The Belial Ring (The Belial Series 3)

by R. D. Brady

  The Chandler helicopter had dropped him forty miles away. As Henry had promised, a Jeep had been waiting for him, directions programmed into the GPS.

  Patrick sat behind the steering wheel, watching the house. He’d noticed the electronic surveillance as he drove up the long drive, and he’d had to request access at the gate. So Victoria knew he was here—yet no one appeared. He was grateful. He needed a moment to prepare himself, to brace himself for the conversation to come.

  His mind still reeled at everything Laney had told him—and at the heartbreak on her face. He knew he needed to be there for her, but first he needed answers. He owed Fiona that. He owed Laney that. She believed what she told him. He needed to find out if it was true. Taking a deep breath, Patrick stepped out of the car.

  He walked up the stone path. It was quiet, a slight wind blew, and the sun felt warm. It was a peaceful spot. It helped calm his emotions.

  The front door opened when he was still five feet away.

  A tall, muscular man, in his fifties, with dark brown hair, stepped back to allow him entrance. “Father Patrick, I’m Ralph. Victoria is expecting you. Follow me, please.”

  Patrick stepped in and Ralph closed the door behind him, then led him down the hall without a word. Ralph stopped at a door at the end and gestured for Patrick to enter.

  The room Patrick stepped into was a large study. Two couches framed a brick fireplace on the right. On the left was an antique desk with a silver tea set. Victoria stood in front of a chaise lounge, her back to a bay window that looked out on an incredible garden.

  “Victoria?” Ralph asked.

  “That’s all, Ralph. Thank you,” she replied.

  With a nod to Patrick, Ralph took himself back down the hall.

  “Father Patrick, can I offer you some tea?” Victoria indicated the tea set on the desk.

  The normality of the offer pushed Patrick’s anger to the surface. This woman had brought all this drama and heartache to his family, and now she was offering tea?

  He strode across the room. “Tea? No. I don’t want any of your bloody tea. What I want are answers.”

  Victoria pursed her lips, her back going straight. “Of course. Could we at least sit?” She gestured to the couches.

  Patrick gave an abrupt nod. He tried to swallow his resentment. He needed answers, and his anger would only cloud the conversation.

  “I take it Laney has spoken with you,” Victoria said as she took a seat.

  Patrick sat down across from her, leaning forward. “Yes. She’s convinced you’re her biological mother and that my sister was only her unofficial adopted mother. I don’t see how any of that is possible.”

  Victoria took a breath. “It’s true. Delaney is my biological daughter. Your sister’s child died an hour after she was born.”

  Patrick stared at her. Who the hell was this woman? “Why should I believe you?”

  Victoria took a folder off the table. “I showed these papers to Laney: the blood work.” She pulled one sheet of paper from the folder. “I didn’t have a chance to show her this one. It’s a DNA test between her and Henry.”

  Patrick took the paper, checking the subjects’ names. “This says John and Jane Doe.”

  Victoria nodded. “Yes. I didn’t think it was wise to use their actual names.”

  Patrick scrolled to the bottom, According to the test results, their was a 99.9% chance the subjects were full brother and sister. Patrick felt shaken. “This could be anyone.”

  “The test can be re-done, but the result would be the same. And why would I lie about this? Why disrupt so many people’s lives if it weren’t true?”

  Patrick decided to leave those questions alone for now. Right now, he just needed to know how and if this was really true. “How did you do it?”

  Victoria’s words were straightforward, but Patrick could hear the emotion underneath them. Victoria wasn’t as calm as she would like him to believe. “I had a number of couples investigated. I knew that if I kept Laney, it would be too dangerous for her. I had a number of families lined up.”

  “Lined up?” Patrick was incredulous.

  Victoria put up her hands. “Several couples that were expecting a child. A child with a slim to nonexistent chance of surviving birth. Like your sister and her husband. Your sister’s child was diagnosed with Patau syndrome. The best-case scenario was that the child would survive a few days after birth. The worst case was that she would die in utero, which happens in most cases. The plan was only to replace a child who had died.”

