Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (9 page)

“I hate to eat alone.”

“You could hold your breath until I join you—how about that.”

Her black eyes became direct. “Must we fight.”

At that, he had to honestly laugh. “It’s the reason we’re here, baby.”

She smiled a little. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you do that.”

Jim cut the sound right off as a waitress came over with a coffeepot. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

“He’l have coffee and the waffles.”

When the waitress looked at him like,
Come on, make up your damn mind
, he shrugged and let it go.

After they were alone again, Devina just went back to her puzzle.

“You can’t have a shot with me unless you get talking.”

There was a pause, as if the demon were thinking of some way to prolong the meeting. Eventual y, she tapped the newspaper with the tip of Eddie’s pen.

“You read the
CCJ
?”

“Sometimes.”

“It’s a treasure trove of information.” She made an elaborate show of picking up the first section. “You never know what you might find.”

Flattening the thing and spinning it around to face him, she stared across the table.

Jim looked down. Three big articles. One on a new school districting plan. Another on emerging minority businesses. And a third on . . .

The nib of Eddie’s pen pointed to the last article.

“I believe I have completed my part of the agreement,” she drawled.

The headline read: “DelVecchio Execution Scheduled
.
”

Jim quickly skimmed the article and thought, Shit,
that
was the soul?

Just as Devina went to retract the pen, he flashed out a hand and locked a hold on her wrist, keeping it in place.

The nib of the Paper Mate was actual y on a name within the article—and it wasn’t the DelVecchio serial kil er guy. It was the man’s son . . . Thomas DelVecchio Jr.

A detective on the Caldwel police force.

Jim glanced across the table at his enemy and smiled with his incisors. “Tricky.”

Her lashes lowered demurely. “Always.”

Done with her and the time suck, Jim got up and took the pen with him. “Enjoy my waffles, sweetheart.”

“Hey, how wil I finish my crossword puzzle?”

“I’m sure you’l find a way. See you soon.”

Jim stalked out of the diner and beelined for his wingmen. When he came up to the bikes, he held the Paper Mate up to Eddie.

“Your pen.” As the angel went to take it back, Jim held on to the thing. “Metal casing around the nib. Next time, give the bitch a Sharpie.”

As Jim went to sling a leg over his hog, Adrian asked, “What did she say?”

“Looks like we’re going into the land of cops and robbers.”

“Oh. Good.” Ad mounted his own bike. “At least I speak the language there.”

W
hen Reil y walked into HQ, it was through the back door and down the cinder-block hal way that dumped out into what was supposed to be the newly renovated, inspiring and uplifting lobby. Unfortunately, the bronze statue of Lady Justice with her scales and her sword was a modern interpretation of the classic Greco-Roman prototype, and the blindfolded goddess looked like melted cheese. Old, brown melted cheese.

The circular walk around her and the spotlights shining down from the open loggia above just provided greater visual access to the hot mess. Then again, most of the police personnel, district attorneys, and defense lawyers striding through were too busy to worry about the decor. Headquarters had a lot going on: The secured dropoff and central processing for arrests was to the right, along with the jail itself. Records was to the left. Up at the top of the curving stairs were the offices for Homicide and Internal Affairs, as wel as the squad room and locker room. Third floor was the new lab and the evidence lockup.

Reil y hit the stairs two at a time, passing a couple of col eagues who were going slower than her. But as she stepped off on the second-floor landing she lost her momentum. The wide-open area up ahead had a bank of desks where the pool of admin support people worked. Front and center among the young men and women? Brittany spel ed Britnae, a.k.a., the Pneumatic Office Hottie.

The blonde had a hand mirror up and was running her fingertip under one heavily MAC’d or Bobbi Brown’d or Sephora’d eye. Next move was to fluff the curls. Last was to smack her lips and pout.

Al the while, she was bending forward and flashing her double Ds to. . . herself.

Evidently pleased with her paint job and landscaping, Britnae turned her wrist and checked one of those little itty-bitty watches some women wore, the kind that had linked bracelets and tiny mother-of-pearl faces.

She probably had baskets of bangles, and dangly earrings that hung from a little stand, and a closet ful of pink stuff.

