Undaunted (8 page)

Azrael, Jett, and Locan nodded.

“We’re good to go.” She reached for Jett’s hand. He took hold of Locan’s, who grabbed Azrael. Az held on to Addie’s free hand, completing the link. She glanced at him and winked, just as that familiar voice popped into her head. From the grins on all three men, Addie knew they were hearing the same message, and it wasn’t just a repeat of coordinates.

You win. Take the hellhound.

A quick kiss for Jett and another for Locan. Then she laid a big one on Az. “He’s all ours, boys! Let’s go.”

They materialized in the empty bleachers high above home plate at Kauffman Stadium, except they weren’t entirely empty. A demon stood a couple of rows below, but he was already engaged in battle, surrounded by Ukopach and his fellow video demons, who buzzed the beast like small bees.

The little demon glanced up as Addie drew her sword. “I got coordinates too, Addie! We’re helping!”

She rolled her eyes and looked at the guys, wondering what they’d think of this new twist. “I think the boss might call this payback.”

“I think you’re right,” Jett said. “C’mon. We’ve got a demon to kill.”

Raising her sword, Addie raced into battle. This wasn’t what she’d ever imagined doing with her life, not even that night when Leah had bitten her in the park, the night she’d been turned into a demon hunter’s fulcrum. No, this was a million times better. She never would have known Jett or Locan, never would have discovered the love of a good hellhound.

This was good. Better than good. It was damned near perfect. With a joyful battle cry, Addie launched herself into the fight.

Keep reading to see the first chapter

of Kate’s romantic suspense novel

Lethal Deception
,

available now!

Chapter 1

Monday morning, Pittsburgh

“I know, Mr. Hannibal. Please, you must understand why we have to add a five percent risk premium to your usual rate . . . Mr. Hannibal, there’s no need to be rude. Acme Insurance has paid out a substantial amount . . . I realize those thefts were unusual . . . yes, Mr. Hannibal, I agree, otherwise you . . . I understand you’re upset, Mr. Hannibal. As I said, I a
gree, you do have an excellent record.”

Rose DeAngelo arched her back and ran tense fingers through her heavy twist of dark hair. It didn’t help a bit. Blast it! Headaches like this one generally didn’t start until after lunch.

A second light on the phone flashed. Rose stared at the little orange square, peripherally aware that it blinked in perfect time with the pounding in her head.

“Mr. Hannibal.” Rose clenched her teeth against the blossoming pain in her skull. “There is no other option. I’m sorry. I’m going to switch you back to my secretary. You’ll pay the additional five percent? Fine. Please give Denise the route information.”

Rose took the next call, groaning audibly the moment she recognized the patronizing voice. Sighing, she reached into her drawer for two aspirin. James Dearborn was the last person she wanted to talk to right now.

Not a promising sign, Rose.
She ignored the quiet voice in the back of her mind. Now was not a good time for analyzing relationships. Rose gulped the aspirin with a swallow of tepid coffee and grimaced at the bitter taste.

“James . . . hello.” She twisted the large marquis-cut diamond on her left hand. Why was it, lately, all her conversations with James made her ring finger itch?

“Please, James. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Rose glanced through the glassed wall of her office into the waiting room beyond. Her boss leaned over Denise’s desk, waving a large stack of folders under the young woman’s nose.

“You want to what?” Line two blinked hypnotically. Line three quickly joined in. She couldn’t possibly have heard James right. What did he say? Set a date? Rose furiously scratched the raw skin under the offending ring. “No,” she said, well aware of the sense of desperation in her voice. “I absolutely refuse to plan my wedding because your mother has a free weekend in July! No, James . . . absolutely not . . . no, we can’t discuss it at lunch with your mother. I don’t have time for lunch today . . . are you giving me an ultimatum?” Rose pulled the ring off her finger, scratching frantically.

