Authors: Linda Poitevin
Chapter 30
Alex’s cell phone jolted her awake at four a.m. She swallowed the cotton that filled her mouth and answered on the fifth trill. “Jarvis.”
“You sound about as enthusiastic as I feel,” Joly observed. “Shall I make it worse?”
“If I say no, will it matter?”
“Some guy just shot up the emergency ward at the General. Three dead, fourteen injured, two critical. I’ll see you there.”
The line went dead. Alex set the phone on her stomach, crossed her arms beneath her head, and stared up at the shadow lines across the ceiling, cast there by the light of a streetlamp coming through the blinds. She listened to the quiet of the apartment. Had Seth heard the phone? Would he wake if she went into the bedroom for clean clothes? If he did, would the events of last night be forgotten, or would they carry over to this morning, poisoning her departure?
She turned her head to look at the Scotch bottle on the coffee table. Despite being down by half, it had done nothing to make sleep any easier. By her generous estimate, she was lucky if she’d managed an hour.
Long seconds dragged into minutes. The bedroom door remained closed, the apartment silent.
With a sigh, Alex pushed aside the blanket. She reached for the shirt she’d draped across the sofa back, slid her arms into it, and buttoned it. Ten minutes later, teeth brushed to remove the stale remains of alcohol and a brief note left on the table for Seth, she let herself out.
A biting November wind greeted her as she stepped out of the building. Tucking her chin into her scarf, she pulled on gloves and rounded the corner to the parking lot. Her step faltered. Hell. She’d hoped . . . but supposed she should have known better.
Straightening her shoulders, she joined Aramael beside her car.
“How did you know I’d be leaving?”
“I told you. I’m watching you.”
Heat gathered at the nape of her neck as she thought of her night on the sofa. “Not—”
Something unnameable flickered in his gray eyes. “Not when you’re with Seth, no.”
Thank Heaven for small mercies.
“Where do you watch from?”
“When you’re in the apartment? The roof.”
“And you’d still know if . . . ?”
“If Samael came for you? Yes. Or any other Fallen One, for that matter. In any form. My capacity as an Archangel is different from when I was a Power.”
As if to emphasize his words, the wind ruffled the black wings rising behind him, so much larger than the ones he’d once had.
Alex looked away. “And you’re absolutely sure this Samael is after me.”
“I’ve seen him. Standing across the street.”
A chill slipped through her. She hadn’t thought much about the idea before now. Apart from not wanting to, there had been plenty to keep her distracted from it: work, Seth, meeting Michael, Seth, the turmoil of seeing Aramael again . . . and always Seth. Now, however . . .
She looked down the street, taking in the parked cars, darkened storefronts, lampposts, an overturned garbage can, a homeless man huddled in a doorway. Imaginary shadows.
She pushed a button on the key fob, and the sedan gave a chirp as its doors unlocked. “There’s been a shooting,” she said. “Same deal. I drive, you keep quiet.”
“You can’t ignore this forever, Alex.”
“Watch me,” she muttered, sliding into the car.
***
Seth leaned his forehead against the cold window glass, staring down into the street after the departing taillights. In the car, Alex and
him—
her soulmate. Behind him, once again, the apartment. Silent, empty, hollow. His hand closed over the note she’d left him, crumpling it. He let it fall to the floor.
Damn it to Hell and back, were they not to be allowed
any
peace? A mortal lifetime was already so short, and now—now the machinations of others threatened even that. Others who played with the future of the entire universe and all its occupants. Others who would drag him back into their game. Again.
And now they tried to use Alex herself against him. To make her doubt him. To make him doubt himself.
He scowled. Well, they’d be disappointed, because he wouldn’t abandon her. Not now. Not ever. And certainly not for the sake of his mother’s precious Earth. However long he might have with her, he intended to treasure every minute, every breath, every heartbeat.
He crossed to the dining room table and swept up the book the Fallen One had left in his grocery bag. The poison of its contents—its secrets—seeped through its very cover. How he wished he had never opened it. Never read the words now burned into his brain.
