Forgiven (14 page)

Harper shook his head. ‘You’re lying.’

‘It’s true,’ Stewart said softly. ‘Paul confessed ta me what had happened right after the incident.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ Harper demanded, his voice rougher now.

‘If I had, ya’d have pushed him out of the Guild. The only way he could support his bairn was by trappin’. If he wasn’t doin’ his job, Hell might have claimed him too soon.’

‘You let him run around with Lucifer’s brand on him? Are you crazy?’

Stewart glowered. ‘I promised ta keep an eye on Paul’s behaviour. If at any time he looked ta be favourin’ Hell, that he’d gone dark and was usin’ his master’s knowledge for evil, I would have dealt with the problem.
Permanently.
’

Stewart wasn’t talking about tossing her dad out of the Guild.

‘You saying you would have killed him?’ Harper asked.

‘Aye,’ Stewart replied simply. ‘It would have brought me no joy.’

‘There wouldn’t have been any other way?’ Riley asked, a chill threading up her spine.

‘Nay. It’s what a Grand Master must do, if needed,’ the old Scotsman replied.

Oh. My. God. He might have killed my dad.

‘Hell, I never knew that you guys did that kind of crap.’ Harper shifted in his seat, clearly unsettled at the news. ‘So why did that Five take out Blackthorne if he had a deal in place?’

‘Ori said it was a rogue,’ Riley explained.

The light dawned in Harper’s eyes. ‘Lucifer’s losing control.’

‘So it seems,’ Stewart said. ‘The demons at the Tabernacle were too coordinated. The Prince never wants his servants ta be that on the ball or they’d take over Hell.’

‘Then who is commanding the rebel demons?’ Riley asked.

Neither of the masters had a clue.

Harper swore under his breath, obviously displeased with what he was about to say. ‘If I kick you out now, everyone will blame the Guild for what’s happening in the city. You’re as dirty as they come, but I’ll not take us down to get rid of you.’ He cleared his throat. ‘If the city’s still standing once this is over, we’ll have another talk, and you won’t like what I’m going to say.’

That conversation will never happen.
No way could she prevent Armageddon and both masters knew it.

Riley’s phone rang deep inside her backpack. It was Peter.

‘Hey, hi. Sorry. It’s been sorta –’ she looked over at the two masters – ‘intense. I haven’t talked to Stewart about the Holy Water yet.’

‘Text me when you do. You
so
owe me.’ He hung up.

‘Yer friend Peter?’ Riley nodded. ‘He’s a smart lad. While ya were at the hunters he sent over some photos and video that were really interestin’. The scam is pretty simple once ya see how it all works.’ He shifted in his chair as his leg was bothering him.

‘The recycling plant has a system: bottles are collected and then stored in bins until the labels and the tax stamps are stripped off and they’re cleaned out. At that point they move to another set of bins in a different section of the plant,’ he explained. ‘Once there’s a full load, they’re taken ta the Celestial Suppliers plant in Doraville where they’re refilled with fresh Holy Water, given a new label and a brand new tax stamp. Ya with me so far?’

‘Yup.’

‘Now the recyclin’ plant inventories those bottles when they arrive and when they leave. So the only way ya can steal any is when they’re inside the buildin’.’

‘But if you take any of them, the count will be off.’

Stewart smiled. ‘Not if ya replace them with new ones and put them in the bins with the cleaned bottles.’

Riley worked back through the logistics. Dirty bottles in, clean bottles out. Bad dudes steal some of the dirty bottles but leave behind new ones so the count is right.

‘But wouldn’t the guys who clean the bottles notice if some of them were missing?’

‘Not if they’re on the late shift and are bribed ta keep their mouths shut. Saves them work and they get some money on the side.’

‘And as long as the count is right when the bottles leave. . .’ she mused.

‘Everybody is happy. The counterfeiters have bottles with legitimate tax stamps on them. All they need ta do is fill them with tap water and reprint the labels so the consecration dates are current. Then sell them and make a killin’.’

‘Why not just steal the stamps from the city or Celestial Supplies?’

‘A lot harder to do – the revenue types keep close control of them because they want every penny now that the city is bankrupt.’

‘My dad was right all along. He knew something was wrong with the Holy Water.’

‘Aye, he saw it before the rest of us,’ Stewart replied. ‘He just didn’t know how it was done.’

‘Someone is making a lot of money,’ Harper said. ‘These guys will silence anyone they see as a threat. Best to keep your mouth shut.’

Riley wondered if her friend realized that yet. ‘I’ll warn Peter.’

‘I already did, lass,’ the Scotsman replied.

‘We need to find out where that truck takes the stolen bottles and where they’re refilling them,’ Harper said. ‘That’ll require another stakeout.’

‘I’ll get it organized,’ Stewart offered.

Maybe not everything was going wrong after all.

‘Can we do it? Can we really shut them down?’ she asked eagerly.

‘It’s possible, lass.’

Master Harper sported a rare smile. ‘The payback’s gonna be a bitch.’

The bedroom that Stewart had pronounced as ‘hers’ for the duration was the kind of room you never wanted to leave: the bed was mind-numbingly comfortable and the thick down comforter was the stuff of legend. After yet another shower, Riley burrowed under the covers. Despite the snuggly warmth, she was annoyed to find that her mind refused to shut down.

Her father referred to it as
cataloguing the past
. He’d always said that a life was like a book, line by line written as each day passed. Once those lines were on the page, they couldn’t be changed.

