Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (4 page)

“Jim, I know that this girl is a thing to you. But come on, man, we need to take care of business.”

As Ad spoke, Jim looked over the guy’s shoulder. Eddie was standing in the connector between the two rooms, his huge body tense, his red eyes grave, that long black braid of his over his shoulder with the tail end nearly at the waist of his leathers.

Fuck.

Adrian’s loud noise was the kind of shit you could argue with. Or punch—which had happened before. But Eddie’s steady, nonconfrontational routine didn’t offer you a target. It was a mirror that simply reflected your own dumb-ass behavior.

“I’ve got this under control,” Jim said. “And I’m going to see Nigel right now.”

The archangel Nigel was in his private quarters in Heaven when the summoning came through.

It was about time to get out of the bath anyway.

“We are due for company,” he said to Colin as he rose from the scented water.

“I shal stay herein—the bath is the perfect temperature.” With that, Colin stretched in a languorous arch. His dark hair was damp from humidity and curling at the ends, his regal, intel igent face as relaxed as it ever got. Which was not terribly so. “You do realize why he’s coming.”

“But of course.”

Crossing over the white marble and pul ing aside the coral-and-sapphire drapery, Nigel stepped out and was careful to resettle the heavy vet-and-damask weight. No one needed to know who joined him in his bathing suite—although he suspected Bertie and Byron had an idea. They were, however, far too discreet to say anything.

Drawing on a silk robe, he did not bother to clothe himself in anything more formal. Jim Heron was going to care naught about his apparel, and given how this was likely to go, returning to the bath was going to be necessary.

With the pass of a hand, Nigel cal ed the angel forth from the earth below, gathering Heron’s corporeal body up and coalescing it here in his private quarters.

On his silk-wrapped chaise longue, as a matter of fact.

The savior looked utterly ridiculous on the raspberry expanse, heavy arms and legs flopping off the sides, his black T-shirt and beat-to-hel blue jeans an offense to such delicate fabric.

Heron came into his head a split second later and jumped to his feet, ready, alert . . . and none too pleased.

“Ice wine?” Nigel inquired as he went over to a French bombé chest, the marble top of which served as a bar. “Or perhaps a dram?”

“I want to know who is next, Nigel.”

“So is that a ‘no’ on the tipple?” He took his time choosing among the Baccarat decanters, and when he poured, it was slowly, steadily.

He was not some dolt of whom to make demands, and Heron needed to learn some manners.

Nigel pivoted and took a sip. “ ’Tis light and refreshing.”

“Fuck the wine.”

Nigel let that one stay where it lay, and just stared at the savior.

When the Creator had appeared unto Nigel and Devina, and explained that there would be a final contest, both sides had had to agree to Heron’s being the one on the field with the seven chosen souls. Natural y, each opposite wanted its values represented, and the end result was that this massive, war-minded angel standing afore him had equal amounts of the good and evil in him.

Nigel believed, however, that the fact that Jim’s slain mother was within the wal s of the manse here would be the tipping factor, and he stil thought that was true. Moments like this, however, made him question the very foundation of this terminal game they were al playing.

The angel looked ready to kil .

“You have to tel me who it is.”

“And as I have said before, I cannot.”

“I lost, asshole. And she cheated.”

“I am wel aware of the lines she has o’erstepped, and if you recal , my advice to you was to let her do what she wil —reprisals shal come.”

“When.”

“When they do.”

Heron did not like that answer, and he began to pace about the ornate tent with its drapes of satin and its Oriental rugs and the low bedding platform—

around which, Nigel realized too late, two sets of very different clothes were scattered.

Nigel cleared his throat. “I cannot risk having an overturn that goes against us. I have stooped to Devina’s level too much already by giving you Adrian and Edward. If I help you any further, I chance forfeiture of not just a round, but the entire contest. And that is unacceptable.”

“You know who the soul is, though. And so does Devina.”

“Yes.”

“And that doesn’t strike you as seriously uneven? She’s going to go after them herself—probably already has.”

“By the established and agreed-upon rules, she’s not al owed to interact with the souls. She, as with myself, is supposed to influence you to influence them. Direct contact is not al owed.”