That I even consider such an act . . . I cannot find words to express the horror I feel at my treasonous thoughts. And yet, what choice do I have? She is my Creator. I, her helpmeet, the other half of the whole she once was. How she could allow these creatures to come between us is beyond comprehension. Beyond endurance. If this is what I must do to put things right again . . . so be it
.
Seth shuddered. His father’s words, filled with jealousy, hatred, and yes, the absolute and utter love that had driven him from the One’s side. He’d grown up knowing the story behind Lucifer’s departure, but seeing it written in the Light-bearer’s own hand, his own words . . .
Damned if he hadn’t felt a flicker of compassion.
Maybe even one of understanding.
But no more. He strode into the kitchen and lifted the lid on the garbage can. Soft leather caressed his fingertips as the journal slid from his grasp. His parents’ history had no bearing on him. No bearing on any of this. He wasn’t part of them anymore. He was mortal, and the Fallen One was wrong. Alex
was
like him, and she
did
return his love. And he’d be damned if he’d let anyone take that away from him.
Letting the lid drop, he turned away. He had offered his help, and now he would live up to his word. He would find where the Nephilim babies were being taken. He would give Alex a reason to work with him as she did with the others. With—
He stopped. Stared at the leather-covered book sitting on the table. At the carefully carved Roman numeral II on its spine. A resounding crash sounded behind him, and he whirled in time to see a half-rotten apple roll away from the garbage spilled across the floor. Vegetable scraps, empty packaging, the withered remains of the dinner he’d made for Alex the night before . . .
But no sign of the journal he had just placed there.
A black feather drifted through the air and settled on the floor beside his shoe.
Chapter 31
Dropping her keys and coat on her desk, Alex headed for the coffee room, shooting a black look at Aramael when it seemed he might follow. He settled onto the desk’s edge, arms folded across his chest and expression neutral. She strongly suspected he humored her, but she couldn’t summon the energy to feel annoyed. After the fight with Seth, her ensuing date with the whiskey bottle, and then the call-out to the hospital scene, she had nothing left.
Hell, if she were truthful, she couldn’t even react to the scene. Three bodies, a dozen shell-shocked medical staff, enough blood sprayed across chairs and floors and ceilings to have saved a dozen lives, and for all the response she’d felt, she might as well have been watching a movie. Bell would love to sink his teeth into that little detail.
The cell phone at her waist vibrated as she reached the coffee room door. She unclipped it, looked at the display, and sighed. Jen.
“Morning, sis.”
“I’m surprised you answered,” Jennifer replied. “I wasn’t sure you’d be speaking to me.”
Rolling her eyes, Alex drew a deep, calming breath. “Really, Jen? You think that little of me? We had a minor difference of opinion the other night, and you seriously think I’d be petty enough not to speak to you?”
Silence.
“Jen?” Alex held the cell phone away to make sure the call was still connected. She put it back to her ear. “Are you still there?”
“I—you—” Jen paused. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?” Alex saw Roberts emerge from his office, scan the room, focus on her. He pointed, then jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.
You. In here. Now.
She nodded and held up a finger.
One minute.
She returned her attention to her sister, who hadn’t answered. “Jennifer, what don’t I know?”
“I thought—it’s past ten. I thought you would have found out by now.”
“I just got into the office. We had a shooting last night—” Alex broke off and shook her head. None of that mattered. Not to Jen, anyway. “Can we speed this up? Roberts wants to see me. What haven’t I found out yet?”
“You know I love you, right?” Jen asked. “And I’d do anything for you. You know that.”
The blood in Alex’s veins turned cold. Slowed to a sluggish trickle. “What’s going on, Jennifer Abbott? What have you done?”
A defensive note entered her sister’s voice. “It’s for your own good, Alex. You’ve been under so much pressure since—since the fire and everything. And I’m not the only one who’s worried.”
“Jennifer.”
“Jarvis!” Roberts still stood in the doorway. “Today!”
He turned and disappeared into his office, giving her a clear view of the desk within, the chairs in front it—and the gray-haired woman seated in one of those chairs. Alex lowered the phone from her ear and slid it closed on her sister’s rambling explanation as the woman turned.
What in
hell
was Elizabeth Riley doing in Toronto?
