Making Angel (Mariani Crime Family Book 1) (9 page)

Her eyelids drooped, and she looked like she would pass out right there. I moved closer, just in case she did.

“No, I forgot it was Halloween. And you…” I put my hand to her forehead. She didn’t have a fever, but her skin felt clammy and cold. “You’re sick. You can barely stand. What’s going on?”

Matt, the condom wrapper, glared at me. Then he drained his beer and tossed it on the counter. It didn’t break, but the clatter made me wince.

“Matt, wait.” Ariana reached for him.

He dodged her advance. “You’re sick? Really convenient, Ari. You know how important this night is to me, and you don’t give a shit.” He threw up his hands. “Selfish, Ari. I’m out.”

Then he stormed out.

I stared after him, wondering what in the heck had just happened.

Ariana ran out the door, but she was slow. Weak. She barely made it out of the house before she tripped over her own two feet and slammed her shoulder into a pole. She slid down and sat on the ground. Still stunned, I forced my feet into action and hurried to her.

“You okay?” I asked.

A little blue Honda burned rubber out of the parking lot. Matt rolled down the driver’s window, shouted, and held out his middle finger at us.

That Matt’s a classy guy.

“Why did you do that?” Ariana asked, regaining my attention. Giant tears rolled down her cheeks.

I stared at her, at a complete loss for words. She couldn’t possibly believe Matt’s blowup was my fault. Regardless, I helped her up and back into the smoke cloud that still occupied her living room. My head felt weird—contact-high weird—and I groaned, because it seemed like an unfair complication when I really needed to think.

“I think I’m gonna be sick!” Ariana announced.

We mostly made it to the sink, and then I held her hair back while she emptied her stomach. My fuzzy brain struggled to process what was happening. The apartment now smelled like vomit and marijuana, something was clearly wrong with my little sister, and her boyfriend had just gotten pissed and bailed because she was sick?

When Ariana stopped heaving, we navigated the path into her bedroom. Shivers racked her body, so I helped her into bed and piled every blanket I could find on top of her. I put a giant bowl beside the bed before cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. Ariana threw up again, so I dumped her barf bowl and returned it to the side of her bed. With each passing minute she looked worse, and I felt too fuzzy to help her. Frustrated, I sprayed half a can of air freshener into the living room, trying to overpower the pot-cloud and hopefully prevent myself from getting contact high
er
.

I was exhausted and knew if I sat down, I’d pass out and Ariana would be on her own. So I drifted around the apartment, cleaning between trips to check on my sister. I was finishing up the dishes when a knock sounded on the door. Hoping it was Matt, returning to redeem himself and prove he wasn’t the biggest loser on the planet, I hurried to answer. Two cops in SWAT uniforms greeted me.

I panicked and closed the door in their faces.

Then I sniffed the air. Flowers and marijuana. Awesome.

I am so going to jail.

Only I couldn’t go to jail, because that would mean Ariana was going to jail too, and she was way too sick for that.

Another knock on the door.

My dad was a state trooper. I grew up surrounded by cops. Even wanted to be one, and I had the degree in criminal justice to prove it. I could handle this. I just had to play it cool. I opened the door and smiled up at them.

“Sorry, I had to put on a bra.”

Yep, that was playing it cool, all right.

It was all I could think of, but it seemed to work. Their scowls disappeared, revealing two hot men in uniform, both with olive skin and dark features. Kind of like the nice guys in the pizzeria. Wait. The more I looked at them the more I was certain of it.

“Markie?” the shorter body-builder-type cop asked.

“Bones?” I asked.

“Yeah.” He stared at me. They both did. No doubt they smelled the smoke, and were preparing to cuff me and read me my rights.

I looked up at the taller, much hotter cop. “And… I’m sorry. I can’t remember you name.”

He blinked.

Bones chuckled.

And I felt like an idiot.

“Angel,” the hotter cop replied.

“Right, Angel. You’re SWAT?” I shook my head at my own stupidity and went with a not-so-obvious question. “Of course you are. What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for a suspect. A man, about five-eight, brown hair, medium build, goes by the name of Matthew Deter.”

“Matt? You’re looking for Matt?”

“Yes. Is he here?” Bones asked.

Of course they were looking for Matt. The guy didn’t exactly scream upstanding citizen, as evidenced by the smoke affecting my brain. “No. He took off a while ago. He’s a suspect? To what?”

“That’s confidential,” Bones replied.

“How do you know Ma— the suspect?” Angel asked. “You said you were in town to see family. Are you a relative?”

“He’s my sister’s boyfriend. Or at least he was. He was pretty pissed when he took off, so I’m not really sure about the status of their relationship right now.”

I had no idea why I told them this, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

Retching sounds came from the bedroom. I leaned back and hollered, “Ari? You okay?”

What sounded like dry heaving answered. I waited for her to stop before turning back to the cops. They still hadn’t said anything about smelling pot on me, and I didn’t want to press my luck. Besides, my sister needed me. “Ariana’s sick. I need to get back to her. If you have a card… I promise I’ll call if he shows up.”

The dry heaving started again.

“What’s wrong with her?” Angel asked, surprising me.

“I don’t know. I got here right before Matt bailed. She’s shaking, cold sweats, throwing up. She can’t even stand.”

The two exchanged a look.

“All right. Thanks for your help,” Bones said.