Denise, precariously balancing a huge armload of folders, opened the office door with her shoulder. Frank Bonner, the company president, glared through the open door into Rose’s office, then rudely signaled for her to join him in his. James’s voice droned on, bouncing around inside Rose’s head, thumping in time to the pounding behind her eyes.

Denise set the pile of folders on the corner of Rose’s desk, then quickly backed out of the office. As she closed the door the stack gradually slipped to one side. Rose stretched full length across the large oak desk, holding the phone to her ear with one hand, grabbing for the top of the pile with the other. She felt the snag in her new black stockings open up then run the length of her leg, crawling up her inner thigh at precisely the same rate of speed as the folders slid to the floor.

“We’ll have to talk another time, James.” Rose took a deep breath and broke the connection. She knew she’d hear about her behavior later, but there was no way she could deal with him now.

She signaled for Denise to take the call on line three, then punched the button for line two. James’s mother. Could this day possibly get any worse?

Alicia Dearborn’s shrill voice crackled into Rose’s ear. “No, Alicia. I can’t go to lunch with you and James . . . I’m sorry too. I’ll have to call you back.” Rose gritted her teeth. “I’m very busy. No, nothing special. Just a typical Monday. Good-bye.”

Sighing, Rose replaced the handset. She stared at it a moment, daring the phone to ring, then picked the scattered folders up off the floor and piled them on her desk.

She couldn’t put off her meeting with Bonner any longer, no matter how unpleasant the prospect. It had to be about the recent hijackings. Acme Insurance had paid a bundle in settlements the past few months and pressure around the office had been steadily building.

Most of that pressure had come from Rose’s office.

Insuring special loads for long-haul trucking companies had its risks, but lately it appeared as if someone had it in for her clients. Even Hannibal Trucking’s perfect record had been compromised with two major thefts in the past two weeks.

Rose glanced at the heavy oak nameplate on her desk, the one Mr. Bonner had presented to her the day he’d promoted her to manager. “It’ll make a dandy bookend,” she muttered. She stared at the etched letters of her name a moment longer, then headed out the door for the inevitable dressing down from the boss.

“Ms. DeAngelo.” Denise held up a stack of notes to catch her attention. “That last call was from your Aunt Rosa. She left you a message, said you must be really busy since she was on hold so long.” Denise flipped through the notes, then held one out to Rose.

“I wish I’d known it was her.” Rose took the slip of paper. “She’s a lot more fun to talk to than James’s mother.”

Denise laughed, then shrugged her shoulders philosophically as the phone rang again. She turned to answer it.

Rose unfolded the note, suddenly aware of a lump in her throat. She hadn’t talked to Aunt Rosa for over a week.

Please tell Rose the honeysuckle’s blooming. And tell her I love her. She’s working too hard. Rosa DeAngelo.

The honeysuckle’s blooming and I haven’t seen Aunt Rosa in two years.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled Rose’s mind, the memory of the massive vine covering the porch at her aunt’s bed-and-breakfast out in California a balm to headaches, frustrating clients, angry bosses and disappointing fiancés.

Rose looked through the window into Frank Bonner’s office. He paced back and forth and gestured violently as he argued with someone over the phone, his angry words muted behind the soundproof glass.

Denise answered her phone again, at the same time indicating to Rose she had a call waiting. Rose ignored the blinking light, mesmerized by the ugly shape of Frank Bonner’s mouth twisted in anger, visible but silent behind the glass.

She took a deep breath in a vain attempt to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders, then turned around to take the call in her office. As if mocking Rose, the marquis diamond twinkled at her from its resting place in the paper clip bowl. She picked it up, staring absentmindedly into its icy blue depths before answering the phone.

The door to the outer office opened. Rose paused with her hand over the headset and looked up to see James guiding his mother through the tastefully decorated foyer.

“Why me, God?” she muttered. How had the two of them gotten here so quickly? Lunch was beginning to look like a setup, with wedding plans as the main course.

