No Place Like Hell (39 page)

The hellhound's muscles tensed until he quivered. So his master knew he was stuck here and had done nothing about it. It must be punishment for his slow recapture of Holmes.

"Get on with it," the hellhound said with false bravado, "unless you wish me to tell the master of your magic book."

The demon clacked his teeth. "Heaven wants retribution for their lost angel."

The hellhound drew in a sharp breath. Would he be destroyed to appease Heaven?

"The angel wasn't my fault."

"No, but a damned soul in your charge was. To Heaven, it is all the same. They wish you to perish."

The news hit the hellhound hard. He sank to his haunches. The demon seemed to delight in his discomfort.

"For reasons I will never understand," the demon said, "the master values you. He made a deal with the angels."

The hellhound rose again, relief surging through him. "What kind of deal?"

"The master convinced the angels to accept restitution in place of vengeance."

The demon was definitely enjoying himself, perhaps too much. The hellhound lowered his head and growled, suspicious.

"And the terms of this restitution?"

"Angels prefer to occupy flesh from the beginning of its existence. They have no one of appropriate age available to serve as the ward's guardian and don't want her unescorted until a new vessel matures."

The demon gestured at him with a bony arm. "You, on the other hand, have suitable flesh that is already acquainted with the ward."

The hellhound's jaw dropped open. "I'm to be the ward's guardian?
Heaven agreed to this?
"

The demon laughed openly. "Ironic, isn't it? The master argued that since you'd saved her life once already, you were clearly qualified. As for motivation to why you should agree, if the ward were to 'meet with an accident' before her Fate-appointed time, the deal is off, and Heaven will demand your existence as payment.

"Our master sees this as a unique opportunity. While you play guardian, you are tasked with turning the ward toward Hell. She would be a powerful ally and could hasten the shifting of balance to our favor. The master will not be pleased if you fail."

"But…" He stared at the demon. "What of the retrieval of damned souls?"

The demon wagged a finger at him. "No hunting allowed while you're on guardian duty."

"No," the hellhound whispered. "It can't be. How will the army of Hell grow if I don't acquire more damned souls?"

"We'll manage," the demon replied.

Another cold thought traced a path through his brain. The ward didn't like him. "What if the ward won't have me?"

"Then you'll also perish." The demon strolled off at a leisurely pace.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"Home to Hell," the demon said over his shoulder. "Seve Calderon died in his cell. I saw to it that the body was battered and bruised before I abandoned it. The pigs will be hard pressed to explain how it happened when the mobster's sister claims the remains."

"What of me?" the hellhound called at the fading demon. "How do I get out of here?"

"Not my problem," the demon said as he vanished.

68

I stared up at Angels of Mercy hospital. I'd thought about what to do on the half hour drive from Hawaiian Mike's, and I'd finally settled on a course of action.

The best thing for everyone was to wish the hellhound back to Hell. That's where he belonged, not here in the land of the living. I had a lot of stressful changes coming in my life. The last thing I wanted was responsibility for a psychopath.

I parked at a meter, dropped a dime, and headed into the hospital. The interior was cool and hushed. The sound of a floor polisher echoed from a side corridor. Two clerks chatted in the florist shop off the main lobby. The scent of flowers mingled with the biting odor of bleach.

I took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked to the nurses' station. A nurse in a crisp white dress and nursing cap looked up at my approach.

"I'm looking for Kasker Sleeth's room," I said.

"Room 410, down the hall to your right," the pretty, dark-haired nurse said, her face serious. "Are you a relative?"

"Distant," I replied.

"He's not conscious," she said. "The doctors can't explain his coma. They've tried everything to wake him up. They're still hopeful he'll recover."

I thanked the nurse and tread quietly down the hall to Sleeth's room. I took a deep breath and stepped through the open door.

Sun filtered through partially closed blinds and glared off the white walls of the four-bed suite. Three of the beds were empty. Sleeth occupied the one nearest the windows. An IV bottle hung beside the bed, and a tube led down to his arm.

I walked to his bedside and looked at his still form. Lank blond hair spread like a halo around his head. His skin above the covering sheet was pallid, his respirations were slow and shallow, and his eyes were half-open in that dead state I'd seen whenever he collapsed.

The lights were on, but the dog wasn't home.

"All right, time to wake up."

I waited to see what would happen. The body before me continued unchanged. Maybe I wasn't as powerful as the big Hawaiian thought.

I put a hand on Sleeth's shoulder. "Damn it, dog. Quit screwing with me. Wake up."

Sleeth's chest stuttered. It expanded with a deep, indrawn breath. His cold blue eyes blinked open and squinted up at me.

Pain wrinkled his face. His hand slid to his belly, and he winced. A moan slipped from his throat.

I felt a moment of guilt for using such a sharp tone. Waking up with a knife wound in his gut couldn't be fun. It was my fault he'd been stabbed.

"Officer Demasi," he said, ending with a dry cough. Wariness glazed his cold blue eyes.

