Sins of the Demon

Chapter 3

The car heater did its best to pump out something resembling heat, but there was only so much that the poor Taurus could do for me. I could hardly blame it. It wasn’t often that it was called upon to perform this sort of service. To its credit, it had a quite efficient air conditioner, which was usually far more important, since the summers were insanely brutal. Hell, I’d probably be needing the air conditioner again in less than a week. Weather in this area tended to be rather inconsistent.

After a few minutes of driving, though, I gave up and pulled into the parking lot of the first non-outrageously priced clothing store I could find that was open. Yes, I had real jackets and warm clothing at home, but that was more than a half hour away. I was freezing my ass off now.

My plan was to buy the cheapest, warmest jacket I could find and maybe a pair of gloves. But when I walked into the store the first thing that caught my eye was the mannequin by the door. Or rather, what was on the mannequin.

“Oh, sweetie,” I murmured. “You belong on me.” I looked to the sales girl behind the counter. “I’d like to try that on, please.”

I slid the coat on while the sales girl looked on approvingly.

“It’s on sale, you know,” she said slyly.

I ran my hands over it, inhaled deeply of the rich scent of the black leather. “Would it be wrong for me to say I don’t care?” This mid-thigh length beauty fit snugly up top and skimmed over my hips, flaring out just enough to allow me to move and sit in comfort, with the side benefit of giving me something resembling a real figure. I didn’t usually have anything close to a defined waist, and my bust was far from exceptional, but the cut of this coat gave me actual curves without making me look chunky. A stand-up collar blocked the cold without giving me the sense I was choking, and also looked satisfyingly tough. I swung my arms, pleased to see that even though it fit me like a second skin, I could still move freely in it. Fucking hell, yes. I was buying this coat. Who needed savings? At the rate I was going, I wouldn’t live to see retirement anyway.

I ignored the whining of my credit card and my conscience. I bought black leather gloves as well, because what’s a badass coat without badass gloves? It was a good thing the store didn’t sell boots, because I had no doubt I’d have bought some. I had the brief urge to hand my Members Only jacket to the girl to dispose of, but my frugal side made a last-ditch rally and managed to slap a bit of sense into me.

Ten minutes later I was back in my car—and feeling not only warm but tough, because there’s nothing like leather to make one feel invincible.

I didn’t have any pressing need to go to the station since the report on the death of Barry Landrieu could certainly wait until Monday. However, two weeks ago the gods had decided that I was a good and just person and deserved to be compensated for the selfless works I had performed, and Grounds For Arrest had opened directly across the street from the Beaulac Police Department.

It was like Mecca and Nirvana and Valhalla all rolled into one. It was my Shangri La. They served coffee with chicory. And it was Good.

I parked in the detective’s parking lot of the PD since the café lot was being converted into a drive-through. A gust of wind caught me as soon as I stepped out of my car, and I bared my teeth in a grin. This wasn’t the icy wind from a possible summoning. This was simply winter. But I’m dressed for it now, bitches.

The clouds had successfully choked off the sun’s pathetic attempt to infiltrate the day, and the sky was back to being grey and ugly. A battered pickup chugged desultorily down the street, while a cherry red Camaro following it blasted a heavy bass beat from behind tinted windows. Grill smoke from a hamburger shack down the street whipped past me, stirring my appetite, but in the next heartbeat the wind shifted, bringing with it the sour smell of the Dumpster behind the PD. A couple hunched against the wind as they made their way down the street, surprising me when they stopped to admire the display in the window of an antique shop. I didn’t think this was the sort of weather anyone would want to go window-shopping in.

Squaring my shoulders in my kickass new coat, I crossed the street and ducked into the café. I pulled the door shut behind me and inhaled with pleasure as the scent wrapped me in its warm, pillowy embrace. Tugging my gloves off, I approached the counter.

The barista smiled as he passed a tall cup to me. “Morning, Kara. A pound of sugar, a gallon of cream, and a splash of coffee, right?”

“You’re a very smart man, David,” I replied with a grin as I handed over money.

“Well, you’re my most regular regular so far,” he said, then frowned. “That could be taken the wrong way.”

Laughing, I took the change and dropped it into the tip jar. “If you ever start serving chocolate donuts,” I said, “I’d probably never leave.”

“Then for the safety of our fine community, I’ll be sure to avoid ordering any.”

“For the safety of my waistline as well!”

“Y’know, I actually had donuts here when we first opened,” he said, picking up a towel and wiping down the counter as he spoke. “Had to stop carrying them because they didn’t sell.”

