Prince of Demons 1-3, Box Set Read online

  Twenty minutes later, by the time the show was over, she knew exactly what she was going to do. She didn’t care if Jose Cuervo was her new BFF who wholeheartedly approved of radical life choices. She was going to quit her job as portfolio manager for Gelz Leageman Capital and sell the bungalow. It wasn’t a Highland Park estate, but it was an eye-catching brick cottage in one of the posh Dallas park cities. It had been a great investment even if it was next to the noise of the north-south toll road that cut through the middle of the city.

  She’d take the proceeds and move far, far away. To New England, where she would buy a boat. To live on.

  For someone not quite thirty, she’d done alright for herself. She’d stayed out of trouble, gotten good grades, and made her parents proud. In the process of living up to expectations, she’d accumulated enough net worth to be able to cash in a 401K and do nothing until she decided to do something. She had no memory of waking up without a goal to pursue. Even first grade had presented things to be conquered.

  Hitting the reset button meant she would find out what it felt like to wake up without a plan. Maybe she’d do jigsaw puzzles until she got tired of them and then switch to crosswords. Maybe she’d watch every movie she’d wanted to see and hadn’t. Read every book that had been reviewed by the New York Times. She might learn to knit. It was cold where she was going. She’d need lots of knit stuff. Scarves and hats and afghans and such. Muffs maybe. That one made her laugh out loud.

  She’d never experience another summer with dead brown grass on the sides of the roads and blackened burned out areas every few yards where people had tossed lit cigarette butts from car windows as they sped by. She always thought it made the Metroplex look like a version of highway to hell. She wouldn’t experience air quality alerts, the result of living in the world’s most populous inland area. Or the constant spring and summer threats that went with residing in “tornado alley”.

  Yes. She wanted to live someplace that didn’t have tornado alarms. Clean air. Blue water. Cool days. Sure there might be some snow. And ice. And single digit temperatures. Every place had its downside.

  Maybe she’d make new friends. Maybe she wouldn’t. One thing was certain. It would be very unlikely that she’d run into anyone who had witnessed the color drain from her face when her intended had stood at the front of a church and blurted out, “I can’t. I just can’t,” right before he’d bolted out a side door and left her standing there staring at the best man.

  The best man looked considerably more apologetic than Stuart had. In her mind she kept replaying the look of pity on his face as he blinked at her with uncertainty as to what to do next since the space between them that should have been occupied by a groom was suddenly empty. She remembered how very much she hadn’t wanted to turn her head to the right and see shocked expressions on the faces of eight hundred well-dressed guests.

  Later that day, face still mottled red with fury, Lana’s father had promised to take care of Stuart in his own unique Texan sort of way. “I’ll neuter the son of a bitch and throw his balls in with the calf fries down at the restaurant for some stranger to enjoy. Ignorance is bliss. Unless you’d like to have the privilege for yourself, little girl. I’ll serve ‘em up with salsa or white gravy. Your choice.”

  Getting an unbidden image of that, she’d gagged twice.

  “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it, at least the sentiment behind it, but I’m thinking I’ll pass on that. And unless you want to end up reviving your roping skills for the prison rodeo at Hunstville, I think you better find a legally sanctioned way to express your displeasure. You know, sometimes I think you skipped the twentieth century altogether and just popped in right out of 1886.”

  He nodded. “Something to be said for simpler methods, if you know what I mean.” He looked at her meaningfully.

  “Yes. I do know what you mean and so does every electronic listening device within surveillance distance.”

  Her comment gave him pause. He looked around uneasily as if someone was eavesdropping and kissed her on the top of the head, making ready to leave. “You worried about what you say in your own house, little girl? There’s no excuse for that. Ever heard of McKesson Security?”

  She sighed. “I’m not worried about what I say inside my own house because I don’t plot crimes OUT LOUD!”

  Lana’s father simply grunted at that as if to say maybe she was slow. “Come have lunch down at the store tomorrow.”

