Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

“Everything is always all-or-nothing with you. Life or death. If your husband knew how you acted tonight, what would he do?”

  For the first time in the conversation, I saw his point. “He’d probably tie me to the bed, and not in the fun way. Are you saying I’m too reckless?”

  He brushed some of the damp hair out of his eyes, sighing. “Not exactly. I just wanted you to know that the last few days have made me realize you don’t think about your own safety when it comes to other people. That worries me. It worries Michael too.”

  “Thank you for telling me. And I’d be really happy if you edited out some of what happened whenever you talk to Michael.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling an archangel to lie to his brother?”

  “No, just…leave a few details out. Maybe the ‘me getting shot’ part.”

  Gabriel pursed his lips in a scowl, but nodded anyway. “Fine. But you owe me.”

  “I always do. Thanks for saving my bacon. Again.” I kissed him on the cheek and stood up, suppressing yet another groan at the stinging pain in my chest. I walked through the kitchen and down the hallway to the guest room, taking a deep breath before I opened the door.

  The guest room was large and the walls were painted mint green. Lewis lay sleeping in a queen-sized bed with the hunter-green covers pulled up to his chest. Filipa had cleaned the cuts on his face, but his bottom lip was still swollen and there was a sizeable bruise on his left cheek. He looked so bad I wished I could heal him, but the wounds had been inflicted before he got kicked into the water so he’d notice if they were gone.

  I shut the door behind me and pulled up a chair I found nearby. I started to hold his hand, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Too domestic. I’d only known this man for what? Three days?

  I leaned my arms on my knees and pressed my hands to my lips. A small cut on the inside of my cheek stung a bit. Lamont was a pompous bastard, but he threw a good punch.

  “This is so stupid,” I muttered. “I haven’t known you a week and I almost died trying to save you. Is this all part of that parental guilt trip I never had as a child? Maybe it’s a good thing you weren’t there.”

  A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Y’know, when I was a kid, Aunt Carmen used to tell people she’d adopted me out of the goodness of her heart. They always believed her because my skin is so much darker than hers and her family’s. She told each person something different about where I’d come from. Nigeria, Egypt, South Africa, the works. The worst part was that she’d do it in front of me and if I said anything, she’d beat me when we got home. After a while, I stopped caring. I started focusing on how to get the hell out of there.”

  I tugged the ponytail holder out of my hair and started running my fingers through it, picking at the tangles that had formed. “I ran away five times. Never got very far. The cops always picked me up and brought me back. They never believed me when I told them how badly she treated me. There were supposed to be social workers who checked on me, but they never showed up. Aunt Carmen didn’t tell me about my mother dying until a week after it happened. She didn’t even let me go to the funeral. What a bitch, right?”

  Once all the knots in my hair were gone, I sat back in the chair, crossing my arms. “I didn’t find out until years later where they buried her. Both her parents had died years earlier, but you already knew that, didn’t you? Because of that, Aunt Carmen had to pay for the coffin and she picked this plot in the middle of nowhere. Michael and I were thinking about holding a memorial for Mom someday. She deserved better than what she got. It’s not all bad, though. I know she’s up there with Andrew taking care of business.”

  I paused, softening my tone. “Part of me wonders what I’d be like if Andrew had raised me. I don’t know much about him, really. It took me years to piece together details about his life. He seemed like he’d be a strict kind of dad. He’d tell me to clean my room and take out the trash and walk the dog. Threaten any cute guys who wanted to ask me out. But I always got this feeling that he’d also be really nice too. Take me to movies on the weekend or let me stay up late watching boxing matches and eating junk food.”

  I smiled. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I mean, I quit worrying about having a dad when I turned twelve. It probably wouldn’t matter if you decided to be a part of my life now anyway. My expectations are all based on crap I’ve read in books and seen in movies and TV. You came to tell me you were sorry because you thought you were going to die and in the process, you endangered my life by leading Lamont’s guys right to my doorstep. So I guess it sort of makes us even, in a really screwed up way. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t know what you’re gonna do when you wake up, but whatever you decide won’t change how I feel about you. If you stick around, great. If you leave, great. It’s still nice to say I have a father.”

  I stood up and hovered near him, unsure of what to do. Just as my fingertips brushed over his knuckles, the door opened. Gabriel poked his head in the room. His face had a look on it that made my stomach churn.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Michael and Belial are in jail.”

  Michael

  * * *

  I HADN’T BEEN incarcerated since the last turn of the century. Not much changed. Jail in Brazil didn’t feel all that different from jail in any other country. The stale smell of inmates with bad breath permeated the air along with the metallic scent of rust on the bars. The cots were thin and itchy. The cuffs were cold against my wrists. Yeah. Same old, same old.

  I’d been in my cell, alone, for over eight hours while they processed me. I sensed Belial in a nearby cell as well. It was logical to isolate us. The Brazilian police officers thought we were criminals—and had every right to considering what they walked in on—and didn’t want us conspiring or corroborating our stories before a member of the American embassy showed up to speak with us.

