by J. R. Ward
Her eyes went over him quickly. His long hair was pulled back and tied at the base of his neck, his suit and tie black, his button-down white. His shoes were polished, and he smelled like he was fresh from the shower.
He looked as good as he always did.
His blue eyes swung back around to her. "I got your message yesterday. I've been meaning to call you."
"Oh, listen, with what happened at the theater, I can imagine things have gotten complicated."
"They even called me down to the station for questioning." As her eyes bugged, he shook his head. "They're doing it to everyone. It's crazy--but you know, someone's dead and they have to find out who killed her."
Another funeral, Cait thought. For another family, another segment of the community.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"I'm fine. It's just been an exhausting twenty-four hours."
"I can't even imagine. Listen, I haven't read the paper or been online since it happened--who was she?"
"Nobody important." He winced. "What I mean is--"
"No, I know what you meant. And good Lord, if there's anything I can do to help, let me know."
He smiled at her. "You're the best--and I'm going to take you up on that."
Instantly, a shaft of guilt went through her. But come on, now was not the time to tell him that they were on friends-only status. Or to focus on anything but Sissy and her family.
"Where are you sitting?" he asked, nodding to the church proper.
"In the back somewhere. I'm going to the burial, too."
"So am I. You want to ride over together?"
She nodded. "Yes, please. That would be great."
He kissed her cheek and then walked off, going through the double doors, and striding forward to the front--where he talked to a couple of men who were wearing robes.
She probably should find a place to sit. They'd be starting soon.
Just as she passed over the threshold, something along the far left caught her eye. It was the janitor she'd seen the day before, still dressed in his mucky green overalls. He was looking right at her, his old face wearing such sorrow on it, it seemed as though he knew Sissy personally, too.
He lifted his hand in a wave, and after Cait returned the greeting, the janitor turned away, walking along the far edge of the pews, staring over the assembled masses as if mourning along with them. And then he did the strangest thing. At the front of the church, he slid in beside a young girl who was maybe fourteen or so--who had long straight blond hair just as Sissy had.
Had to be Sissy's sister.
Guess he was a personal friend of the family's.
"Excuse us," someone said from behind her.
"Oh, sorry." Cait moved aside so that a woman with a stroller could get by.
When Cait glanced up again ... the janitor was gone.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
Sissy only half heard the words, and what did register was filtered through some kind of echo-chamber effect, the syllables repeating endlessly, overlapping one another until she wasn't sure exactly what had been spoken.
Standing on the lawn of the great cathedral, she felt like the ghost she was, the few stragglers who were arriving for her funeral not noticing her presence--or that of the angel who stood beside her.
She had debated whether to come or not. When Chillie had pitched the newspaper on the front porch this morning, she'd had no intention of reading it--but when she'd unwrapped the thing, she'd seen her own picture below the fold.
And learned the when and where of her own funeral.
Adrian had insisted on coming with her, and she'd been glad, actually. The ride on his Harley had done a lot to clear her head--although all that improvement had gone right into the crapper as soon as they'd pulled up to the church she'd gone to most every Sunday of her life. And then she'd started to recognize the people who were coming up the broad walkway to the front entrance: Her old babysitter with her husband and her baby in a stroller. Her choir teacher from elementary school. The people who lived across the street.
She'd thought that seeing her parents and her sister would be the worst part. And that was probably the truth--so how much harder was this going to get?
"I want to go in," she said. Except her feet didn't move.
"Here." A huge forearm butted into her peripheral vision. "I'll walk with you."
Sissy ended up holding on to the angel's huge biceps for dear life as the two of them entered through the open doors.
"My pictures ..." she whispered, looking around.
About a dozen pieces of her art were mounted on easels in a semi-circle around the foyer, the pastels and ink drawings and oil paintings all ones she had done as part of her art major.
"Oh, my God, I remember doing this last fall." Walking over, she stood in front of a depiction of the Caldwell bridges that she'd painted in the rust-colored hues of autumn. She'd completed it right on the shores of the Hudson, had sat there in the sunshine for two hours with the canvas and her palette and a conviction that life lasted forever--and wasn't that a good thing.
A sudden flare of organ music suggested the service was about to get started.
Pressing on, she overrode a strange terror and walked through the narthex's double doors into the body of the church. Everything was just as she remembered, which was a shock of sorts. Regardless of what the calendar said, she was still convinced she had been gone for centuries.
From that moment on, autopilot took over, some inner metronome driving her footsteps forward, left, right, left, right. When she got to the front, and saw her parents and her sister, she stopped.
"Here, take this," Adrian said gruffly.
As a red do-rag was pressed into her hands, she wondered why she needed it--but that was when she found out she was crying: Tears were streaming down her face, falling to the floor of the church.
"You can go sit down if you like."
Sissy wheeled around, expecting to see some late arrival hustling for a seat and the person at the end of the nearest pew moving aside to accommodate them. Instead, it was a janitor she didn't recognize, an old guy in a dark green jumpsuit.
And he was looking directly at her.
"Go on, there's a seat over there for you."
"How can you see me?" she blurted.
"Because you're here," he answered gently, like that was self-evident. "Go on now, and sit."
