Further than she could afford.
She closed her eyes, recalling the collective shock that had greeted her as she’d stormed out of Roberts’s office. She’d raised her voice as she’d struck out at Riley and Roberts—but how loud? How much had her colleagues overheard? She cringed from the memory of her words. Words filled with truths none of them should know, truths that would give Bell all the ammunition he needed to deep-six her career if he heard about them. When he heard. Because given the number of open mouths when she’d stormed out of Roberts’s office just now, it wouldn’t take long for the grapevine to do its damage.
Hell.
The exterior bathroom door opened. Closed. Footsteps crossed the tile floor.
“Alex, it’s Elizabeth.”
Her eyes flew open, and she glared at the beige stall door.
“I owe you an apology,” Riley continued. “I should have anticipated that things would deteriorate after you left Vancouver. Springing my presence on you in that fashion was badly thought out. I’m sorry.”
Badly thought out? It was a goddamn ambush.
“Poor judgment aside, however, circumstances remain unchanged. On Dr. Bell’s recommendation, you’re required to attend daily sessions with a therapist. Staff Roberts felt—and I agreed—that you might be more comfortable with me than with Dr. Bell. The decision, of course, is yours.”
Only with the greatest effort did Alex remain seated and not barge out of the stall. She gaped at the door. After her outburst in Roberts’s office, to hear Riley speaking with such calm, such reasonableness, as if Alex was just the run-of-the-mill, overstressed cop—
It was no bloody wonder the psychiatrist irritated her so much.
Riley sighed and her voice softened. “Damn it, Alex, I’m not the ogre you think I am. Talk to me. Give me a chance to help you.”
Alex blinked away an unexpected haze.
Another sigh from outside the stall. Then Riley returned to her usual brisk, professional self. “Have it your way, then, but I’m not giving up and you’re not getting out of this. Bell isn’t the only one who thinks you need to talk, and your performance just now only makes me more certain. Staff Roberts has arranged the use of an office for me while I’m here. I’ll leave the information on your desk. As there’s never any time like the present, we’ll start this afternoon. I’ll expect you at two o’clock.”
Hollow footsteps retreated, pausing at the door. “And, Alex, if you’re considering skipping, don’t. Not if you want to remain on the job.”
Door open.
Door closed.
Alex sagged, body, mind, and soul. So that was it. She’d run out of time and escape routes. If she wanted to have any impact at all on this whole mess, then she truly had no choice. She was going to have to finally succumb to having someone poke around in her head and, worse, her heart. And she’d have to do so while facing the stares and murmurs behind her back from everyone in the office who’d heard her outburst.
Her brain snagged on one thought that stood out from the rest, and the more she circled it, the more ludicrous it became. She thought she could have an impact? By doing what, running around after a handful of human murderers in the midst of everything the world faced? Who the hell was she trying to kid? What difference would her efforts make in a war between supernatural beings that could—and would—wipe out the entire mortal race? What—the outer washroom door opened again.
“Naphil?”
She stared at the beige metal between her and Michael. Now what?
“Are you all right?”
Whatever had begun to give way inside her in Roberts’s office snapped. She stood, slammed open the stall door, and glowered at the Archangel in the main doorway. “You have got to be joking.”
Michael’s dark brows meshed.
“No,” she said. “No, Michael, I am not all right. I will never be all right. None of us will be. Your precious One has made certain of that.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Michael stepped inside the washroom. He closed the door behind him, keeping one hand braced against it. “Humanity has played a role in this, too, Naphil. You’ve had free will since your creation. You’ve been responsible for your own decisions, your own choices, for millennia. Yet look where you are, at what you’ve accomplished.”
“Some of us. Not all.”
“Enough to jeopardize your race right now. And not for the first time.”
“Oh, don’t hand me that bullshit. We may not be perfect, but we’re a long, long way from being responsible for our total demise. Lucifer and the Nephilim will take care of that when you and the others have finished battling it out on our turf, and the One won’t raise a hand to stop them. Will she?”
“She has done everything—”
“Will she?” she demanded harshly.
“Let. Me. Finish.” Michael said, his voice so hard that she had to fight an urge to step back. “First of all, we’re not battling it out anywhere at present, least of all in your realm. What’s happening to the planet is because of the powers Seth refuses to take back, not because of us. Second, the One has done everything she can. Your race has the capacity to save itself from the Nephilim or not. It’s your choice. She cannot—and will not—make that decision for you. For any of you.”
“Bullshit. She’s already asking me to sacrifice everything I love with no guarantee that it will make any difference. That feels pretty decisive to me.”
“You’re right. She is.”
Alex blinked her surprise. He agreed?
“But the decision is still yours, Naphil. You can refuse, and do what you were thinking of doing when I walked in on you now. Leave, turn your back on what might very well be a lost cause, take what happiness you can while it’s possible.”
Alex jutted out her chin. “But?”
“But you’ll have to live with your choice.”
An invisible fist buried itself in her gut. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. No sound emerged.