  Before then, though, they’d taken me to the prison medical ward and pried the bullet out of my shoulder. It hurt like hell, but I’d had worse wounds. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to see if Edmond had died on the way to the prison. I couldn’t sense him, either. When an angel’s body is at death’s door, his energy slips away and cannot be tracked again until he pulls through. I’d just have to hope I’d gotten lucky.

  Now, I sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair in an interrogation room with my hands cuffed behind my back, still caked with both Edmond’s blood and my own. Faded ivory walls. Dirty linoleum floor. It looked nothing like the shiny steel boxes you’d see in one of those police shows. There was a one-way mirror across from me, but it was cracked in a few places and there were handprints all over it.

  An armed officer stood by the door. The woman from the embassy finished asking me questions about my arrest and the current charges. Belial had said we should do the job and worry about clean-up later. I went along with it, but truthfully, I hadn’t wanted to. In the movies, the good guys slipped off into the night and never had to sit in jail cells that smelled like shit. In real life, saving the day meant paperwork, answering a million questions, paying people off, and generally doing favors to keep your name out of the news. And that was in the States. In Brazil, we were playing an entirely different ball game. Their rules. No cheat codes. Things would get hairy.

  I glanced up from the wooden table in front of me when the door opened. I expected to see another officer but instead, someone different walked in. A black woman, mid-thirties, with thick-rimmed glasses, a sharp grey suit, and a hefty brown folder, entered the room. Her hair was long and pulled back in a ponytail, and I caught a faint whiff of perfume as she sat down in front of me.

  “I’ll take it from here, ma’am,” she said to the woman beside me.

  Without a word, the American ambassador stood and left. I had to hide my surprise. Not even a question. Who the hell was this woman?

  She adjusted her glasses and brushed a bit of lint off the folder, speaking without looking at me just yet. “Mr. O’Brien, my na
me is Ana Corona. Have you ever heard that name before?”

  I stared at her. “It’s the name of a beer, I believe.”

  A thin smile touched her lips. “Yes, I hear that a lot. But that’s not what I meant. Do you know who I am?”

  “No.”

  “Would you like to guess?”

  I let my eyes travel down all five-feet-three inches of her and decided to answer the question truthfully.

  “You have a slight accent that makes me think you’re Haitian, or at least partially. You’re dressed well in tailored clothing and you’ve got perfume on, so you’re probably wealthy. The fact that my liaison left without a single word makes me think they knew you were coming so you’ve got ties to America. Plus, there’s the way you walk. Shoulders straight, head back, chin parallel to the ground. Military background. I’m thinking…FBI. ”

  The thin smile stretched and she met my eyes. Cold, hard mahogany. Yep. Definitely worked for the U.S. government.

  “Impressive. You’re a quick study.”

  I shrugged, leaving my face blank even though the gesture hurt. “I do what I can.”

  She folded her hands. “Do you know why I’m here, Mr. O’Brien?”

  “I’m assuming it has to do with my case.”

  “Your case?” She snorted, shaking her head. “We’re way past this being ‘your case.’ You broke into a civilian’s home with deadly weapons and assaulted a man on Brazilian soil. Normally, someone in your position would be rightfully and completely screwed.”

  “But I’m not, am I?”

  “No, you’re not. You knew that when you did it, I’m guessing.”

  She opened the folder, giving me a glimpse of the paperwork she had on me so far. “After your arrest, we received calls from several different police departments who confirmed that you and Mr. James Brennan have been civilian assistants tracking down serial killer Edmond Saraf. My office has briefed me on his background. Six murders, prior to the one committed last night, and not just on American soil. This guy is bad news and somehow, you and Mr. Brennan managed to track him to Jandira. You saved a little girl’s life. Despite the fact that you’ve broken a half a dozen laws and nearly murdered a man, you’ve done your country a great favor.”

  I went very still. “Nearly murdered?”

  She adjusted her glasses and flipped a couple of pages. “Edmond Saraf is in the prison hospital undergoing surgery. He hasn’t regained consciousness so we’re unaware if he’ll pull through or not. But he’s the least of your problems right now.”

  “How so?”

  Ana glanced at me again. “Mr. O’Brien, how did you learn the location of Edmond Saraf?”

  “James knows some of the locals and had them look out for his appearance in the area.”

  “Why didn’t you contact the local police department after you found out where he was?”

  “We were worried they wouldn’t arrive in time so we went to stop him ourselves.”

  Ana lifted the corner of one of her papers, her voice flat. “And can you explain how the lead singer of an underground rock band has enough experience to subdue a serial killer?”

  “Don’t ask rhetorical questions,” I said, still trying to figure out what this woman wanted to get out of me. “If you know my background, you know I’ve had extensive training in martial arts and weaponry.”

  “Very true, but that still leaves me with one question: why? Why you? What connection do you have to all of this, Mr. O’Brien?”

  I gritted my teeth, forcing the next unpleasant words out of my mouth. “James Brennan is an acquaintance. It was a favor.”

  “An acquaintance, you say? So this has nothing to do with the fact that Mr. Brennan is Juliana Freitas’ biological father?”