She knew better than to think Alicia would ever take no for an answer. Or James, either, for that matter.

Why should he? He was just like his mother.

In fact, Rose had never noticed before how much the two of them resembled one another. Not a flattering observation at all since she thought Alicia Dearborn looked exactly like the ugly little Pekinese tucked firmly under the woman’s left arm.

Suddenly it all fell into place: the rhythmic pounding in Rose’s head, Alicia Dearborn’s strident voice, James’s placating tones, even Frank Bonner’s flailing arms as he carried on his argument via speakerphone in his spacious, soundproof office across the hall.

Then it all drifted away as, once again, the sweet memory of honeysuckle filled Rose. Drawing a deep breath, she inhaled the peaceful, calming scent of her childhood, not the antiseptic, filtered air of her Acme Insurance Company office. Aunt Rosa was absolutely right. She was working too hard.

Rose drew her hand back from the telephone and all its blinking lights, picked up her heavy leather purse, slung her raincoat over her arm and quietly walked out of her office. She closed the door behind her and straightened her shoulders at the solid sounding “click” as the latch caught and locked her chaotic morning behind her.

Ignoring Alicia’s imperious command that she explain herself, Rose smiled calmly at her secretary. “Hold my calls, Denise. I’ve decided to take the afternoon off.”

“Well, it’s about time you came to your senses, Rose. I’m glad you’ve decided to join Mother and me for lunch. We have to talk.”

Rose turned to James. Why, when she looked into the eyes of the man she’d promised to spend her life with, did she feel nothing stronger than regret?

“You misunderstand, James. I’m taking the afternoon off by myself.” She fumbled for the right words, finally deciding honesty was best. “Please, I’d like for you to take this back.” She held the heavy gold and diamond ring out to him. “We both know it’s never going to work. We’ve known it all along.”

He didn’t move. She looked at his face, searching for whatever had made her think she loved him. She’d once been so enamored of his dark blond hair and finely chiseled jaw, in awe of his elegant manners and cultured speech. But the man she thought she loved didn’t exist at all.

I imagined you.
The thought struck like a bolt of lightning.
Am I that desperate?
Self-awareness brought a sad smile to Rose’s lips, followed by a sudden urge to giggle. James and his mother, her secretary Denise, even that disgusting little Pekinese, all stared at her with their mouths open.

Finally, a way to silence Alicia Dearborn. Feeling almost giddy with power, Rose tucked the ring into the breast pocket of James’s custom-tailored Armani suit, then quietly left the building. It didn’t even bother her that James hadn’t asked her to stay, hadn’t reached out to her, hadn’t disagreed with her. No, it didn’t bother her at all.

Somewhere, a peaceful country road beckoned.

* * *

Rose wasn’t certain how long she’d been driving, or how far. The isolated landscape loomed dark and unfamiliar, the heavy clouds were no longer visible in the night sky, and her trusty little Volvo had developed an unhealthy klunking noise.

She searched the horizon for the lights of Pittsburgh, but no telltale glow marked the sky. In fact, she hadn’t seen any light other than the occasional flash of lightning for at least an hour. Rose glanced at the fuel gauge. Less than a quarter of a tank left.

At least her headache was gone. “Along with my job,” she muttered as the first fat drops of rain splatted against the windshield.
Just what I need.
She leaned over the steering wheel, closer to the windshield, and strained to see through the sudden downpour.
More proof that my life is totally out of control.

“Well, not completely.” Stuffing that ugly ring in James’s pocket had been rather empowering. Doing it in front of her secretary, the company president, and her once future now ex-future mother-in-law hadn’t been bad, either.

“One of your better exits, Rose.”

She waited for the fully expected sense of guilt to swamp her, the feeling that, once again, she’d done something terribly wrong, but the only feeling Rose felt was right. Wrong would have been staying with James, going through with a loveless marriage. No, she thought, her decision to return that ugly ring and leave had been a long time coming.