She looked over to where he was pointing, and immediately shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't--"
"It's there for you, Sissy. Sit."
The chair he wanted her to use was the gold leafed one that was set between the Virgin Mary's side chapel and that of John the Baptist. Raised up on a pedestal, it had a red velvet cushion, and filligreed woodwork, and was the closest she'd ever gotten to any kind of throne.
Ever since she was a young girl, she had always wanted to sit down in it--even if just for a heartbeat. But of course, there had always been a wide satin ribbon tied across that seat, a clear warning to all that it was a work of art, not something functional.
Certainly not for a little girl. Or a big one, at that.
Today there was no ribbon tied between the curling arms.
"It is for you."
The janitor put his hand on her shoulder, and instantly the most incredible sense of calm came over her, every painful nuance of this dissipating ... replaced by a profound sense of love for all the people who had come for her and her family.
So much love, forming the foundation of the agony within the congregation, but also providing the only uplift that was available.
Following the janitor, Sissy went over and stepped up onto the platform. As organ music crescendoed, she sat in the chair, placing her hands gently on the golden arms. And it was strange, in a way ... this felt proper, not foreign.
Turning to look at the janitor--
He was gone, as if he'd never been ... nowhere in the crowd, not walking away down an aisle, not standing off to the
side. It was as if he had just disappeared into thin air--and yet, Adrian was nodding his head as if he approved of something someone was saying to him.
Looking away from the angel, she focused on the altar, and it was at that moment that the organ let out another powerful surge of harmony ... and a guy she vaguely recognized, who had a ponytail and was wearing a black suit, walked out from behind the velvet curtains.
Her only other thought, as he began to sing strong and true ... was that he had a halo, too.
Chapter
Fifty-one
Duke was so done with the silent-type peanut gallery that was riding shotgun next to him. The son of a bitch just sat there in the passenger seat, lighting up every once in a while, as they went from park to park.
All without saying a fucking word.
Ah, hell, it could be worse, Duke supposed. Someone with a chatty streak would have done his nut totally in.
"Last one," he said, talking mostly to himself.
Pulling in between the cast-iron gates of Pine Grove Cemetery, he checked the clock on the dash: three thirty. Good.
The guy next to him finally showed a reaction, sitting up in his seat and frowning. "Hey, you mind if we go right here at this lane?"
"No difference to me. We have to case the entire place."
Following the winding road, Duke looked over the headstones without seeing them. Instead, he was focused on the cedar trees and the maples, the oaks and the pines, looking for downed limbs, or branches that were hanging half-dead. The cemetery had been bleeding money for the last five years, and on the brink of ruin--at least until the city had stepped in and taken over the heavy-lifting maintenance.
And there was an internal logic to that Robin Hood routine: Rumor had it the mayor's mother was buried somewhere on the grounds--no way he was going to let things go into the shitter on his watch in office.
So, yeah, muni workers were now responsible for snow removal and large projects, with the mowing left to a skeleton crew of groundsmen.
Whatever. More hours for him, which he--
He knew even before they got close what burial was happening ... Cait's Lexus was among the row of cars parked off to the side of the lane.
Long, long, long line of vehicles.
Duke drove past them and intended to keep going--except then he saw someone he recognized. And no, it wasn't his woman that got his attention. It was the motherfucker standing next to her.
He hit the brakes.
"What the hell are they doing here?" he heard his wingman say.
Funny, he was thinking that very thing.
The two of them got out of the truck at the same time.
The burial had obviously just concluded, people breaking off into little somber groups and talking quietly as they dispersed into the sunlight.
It was with a sense of utter unreality that Duke watched from across the way as Cait's blond head turned to a man who had long, dark hair pulled back from a face that belonged on a magazine cover. The pair of them went over to a group of three who were standing directly over the grave, and after a suitable period of hugging, they turned away and began walking in the direction of her car.
Duke stepped forward before he was aware of moving. And then he was walking a path to intercept them.
Cait saw him first, and her expression changed instantly, recognition replacing her sadness. "Duke! Hi," she called out with a wave.
Look at me, Duke thought. Look at me, you son of a bitch.
His brother's eyes swung around, and it was so satisfying to watch the bastard's whole body tighten up as if he'd been slapped. There was also a moment of confusion as he watched Cait rush forward, her arms out and ready for an embrace.
As she came up to him, Duke was more than happy to oblige, pulling her against him, staring over her head at his godforsaken brother.
A flash of epic fury made G.B. seem downright ugly, but of course he covered it up fast. He'd always been good at that. Very few knew what he was really like.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Cait said against Duke's pecs.
He bent down and kissed her, right on the mouth. "Just doing my job. You okay?"
"It's been rough. I didn't expect it to be this hard."
G.B. walked right up, his eyes burning, his face as relaxed as ever. "Hi."
Duke smiled with his teeth. "Hey."
Cait frowned. "You two know each other?"
"Yes, we do." G.B. put his hand out. "How are you?"
The only reason Duke shook the goddamn thing was that he didn't want Cait involved any further in what was going on between them. She'd made her choice, and it was the right one--and that was the extent of her entanglement.
