Jim put the gun back in the holster that hung on the bedpost and pulled on a pair of boxers. When he opened his door, Vin diPietro was standing on the other side, looking like a hot mess. Although he'd had a wash and a shave and changed into rich-guy casual clothes, his face was bruised and his expression was grim as hell.

"You see the news yet?" he said.

"No." Jim backed up so the guy could come in. "How'd you find me?"

"Chuck told me where you lived. I would have called, but he didn't have your number." Vin went to the television and turned the thing on. As he flipped through the channels, Dog went over and gave him a sniffing.

Guy must have passed, because the animal sat on his loafer.

"Shit...I can't find it...it was all over the local news," Vin muttered.

Jim glanced at the digital clock by his bed. Seven seventeen. The alarm should have gone off at six, but he'd obviously forgotten to set the thing. "What's on the news?"

At that moment, the Todayshow turned it over to a local update, and the Caldwell station's almost beautiful announcer looked into the camera with gravity.

"The dead bodies of two young men that were found in the eighteen hundred block of Tenth Street early this morning have been identified as Brian Winslow and Robert Gnomes, both aged twenty-one." Pictures of the college meatheads he and Vin had taken care of flashed on the screen to the right of the blonde's head. "The two were the apparent victims of gunshot wounds, their bodies found by a fellow clubgoer about four o'clock this morning. According to a CPD spokeswoman, the pair were roommates at SUNY Caldwell and were last seen headed out to the Iron Mask, a local hot spot. No suspects have been named as yet." The camera angle changed and she turned into the new lens. "In other news, another peanut-butter recall has been..."

As Vin glanced over his shoulder, his demeanor was focused and calm, which suggested he was not unfamiliar with having his ass in a crack with the police. "That guy with the mustache and glasses who looked down the hall when we were fighting could be a problem. We didn't kill them, but chances are good it's going to get complicated for us."

True enough.

Turning away, Jim went over to the cupboards and took out the instant coffee. Only half an inch of grounds were left in the jar, not enough for one, much less two cups. Which was fine; it tasted like swill anyway.

He put the jar back and went to the fridge even though there was nothing in it. "Hello? You there, Heron?"

"Heard what you said." And he wished like hell someone hadn't shot those two idiots. Getting into a fistfight was one thing. Being implicated in a shooting was another entirely. He was confident enough in his false identity on a local level - after all, it had been created by the U.S. government. But what he didn't need was his old bosses up in his face again, and getting flagged for murder by the CPD was going to pop him onto their radar immediately.

"I'd like to keep this as quiet as possible," he said, closing the refrigerator door.

"Myself as well, but if that club's owner wants to find me, he can."

That was right; Vin had given the prostitute they'd rescued his card. Assuming the black duffel had been hers, and she didn't toss the info, the link was there.

Vin leaned down and gave Dog a scratch behind the ears. "I doubt we're going to be able to keep totally out of this. I have excellent lawyers, though."

"I bet." Crap, Jim thought. He couldn't just bolt out of town - not with Vin's future hanging in the balance here in Caldwell.

Well, wasn't this complication just what the situation needed.

Jim nodded at his open bathroom. "Listen, I'd better get showered and go to work. The guy whose house I'm building can be an ass**le."

Vin looked up with a half smile. "Funny, I feel the same way about my boss - except I work for myself."

"Least you're self-aware."

"More so than you. It's Saturday. So you don't have to go to the site."

Saturday. Damn, he'd forgotten what day of the week it was. "I hate the weekends," he muttered.

"Me, too - so I work my way through them." Vin glanced around and focused on the two laundry piles. "You could always neaten this place up."

"Why bother? The one on the left is the clean, the right is dirty."

"Then you should do your laundry, 'cuz there's a mountain-molehill thing going on that doesn't bode well for fresh socks."

Jim picked up the pair of jeans he'd had on the night before and tossed them onto the "mountain" of dirties.

"Hey, something dropped..." Vin bent down and picked up the little gold earring that had been in the front pocket since Thursday night. "Where did you get this?"

"In the alley behind the Iron Mask. It was on the ground."

Vin's eyes locked on the thing like it was worth more than the two bucks it had probably cost to make and the fifteen it had cost to buy. "Mind if I keep it?"

"Not at all." Jim hesitated. "Was Devina home? When you got back?"

"Yeah."

"Did you work things out?"

"Guess so." The guy disappeared the gold hoop into his breast pocket. "You know, I saw you handle that kid last night."

"You don't like to talk about Devina."

"My relationship with her is no one else's business but mine." Vin's eyes narrowed. "You've been trained to fight, haven't you. And not by some strip-mall martial-arts academy."

"Keep me posted if you hear anything from the police." Jim went into the bathroom and cranked on the shower. As the pipes groaned and rattled, an anemic spray arched out and fell onto the plastic floor of the stall. "And don't worry about locking the door behind you. Dog and I will be fine."

The guy met Jim's eyes in the little mirror over the sink. "You are not who you say you are."

"Who is."

Abruptly, a shadow passed over Vin's face, like he was remembering something horrible. "You okay?" Jim frowned. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I had a bad dream last night." Vin dragged a hand through his hair. "Haven't quite shaken it." Abruptly, Jim heard the guy's voice in his head: Do you believe in demons? As Dog whimpered and started limping back and forth between the two of them, the hairs on the back of Jim's neck tingled. "Who was the dream about." Not a question.

Vin laughed tightly, put a business card on the coffee table and went for the door. "No one. I didn't know who it was about."

"Vin...talk to me. What the f**k happened when you got home?"

Sunlight poured into the studio as the guy stepped out onto the stairwell's landing. "I'll let you know if I get contacted by the police. You do the same. I left my card."

There was no pushing the subject, clearly. "Okay, fine, you do that." Jim recited his cell number and wasn't surprised when Vin memorized it without writing it down. "And listen, you might want to stay away from that club."

Christ knew adding a set of jail bars to this equation was not going to make things easier. Plus, Vin had looked at that dark-haired prostitute the way he should have been staring at Devina - which meant the less time he was around her, the better.

"I'll be in touch," Vin said, before shutting the door.

Jim stared at the wooden panels as heavy footsteps went down the stairs and then a powerful engine started up. After the M6 crackled down the gravel drive, he went over and let Dog out and then hit the shower before his half-gallon hot-water tank had nothing but cold to offer.

As he soaped himself up, the question Vin had asked the night before echoed again.

Do you believe in demons?

Across town, Marie-Terese sat on her sofa and stared at a movie she wasn't watching. It was her...fourth in a row? Fifth? She hadn't slept the night before. Hadn't even tried to put her head on the pillow.

Vin was in her mind...in her mind and speaking in that strange voice: He's coming for you. He's coming for you.

When he'd gone into that bizarre trance in the locker room, the message that had come out of his mouth had been terrifying, but his fixated eyes had been even worse. And her first response? It hadn't been, What the hell are you talking about? No, she'd thought to herself, How do you know?

Having had no idea what to do or how to handle herself, much less him, she'd bolted out of the locker room and told his friend to go in there.

Tags: J.R. Ward Fallen Angels Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net