"I think you'd better leave that part to Jaime," Eve said.

"I have a better idea." He glanced at me. "What is his woman's name?"

"Claudia."

He cleared his throat and gave a bellow worthy of Marlon Brando. "Claudia!"

Two more shouts, then from the patio, a guard's voice. "I think it's Mr. Grady. He sounds like he's in trouble."

"I'll get help," someone answered.

Aratron smiled. "Two minutes to a suitably dramatic discovery, one with enough witnesses to ensure it can't be covered up. Now, I'm going to return Bradford Grady to his body, but I will remain close by, should he fail in his duties."

"Thank you."

A gallant nod. Grady's body stumbled back, almost falling in the bushes before Jeremy caught him.

Grady blinked. "Where-? What-?"

"You just found a body," I said.

WHEN GRADY saw what he'd "done," I'm sure his first thought was to get the hell out of Dodge before the cops arrived-or the evil forces sucked him into that grave. But by then, the guards were there, along with Claudia, Becky and Will, and he quickly sized up his options. If he played along, he'd headline the local papers as a hero. If he claimed he'd discovered the body under the thrall of a demonic force, he'd headline the papers as a nut-job. Astute man that he was, he went with number one.

COVER STORY

THE POLICE CAME. They saw. They called for backup.

Excavating the body would have to wait until the scene had been processed. The detectives interviewed me first, with a warning that there would almost certainly be more questions to come.

They weren't happy with my "lured into the garden by psychic vibes" explanation, but I toned down the spiritualism angle, feigning reluctance to put a name to whatever had drawn me there. Still, I think they would have been more comfortable if they could make the most logical deduction-that I'd "found" the body because I put it there. But even a cursory look proved this was no day-old corpse. There was little chance that I'd killed and buried this person months ago, then just happened to be billeted in the same house where, driven by my guilty conscience, I'd coerced Grady into uncovering my victim.

I'm sure they'd still consider that angle; without it, they were left with a possible true case of a spiritualist responding to the calls of the restless dead.

HOPE BROUGHT Zack Flynn over as planned, and ducked past the crowd surrounding Grady to the sunroom where Jeremy and I were lying low.

She waved Zack into the room. "She's all yours. An exclusive interview for the L.A. Times. Be nice to her."

Zack thanked Hope far more fervently than the situation warranted, then stood there, puppy dog eyes following her from the room,turning to me only when she was out of sight.

"Great girl," I said.

"She is, isn't she? She's got what it takes to play with the big boys, but she isn't interested. She's having a blast chasing alien abduction stories and doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks about that."

His gaze slid to the spot where he'd last seen Hope, his expression a mix of envy and infatuation. Aratron's words came back to me. Lucifer's daughter. From what little I knew of demonology, Lucifer was just another lord demon, no more powerful or "evil" than any of the other lord demons. But the name still gave me a chill. I wondered what Zack would think of having Lucifer for a father-in-law. Convenient for any "my soul for a Pulitzer" ambitions, though.

The interview went well. Like the police, he seemed to appreciate that I wasn't going off on an "I hear dead people" rant with this. Unlike them, though, he did press that angle, journalistic instinct backed by a personal interest in the paranormal.

I spoke with reluctance, as if I knew more, but wasn't comfortable admitting it. I said I sensed that the victim was young and female and had likely come to a violent end.

"Though," I added with a wry smile, "one could probably guess the violent-end part by where she ended up. Not exactly a psychic feat."

Zack jotted down my words. He had a recorder, but seemed to use it only as backup. As he wrote, I leaned back in the armchair, catching a ray of late-day sun across my face.

"Did you get a sense, as you call it, of anything else? The girl's age? A name, perhaps?"

I shook my head. "Preteens, maybe, though I could be judging that based on the size of the hand. As for female?" Another self depreciating smile. "Well, I have a fifty-fifty shot there, don't I?"

"Anything more?" He studied me, as if certain I was withholding something.

"I… sensed more, but it's out of context and I may embarrass myself if, let's say, I gave you Holly as a name and it turns out to be that of her cat."

"Holly?" he said, pen poised over his paper.

I shook my head. "Just an example. If I had to…" I toyed with a strand of hair hanging over my shoulder, then looked up at him. "R. S. That's all I'll say. It could be her initials. It could be the initials of her school or the street where she lived. I don't know."

He nodded and wrote. A few more questions, then Hope rapped at the door.

"Interview's over, Flynn," she said. "My turn now… and quite possibly the only chance I'll ever get to show you up, which, by the way, I intend to do."

He grinned. "Think so, do you?"

"Know so."