Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian 6)

Good god, an offer of a date from Pellini would put me right over the edge.

“Um, my schedule’s pretty packed right now,” I demurred. “Here’s the info I have.” I gave him a rundown of the basics with Idris, that he was missing, family name, vitals, told him we’d stumbled across the ID on Amber while researching Idris’s family. Everything I told him was true, but guilt nagged. I knew a lot more that I wasn’t telling him, but I couldn’t do so without delving into demons and lords and general weirdness.

He listened, asked a few questions. When it was time to hang up, he didn’t. “Maybe when your schedule clears up we can get a beer?”

“Uh,” I said in a brilliant delaying tactic. “Sure. We’ll talk about it then.” I disengaged quickly and hung up, more than a little weirded out by his persistence. Was it because I was in better shape now, or was the reason more sinister? Then again, his desire to be friendly could just as easily be completely benign. Last year, after a particularly ugly incident, Ryan had influenced both Pellini and Boudreaux to lighten up and not be such assholes to me, and since then the two had been far less hostile. Perhaps Ryan’s little tweak had started a chain reaction of don’t-be-a-dick.

I was drying the last of the breakfast dishes when Ryan emerged from the basement, dressed for work, empty coffee cup in hand. “We’ve sent the info on to Pellini and Boudreaux.”

“Thanks. Pellini will be glad to get it,” I said then scrunched my face. “He wanted me to meet him for lunch.”

Ryan let out a snort of laughter. “Lunch with Pellini? That’s a first.”

“He wanted to talk about the case, but I gave him the non-demon facts over the phone. There’s not all that much.” I shrugged, frowned. “He’s acting a little weird, though he’s not being a total asstard the way he used to.”

“Maybe he’s a pod person,” he suggested as he poured more coffee into his cup. “Anyway, I’ll be downstairs for a while if you need me. We’re working on the safe house and the Farouche info, then have a meeting at nine.”

I nodded. “I’m going to listen to Idris’s call a few more times. He may have used that emphasis technique somewhere else. Right now it’s our only source of clues.”

“I’ll let you know if we come up with anything else,” he said and then departed down the basement stairs.

I grabbed the recorder and a set of headphones then settled on the sofa, this time listening for nuances in emphasis and timing. On the third time through, I stopped it at the end, ran it back about ten seconds. Listened to it again. And again.

Tell Mzatal I still have his ring, and I haven’t forgotten gheztak ru eehn. So leave me be. You don’t want to start a fire you can’t put out.

Start a fire.

Except he hesitated for the barest instant before and after “start,” mumbled the “a” and hesitated again after “fire.”

There were two options. Either my imagination was working overtime, or Idris had told me who had him: StarFire.

• • •

Ryan dashed up from the basement, laptop in hand, when I hollered. “You have something new?”

“I think so.” I played the end of the recording, but to my disappointment he simply responded with a puzzled look. “Listen to it,” I urged and played it again. “Start a fire. StarFire.” I scowled at his dubious expression. “I know it’s a little crazy but I hear it now. I can’t not hear it.”

To his credit, Ryan didn’t shoot me down in flames. “Play it one more time.” I did so, and this time he rewarded me with a slow nod. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “If that’s for real, Idris is one clever guy. That’s a hard thing to pull off.”

“He’s super smart,” I said. “And that’s why I believe it’s a real clue.”

“StarFire, huh?” He opened his laptop on the kitchen table and sat. “I was actually on my way to show you what I came up with on Farouche. Basically, he’s a fucking saint. Gives tons to charity, bought new computers for every public school in St. Long Parish, even arranged for bulletproof vests for the Sheriff’s department K-9 units.”

“He got vests for the dogs?” I blinked in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he said as he scrolled to another page. “Married twice. Two kids, boy and a girl, with the first wife. They divorced seventeen years ago,” he winced, “two years after their five-year-old daughter was abducted in broad daylight from in front of her school. Never found.”

“Shit,” I breathed. “I remember that. It was a couple of years after my dad died, and all the schools and parents were freaking out about security.” I gave a wry grimace. “A few days later I missed the bus home because I was out behind the gym trying pot for the first time. Tessa thought I’d been kidnapped too, and ripped me up one side and down the other. Grounded me for a month.”

Ryan snorted. “Once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker.”

I punched him lightly on his shoulder. “I’ve upgraded to a higher class of troublemaking. What else do you have on Farouche?”

He continued to skim the page. “He remarried about a year later, had two more kids.” He blew out a breath. “And the second wife, Claire, passed away from ovarian cancer about three years back.”

I fought down a shiver. My mother had died of that same cancer when I was eight. But to lose a child and a wife? This guy had been through hell twice.

“The feds have sniffed around a time or two with regards to some vaguely questionable dealings,” Ryan continued, “but it’s never reached the level of a full-blown investigation. And nothing’s ever turned up that was unusual for a businessman with multiple holdings. His employees love him. He’s generous with benefits, pays fairly. No one has ever filed a complaint against him.” He clicked on another screen. “Big supporter of the arts, too. Paid for a new roof for Beaulac Little Theater, and even invested in some zombie movie over in St. Edwards Parish.”