  The blood drained out of my face so fast that I got dizzy. I had to fight to keep the shock from creeping onto my features. She stared at me with that hard gaze of hers, trying to dig her way beneath my mask.

  “Did he tell you that?” I asked.

  “Yes. They interrogated him first and he talked the officers into letting him do a cheek swab to prove it.”

  “I don’t understand why that’s relevant. Juliana has a mother and father already.”

  Ana’s eyes narrowed. “They’ve gone missing.”

  “When?”

  “Six hours ago. Francesca Freitas never made it back from her tutoring session. Guillermo Freitas was last seen taking a taxi to a local bar. He went into the bathroom and the bartender said he never saw him come back out. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  I exhaled—a slow, quiet, calm sound. “What do you want, Agent Corona?”

  “There are things about this case that don’t add up. I represent a taskforce who has been studying you and your relationship with Mr. Gabriel Solberg. He is one of the most powerful, influential people not only in the United States but throughout in the world and he personally vouched for you after you were incarcerated in this facility. Furthermore, if he had not donated millions of dollars to the poverty and educational programs in this country and in the U.S., you would not be cleared of your charges as you are now. There have been several incidents regarding the two of you in the past couple years that are causing us to ask questions. You can believe that I have a lot on my plate but, I intend to get the answers to those questions one way or another.”

  Cold fury filled me. “Are you threatening me?”

  “The U.S. government does not threaten its citizens. I’m just here to keep the peace.”

  “Your version of peace,” I said, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. If she knew how many centuries I had spent building the country she now served, she wouldn’t dare use such an arrogant tone with me. The angelic half of my soul raged against the idea of submitting to the rules of Man. How much had I sacrificed to keep them safe? How many of my men had died in their stead? Who held these people accountable for the sins they committed each and every day?

  I felt my anger pervading the room, hot, boiling, and invisible. It crept closer to the small woman in front of me and I almost let it touch her, but I retracted at the last minute. We weren’t allowed to emotionally manipulate human beings. It constituted a violation of trust. If I wanted this woman to back off, I’d have to do it the old fashioned way.

  She closed the folder. “Consider this a courtesy call. You will be released from this facility after you’ve filled out the appropriate paperwork and it will reflect on your permanent record that you assisted in the capture of a dangerous international criminal. In return, the court has determined that you are banned from entering Brazil for the next five years in lieu of imprisonment. If you cooperate fully with everything they ask of you, you will be allowed to return after that time. However, you’re still under investigation with the United States government. You will be deported to the States until we have determined that you are not a threat to national security.”

  “What’s going to happen to Juliana?”

  Ana looked at me, and this time, I could see past the cold professional. A tiny crack appeared in her armor. I’d surprised her.

  “The police will continue searching for her parents, but in the meantime, she’ll be taken to a foster home.”

  “She doesn’t have any other family?”

  “My records show her grandparents are both in hospices in São Paulo and she doesn’t have any other living relatives.”

  The gears in my head got to turning. “Would James be able to claim temporary custody of her until her parents are found?”

  “I don’t see the courts agreeing to let a man who was just arrested for assault claim custody of his estranged daughter.”

  A small smirk touched my lips. “You’ve never seen him in a court room before.”

  Ana’s eyes widened a touch, but the look disappeared in under two seconds. “We’ll see.”

  “He’s going to need time to pull some strings for an expedited application procedure. I know you want us to get the hell out of h
ere so how much time did the officials give us to leave town?”

  “Forty-eight hours.”

  I winced. Not great, but it was a start. “Am I free to go?”

  “You are.” She gestured to the officer at the door as she stood. “Take Mr. O’Brien and process him out.”

  “Sim, Senhora Corona.”

  The officer hauled me to my feet and unlocked my cuffs, to my relief. My shoulders had been sore for hours, and the bullet wound had been throbbing ever since they stitched me up. It took me a moment to move my left arm without severe pain.

  Agent Corona sent me one last frigid stare over her glasses. “We will be watching you, Mr. O’Brien.”

  With that, she turned and stalked out of the room.

  Chapter 19

  Michael

  BELIAL AND I were about three steps away from the police department when I grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and shoved him against the nearest wall, my voice a deadly growl.

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were Juliana’s biological father?”

  The demon stared back at me with a placid expression. “You didn’t ask.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Belial, or I swear I’ll tear your throat out.”

  Again, his expression betrayed nothing, but I could already feel his energy crackling around me like static. “If you unhand me, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, you’d better make this worth my while, Mikey.”

  I winced. I had always hated that nickname. No one dared to call me that since Satan’s fall. The arrogant bastard had sought to patronize me in front of his army by calling me that name and it still made me want to rip things apart whenever I heard it.

  I dropped my hands. “Answers. Now.”

  Belial dusted off his shirt, taking his sweet time before replying. “I didn’t know she was my daughter until that teenage girl mentioned the name, Freitas. Four years ago, I was traveling through this area for work and I met a woman named Francesca Freitas at a bar. Her husband is an alcoholic and they’d been having problems. Plus, she was quite fetching. Naturally, it sounded right up my alley so I took her back to my hotel and showed her a good time. I left Brazil about a day later and thought nothing of the matter.”