Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (24 page)

The prospect had seemed so reasonable, so dealable, back when she’d been in her private place, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of trophies.

What was one earring from a dead virgin? She was keeping the other half of the set—and she had more objects to remember that fucking Sissy Barten with.

Now, though, sitting next to the carnage of Kroner’s keepsakes, she felt like she was sending one of her very souls out into a sea of unknown and permanent loss. But what choice did she have? She had to flush out Heron, and just as important, she had to set up the endgame—

Abruptly, the image of the hot blond secretary-type began to disintegrate, Devina’s true form emerging through the slipcover of young and pink and human, her dead, ropy flesh and curled gray claws cradling the cheap-ass bird earring.

For a moment, she didn’t care. Too shaken by her own hoarding instinct, she couldn’t marshal any urgency at the fact that the officer would soon be returning and then she’d have to either infect him or kil him—neither of which she had the energy for.

Except she had to pul herself together.

Forcing herself to think, she cal ed up a vision of her therapist, picturing that roly-poly, ful y actualized, postmenopausal tree hugger who not only had an answer for everything . . . but seemed to know what the fuck she was talking about1em/div>
Devina, the anxiety is not about the things. It’s about your place in this world. . . . You must remember that you don’t need objects to justify your
existence or make yourself feel safe and secure.

More to the point, unless she got her shit together, and planted the earring, she was going to compromise her larger goals even further.

You’ve already lost once, she reminded herself.

Two deep breaths . . . and another. Then she looked down at her hand and wil ed the image of young, dewy flesh back into place. The concentration required gave her a headache that lingered after she was back to being who she wasn’t, but there was no time to dwel on the thumping at her temples.

Standing up on legs that were about as solid as soda straws, she stumbled over to the box of objects. Flipping up the corner of the drape, she planted the dove earring and then skated back to the seat the officer had put her in.

Just in time, too.

“Here, drink this.”

She looked up at the guy. Going by his face, it appeared as if the Britnae ruse was stil working: One thing you could guarantee about humans was a total freak-out if they got a gander at the real her.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely as she reached forward . . . with a hand that had pink-polished fake nails. But how long was that going to last?

She drank the cold water, crumpled the paper cup, and tossed the thing into a trash bin under the table. “Please . . . can you help me out of here?

Now?”

“Absolutely.”

He dragged her up from the chair, throwing a surprisingly sturdy arm around her waist and bearing most of her weight.

Down the long rows. Out through the locked door thanks to that pass card. Into the corridor beyond.

The elevator was a blessing, even if the descent made her feel even dizzier.

The plan, she told herself. Work the plan. This was the sacrifice that was necessary to bring everything back where it needed be.

When they were in his office, he seated her in one of the plastic chairs next to his desk, and brought her a second glass of water. Which helped clear her head a little more.

Focusing on the officer, she decided she would not only let him live; she would give him a little present.

“Thank you,” she said to him, meaning it.

“You’re welcome. Do you have to drive home?”

She gave that a pass, and leaned forward. Mental y reaching through the stale air, she grabbed onto his eyes and wheedled into his brain, strol ing along the metaphorical hal ways of his mind, viewing casual y the evidence on his private shelves.

Just as she had planted the earring, she inserted a knowledge in his brain that he was a Casanova beyond compare, a guy who, in spite of his modest looks, was wanted by women and therefore confident and manly around them.

It was the kind of thing that was going to get him laid. Because unlike men, who were visual creatures, women tended to go more for what was in between the ears.

And self-possession was sexy.

Devina left shortly thereafter, taking with her the memories of what they’d done and where they’d gone.r act of charity both disgusted her and made her want to thumb her nose at the insufferable Nigel.

Just as a nun with the purest heart imaginable could stil curse on occasion, a demon could in rare instances be moved to show compassion.

But it made her feel like she needed a shower to get the stank off.

“ think I’m in heaven.”
I

Reil y hid a smile as Veck stared with awe at the slice of apple pie her mother had put in front of him.

“You real y made this?” he said as he looked up.

“From scratch, including the crust,” her dad announced.

“And not only that, she can do your taxes with her eyes closed and one arm tied behind her back.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“Sorry, she’s taken.” Her dad pul ed her mom in for a quick kiss as he got his plate of dessert. “Right?”

“Right,” was the answer spoken against his mouth. Reil y passed a quart of vanil a ice cream to Veck. “À la mode?”

“You betcha.”

Turned out Detective DelVecchio was a good little eater. He’d had seconds on the
Vitello Saltimbocca
and the
Linguine con Pomodoro
. Not a big salad guy, but that was not a surprise. And it looked like dessert might wel be a twofer also.

Although his capacity to savor her mother’s cooking wasn’t al she was impressed with: He’d held his own against her dad. Jokingly and with respect, he’d made it clear he wasn’t a pushover, even though Tom Reil y had been known to scare elected public officials half to death. As a result?

“And, yeah, Veck, I agree with you,” her father announced. “There’s a lot out there that needs changing in the system. It’s a hard balance between prosecution and persecution—especial y among certain racial and ethnic groups. Socioeconomic, too.”

Yup, the ful approval had been bestowed on her partner.

As talk sprang up around the subject of profiling in law enforcement, she sat back and watched Veck. He seemed so much more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.

And man, he was handsome.

A half hour and another serving of pie later, Veck helped bring the plates to the sink and hopped on drying duty. Then it was time to coat up and head for the exit.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said, hugging the woman who had always been there for her. “And Dad.”