Michael looked down on her from across the few feet of tiled space between them. “We’ve arranged it so the words you spoke to your supervisor will be forgotten by those who overheard them. Try to be more circumspect in future.”
“That’s it? That’s all I get? Do the right thing and try not to screw up again? That’s the best you can give me?”
“What more is there?”
“Hope? Encouragement? A word of goddamn apology?”
“Apology.” His eyes turned to emerald chips of ice, and his black wings began to slowly unfurl, as wide as the limited space would allow. “Apology,” he repeated. “And just what would you have me apologize for, Naphil? My kin giving up their soulmates and their free will just to survive the war we fought on your behalf? Our Creator not sacrificing herself sooner for your benefit? Are you really that arrogant?”
The metal frame of the bathroom stall bit into her spine between her shoulder blades. Michael hadn’t moved an inch, but his presence still pressed in on her, driving her back. Her stomach flip-flopped. When the hell would she learn that pissing off an Archangel was not a bright thing to do?
“That’s not what I meant,” she began.
He fixed her with a dagger-like stare. “I don’t give a damn what you meant. I’ve told you what your choices are, now stop feeling sorry for yourself and make your decision.”
And with that parting gem of warm fuzziness, Heaven’s greatest warrior simply disappeared, leaving Alex staring yet again at the emptiness he left behind. Slowly her alarm gave way to renewed irritation, then to annoyance, and then to outright anger. She scowled. Stop feeling sorry for yourself? And he called her arrogant. The self-righteous, pompous—
The washroom door swung inward, and Joly stepped through the opening. “There you are.”
Alex threw her arms wide. “What is this, goddamn Grand Central Station?”
Joly paused, looked around the room that was obviously empty but for them, and raised a brow. “You okay, Jarvis?”
&n
bsp; Apart from wanting to kick something? “I’m fine. Did you want something, or can I get a little privacy?”
“There’s a meeting,” he said. “In the conference room. Staff Roberts sent me to get you.”
Alex hesitated, her lips pressed together so tightly that numbness set in. Michael’s words rang in her ears, reached deeper to resonate in her soul. He was right. She could walk away now and be done with it all. With the murders, the angels, the Fallen Ones, the Nephilim. Walk away and take the only chance at happiness she might ever have. But could she live with that choice?
She looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Met the resignation in her own gaze. Closed her eyes against the weariness that seeped from her every pore.
“I’m coming,” she told Joly. “Just give me a minute.”
Not until the door swung shut again did it register that he’d behaved normally. As if he’d heard nothing, knew nothing, despite being planted directly outside Roberts’s door when she’d emerged after her meltdown. As if it had never happened. That must have been what Michael meant. Heaven had wiped the memory from them. She tipped her head back against the stall.
Damn, what she wouldn’t give to be in their shoes.
Chapter 34
“… on those files?”
In the silence that followed the question, Alex raised her head. She found all eyes in the room on her and looked over at her supervisor. Hell. That would teach her to tune out of a meeting.
“Sorry, were you talking to me?”
A flash of impatience crossed Roberts’s features. “I asked where you were on the files I asked you to review.”
You mean in my spare time? Alex bit back the retort. “I haven’t had a chance to finish them yet,” she said.
“I want them done by tomorrow.” Roberts nodded at her notepad. “What’s that?”
“A list. Additional terms I thought tech might want to watch for on the Internet.”
He held out his hand.
She hesitated, then tore the sheet of paper from the notepad and passed it to Joly beside her. It moved from hand to hand around the table, each holder taking a second to skim the contents—Nephilim, Satan, second coming, Lucifer, angels, demons, fallen angels. Some of the terms were probably on tech’s watch list already. Others, such as Nephilim, maybe not so much.
The paper reached their staff inspector. Apart from a few raised eyebrows among her colleagues—and Joly’s narrowed, sidelong speculation—no one seemed overly perturbed. Alex relaxed a little. Michael’s magic memory-wipe was holding.
Roberts scanned the list, and then, without so much as glancing her way, held it aloft.
“For those of you who didn’t have the opportunity to sneak a peek, Jarvis has just added to our list of Internet watch terms. The terms she is suggesting tie in with what’s going on out in Morinville and quite probably with yesterday’s stoning. They are also religious in nature. Now, we all know what happens the moment the press gets wind that the police are investigating any kind of religious angle. So let me be clear: your answer to any question put to you by a journalist is ‘no comment,’ because if anything on this list makes the news, I will have someone’s head. Now get to work. Jarvis, stay.”
Again?
Alex subsided into her chair and watched the others file out. Roberts closed the door behind them, keeping his hand on the knob.
“I’ll be brief. What happened in my office …”
She stiffened. He remembered?
“I’m sorry. I know I sprang Dr. Riley on you, but you would have objected if you’d known in advance.”
“That’s it?” she asked cautiously. Nothing about her information dump?
“I don’t know what else you want me to say. My hands are tied, Detective. I have my orders, and you have yours. You’re to see Riley.”
