Chapter 48
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Kate checked into an Oakland hotel that she used to book clients into on one of her temp jobs. It seemed pretty swank, with a view of the Bay. Even better, it wasn’t too close to The Havens. The last thing she wanted was to look out her window and see another thing Thomas owned.
That snake.
He wanted to use her for bait for the psychopath who had nearly killed her, huh?
She wondered, absently, if the sex was just part of that idea—softening her up, encouraging her to do things his way.
Because any assistant who would sleep with him probably assumed that he “cared” about her, or that what they did “meant something.” Or because sex with him was so utterly incredible that she’d go gooey and stupid and ignore the fact that he was hanging her out to dry.
Not this assistant, asshole.
She took a long shower, then changed into jeans and a sweatshirt.
Pain and confusion seemed to hang around her like a cloud of cigarette smoke.
She didn’t have anyone to talk it over with, and she needed more than a sulk.
She needed a plan, now. Hanging out in the hotel room with what was left of her worldly possessions would only depress her, locking her up further.
So Kate went to the only place she could think of to find solace.
A coffee shop.
“Welcome to Coffee Karma,” the barista said cheerfully. “Can I get a drink started for you?”
Kate let out a low sigh of relief for the proliferation of cafes in the Bay Area. Temporary “home,” approximately two blocks in any direction. “Extra large double shot marshmallow mocha,” Kate replied.
“Do you want whipped cream on that?”
Kate stared at the woman. “Look at my face. What do you think?”
The woman assessed her. “I’ll add as much as it’ll hold,” she said quickly. She even offered her a sample of molasses cookie.
Kate settled in on a purple velvet overstuffed armchair, clutching her drink like a talisman.
She was homeless, damned, and about to be dangled in front of a serial killer. This sounded like a job for a badass demon slayer.
Too bad there was just her.
“Mind if I sit here?”
She glanced up, already feeling fatigued. A guy with white-blond hair was looking down at her, gesturing to the couch next to her. It was crowded, so she didn’t really have the right to hog the whole thing. She shrugged, taking a long, cold sip of her sugary drink.
“You like the marshmallow one too, huh?” he asked, holding up a matching one. “Can’t get enough sugar, myself.”
She shrugged again. Go away.
“They’re pretty busy this morning, huh?” he tried again. “Just loud enough music, friends catching up, people doing business meetings. Lot of bustle. And so much noise!”
And here he was, contributing to it. She rolled her eyes.
For pity’s sake, asshole, read the room. She pulled out her phone, her usual dodge for chatty guys, and took another long sip.
“You could have pretty much any conversation, and nobody’d ever notice,” he continued affably. “Like, if I said your boss is probably trying to get you killed…not a single person would realize what we’re talking about.”
She choked on her whipped cream.
“Now, now, you all right?” She noticed a hint of an accent, the smoothness of the South, with something a little more exotic.
She took a closer look at him. He was tall, almost skeletally thin, and his eyes were a pale, pale violet, like a lavender satin prom dress. The color, paired with his intensity, was disconcerting.
“Who are you?” she said, when she could finally speak.
“Glad you asked!” he replied. “I’m Cyril. Cyril Roman. And you must be Kate, Thomas’s newest…employee.”
“You,” she said, as the name clicked. “The guy who signed him.”
“Yes, indeed,” Cyril said, with a cheerful draw from his mocha. “No, don’t get up. I’m not here to hurt you.”
She hovered at the edge of her seat, adrenaline kicking in. “Sure you’re not.”
“Just here to talk, darlin’.” He pushed the Southern, his whole attitude a sort of just-plain-folksy casual. “Wanted to discuss something, is all.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Ah, but that’s not the question, is it?” he countered. “The real question here is, why should you trust Thomas Kestrel? Am I wrong?”
“He saved my life.” At least, he did before he came up with his brilliant “let’s use Kate as bait” plan.
“Did he, though?” Cyril sent her a Cheshire cat grin. “Or did he just set you up to sign you? The more souls he has, the more power he gets. And odds are good you’ll die before he does. You’re a human shield, kiddo.”
She squirmed. Her father called her “kiddo.” Hearing this guy, who looked maybe twenty-seven if he were a day, call her the nickname was just weird.
“He’s using you. You need to get free.”
“And that’s where you come in, right?” She stood up. “I’m out of here.”
“I can help you.”
“Leaving,” she emphasized, taking a few steps. He followed her.
“You know how to break free, right?” he said, under the noisy buzz of the non-descript quasi jazz, business travelers and, coffee-office patrons. “You just need to kill the one who signed you.”
“Okay, that’s not happening,” she said sharply. A few people, including the barista, glanced over, sensing tension. “Get away from me, or I’ll call a cop. In this town, trust me, I know cops.”
“I’m not saying that you have to kill him, for pity’s sake,” he said in a low voice, his smile unwavering and charming. “I’m saying I’ll kill him.”
Her jaw dropped. “Are you shitting me?”
He made an X over his heart with his finger. “Scout’s honor.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If you want to kill him, you could just do it without telling me. So why are you here?” She waited a beat. “Because you want something from me. No. You need something from me.”
“I’m just trying to look for an opening,” Cyril said. “I signed him, sure, but he’s been—if you don’t mind my language—a real pain in the ass. If I’d known what a handful the guy was going to be, I don’t think I would’ve bothered.”
“Wow,” she muttered. “Poor you.”
“He’s wily, I’ll give him that,” Cyril said. “I just need a little help setting him up. Then I’ll take him off your hands. How ‘bout that? You get to walk away a free woman. Little sadder, little wiser, but free. What do you say?”
She thought about it for a long, quiet minute.
“I say,” she said slowly, “that the next time you’re in Oakland, asking if I’m going to rat a man out to his death, you might want to stay in your fucking car.”
Those violet eyes seemed to glow with anger, for just a second. “Do you really think Thomas isn’t going to use you?” he said, and his voice had an edge that sounded older. No, it sounded ancient. “He signed his soul, Kate. He’s not some kind of ‘good guy.’ He’s as bad as me, maybe worse.”
She shook her head. Thomas was being an asshole with the whole bait thing, but deep down, she felt her judgment wasn’t that far out of whack. Thomas wasn’t evil. Self-serving, maybe. Short-sighted. More than a touch narcissistic, and occasionally grossly insensitive.
Unfortunately, that could describe every man she’d ever dated. The murder was a step up, admittedly, but otherwise it tracked.
“Don’t believe me?” Cyril’s smile was like a wolf’s, fierce and dangerous. “Just wait. One day, probably soon, you’ll see. When it comes down to him or you, you’re the one who’s going to lose.”
“Life’s rough,” she shot back. “Wear a helmet.”
“I can sweeten the pot,” he said, his voice low, his expression persuasive. “I understand your family is in a bit of a financial bind. If it’s money you’re looking for, I can give you whatever you need. I have quite a bit. Consider it a bonus. Here.” He handed her a business card.
She looked at it like it was a grenade. “No.”
“Burn it. Throw it away,” he said, and pressed it into her palm. His hand was papery-dry, she noticed…and cold. “You’ve got every right. But you’ve got options. I want to at least give you the opportunity to get yourself out.”
With that, he turned away, walking briskly. He threw out what was left of his drink.
She sat back down and absently sipped at her own drink, now watered down and syrupy, the plastic cup drenched in condensation. She looked at the card, then took a few steps toward the trash can.
If it’s a choice between him and you…would Thomas really choose you?
She let the card linger for a minute.
Then, slowly, she tucked it in her pocket.
Just in case.