The Incubus Job Read online

  “What happened, Mallory? You were fine when we went into the compound that day—”

  “I wasn’t,” I said quickly.

  He blinked at me.

  “I wasn’t fine. I hadn’t been fine for a while,” I said, the words tumbling out. The dam had broken at last, and I found that I wanted him to know; I needed him to know.

  “The truth was I was tired of the job, of doing shitty things for so-called good reasons. I was tired of killing things—people, demons, ghosts . . . everything. Most of all I was tired of you not being tired of it all.”

  “You were . . . tired,” he repeated slowly. “So you ran out on the job, on our partnership, and on us. All because you were tired?” Acid dripped from his tongue. He shook his head. “I don’t buy it. There’s more to it. There has to be because that’s the most chicken-shit thing I’ve heard in my life, and I know you’re not a coward.”

  “See what I mean? You haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about. Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall.”

  “Make me understand,” he said, glowering. “Try harder. You were an exterminator. That was the job.”

  “I didn’t like the job. I quit. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

  He grabbed my shoulders like he wanted to shake me. Instead he pushed me away and strode to the other side of the room. He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You didn’t just quit the job; you quit me. I was your partner. We were lovers. I deserved a hell of a lot more than waking up alone in that hotel room. You didn’t even leave a fucking note.”

  “I know,” I said softly. “But you’d have tried to stop me, and I would have let you. If I had, I’d have slit my own throat within a week. As for a note, I didn’t know what to say. Nothing seemed enough.”

  He could only stare, baffled. Emotions flickered over his expression. Finally anger and impatience won out.

  “Explain,” he said. “Something else happened that day. Tell me.”

  I sat down on the edge of a chair and rested my elbows on my knees. “You were there,” I said. “You know exactly what happened.”

  That was the worst of it. That’s why I hadn’t told him. He seen it all and just didn’t care, but it had been the last straw for me.

  He frowned. “I’ve played every damned moment of that raid over and over in my head, trying to figure out what sent you running. Everything went according to book. We took down Ritter, got his victims out, and exterminated everything else. We left the site clean. Nobody got hurt.”

  “People died,” I corrected.

  “All three of those women made it. We saved their lives.”

  “I’m not talking about them.”

  He was back to looking baffled. “There wasn’t anyone else there. Just Ritter and the three victims. He’d killed all the others. He’d been torturing and killing women for years. I’d have thought you’d be thrilled we took him down and saved three of his victims. I did think you were thrilled.”

  “He had that little house where he did all his torture,” I recalled, ice tracing through my veins. I’d learned to compartmentalize the horror I felt when we did those jobs. Otherwise I could never have survived as long as I did. Ritter hadn’t been the worst killer we’d found, though he was in the top five. He was definitely the most prolific. “Right there on the little lake. The victims could look out on the prettiest view while he cut them up. No one could hear them scream.”

  “That’s where we found Julia, Sharon, and Melanie Brooks. Still alive,” Law reminded me.

  Sisters. Ritter had kidnapped them from a park in California and driven them back to his compound near Aspen, Colorado. He considered himself an artist, with the women being his canvas. He cut, tattooed, and branded intricate patterns into their skins, covering every square centimeter. He kept them alive with magic, taking weeks to finish each skin canvas. When he was done, the bastard drilled holes in their heads and hung them on cables, like macabre paintings. A museum dedicated to his own heinous art. He had money to burn and enough magic to keep the bodies from rotting. The oldest bodies had been there for more than twenty years.

  I shuddered. We’d found three victims alive, but the dead had been legion.

  “It was bad,” Law said, his voice careful, as if he didn’t want to spook me. “One of our worst.”

  It was the worst, though not for the reason he thought. I kept going, more glad than I realized to be finally saying it out loud.

