The Angel of Death (The Soul Summoner Book 3) (28 page)

“Hard-headed and argumentative?” I laughed as I got into the car. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

* * *

Warren had booked a king sized room at the Inn on Biltmore Estate, just up the road from the Deerpark. It had only been open a couple of years, and I’d never been inside it. Like every other property on the lavish estate, the Inn was fit for American royalty with a grand mix of gothic elegance and contemporary comfort. To be honest, I felt a little out of place as we walked up to the registration counter to check in.

“You’re fidgeting,” Warren said, leaning against the marble counter.

I hadn’t realized I was. Perhaps it was the ritzy hotel. Or maybe it was my nerves about the whole thing with Nathan. Hell, maybe it was the ungodly amount of sugar I’d consumed at dinner.

He ran his fingers down my arm. “Would you be more comfortable at home? I should’ve asked that earlier.”

I snuggled under his arm. “No way. This is wonderful. Thank you for planning something so special.”

He looked down at me, his face a mix of concern and hesitation. “I feel like we need to talk about stuff.”

“I won’t lie and say we don’t, but I’d rather save it for later. It’s nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow.”

He was obviously skeptical. “Are you sure?”

I smiled. “I promise.”

Our room was on the third floor. It had an oversized mahogany bed with a pristine white comforter and fluffy white pillows. There were two leather wingback chairs with footstools facing the private terrace which I was sure had a glorious view of the mountains in the daylight.

Behind me, Warren wrapped his arms around my waist. “I missed you, Sloan.”

I covered his arms with my own. “I missed you too, so very much.”

He pressed warm kisses to the side of my neck sending tingles rippling down my spine as his fingers worked loose the buttons on the front of my winter coat. Slowly, he peeled it back off my shoulders before draping it over the back of one of the chairs. His hands slid across the smooth fabric covering my stomach.

“I still can’t believe you’re pregnant,” he said quietly in my ear.

I turned around in his arms and locked my fingers behind his neck. “Are you ready to be a dad?”

“Nope.” He laughed and pulled me closer. “But I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will,” I said.

He dipped his head and pressed his lips to mine. The room seemed to spin around us as I melted into his strong arms. I had almost forgotten how it felt to be wrapped up with him—like the earth could implode, and it wouldn’t even matter. His hands slid down the curves of my back till they settled behind my thighs. He lifted me up until my legs draped across his hips, and my curls spilled down over his shoulders. I cradled his head in my arms as he kissed me. Carefully, he slid one arm behind my back and used the other to brace himself against the bed as he lowered me down onto it.
 

As he knelt between my legs, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the chair with mine. He unclasped his double holster, slipped it off his shoulders, and lowered his two guns carefully to the ground. He unbuttoned his shirt and peeled it back off his shoulders. Then with one hand, he reached back between his shoulder blades, grasped his white t-shirt, and tugged it off over his head. Over his chest was a tribal dragon’s talon tattooed across his shoulder and down the center of his torso. On his waist, just above the normal resting place for his sidearm, was the name Azrael. I dragged my nails down his stomach till they found the clasp for his black belt. He slid out of his slacks as he bent down over me.

He undressed me slowly, taking extra care to trace every inch of the new landscape of my figure. “You’ve never been more beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed kisses down the center of my tender, swollen breasts to my stomach and then back up again.
 

Warren was hesitant, nervous even, to cover my body with the full force of his weight, but I pushed his support arm up toward my head forcing him to settle slowly on top of me. He hooked his hand behind my knee and drew my leg up toward his hip. After that, everything swirled out of focus.

* * *

True to his word, Warren didn’t let me sleep. Not much anyway. We’d dozed on and off between sweaty bouts of lovemaking. It was the best non-sleep I’d ever had, and that was saying something. My lips were raw and my legs felt like Jello by sunrise.
 

When we pulled up in front of my house, Adrianne’s red sports car was still parked at the curb. I frowned. “That’s not good.”

Warren slid the transmission to park. “She stayed the night?”

“Looks like it,” I grumbled.

He looked over at me. “I gather from your tone this isn’t exactly great news.”

I glared at him.

“You can’t protect her from everything,” he said.

“I can’t protect her from
anything,
Warren. She never listens to me.”

He pointed toward the house. “Do you think she needs protecting from him?”

I groaned. “I think best-case scenario is that she’ll wind up hurt when he can’t give her what she wants.”
 

We walked inside to find Taiya watching cartoons on the couch and no one else around. Upstairs I heard the sound of the shower in the guest bathroom. “Good morning, Taiya,” I said as I dropped my purse on the floor with a heavy thud and kicked off my high heels.

Her face broke out in a wide smile when her eyes settled on Warren. He waved, and she ducked her head into her pillow.

“She lives here now too?” he asked, following me to the kitchen to get my prenatal vitamins.

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a little less crowded since Nathan moved out, but it’s still—”

He cut me off. “Nathan was living here?”

My back was to him at the refrigerator so he couldn’t see me cringe. I grabbed the orange juice and carried it to the counter. “I was attacked while I was home alone one night. After that, Nathan moved into the guest room.”

Warren pulled out the chair at the dinette table and sat down. “Are you ready to tell me where he really is and not that bullshit story about ice fishing?”

My bottom lip poked out. “No.”

He crossed his arms. “Babe, I promise you don’t want to leave this one to my imagination.”

Sadly, I feared his imagination couldn’t be much worse than the truth. But the last thing I wanted was to tell him the truth and then send him away for a few days to stew on it. So, instead, I shook the carton of Tropicana in his direction. “Do you want some orange juice?”

“No, Sloan. I don’t want any juice,” he said, his voice dark and bordering on anger.