I filled a glass with water from a carafe on the bedside table. I placed a straw in it and held it before his lips. He looked at it like he thought it might be poison.

"I've told you before, I'm not a police officer. Drink."

Sleeth's lips gripped the straw, and he sucked down half an inch of water.

"How did Sleeth die?" I asked

His eyes widened for a split second. "I didn't, thanks to you."

I glared down at him. "Did Calderon kill Sleeth so you could occupy the body?"

He gasped in shock. "Killing is strictly forbidden."

I crossed my arms. He hadn't gotten any better at answering questions.

Sleeth plucked at the sheet and mumbled, "Drug overdose. It's possible Seve pointed him to a dealer with tainted product."

His gaze met mine. "He had free will. No one forced him to get high."

I threw up my hands. "And that absolves you and the mobster of responsibility?"

"I had nothing to do with it. I wasn't even in this realm when it happened."

I heaved a sigh. He was a creature of Hell, and we were debating morality. I was nuts to think he'd feel guilt for what he'd done. I walked to the foot of the bed.

"If you're not a p— not a cop now, what will you do?" he asked.

I rocked on my heels and glanced at my shoes. "I've had an offer from an old family friend. He runs a detective agency. He's offered to show me the ropes and help me get a license so I can open my own investigation business."

His cold eyes sparkled, and his lips twisted in his heart-melting, come-hither smile. "You'll need a partner. I'm the greatest hunter in the universe and the logical choice. We made a great team."

My anger rose, and my brows went with it. "We were never a team. You lied to me. You withheld important facts. You abandoned the stakeout at Peck's apartment. If you hadn't, we could have caught Holmes before anyone died."

His chin lifted. "But you wouldn't have found Holmes without me."

"You should go back to Hell where you belong."

Sleeth's lips parted. Panic flashed in his cold eyes. His voice dropped to his smooth tenor. "The body will die without me. It's family will be bereaved. You'd be responsible. You don't want that, do you?"

An irritating buzz gnawed at my brain and stabbed at the back of my eyes. I'd been fine a moment earlier. Sleeth watched with a strange intensity.

My eyes narrowed. "Whatever you're doing, stop it."

He looked away, his face awash in desperation and fear. No regret, though.

"Why don't you want to go back to Hell?"

He couldn't have looked more surprised. He swallowed and cast his eyes around the room while he floundered for a plausible lie.

"Out with it," I said.

"I'm forbidden from hunting in the flesh, but it was the only way to find Holmes. Now that Heaven knows what I did, I will be destroyed if I leave the realm of souls."

I was tempted to wish him away that very moment, but Hawaiian Mike's warning about upsetting the natural order gnawed at me.

"You can stay with Calderon," I said.

"Seve's dead," he replied, voice flat.

"No, he's in jail, but he'll be out soon. They don't have anything on him."

Sleeth shook his head. "He died in his cell, beaten to death by the pigs."

"Bullshit. Mack wouldn't let that happen."

He shrugged. "You'll see."

His fingertips rubbed the sheet near his wound. He wasn't telling the whole truth. Eventually I might worm the rest of the story from him, but not today.

What was I going to do with him? Hawaiian Mike implied he'd become my responsibility. The last thing I wanted was a hippie hellhound for a partner.

But Mike had also implied that the hellhound wasn't all bad, that he could be a force for good with the right mistress. Maybe this was my penance for getting Dave killed.

"I'll get a lawyer to draw up partnership paperwork," I said. "When you're on your feet, call me."

Relief blossomed on his handsome face, and stiffness went out of his shoulders. "I'll need a place to stay while I recuperate."

I crossed my arms on my chest. "What's wrong with your apartment?"

His expression turned sly. "Can't afford it with Seve gone, and can't work until I'm patched up. You wouldn't put your walking-wounded partner on the street, would you?"

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "You can use the spare room until you find a new apartment. No dope in the house. And no bringing home women."

Sleeth grinned. "No problem, Nicky. We'll be buddies. I'll show you how to have a good time."

I rolled my eyes and walked out of his room wondering whether I'd regret my offer. What would my neighbors say? Maybe I could pass him off as a long-lost cousin.

I'd never owned a pet and had no idea how to rehabilitate one. I'd seen a TV special that explained how Hollywood animal handlers used treats to train their animals. I wondered if Sleeth liked Milk-Bones.

Titles by K S Ferguson:

Rafe & Kama series:

Calculated Risk

Hostile Takeover

River Madden series:

Touching Madness

Undercover Madness

The Hellhound series

No Place Like Hell

Novella:

Puncher’s Chance
(with James Grayson)

I would like to thank the many people who assisted with this novel. First, thanks to my daughter for her unfailing support and thoughtful suggestions. Then thanks to James Grayson for his many suggestions and assists with the action scenes. I received excellent feedback from my beta readers, Pam and Ellen, and there would have been many typos without the sharp eyes of my editor, Luke Evart.

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