Fallen (34 page)

She hadn’t expected any of that, and she wasn’t sure which had shocked her the most. She hadn’t seen any of them coming, but his profession of love had sideswiped her, and she hadn’t been able to process it in any way and give him a response before he had said good-bye and hung up. Which was probably for the best, because she didn’t know what she would have said in return. She had thought she loved him. Still did. But it worried her that there were so many apparent secrets, so much he had withheld from her. And nothing about any of the murders, past or present, made sense. She was on emotional and intellectual overload, with no answers in sight.

“Do you love him?” Jocelyn asked, handing Sara a glass of wine.

Sara took it and swirled the liquid around and around in the glass. “Yes.” Whether that was a mistake or not, she didn’t know. But it was what it was and she couldn’t change that. She loved him quietly, passionately, softly, wondrously.

“I’ve never seen you in love before. It was pretty obvious to me from the second you said his name.”

Crossing her legs and pulling her skirt down over them on the sofa, Sara looked at Jocelyn. “I don’t fall in love easily. Or I didn’t think I did. You’ve known me, what, six years? I’m emotionally reserved. I know that. I try not to be, but I can’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t say that about you at all. I think you’re very emotionally giving . . . you’re loyal and loving and incredibly generous. But I think that’s why there are few people you really reach out to—you give so much, all of yourself, to relationships, that you can’t have a crowd of friends and lovers. You’re selective, with meaningful friendships instead of superficial ones, and I appreciate that about you.”

Sara felt so raw, so scraped and banged and smacked that Jocelyn’s words had her sucking in a huge breath to avoid tears, to hold it together. She would keep it together. “Thanks. That means a lot to me. And I do love Gabriel . . . I can’t explain how or why it’s happened so fast, but I met him and it seemed from that very first day, our paths were meant to cross. That we’re connected . . . that we knew each other already because we’re so similar.” She took a sip of her wine. “God, that sounds weird, but it’s true. I just
adore
him.”

Sappy and pathetic as it was, she did. She had never understood, never realized how uplifting and exciting it would be, to feel the kind of emotion she did for Gabriel. She had thought she’d loved men before, but this was different, deeper, richer, more exciting, more enticing, more all-consuming.

“So what’s going on? What’s with all the DNA, and why are you here in Florida and he’s in New Orleans?”

“I hope you don’t have any plans tonight, because it might take awhile to explain this.”

“I have no plans and I’m all ears.” Jocelyn kicked her shoes off and pulled her legs up onto the sofa. “There is obviously a story here.”

Sara didn’t know where to start, exactly, but she figured the easiest place was to explain why she was really in New Orleans. So she told Jocelyn about Gabriel contacting her, the book concept, meeting and working with him. The strange evidence that seemed to dead-end, the parallels between the cases. Two hours later, she thought she had Jocelyn pretty well updated, leaving out personal details like Gabriel’s unwillingness to have sex with her, and the absinthe encounter.

“So, that name you gave me—Marguerite Charles—was in the court records of the trial of Jonathon Thiroux. And Rafe’s girlfriend is named Marguerite too. So it’s all completely strange and doesn’t make sense. The print matching is just crazy. Obviously it’s not the same person.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong.”

Sara almost dropped her wine when she turned and saw Marguerite standing in the kitchen of Jocelyn’s apartment, leaning against the column dividing the kitchen from the dining area.

“I am the same person. You would think you would have figured that out by now, but you’re not as bright as Gabriel or Raphael gives you credit.”

“How the hell did you get in here?” Sara asked.

“Demon trick. It’s not hard, really.” Marguerite was wearing a yellow sundress and heels and her shoes clicked on the tile floor as she moved forward.

“Demon . . . What are you talking about?” Sara was angry that everyone was talking in circles and riddles. Who was Raphael and what did demons have to do with anything?

“Oh, are you kidding me? Gabriel hasn’t told you? That’s interesting, very interesting. I would be pissed off about that if I were you.” Marguerite was right in front of them now, and she reached out and snatched out of Jocelyn’s hand the cell phone Sara’s friend had picked up off the coffee table. “You don’t need that.”

