Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four Read Online Free PDF

dishes, pots, glasses and silverware in the
dishwasher. The glass coffee carafe glistened.
    The office was not as neat as Royal
preferred. I have my own filing system; a pile of papers here,
books and sheets of notepaper there - I know where
everything is. I flick a feather duster over my mess now and
then.
    I went outside and trudged to the top floor.
Royal could be up here. He would not hear me in the living room if
he were showering.
    Dammit, Tiff. Of course he would
hear, his demon senses could penetrate the noise made by the
shower.
    The king-sized bed was made, the quilt
smooth, pillows fluffed. In the bathroom, the towels on the rack
and his washcloth were dry. He had not used the shower or bathtub
today.
    Depressed, I returned to the living room,
flipped my phone and called Royal’s cell again. It rang three times
before I noticed the tone sounded strange. It went to voicemail
after the fourth tone. I didn’t leave another message.
    Something about that ring tone. . . . I hit
the button again.
    This time I listened carefully. Not till the
fourth ring did I understand what I heard: two tones, one the
outgoing call, another a phone ringing at precisely the same
time.
    Royal’s cell was in his apartment.
    I dialed again, keeping my phone away from
my ear, concentrating. I followed the ring tone back to the office.
Another attempt, and I slowly sat in my chair and opened my desk
drawer.
    I drew out Royal’s shiny black cell phone.
“Why did he leave it here?” I asked aloud.
    He didn’t want to speak to me. Simple as
that.
    But he could have turned it off, or hid it
where I would not find it, or ditched it. Or just plain ignored my
calls.
    And it was in my desk drawer. This
did not make sense.
    I flipped open the phone and checked the
call log. No outgoing calls, three missed calls, six messages and
one text in his mailbox. I called and hung up three times. I left
six messages yesterday. I checked the messages anyway. Don’t you
hate listening to your own voice? I sounded hesitant, whiney: “I
hope you’re okay. I’m getting just a little bit
worried.”
    This left the text, which I definitely did
not send.
    I made the first of my six calls at noon
yesterday and the text came yesterday afternoon at two. It looked
like Royal was here, deleted his phone records, put his cell in my
drawer and left. Everything before yesterday afternoon was gone, so
he left his apartment before then.
    I read the text.
    “ I expected you this morning. I trust you
did not forget our appointment.”
    Cicero. ”
    Cicero? Who in hell’s name is
Cicero?
    I frowned as I contemplated the message. If
Royal knew this man, why did Cicero sign his name when
Royal’s cell would ID him?
    The log said unknown caller . I
checked his address book. No Cicero listed. That in itself was odd.
Phones nowadays automatically add callers to the address list.
    Turning the desktop computer on its
swiveling base to face me, I powered up and activated Snoopy. This
is Royal’s baby, a program which pokes its nose where it should
not. I’m far from adept, but I’d logged in from home a dozen times
today, hoping to find Royal on there. Royal and I can access Snoopy
at the same time from different computers and work together as a
team. If that sounds super-technical, it is, and as I said I’m not
that good with the program, but I’d know whether Royal and I were
logged in at the same time.
    Snoopy and I were alone. I sent him prying
cyberspace.
    I learned something of Roman philosopher
Marcus Tullius Cicero, the town of Cicero, restaurants called
Cicero’s, but I doubted any of it had anything to do with the
Cicero who called Royal. The chance I’d find anything was
practically nonexistent.
    The sequence of numbers told me Cicero’s
telephone number was not US, but maybe from another country? I
dialed it, but got dead air, not even a ring tone.
    I leaned back and pictured the evening
before Royal left. Nothing unusual happened. We snuggled in the
living