  She was pleased that he had calmed a little and smiled. “We’ll see. Maybe.” She caught his sleeve as he turned toward the door. “You know I’m, um, really sorry about the expense and…”

  “Don’t you dare apologize!” He’d turned red in the face again and she immediately regretted having said something to get his juices roiling again. She worried when his coloring went so out of whack. “You haven’t done a thing to be sorry for. It’s that dump of steaming yellow horse turds that needs a good dose of sorry.” He lowered his chin and pinned her with pale blue eyes that shone under eyebrows that were graying and getting bushy. Stepping in closer, he lowered his voice and said, “You know your cousins…”

  “DAD! Don’t say another word!” He stopped. She grabbed hold of his lapel and squeezed like it had nerve endings. “And make sure you’ve got them under control. Please.” Leaning in she whispered, “Stuart is out of bounds. Let karma deal with it.”

  Pulling back and leaning away, Mack Ravin looked at his daughter incredulously and then guffawed. “Karma! Shit.” He left shaking his head.

  Yeah. That’s what she’d told her dad alright. Then she proceeded to break Stuart’s nose herself. She supposed she’d have to admit that the thing about apples not falling far from trees wasn’t just horse honky. Especially since she didn’t feel a bit of remorse about it. The fucker’s nose was clearly in need of rearranging and she was glad she’d been the one to do it. She hoped whoever was unlucky enough to grow old with him was going to have sleepless nights listening to a labored crooked snore.

  She was thus replaying the events in her head when the oddest thing occurred. She’d been staring at the TV that had been the source of her inspiration, and maybe salvation, while her mind had been elsewhere. Then she felt something unusual. It wasn’t sorrow or despair or grief. It wasn’t any of the emotions that usually hang with broken heartedness. It was excitement, sort of a tingly rush at the thought of pulling up stakes, leaving everything and everyone she knew behind. A transformation. The true essence of total “make over”.

  She was throwing caution to the wind. Hell. She wasn’t even going to give reasonable notice at work. She knew they had two people prepped and groomed to step in if necessary. So it wasn’t like it would be a serious hardship on anyone. If it ruined her future career? She shrugged at the thought, not being able to imagine caring about it anymore.

  She took a moment to examine the flutter of anticipation in her tummy and concluded that she liked the adventurous Lana. The one who would leave everything familiar and embark on a whole new life at the drop of a hat.

  Quit the job. Sell the house. Give everything away that won’t fit on a boat and move so far out of her comfort zone she might not even be able to remember her own resume.

  She chuckled at the thought that it was like putting herself in a witness protection program. Well, not really. She knew that when she got where she was going and decided what she was doing that she would let her family know where she was. And Dizzy, who wouldn’t hesitate to deliver a lecture and say she’d tumbled off the rack. In her fantasy, Lana imagined her reply. “You were hounding me to get out. So I got out. Far out.”

  The prospect was delightful from every conceivable angle. Damn. She wondered if there was even a remote chance that Stuey had done her a favor. She hated to admit it, but Stuey was just metrosexual enough that she didn’t have a hard time picturing him in a dress with many layers of tulle in the skirt, holding a star-tipped wand. Bing. There you go, little lady. A whole new life to replace the one you thought y
ou had, but didn’t.

  Looking around she said, “I’ve got to get this cleaned up. You go up for sale tomorrow morning.” The walls didn’t reply, which made her like them all the more. She decided that talking to herself felt good and could become a habit with little effort. Maybe, once she was moved and settled in, she’d get a cat. She’d be that strange young woman from Texas who lived on a boat with a cat and talked to herself.

  Such was her train of thought as she went about picking up Coke cans, tissues and other debris, preparing to face an upheaval that the old Lana would never have considered in a hundred years. In a couple of hours she had the place looking like a little bit of yuppie chic heaven. She heated up a frozen dinner in the microwave and ate in front of the computer. It didn’t take long to decide where she’d start looking for a new home.