Going over to her father, she had to tiptoe it to put her arms around him, stretching high and not making it even halfway around his shoulders.

“I love you,” he said, holding her tight. And then in her ear, he whispered, “Nice guy you got there.”

Before she could return a he’s-not-actual y-mine, handshakes were being passed around and she and Veck were out the door.

As she was backing out into the street, they both waved and then it was al over.

“Your parents are incredible,” he said, as she drove them away.

A flush of pride in her family de her smile. “They are.”

“If you don’t mind my asking . . .”

When he didn’t turn to look at her, and he didn’t finish the sentence, she had the sense her answer was important to him, but that he wasn’t going to force her to reply.

“I’m more than happy to talk about it.” As rain started to fal , she pul ed up to a stop sign and put her wipers on. “My parents had always worked with at-risk youth and crisis centers—starting before they’d even met. There’s one run by the Catholic Church downtown, and after they were married, they used to spend Saturdays there, crunching the books, soliciting donations, helping with the displaced families. The woman who gave birth to me and I came into the place after her and one of her three boyfriends got into a fight and she lost the sight in her left eye.” Reil y glanced over. “I saw it happen. It’s my first memory, actual y.”

“How old were you?” he asked tightly.

“Three and a half. She was fighting with him over a dirty needle, which was nothing new, but then she just snapped and went after him with a knife. He shoved her away in self-defense, but she kept coming at him until he hit her. Hard. She told the cops he beat her, and they took him to jail. And that’s how we ended up in the shelter—it was his apartment that we were staying in.” Reil y hit her directional signal and headed over for the entrance onto the Northway that was down by the high school. “Anyway, we were staying at the place my parents volunteered at, and the woman who gave birth to me stole some things from another family, so that was the end of that. We went to stay with her other two boyfriends for about a week and then . . . she took me back and dropped me off at the shelter. Just left me.”

Veck met her in the eyes. “Where is she now?”

“Not a clue. I never saw her again, and I know this is going to sound bitter, but I don’t care what happened to her.” She came up to a stoplight and hit the brakes. “She was a liar and an addict, and the only nice thing she ever did was leave me—although to be honest, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t for my benefit. I was probably cramping her style, and she had to know that kil ing a child was the kind of no-no that would guarantee her life behind bars.”

At that point, it was time to merge onto the highway—which was fine, because this was the hard part of her story.

Little break, little breath, as she found a space for them in the traffic.

“Boy, the rain’s real y starting to come down,” she said, speeding up the wipers.

“You don’t have to finish.”

“No, it’s okay. The real nightmare is what would have happened if my parents hadn’t taken an interest in me. That’s what stil scares me to this day.”

She checked in the rearview mirror, changed into the fast lane, and hit the gas. “My parents happened to be working that day—and I just stuck to them like glue. I’d loved my father from when I’d met him before, because he’s just so big and strong, with that deep voice—I knew he’d protect me. And my mother always gave me cookies and milk—and played with me. Almost immediately, I was determined to go home with them, but they were trying to conceive at that point and, gee whiz, weren’t necessarily al about some drug addict’s baby.

“That night, and for a week afterward, they tried to find the woman and talk sense into her, because they knew that once a kid gets into the system, it can be hard to break out ">Little . When they final y found her, she didn’t want me—and she said she’d sign her rights away. They came back later that evening and sat with me. I wasn’t supposed to be staying at the shelter, because you needed your guardian there, but my mom had been camping out with me so I could have a bunk. I remember knowing they were going to tel me I had to go, but one more day turned into two . . . which turned into another week. I was real y wel behaved, and I had the sense my dad was working on something. Final y, they came back and asked me if I wanted to stay with them for a little bit. He’d gotten them cleared as foster parents by pul ing strings like only he could.” She glanced over and smiled. “Little bit turned into twenty-five-plus years. They official y adopted me, like, a year after I moved in.”

“That’s awesome.” Veck returned her smile, and then got serious again. “What about your biological father?”

“No one knows who he was—including the woman who birthed me, according to my parents. They told me much later, when I was grown up, that she’d maintained it was one of two exes of hers—both of whom were in jail for dealing drugs.” She sped up her wipers. “And listen, I know I sound . . . angry in places. I guess I just struggle with the whole addiction-is-a-disease theory. With a pair of addicts as my biological basis, there’s a statistical probability that I’d end up like them, but I didn’t go that route—I knew it was a door I shouldn’t open, and I never have. And yeah, you could argue that my parents provided me with opportunities my biological mother never had, and that’s true. But you make your own destiny. You choose your way.”

For a while there was just the beat of the wipers and the subtle rush of water whipping down the underside of the car.

“I’m sorry, I probably said too much.”

“No, not at al .”

Reil y glanced over and had the sense Veck was back in his own past. Staying quiet, she hoped he’d open up, but he kept silent, elbow propped on the

door, hand massaging his jaw.

From out of nowhere, a massive black SUV roared by in the middle lane, the Escalade splashing up gal ons of water over Reil y’s hood and obscuring the view.

“Jesus,” she said, easing off on the gas. “They must be going a hundred.”

“Nothing like a death wish to cut your travel time.” The vehicle dodged right, then left, then right again, jogging by other cars like a footbal receiver on the way to the goal line.

Reil y frowned as she imagined Veck on his bike in this downpour with that kind of maniac on the road. “Hey, are you going to be able to ride home in al the rain? This is getting dangerous.”