Also, as soon as he could, he was going to tell her everything--he'd already decided that over the course of the day. But not here, at the frickin' cemetery, two minutes after she'd buried her student.
G.B. smiled like the motherfucker he was. "So, Cait, can you take me back to my car? I have to go to rehearsals."
She stepped away. "Oh, yes, of course." She glanced at G.B. "Will you give us a moment?"
Yeah, G.B., run along there, asshole, would you.
Only Duke knew exactly how pissed off the guy had to be as he nodded like nothing was doing and sauntered away.
Cait turned to him and rubbed his arms. "I'm glad to see you."
"Me, too. Lucky coincidence."
"Listen, if it's okay with you, I'd like to go home and finish my work tonight. With everything that's been going on, I'm worried about getting behind, and the deadline is coming soon. If I press through, I can get it all wrapped up, and then..."
"Yeah. Absolutely. You just call me, okay? I'm around."
"Perfect. Thank you." She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed him briefly. "See you very soon?"
"You got me, lady." He tucked some of that hair behind her ear. "Anytime you want me."
He watched her walk off toward her car, pausing to let a minivan by before crossing the lane.
When she left, G.B. was in her passenger seat.
Across the distance that separated him from his brother, Duke could feel the hatred like an ice pick going into the side of his head--and for a moment, he nearly shouted after her.
But his brother was a shit, not a killer.
And this was quite a moment, wasn't it. Without meaning to, it looked as though Duke had won the game he'd taken himself out of.
As Cait drove them back to wherever they'd been, Duke couldn't imagine the conversation. At least G.B. had nothing on him, though; he'd always kept his nose clean. What was the guy going to do? Tell her how Duke had been with a woman and G.B. had come along and knocked her up and left her and the kid high and dry?
Yeah, that would reflect well on the SOB.
So strange ... G.B. had been full of hate since the day they'd been born, almost as if there had been a set amount of morality that had had to be split between the pair of them--and Duke had gotten the largest balance by far of however much there was.
And it wasn't like he himself was a rabid Good Samaritan or some shit.
Look what he'd been willing to do to Cait.
Until he'd come to his senses, that is.
Jim strode across the lane toward the grave site. As he closed in, he was cursing himself. Of course Sissy would want to be at her own funeral--and he should have been the one to take her. He hadn't known when it was though ... and the criminal thing? He hadn't thought to find out.
Most of the people who'd come were wandering off, but not Sissy or her family. The grave was a square hole cut in the earth, a yawning mouth set to claim the remains in the coffin. Sissy's mom and dad and sister were on one side ... Sissy on the other. And whereas her family were looking down; she was staring at them.
Adrian, who was off to the side, gave a nod.
"How's she doing?" Jim asked as he came up to the guy.
Dumb fucking question.
Adrian shrugged. "She's amazing. That's how she's doing.
"
"Oh." Jim cleared his throat. "Yeah. Good."
Talk about inappropriate. He wasn't actually chaffing at his buddy over here because the bastard had taken the girl to her funeral.
Wow. Classy.
With tangible sorrow, her parents put their arms around their remaining daughter and the trio turned away, leaving Sissy behind.
"Gimme me a minute, would ya?" Jim asked.
Not waiting for an answer, he went over to Sissy. "Hey, there."
She jumped as if surprised. "Oh, hi."
Instantly, he recognized that something was off with her. But come on, like this was happy times? "How you feeling?"
"Good. You know, fine. Okay. I'm all right."
He wanted to put his arms around her and pull her into his chest. He wanted his body to be what she held on to as she struggled to find her footing. He wanted to be the guy she turned to when she needed something, anything.
Instead, they just stood side by side, as her eyes clung to her mother, father and sister. The emotion in her face was so powerful, it was like a tangible object, something with heft and substance and a handle to grab onto.
God knew she was going to be carrying that shit around with her for a very, very long time.
Just as he was about to tell her how sorry he was, she shook her head and met his eyes. "So, how's work?"
Bizarre thing to ask about, considering what she was going through, but maybe she needed the distraction?
"Good. Fine. You know."
Guess two could play at that game.
She nodded over at the tall, dark-haired man Jim had been tailing for the past twenty-four hours. "Is he the soul?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"Listen, Sissy, I can ..." Do what? Take some more time off? Not going to happen. Devina might not have shown up here, but she was, as always, a busy little bitch.
You can't blame a girl for trying.
God, he couldn't believe she'd somehow infiltrated the spell around the mansion. And crap, he needed to tell Adrian what had happened. It was just so damned embarrassing. He had, however, redoubled the protection at the house. Maybe it had weakened because he'd had his head up his ass--
"... was he an angel, too?"
He shook himself back to attention. "I'm sorry?"
"The other guy? Who's with my old teacher over there?"
Jim pivoted. "I'm so not following this. What?"
"Over by the Lexus. That singer with the ponytail. He's got a halo, too--but everyone can see him."
About twenty-five yards off, a blond-haired woman was getting into an SUV with a man who was tall and had long black hair. Neither one appeared to be particularly happy, but there was certainly no glow or anything around either of their heads.
