Concrete Savior (18 page)

A silky-feeling burgundy fabric cascaded over her hand and Ms. Whitfield hurried forward and slipped past Brynna, reaching for it before Brynna could pull it completely free. “Oh—wait, please. Let me get it out for you.” Brynna stayed where she was, acting as if she hadn’t heard. When the young woman’s hand stretched past hers, Brynna stepped sideways and wrapped one hand around the saleswoman’s wrist.

She experienced everything in rapid-fire sequence, like automatic camera scenes snapping across her vision:

She saw the dimly lit apartment saturated with emptiness and fear, the empty bed, the unused comb on the bathroom sink.

She heard the asexual voice on the phone, took in the demands, did not believe them.

She opened the box and saw the finger, breathed in the smell that got worse every time the box was taken out of the freezer and opened. She contemplated the coldness of the skin and the ragged end of the flesh below the gleam of a wedding ring that matched the one hidden in her dresser drawer.

She listened to the voice again and met its demands, tried to give it satisfaction. She did not know why the voice wanted the information but she followed its instructions and met with Casey Anlon, passed him that same dreadful information.

And she did it again.

And again.

And she was still trying, even today, right up to this morning, telling him to—

The woman wrenched her arm free and backed away from Brynna. The expensive bolt of fabric tumbled to the floor but she didn’t notice. Her pretty face had gone the color of pale ash.

Brynna said the first thing that came to her mind. “I can find him.”

“Wh-what?”

“I can find your husband.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The girl was terrified. Even though the store was air-conditioned to the point of being cold, sweat had broken out across her forehead. Although the shop was empty of anyone else and everything nonliving was in full view, her gaze darted frantically from side to side as though someone might overhear them.

“Let me help you,” Brynna said. “You can’t do this by yourself. It’s hard to explain—”

“Get out!” the girl suddenly shrieked. “Get out right now!”

“But I—”

“I’ll call the police,” the girl said. Her words were barely understandable because her teeth were clamped together so tightly that her jaw wouldn’t move. She whirled and strode behind the polished mahogany counter; in another moment she’d lifted a telephone handset to her ear. “You have three seconds to turn around and walk out of here before I dial 911.”

“All right,” Brynna said calmly. “But if you change your mind . . .” She left the sentence unfinished as she slipped one hand into her purse—funny how quickly she’d become so dependent on such a human thing—and pulled out one of the simple business cards that Eran had made for her. When the stone-faced girl didn’t take it, Brynna placed it on the counter, turned, and walked out.

She knew the Whitfield woman was watching her through the window, so she intentionally turned back to meet her gaze through the store’s window before striding out of sight along the sidewalk. She wasn’t sure the girl would call her, but that had been the best she could come up with in such a short time. The last thing Eran needed was for someone to call the cops on Brynna, ostensibly on some kind of harassment charge. Her business card listed only
Brynna Malak—Language Specialist
and her telephone number, and that probably wasn’t intriguing enough to get the girl’s attention. Brynna hadn’t had time to tell her anything else.

But she had a whole lot to tell Eran.

CASEY ANLON HAD GONE
back to his apartment building after leaving Starbucks, so when Brynna called, Eran told her to take a cab and met back up with him there. “So fill me in,” he said when she opened the door and climbed into the car. “Find out anything interesting?”

“A lot,” Brynna said, “although as far as her identity, I can only tell you that her last name is Whitfield and she’s married.”

“Married?” Eran considered this. “So she and Casey are having an affair.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But she kissed him,” Eran pointed on. “On the mouth. Relatives don’t do that.”

“Doesn’t matter. All she’s thinking about is her husband—”

“But—”

“—who’s been kidnapped.”

“What!”

“She’s being blackmailed,” Brynna told him. “I touched her, but only for a moment—like Casey, she could feel that something wasn’t right and she pulled away.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “To put it mildly. Anyway, some . . . one has her husband and is making her give them information.”

Eran’s eyes narrowed. “I heard that hesitation, Brynna. Someone? Or some
thing
?”

She didn’t answer for a moment. “I’m not sure,” she finally admitted. “I can’t tell from the images in my head. All she has is a voice on the telephone, and she doesn’t even know if it’s male or female. Because she can’t tell, I can’t, either.”

