Demon Marked (12 page)

So he had to assume Francis meant something else entirely, something that made Andre's hands itch once again for that weapon he'd been craving a few minutes ago. “There's nothing sexual between us, if that's what you mean.”

“And no intentions on your part?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Francis smiled again. “Why wouldn't I want to know? You know me. I've always had a thing for blondes. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to be getting your seconds. With as many women as you ‘date,' that can be a challenge.”

“Don't touch her, Francis.” Andre barely kept his tone civil.

“I wouldn't think of it ... until she's recovered. After that, I think that will be her call. She's a big girl.”

“She's twenty years old.”

“Last time I checked, eighteen was legal.”

Andre literally bit his tongue. He had no reason to feel so possessive of Emma. One kiss didn't mean anything. It didn't matter that it had been the most intense kiss in recent memory, or that holding Emma as he carried her out of her apartment building had awakened all his sleeping protective instincts.

“Okay. Fine. Just promise me something, okay?” Andre managed a deferential tone that actually sounded sincere. “Leave her alone until I get back. I want to make sure she's up to answering questions before I ask her about the Death Ministry stuff.”

“No problem.” Francis sat back in his chair and reached for another handful of cashews. “See, we can get along great when we cooperate.”

Andre forced a tight smile before he turned and strode from the office. Outside, Emma was still sacked out on the couch, but she was at least lying still on her side. Dr. Finch was getting coffee at the station a few yards away, looking calmer than he had since the tiny, white-haired old man had arrived. The good doctor had sold his practice several years ago to become one of the two docs on twenty-four-hour call to the Conti family. He was a man who was used to pulling out bullets and sewing up knife wounds, but he'd still paled when he saw Emma. By the time they reached Conti Bounty's offices, she'd barely been breathing.

If they hadn't gotten the antivenom when they had ...

Andre squatted down by Emma's face, wondering whether she was really seeing him through her slitted eyes, and whether she would be able to understand the words he leaned forward to whisper in her ear. He prayed to all the saints his mother loved that she could. Because if she started talking to Little Francis while he was gone, they were both going to be in a shitload of trouble.

F
ora second Emma thought Andre was going to kiss her on the cheek. Despite the fact that she was sure she looked and smelled as horrible as she felt, the idea was oddly thrilling.

But then his lips drew close to her ear, and she felt like a fool for even thinking about stupid, impractical things like kisses. “Don't talk to Francis. The Death Ministry was looking for you at the training facility this morning. They were asking about some guy named Greg who's been missing since last night.”

Oh shit.
The DM hadn't found the body. Someone else must have taken it. Now she was a person of interest to a deadly gang and might very well be on her way to jail if the police had found the corpse. Her fingerprints were all over Greg.

Greg. How sad was it that she hadn't even known the guy's first name? But then, she preferred to know as little as possible about her victims; it made it easier to concentrate on the information she pulled from their minds if her focus wasn't cluttered with her own impressions.

“So don't talk to anyone until I get back and we can figure this out,” he said. “Do you hear me? Don't talk to anyone but me.”

Andre had never been her favorite person, but he'd proven today that he was someone she could depend on. Little Francis, on the other hand, had always made her uncomfortable. He seemed like a decent guy but was way too
friendly
. Every time she'd been seated by LF at Conti family dinners, she'd felt coated in smarm by the time the main course was served, and she always made excuses to escape to the stockroom when he stopped by the bar.

Any other man would have gotten a clue and given up, but not Little Francis. He seemed positive she'd eventually throw herself at his feet—or his groin, if he had his preference. His opinion of himself was even higher than that of the average Conti man, which was reason enough for her not to tell him jack, even if Andre had thought fessing up to the boss's son was a good idea.

Emma tried to tell Andre she understood but could manage only a small nod. She was still so weak.

“I want to check on a few things before we talk to anyone else about the ... missing person.” Andre leaned back, studying her face, fear and anger mingling in his expression. “I'll be back in a few hours. Do what the doctor tells you to in the meantime.”

Emma swallowed hard but still couldn't seem to get any words to come out.

Probably for the best. Andre certainly didn't want to hear that it wasn't the antivenom that had brought her back from the brink but a hearty dose of Dr. Finch's life force.

She'd laid her hands on the doc as soon as Andre had disappeared into Francis's office. Andre had said he wanted proof of what she could do, but she wasn't about to let him know she'd snacked on the Conti family doctor, just in case Dr. Finch decided to drop dead sometime in the next few hours. She was convinced Blue Eyes' death was drug related and had nothing to do with her feeding, but she was still in deep shit.

Any more and she'd be up to her neck in it.

Luckily for her, Dr. Finch was too distracted by her moaning and clutching at his head to notice the pale blue light coming from her fingers. Even more luckily for her, the doc wasn't the sweet old man he appeared to be. She'd been in so much pain, from both the venom and the antivenom, that she hadn't been able to see his memories as clearly as most, but she'd seen enough to know his fat bank account was earned dealing death as often as healing the sick.

He'd done something very, very bad ... something involving illegal organ harvesting ... or ...
something
. ... The images had been blurred, hazy. She couldn't say for certain what he'd done, but Doc Finch had been wicked enough to suit her purposes, evil enough that she knew she'd have to talk to Sam and Jace about the man as soon as they got back from their honeymoon.

