The “right” thing to do at the moment was call the police. Usually, when I’m reading a book or watching a movie where the heroine fails to call the police when she’s threatened, I berate her as an idiot. But my life had been far too eventful lately, and I’d had too many brushes with the law. Adam had extricated me from my most awkward moments, but I had to be setting off police warning bells everywhere. If I called them now, it might remind certain people to dig out the files about my arrest for illegal exorcism, or about Brian’s kidnapping, or about my father’s death in the “car accident,” or about the break-in and subsequent attack at my parents’ home while I just happened to be there.
Maybe if I thought the police could actually help me, I’d have made the call anyway. But I seriously doubted someone who was thinking ahead enough to digitally alter their voice would make a call the police could trace, so what would the police do? Except make me wait up for them a few hours and subject me to suspicious looks and leading questions.
I gnawed on my lip. What was the deal with this Jordan Maguire guy, anyway? Who felt strongly enough about him to threaten me, and why had a reporter called? Since I’d been hired by the state, not his family, the only details I had about him were those directly pertaining to his conviction. Perhaps I should have inquired about his background before taking the case, but that wasn’t part of my routine.
I really wanted to just fall into bed and forget all about it, but I supposed that wasn’t one of my options. So instead I did an Internet search on Maguire. I didn’t find out much about the guy I’d exorcized, but I did find out that Jordan Maguire Sr. was rich enough to endow his son’s high school with a new multimillion dollar athletic facility, start up a mega-grant program for underprivileged artists in his daughter’s name, and fund a new wing of Pennsylvania Hospital. That made Jordan Jr. somewhat of a local celebrity—hence, the call from the reporter—and Jordan Sr. a potentially powerful enemy.
I cursed loud and long. I didn’t need any more enemies! I’d had no idea Jordan Maguire was anything out of the ordinary when I’d agreed to do the exorcism. I’d known when he’d come out the other side brain-dead that his family wouldn’t be happy, and it wouldn’t shock me to find out they were blaming the exorcist. There was a small, but vocal, minority who thought hosts who came out of an exorcism braindead—as opposed to “merely” brain damaged—were the victims of incompetent or malicious exorcists. I guess it’s always nice to have someone to blame.
There’d been a few lawsuits that had made the news, but since there was no way to prove that the exorcist did anything wrong, so far none had been successful. Of course, in a country where McDonald’s can be successfully sued for serving hot coffee, I guess it’s not surprising that lawyers with dollar signs in their eyes still hoped to find a way to hold exorcists responsible.
With a sigh of resignation, I turned off the computer and told myself that Maguire was no longer my problem. Whoever had left the death threat had probably gotten the vitriol out of their system and things would calm down in the days and weeks to come.
But I did a lousy job of persuading myself. I made sure to take my Taser to bed with me that night. I’d already seen how porous my building’s security was.
Despite the anxiety that rattled my brain like a set of maracas, I managed to fall asleep. I probably would have slept until noon if the phone hadn’t rung at eight in the morning. It was the reporter again, asking me if I had any comment about the Maguire family’s decision to pull the plug this afternoon. I had some comments for him all right, but they weren’t about the exorcism or Jordan Maguire.
I tried to go back to sleep, but the phone rang again at eight-thirty. I was prepared to give the reporter the kind of comments that might get me arrested, but when I checked the caller ID I saw that it was Brian.
I seriously considered letting my answering machine take the call. Not because I didn’t want to talk to Brian, but because I didn’t want to talk to him about the Maguire situation. I figured there must be something in the newspaper about it, and Brian would want to gallantly support me in my time of trouble. I wasn’t up to dealing with him in knight-in-shining-armor mode. Yes, I’m really bitchy in the morning before I’ve had my coffee.
Virtue won out over expedience, and I actually picked up the phone.
“If you mention Jordan Maguire, you’re not getting laid again for at least three months,” I said.
Brian chuckled. “Guess you haven’t had your coffee yet.”
Why does everyone have to find me so goddamn amusing? “I was sound asleep, so no.” So I hadn’t been sound asleep for at least a half hour. What was a little exaggeration among friends?
“Sorry to wake you,” Brian said. “But I don’t think this can wait. I’m coming over. I’ll be there in about half an hour.”
“Huh?” I glanced at the clock again. “What’s going on? Don’t you have to be at work?” Actually, if he’d been following his usual routine, he’d have been at work a half hour ago. Suddenly, I was feeling much more awake, and that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“It’s not something I can explain on the phone,” he said. “Get some coffee in your system, and I’ll see you soon.”
To my surprise, he hung up. It wasn’t like Brian to be cryptic.
Giving up my illusion that I might be able to get some more sleep, I rubbed the grit from my eyes and got out of bed. I started a pot of coffee, and by the time I emerged from a quick shower, the heavenly brew was ready for me. I burned my tongue on the first swallow, but it was worth it.
I was still in my bathrobe when Brian arrived. A girl has to have priorities, and coffee came before clothes for me any day of the week.
I hadn’t expected this to be a social call, of course, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t unnerved by the grim look on Brian’s face. And that was before he got a look at my bruised and battered face.
“What happened?” he asked, sounding appalled. “ It’s not that big a deal,” I answered, hoping I could somehow miraculously avoid a big, dramatic scene. “A couple of Tommy Brewster’s pals thought I should lay off him, and I didn’t agree. But really, I’m fine. And yes, I reported it.”
He stared at me in silence for a moment before he spoke again. As I’m sure he intended, the silence made me squirm, but I refrained from blurting out anything I shouldn’t have.
“This is the case you insisted wasn’t dangerous, right?” he asked. “The one you told me you’d handed off to Adam.”
“If you’re going to scold me, then you might as well turn around and get your ass out of here before things get ugly. I’m just not in the mood for it.”
His shoulders lowered, and he looked slightly less like he was about to explode. “Old habits die hard. But I really can’t leave right now.”
I remembered how grim he’d looked even before he got a good look at me and knew this couldn’t be good. I served him a cup of coffee just to put off hearing what had put that look on his face. But I couldn’t put it off for long.
“Okay,” I said with a resigned sigh. “Tell me what’s going wrong now.” I cupped my hands around my second cup of coffee and tried to brace myself for whatever bad thing was about to rear its ugly head.
Brian put his coffee down and leaned his butt against the kitchen counter. I think he was trying to look calm and normal, but he wasn’t pulling it off very effectively.
“When I came down to the front desk to get my paper this morning,” he said, “there was a message in my mailbox. The night man said it was delivered by a young woman, but he had no idea who she was or where she’d gone.”
This didn’t sound good at all. “What was the message?” I asked.