  “After we rescued the girls and got Ritter, we did the extermination,” I said. The ghosts had been scared. They were all young—between eighteen and twenty-five years old, most of them right around twenty-one. Ritter liked to snag his victims from college bars and frat parties. They’d be drinking and not paying enough attention. He had a little box truck and would go through several states, gathering up a supply of victims, then take them back to Colorado to work on them. It made it hard to narrow down where to find him since his hunting ground was the entire continental United States.

  At the time we did the extermination, I don’t know how many ghosts there were. I did the summoning to call them all together.

  “There were so many ghosts,” I said, my throat catching. “Hundreds of them.”

  “Two hundred and thirty-nine,” Law said. “All the bodies were in the house. Ritter had used magic to keep the spirits from moving on.” They’d been scared, some clinging to each other. They were overjoyed we’d gotten Ritter.

  I could close my eyes and see each and every one. Not every person who dies violently sticks around as a ghost. I’d expected some but not all. Ritter had wanted an audience for his work. Sick fuck.

  I was sicker. Me and Law both.

  Those women had been torn from their homes and families, tortured for weeks and weeks, then killed. They hadn’t been allowed to move on, and when they were finally going to be freed from Ritter’s hold, we step in and give them final death. Sure, maybe it was a mercy but maybe not. We didn’t bother to ask. We didn’t care. Our job was to exterminate them so they didn’t get loose in the world.

  Two hundred thirty-nine ghosts—two hundred thirty-nine women—all slaughtered twice. It took Law and me only about a minute. Ghost extermination is easier than it ought to be.

  My throat closed and I looked down at the floor. Guilt swamped me under a tide of black tar. I’d told my ghosts. I had been honest about myself. All the same, I could feel their condemnation permeate my inner shields.

  “That’s it?” Law demanded and stomped across the room to stand in front of me. “That’s why you left? Because we exterminated the ghosts?”

  He sounded incredulous, like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. I looked up at him.

  “We killed people, Law.”

  “Ghosts. Just ghosts.”

  “They still think and feel. We just killed them like they were vermin.”

  “They’re unnatural. They don’t belong in this world.”

  I didn’t tell him we were unnatural. We were killers. Instead I shook my head and stood up. I tried to push by him, but he grabbed my hips, refusing to let me get past.

  “You can’t be serious, Mallory. Tell me you didn’t leave me for six fucking years because of some ghosts.”

  “If they aren’t natural, then how come they exist?”

  “Because somehow the universe’s wires get crossed. Bad shit happens and they hang around even though they shouldn’t.”

  “Or maybe they’re supposed to be here, just like we are,” I said. “Maybe killing them is unnatural.”

  I held up my hands between us when he started to talk, even though I wanted to melt against his chest. His grip on me was hot and sent prickles of desire into my belly.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but after that, I couldn’t be an exterminator anymore. You know Camden wouldn’t have let me just retire, any more than you would have. So I left because otherwise I was going to kill myself. That’s the truth.”

 
He stared down at me, his green eyes laser hot. “You are a coward,” he said, thrusting me away from him. “Did it never occur to you that I’d be worried about you? That I’d think you got taken? You should have trusted me.”

  Calling me a coward hurt. Maybe more than anything else anybody had ever said to me. Maybe more than leaving him. I’d have to stop the bleeding later. First I had to get rid of Law. “I didn’t hide. If you’d wanted to find me, you could have. As for trusting you?” I snorted. “Yeah, I just told you I was next to suicidal, and you respond to that by calling me a coward. If you’d have done that then, I’d have thrown myself under the first bus I found.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you,” he said, as if that changed something. “Anyway, I did find you,” he growled.

  I stared.

  “I’ve kept track of you all these years. Once I figured out you left of your own free will, I decided to keep my distance. I hoped maybe one day you’d show up and want to talk. But then when you do turn up, it wasn’t for me at all. You didn’t even know I was here, did you?”

  His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed to slits. His eyes went flat as a snake’s.

  I shook my head. “I’m on a job. I thought you were still with Acadia.”

