Demon Marked by Meljean Brook Page B

“Yes.”
    Strange. He didn’t know what to make of that—or of her. Her every response seemed wiped of any emotion, yet she was actively searching for those connections?
    â€œI should have spent the night plotting against you, I know,” she added.
    He laughed, damn it.
    The demon didn’t even crack a smile. Peering ahead through the snow, she said, “The road sign says gas and food at the next exit. I know you’re hungry.”
    Had she been listening to his stomach? “Not hungry enough to eat the shit they pass through a drive-up window.”
    He’d spent the past few years training—learning to fight, making himself strong, preparing himself to face Madelyn. Now wasn’t the time to start shoving crap into his body.
    â€œMaybe we can find a grocery. Or if you can hang on a few hours, there’s an all-organic diner at a truck stop north of Chicago that serves—” She cut herself off. Her mouth remained open, as if in surprise. When she continued, her voice barely rose above a whisper. “Great omelets. They serve great omelets. And before you ask, I don’t know how I know that.”
    Nicholas hadn’t been going to ask. He was too damn unsettled. This demon wasn’t Rachel . . . but he’d heard about that diner before.
    The demon stared ahead. “This part of the highway isn’t familiar, but I can almost picture the road from Chicago to Duluth, the same way I can remember a scene from a book or a movie after I think about it. But I don’t remember being there. And no, I can’t explain it.”
    Nicholas couldn’t, either—at least, he couldn’t explain why this demon would know that stretch of highway. He knew why Rachel would, though.
    â€œRachel finished her masters’ degree at The Kellogg School,” he said. “She drove back to her parents’ house during breaks, on some weekends.”
    â€œOh.” That was all she said for several seconds. Then, “Kellogg has a good program. One of the best in the country.”
    Frustration exploded through him. That was her response? About a fucking business school? And how the hell did she know that ?
    â€œYou remember the school’s goddamn ranking?”
    She didn’t seem to feel the blast of his anger. “Some facts are easy to recall. Other things are familiar, but I don’t realize they are until I think about them . . . and now I’m finding out that Rachel was familiar with them, too.”
    â€œYou’re not Rachel.”
    â€œI know. Oh—and this one is familiar. ‘Friends in Low Places.’” Her gaze flicked to the radio. Unable to hear the music over the wipers and the static, Nicholas took her word for it. “I only mentioned Kellogg’s rankings because it meant that Rachel had to be good enough to qualify for the graduate program. Was she?”
    More than good enough. She’d had a killer instinct for the market, choosing when and where to invest. At the beginning of her senior year of high school, her parents had given her a gift of five hundred dollars. Four years later, Rachel had paid off their new mortgage with it, and, after local papers had run with the story, gained the attention of several financial schools—and Madelyn’s interest.
    â€œShe was good,” he only said.
    The demon glanced at him, as if trying to gauge his expression. “Do you mean that, or are you damning her with faint praise?”
    He sure as hell wasn’t going to damn Rachel with anything. “She was brilliant.”
    â€œComing from Stone Cold St. Croix, that’s a powerful endorsement.”
    Stone Cold St. Croix. He’d earned that name buying up businesses, tearing them apart, and selling the pieces—all so that he could eventually get to Madelyn. No one would have used the nickname outside of financial circles, however. She wouldn’t have found it in a news