Then the two of them turned and walked away. I closed the door and realized neither of them had given me their business card. I wasn’t about to press my luck and go chasing after them for one. Instead, I hurried in to check on Ariana.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Angel

S
HAKING, COLD SWEATS, throwing up. She can’t even stand.

The words assaulted me during the walk back to the Hummer. I made it to the door, even got my hand on the handle, but couldn’t open it. I had a bad feeling about Markie’s sister, and I needed to know if I was right.

“Angel, get in the car,” Bones said, opening the passenger’s door. It wasn’t a demand—Bones would never cross that line—more like a strong suggestion, softened when he added, “We’ll talk inside.”

I nodded and climbed in. Bones checked something on his phone.

“Matt’s one of your dealers, isn’t he?” I asked.

Bones’s primary job was to ensure my security, but like all my father’s employees, he was also an earner. We never spoke about how he earned, but I knew what was up. I chose to feign ignorance, because being surrounded by my family’s secrets had taught me knowledge isn’t always power. Sometimes knowledge is responsibility; the kind of responsibility that keeps you up additional nights or adds years onto your prison sentence. Sometimes ignorance is true power.

Bones’s jaw tensed. I’d never crossed this line before.

“You really wanna know?” he asked.

I looked back at the door, wondering what was happening inside the apartment. It wasn’t any of my business, and the smart thing would be to drive away. Only my brain couldn’t seem to settle on the smart decision.

“Yeah.”

Bones nodded. “Matt’s one of my dealers, but he’s slippin’. Been avoiding me, and didn’t make the last two drops. His ass is full of excuses and his veins are probably pumped full of my profits. Probably his girl’s too.”

Shaking, cold sweats, throwing up. She can’t even stand.

I was no expert, but that sounded like she was more than just plastered. “And her symptoms?”

Bones shrugged. “Sounds like she got some bad shit.”

I eyed him.

He held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. Everything I touch is pure.”

My attention drifted back to the apartment door and stayed fixed there while I tried to force myself to put the key in the ignition. It wasn’t working. My memory kept flashing through images of a dead cop, schematics of a bomb, my father’s armory, all the shit I couldn’t do anything about. But Markie’s sister… I could help her. I needed that, needed to feel like something other than a useless pawn in a war I didn’t want.

“We’re going in there, aren’t we?” Bones asked after a time.

Resigned, I sighed, swung open my door, and got out. Bones followed me back to the apartment door. I knocked with a little more force than necessary, but I was pissed and didn’t know if it was because of my decision, the situation, or life in general.

Markie answered. “You’re back? Matt’s still not here and my sister is—”

“—the reason we’re here,” I said, cutting her off. “We need to come in, Markie. We need to see her.”

“Why?” Markie asked. “Did she do something wrong? She really is sick, I swear. Can’t you come back when she feels better?”

I hadn’t anticipated her resistance, and it irritated the hell out of me. I was trying to help, after all, and couldn’t think of what to say to get her to let us in.

Luckily Bones didn’t need an invitation or even approval. He barged right in, somehow squeezing between Markie and the door frame, and marched into the living room.

“Hey!” Markie shouted, jumping aside. “You can’t just come in here! You got a warrant?”

Bones ignored her and kept walking.

Markie looked to me. “What the heck?”

I shrugged and sniffed, confirming what I’d suspected. Recalling her last name from the driver’s license she’d showed at the restaurant, I said, “Sorry, Ms. Davis. Smells like marijuana in here and we’re looking for a suspect. Reasonable suspicion.”

I didn’t know if that was a “thing,” but it sounded good. Hopefully good enough to keep her from calling the real cops.

Her cheeks reddened. “It was Matt. I swear.”

“Angel, get in here!” Bones shouted.

I followed his voice to a small, dark bedroom. Clothes were bursting out of the closet on the left-hand side, and more clothes were folded and stacked on a chest of drawers in the corner. Bones stood beside the bed, tugging back the pile of blankets to reveal a waif of a girl who looked barely out of high school. Sweat glistened over every inch of skin that her shorts and T-shirt revealed.

Markie gasped. “She looks even worse.” She hurried to the bed and grabbed her sister’s hand. “Ari, honey, what’s going on? Talk to me.”

Ariana’s eyes popped open. She looked up at us and her bloodshot eyes widened. She sat up and reached for the blankets, tugging them with her as she scooted away from Bones.

“What the hell did you do, Markie? Get them out of here. Get out of my house!” Then she winced and grabbed at her lower back. A stream of obscenities shot out of her mouth like a spray gun, drenching us in vulgarity. Midtirade she fell over, passing out cold.

Bones sprang into action. He checked her pulse, her arms, and her eyes. Then he looked around the room. “Do you know what she used?” he asked Markie.

“What she used for what?” Markie asked.

Bones shook his head and ripped open the drawer of Ariana’s nightstand, riffling through the contents.

“Hey! I don’t think you should be going through her stuff,” Markie objected.

Bones pulled out a small plastic bag, halting her protests. He licked the tip of his finger, stuck it in the baggie, and tasted the contents.

“Shit. This is absolute shit.” He looked at Markie and added, “Get her to a hospital. Now.”

I expected Markie to argue or freak out or something, but she looked from Bones to the bag to her sister, and her whole demeanor changed. She took charge.

“She doesn’t have a car. Can you take us?” She turned her gorgeous blue eyes on me. They were glassy from the smoke and watery from the tears she fought. “Please?”