  His mouth twisted. “I left three months after you did.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your damned business,” he said. “Right? That’s the way you want it now. You’re doing your thing and I’m doing mine. Except you brought a poltergeist into Effrayant, and you’re protecting her. Makes me look bad, Mal. I don’t like to look bad. As for your other business, take it out of the auberge. Effrayant and guests are off limits to you.”

  “I’m a guest,” I reminded him. “You can’t prove I had anything to do with a poltergeist, and there’s no other reason to kick me out. Besides, my employer would be very disappointed, and I think Effrayant would regret disappointing him.”

  “Ivan DeMarco,” Law said. “You work for him now?”

  I wasn’t surprised he knew. Once LeeAnne had spilled the beans that I knew him, he’d have looked up my registration next. Ivan was footing the bill. “I work for a lot of different people. I freelance. Ivan’s one of my clients.”

  He looked me over again, his gaze lingering on the scar on my face before moving to the streak in my hair. The white was glaring against the brown. It would have taken a blind man not to see it. “You never got hurt when I had your back. How bad was it?”

  Which time? My memory went to the scar on my back, my most recent joust with death. The ghosts saved me. I’d been down in Costa Rica, looking for a kidnapped family, when I got attacked. It was in a village far from anything resembling a doctor. Just when I got the family safe onto the escape boat, I got raked open by a lich’s pet undead puma. The infection wasn’t the sort of thing that could be fought off with antibiotics. There was dark magic in it. The local shaman tried to help, but he didn’t have the chops. Somehow the ghosts sucked it out of me. All I can remember is the attack and falling into a fever. I woke up a month later, completely healed, the scars looking like I’d had them for years.

  Law didn’t need to know any of that.

  “Bad enough,” I said with a shrug.

  “How’s your dad?” he asked, blindsiding me.

  I opened my mouth and closed it, swallowing hard. That was a whole other barrel of snakes that I didn’t want to think about. “He died.”

  “I know. I went to his funeral. Didn’t see you there.”

  “You went to the funeral?” I repeated. “Why?”

  “The real question is why didn’t you?”

  I didn’t like the not-very-subtle accusation. What the hell did Law know about me and my dad? It was definitely something I’d never talked about.

  “It’s not like you knew him,” I said. “Or maybe you just like going to strangers’ funerals. Maybe you’re a closet necrophiliac.”

  His mouth thinned and his eyes flared with fury. “Actually I did know him. After you went missing, I went to visit him. He was a nice enough guy. Gruff. Lonely, too. He missed you. He said he regretted your falling out. I thought you’d at least show up to say good-bye to him.” Accusation and rebuke were thick in his voice.

  What the hell did he know?

  “I am not talking to you about my father,” I said, pushing away. I needed a drink. I grabbed a bottle of bourbon out of the liquor cabinet and poured a couple fingers worth. I drank it one gulp. The burn countered the confusion and hurt twisting through me. This encounter with Law was going places I never dreamed it would, places I was unprepared to visit.

  “That’s right,” Law said, following me and pouring himself a scotch. “You don’t talk. You run away.”

  “What do you want from me?” I demanded, whirling to face him. “An apology? Fuck you. I’m not sorry. I did what I had to do to save my fucking life, and I’d do it again. Frankly I figured you’d get over it pretty quick. It’s not like you were that into me. You liked me because I was there and willing, and you didn’t have to go pick up some chick from a bar. I was just a convenient bed warmer for you.”

  He slammed his glass down. It shattered and scotch splattered over the marble cabinet top. Law grabbed my arms and yanked me up against him. His body felt hard as iron and about as forgiving. The muscles in his jaw knotted, and his eyes blazed.

  “You figured I’d get over it pretty quick?” he seethed through gritted teeth. “How could you even imagine that? Even if we weren’t lovers, even if you were just convenient—which you weren’t—we’d been partners for two years. You didn’t think you meant something to me?”