Reil y’s closet looked like Marilyn Manson’s. Assuming he’d been reborn as an accountant. And she didn’t do jewelry. Her watch? Casio. Black and shockproof.

Three guesses who Britnae was getting ready for. . . and the first two didn’t count: The girl had been panting after Veck since the day he’d come through that door two weeks ago.

Not that it was Reil y’s business.

Before someone booked her for being a creepy-ass stalker, she hurried along to the IA division and went to her cubicle. Pretending to be alert, she signed into her computer, but as she went into her e-mail, everything had been translated into a foreign language. Either that or her bain had forgotten English.

Goddamn DelVecchio.

Cal ing
her
a coward? Just because she wanted to keep things professional? He didn’t know half the hel she’d been through. Besides, she’d been trying to help him . . .

Made her want to feed the guy his breakfast with her size nine.

Getting with the program, she cal ed up the report she’d filed via e-mail early this morning and double-checked her work, going through the whole document from beginning to end.

When her phone rang, she reached for the receiver without having to look up. “Reil y.”

“Thomason.” Ah, the lab upstairs. “Just wanted you to know that I think Kroner’s injuries were the result of teeth.”

“As in . . .”

“Fangs, specifical y. I met up with the medics last night at the ER and was there as Kroner was intubated, stitched up, and transfused. I had a good look at those neck and facial wounds. When a knife is used in an attack like that, you tend to get very clear boundaries on the lacerations. His flesh had been torn—which was what I saw when that tiger ate that trainer last year.”

Wel , that sealed the deal, didn’t it—and made her worried about what might be loose in those woods. “What kind of animal are we talking about?”

“That I’m not too sure of. I took some tissue samples—God knows there were plenty to go around—and we’l find out what kind of saliva was left. I’l tel you this, though: Whatever it was? We’re talking big, powerful . . . and pissed off.”

“Thanks so much for cal ing me this fast.”

“No problem. I’m going to catch a couple of Zs and get back to work. I’l be in touch.”

After she hung up, she typed out an addendum to her report, hit ctrl-P and then sent the document as an attachment to the sergeant on e-mail.

Gathering her file and cel phone, she went to stand by the printer as the pages licked out of the machine.

At least she had some evidence to back up what she’d told the sarge before breakfast this morning.

On that note, she thought about the diner. She probably shouldn’t have asked Veck to join her. He was right; it did look bad, but more to the point, they could have avoided that unpleasant exchange. Which had hurt, actual y.

Not that it should have. Casual comment over coffee when he was being inappropriate? Shouldn’t have bothered her. At al .

Or maybe it was just her being al ergic to the word
coward
.

Yeah, that was it.

Veck went through the lobby of headquarters like a cold draft, shooting around people, rushing across the floor. He hit the staircase and took the stone steps two at a time.

When he got to the second-floor landing, he headed left, but he wasn’t going to his office. Internal Affairs was where he was—

From out of nowhere, something pink and blond stepped in his path. “Hi!”

As he looked down at the girl, he thought . . . now he knew what tornadoes felt like when they came up to a trailer home: absolutely nothing. He’d just as soon mow her over to get to Reil y, if that was what it took.

“Hi!C she said again, like a one-note bird.

Man, too loud, too cheerful, too much flowery perfume. And what was with the lip gloss? Any more of that shit and she could give her own car an oil change.

“Hey. ’Scuse me—I’m late.”

Unfortunately, she decided to take up bal room dancing with him, jogging right when he did, and then left. When he stopped, she took a deep breath, or arched her back, or maybe hit some kind of air compressor, because suddenly she became Jessica Rabbit with the cleavage.

If she showed any more breast tissue, she’d be getting a goddamn mammogram.

“So,” she drawled, “I was wondering if you want some coffee . . .”

Tea . . . or me?
he finished in his head for her.

“Thanks, but I’m late for a meeting.” Sidestep.

Counterstep. “Wel , I could bring it to you?”

“No, thanks—”

She put her hand on his arm. “Real y, I don’t mind—”

The fine Officer Reil y picked that moment to come out of IA. And what do you know, she didn’t hesitate or show any change of expression—but then again, why in the hel should it bother her that he was getting the come-on from someone?

