Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (52 page)

Sitting on the floor, with his back against the crawl space’s entryway, Adrian had his head in his hands. With soft, perfect pitch, he carried the lyrics slowly, beautiful y . . . as if he had been born for the microphone.

“I thought you couldn’t s” Jim said.

Adrian didn’t lift his head, but he stopped and shrugged. “I just did that to piss him off. You, too, matter of fact.”

Jim exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “You got a nice voice.”

Funny that he preferred the off-key, annoying shit.

When there was no reply, he said to the angel, “You going to be okay if I do a quick errand?”

“Yeah. We’re fine. I’m just going to sit with him.”

Jim nodded even though there was no eye contact. “You need anything?”

“Nah. We’re good.”

Staring across at the massive figure of the angel—whose heavy legs were curled up, and powerful arms were resting loosely on the knees—Jim was beyond ready for the next round: Adrian had seemed alive again for a while tonight, animated, engaged. This resolute stil ness, on the other hand, was too close to Eddie’s condition for his liking.

“I’l be back.”

“Take your time.”

The separation wasn’t good, but Jim had to do this. Some things were a choice . . . others were a matter of necessity if you had any honor at al in your bones.

Turning around, he went out the way he’d come in, quietly closing the door behind him. Before he left, he put his palm on the wal of the garage and closed his eyes.

With hard concentration, he cal ed up the memory of Adrian and Eddie in their hotel room at the Marriott, the pair of them arguing back and forth, and trading potshots. He imagined them doing that again, seeing Eddie’s red eyes squaring off at Adrian’s theatrics, while the other angel threw his arms up in exasperation.

They were back together again in this vision he created in his mind.

They were safe and whole.

They were both alive.

When he opened his lids, there was a subtle glow around the entire building, a phosphorescent il umination that threw no shadows, but was more powerful than stadium lighting.

Just as Jim retracted his hand, the first snowflake fel from the sky . . . which was his cue to disappear into the thin, cold air.

I
t was two and a half hours after Veck arrived at St. Francis Hospital before he was final y free to go see Reil y . . .
two and a half frickin’ hours
.

Then again, when de la Cruz had pul ed up to the entrance next to the emergency room to drop him off, he’d thrown open the car door and found that he wasn’t able to stand up.

Kind of a rate-limiting issue.

So instead of going through the revolving doors of the inpatient building and heading up to Reil y’s room—which he had the number of thanks to a cal into hospital information—he’d ended up in the ER himself. Where, of course, they wouldn’t give him any details about her or her condition.

Damn HIPAA rules.

And, man, they crawled al over him.

After he’d been poked, prodded, and X-rayed, they’d tried to suggest he needed an IV for fluids, but he’d sh that one down and informed them he was leaving. By way of compromise, they’d wrapped an Ace bandage around the thigh that hurt more, thrown another mummy special on his opposite ankle, and told him to go home and expect to feel worse the fol owing day.

Thanks, Doc.

The cane was helpful, however. And as the elevator dinged and he stepped off onto the seventh floor of the inpatient building, he used the thing to help get his sorry ass out into the corridor.

He looked in both directions. Had no idea which way to go.

At random, he picked right and figured that at some point he’d run into a staff member or a map or the unit he was looking for.

As he hobbled along, he glanced down at his clothes. Filthy. Sweated out. Torn. Hel of an outfit, but it wasn’t like he was going to take time to go back home and change.

And when he got to the nursing station, he had no intention of being hit with any kind of no-visiting-hours, comeback-later crap.

Reil y had told him she loved him.

And he’d shut his woman down.

Yeah, okay, he hadn’t been the one to actual y slam the door in her face—technical y, that had been the medics. But he’d let her go—and that was the sort of mistake you wanted to rectify as soon as you got the chance.

Even if you needed a cane to get there and looked like you should be hosed off.

Turning another corner, he faced off against a long corridor that had directions in both English and Spanish, as wel as a lot of arrows, and a map. Too bad none of the shit made any sense—and not just because he was exhausted. Did they purposely make patients hard to find here—

Down at the far end of the hal , a huge, dark figure appeared and began striding toward him.