I nodded. “The stereotype.”

“Exactly,” he said, eyes flashing in amusement. “None of the cops who came in wanted to be seen eating donuts in public.”

“It’s my private shame,” I said with a parting wink. I turned around and barely caught myself before spilling my precious coffee all over the front of Officer Gordon’s jacket and my own. “Yikes! Sorry!”

Tracy gave me an engaging smile. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were stalking me.”

“It’s true,” I replied. “I have a thing for men who keep me from freezing to death. Oh, and speaking of,” I said as I tugged off the scarf and handed it back to him, “I can give this back to you now.”

“Well, I knew that if you did freeze I’d be the one stuck writing the report about finding your body.”

“I’m on call. I wonder if I’d have to investigate my own death?”

His mouth curved in amusement. “It’s a bureaucracy. Of course you would.” He looked to the patiently waiting David. “Sorry. Hot chocolate, please. Whole milk, with whipped cream.”

Damn, that sounded good. I briefly regretted my addiction to coffee. But only briefly.

He returned his attention to me as David went off to make his drink. “New purchase? Surely you didn’t have time to go back home.”

It took me a second to figure out what he was talking about. “Oh, the coat!” I grinned. “Yep, just bought it. I couldn’t resist.”

“It’s badass,” he said with an approving nod.

I preened a bit, about to respond when a screech of tires on pavement pulled our attention. An instant later we heard the distinct crash of a car meeting something immoveable.

“That can’t be good,” I murmured as we both quickly moved to the broad windows at the front. The street and the detective’s parking lot were in full view. My vehicle was the only one in the lot. Or rather, it had been. Now there was a dark blue Toyota Camry with its front end embedded in my car’s driver’s side.

I probably stared in disbelief for several seconds while the scene registered in my brain. “That’s my car,” I heard myself say. Then I shook myself out of my stupor. “That’s my fucking car!” Okay, so technically it was the PD’s car, but still, it was assigned to me.

I spun and hit the door at a run, glancing up and down the street just long enough to make sure I wasn’t about to get plowed by an oncoming vehicle. I was still holding my coffee, and the hot liquid splashed my hand through the little hole in the lid. I slowed to a brisk and angry walk as a blond woman made her stumbling way out of her driver’s side of the Camry. She wasn’t going anywhere fast. Not dressed in a pencil skirt and sky-high heels. She had the figure for it, I thought absently despite my current rage. Tall and slim and model perfect, even though she looked like she was in her late forties or so. Terrific genes. The bitch.

“Hey! You crazy, drunk bitch!” I shouted. “You just ran into the wrong car!”

She didn’t seem to hear me. Blood streamed from her nose onto her white blouse. Clearly the airbag hadn’t been very kind to her. Her unfocused gaze skimmed over me before she turned away from me and staggered to the middle of the parking lot. She stopped and looked up, spreading her arms as if she was waiting for aliens to snatch her up.

“Hey, lady!” I called out to her. “You need to get back over here right now.”

The woman suddenly let out a scream of pain and grabbed her head. She turned to focus on me for the first time, her eyes wild and wide.

“Help me!” she whimpered.

Drunk or high? I thought sourly. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you plenty of help,” I told her. “Now, step back over to the car, please.”

She didn’t move. Her eyes stayed locked on mine. I could see her fingers digging into her hair as if she was trying to hold her skull together. “Make it stop.” Her voice cracked as if speech was an incredible effort. “Please!”

I stopped about a dozen feet from her. Last thing I wanted to do was tangle with a blood-covered bitch who was high on who-knew-what. “Make what stop? Come over here and have a seat by the car, and I’ll get you some help.”

She took a shaking breath, and for an instant I thought she was going to comply and make my life easier. Then in the next heartbeat her hands fell away from her head, her face went slack, and she dropped like a stone to the ground, hard enough for her head to connect with the asphalt with an audible crack.

“Shit!” I dropped the coffee and quickly closed the distance. Crouching beside her, I rolled her to her back and found a place on her neck that didn’t have blood on it to check for a pulse. Not an easy task. Two nosebleeds in one day? I thought with a grimace. Coincidences like that made me itch. Especially on the same day a demon decided to attack me.

I whirled to signal for Tracy but he was right behind me and already on his radio, calling it in. “No pulse,” I told him. “Tell ‘em code three.”

He nodded and relayed the information as I turned back to the woman, got my hands in proper position, and started giving chest compressions. I took the CPR class every year as part of my in-service training, but this was the first time I’d ever had to do it on a real person.

