Sins of the Angels (26 page)

Lose her mind slowly or just get it over with?

“No desk duty,” she said. “Being cooped up like that would definitely put me over the edge.”

Roberts nodded. “Let me know if you change your mind. And when you get that appointment.”

Alex pushed out of the chair and crossed to the door. Trent waylaid her just outside.

“Well?” he asked.

She favored him with a baleful glare. “You win.”

“He refused?”

“Outright, unless I produce a medical certificate attesting to the fact that I'm losing my mind.”

Trent's mouth tightened. “I'm sorry.”

She snorted and began to walk away. “Right.”

A hand on her shoulder stopped her, heavy and warm. Alex waited but didn't turn back.

Trent's voice deepened. Roughened. Washed over her in a wave that drew her in, folded around her. “I
am
sorry, Alex. More than you'll ever know.”

She almost faced him then. Almost gave in to the compassion she heard, almost turned to him for the answers she had denied the night before . . . at least the ones she thought she could handle. But then something changed, shifted, and her lungs deflated with a tiny hiss.

Wings,
she thought.
If I turn now, I'll see wings again.

And still she wavered. It would be so easy. Easier than continuing to fight, to deny what increasingly felt inevitable. She'd turn into that powerful chest, his arms would go around her, she'd feel his wings envelop her . . .

Alex pulled away from her partner's touch. “I have a call waiting,” she said.

 

Aramael watched Alex cross to her desk, her steps jolting, out of sync. His stomach rolled at the thought of what he had just done; of what he had, for a split second, wanted to happen more than anything else in the world. A shudder ran through him.

To open himself to a mortal like that—to deliberately set aside the veil that hid him from her; to wish for her to turn, to see him not just as a man, but as his true self, as an angel . . .

The absolute wrongness was staggering.

The regret that she hadn't done so, indefensible.

He drew a ragged breath. He was losing it, he thought with faint astonishment. Acting outside the parameters that guided his presence here on Earth; knowingly breaking the cardinal rule of noninterference with a mortal. How much further would this go? How much further would he
let
it go?

He watched as Alex reached her desk and picked up the phone. Her gaze met his for the space of a heartbeat and then moved away, simultaneously filling his soul and leaving it barren. Aramael closed his eyes.

No further, he thought. He could let it go no further. Somehow he had to find a way to regain his focus, his purpose. Had to find a way to finish this hunt and return to Heaven before he destroyed her.

Before she destroyed him.

 

“HEY, JEN,” ALEX
said into the receiver. From the safety of her desk, she risked a peek at where she'd left Trent and found him watching her in a decidedly hostile—and wingless—manner. Her pulse skipped a beat.

She realized her sister had stopped speaking. “Sorry. I wasn't listening. What was that?”

“I
said
,” replied her sister tersely, “when the hell were you planning to tell me you'd been hurt?”

Hurt. Alex looked down at her bandaged arm. She'd all but forgotten the injury. A sign of healing, or one more indication of her lack of touch with reality?

“I'm fine,” she assured Jen. “Just a scratch. How did you find out?”

“Good God, when was the last time you read a newspaper? You were on the front page yesterday morning and I've been trying to reach you ever since. Don't you ever check your voice mail?”

Alex pulled a face and sat down. She sensed a lecture coming on; she might as well make herself comfortable for it. “It's been a little busy around here.”

She tugged her cell phone free of its holder and flipped it open. Shit, the damned thing was dead. No wonder it had been so quiet today. She opened her desk drawer and rummaged for the charging cord. Jen hadn't said anything more and Alex paused. “Jen? You still there?”

“I'm here.” Jen's voice went soft. “Al—how are you holding up on this thing? Really.”

Alex swallowed past an unexpected snag in her throat. “I'm doing okay. Not sleeping much, but neither is anyone else.”

“What about the other stuff?”

“Other stuff?”

“What you wanted to talk about the other day. I wasn't a very good listener. I'm sorry.”

“It's fine, Jen, don't worry about it.”

“But I am worried. You haven't asked questions like that in more than twenty years. Something must have happened to trigger it now.”

Alex looked to Trent, now standing in the conference room doorway and glaring at the victim board.
You have no idea,
she thought, but she answered, “It's just the case, Jen. I've seen so many knifing victims in the last week, it's bound to bring up some stuff I'd rather not remember.”

Alex plugged in her cell phone, switched it back on, and set it on her desk, making a mental note to check her voice mail later and erase the multiple messages Jen had almost certainly left. From the corner of her eye, she saw Joly waving for her attention. She looked over at him and he held up the receiver and two fingers. She nodded. “Look, Jen, I have to go. I have another call.”

“But—”

“I'm
fine
, Jen. I'll call you when I can—maybe you can feed me dinner one of these days. Give Nina a hug for me. Love you.” With no small relief, Alex reached out and punched the button for line two of the office phone. “Homicide. Detective Jarvis.”

“Have you missed her yet?” a man's voice asked.

Alex frowned. “Missed who? Who is this?”

“One of your own is gone, and you haven't even noticed.” He
tsk
ed. “I'm disappointed, Naphil. I thought you would be at least slightly more astute than other mortals. That something of the divine might have survived in you.”

Naphil.
She'd heard that word before. In her kitchen. Spoken by a winged Trent to a purple-robed woman. Alex's initial confusion gave way to cold, certain instinct and her heart kicked against her ribs. She whirled in her chair and snapped her fingers for Joly's attention, pointing to her phone. His eyes widened a fraction and then he nodded, reaching for his receiver, understanding she needed a trace on the line. His partner stood and jogged across to Roberts's office, banging on the window for the staff inspector's attention.