  Constitution Marina, Boston.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lana had done some traveling. New York, San Francisco, L.A. and a student trip through Europe during the summer between eleventh and twelfth grade. She’d sneaked away to a Spring Break at Padre Island once and she’d visited a friend in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. She didn’t think of herself as provincial, but she’d never been to Boston.

  She left the plane ready to do some walking after four hours of immobility, rolled her carry-on through the terminal, out of the concourse to the taxi line and got in the queue. When her cab pulled up, the driver got out, took her bag and asked, “Where to?”

  Glancing at her watch and adding the extra hour for flying into a later time zone, she saw that she’d have enough time to get to the marina and get settled into her B&B craft before dark. She’d learned online that some of the boats were available to rent as bed and breakfast, but they also recommended reservations far in advance. She called on the off chance and, since high season was past, they did have something available. A 59’ Ketch sailboat for less than a room at the Westin, not to mention the fact that it was a perfect match with her purpose for being there. She’d also bought the food stocking service so that she didn’t have to try to find a market without a car.

  It would also be a great opportunity to make sure she wanted to live on a boat. Nothing like try before you buy.

  The drive to the marina from Logan airport was a surprisingly quick ten minutes. She wished the driver would have been in a little less of a hurry so she could take in the sights.

  The marina office was in a small clapboard building just a few yards from where the taxi dropped her. When he pulled away, she decided to give herself a minute to just drink in the view. As promised, there was a breathtaking view of the Boston skyline from the marina. It couldn’t possibly be any more different from the life she’d left behind, which meant it was perfect.

  She started toward the building with the sign that read “OFFICE”, feeling like she was making enough noise to raise dead patriots. Her bag created a rhythmic combination of rumble, clack, rumble, clack as the wheels rolled over the cross slat pier boards. If she bothered anyone, there was no sign of it. No one poked heads up from their boats to see what in the world was going on.

  She opened the office door and pulled her bag inside. The only person visible was a guy with long hair in blue coveralls with his feet propped up on the desk. He’d been looking at his phone, but put it down quickly and stood as if she’d caught him at something.

  “Hey.” His eyes wandered down her body. When he realized that he was ogling inappropriately, he jerked his gaze back to her face. “Are you lost?”

  She looked around and then down at her attire. She supposed she wasn’t dressed like a typical boating enthusiast. Still, the question was pertinent. So she laughed quietly. “Yes. I am, but I’m also in the right place.” He looked puzzled by her answer. “I have a reservation to stay in one of your bed and breakfast boats for a couple of nights.”

  “Oh.” He smiled and looked down at the desk. “I don’t normally work here. I’m just watching the place for a little bit.” He looked uncertain as to how to proceed, but sat and began moving a mouse around the monitor that was facing away from her. “What’s your name?”

  “Atalanta Ravin.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “Nice.” He could have been joking, but his tone held a hint of genuine admiration so she decided to take it as a compliment.

  She smiled. “What’s yours?”

  “Josep. I do maintenance and repairs around here. Can I be honest?”

  Her first instinct was to say no because it had been her experience that that question usually preceded something she didn’t want to hear. “Sure.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m going to call somebody who does and ask her to walk me through this.” He gestured to a chair sitting by the wall. “Would you like to sit down? And I can get you something to drink out of the vending machine.”

  She had noticed a vending machine next to the restrooms as she walked in. “Thanks. I’m good for now.”

  His lips twitched at the corners like she’d said something amusing. “You’ve got an accent.”

  “So do you,” she countered.

  He looked surprised and then chuckled. “Yeah. I guess maybe I do. Yours is Southern.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “No?” His eyebrows went up.

  “No. It’s a Texas drawl. There’s a difference.”

  “Really. What is it?”

  “Um. Don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t you need to figure out how to get me where I need to be?”