“So why haven’t you stopped it?”

“’Tis not my purview.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nigel, grow a set—”

“I assure you, his bal s are just fine.”

At the dry interjection, both Nigel and the savior turned to the draped archway that led into the bath. Colin hadn’t bothered with a robe, but was standing there unapologetical y nude.

And now that he had everyone’s attention, the archangel tacked on, “I’l also ask you to watch your language, mate.”

Heron’s brows shot up, and there was a moment of tennis matching, whereupon his head went back and forth between the two of them.

Nigel cursed under his breath. So much for decorum. And privacy. “Ice wine, Colin?” he said gruffly. “And mayhap some robing?”

“I’m fine.”

“True enough. But your lack of modesty offers you no better cover than the temperate air in this tent. And I have a guest.”

A grunt was al that came in manner of reply. Which was Colin’s way of proclaiming that there was no reason to be a stuffy old tart.

Lovely.

Nigel turned back to the savior. “I am sorry that I cannot grant you what you seek. Believe that.”

“You helped me with the first.”

“I was permitted that license.”

“And look at how number two turned out.”

Nigel hid his agreeing concern behind a sip of his glass. “Your passion is laudable. And I wil tel you that your return to Caldwel is wel -served.”

“Thanks for the tip. There are two mil ion people in that goddamn town. Hardly narrows it down.”

“Nothing is arbitrary, and there are no coincidences, Jim. In fact, there is another who shal seek what you do, and as the separate quests unite, you wil find the next soul.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t mean shit.” Heron glanced at Colin. “And I’m not going to apologize to the talk police for that. Sorry.”

Colin crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Suit yourself, lad. And I’l do the same.”

Read: Maybe I’l pop you now. Or maybe later.

The last thing Nigel needed was a fistfight in his quarters as undoubtedly that would bring the other archangels, as wel as Tarquin at a ful gal op. Hardly the intermission one looked for.

“Colin,” he said, “do go soak your head.”

“I’m wet enough, thank you.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” Nigel muttered before addressing Jim again. “Go forth and have faith that you wil be where you should d do what you must.”

“I don’t believe in fate, Nigel. That’s like picking up an unloaded gun and thinking it’l shoot something. You’ve got to put the bul ets in the chamber yourself.”

“And I am tel ing you there are greater things at work than your efforts.”

“Okay, wonderful, so put that on a Christmas card. But don’t try to feed that bul shit to me.”

Staring into the hard face of the savior, Nigel knew a flash of fear. With this attitude, there was yet one more thing stacked against the angels prevailing.

And yet what could he do? Heron had no patience or faith, but that did naught to change the rules of the game or the likelihood that the Creator would inevitably redress Devina’s liberties.

At least the latter worked in their favor.

“I believe we are through,” Nigel said. “Nothing favorable shal come from our continued conversing.”

There was a dark, rather evil moment during which Heron regarded him with a kind of fury.

“Fine,” the savior said. “But I don’t give up this easy.”

“And I am the mountain that wil not be moved.”

“Roger that.”

In between one blink and the next, that angel was gone. And it was not until silence rang out within the tent that Nigel realized he had not been the one to send Heron on his way. He had done that himself.

He was becoming stronger, wasn’t he.

“Do you want me to go down and watch over him,” Colin said.

“When I agreed to him as the chosen one, I thought there were enough reins to hold him. I truly did.”

“And so I say, shal I depart and watch o’er him?”

Nigel turned to his dearest friend, who was so much more than a col eague and a confidant. “That is the purpose of Adrian and Edward.”

“Stipulated. But I worry where his growing competence wil take him. We are not on a good path with this.”

Nigel took another sip of his wine and stared at the empty space that Heron had just inhabited. Though he kept silent, he had to agree. The question was, what to do, what to do . . .

D
own below, in the cold woods next to the Monroe Motel & Suites, Veck stood in the direct glare of the ambulance’s headlights, his partner de la Cruz on his right, his buddy Bails on the left. Spotlit as he was, he felt like he was onstage as Kroner was rol ed out from the trees on a gurney.

Except there was only one person looking at him.

