Sins of the Lost gl-3

by Linda Poitevin

  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?”

  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.

  There—beside Seth.

  Seth. How—?

  He clutched at his hair, pulling until water streamed from his eyes. He couldn’t take her in this state. The damned drugs were too fresh in his system. They had to wear off enough to think again. Follow, watch, think.

  Half a block ahead, the Naphil disappeared into a building. The Appointed followed.

  The Naphil and the Appointed? How—?

  Damn it to Hell.

  * * *

  Despite Alex’s best intentions, lunch was an endurance event filled with long silences, stilted conversation, and the ever-present specters of Michael and Aramael. With one elbow on the table and her fist resting against her mouth, she stared out the window, her sandwich untouched, lunchtime odors assailing her. Roasted chicken, mushroom-barley soup, coffee. None stirred her appetite.

  She watched a ragged man stagger past on the sidewalk, his hands clutching at his hair. Seth reached past her for the napkin dispenser. She drew back with a murmur of apology, then returned to her brooding.

  Unclaimed powers, a world that might or might not survive events that went far beyond this current drama, their own struggling relationship . . . Where did they begin sorting through the chaos? Seth had lost everything because of her, and now they wanted him to lose her, too?

  Expected her to push him away?

  Christ.

  Seth shoved the plate with his own sandwich to one side. “We need to talk.”

  A woman laughed at a table in the back corner, a bray of sound that caused other patrons to go quiet and look for the source. Alex shook her head.

  “This might not be the right time—”

  “It will never be the right time, Alex, and we can’t continue like this. You and Heaven want me to take back my powers—”

  “I never said that.”

  “Semantics. Whether you want it or not, you think I should. But has it ever occurred to you—to any of you—to question the need for me to do so?”

  “What do you mean? Aramael said—”

  Fury sparked in his black eyes. Shit. Wrong name to drop right now.

  His forearms on the table, Seth leaned toward her. “Think about it, Alex. My mother is the One, the Creator of All, and she can’t deal with this? She needs me to take back my powers because she’s not strong enough to keep them from damaging the planet? Does that even make sense? Or are you too blinded by your soulmate’s presence to see sense?”

  Alex rocked back in her seat, recoiling from his viciousness, stunned by his words. He really thought that of her? And wait—could he be right about the One? When he put it like that, he was right. It didn’t make sense. The Creator of the entire universe should be able to manage this. But then why would Aramael and Michael say otherwise? What weren’t they telling her?

  Christ, she didn’t know what to think anymore. If there was a shred of a chance that Seth might be onto something here, however—

  “I’ll talk to Aramael,” she said. “See if I can find out—”

  “What, more lies? Do you really think he’ll tell you the truth?”

  “Michael, then.” She watched Seth’s mouth compress. “Damn it, Seth, we need more information. You can’t make a decision without—”

  “My decision is already made.” His voice was cold. “Apparently, however, yours is not.”

  Chapter 36

  Seth walked Alex back to the office in stubborn silence. With every step, the few inches between them seemed to grow wider. The chasm in his heart did likewise. Try as he might to justify her words, to understand why she felt the way she did about her world, her race, it all kept coming back to one thing. If it turned out that the planet really was in trouble, she expected him to save it. To take back his powers and give her up. Give them up.

  As she would do. Willingly.

  Pain squeezed through his chest. He breathed around it, the words of his father’s journal burning in his memory: “How she could allow these creatures to come between us is beyond comprehension. Beyond endurance.” He shoved them away. No. Alex wasn’t like his mother, and he was nothing like Lucifer. They could still figure their way through this. If she needed more information, he’d get it for her. He’d ask the questions of Mika’el himself, find a way to make the Archangel admit he was wrong. Make him admit the One could—

  Alex’s hand on his forearm sent a rush of warmth through him, stopping his thoughts, freezing his step. He looked down, even now all too willing to let go of their argument, to put things right again. Needing to do so. But her attention wasn’t on him. He peered into the alley beside which they stood, then looked askance at her.

  She frowned. “I thought I heard—”

  A moan. He heard it, too.

  Alex dropped her hand from his arm and stepped into the narrow passage. Reining in his impatience, he followed. Yet again, another took precedence. Even if he managed to convince Alex that his decision to remain with her would do no harm—that it was the right one, the only one, to make—would they still grapple with this, her job? Would she always put others before herself? Before him? He looked down at her touch on his arm and saw her pointing with her other hand.

  “There.”

  A figure slumped in the shadow of a Dumpster a dozen feet away, head resting in a dark pool. Seth drew back in distaste. “Is that blood?”

  “Most likely.” She pulled out her cell phone and moved forward again, simultaneously punching in a number and calling out to the man. “Sir? Are you all right? I’m a police officer, and I want to help. I’m going to have a look at—” She broke off and turned her attention to the phone as she went down on one knee beside the man. “Hi, yes, it’s Detective Alexandra Jarvis from the homicide unit. I have an injured civilian in an alley off—”

  The man lunged at her. The cell phone flew from her
grasp and smashed into the Dumpster. Seth leapt forward, reaching to pull Alex away, but he was too slow. The man’s hands closed around her throat and he rose to his feet, lifting her with him. Her breath became a harsh rasp beneath his hold and Seth seized his arm. He pulled. Pulled harder. Bellowed his fury. His fear.

  The man paid no attention.

  Abandoning his hold, Seth snaked his forearm around the man’s neck and tightened it with all the strength he possessed. An elbow plowed into his ribs and he sailed through the air. His head cracked against a brick wall. For an awful instant, the world flickered, on the verge of turning black. He struggled to breathe, fought off the darkness.

  Alex. I have to help Alex.

  He rolled to his hands and knees. Pain shot through his chest, hammered in his skull. A cold, awful realization gripped him. I can’t help her. I’m mortal. I have no power—

  “Call him,” the man snarled.

  Seth tried to focus through the flashes of light going off in his eyes. Alex’s attacker held her off the ground, hands still at her throat, shaking her as he might a doll.

  “Call him!” he demanded again. “Call your soulmate, Naphil. Like you did for—”

  A rush of wind swept through the alley, driving grit into Seth’s eyes, sealing them shut. He scrubbed at them, forced them open. Aramael towered above him, black wings spread wide, menace written in his every line.

  “Let her go, Mittron,” he snarled.

  Mittron?

  The man shifted, spinning to hold her from behind. He replaced the hands at her throat with a knife. Alex gasped for air, a harsh, ragged sound that clawed at Seth’s heart. He struggled to his feet, ignoring the pain streaking through his rib cage, focusing instead on the cold glint of metal. He tried not to think about the terrible fragility of a mortal life. The world spun and his stomach heaved. He sagged to the pavement.

  “I knew you would come,” the man breathed. “I knew she would call for you.”