Closer. Closer stil . Until Veck could make out the leather pants, and the shitkickers, and the black coat.

Instantly, a sharpshooter drove through his brain. To the point where he wondered whether he hadn’t thrown a clot with al that running up the quarry slope.

Except . . . as he looked up into a hard face, he knew who it was. This was . . .

Veck cursed and listed into the wal as the pounder in his head wiped out al thought.

And meanwhile, the man just kept approaching. Until he stopped right in front of Veck.

As Veck focused through his pain on that incredible face, he knew he would never forget it.

“I’m going to make it right,” the man said in a foreign accent that wasn’t quite French, wasn’t quite Hungarian. “Worry not, my friend.”

God, those rol ing Rs were pleasing in the ear, curiously smooth and aristocratic.

And then Veck realized who the guy was talking about: “Kroner . . .”

With a gal ant, affirming nod, the foreigner resumed his walk, the footfal s of his boots a death knel if Veck had ever heard it. And then halfway down the hal , the figure flat-out disappeared . . . like a ghost.

More likely, though, he’d just turned another corner.

To go find Kroner . . . holy
shit
.

Veck rubbed his eyes, thoughtabout the cave, and realized he’d missed a piece in al of this: He’d seen the serial kil er hanging in front of him, except that hadn’t been anything but an image, had it. An image projected onto his Reil y.

That was the only explanation. Because she had been the one hanging from those cuffs after the dust settled, and God knew there hadn’t been time to switch the pair of them.

Abruptly weak-kneed, he leaned hard onto the cane as it dawned on him exactly what had gone on. Or rather, what could have. If he had stabbed who he had believed was Kroner . . . he would have kil ed her.

In the rush and panic of the aftermath, that hadn’t even dawned on him.

Christ, his choice at that crossroads had saved both of them, hadn’t it. Because he never would have recovered if he’d done what he’d been set up to do.

And as for Kroner . . .

Jerking his head over his shoulder, Veck refocused on the direction that figure of death had gone in. The serial kil er must stil be alive and in his hospital bed, then—and how much you want to bet, his room was down there somewhere?

By al rights, Kroner’s life was stil not Veck’s to take. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop whatever was about to happen. Shit, angels, demons, smal dogs with bad perms . . . the world was ful of crap he’d only heard rumors about before. So for al he knew? That was the Grim Reaper upright and in person—and in that case, Kroner’s life was being snatched the right way.

Just to be sure, though, Veck limped over to a ceiling light and checked his shadow—even though he felt like a fool.

Only one.

“Ready for this to be over,” he muttered to himself. “Soooooo ready.”

Eventual y, he found the right ward, and fortunately, maybe because the nurses took pity on him, he didn’t get any no-visitors backchat. He was just sent down five doors and told if he needed anything to hol er.

Like maybe they expected him to fal over in a dead heap at any moment.

When he got to Reil y’s room, he didn’t rush inside in case she was asleep. He just leaned in a little so he could peek past the door.

In the dim glow seeping from the bathroom, it was clear she was out like a light: Even though her head was turned away from him, her breathing was deep and even, her body smal and stil under the blankets. She was on an IV, and there was a monitor attached to her that was beeping regularly.

Probably her heart—

Her head whipped around on the pil ow—and then she winced, her hand coming up to her temple. “Veck . . .”

As he rushed over, he said, “Are you al right?” What a dumb-ass question, he thought.

“You’re here.” Then she obviously saw the wristband he’d been given. “Are
you
okay?”

“Just don’t ask me to run a marathon tomorrow.” When she tried to sit up, he pul ed a chair over to the bed. “No, no, lie back. I’m going to park it right here.”

“I didn’t think you were coming,” she said.

As he thought about a response to that, she murmured, “Neither did you, huh.”

He shook his head. “I . . .” God, where to start? “You know, since the first moment I met you, I’vbrought a lot of shit into your life. And then I nearly got you kil ed tonight—”

“No, you didn’t. We both got set up by Bails and that . . . Who was that woman?”