  “Do you have any idea how cold you sound? ‘Replace’ a child? You can’t replace a child.”

  Victoria’s eyes snapped to him. “I know that. Do you think this was an easy decision for me? Do you think I happily handed over my child? This decision broke me apart. But I did it for Laney. I did it to keep her safe.”

  The room was charged with emotion and Patrick swallowed. “Where is my—” He paused, taking a breath. “Where is my niece buried?”

  Victoria’s violet eyes stared back at him for a moment. “Follow me.”

  Victoria walked out of the room, down the long hall, through the kitchen, and out the back door.

  Patrick had to hurry to keep up with her. She walked down a path that cut through a riotous garden. A narrow path jutted off to the left a hundred yards from the house. Victoria turned down it and disappeared over a little rise.

  Patrick followed the path, coming to a stop at the top of the little hill. Below him was a circular clearing, bordered by bushes and brightly colored flowers, daisies, black-eyed Susans, roses, and a few more colorful flowers he couldn’t identify.

  A small wrought-iron bench sat off to the right of the clearing beneath a Rose-of-Sharon tree. And in the middle of the clearing was a white tombstone.

  Patrick walked slowly toward the stone, his legs trembling. It was a beautiful spot. He had to give Victoria credit for that. And it was obviously well tended. He knelt at the tombstone and traced the carvings with his hand.

  Sarah

  She never had a chance to live,

  But through her death helped save another.

  In Hebrew, Sarah meant “princess.” Touched, he turned to Victoria. “You named her?”

  Victoria gave him an abrupt nod. “Sarah was—” She stopped, taking a breath. “That was supposed to be Laney’s name. She was baptized as well.”

  Patrick was surprised at the comfort he took in Victoria’s words. He turned back to the grave. Above the words, a stone angel was carved.

  Tears sprang to his eyes. This was his niece, the last piece of his sister.

  He knelt in front of the grave, bowed his head, and prayed for his little niece, who never had a chance to enjoy life. For his sister and her husband, taken too soon. And for Laney, who had been dealt this horrible twist of fate.

  Victoria had given his niece her own daughter’s name. He glanced around at the incredible flowers surrounding the grave. Victoria’s doing, no doubt. She had mourned his niece as if she was her own. And the fact was, when Victoria gave Laney away, it must have felt, to Victoria, as if her own daughter had died.

  Patrick placed his hand on the top of the tombstone, using it to help him stand. He turned and looked at Victoria, who now sat on the bench. “It’s a beautiful spot,” he said softly.

  Some of the defensiveness slipped from Victoria’s posture. She gave him a sad smile. “It was an impossible decision. Your niece was never meant to be part of this world. But through Sarah’s death, Laney had a chance at a normal life. A chance to be safe. And the only way for that to happen was for no one to know. No one, but me.”

  For the first time, Patrick didn’t see Victoria as a cold woman who used people as chess pieces. He saw instead a terrified woman—one who made the heartbreaking decision to give up her only daughter in order to save her life. He still didn’t understand why Victoria thought that it was necessary, but it was obvious that she believed it.

  And the pain of that decisi
on was etched across her face. Victoria’s decision had given him decades of happiness—and had left Victoria with only decades of loss.

  Patrick sat next to her on the bench. He took her hand, tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss, too. It couldn’t have been easy giving her up.”

  Victoria nodded, but he saw her chin tremble. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t.”

  They were silent for a moment. Patrick took a deep breath. “Laney’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

  Victoria nodded. “Yes.”

  Patrick wrapped his arm around Victoria’s shoulder.

  Victoria let out a small sob before turning into his hug.

  And Patrick hugged her back.

  They sat there for a long time, sharing the pain of loss and the fear for the life of the child they both loved.

  CHAPTER 28

  Henry blew out a breath as he stepped onto the landing in front of his office. He felt exhausted. Laney was safely home, but her world had been ripped apart. Patrick was off to confront Victoria. And as for him—he had no idea what to think, what to feel. And he was way too tired to even try to figure it out.