The woman’s eyes were half lidded, and bubbles of blood formed at her nostrils with every compression. The latest guidelines called for compressions only, no mouth-to-mouth, and I sent up a silent thanks for that. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t want to risk giving breaths, even if I had one of those mask things. It was bad enough that my hands were getting blood on them. I don’t have any open cuts, I reminded myself. I hoped.

I lost track of time, though it was probably only a minute or two before sirens cut through the air. An ambulance pulled into the parking lot, and a few seconds later EMS crouched beside me. I gratefully relinquished the duty to them.

I stood, legs a little numb from kneeling. I staggered a step and felt a strong hand at my elbow steadying me. I looked over to see Tracy, then gave him a nod of thanks as he handed me a sanitizing wipe. I scrubbed my hands thoroughly of every trace of blood then hurriedly checked my lovely new jacket to see if I’d gotten any on it. If so, I couldn’t see it against the black leather. Yes, I knew I was being horribly shallow. But focusing on the little things kept me from losing my cool.

I returned my attention to the paramedics and their patient. “She was in the Camry,” I explained with a gesture toward the two cars. “She ran into the other one, then got out and walked over here. She seemed a little unsteady, but then she just stopped and—” I paused, knowing it was going to sound strange. “She grabbed her head and said, ‘Help me. Make it stop.’ Then she dropped like a stone.”

The one manning the ventilator glanced over at the car and frowned. “Could be a stroke. Doesn’t seem like a bad crash, but you never know.”

There wasn’t anything more I could do then except stand back and watch. A glance over at the coffee shop showed a number of faces at the window peering out from the warmth. They were the smart ones. The paramedics continued to work on her, but it didn’t seem to be doing much good. After a few minutes they loaded her up and screamed off with lights and sirens going.

I let my breath out as the ambulance departed then looked mournfully at my car. “Damn.”

“At least you weren’t in it,” Tracy said with a rueful smile. “Then you’d have to go through the joy of a piss test as well.”

“Yeah, small favors.” I sighed, tugging my gloves out of my pockets and onto my hands. “I guess I shouldn’t be whining about the car when there’s a chance that woman might not make it.”

Tracy shrugged, then looked back at the sound of approaching footsteps. I followed his gaze to see the barista, David, trotting up with a cup in his hand. He gave me a smile, then held the cup out to me. “I saw that you’d dropped yours and made up a new one.”

“Oh my god,” I said as I nearly snatched the cup from him. I took a big, scalding gulp and sighed in relief. “You are the perfect man!”

David laughed. “And you’re quite easily impressed!” He gave me a wink and then headed back across the street to the coffee shop.

Tracy smiled. “The perfect man is one who brings you coffee? Makes me wonder how the men in your life usually treat you.”

Men? Or demonic lords? I tried to cover my reaction by taking another sip, but he took note of my sudden reticence and grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s none of my business, and it was a dumb thing to say.”

“No, no!” I hurried to reassure him. “It’s all right.” I made myself chuckle. “I’m not really the ‘shower with gifts’ kind of chick, and that’s fine with me.”

“Well, it looks like I get to write the report for this nonsense.” He lifted his chin toward the two vehicles.

I peered into the open door of the woman’s car. It looked like she’d recently had it detailed. There were vacuum marks on the passenger side carpet, and the dashboard had a slight sheen of Armor All. An air freshener wafer tucked into the console sent the scent of chemical pineapple through the vehicle.

I spied a dark red Coach handbag on the floorboard, wedged under the dash. “Her purse is here.” I set my coffee on the roof of the car, and snagged it out. “Least I can do is help you inventory all this.”

“Appreciated,” he said.

After this I’d need to make some phone calls to my rank to see if I could score another car. I scowled as I dug through the woman’s purse. Would I even be able to get a new one issued on a Sunday? I was most likely screwed until Monday.

I found the woman’s wallet and removed the drivers license. “Her name is Evelyn Stark, and her address is.…” I trailed off. Son of a bitch.

“Kara?” I glanced up to see Tracy with his pen poised above his notepad and a frown on his face. I passed the driver’s license over to him, fighting hard to maintain something resembling composure.

“Sorry,” I managed “I know her. Knew her. I mean…I knew who she was.”

His brow furrowed in concern. “Friend of yours?”

I shook my head, chilled to the bone despite my coat. “No.” I took an unsteady breath. “No. Not at all. She’s the drunk driver who killed my dad.”