“Did you decide anything?” I asked, then practically held my breath as I awaited the answer.
He nodded. “A number of things, actually.” He started counting off on his fingers. “One, that Adam’s a prick.”
I couldn’t help a snort of laughter. I would have felt bad about that if the corner of Dom’s mouth hadn’t twitched upward ever so slightly.
“Two, that he’s an insecure prick. And three, that I’m a mean little bastard for not immediately reassuring him that I don’t want to host Saul again.”
For reasons I didn’t want to examine, I rose from my chair and gave Dominic a quick, awkward hug. “I’ll agree with your assessment of Adam, but if you’re a mean little bastard, then I’m Miss Sunshine-and-Roses.”
He laughed and visibly relaxed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But I really was pretty mean to Adam earlier. I wish he’d had enough faith in me to tell me about The Seven Deadlies from the start, but I understand why he didn’t.”
“And have you told him yet that you’re not going to take Saul back?”
He shook his head. “I was too busy brooding, and now he’s gone off to talk to a hostile demon who inhabits a superhost who may have abilities of which we are not aware. I feel like shit.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I said, and I meant it. It was hard to imagine Adam getting into any kind of trouble he couldn’t handle. Perhaps I was overestimating him, but his combination of competence and confidence made him seem almost invulnerable to me.
“Do you have any idea where he’s gone?”
I shook my head. “No. Why?”
Dom’s lips pressed together in a tight line, his eyes narrowed in pain. “Because I’m worried about him. I hurt him, and I’m worried he’ll be distracted by it, get himself in trouble. .”
I thought I understood what Dominic was trying to say, even though he didn’t come right out and say it. “You want me to go look for him?”
His brilliant smile lit up his face. “Would you? He’s turned his phone off, and I don’t know how to reach him. I want to make sure he knows I’m staying before he faces Tommy.”
I almost took him up on it without thinking, but every once in a while I surprise myself by considering the consequences of my actions. “You know he’s going to be pissed at you for letting me go.”
Dom’s smile turned into a grin. “Do you think I’m afraid of him? It won’t be the first time I’ve pissed him off, and it won’t be the last, either.” He sobered and looked at me gravely. “Sometimes he has trouble understanding that people have a right to decide things for themselves, even if he doesn’t like their decisions.”
I had a feeling he was talking about more than my own situation. Had Adam tried to bully Dom into not taking Saul back? That would explain why Dom hadn’t rushed in to reassure him.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll go see if I can find Adam and make sure his head is in the game where it belongs. But first you have to tell me about the black eye.” I believed him when he said Adam didn’t do it on purpose, but considering they’d obviously argued, I felt like I had to know the circumstances before I could get near Adam without killing him. “Were you fighting?”
Dom stared at his hands in apparent fascination. “We were play-fighting, though we both should have known better. You don’t do any kind of BDSM play when you’re angry. At least, you shouldn’t.” I must have looked horrified, because he hastened to reassure me. “We weren’t throwing punches or anything, just wrestling. Of course, I don’t stand a chance of winning a wrestling match with a demon, so usually I don’t try very hard. But I was angry, so I fought harder than usual, and I managed to break his grip.” A wry smile twisted his lip. “I was as surprised as he was, so I lost my balance. You’ve seen the bed next door.”
Yes, I had. It was a massive king-sized black iron bed that looked heavy enough to fall through the floor.
“I ran into it face-first. Adam managed to catch me or it probably would have been much worse.”
If it were anyone else, I might have thought this story equivalent to the “I bumped into a door” story that’s the staple of battered women everywhere. But I believed Dominic, and that meant I could go off in pursuit of Adam without wanting to kill him.
I don’t know what was to stop Adam from dragging me right back to my civilized little prison cell the moment I found him, but I’d worry about that later. I smiled at Dom to let him know I bought his story.
“Do you happen to know where Adam stashed my Taser when he confiscated it?”
“No, but I’m sure we can find it.”
Picking up the tray, he led me out of my cell.
I can’t tell you how relieved I was to get out of that house, though I felt a little like I’d escaped under false pretenses. I’d promised Dominic I’d look for Adam, but I had no real hope of success. Philly is a big city, and I had no idea where he’d gone. Naturally, I tried stopping by Tommy’s place, but no one, not even his slimy roommate, seemed to be home. I then tried Adam’s office number, even though I doubted he’d officially gone back to work on his “sick day.” I was right.
Other than The Seven Deadlies, I didn’t know where else Tommy was likely to hang out. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and the club wouldn’t open until nine. I tried Adam’s cell phone on the off chance he’d turned it back on since the last time Dom had called, but no dice. I even tried calling Claudia, but she was in a meeting—not with Adam, because I asked—and couldn’t be disturbed. I declined to leave a message. I’m sure the kidnappers had commanded her to go about her day as if nothing were wrong, but I hoped the fact that she was in a meeting meant the children were okay.
It was almost five when I admitted defeat. Until The Seven Deadlies opened, I had no clue where to find Adam. I called Dom to let him know I was going back to my apartment, and he confirmed that Adam still hadn’t returned any of his calls. The worry in Dom’s voice was contagious, but neither one of us could come up with any brilliant ideas. I gave Dom strict orders to call me if he heard from Adam, then headed home.
My day was not improved when I found a reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer camped out in the lobby of my building. Not the same reporter who’d been calling me on the phone, but I recognized her as press—perhaps because of the whiff of brimstone that clung to her—as soon as she sprang up out of her chair and strode toward me.
If I ran for the elevator, would I be able to get in and get the door closed before she caught me? With my luck, that would be a big no. So instead I turned to glower at her, arms akimbo, body language screaming “get the fuck away from me.”
She couldn’t possibly have missed the message, but I suppose reporters were used to ignoring hostility, since she came right up to me anyway and stuck out her hand.
“You must be Morgan Kingsley,” she said with a polished smile. “I’m Barbara—”
My smile was so polished the edges could cut through diamond. “I don’t care who you are. I have no comment, and I want you to stay out of my hair.”
Her shapely eyebrows rose. She held out a press badge for me to examine. I ignored it and turned toward the elevators. Barbara What’s-Her-Name followed, her businesslike black pumps making clicking noises as she tried to catch up. Naturally, both elevators were near the top of the building. I hit the Up button with more force than necessary.
“You know,” Barbara said as she settled in to wait beside me, “I’m from the Philadelphia Inquirer, not the National Enquirer. There’s no reason to be so skittish.”
I tried to pretend she wasn’t there. With all the crap I was going through in my life, you’d think the universe would give me a break once in a while! But no, why would anyone think that?
“So you have no comment about the death of Jordan Maguire Jr.?”
I stared at the blinking lights above the elevators, wishing the damn things weren’t about a hundred years old and slow as tortoises.
Reporter Barbie was undaunted. “What about Jordan Maguire Sr.’s threats to file suit?”