“Jarvis.”
She jolted back to the present and found her supervisor scowling at her.
“You caught all that, right?”
“Um . . .”
Get a grip, Alex.
“No,” she said. “I mean yes, I caught it. But no, I didn’t know he was back.”
“And? Tell me you can do this, Detective. I know the two of you don’t see eye-to-eye, but I need you on the street and I can’t put you out there without a partner.”
Aramael, back as my partner.
Fuck.
She looked out the window into the main Homicide office, half empty now. The remaining faces were all familiar. Joly, Abrams, Penn, Smith.
No Aramael posing as Jacob Trent.
She unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “Where is he?”
“He said he’d wait in the coffee room.”
She straightened her shoulders, drawing on the strength she was learning she possessed. Wondered, briefly, how much longer that strength would hold out.
She strode toward the door.
“Detective.”
Pausing, her hand on the doorknob, she looked over her shoulder.
“You can’t fall apart,” Roberts said. “Not now. We can’t afford to lose you.”
She went in search of an angel.
Chapter 21
Alex tried to keep her stride purposeful, but placing one foot in front of the other on the way to the coffee room proved to be an all-consuming exercise in determination.
Aramael. Was he still in exile? Had he, by some miracle, been taken back into Heaven? Either way, what the hell was he doing here? She’d chosen Seth over him. Had made that choice clear. Hadn’t seen so much as a feather from him since. So why now, and why like this? Why as her goddamn partner again?
She stopped for the office cleaning lady and her cart. The tiny woman’s usual nod and smile hardly registered. Alex waited for her to pass, focused on the simple act of remaining upright and not taking shelter under her desk. It didn’t matter why Aramael was here, only that he left. Roberts could be as pissed as he liked. She wouldn’t work with him again. She couldn’t.
And she’d tell him so as soon as she unglued her feet from the floor.
Shit.
The cleaning lady moved out of her path. Alex looked through the coffee room window at the angel standing inside with his back to her. Her vision blurred, tunneled, narrowed. Everything around her faded into the background. Everything but him. She took in the dark, unruly hair, the breadth of the shoulders straining beneath the suit he wore, the familiar, balanced poise with which he carried himself. And the wings.
Her eyebrows twitched together.
Black wings.
Aramael’s wings were golden.
Cold pooled in her belly, emerged on the palms of her hands. She thought of how easily Lucifer had fooled her once, taking on the visage of his own son. Remembered how Aramael’s twin, Caim, had assumed the identity of the priest he had killed. She flicked a glance toward the door and the escape it offered. If she moved fast, and if she was very, very lucky, she might be able to get out before whoever this was—whatever it was—noticed.
And then what? Go home to Seth? Tell him she was being stalked by someone who had taken on Aramael’s persona? That she’d neglected to tell him yesterday about Michael’s visit? That she had once more become entangled with the ones he wanted so very much to leave behind?
She shifted her weight, held hostage by indecision tempered with the first stirrings of panic. Then she froze. The angel in the coffee room had turned. She knew without looking. Felt his attention on her, his will reaching out to her, his desire enveloping her. She fought against its pull.
This was no impostor, no other pretending to be her soulmate. It was him. It was Aramael.
Jaw set, she turned her head to meet the turbulent gray gaze, felt it reach inside to her most private places . . .
And coldly shut it down. No. Not this time. Not anymore.
She crossed the last few feet to the coffee room and stepped inside. Hands in pockets, her would-be partner regarded her warily.
“Alex.”
Aramael, her heart whispered.
She ignored it. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re being watched by one of the Fallen. Mika’el sent me.”
So Heaven had taken him back. “Watched—why?”
“We’re not sure, but the watcher is a former Archangel and Lucifer’s top aide. He wouldn’t be involved unless it was something important.”
The very mention of Lucifer’s name turned her mouth dry. Bitter. “All right, then try this. Why do you care? I’m hardly important in the grand scheme of things. What does it matter if Lu—” She pressed her lips together. Christ, she couldn’t even bring herself to say the name. “What does it matter if this Fallen One does want me for some reason?”
“You know why it matters.”
Alex’s heart skidded sideways. She ruthlessly brought it to heel. That wasn’t what he’d meant. This wasn’t personal, not if Mika’el was behind it. No, it was about Seth. She lifted her chin.
“Then you’re wasting your time, because I won’t ask him to do it.”
“Not even with all that’s at stake?”
“Apart from Seth himself? I don’t care.”
Aramael frowned. “Your entire—”
“Today, Jarvis!” Roberts’s bellow cut between them, a reminder of the job waiting for her.
She put a hand to the back of her neck, wrestling with this latest collision of her two realities. A Fallen One stalking her again. Aramael, shoulder to shoulder with her in the car. Roberts’s obvious relief at her having a partner. Seth, oblivious to the machinations going on behind his back.
A stoning, not in some far-off country prone to religious fanaticism, but here in Toronto. Her city. Her home.
Eighty thousand Nephilim babies about to be born and molded into Lucifer’s ultimate army against humankind.