Alex looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. He didn’t remember.
“Like I said, Detective, this one’s out of my hands. Though if I ever catch a certain psychologist in a dark alley somewhere, I don’t guarantee his continued well-being.” He half smiled, not entirely in jest. “My question at the moment is, are you good to remain today, or do you need some time?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure? You’ve been under one hell of a lot of pressure.”
A significant portion of which waited for her at home.
“I’m sure.”
“All right, then. Let’s get back to work.”
***
“Jarvis! You have company.”
Alex looked up at the sound of her name and found Joly near the door, waving for her attention. Seth towered over him. Her stomach migrated to her toes. Hell. Now what? She flipped the file folder closed and stood, aware of the curious eyes following his progress across the office.
And the watchful ones.
Catching Aramael’s eye, she scowled a warning at him. Stay away. She still hadn’t forgiven him for siccing Michael on her instead of handling her meltdown on his own—and she had no intention of letting him anywhere near Seth. Returning her glare, Aramael stepped back into the coffee room from which he’d emerged. She met Seth halfway across the office.
“Is everything all right?” she asked. “Did I miss a call? Did you find something?”
A shadow crossed his eyes. “I didn’t realize that was a prerequisite for seeing you.”
She swallowed an automatic denial. He was right. When had she stopped feeling anticipation rather than dread at the sight of him? “It’s not. You’ve just never come to the office before, and I thought—” She touched his hand. “Never mind. I’m happy to see you.”
“I wanted to take you for lunch.”
“Lunch?”
“I believe that’s a customary activity for a couple.”
“It is. It’s just—” She snapped her teeth shut against the words that threatened. So ordinary. Too ordinary to fit with the context of what they were. What they knew. What they did. And certainly too ordinary to follow on the heels of their argument the night before. The shadows in his eyes deepened and guilt twinged in her heart.
Lunch was ordinary, but maybe that’s what they needed. What she needed before she had to act on Michael’s—
No. She wasn’t going to think about Michael now. Seth was making an effort here and she was damned if she wouldn’t meet him halfway. At least this once.
Roberts’s files would have to wait for an hour.
And so would Armageddon.
“I’d love to go for lunch with you,” she said. “I’ll get my coat.”
Outside on the sidewalk, she reached for Seth’s hand. “Let’s walk for a bit. I haven’t been out of the office all morning. The fresh air is nice.”
So was pretending, for a few minutes at least, that they were almost a normal couple.
Seth stared down at their linked fingers.
Almost.
“Also customary,” she said lightly. She tipped her head to the left. “This way. There’s a sandwich shop a couple of blocks over.”
Seth fell into step beside her, and their silence—perhaps for the first time ever—was comfortable. It didn’t last long.
“Must your bodyguard follow us?”
Alex glanced over her shoulder and saw Aramael a couple of dozen feet behind. Hell. She pulled her hand from Seth’s grasp. “Wait here.”
Doing an about-face, she walked back to Aramael. “Go away.”
“I can’t do that if I’m going to protect you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Alex—”
“No. It’s broad daylight. We’re on a busy street. No one is coming after me here.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m willing to take the chance.” She dropped her voice. “Aramael, I need this. Please.”
Aramael’s gaze bored into hers, flicked to Seth, darkened, returned. “I’ll pull back, but not all the way.”
“Damn it!”
“I won’t risk it.
I can’t.”
Alex met the granite-hard inflexibility in his eyes, spun away, and went to rejoin Seth, skirting a homeless man picking through a garbage can. “Let’s just go,” she said wearily. To her relief, Seth made no objection.
This time, however, their hands stayed in their respective pockets.
Chapter 35
Mittron stared after the couple walking down the sidewalk, shock holding him immobile. The Naphil and the Appointed? How—? What—? He dropped a discarded sandwich back into the garbage can from which he’d pulled it and pressed his fingers against his skull. This newest drug might muffle the voices, but it did the same to his thoughts. Holding on to an idea for more than a few seconds took conscious effort … sorting through something as big as this seemed impossible.
Seth and the woman disappeared around a corner. Dropping his hands to his sides, he looked for the Archangel that had been following, but Aramael had vanished. Mittron shuffled after the couple, his pursuit of the woman automatic. Follow, watch, wait for her to be alone. Seth’s presence changed nothing. Well, it did, but it didn’t and—
He smacked his fists into the sides of his head, interrupting the thought-loop threatening to form. A woman walking toward him scurried off the curb, out of his way. He scowled. For an instant, he was tempted to step toward her, to see if he could drive her farther onto the street and into the traffic … No. Focus.
Follow, watch, wait for her to be alone. Follow, watch, wait—
Wait. She’d sent Aramael away, which meant she was alone. He looked over his shoulder to double-check. There was no sign of the Archangel. Hope flickered, and his heart rate kicked up. This was it. This was his chance. His gaze snapped back to the end of the block ahead of him. He sped up his shamble to a stagger and rounded the corner in the Naphil’s wake, searching for her familiar blond head.
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