  He knew his exhaustion wasn’t physical. One of the side benefits of being a nephilim was that fatigue wasn’t a part of his life. But emotional exhaustion? Well, his abilities didn’t seem to be any help with that.

  Henry pushed open the double doors to his office, a tingle running through his body. He glanced up sharply.

  Jennifer Witt sat on his couch, flipping through a magazine. She looked up with a smile. “Hey.”

  Henry perked up at the sight of her. Standing six feet tall, with black hair and ebony, almond-shaped eyes, Jen was more than easy to look at. She was also a brilliant archaeologist and a nephilim as well.

  They’d met last year, although he’d heard about her for years from her brothers, Jordan and Mike. She was also one of Laney’s best friends, and now one of his as well. He hadn’t been handling the torture at the hands of Hugo as well as he wanted people to believe. Jen had been the person he’d been able to talk to. She understood.

  “Hey,” he said back to her.

  Jen stood up, crossing the room to give him a hug. “I thought you guys would head up here as soon as you arrived. This is your guys’ version of the Batcave, isn’t it?” She paused. “Everybody okay?”

  The heartbreak on Laney’s and Patrick’s faces flashed in his mind—as well as the anger on Jake’s face, and his own feelings of confusion. “I’m not sure about ‘all right.’ But physically, no one got shot or broke anything. Oh wait, Patrick got shot, but it was only a graze.”

  Jen stepped forward, looking intently at Henry’s face. “What about you? Are you all right?”

  He gave her a small grin. “Not really. But it’s good to see you.”

  Jen pulled him down to the couch. “More flashbacks?”

  Since Vegas, Henry had suffered from insomnia and occasional flashbacks. Jen noticed something amiss one time when they were at dinner with Danny, and hadn’t relented until he’d told her the whole story. And since then, she’d been the one he spoke with. His own personal counselor.

  Henry shook his head. “No. No flashbacks, not for a week at least.”

  “Well, care to tell me what is going on?”

  Henry had called Jen on the way back from the meeting with his mom. He’d explained about the attack in Hershey, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to explain about his mother’s revelations. It was just too unbelievable, too fresh. He needed a little time to process it himself before he spoke of it to other people.

  But even with all of that chaos, his priority was protecting Danny. He had a feeling the next couple of days were going to be intense. He needed to know Danny was safe, so he’d called Jen to see if she’d mind watching out for him. He had incredible security, but he wanted the best. And as far as he could tell, Jen was the best.

  He blew out a breath. “It’s been a rough day.”

  She gave a little laugh. “You do have a gift for understatement. I’m here as long as you need me. I spoke with Jordan and Mike as well. Jordan’s cutting his vacation short. He’ll be here in a few hours, and Mike’s only in DC. He said if you need him, he can drop everything and be here in under an hour. Less, if he can nab a chopper.”

  Henry said a small prayer of thanks for the Witt family. Jordan was one of his security specialists, and his twin brother Mike was an FBI agent. Both were former Navy SEALs who’d trained with Jake, and having them around Danny eased his concern even more. “Thanks.”

  “That’s why I’m here. But Kati called me from Hershey. Told me her version of the attack.”

  Henry cut her off. “How’s she doing? How’s Max?”

  “Not going to lie. Kati’s pretty shook up. Unlike the rest of us, that was her first gunfight. But she’s strong. She’ll be okay. And Max, luckily, didn’t really understand what was going on.”

  “Well, I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”

  “But I think there’s more going on here.”

  “True.”

  Jen took his hand. “You don’t have to keep it all in, you know. I know you’re used to taking care of yourself, but it’s okay to share the burden.”

  The idea of sharing this burden was more than a little appealing, but right now wasn’t the time. “Maybe one day. I think Laney needs you more now.”

  Jen was quiet for moment. “It’s okay for you to need someone, too, Henry.”