Sara was sorry she had dragged Jocelyn into this mess, whatever it was exactly, and she turned to reassure her friend, only to find Jocelyn staring vacantly into space, features and body frozen. Sara let out a scream. “Oh, my God, what’s the matter with her?” She touched Jocelyn, and she was warm to the touch, but completely still. “Jocelyn, are you okay?”

“She’ll be fine. I just thought it would be better if she takes a little nap while we have our chat. This way she won’t remember anything and you don’t have to feel guilty about involving her.”

“Involving her in what?”

“Involving her with demons. That’s what we are, you know, Gabriel, Raphael, and I. We’re immortal demons, though technically I’m only half-demon. But Gabriel and Raphael are full demons. They’re fallen angels. How sexy is that?”

Sara was still holding Jocelyn’s hand, and she was glad for the contact, even if Jocelyn seemed completely out of it. Gabriel had been right to warn her about Marguerite. The woman was totally insane. She was saying they were all demons.

“You don’t look like you think that’s sexy. And yet I know you have the hots for Gabriel. It took you about a minute to move in with him and start drinking his absinthe.”

Sara felt an icy fear slide across her, her heart pounding and her breathing shallow and rapid. “You left the bottle outside the door, didn’t you?”

Marguerite gave a small smile. “That was funny, wasn’t it? Gabriel has always been so aloof, so untouchable, so sure of his superiority, of his talent, yet he has no reason to be. He can’t function with other people for more than a minute, and he’s a total drunk. It’s fun to fuck with him. It’s too bad he was acquitted for Anne’s murder—that would have been the ultimate joke. But Raphael was too nice. He testified for Gabriel and got him off.”

Marguerite was blending past and present, talking about the men as if they had been involved, alive, for the Anne Donovan case. It was making Sara’s skin crawl and she wanted Marguerite gone. “What do you want?”

Sara was sorry she asked. Because Marguerite’s smile grew wide and maniacal.

“I want you to stay away from my boyfriend. And to make sure that you do, I’m going to kill you.”

Gabriel was exhausted and worried sick that he was too late. Sara wasn’t answering her cell phone, and neither was her friend Jocelyn, whose number she had given him as a contact. It had taken longer than he had expected to secure a rental car at the airport, and the whole process of traveling had been unnerving. He’d never flown on a plane before, and it had felt claustrophobic, agitating. He had found he was actually grateful for Raphael’s presence, guiding him through the whole check-in and security process. He didn’t want his own ineptitude to delay getting to Sara.

At least he had good computer skills. He had found and mapped the route to Jocelyn’s apartment, and with Raphael driving since he had lived in Naples, they made it to her complex with no problem. It was dark and they missed her building initially, but Raphael backed up and parked and they were out, Gabriel running.

Only Alex stepped in front of him on the walkway to the building. “Gabriel. Raphael.”

Shit. Gabriel stopped running. “Alex. What the hell are you doing here?”

“You know, I’m starting to get the feeling you’re not as fond of me as I am of you.” Alex put his hands in the pocket of his dress pants. “I feel highly insulted.”

“I think you’ll get over it. Now I’m going to assume that Marguerite is in there with my girlfriend, so step to the side please.” Before he lost complete control and ripped Alex’s face off. He was completely out of patience, and his fear was choking him. He couldn’t handle finding Sara like Anne had been. He wouldn’t survive that.

“Oh, now she’s your girlfriend? A week ago she was just someone you were working on a project with.”

“Just drop it.” He started to brush past Alex, but the demon grabbed his arm.

Alex had a gun in his hand, retrieved from his pocket. “One moment please. I need to talk to you and Raphael.”

“What?” The barrel of the gun was in his face, but Gabriel stared it down. Alex wasn’t going to intimidate him.

“Marguerite is unhappy and I can’t stand to see my daughter so upset. She’s had a harder life than her sister Rosa, because she’s always been insecure. And she’s always had a thing for Raphael—I have no clue why, it’s not like he’s all that great of a catch—but there it is. She wants him.” Alex turned to Raphael, who was behind Gabriel on the walkway. “So I guess this is what they would call a shotgun wedding. I want you to go in there and tell Marguerite you’ll marry her finally, because I’m sick to death of riding the crazy train with her. I’m too old for this shit.”