So much of what had happened in the last few days Riley would have gladly erased. It’d been a rollercoaster of emotions: her time with Ori in the mausoleum, her meeting with Lucifer, the brutally painful confrontation with Beck and the sickening realization that deep down he’d always hoped they had a future together.

Riley rolled over and stared at the ceiling.
Why can’t I stop screwing things up?

That wasn’t being fair. She’d done OK with the demon hunters and she’d helped the masters with the Holy Water investigation. Not everything was bad. But the parts that were never stopped hurting.

It was times like this she wished her dad or mom were here, sitting by the bed, telling her a story like they did when she was a child. It always made her feel better. All she wanted was one tale with a happy ending. Even more, she wished it was hers.

What seemed only a few minutes later, Stewart roused her with a knock on the door. She moaned in response.
Go away!
Another knock, more insistent this time.

‘Duty calls, lass! It’s stakeout time,’ her host called out, then his footsteps retreated.

She hadn’t been in bed that long.
When I’m old, I’m going to sleep all day.

A few minutes later she trudged down the hallway, yawning widely, her mind foggy from the heavy slumber. As she descended the staircase, Riley spotted a figure by the front door clad in a familiar pair of worn work boots. Beck’s trapping bag sat on the floor next to him.

She froze on the stairs.
What is he doing here?
Stewart wouldn’t send her out with this guy, would he? He knew what had happened between them, at least the Ori part. Even he couldn’t be that cruel.

The Scotsman appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Ah, there ya are.’

When she reached the last step, Beck glowered at her like a constipated gargoyle.

The master ignored him. ‘I need the pair of ya ta watch the recyclin’ plant. If a truck takes anythin’ out in the middle of the night, follow it and find out where they’ve set up their business.’ He shifted his eyes to Beck at this point. ‘Then ya will call me, ya hear? Do
not
go after these bastards alone.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Beck angled his head towards Riley. ‘Don’t need her. Just tell me where I’m goin’.’

Riley winced at the acid in his voice.

‘I say it’s the two of ya on this job.’

Her protest came at the same time as Beck’s.

‘Silence, both of ya,’ Stewart cut in. ‘Ya’ll do what a master tells ya or ya have no place in the Guild.’ He gave each of them a stern look in turn. ‘Since ya’ll be tagether for a few hours, work on those
personal
problems. Get it sorted, ya hear?’

He stomped off, his cane thumping against the wood floor with every other step.

Oh, crap.

Beck shot her another glare, as if this was all her fault, then disappeared out through the front door. She could imagine Harper pulling this kind of stunt, but the Scotsman? Did he really hate her that much?

Riley returned to the bedroom and layered the hoody on top of her shirt and sweater, then put on her coat. No way would Beck be as prepared as Peter had been and she wasn’t about to freeze her butt off all night.

She clomped out of the front door into the cold night air and then down the stairs.

I don’t want to be here. Not with you. Not after . . .

The ominous expression on Beck’s face proclaimed his head was in the exactly same place.

Riley climbed into his red pickup then gave him the directions. Turning away, she watched the streets roll past. There were a few people out and some were clearly drunk, weaving along the sidewalks. As the truck headed towards East Point, the silence felt so sharp it would have drawn blood if given physical form. The beginnings of a panic attack began to manifest – the tightening breaths, the swirl in her head. She rolled down the window and sucked in fresh air as deep as she could, trying to think of anything but spending hours with someone who hated her.

‘Shut the damn window,’ Beck growled. ‘It’s cold.’

The next breath tightened even further. He noticed. ‘Ya OK?’

Riley shook her head, trying hard not to let her lungs constrict any further.

‘Need me to pull over?’

She shook her head again focusing on Peter and how great he’d been with her when he’d learned the truth about Ori.
Why couldn’t Beck have been like that?

The tightness slowly dissipated and it became easier to breathe. Riley rolled up the truck window and leaned back against the seat.

‘Ya OK now?’ Beck asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘What the hell was that?’

‘Panic attack,’ she said. ‘I’m getting them more often now.’

He grunted, then jammed a CD into the radio. He skipped past two songs to the third. It was low, mournful, the message clear: I gave you my heart and you destroyed it. I will never trust you again.

Guilt was one thing. Being bashed over the head with her sins was another. Riley pushed a button and jettisoned the CD, which immediately earned her Beck’s furious glower.

‘Don’t like the music, get out,’ he said.

‘Can’t. Stewart said I’m stuck with you so I have no choice.’

‘Yeah, well, same thing on this side, girl.’

The question flew out of her before she could stop it. ‘Why did you tell the hunters I was at your place?’

‘I don’t what yer talkin’ about.’

‘You were on the phone when you drove off. You called them, didn’t you?’

‘No, I called Stewart and he gave me hell for not bringin’ ya to his place. By the time I turned round to pick ya up, the hunters were there.’

‘I thought . . .’ She’d been too quick to blame him.

‘Ya thought wrong.’ He pushed the CD back in and the music drowned out anything she might have said in apology.

After what seemed an eternity of depressing country music, they reached the warehouse. The neighbourhood was as gloomy as it had been the night before. Primarily an industrial district, it’d fallen on hard times and revealed its distress in shattered windows and vivid gang graffiti. One place had burned and now seemed to be the neighbourhood dump if the discarded sofa was any indication.