Taming the Demon (14 page)

The right words, at the right time...and she found herself back in school. Taking business classes, basic office software classes...and excelling at it. A nudge from a helpful friend here; a kind word at the right time, there; a stroke of good luck just when needed.

Until there she was, in the right time at the right place to strike up a startled conversation with the man who’d started the Alleys of Life project. One step closer to becoming his assistant.

No coincidence at all.

Of course, he’d hoped to learn more from her, along with his intentions to use her however he could—knowing her background, knowing her weaknesses. And he’d expected, from what Ajay had first told him, that she’d spent more time with Leo James. He’d expected that she’d spent at least
some
time with Devin James.

Ajay had thought it of her...accused it. But Ajay was often a fool.

How fortunate that she’d turned out to be such a good assistant. No trouble at all to keep around until the time came when he could make better use of her.

Now.

Because that look on her face said it all. She hadn’t known Devin James then.

But she did now.

And now she carefully closed her notebook and put her pen aside. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “There’s been no sign of trouble. And the restaurant is moving ahead. I think whoever wanted the project stopped has seen the inevitability of it. Do you really suppose...?”

Wise, she was, to let the words linger unspoken rather than directly contradict his intent. But as it happened...her careful suggestion suited him, too.

She took a breath, hesitated on it and came as close to blurting words as she ever did. “May I ask you—”

“Of course, Natalie,” he said, truly curious.

She pushed her notebook aside. “You’ve done so many good things...so many projects that could tie in with this one, and help build the goodwill factor. The wells project in Brazil...the latrine system in that little African region. The clinics in the Balkans—”

Death in the favela...memorialized. Death in the dusty brush, memorialized. Death in the mountains, memorialized.

He said, “I don’t recall mentioning those projects to you.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Good for her, facing it right on like that. She stretched her hand open in that odd gesture of hers, relaxed it again. “I stumbled on to them while I was looking into the first alleys. I guess the restaurant got me to thinking about them again.”

“Your life has changed significantly since the days you lived in that area.” As if he didn’t know just what she’d seen there. “What do you gain by dwelling on them?”

Paternal concern. The perfect touch.

She frowned, looking at her notebook. “It somehow all seems to tie together, is all. That we met there...that you started the gardens, and now you’re starting the restaurant. And I just had no idea that you’d been doing this all around the world.”

“I enjoyed traveling when I was younger.” Keep it simple. No need to mention what he’d brought home from those travels.

That which he also intended to acquire from Devin.

“About your new bodyguard,” he said.

“I’d really rather not.” She hesitated after those bold words, then shook her head. “Please...maybe I can talk to Devin’s friend Rick. If I could only understand—” But she stopped herself, smiling a little wryly. “I guess that’s personal, though.”

Compton allowed himself a small snort. “Natalie, it’s perfectly human. You shared an intense near-death experience together. Of course you’re invested in his presence. But he is not a man without troubles. I would hate to see you hurt.”

In fact, I would find it perfectly convenient.

Her phone rang; she glanced at him for tacit permission, and picked it up when he nodded. That the following conversation surprised her, he could tell; other than the mention of a tattoo, the details of it were quickly lost to him as his own line rang through.

Ajay. Calling here, where Natalie could have overheard his voice, or possibly even picked up the phone. “There will be consequences,” he said, not bothering with a greeting.

Ajay didn’t bother with a greeting, either—or with apologies. The man had some sense, after all. “Enrique Perez,” he said. “James’s old man buddy. He’s been calling in favors. He’s asking about you and the gardens. About
that
garden.”

“He is nothing,” Compton said, and shifted to hang up with no further ado.

“He’s been in that neighborhood for a long time,” Ajay said—as usual, coming just short of calling Compton
boss
as if he was in some gangster movie. “He’s got a lot of favors to call.” He hesitated. “If someone puts us together—”

Compton held his words for a moment. A long, tense moment, his mouth tightly pressed together. A glance at Natalie showed her deep in her own surprise, and paying no attention to him.

Just as well.

It looked like he had someone else to hurt.

Chapter 14

D
evin sat on Natalie’s tiny covered entryway. Waiting. The manila envelope had frayed slightly under the constant attention of his fingers—worrying the edges, turning it over in his grip.