A world teetering on the brink of chaos. Maybe even the brink of extinction.
All that, and she wanted to turn away the only angel volunteering to ride shotgun with her?
Yes.
No.
“Jarvis!” Roberts roared.
Damn it to hell and back.
Twice.
“Fine,” she snarled. “I don’t have time to argue. I drive, you shut up.”
Aramael opened his mouth. She held up a hand.
“I’m not kidding. One word about Seth or Michael or whatever new disaster you claim is looming on the horizon, and I will dump your ass at the side of the road. Are we clear?”
It didn’t matter that they both knew she had no way to carry out her threat, it simply felt good to set the parameters. It felt even better to have him nod acquiescence. She turned on her heel and headed for the door.
Chapter 22
“You’re certain no one else saw you?” Samael slipped the slim, leather-bound book into the pocket of his coat.
Raziel, one of only a handful of female Fallen, arched an eyebrow at him. “A dozen or more saw me,” she said. “As they always do when I take his tea things in or retrieve them.”
“You know what I mean.”
“He was nowhere in the area.” Her eyes narrowed. “You still haven’t told me why you want it.”
“No, but I did tell you it was better that you didn’t know.”
The pert former Cherub smiled. “And you know I’m not very good at minding my own business. That’s why you like me so much.”
Samael stared down at the Fallen One. Raziel had remained in Heaven as his informant when he’d left to follow Lucifer, until it had become too dangerous for her. Uniquely unobtrusive, she had a way of blending into the background so that others failed to notice her, failed to realize she listened in on conversations meant to be private. It made her useful in the extreme, and she was right. He liked her a great deal for it. He didn’t for an instant, however, conside
r her infallible.
“I’ll let you know when I’m ready for the next one,” he said. He started down the alley toward the street.
“What if I don’t want to help again?”
He looked over his shoulder. Raziel watched him with a cool expression, her spikey-haired head tipped to the side. She was the first to look away.
“Same old Samael.” She gave a quick laugh. “Fine. I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
“You let him what?”
Verchiel tried—but failed—to hide a flinch. Mika’el was an imposing figure at the best of times, even when seated, but Mika’el irritated? She took a tiny step away from the temper brewing.
“I let him take on the mortal persona of Jacob Trent,” she repeated. “He was right. There was little chance he could follow her movements, let alone anticipate them, without being at her side. Her job is too unpredictable.”
The Archangel glared at her. “And I wasn’t consulted because . . . ?”
“Because you were otherwise occupied at the time, and because, frankly, this was an administrative matter.” Verchiel drew herself up. “You cannot be everywhere at once, Mika’el. Not even the One can do that. Nor can you take responsibility for all the decisions that need to be made.”
“I’m perfectly willing to leave certain decisions up to others,” he growled, “but allowing Aramael to make his presence known to the woman? Allowing him to be with her? You’ve seen their connection. Surely you see the risk this poses.”
“I’ve also witnessed her rejection of him. She chose Seth, remember?”
“Has the Cleanse made you forget the strength of the soulmate bond? She can choose whomever she likes. It will never negate what was forged in Heaven itself.”
“But you have overcome your—” She broke off. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
Mika’el’s jaw hardened. Emerald ice glinted in his eyes. He rose from behind his desk to prowl the room with long, restless strides. “I’ve learned to control my bond, Highest, not overcome it. Do not mistake the difference. With every beat of my heart, every breath I take, I feel the loss of her presence. The need—not the desire, the need—to seek her out again. To join with her. It takes all I possess to resist. No human, regardless of her bloodline, has that kind of strength.”
Verchiel hesitated. He was right. She had forgotten the strength of the bond. And now that he’d reminded her, the decision to allow Aramael to return as Jacob Trent seemed a great deal less clear-cut. “My apologies. I didn’t consider the risks.”
“Or the consequences.” Stopping, Mika’el faced her. “If, by some miracle, Aramael and the Naphil do resist the connection, his very presence in her life might prevent Seth from taking back his powers.”
“Do you want me to recall him?”
Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Mika’el sighed. “I don’t know what I want you to do. We still need her protected from Samael, and you’re right that Aramael cannot do so if he can’t follow her.” He fell silent. Then he shook his head. “No. Leave him where he is. I’ll talk to the Naphil again. Even if she’s unwilling to speak to Seth on our behalf, perhaps she’ll agree to stay quiet about Aramael.”
“And Seth? When will you speak with him?”
Another sigh. “After I speak with the woman,” he said. “For all the good it will do.”
Chapter 23
Alex’s shoulders had climbed almost to her ears by the time she steered the car onto Cardno Avenue in the upscale Leaside neighborhood. From the moment Aramael slid into the seat beside her, the tension between them had ratcheted upward with every passing second, every kilometer, because his silence hadn’t stopped her brain from dwelling on the reasons for his presence—or what Seth’s reaction would be if he found out.
A headache throbbed in her temples.
She passed a lineup of news vehicles, waited for a uniformed officer to move the wooden barrier blocking the street, and pulled up beside the mobile command post. The familiar jolt of adrenaline kicked through her as she switched off the engine—every cop’s reaction to facing a crime scene and the ensuing hunt for the perpetrator.