Buying myself a few more seconds of pre-fight peace and happiness, I dropped the vitamin into my mouth and drained the entire glass of juice. When I finished, I washed the glass by hand in the sink, dried it slowly, then tucked it away in the cabinet. When I turned around to look at him, Warren’s jaw was twitching. That was never a good sign.

I leaned back against the counter for support. “You asked Nathan to take care of me while you were gone, remember?”

His eyes tightened, and he drew in a deep breath. “Yes.”

I looked down at the tiles. “Well, things with us—”

Just then, Adrianne jogged down the stairs wearing a pair of my sweatpants—that only reached half-way down her calves—and one of Azrael’s shirts. I was almost too relieved by her interruption to still be mad at her. She froze when she saw us in the kitchen.

I put my hands on my hips. “What are you doing here?”

A sly grin was on her face. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

I rolled my eyes as she entered the kitchen. “I don’t even want to know.”

“You probably don’t.” She winked at me as she grabbed a banana out of the fruit basket. “How was the hotel last night?”

“Really nice,” I said. “Have you been there?”

She nodded. “I’ve done hair for a few bridal parties there.”

Warren cleared his throat. “Not to be rude or anything, but Sloan and I are kind of in the middle of something.”

Adrianne cringed. “That doesn’t sound good.”

I jerked my thumb toward the stairs and looked at Warren. “Come on. Let’s go talk upstairs in our room.”

He got up and walked toward me. Over his shoulder, I saw Adrianne mouth the words
good luck.

I practiced deep breathing as we crossed the living room.

“Ding dong,” Taiya said from the floor.

My eyes widened, and I looked at the door just as the bell rang.
 

“Did she do that?” Warren asked, confused.

My heart pounded in my chest. I knew somehow I’d slipped up and summoned Nathan McNamara, possibly to his death. Warren must have realized the same thing because we both bolted toward the door at the same time. My hand reached the knob first.

“Sloan, wait!” I heard Azrael shout upstairs.

But it was too late.

I pulled the door open.
 

It was Agent Silvers…and a team of other officers.

“Sloan Jordan, you’re under arrest.”

21.

“Please state your last name.”

My wrists ached from where they’d just removed the handcuffs. I rubbed the red marks left behind. “Jordan.”

Agent Silvers looked up from the paper. “And your first name?”

I looked at her in disbelief. “You know my name.”

“This is procedural, Ms. Jordan. Please answer the question.”

“My first name is Sloan.”

“Middle name?”

“Bridgett.”

“Can you spell that please?”

“B-R-I-D-G-E-T-T.”

“Date of birth?”

“January 24
th
, 1986.”

We went through a list of
procedural
information before Agent Silvers let me go to the bathroom and get some water. I’d cried the entire drive in the back of the unmarked car, until I realized they weren’t taking me to jail as I’d assumed. I had driven past the stone and glass building on Patton Avenue a thousand times but had never been inside. Little did I know the FBI field office was housed there.

When we came back into the interrogation room, someone else, a man who looked like he might play golf with my dad, stared at me from across the table. Agent Silvers excused herself and left, closing the door behind her.

The man extended his hand to me. “Hi, Ms. Jordan, I’m Special Agent Elijah Voss. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.”

My smile was awkward.

“Ms. Jordan, as you know, we’ve been investigating Abigail Smith for the past several weeks, and in the course of our investigation, we have discovered substantial evidence that brings us back to you. Now, I’m pretty new on this case, so I’m hoping you can explain to me how an upstanding county employee such as yourself has gotten mixed up in a federal investigation.” He smiled. “You have certain rights I’m obligated to advise you of before I talk to you. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney before answering any questioning or making any statements now or in the future. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements.” He folded his hands on top of his notepad and file folder. “Now, knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer my questions without an attorney present?”

This is the part where you’re supposed to say no.

But I didn’t. “Yes.”
 

My curiosity about what evidence they’d come up with outweighed my good sense in the matter.
 

“How do you know Abigail?”

“I really don’t know her well. I met her a couple of times in Texas,” I said.

“What took you to Texas?” he asked.

This was one of those questions, I knew I shouldn’t answer since we’d already lied about it the first time we met with Agent Silvers. “I’d rather speak to my attorney about that.”

He made some notes. “Very well. Will you tell me how you came across the information that led to human trafficking charges being brought against Ms. Smith?”

“She invited me to her home, and while I was there, I was snooping in her office. I found bond paperwork on an individual I knew had been arrested for trafficking,” I said. All of that was completely true.

Thin lines of confusion rippled his brow. “Why were you snooping in her office?”

I shrugged my shoulders and kept my mouth shut. The truth was a voice in my head told me to go in there, but that wasn’t the sort of thing you tell a detective…or anyone.

“What happened after you found the paperwork?” he asked.

“I heard Abigail on the phone in the other room, and then I left her home,” I said.

He tapped his pen against the pad. “What was she saying on the phone?”

“It’s in the notes from my previous statement,” I said.

“I’d rather you tell me.”

I stared back at him. “I’d rather you look them up.”

“Are you refusing to answer the question?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He looked annoyed, but he didn’t say anything. “Are you aware surveillance photos and other information spanning most of your life were found at the residence of Abigail Smith?”

I nodded. “Agent Silvers showed me some of the photos.”

“Any guess as to why she would have such information on you?”

I shook my head. “I wish I knew.”

While that was true, I also had a very good idea why she would have kept close tabs on me over the years. She’d had a plan my entire life that brought me to where I was presently—pregnant with Warren’s kid.

“Where were you on the morning of October 31
st
?” he asked.

“Halloween,” I clarified.

“Yes. Halloween.”

That was the day I called Abigail and asked if she was my biological mother. That week, Warren had stayed with my dad while I dipped in and out of my office trying to catch up from being gone and trying to prevent falling even further behind.