  “Yes. I do,” he agreed. “Are you here alone? Maybe you could explain the difference over dinner?”

  She took a closer look at Josep. He was close to her own age with a lean six foot frame, strong facial bone structure, and playful brown eyes. The quick analysis was that he was way too attractive to be an unclaimed single, which meant he had to be a player. She decided to use his own words. “Can I be honest?”

  He did the same. “Sure.”

  “You’re cute. No. You’re cuter than cute and I’m sure you already know that, but one of the reasons why I’m here - alone - is because I’m so very not in the market for company.”

  He studied her closely for a few seconds. “That’s a shame, Atalanta.” Then he brightened like a child who’d just been told he wasn’t going to Mouse Cheeseys, but going to the circus instead. “Maybe I can change your mind. I’m guessing there’s a story and I’d like to hear it.”

  She looked at the monitor pointedly. “Reservation.”

  He chuckled, picked up his phone, and scrolled until he found what he wanted. As she watched, Lana was thinking that she’d been right about pegging him as a player, because that was a lot of scrolling for a normal person.

  “Myrna. There’s a nice young lady here expecting to be checked into a B&B, a fact which you neglected to mention?” Lana could hear the faint sound of someone speaking. “Not a clue what that means.” More squeak speak. He typed something and moved his mouse. “Okay.” Pause. “Okay.” Pause. “Here she is. What do I do?” Lana felt a little relief at hearing that her reservation was confirmed. The rest would just be internal operations details. “Yeah. You’re welcome. Bye.” He hung up.

  “Favor for a friend?” Lana asked.

  “Exactly. Single mom shy on the support system. She says to apologize to you for the confusion and the delay.”

  Lana nodded thinking that was unexpected, which meant it was also nice. “No need. It so happens that I don’t have pressing appointments.”

  He opened a drawer, pulled out a key fastened to a sailboat keychain and a cardboard tag and a key ring with several keys on it. Standing up he motioned to the door and grinned. “You’re in. Let me show you the way.”

  He locked the office door and waved in the direction they’d be going.

  “So. Have you rented one of our B&B floats before?”

  “Nope. I’ve never even been to Boston before.”

  “Really? Well. Welcome. You here on business or pleasure?”

  “
Neither exactly. I’m moving here. This is a working-out-the-details trip.”

  “You’ve never been to Boston and you’re moving here? Wow. What part?”

  “Here.”

  “You mean this area?”

  “No. I mean this marina.”

  “Okay. Gotta admit I wasn’t expecting that.”

  “Well, that’s me. Expect the unexpected.”

  He cocked his head. “Where’s your boat?”

  “Somewhere out there waiting to be purchased.”

  “Uh-huh. But you’ve made arrangements to be a live-on here? At this marina?”

  He whistled. “Doesn’t come cheap.” His eyes slid sideways as he seemed to be making an adjustment in his estimation.

  As they walked, her embarrassment about the noise of the bag was renewed and made her feel self-conscious.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “What makes you think something is wrong?”

  “I sensed a change in your mood.”

  “You sensed a change in my mood?” She laughed, intending to sound incredulous. “Are you a woman in repairman’s clothing?” His face fell and she could tell her joke hadn’t been well received. She stopped. “I’m sorry. What I meant was that I haven’t met many men who are so attuned to changes in mood.” She looked down at her bag. “I was worried that my bag was disturbing the peace.”

  He looked down, collapsed the handle, and jerked it up to carry it. Arching a brow and loading his look with meaning, he said, “I’m not a woman.”

  As he started away, carrying the bag, she said, “Okay, but I hope you’re not expecting a tip.”

  He didn’t turn around, but he did laugh out loud.

  Lana couldn’t help notice the varieties of boats and their interesting names. When they stopped in front of the sailboat, she smiled to herself. He stepped on board, shifted the bag to his left hand and held out his right to help her on. She grinned and stepped on without taking his hand.