  I shook my head. “I thought I was more a pain in your ass.”

  “You sure as hell are that.”

  I didn’t see the kiss coming. He dragged my up onto my toes. One arm slid behind me, clamping me like a steel bar. His other hand wrapped the back of my head, keeping me from pulling away. Not that I was going anywhere.

  His lips seared mine, more gentle than I expected. He teased my mouth open more delicately. His tongue delved inside my mouth. I’d forgotten how good he tasted. I’d forgotten the way he kissed me like I was the most precious thing in the world and the way his touch made my skin buzz with electricity. I’d walked away from this. I was a fool. No, I was a survivor.

  I slid my hands around his waist and pulled myself closer. He groaned and deepened the kiss. The sound rumbled through his chest and through me. Fireflies spun through my chest. He wanted me. He wanted me.

  I’m not sure how long we stood there. Too long. Not nearly long enough. I wanted to rip off his clothes and mine and touch skin to skin. I felt like we were going to burst into flames, and I was more than willing. By the time he pulled away, I could barely stand. I held on to him to keep from sinking to the floor.

  “Do you still think you don’t matter to me?” he asked hoarsely, his eyes scouring my face.

  The intensity of his gaze wouldn’t let me look away. It wouldn’t let me lie.

  “I don’t know what I think,” I said. “I don’t understand.”

  His eyes closed and he tipped his head back. “Fucking hell, woman. I never pegged you for stupid.”

  “Funny, I always pegged you for an ass. Seems I was right.”

  He snorted and ran his hand over my hair. It was a pixie cut. I’d chopped it all off after I left him. More convenient that way, and I didn’t have to remember how it felt when he combed his fingers through it every time we were in bed together.

  “You cut it,” he said, his fingers tracing the white line of the scar.

  I was happy the hair had grown back over the scar at all. “It’s easier to take care of.”

  “It’s pretty.”

  “You’re lying,” I said. “You don’t like it.”

  “True,” he said. “Are you going to tell me about the poltergeist and what you’re doing here?”

  The warmth of his touch drained away. I’d forgotten how he liked to lull me into happy calmness
before blindsiding me with questions or arguments. He might have left the job, but the job hadn’t left him.

  I drew a breath and stepped back, putting distance between us. I couldn’t talk business in his arms. I could barely breathe in his arms. This ability to abruptly shift gears is what made me doubt his feelings for me in the first place. He turned his passion off so easily, it didn’t seem like it could be real.

  “What do you want to know?” I asked warily, pouring another drink.

  When he didn’t answer, I looked at him. He was watching me.

  “What’s that?”

  “What’s what?” I asked, confused.

  “That thing you just did. You went from hot and bothered to ‘closed for season’ like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “You should talk. One minute your tongue is down my throat, and the next, you’re grilling me about Tabitha and my job. Is it any wonder I lost the mood?” I meant the words to be light, but they came out with more than a little bitterness. Old hurts die slow deaths. Mine were still pretty damned healthy.

  His face worked. “Sorry.”

  I wanted to ask what he was sorry for, but I was afraid of the answer.

  “What do you want to know?”

  He stroked his hand over his beard as he considered me. I began to twitch as the seconds ticked past.

  “I want to know about the poltergeist. I want to know about the job. I want to know what happened with your dad and I want to know what I have to do to get you back.”

  Chapter 3

  “Get me back?” I repeated. “I don’t do exterminator work anymore. I told you that.”

  “I don’t just want my partner back,” he said, his glare daring me to refuse him. “I want you. In my life. In my bed.”

  I was speechless. I wanted to check my ears to make sure they were working, but under the category of things that were impossible, this had always topped my list, above pigs flying and dogs mowing lawns. He waited for me to say something, his broad shoulders set, his hands jammed into his pockets. I could see the outlines of his fists through the fabric of his pants.

  “You can’t be serious.”