Alex steadied herself and returned to the conversation. “I'm sorry I disappointed you—”

“No matter. I'm sure I'll still find what I need in you. The question is how I'm going to get to you. Christine was kind enough to provide me with your details, but I still have to find a way past
him
.”

“Get to me?”
Christine? How the hell does he know Christine?
Her throat dry, Alex scanned the office for Trent. She saw him on the far side of the room, striding toward her, and quailed from the fury that told her he knew who was on the other end of the line.

“So he hasn't told you. Then I wonder what it is that draws you to him, that makes you accept him into your life?” The voice took on a musing tone. “If you don't look to him for protection, then what—Oh, my. Really? This is an unexpected bonus, especially if he reciprocates.” The voice sharpened. “Does he?”

Trent was halfway to her, fiery wings unfurling in his wake.

“Does he what?” Alex's gaze locked with her partner.
If I'm to protect Alex . . .

“No, of course he won't have said anything. It's utterly forbidden. I'll tell you what. When you do find her, when you see what I've done to her and what I'm going to do to you, make sure he goes with you. I'll be there, watching, so that I might judge for myself. Can you do that for me, Naphil?”

Trent reached her desk, focused, intent, every inch a predator. A winged hunter. He held out his hand for the phone and Alex tightened her grip on the receiver. The conversation had come full circle and she could not end it now.

“When I find who?” she whispered, knowing. Dreading.

“The lovely Christine, of course.”

The line went dead.

Alex left Roberts cursing the tech support guy in his office and walked across to where Trent had all but paced a trench into the floor by the file room. His body stilled when he saw her coming, but the energy poured off him in waves. Raw, harsh, chaotic. Thick enough that, as Alex drew nearer, it took every ounce of willpower to keep moving toward him, every step feeling as if she drew a foot up from half-set concrete.

“Are you all right?” she asked when she reached him.

He stared at her, his hands on his hips, jacket shoved back. Surprise glinted from his turbulent eyes and for a breath, the energy around him edged down a notch.

It surged back up again immediately.

“I didn't feel him,” he grated. “Not even a whisper. I have
never
not felt my prey.”

Prey. Alex looked away and, with an effort, managed not to turn tail and run. She nodded toward the empty file room beside them. “Let's go somewhere quiet.”

Again the energy subsided. This time it stayed that way, still a moving, almost living force between them, but diminished. Trent regarded her wordlessly, then nodded and followed her into the room. Alex closed the door.

“The tape of the conversation is pure static,” she said without preamble, “and the trace was useless. Christine's vehicle is still in the parking lot, she isn't answering her cell phone, and she's not at her apartment. How do we find her?”

Trent expelled a blast of air and started pacing again. “I don't know. I told you, I can't—”

“Feel him,” Alex interrupted. “I get that. But you know him. You know how he operates, how he thinks. That makes you our best chance for finding him. And her.”

Trent stopped in front of her. “You're different,” he announced. “Something has changed.”

Alex looked away. “I don't know what you mean.”

Her partner was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “What did he say to you?”

“He said he had Christine—”

“What else?”

She licked dry lips. From the corner of her eye, she saw him track the movement. Torment flared across his face and sudden heat joined the energy still radiating from him, finding an answer low in her belly.
Focus, damn it.
She edged away.

“Alex.” Trent's voice stopped her mid-sidle. “What else did he say?”

Alex folded her arms across herself. Wished herself somewhere far, far away. Gritted her teeth and made herself answer. “He called me Naphil. Wondered how he was going to get past you to me.”

“And?”

Heat scorched her cheeks. “He wanted to know why I allowed you in my life if I wasn't looking for your protection, and if you felt the same way. He said that when we do find Christine, he'll be watching you to judge for himself.”

Silence.

“You don't want to ask questions.” A statement.

“No.” The word came out as a bare thread of sound. Alex cleared her throat. “No. I just want to find Christine. And the killer.”

“As do I.”

Alex thought about the voice mail message Christine had left for her, the clue that had to be in the fraud detective's words, if she could only decipher it. If
they
could only decipher it. She tightened her arms around her stomach and reached deep for the fortitude she needed for this next part. The part where she did what had to be done if they were to ever find their killer: she turned, faced Jacob Trent, and finally accepted him as her partner.

“Then let's do it,” she said.

 

ARAMAEL SWALLOWED A
snarl and heaved his pen across the room. “We're wasting time. This is getting us nowhere.”

Alex looked up from the files she'd spread across the conference table, frustration stamped in the stubborn, weary lines of her face. “You have a better idea?”

He shoved back from the table and prowled the room's perimeter. “You know I don't, but there must be something more than this”—he waved his hand—“this endless going over and over the same things. You can't tell me this works. That
this
is how you hunt.”

“Rather successfully, actually.” She tacked yet another annotated sticky note onto the wall among dozens of others. Flashed him a look of profound annoyance. “This is real police work, Trent. Meticulous, grinding, dry as dust, and nothing like the movies. But it does work, so until you figure out an alternative, suck it up.”

Aramael drew himself to his full height, towering over her. “Excuse me?” he breathed. He didn't care how much of a bond he felt with this woman, no one spoke to a Power like that.

But Alex showed not the slightest sign of intimidation. “You heard me. And for the record, we don't hunt, we investigate, and if you have nothing to contribute, then go find something else to do.”

He actually felt his wings begin to unfurl, his indignation was so great. He glowered at her, searching for words that would even begin to express his irritation, and then felt himself falter when she looked away from him. He stared down at her in surprise. She had never backed down before. Why—?

She reached for a file and his gaze locked on her hand. Or more precisely, on the tremble in her hand. His anger drained from him in a rush. She was afraid. He berated his stupidity. Of course she was afraid. She'd spoken to Caim, had seen what he was capable of, knew the threat against her was real. She was terrified, and with good reason.