Gabriel couldn’t believe Alex was so nonchalant about the whole thing. Didn’t he realize his daughter was insane? That she had killed at least four women? And there was no way Raphael would agree to marry her.

But he did. Raphael just nodded. “Okay. I’ll marry her.” “Raphael, have you lost your mind?” Gabriel asked, appalled at the idea of being saddled to Marguerite for eternity.

Raphael just shook his head. “It’s what I need to do. To make it right.” He headed for the front door.

Gabriel went to follow him, but Alex grabbed him again. “No. You stay here.”

“Fuck you, Alex. I want to see Sara.” Gabriel yanked his arm out of Alex’s hold.

The gun was suddenly on his temple. “I said stay here.”

Gabriel knocked the gun away. “And I said fuck you.” He was so tired and angry. All of this, all the death and suffering and pain, for what? Because Marguerite hadn’t been able to wrangle a ring from Raphael? It made him sick.

He started for the door again, but Alex moved. Gabriel instinctively ducked and avoided Alex’s blow to the head. “What is your problem?” He turned and blocked another punch.

“They need a minute to work things out. Leave them alone.”

“No.” Gabriel was so frustrated, he threw a punch back.

Alex blocked, and the next thing Gabriel knew, they were locked in combat, exchanging vicious blows that made Gabriel’s teeth rattle and blood burst from Alex’s nose.

Sara kept her mouth shut so that Marguerite wouldn’t hear her teeth chattering. She was scared witless. Marguerite had already moved Jocelyn by taking her by the hand and leading her down the hallway. Sara had watched Marguerite give Jocelyn a little push and her friend fall down on her bed, eyes vacant and staring at the ceiling.

She had run for it then, realizing it was her chance to escape, grabbing her purse as she flew past the sofa, but suddenly Marguerite had been between her and the door. It wasn’t possible, but there she was, and she slapped Sara so hard she saw stars and lost her balance, stumbling backward. Marguerite had grabbed her arm and shoved her so that she fell back onto the sofa.

Now she was sitting there, afraid to move, unsure what to do, all too aware that something was very, very wrong. This wasn’t just a woman who was feeling possessive about her man. This was crazy.

Marguerite was studying her manicure. “You know, I think I’m going to have to find a new salon. I just had my nails done yesterday and they’re chipped already. I don’t know this area all that well. Can you recommend a salon?”

Sara just shook her head. Her mind was a complete blank, her thoughts skittering left and right, trying to figure out how she was going to contact someone for help. How she might escape.

Swinging one leg over the other as she sat in an oversized chair across from Sara, Marguerite sighed. “No? That’s a damn shame. But I guess I’m not surprised. You look a little on the earthy side. You really need to put more effort into your appearance, hon. Your hair could use highlights to lift it, and some quality concealer could really cover up those dark circles under your eyes. I realize Gabriel likes your helpless delicateness, but still, you don’t want to look like a crackhead. Of course, I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’m going to kill you.”

“When were you planning on doing that exactly?” Sara asked, annoyance slicing through her fear. She didn’t like being toyed with, nor did she like being insulted. She had insomnia. She was entitled to dark circles under her eyes.

Marguerite glared at her. “Whenever I feel like it. And maybe I won’t be compassionate and put you in a trance like I did with Anne Donovan and your mother. Maybe I’ll just let you struggle while I slice you open like a fish. You’ll feel everything and you’ll fight me, and you won’t be able to stop me because I’m a hundred times stronger than you, and I’m the one with the big knife.”

“I don’t see any knife,” Sara said, suddenly feeling defiant and infuriated. Was this bitch admitting she had killed her mother? Sara would be damned if she would just sit there and be murdered. If it hadn’t been for Jocelyn in the bedroom, she would have made a rush for the door again, but she didn’t want to leave her friend behind.

Marguerite pulled a knife out of her purse. “Right here. Isn’t it pretty?”

They both heard the front door open at the same time and Sara didn’t hesitate. She ran for it, wanting to make sure whoever was there would understand the danger, that they would go for help. She screamed for good measure, yelling and shrieking as she tore for the door, waving her arms. There was a tug on the back of her shirt and she was suddenly lying on the floor, the wind completely knocked out of her and pain exploding in the back of her head.