Blood of the Demon (Kara Gillian 2)

It bugged the shit out of me that we’d had a fight—a strange and stupid one at that—and the thought that we might not still be friends left me with a dull ache in my chest. Okay, so he might never be interested in me beyond friendship, but that was better than nothing at all.

Right?

I was in no mood to go in to work, but I still possessed enough shreds of pride that I didn’t want to waste a sick day on wallowing in self-pity. Not that I wasn’t unspeakably tempted to do so as I huddled under my covers. But I suspected that I was turning into one of those horribly needy people who cling far too hard to people who are nice to them. I liked Ryan. Quite a bit. But how much of that was simply because we shared knowledge of the arcane? I wanted very much to think that there was more to our friendship than that, but maybe I’d misread the signs out of my deep desire for there to be more.

I groaned and stuffed my head under the pillow. It was true. I did want there to be more. “I am so pathetic,” I mumbled into my pillow.

On the other hand, why would he be so overly protective of me—even if it was rather insulting—if he didn’t consider me to be a good friend? And how much of my reaction to him the other night had been fueled by a fair amount of guilt that he was right—at least partially? I’d certainly jumped right into Rhyzkahl’s arms on our first encounter, though the reasons for that were far too layered for me to begin to peel apart. But, in my own defense, I hadn’t succumbed to his thrall, or whatever Ryan was afraid of. I was still me.

Right?

And for that matter, who are you, Ryan Kristoff? I thought, feeling suddenly defensive. How the fuck do demons know who you are?

I threw off the covers and practiced a few choice curse words. This entire line of thought was a sure way to drive myself nuttier than I already was.

It was barely six a.m. After a moment’s thought, I pulled on workout clothes, packed a gym bag, grabbed some work-quality clothes, then headed to the gym. I was the kind of member the gym loved: My dues were automatically debited from my checking account once a month, and I showed up about half as often as that. But I felt a deep need to sweat some annoyance and frustration out, and this was a better option than cleaning my house.

To my surprise, the gym was fairly crowded, and I realized belatedly that everyone else was also trying to squeeze a workout in before work. I saw a number of familiar faces, though after a few minutes of racking my brain for names, I realized that they were familiar because I’d seen them recently, at Brian Roth’s funeral. Elected officials, or people in the social scene. No one I actually knew.

I didn’t have much of a workout plan in mind, which was probably a good thing since most of the equipment was occupied. I finally settled for a workout that consisted of: Wander around until you see an open machine and then do that exercise. Amazingly, at the end of twenty minutes I felt like I’d accomplished something. I put in another twenty minutes on the elliptical trainer, and then showered, changed, and made it in to work barely on time.

I didn’t see Boudreaux or Pellini in their offices as I headed to mine, but somehow I doubted that they were out tracking down leads in the deaths of Carol and Brian. More likely, they were conducting a thorough investigation of the breakfast menu at Lake o’ Butter Pancake House.

I allowed myself to feel virtuous as I settled in at my desk, pleased when my lieutenant walked by my office and gave me a nod in passing, and doubly pleased when I heard him inquire a few seconds later as to the whereabouts of everyone else.

Now that I’d successfully established to the rank that I looked like I was working, it was time to actually do the work that would hopefully give me some results. It was, unfortunately, boring, but after three hours I had managed to type up subpoenas for the Sharps’ financials, so I could verify for myself everything Elena Sharp had told me.

Definitely action-movie material.

The courthouse was only a block away from the station, but it was already hot enough that my blouse clung to me after just that short walk. I breathed a sigh of relief as the air-conditioned climate of the courthouse enveloped me, not even caring that in about a minute I’d be covered in goose bumps as the sweat dried.

I gave a nod to the officers working courthouse security, giving an extra smile to Latif—the tall dark-skinned woman holding the metal-detector wand. She was an amazon, with hair cut so short she might as well have shaved her head, but on her it totally worked and made her look like a gorgeous badass. We’d been in the same class at the academy, finishing one-two in the academic portion. She was number one. She’d have been a terrific road cop, in my opinion, but she was a single mom and had told me that not only did she need the more normal hours of courthouse work, but she also couldn’t put herself in a position to leave her daughter without a mother. I could totally respect that.

Latif gave me a wide smile as I passed through the security area. “Hey, woman. Whatcha got going on?”

I lifted the manila folder with my subpoenas. “The exciting side of investigations. The paperwork.”

She chuckled. “Warrants?”

“Subpoenas.”

“Woo. The really fun stuff!” she said, as she peered at a piece of paper on the desk by the X-ray machine. “Well, Judge Roth is supposed to be the duty judge today, but he’s not in.”

“I’m not surprised. The funeral was only the day before yesterday.”

Latif grimaced. “Yeah. He’s been out since it happened. That whole thing sucks. Oh, here we go. Judge Laurent is taking duty today.”

I’d had warrants signed by Judge Laurent before, so I knew where his chambers were. I made my good-byes to Latif, then headed up to the second floor.

His secretary sat behind the desk out front—a curvy brunette who managed to look lush instead of pudgy. I envied this ability. She gave me a smile as I closed the door behind me. “You need something signed?”

I lifted the folder containing the subpoenas. “If he’s not too busy?”

She took the folder from me. “Well, he’s always busy,” she said, “but I’m sure he has time to take care of this. Let me run this back to him.”

She exited through a side door and returned about a minute later, motioning me to go on back. I gave her a smile of thanks as I went through the door and walked down the short hallway to the judge’s chambers.

I’d been in Judge Laurent’s courtroom several times, testifying in various cases. He’d been on the bench for at least twenty years and would probably be retiring in a few more. He looked like a crotchety wizard, and every time I saw him I couldn’t help but think that he needed only a pointed hat and a staff to go with his judicial robes.