Page 71 of Devil in the Details

“Good,” Caleb replied, his gaze moving toward the front door of the home. It was shaded by a small portico and had tall, slim windows on either side, probably to allow at least a little light into that section of the house. “So…what’s the plan?”

Honestly, that part of this whole endeavor was still a little fuzzy. “I guess we go in and see what he’s up to. If he’s really cleaning carpets, he’s probably going to be preoccupied and not even notice us right away.”

In fact, a large hose snaked out of the van’s cargo area and into the home’s front door, leaving it slightly ajar. It would be easy enough to get inside.

Caleb had obviously come to that same conclusion, since he said, “Okay. Let’s see what we can find out.”

He also unfastened his seatbelt, and they both got out of the little SUV. Even though she knew he could handle himself in a confrontation — and even though she had a half-dozen vials of holy water weighing down her purse — she could still sense the way her heartbeat sped up as they approached the entrance of the house.

Through the partially open door, she heard the faint whir of machinery. Maybe Paul Reeves’ carpet-cleaning business was mostly a front, but it sure sounded to her as if he was working now.

Maybe his lords and masters at Aegis wanted him to make sure their properties looked good, even if he didn’t have any other clients he needed to impress.

Caleb pushed the door open just wide enough so they could both slip into the house. The hum of the steam cleaner continued without even a hiccup, which told Delia that Paul Reeves didn’t seem to have noted that two interlopers were now inside the property.

And it also helped that he was working in the back, most likely in the family room off the kitchen, since that was how a lot of these houses were laid out. They might vary slightly from floor plan to floor plan, but the basic architecture didn’t change very much.

Sure enough, there was Paul Reeves, moving the brush head back and forth over an expanse of beige carpet that already looked as if it was in pretty decent shape. Clearly, though, the people at Aegis wanted to make sure the place was immaculate before the new tenants moved in.

The less people had to complain about, she figured, the lower the chances that anyone would look at the company too closely.

“Hi, Paul,” Caleb said, casual as if they’d just bumped into one another at a blackjack table.

At once, Paul Reeves raised his balding head from his inspection of the carpet and glared at the intruders. He still wore the same thick glasses he’d had on at the tournament, and he was flushed and perspiring…and looked royally pissed off.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

A fair enough question, Delia supposed, but Caleb still looked as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I’ve got some carpets I want cleaned, and I thought your Google reviews looked pretty good.”

Scowling, Paul turned off the steam extraction unit and set the nozzle down on the floor. “Then call my office.”

“No one was answering.”

The man crossed his arms. On the back of one wrist was an odd little tattoo, something that reminded Delia vaguely of the symbol the artist formerly known as Prince had used once upon a time, although this one was more angular and not nearly as friendly-looking.

Caleb must have noticed it, too, because he shot a knowing glance in her direction and gave a very small nod.

“That’s because I’m a one-man operation,” Reeves said.

“I suppose that works out okay…considering how your only client seems to be Aegis Holdings.”

Paul Reeves was already flushed from exertion, but his face turned an even uglier red, his skin almost the shade of those awful canned beets Delia’s Aunt Rosie had always tried to feed them when her family went visiting in Chicago.

But even though the man’s anger was obvious to her — and, she supposed, to Caleb as well — that didn’t stop him from trying to stonewall them.

Voice flat, he said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” Caleb replied. He’d been doing all the speaking so far, which was just fine by her. Delia knew she’d never been all that good at confrontations, while Caleb seemed to positively revel in them.

Or at least, he didn’t back away when it came time to get in someone’s face.

“I’ve got the receipts,” he continued. “So there’s no point in pretending. I suppose I’m just trying to figure out what’s in it for you. Or is it more that you don’t have any say in the matter, thanks to that sigil on your wrist?”

At once, Paul clapped a hand on his arm, his chubby fingers hiding the mark that had been inked into the skin there.

“I think you’d better leave,” he growled. “You’re trespassing on private property.”

---