If Compton’s men knew he was here, they didn’t approach him. Wise. Not that he’d advertised his presence—his truck was out on the street, his footprints light in the soil along the property line. But here on the porch, he was hardly inconspicuous.

All the same, Natalie was deep enough in thought as she approached, late in the afternoon—head down, legs striding in graceful movement, coat open to the failing sunshine—that she stopped short only at the last moment, one foot about to land on the entry flagstone. “Devin,” she breathed.

“Hey,” he said, and shrugged. A rueful thing, that shrug. “Listen,” he said. “About—” And realized suddenly that he didn’t have any idea how to go there. He shook his head. Maybe there was too much to it, anyway—too much to fix.

But there were still things to make
right,
and that was a different thing.

“Are you okay?” she asked, taking her foot back off the slightly raised stone on which he sat. Her words struck him as wary.

Couldn’t blame her, really.

But maybe there was something else, too—something of concern, something of anxiety—something that very nearly wanted to blurt its way out, except she, too, shook her head and kept it to herself. “Devin? You’re okay?”

“Missing you,” he said, which wasn’t what he’d meant to say, either. He laughed at himself and looked away. “Helluva thing. I didn’t think I’d known you long enough.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her mouth tighten, her head lift. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but it didn’t seem likely that there was any good interpretation. “Sorry,” he said, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ve decided that you deserve some truth. But I wasn’t expecting that particular truth to come out.”

“Truth would be good,” she said, without relaxing. And still, something lingered in her expression. A decision, being made.

He handed her the envelope. Not sealed, not official—an old scratched-out address on the front. Just enough to hold the photos.

He didn’t watch her hands as she opened it. He watched her face. Watched her eyes widen at the first photo, the very first Alley of Life—potted flowers in full bloom, container vegetables thriving, the pampas grasses arcing gracefully in midsummer growth.
The
Alley. She met his gaze, mouth open—and he shook his head. Nodded at the pictures. And watched.

She slipped the next picture to the top, and inhaled sharply. “This—” She looked at him, looked at the photo...gestured at him with it. “This is—”

“My brother,” Devin said.

“Oh, my God,” she said. “It was in the alley. In
this
alley. It was your brother! I saw him die!”

And then, finally, the words didn’t seem hard to find at all. “Yes,” he told her. “And you saw me kill him.”

* * *

Natalie’s fingers tightened around the photos—wrinkling them in a rustle of paper protest. “No,” she said, taking a step back from him, because of course it was true. He’d never say such a thing if it wasn’t true. And still she shook her head and repeated, “Devin,
no.
”

He couldn’t quite look at her—sitting on the small rise of her entry, his knees drawn up and his body tight with tension. Not fuzzy, not distant, not faded. Totally here. Totally real.

Totally telling the truth.

He said, “Leo had the blade then. I think he got set off by something similar to what happened here the other night. Peyote, Enrique thinks. Not a lot, but...you know how it is with me right now. Probably wouldn’t take much.”

“Jimena,” Natalie found herself saying, a mere breath of a word.

He threw her a sharp look; the setting sun glimmered over the horizon one last moment to glint off the gray of his eyes, the line of his jaw. Fatigue and resignation settled in deep, but...determination, too.

“She had some of your leftovers.” Natalie’s voice went on without her; her body stood locked in place, enthralled by the horror of what she’d heard.

“Leo was further gone than I am,” Devin said. “With the blade, I mean.” He pulled a face at himself, waved that off. “Thing is, he didn’t know what was happening. He was fighting for his life, but he’d been doing it a lot longer—and he didn’t have you to help him.”

“I don’t—” She shook her head. Behind her, the porch light flickered on, having decided the dusk was shadowed enough. “I don’t understand.”

He made a sound of frustration, pushing off to his feet in a single, powerful thrust—a few hard steps away from the porch, a few steps back. “I know,” he said. “I
know.
So look at it this way. Think about last night. Pretend that whatever’s been going on with me has been going on for a lot longer, and I’m in a lot worse shape—I’m barely sticking with reality half the time, my reasoning is skewed, my motivations are driven by darkness.
How do you think it would have turned out?
”

Natalie closed her eyes on that particular truth. “Something threatened you,” she said. “You tried to strike at it. And I was there—”

She couldn’t go any further.

He didn’t fill in the silence.