  A knock at the door grabbed Henry’s attention. Agent Matt Clark walked in without waiting for an invitation.

  Henry laid his head back against the couch, struggling not to groan. “Clark. How nice to see you.”

  Clark inclined his head, seeming to acknowledge the sarcasm in Henry’s words. “Sorry to interrupt, but it’s important, or I would have called.”

  Henry stood, his upbringing overriding his exhaustion. “Agent Matt Clark, this is Dr. Jennifer Witt.”

  “Ah, the archaeologist from Ecuador. An incredible find.”

  Jen shook his hand, her tone dry. “Actually, it was more of a theft.”

  Clark inclined his head. “True. But you and Dr. McPhearson did well by the Shuars.”

  “We could have done better,” Jen said abruptly. She turned to Henry. “Well, I’ll leave you to your unscheduled meeting. I’ll go see Laney. I promised Danny dinner later. Join us?”

  Henry managed to find a smile. “Best offer I’ve had in days. I’ll find you when I’m done here.”

  Jen squeezed his arm before walking around Clark. She nodded her head stiffly. “Agent,” she said before walking out of the room.

  Clark watched her go. “You know, I don’t think your friends like me very much.”

  Henry ignored the agent’s accurate statement. He watched Jen leave instead, wishing he could go with her. Whatever Clark had to say, Henry was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear it. He’d had enough bombshells for one day.

  Forcing the words past his teeth, Henry said. “All right, Clark what is it?”

  “I realize this isn’t a good time.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes. I know about Hershey. But I have some new information you need, especially after that attack. It was the Fallen, wasn’t it?”

  “Actually, there weren’t any Fallen, but there was a nephilim. And a bunch of humans.”

  “I think I know who’s behind the attack. They were after Laney, weren’t they?”

  Henry squinted at Clark. Now what? He spoke slowly. “We think so. But how did you know that?”

  “We were worried that might happen.”

  “Well, thanks for the heads-up.”

  Clark put up his hands. “We had no concrete intel. It was really more of an educated guess. But what I have to tell you now is concrete.”

  Henry sank back into the couch, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Well, by all means, pull up a chair and lay it on me.”

  Clark pulled his s
eat toward Henry until he was only a foot away. “I know who’s gathering the Fallen, the nephilim.”

  Henry’s exhaustion disappeared immediately. “What? Who?”

  “His name’s Amar Patel.” Clark pulled out his phone, hit a few buttons, and handed it over. On the small screen was a close-up of a man of Indian descent, probably in his late forties—dark hair, long nose, thin face, pale green eyes.

  Henry handed the phone back. “Never seen him before. Do you guys have anything on him?”

  “A bit. His formal title these days is venture capitalist. He makes most of his money through investments. And he’s made a lot. But he has no criminal record—no formal ties at least. But there were rumors.”

  “Rumors?”

  “Amar was born in a little village outside Trivandrum, India. He was on the streets by age seven.”

  Henry didn’t like the sympathy that welled up in him. “Poor kid.”

  “Yeah, well, that ‘poor kid’ was apparently running those streets by the age of ten. He had a stable of kids working for him. As he got older, his reach extended until he controlled all the organized criminal activity in southwestern India. The authorities were just moving in when he closed up shop. They were never able to tie anything to him.”

  “He came to the States?”

  Clark nodded. “He’d been diversifying for years. He had enough saved to start over, and start over well. He’s worth millions now. But he’s the guy we’ve been looking for. Since the very founding of the SIA, we have been—and are always—looking for him.”

  Well, that wasn’t good. The agent looked awfully troubled, and while Henry didn’t know Clark well, he was pretty sure not much fazed the guy. “Why? Which Fallen is he?”

  “Samyaza.”

  Henry’s eyes flew to Clark’s face. Samyaza, the leader of the Fallen angels. The one who convinced them all to fall. “The Samyaza?”

  Clark nodded. “Yes. He’s the leader. And we believe he’s the one trying to get to Laney.”

  “How’d you get this information?”