We bid Evelyn goodnight, and on the way down to the underground parking ramp, I told Jacob in low tones about the habit demon as I crunched down half a roll of antacids. “By the time I even realized what I was looking at, I couldn’t see it anymore. Plus, well…I guess it startled me. And that was enough to hijack my alpha waves.”
I watched Jacob’s jaw work as he chewed through the information like a handful of chalky pills. I figured he was mapping out a plan of attack to get his hands on the demon and tear it in half—they’re apparently even more satisfying to pop than bubble wrap. But instead he said, “And you didn’t mention it to Evelyn because…?”
I wasn’t entirely sure. “Because she’s from National, I guess.”
Our conversation ebbed as we strolled past the FPMP-issued Lexus and looped down the next aisle. “A lot of people work for National,” Jacob said. Meaning, the FPMP signed our paychecks, too. And it’s always good to find an ally wherever you can.
“It’s obvious you think she’s pretty great.” The two of them had clicked immediately. He’d let her talk me into field testing the SPECs without putting up much of a fight, and green-lit the pizza I was currently regretting. “But what can I say? I’m accustomed to keeping myself to myself.”
And while I couldn’t speak for the demons, in my experience, old habits die hard.
CHAPTER NINE
ALTHOUGH I THOUGHT the sheer volume of cheese I’d eaten could surely fuel me for the rest of my days and I’d never need to eat again, by the next morning I was scarfing down my usual breakfast burrito like the day before had never happened. I was playing Russian roulette with the coffee grounds at the bottom of my cup when the call came in.
So. Noah Boswell knew how to use a phone after all.
When I picked up, he said, “I’ve been thinking.” Oh, I was sure he had. “You’re probably not gonna have much luck getting my security deposit returned. The scorch mark on the bathroom ceilingwaspretty obvious, and even when I tried to paint it over, it just bled back through.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But there is something you can help me with that’ll save me a lot more grief than dealing with that ridiculous management company.”
“And that would be?”
“Can’t tell you on the phone.” He lowered his voice. “I’ll have to show you.”
I thought Jacob would jump at the chance at another day in the field, so I was surprised when he said, “You don’t really need me for your followup, do you?”
Not exactly. The only potentially harmful thing about Boswell was the possibility of catching shrapnel from one of his pee bottles—and, frankly, all of Jacob’s “helpful” suggestions when I was scoping out the apartment were more of a distraction. Still…Carl would’ve never volunteered to stay behind.
“Okay, mister. I see right through you. What’s more interesting at HQ than a crazy guy in a van?”
Jacob had the grace to look marginally chagrinned. “Bethany is supposed to record a baseline with the SPECs today….”
Nowit all made sense. Jacob wasn’t auditioning Evelyn for BFFs. He wanted a chance to play with those glasses—and not because he had to read fine-print at arm’s length nowadays, either. “You know that if they ever do put that tech into production, they’ll never issue a pair to a certified NP.”
“I know,” he said patiently.
And we both knew that didn’t much matter when his husband would be one of the first to get his hands on the technology.
“Fine,” I said, “go drool over the glasses. I’ve got a nutcase to crack.”
The location where Boswell had summoned me was outside a nondescript block of office buildings, with accountants on either end and a bunch of “for lease” signs in between. One of the vacant offices had an old cedar planter out front with a few sun-faded plastic daisies poking up from the gathered litter, andBoswell was perched on the edge, sipping a two-liter bottle of Blast that seemed dwarfed by his huge hands.
What a relief he was too paranoid to invite me into the van. I crossed my arms and scowled down at him. “Well?”
“Don’t look,” he said, “but the guy at the bus stop on the corner is a plant.”
It took a lot of effort to stop myself from checking to see if he meant an agent in disguise or a literal philodendron. And then I reminded myself that I would’ve sounded the same if I tried to explain about Officer “Andy” trailing me through the Fifth.
Boswell patted the rough cedar plank, and I sat myself down beside him. Like a dealer handing off a score, he slid me an envelope. But there was no Seconal inside. Only Polaroids.
Casually, I flipped through. All the shots were of different people sitting at the bus stop. A high school kid. An elderly man with a cane. A woman in a babushka with a half dozen shopping bags.
I shuffled through the stack again, looking for someone in the background I hadn’t noticed before. But, no. There were just random people at various times of day sitting on the bench.
“What am I looking at here?” I asked, doing my best not to steer his response one way or the other.