Internal Affairs officer Sophia Reil y.

She was standing off to the side, and as their eyes locked, he wished they were getting together under different circumstances—again. The first time he’d been introduced to her had been because he’d corked that paparazzo.

This shit made one sucker punch look like a day at the beach.

The thing was, he’d liked her the moment he’d shaken her hand, and that first impression had only been reinforced tonight: The detective in him had so approved of her just now, as wel as the way she’d looked him over, like even if he’d been bul shitting her—and he hadn’t—she would have known.

But they had to stop meeting like this. Literal y.

Over at the asphalt lip of the parking lot, there was a
thunch
as the medics shut the double doors of the ambulance and then the vehicle backed out, taking the il umination with it. As Reil y turned to watch the departure, she was in the shadows—until she clicked on a flashlight.

Before she came back over, de la Cruz leaned into him and spoke softly: “Do you want a lawyer.”

“Why would he need a lawyer,” Bails snapped.

Veck shook his head at his buddy. He understood the guy’s loyalty, but it was a shitload more faith than he had in himself at the moment. “It’s a fair question.”

“So do you?” de la Cruz whispered.

Officer Reil y circled around the blood pool, wending in and out of the trunks and branches, smal sticks snapping under her feet, the sounds loud in his ears.

She stopped in front of him. “I’m going to have fol ow-up questions tomorrow, but you can go home now.”

Veck narrowed his eyes. “You’re letting me go.”

“You were never in my custody, Detective.”

“And that’s it.”

“No, not at al . But you’re through here tonight.”

Veck shook his head. “Listen, Officer, that can’t be—”

“The CSI people are on the way. I don’t want you here when they go through the scene because it represents a potential compromise to their work. That clear enough for you?”

Ah. And he should have guessed. It was dark here in the woods. He could easily pick up or manipulate evidence from the ground without anyone knowing, and she’d been trying to give him a gracious way out.

She was smart, he thought.

She also happened to be beautiful: In the reflected glow of the flashlight, she was stunning in the way that only a natural, healthy woman could be—with no heavy makeup to gunk up her pores or weigh down her lids, and no greasy, slippery gloss on her mouth, she was utterly un-fake.

And that heavy dark red hair and that deep green stare weren’t exactly hard on the eyes, either.

Plus there was her take-no-shit attitude . . .

“Fair enough, Officer,” he murmured.

“Please report to the sarge’s office at eight thirty a.m. tomorrow.”

“You got it.”

As Bails muttered something under his breath, Veck prayed the bastard kept his opinions to himself. Reil y was just doing her job—and being damn professional about it. The least they could do was pay her the respect back.

Before his buddy could spout anything else, Veck clapped palms with Bails and nodded at de la Cruz. As he went to walk off, Reil y’s low, serious voice broke out through the night.

“Detective.”

He looked over his shoulder. “Yeah, Officer.”

“I’m going to have to take your gun. And your badge. And that knife holstr.”

Right. Of course. “Badge is in the leather coat over there on the ground. Do you want to do the honors on my nine and strap?”

“Yes, please. And I’l take your cel phone, too, if you don’t mind.”

As she stepped in close, he smel ed her perfume. Nothing fruity or flowery or, God forbid, that vanil a shit. Nothing he could place commercial y, either.

Shampoo, maybe? Had she gotten the cal just when she’d been stepping out of the shower?

Now, there was a picture. . . .

Wait a minute. Was he
actually
fantasizing about his coworker . . . five feet from a murder scene? While he was a suspect?

Wow.

Yup, that was al he had on that one.

Reil y put her flashlight in her mouth, and then her bright blue gloved hands reached forward. As he lifted his arms to help her get to his waist, a subtle tugging registered in his hips, the kind of thing that he would have felt if she’d been taking off his pants—

The electric bolt that shot down into his cock was a surprise—and Christ, he was glad that beam was flashing right at his chest and not in a southerly direction.

Man, this was so damned wrong—and unlike him. He didn’t hit on col eagues, whether they were admin assistants, fel ow detectives . . . or Internal Affairs officers. Too much hassle when the inevitable end to the one-night stand came—