***
“You don’t look particularly pleased to see me.” Elizabeth Riley stayed seated as Alex stepped into Roberts’s office and closed the door. Her sharp blue eyes watched Alex from behind wire-framed glasses.
“I’m not. I mean, I am, but—” Alex paused, took a firmer grip on the thoughts milling through her brain, and tried again. “Did Henderson send you? Is he all right? What’s wrong?”
“He was fine when he dropped me off at the airport last night, and nothing is wrong.” Her lips pursed. “Well,” she added, glancing at a stoic Roberts, “nothing more than usual, anyway.”
“So you’re here because . . . ?”
“Dr. Riley is here at the force’s request,” Roberts said, and her gaze flew to his. Or tried to, except he refused to meet it. “Please. Sit.”
She remained standing, fingers locked over the back of the chair beside Riley.
The force’s request?
Understanding gelled. Her sister’s phone call. Jen had known about this. She’d been in on it. They’d all been in on it: Jen, Roberts, Riley, Henderson—it was a goddamn conspiracy. Alex scowled, but Roberts held up a hand, cutting her off.
“I’m going to get straight to the point, Detective. Dr. Bell went over my head to the chief. I’ve been told that you either voluntarily put yourself into therapy or I’m to suspend you.”
She actually rocked back on her heels for an instant, so startled was she by the announcement. She gaped at her staff inspector. “You’re serious. When did you find out?”
“The same day I returned you to duty.”
Alex did a quick calculation and realized with a start that what seemed a lifetime ago had only been three days. So—the closer Armageddon got, the faster time passed? Great. And now she was to be saddled with Riley and “therapy” as well? She favored the psychiatrist with a baleful look but directed her words to Roberts. “You couldn’t have told me then?”
“It wouldn’t have made a difference. This was out of both our hands.”
“Still—”
“Besides, given all that’s going on, it might not be a bad idea.”
All that’s going on?
Alex stood for a long moment without responding, going first cold, then hot. An iron band closed around her chest. Tightened.
You have no goddamn idea what’s going on
.
Roberts continued. “Dr. Riley is here because you need the support. I know the signs of trouble, Alex, and I’m seeing them in you.”
Aware of Riley’s keen observation, Alex lifted her chin and stepped back from the chair’s support. “I don’t have time for this. I have files to—”
“Make time.” Roberts’s uncompromising voice stopped her at the door. “I meant what I said about not wanting to lose you.”
Then don’t make me dredge up things that are best left buried.
“Staff—”
“It’s an order, Detective.”
Anger flared inside her. Sudden, icy, raw. The tiny little cracks that had begun forming in her facade over the last few days widened. Roberts and Riley wanted her to talk? To share her secrets?
Fine
. She spun to face them.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. She flicked a look from her boss to the psychiatrist. “Maybe I do need to get some things off my chest. What do you suggest we start with, Dr. Riley? Oh, I know. How about the nightmares I keep having about eighty thousand Nephilim babies being turned into Lucifer’s army against humankind? That has to be worth a session or two, don’t you think? Or maybe we should talk about how my angel soulmate has been put in charge of protecting me from the Fallen One that’s been following me. Too complicated? No problem, I have lots of other issues we can discuss instead. In fact, here’s a real doozy. Why don’t we talk about how I haven’t been able to let the One’s son touch me because I can’t get past his father raping me?”
Roberts made an odd choking noise and went pale. Riley regarded her narrowly.
Shit.
She hadn’t intended to blurt out that last one.
“Alex—” Riley began.
“Don’t,” she grated, hating that the door at her back was all that held her upright. “You could have backed me up from the start, Riley. You could have told him everything he needed to know over the phone.”
“No. I couldn’t. Not in good conscience,” the psychiatrist said, “and not when I agree with him. I told you in Vancouver that you can’t keep pretending you can do this alone. You need to talk—”
“No,” Alex snarled. The remainder of her facade shattered, raining across her psyche in shards and drifting dust. “I don’t. In fact, you know what? I don’t need to do any of this. Not anymore. I’m done. With you, with them, with everything. As far as I’m concerned, the entire goddamn world can go to Hell.”
She wrenched open the door and stalked out of Roberts’s office through the silence, past the stares, and away from Aramael.