As she passed by, she nodded at him and said hi to his nemesis.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, beyond done with the delays.

“I’l come see you later,” Britnae cal ed out.

“Reil y,” he hissed.
“Reilly
.”

The woman he was actual y after stopped in front of the sarge’s office. “Yes?”

“I real y am sorry. For what I said. That was out of line.”

Reil y switched her file over to her left arm and smoothed her hair. “It’s okay. High-stress time. I understand.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Wouldn’t matter to me if it did.”

On that note, she pivoted on her sensible heel and pushed into the waiting room.

Okay . . . ouch. But he couldn’t blame her.

Instead of fol owing her inside, he just stood there like a plank as the door shut in his face, preoccupied by wanting to kick his own ass. Next thing he knew, the scent of fresh coffee announced that his partner had come up to him.

José de la Cruz looked tired, but alert, which was the man’s SOP. “How we doing?”

“Shitty.”

“You don’t say.” He handed over one of the two coffees in his mitts. “Drink this. Or maybe mainline it.”

“Thanks, man.”

“You ready?”

No. “Yeah.”

As they went into the office, Reil y glanced over to good-morning de la Cruz, then went back to talking to the sarge’s assistant.

Veck parked it on one of the old-school wooden chairs that were lined up against the wood-paneled wal s of the sergeant’s outer office. Drinking the coffee, he watched Reil y and noticed al kinds of minute details about her: theway she fussed with her right earring, like the back was loose; how she tended to bend her leg and tap the toe of her shoe when she was making a point; the fact that when she smiled, she had a gold fil ing on an upper molar that flashed ever so slightly.

She was real y attractive. Like,
really
attractive.

“So, I tried to cal you last night,” de la Cruz said quietly.

“My cel ’s at the lab right now.”

“You real y should get a landline.”

“Yeah.” He looked at his partner. “Guess they didn’t find much out there in the woods.”

“
Nada
.”

They sat side by side, drinking out of those paper mugs with the card deck suits on them. The coffee tasted awful, but it was hot and gave him something to do.

“You thought about kil ing Kroner, didn’t you.” As Veck shot a glance over, the other detective shrugged. “I saw you with that paparazzo, remember. I was the one who pul ed you off of him. Lot of anger.”

Veck resumed staring at Reil y, glad she was deep in conversation. Nodding in her direction, he said softly, “She doesn’t think I did it. I’m getting the impression you do, however.”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Don’t have to.”

“Nah, I saw the shape Kroner was in. Saw you, too. That’s an equation that doesn’t add up.”

“So why bring up intent?”

“Because I think it’s on your mind.”

Veck made a noncommittal noise. “If she recommends that I stay on active duty, are you going to have a problem with that.”

“No, but I think you shouldn’t be out on the streets alone right now.”

Funny, he felt the same way. And wasn’t that a bitch. “We gonna be grafted at the hip, then?”

The sarge opened his office door and stuck his gray-haired head out. “Let’s do this.”

Reil y unplugged from the assistant, and Veck and de la Cruz fol owed her into the larger office beyond. The conference table in the far corner was big enough to seat everyone comfortably, and she took the chair farthest away from Veck—which meant she was right across from him. No eye contact; no surprise.

Fucking hel .

“So I’ve read the report you e-mailed me,” the sergeant said to Reil y. “Anything else?”

“Just this addendum which I also sent through.” She passed copies around, and then entwined her fingers together and sat back. “I stand by my conclusions.”

The sarge looked over at de la Cruz. “Anything to add?”

“No. I’ve read the report as wel and it says it al .”

“Then I’m prepared to agree with Officer Reil y.” The sergeant stared hard at Veck. “I like you. You’re my kind of cop. But I won’t keep anyone under the badge who’s a danger to others. Reil y here’s your new partner—I can’t spare de la Cruz for the probational hand-holding period I’m laying on you. Which is a month, minimum.”

Reil y showed no reaction to the reassignment, but she was a professional, wasn’t she.“Can I work on Kroner?” Veck asked.