Demon Cant Help It

CHAPTER 4

Maksim already had his cell phone in his hand, when it began vibrating and then playing his ringtone—"Highway to Hell." He knew he wasn't going to have to wait long for the first call. He'd seen the moment when realization and then satisfaction had glittered to life in Jo's dark eyes. She thought she'd found a way to get rid of him, legitimately.

"Hello, Maxwell Edison speaking," he answered easily, all traces of his natural, deep, accented voice gone. He waited, just a tad anxious.

This was the only dicey part of his plan. He was going on the assumption that Jo would just go down the list of references in exact order. He could tell she was a systematic person. A person who liked tidiness and control. Well, he liked control, too.

So, right now, it was good he had it.

"Hello, Mr. Edison. My name is Josephine Burke. I'm the director of the St. Ann's Community Center in New Orleans."

Maksim liked the sound of her full name. "And I was just calling to check on a reference submitted by a Maksim Kostova, who is interested in volunteering for us."

"Oh, Maksim, how is he?" Maksim concentrated on the task at hand and manipulated his voice, making him sound a fine Southern gentleman. "He's truly missed here at the Chattanooga branch of the Special Olympics."

"He appears to be—fine."

Maksim wondered what she really wanted to say. Not fine, he was sure. He smiled.

"Well, Ms. Burke, I can safely give you one of my highest recommendations for Maksim."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, then she said, "Thank you, Mr. Edison."

"No, thank you. And please give my regards to dear old Maksim."

Another pause. "Yes. Of course."

Maksim hung up the phone. Demons did have all sorts of neat little tricks, such as changing voices, changing appearances. The phone, however, had actually been a little trickier, and certainly more mundane. He'd had to purchase other numbers and then set those numbers up to be forwarded to his regular cell phone number. He didn't have that much faith in his cell phone provider, but so far so good.

Clearly he was too obsessed with this woman. Phone redirecting and fraudulent résumés were way beyond the usual effort he made for sex. But he just knew Josephine—and he did so like her full name—Josephine Burke would be worth the effort.

The phone vibrated, then ran again. This time he stepped off the street into an alley, before answering. A 6 3" man emitting a perfectly female voice was bound to gain some attention out on the sidewalk.

"Good afternoon, Sunshine Hills Day Camp. Loretta Martin speaking."

This time Maksim gave his voice a more clipped New England cadence.

Again, Jo gave her little spiel.

When Maksim spoke again, he couldn't help softening the clipped tone to one of fond remembrance.

"Oh, Maksim Kostova, my, my. Of course, I'd be glad to recommend him to you. Do I ever miss that man."

Jo made a noise on the other end of the line in response.

Maksim grinned. This was fun. Jo clearly felt something for him. He wasn't quite sure what, but he was going with attraction and maybe a little jealousy.

"He was the best—and I mean best—volunteer we've ever had here."

There was a pause. "Great. That's all I needed to know."

But Maksim couldn't resist adding, "Tell him I'd love to hear from him."

More dead air, then a slight cough on the other end. "I will do that. Well, thank you for the information, and have a good day."

Maksim flipped the phone closed. Maybe he shouldn't have made ole Loretta so obvious, but he couldn't resist.

A few moments later the phone rang again. He half-expected Jo to give up on the last reference, but he should have guessed she wouldn't. He could already see that wasn't her personality.

"Good afternoon, Eleanor Rigby."

Maksim's newest female persona was met with silence. Uhoh, perhaps he was getting too heavy handed, both with his praise of himself, and also with having all his fake names stolen from Beatles tunes. Eleanor Rigby. That was definitely heavy handed. He should have gone with Desmond or Molly Jones. More subtle.

Well, that would teach him to concoct elaborate plans to get laid whilst listening to his sister's vast Beatles collection.

But after a minute, Jo spoke. "Hi, yes, I'm calling to inquire about one of your past employees. His name is Maksim Kostova."

This time Maksim paused before answering. "Maksim Kostova." He pretended to ponder. "Hmm, oh yes. Maksim Kostova. Let me see, I believe he worked in our organization from…" He pretended to ponder again, then said in his best kindly old lady voice, "I believe it was 2002 to 2006. Maybe 2003."

"You were correct the first time." Jo sounded very disappointed.

"That's right. Yes, he did a wonderful job for us. He was a team leader for our mentoring program. Just great with the kids. A hard worker. We were very sad to lose him."

There was another of Jo's pauses. "It sounds like he will be perfect for us, then."

Maksim waited for amusement and delight to hit him, but they didn't. Instead he was almost—sorry. The resignation in Jo's voice wasn't what he wanted to hear. She didn't want him there. She didn't want him around her, period.

"Well, thank you for your time." Jo's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"You're welcome," he managed to say, catching himself before his voice slipped back to normal. Her end of the line went dead.

He stared at his now silent phone, looking at it as if the small device was something he'd never seen before.

What he was doing was wrong.

Then he snapped the phone shut. Of course it was wrong. He was a demon, damn it. Demons were not known for their good deeds and moral fortitude. He was the ruler of the Eighth Circle of Hell. Not Dudley-Do-Right.

Slipping the phone into his pocket, he smiled and headed back to the street. She'd come around. They always did. It wasn't as if she wouldn't enjoy herself once he got what he wanted. She'd love every minute of it.

He'd show her the best time of her life. And surely, that made up for the uncertainty she was feeling now.

So, see, in a strange way, he was doing a good deed.

Maksim whistled to himself as he strolled back to his sister's apartment.

Jo stared down at the résumé. That hadn't gone at all as she'd hoped. She'd really believed these references were faked. I mean-Eleanor Rigby-really? Now she just felt rather stupid. And egotistical, too. Had she really believed he'd gone to such great lengths just to be around her?

Maybe she was too jaded. She couldn't spend her whole life assuming all men were like Jackson. But she could have sworn Maksim was a chip off the same block. He had the same air about him as Jackson. The designer clothing, the confidence that bordered on outright conceit. The surety that he could have whatever he wanted.

And God knows Jackson never would have volunteered his time. Oh, he'd have donated money—then he could claim altruistic motivations. But get his hands dirty? No way. Jackson wasn't into things getting too messy. She knew that very well. Somehow he always came out smelling like roses. While others cleaned up his messes.

She sighed. No matter how hard it was, she'd been lucky. She'd escaped a real disaster with that man. She was still dealing with the aftermath he'd helped create, but at least she wasn't going to have to deal with him. The liar.

Her attention returned to Maksim's résumé. With her fingertip, she traced the place where he'd signed the cover letter. His penmanship curled and sweeping, but unquestionably masculine.

Maybe she was putting too much of Jackson on Maksim. It really was the ultimate in arrogance to believe this man falsified references just to get to her.

She shook her head, chuckling to herself. Clearly Jackson hadn't wounded her ego that badly.

And Cherise was right. Turning down someone as experienced as Maksim would be utterly stupid and self-defeating. They needed help. So she was going to let her own feelings about the man go. She had to give him a chance. This could be a changing point for her. A real way to get the center going on the right track.

Really, Maksim Kostova, now she knew his full name, could be a godsend.