“But you know whoever’s behind the voice has her husband?”

Brynna nodded. “Oh, yeah. That part isn’t pretty, Eran. The woman has her husband’s finger in her freezer. Wearing his wedding ring.”

“God,” Eran muttered. “That

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Brynna answered. “
She
does. And that’s why she keeps doing what the voice demands.”

“Which is what?”

Brynna frowned. “Again, I’m not really sure. Like Casey, I don’t believe this girl is really evil. I think she’s being manipulated. It is kind of interesting that she works in an upscale men’s tailoring shop, which is just the kind of place Lahash frequents.”

Eran’s interest jumped up yet another notch. Lahash—he’d never come face-to-face with the demon who had masterminded the serial killings in Chicago earlier in the summer, although Brynna knew him well and had warned Eran that Lahash was indescribably dangerous and Eran should never cross paths with him. But being the human Eran was, being the
cop
he was . . .

Oh yeah. One of these days.

Aloud he asked, “You think Lahash is behind this?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I just couldn’t tell. There’s so much fear in her that most of her thoughts are too muddled to decipher—another reason I can’t figure out what she can do or what she’s telling this person on the phone. I mean, on the outside, she looks just like anyone else, a regular person.”

“I’m learning that happens a lot.”

Brynna smiled a little. “True, but
I
can usually figure it out. This time, though—she has love and guilt all twisted up inside her head and it’s masking everything.” Brynna thought for a moment. “Kind of like Casey Anlon. He’s got a lot of guilt inside him, too, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” Eran said. “I just see him going happily on his way and causing all kinds of shit, like someone who thinks they’re a great driver but never notices the trail of accidents they left behind on the roadway.”

“No, he’s not that ignorant. I could tell he’s really torn up over what Glenn Klinger did.”

“Maybe,” Eran said, “they’re somehow working on each other.”

Brynna folded her arms. “Casey Anlon is a nephilim but Whitfield isn’t. That’s not just coincidence. I can’t help thinking she’s somehow being used to get to him. Out of that duo, he’s the one who matters. Frankly, most of the humans in this world don’t mean much to the demons of Hell. They’re just points on an underworld scorecard, who can get the most during the fastest period of time.” At his sour look, she added, “Sorry—I’m just being honest.” She drummed her fingers against the door for a moment. “You know, I never stopped to wonder how Lahash was able to figure out exactly where Mireva was going to be that day at the Museum of Science and Industry. We might have found his connection—this woman might be a true seer, someone who can see the future.”

Eran squashed the automatic protest that wanted to rise against the notion that the Whitfield woman might be a psychic. He didn’t know why he always felt such resistance to even the possibility, which was utterly ridiculous in the face of everything he’d seen and been through since he and Brynna had gotten involved. He took a mental breath and moved on; if there was a battle to be fought over this—and he’d probably lose anyway—he would fight it another time. “So you think Lahash is using her?”

Brynna’s face darkened. “I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but I really don’t think so. Lahash is a prideful bastard—he doesn’t hide, he doesn’t use a fake name, even if it means someone,
anyone
, will know he’s behind some atrocious scheme. He
wants
everyone to know it was him, and I would’ve seen that in her memories, even as messed up as they are.” She turned on her seat until she could face him. “I know one thing, Eran. If we don’t get into this, something horrible’s going to happen. This whole thing is
wrong
—I can feel it. It’s
off
. This nephilim rescuing person after person, this girl’s husband being held prisoner somewhere . . . it’s only the beginning.”

“Did she ask for your help?”

“No. In fact, she kicked me out of the shop, threatened to call the police if I didn’t go. I left her my card and told her to call me if she changed her mind. But I’m not sure she will. Can’t we—”

“That’s the great and wonderful thing about the world today, Brynna,” he interrupted. “Although the bad guys are still able to force people to do bad things, the good guys can’t make people accept their help.” He turned away from her and fixed his eyes on the front entrance of Anlon’s building, settling in for as long as it took. isoUnless she does something that breaks the law, we just have to wait until she asks for it. If we try to make her do anything against her will, we become just like the people we’re trying to stop.”