Stepping out of the car, she scanned the street. Not a single person was in sight, despite the mild fall day. No toddlers on tricycles, no nannies with strollers, no one raking the thick, colorful layers of leaves from the lawns. Not so much as a mailman. One might have thought the neighborhood deserted if it weren’t for the parted window coverings up and down the block.
On the other side of the car, Aramael slammed his door.
Alex ignored him, tallying the resources on hand. Two ambulances, crews standing to one side as they awaited their cargo; three marked cars and two unmarked; half a dozen uniforms; a forensics team clad in their head-to-toe bunny suits to prevent contaminating the scene; and the requisite yellow tape. Yards of it.
She hunched her shoulders. Even with all she’d seen on the job, she still had trouble wrapping her head around the idea of a stoning. It would be a long time before the neighborhood recovered from this. If it could.
Aiming for the marked motorhome housing the command post, she strode past the ambulance that had blocked her view of the full scene. Her step faltered. She stopped. A single black bag lay stretched out at the edge of the grass. Two more forensics members stood knee-deep in a gaping hole beside a swing set, sand piled beside them. They plunged their shovels into the ground around a bloodied object.
Long seconds ticked by before she recognized the object as a human head. Horror warred with disbelief until a voice hailed. She tore her gaze from the grisly remains and focused on the command post. Detective Sergeant Mark Bastion stood in the open doorway.
“I see you have your partner back.”
“Looks like.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
She shrugged. “It puts me back on the street.”
And maybe if she said that often enough, she’d start to believe it. Nodding at the scene where Bastion’s partner, Timmins, stood to one side scribbling in his notebook, she changed the subject. “So? What do we know?”
“Too much. Not enough.” Bastion sighed. “Two victims, both female. Young, but there’s too much facial damage to accurately determine ages. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy.”
“Do we know yet if the second was pregnant?”
Timmins called from across the playground before Bastion could answer. He held a hand out in a thumbs-up sign at odds with his grim expression: a confirmation rather than an indication of something gone right.
The second woman had also been pregnant.
Bastion made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Christ.”
Alex squeezed her eyes shut until starbursts went off behind her lids. For the first time in her career, she wondered how much longer she would be able to continue. How much longer she could tolerate bearing witness to atrocities like this.
She fought a rising urge to simply leave. To be somewhere else, where people didn’t kill one another in such horrific ways. Where she didn’t have to see with her own eyes just how far downhill humanity had slid. Where women didn’t die in childbirth three weeks after becoming pregnant, or have their babies ripped out of their bellies, or get brutally murdered simply because they were pregnant.
Somewhere safe.
Except safe didn’t exist anymore. It never really had, and it never would again. Not as long as Heaven and Hell were at war over humanity’s very existence.
“We’ll canvass a six-block radius,” Bastion’s voice jolted her back to the present. “There’s not many people home this time of day, so I’ll have the uniforms set up roadblocks to catch them on their way home later. We’ll keep coming back until we’ve talked to every single household. If someone is away, track them down. I want a list of every woman who is or might be pregnant, and I want their well-being confirmed. In person.”
“We should look at churches that serve the area, too,” Alex said. “Places of worship.
”
The forensics duo laid aside their shovels and lifted the second body from its sandy killing ground.
The second very pregnant body.
“Christ,” Bastion muttered again. He let out a gust of air. “Nicole is pregnant, you know. Four months. We had the first ultrasound on Monday.”
Alex unlocked her teeth. “Congratulations. That’s wonderful news.”
“Is it?” He turned haggard eyes to her. “Apart from the fact she seems to have avoided this virus thing”—he waved a hand at the playground—“what the hell kind of world are we bringing a kid into?”
She had no answer. Could not, for the life of her, give the reassurance he sought. Bastion swallowed audibly.
“You and your partner—Trent, isn’t it? You do the initial sweep of the immediate neighborhood,” he said. “This street and the one that backs onto the park. The church idea is a good one. We should include cultural centers as well. I’ll get more uniforms down here.”
You and your partner.
Hugging her coat close, she started toward the car. Stopped. “Bastion? Tell Nicole I said congratulations. It’s wonderful news. Really.”
The forensics team laid the woman’s body on a tarp beside the monkey bars.
Chapter 24
Seth stepped into the elevator, shifting the groceries he carried to one arm and reaching with the other for the eighth-floor button. Another man slipped inside as the doors slid closed. Ignoring him, Seth focused instead on his plans for the evening—the next stage in his attempts to fit into Alex’s world, to be what she needed him to be.
Tipping his head back, he stared at the buzzing fluorescent light panel in the ceiling and went over the menu for the dinner he’d planned. He’d kept his choices simple: grilled chicken with lemon and rosemary, roasted vegetables with avocado and goat cheese, and a tossed salad, all tied together with a chilled Chardonnay and his determination to make good on his word to try harder. If Alex was going to work these insanely long hours, at least he could make what little time they had together as pleasant as—
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