Wondering how I was going to keep myself occupied during the wee hours of the morning, I made my way back to the garage to retrieve my car.

It was past four when I finally let myself into my apartment, so I didn’t have as many wee hours to kill as I’d expected. The day was getting a head start toward being really shitty. On my way home, I’d gotten pulled over for speeding. Naturally, the cop who pulled me over was female and not a good candidate for the eyelash batting that had gotten me out of tickets with the testosterone brigade. I wasn’t really going that fast, but I guess she was bored and I made an easy target. Always happy to help our women in blue pass the time.

I shoved the speeding ticket into a drawer with my growing pile of unpaid bills and then made myself a pot of coffee. My body ached for me to throw myself onto the bed and sleep for a week, but this was a case of mind over matter, and I wasn’t going to give in.

I had to find a way to keep myself busy, otherwise the lure of sleep would be too much to resist, but I couldn’t think of anything useful to do on the Brewster case. I could drop by Tommy’s apartment again, but I didn’t think it would do me much good. Besides, I had semi-promised Adam I’d let him handle things. Not that I felt particularly bound by that promise, but I figured it would be decent of me to at least let him make first contact. Besides, for all I knew, he’d gone back to the club last night and convinced Tommy to confess everything.

I settled for going in to the office again. This would be two times within the space of one week. I was being positively productive! Of course, I hadn’t gotten much work done the last time, Claudia Brewster’s visit having thoroughly interrupted my efforts.

Doing paperwork wasn’t the best way to keep myself awake, I realized a couple of hours later as my eyes crossed and my mind wandered. I took an extended break to get a grande cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso from the nearest Starbucks, and felt marginally more alive after my first few sips. I had almost psyched myself up for the singularly unpleasant task of chatting up my insurance company when I stepped off the elevator into the hallway leading to my office. I was spaced out enough that I took two more long strides toward my door before I noticed the figure standing before it.

In the pictures Claudia had shown me, Tommy looked like a typical sulky, rebellious teenager. Unkempt hair. Ill-fitting pants. Face fixed in a longsuffering expression that said his life was fucked up beyond recognition, but somehow he’d manage to muddle through.

Apparently, demonic possession agreed with him. He still wasn’t exactly what you’d call a snappy dresser. His jeans were baggy, the fraying cuffs dragging on the floor, and his T-shirt had probably once been black but had been washed so many times it was an uneven and particularly unattractive shade of gray. But he carried himself entirely differently. His shoulders were straighter, his posture more confident, his expression much. . older.

He was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he watched me approach. I had no idea what he wanted, but I made an educated guess and decided it wasn’t anything good. I shifted my coffee into my left hand, then reached into my purse and fished out my Taser, arming it while keeping a close eye on him. I didn’t really think he was going to attack me in a public place, not when he’d gone through so much trouble to make himself seem like a legal demon, but I wasn’t one to take chances.

Tommy was a little bit shorter than your average demon host. Most of them topped six feet, but I’d have put him at about five-ten. Give me a good pair of heels, and I’d be able to look down on him. He had the requisite good looks, though. His face was a little rounded, giving him an almost cherubic expression with his small, curvy mouth and apple cheeks. But all you had to do was look him in the eye to kill that illusion. They were a deep shade of blue I’d have called beautiful if it weren’t for the malevolent presence I sensed behind them.

Maybe it was all in my mind. Maybe the fact that I knew he was possessed by an illegal demon made that glint in his eye look evil. Maybe if I had no idea who he was and had just run into him on the street, I wouldn’t have given him a second glance. But I did know what he was, and I hated him before he even opened his mouth.

Tommy pushed away from the wall and gave me an assessing look, one that made me bristle. He watched me pull the Taser from my bag but didn’t seem particularly concerned about it.

“Morgan Kingsley, I presume?” he asked in a cultured tone that I suspected sounded nothing like Tommy Brewster.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. I suppose I won’t win any prizes for politeness, but I couldn’t think of any pressing reason to treat him as a decent human being.

“I’d heard you were looking for me,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Where did you hear that?”

“My roommate informed me that I had a visitor yesterday. He also said he suggested you look for me at The Seven Deadlies.” He grinned at me, a creepy expression that made my skin crawl—no doubt just the effect he was going for. “I am sorry I missed you last night.”

I was trying to think of a good retort while simultaneously trying to keep my face from showing how much he was creeping me out, when the elevator dinged, signaling it was about to open.

There was only one other tenant on my floor, a mid-sized and terribly respectable accounting firm. I doubt they were thrilled to be sharing space with me in the first place, and they would be even less so if a customer stepped off the elevator to see me holding a cherub-faced youngster at Taser point.

With great reluctance, I turned the Taser off and stuck it back in my bag just in time. Tommy and I waited in silence for the professional young couple to step off the elevator and push open the accounting firm’s door.

“Wouldn’t you prefer we take this conversation somewhere more private?” Tommy asked, jerking his thumb toward my own closed door.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to be trapped in a closed room with him, but it wouldn’t do to risk having innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire if things turned ugly. My hand hovered near my bag, though if Tommy wanted to attack me, I was dead meat. I wouldn’t have time to reach into my bag, pull out the Taser, arm it, and fire before he was on me. Even knowing that, I felt better having it within reach.

“Give me some space,” I demanded. Tommy hesitated, a smirk on his face as he waited for me to acknowledge that if he did as I ordered, he was merely humoring me. I gave him my fiercest scowl, which seemed to satisfy him, and he backed away.

I was twitchy as hell as I approached my door, uncomfortable with the idea that between the coffee and the keys, both my hands were occupied. I needed a third hand for the Taser. But despite my worries, Tommy made no move to attack me, and his lips remained stretched in that infuriating smirk.

As soon as I got my door open, I hurried into the office and put my desk between myself and Tommy. He humored my skittishness, keeping his distance while making it obvious how much he was enjoying himself. I threw my keys onto the desk and drew and armed my Taser once again. Now I felt safe.

I leaned back into my chair and propped my ankles up on my desk, the Taser never wavering. I took a nice long gulp of my rapidly cooling coffee before addressing my surprise guest once again.

“What do you want?” I asked, though I was pretty sure I already knew.

Tommy’s smirk hadn’t faltered at my newfound confidence. Moving slowly, and keeping a close eye on the Taser, he pulled out a chair and took a seat in front of my desk. “As I said, I’d heard you were looking for me. Perhaps I should be asking you that.”