Sam, at least, would believe that Emma had seen inside the doctor's mind. Her sister would know who to talk to in order to make sure the Contis replaced Finch ASAP. For all their illegal activity, the Contis were decent people and didn't make it their business to profit from others' pain. They wouldn't knowingly employ a man like the doctor.

Still, Emma was glad Finch had been in the wrong place at the right time. Without the energy she'd taken from him, she was fairly certain she
would
be dead.

The mix of venom and antivenom on top of the ever-present dark craving had nearly overwhelmed her. It had become almost too much for her to physically bear—she'd felt that truth in the way the demonic craving writhed and screamed inside of her as soon as the antivenom hit her bloodstream. Her only recourse had been to do something to make the craving stronger than the mix of drugs that threatened to destroy it.

As much as she'd love the chance at a life without the need that haunted her, Emma knew the death of the darkness would be her death as well. She and her demon mark were inseparable. Even the spell book made no mention of destroying the part of her that had been transformed by the aura demons, only managing it.

“Ginger ...” Emma croaked, praying her roomie—and her purse and spell book—had been located.

“She's fine,” Andre said. “I'm going to meet her now and help her get settled in a safe house. You'll be staying there, too, until we get everything sorted out.”

At any other time, his calm assurance that she would be doing what he told her would have made Emma livid, but at the moment it was strangely comforting.
Ugh.
She was definitely going to have to make sure she never ingested or injected anything unnatural ever again. Her physical weakness was bleeding over into the emotional arena. At this rate she'd be asking Andre whether she could stitch up his socks and clean his kitchen floors.

Even in her present state, the idea was
way
more exciting than it should have been. She'd never seriously considered sleeping with a man, let alone a man with a sex addiction whose partners probably numbered in the hundreds. It was crazy. She was losing her mind from the demon drugs.

Yes. That had to be it. It certainly had nothing to do with the way Andre's full lips had felt against her own, or the heat in his eyes when she'd reached for his belt earlier in the morning.

“Ginger has ... my purse. ...” Emma swallowed again, willing the last of the numbness away from her tongue and the lustful thoughts from her mind. “Could you get it ... for me?”

Andre rolled his eyes. “Sure, why not. I'm everyone's fucking errand boy today.” He stood and adjusted the already immaculate seam in his pants. “Be good while I'm gone, and remember what I told you.”

“Got it, boss,” Emma said, her smart-ass tone making Andre's scowl grow even darker.

“Great. And maybe you should spend some time thinking about what a dangerous, stupid thing you did today,” he said, casting a pointed look at Dr. Finch as he wandered back into their general vicinity.

“It's true, Miss Quinn,” Dr. Finch said. “I was very concerned.”

“Tell her that she could have died,” Andre said.

“You could have died. He's right.”

“But I didn't. Now you can ... go play golf,” Emma said, not missing the flash of recognition in the doctor's eyes. Bastard.

Andre cursed beneath his breath before squatting back down beside her and talking in a hushed whisper. “Listen, you can be an asshole to the people who are trying to help you if you want, but remember this is your fault. Think about that the next time you're putting that shit into your body.”

Even though she'd been thinking the exact same thing, Andre's words still made her eyes sting as he turned and walked away. She got it that he'd lost someone he cared about to demon drugs and had no clue Finch was a bad man, but that didn't give him the right to treat her like a dumb kid. She'd been telling him the truth—she was cursed with a demon mark, but she didn't touch demon drugs. Stupidly, it hurt that he wouldn't even consider that she was an honest person.

“Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Quinn?” Dr. Finch asked, the picture of the sweet, helpful old doctor.

“No, thanks. I'm just going to rest.”

“Would you like me to prepare a cot in the staff break room? Or I could—”

“I'll just ... stay here.”

“That's probably best.” He nodded, evidently pleased that she wouldn't be a high-maintenance patient. “Be sure to drink some of the water on the table when you feel up to it. Water helps flush the system of the antivenom.”

Emma shifted, taking in the glass of ice water on the table near her head. “Will do.” She closed her eyes, hoping the doctor would take the hint that she was done with conversation. She heard the doc shuffle away down the hall a few seconds later and relaxed into the soft, comfy couch with a sigh.

All she needed was a power nap, and then she'd be ready to go. She had to help Andre find out what was going on with the missing body. They had to figure out who had found the corpse she'd shoved between the Dumpsters—the police or someone more dangerous. There were other gangs roaming the ruins, though none as feared or powerful as the Death Ministry. At least not yet.

If the Demons' Army or one of the other smaller gangs could help incite a street war between the Contis and the Death Ministry, however, they might be able to seize control of the Southie drug trade away from their rivals. The Death Ministry had controlled the waters near old East River Park for years and earned riches by running demon drugs out to the man-made pleasure islands off the coast of New York in international waters. This wouldn't be the first time another gang had tried to get a piece of the DM's action, but it might be the first successful attempt.

Andre might find her theory a little far-fetched, but she knew another gang member was the most likely candidate for body thief. The gangs roamed the dark alleys and twisted corridors of the ruins. The police certainly had no reason to be patrolling behind the Demon's Breath in the early hours of the morning. And even if the Squat demons had returned and fed on the body, they would have at least left bones behind.