And finally she looked at him and whispered, “Leo...tried to kill you.”

He pushed his palm against his brow—looked like he was pushing back pain. “He very nearly did.”

Natalie looked down at the photos—at the man who shared Devin’s eyes and the set of his mouth, but whose chin wasn’t as strong and whose facial structure wasn’t as defined.
Brother.

And then she looked again at the alley. There, where she’d been with Ajay. There, where crystalline memory showed her a man silhouetted against wildly flickering light, braced and strong, the wide set of his shoulders suddenly familiar, the lean lines of a strong body, those she had since come close to claiming for her own.

Her throat ached with the enormity of it; she shoved an impatient hand along her wet cheek. “I don’t understand,” she said. “How does it all...I mean, Ajay must have known your brother. He must have gone there for...but I know he wasn’t expecting...” She shook her head, impatient with the jumble of pieces. “And now? All of this? How can this be coincidence?”

He looked as grim as she felt—as shaken. “I don’t think it is. There’s something going on—something bigger than you and me and a chance meeting in a dark parking lot. I’ll find it. I just wanted you to know....” He gestured at the photos; his expression tight with grief. “I didn’t want to believe it at first, but...you were there. You, and me...and Leo. It was the worst night of my life...and you saw it.”

“You killed your brother,” she whispered. She traced a finger over the thriving plants in the alley photo. “And now it’s a place of life. The very first one. How can
that
be coincidence?”

“It’s not just that one,” he said; his voice had that distracted sound, and when she gave him a hard glance she discovered what she suspected—that he’d lost himself for a moment—in the grief, in the memories, in whatever thing it was that had had a hold on his brother and now had a hold on him. And that he probably hadn’t quite meant to say those words out loud. Reluctance clear, he added, “They all have the same taste.”

“The alleys,” she said, somewhat flatly.

“Death,” he told her. “Fear. Anger. It’s sharp and hot and hard to breath... It’s the blade, reacting to them all. Just like the other night.”

“The blade,” she said, just as flatly, thinking about steel gleaming first one shape, then another. Thinking about a man, crumbling to the asphalt before her eyes.

Thinking about Devin James—fever-hot one moment, shivering the next. Gushing arterial blood...and cutting out his own stitches three days later. Deep and brooding and torn, just as quickly turned to that startlingly honest grin—or equally honest, irresistible desire.

Questions and inconsistencies. And she’d been holding on to them for far too long. Far too long for what hung unresolved between them.

And yet he closed his eyes; the look on his face was nothing but pain. Her chest tightened, stealing her breath—for she knew his answer. And she knew her own.

His words came as though torn from him. “I can’t—not yet. I just...can’t.”

She thrust the photos back at him, already reaching for the door handle. “Then you’re on your own. I hope you figure it out.”

* * *

You’re on your own.

As it should be.

But telling about the blade meant telling her
all
of it. The men he’d killed since, the inexplicable street hunt that had become his life, the not-so-inanimate object that drove him.

The inevitable and pending loss of self, the wild road already tugging at him.

Tugging hard.

She might not want to be with a man who wouldn’t give up his secrets, but she was no more likely to be with one who was about to lose his soul.

With some care, he slipped the photos back into their envelope, pressing the clasp securely closed, and walked away into the darkening night.

* * *

Natalie put her back to the closed door—eyes closed, head tipped back.

Even just standing there, she’d felt the pull of him.

But she wouldn’t let herself follow anyone blindly, not any longer.

What about Sawyer Compton?

“That’s not the same,” she said, words loud in the empty room. “That’s a
job.
”

The words didn’t sound as reassuring as they would have even a few days earlier.

Standing there, with the cool of the door against her back, she suddenly couldn’t see her life clearly any longer. With the memory of the pain in his face...the memory of her body responding to his...the memory of his instant honesty in every moment in which it truly counted...

Her reasons were good ones. It didn’t mean she wasn’t doing the wrong thing.

The sigh built from deep within her. She lifted her head from the door, opened her eyes to the dark room.

Blinked in sudden déjà vu confusion.

Light patches, dark shadows, vague assertions of form...the familiar glow of the kitchen clock, just barely visible from this angle.

Déjà vu.

What if she took a single step to the right?

Dreading it, Natalie did just that.

And found herself looking at the security web cam image from Sawyer Compton’s computer.