it through. “I need to make a phone call,” she said, slipping out of the booth.

  “What do you want to eat?” Sam called out.

  “I don’t care. Just order something with potato chips.” It was time for fat, salt, and something crunchy.

  Riley stepped outside the diner into the chilly night air. The town was quieter now, few cars on the road. Down the street the cop shop was lit up, three cars parked in front of the building. Donovan was still on the case. She scrolled through her incoming calls until she found the one she wanted. As it rang through, she made a fist of her free hand.

  I hate you, you lying skank. You hurt the guy I love, but if you can help me find him I’ll . . . I’ll—

  “Justine Armando,” the lyrical voice announced.

  “It’s Riley Blackthorne. I’m in Sadlersville. I need you to help me find Beck.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He’s missing and the cops think he shot a local guy, then killed himself.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Justine retorted. “Tell me what has happened.”

  Riley laid it all out for her, including the fake suicide call. “You were using Beck as bait to find the real killer.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Not as such, but my articles may have served as a catalyst. I am in Florida conducting research on a collateral story. As soon as I am finished here, I’ll come to Sadlersville.” A lengthy pause. “However, in return I want the truth of what happened at Oakland Cemetery.”

  She never stops. “I can tell you about the battle with the demons, but that’s it.”

  “I need to know it all.”

  “Not happening. I’m under orders from the Vatican.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but closer than she cared to admit. “Here’s the deal. Your articles started this mess so now you’re going to help me get Beck back. If you try to screw us over, you will have an enemy for life.”

  Justine huffed. “You are hardly a threat, girl.”

  Riley’s mind conjured up the favor Lucifer owed her. “In that you would be wrong,” she said, and then hung up.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  Riley’s ham sandwich and potato chips were waiting for her, but her stomach churned so badly it was hard to eat. She didn’t like having to threaten people, even the skank.

  Simon put down his hamburger and gave her a worried look. “You okay?”

  “I just made a deal with the Devil,” Riley said. When he registered surprise, she shook her head. “Not that one. The reporter chick. Justine is going to help us. She knows this case as well as the cops, but she can’t get to town right away.”