Otherworld 08 - Personal Demon by Kelley Armstrong

Author:Kelley Armstrong [Armstrong, Kelley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: thriller, Contemporary, Fiction, Fantasy, Suspense, Romance, Paranormal
ISBN: 9780307371621
Google: 2vHAUAT29o0C
Amazon: 0553588206
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2008-09-30T05:00:00+00:00

PAIGE AND I walked into the terminal. I carried two overnight bags; she had her laptop case.

We waded through a throng of friends and relatives greeting arrivals. Twenty feet away, Karl sat reading a newspaper, alone on a bank of chairs. Despite the shouts and crying around him, he never even glanced up.

As we emerged from the crowd, he snapped the paper shut, rose and strode into the terminal…away from us. Paige arched her brows at me. Was Karl simply being cautious? Or did he suspect he’d been followed? After less than a dozen paces, he stopped, wheeled and shot us a “Well, are you coming?” glower. He barely let us catch up, then was off again.

“We should find someplace with a modicum of privacy,” I said. “I know several-”

“Here’s fine.”

He veered into a bar packed with commuters fortifying themselves for the flight-or the drive home. It hardly seemed the place to discuss matters of a supernatural nature, but a crowded public place was more secure than an empty one, where words could carry and neighbors might be bored enough to eavesdrop.

“Where’s Hope?” Paige asked as Karl pulled out her stool, the action seeming more reflex than courtesy.

“After the girl died, Benoit-the gang leader-called her in. He has them hunkered down at the club, planning their next move. No one leaves.”

That explained his brusqueness then. He was eager to get this over with so he could return. His haste was warranted. Should Hope push her panic alarm now, it would be a half-hour or more before he could respond.

Karl pulled a manila envelope from his folded newspaper and removed a sheaf of photos. Eight-by-ten shots, all grainy, the resolution poor.

“Hope used her cell phone to take pictures of the originals, then sent them to me,” he explained.

The top photograph was of two young men. Both sat bound to chairs, bowed forward, as if so exhausted that their bindings were all that was holding them upright. The dark-haired one bore an ugly cut across his cheekbone, his cheek coated with a layer of dried blood. The fair-haired young man had a black eye and a swollen lip.

“Jaz and Sonny, I presume?”

He nodded. “The original was left beside the girl’s body.”

“Was any note attached?”

“Three words on the back: more to come.”

That could mean anything from “more information forthcoming” to “more mistreatment of the prisoners” to “more victims to follow.” Intentionally cryptic, leaving the recipient hoping for the best while imagining the worst.

“And her killer claimed to be delivering a message from my father, not only with the picture, but the young woman’s death? The Cortez Cabal rarely utilizes kidnapping. The outcome is fraught with uncertainty. If it fails, you must kill the victims. If it succeeds, you have living witnesses. If it succeeds and you kill the witnesses, your credibility as a negotiator is irrevocably damaged. To send such a blatant message, and leave evidence of his complicity…” I shook my head. “It’s not-”

“-your father.”

“No, I was going to say it isn’t my father’s style.

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