“I don’t know. But I can tel you this: She’s not coming back.” He believed Jim on that one. “Ever.”

“You took care of that, didn’t you.”

“Guess so.”

“I didn’t mention her when I was questioned.”

“Neither did I.”

Cue a pause. And then he cleared his throat, eager to talk about something, anything other than what had happened in the cave. Maybe later, with distance, they could cover al that what-the-fuck-happened, but not tonight.

“Did your parents come by?”

“They wondered where you were.”

“So you didn’t tel them about me.”

“Oh, I told them everything. How you were framed, how you came after me—”

“I love you.”

That stopped her dead. To the point where he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t apologize. Except then she teared up and reached for his face.

“I love you, too.”

Bending down, so she could reach him more easily, he murmured, “I just want to do right by you. It’s al I’ve ever wanted for us.”

“Then, as you said”—her voice was rough—“no running tomorrow. Or ever.”

“That’s what a friend of mine told me.”

“Jim . . .” When he nodded, she whispered, “That man is an angel.”

“You got that right.”

He didn’t mean to intrude, but somehow he ended up crawling onto the bed and lying next to her. She fit against him so perfectly, and as he held her, he shuddered. They had nearly missed this—not just with what had happened in that cave, but the rest of the shit Bails had been trying to engineer.

Leaning in, Veck kissed her careful y and then just stared into her eyes for the longest time. He’d never had a clean slate before. Hadn’t even been born with one. But at this moment? He saw the fresh start he’d never expected to get in the hazel flecks of those perfect green eyes of hers.

And it was then that he noticed the weight was gone. He’d lived with his heavy burden for so long, it had become something that he wasn’t aware of anymore. Now, though, in the absence of that taxing pressure inside every square inch of him, he felt . . . free. Fresh. Reborn.

The only trouble was that that new-man syndrome had him thinking crazy things, and deciding they seemed entirely reasonable.

Smoothing her beautiful red hair back, he said softly, “So your father asked me a question that night I went for dinner with you al .”

Reil y smiled. “Did he? I just remember him tel ing you he knew CPR.”

“It was right before that,” he whispered. “You think maybe I could give him an answer someday?”

Her breath hitched. And then a bril iant joy shone out of her face. “If I understand what you’re saying, I think you’re going to have to ask him something first.”

“Your parents free for dinner tomorrow night?”

She started laughing and then so did he. “I think I can arrange that.”

“Perfect.” He got serious. “You’re just . . . perfect.”

Cradling her against his chest, Veck let a peaceful exhaustion claim him: Al was right in his world. He had his woman, his life, and his soul back.

Didn’t get any better than this.

Up in heaven, Nigel’s feet took him on a trip around the castle. The ambulation was not to admire the unfurled grace of Jim’s latest victory. Nor was it to check for security. Nor was it to take the air.

Although if asked about his strol , he would have offered al of those lies in response.

Indeed, perhaps Jim and he were closer than he thought.

And yet if he had proffered such explanations to any person or dog, what he held upon his flattened palm would have announced him as a liar: He carried with him a plate with a damask napkin draped over it—and beneath the fine cloth, there was a currant scone, two biscuits, and a fresh strawberry.

As he walked along with his pastry load, he had in his heart a vague sense of distaste at this butler-like activity. But he needed a tangible excuse to go where he was headed, not just for any others with inquiring minds, but for the intended recipient of what had been plated.

That being said, however, it was not just sweets for the not-so-sweet that he was bringing with him. He had news to share.

Approaching Colin’s tent, he felt like a royal arse, but the archangel had not presented himself for the col ective gathering and had missed the missive, so to speak. He was also likely to be hungry after his time away.

Excuses, excuses . . . Nigel wanted to see the jammy sod.

Damn them both.

And so much for clean breaks.

At the entry flap, he cleared his throat. “Colin.”

Waiting for a response, he tugged at the damask napkin to make sure it was stil covering the goodies.

“Colin
.
”

Oh, enough with this polite restraint.