Fallen Angels 03 - Envy (34 page)

Plus the Spanish primer was educational.

Twenty minutes after they left the site, the detective pul ed over in front of the Barten house, turned off the engine, and got out of the car. As he jacked up his slacks, his face was grim, but then, with the kind of news he had? Hardly time to be flashing your dental work.

Hitting the walkway, Jim stayed side by side with the man, unwil ing to invade Sissy’s mother’s house even for a moment, and even though she would never know he was there.

At the dr, the guy lifted his hand and put it under his tie, at his chest. There was a cross there. Had to be, especial y as the man fel into Spanish as if he were praying—

Abruptly, the detective looked over.

And even though the guy couldn’t see him, Jim met those tired, sad dark eyes. “You can do this. You’re a good man, and you can do this. You’re not alone.”

De la Cruz looked back at the door and nodded sure as if he had heard the words.

Then he rang the bel .

Mrs. Barten opened up a moment later, as if she’d been expecting him. “Detective de la Cruz.”

“May I come in, ma’am?”

“Yes. Please.”

Before he stepped into the house, the detective kicked off his muddy shoes on the mat, and as the woman watched him, her hand crept to her throat.

“You found her.”

“Yes, ma’am. We have. Is there anyone else you’d like with you as we speak?”

“My husband’s traveling—but he’s on his way home. I cal ed him right after I got off with you.”

“Let’s do this inside, ma’am.”

She shook herself, as if she’d forgotten she was standing in the open doorway. “Of course.”

Jim went inside with the guy, and then there they were, once again in the living room, with Mrs. Barten taking the same flower-printed armchair she’d sat in the other day. De la Cruz grabbed the couch, and Jim paced back and forth, his rage at Devina making it impossible for him to sit down.

“Tel me,” Mrs. Barten said roughly.

The detective leaned forward and kept his eyes right on her tense, pale face. “We found her at the quarry.”

Sissy’s mother’s lids went on lockdown, closing and staying there. Then her breath left her slowly, until there had to have been nothing left in her lungs at al .

This was the exodus of hope, Jim thought. She probably didn’t even know she’d had any lingering, but here it was, squeezing out of her chest.

“Did she . . . Was she . . . suffer . . .”

De la Cruz spoke slowly and careful y. “We’re not sure that she is part of the recent kil ings.”

Mrs. Barten’s eyes opened back up, her body going rigid. “What . . . Then who? Why?”

“I don’t have those answers for you yet. But you have my word, ma’am—I wil not stop until I find out everything and I get the bastard.”

Jim couldn’t stand it any longer. He went over to Sissy’s mother and put his nonexistent hand on her shoulder. God . . . the pain she was in . . . . He could sense it clearly as if it were his own, and wanting to bear some of her burden for her, he pul ed the emotion into himself and held it there until his knees knocked together and he felt light-headed.

Abruptly, as if she were strengthened, the woman squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. In a low, forceful voice, she said, “How did she die.”

“Ma’am, we need the medical examiner to tel us that. She’s going back with him now, and he’s staying up al night to take care of her. She’s in good hands, and after I leave here, I’m going right to her side. I won’t lve her, ma’am. Not until she’s through this part. That’s my promise.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Barten took a deep breath. “How wil I know what’s happening?”

De la Cruz took out a card and wrote something on it. “This is my cel . You cal me anytime, night or day. My phone’s always on and always with me.

And as soon as the examiner’s done, you’l be the first person I dial.”

Mrs. Barten nodded and then shifted her focus, her eyes training on some infinite middle ground between her and the detective.

What part of Sissy’s life was she remembering? Jim wondered. The birth . . . the birthdays . . . the Christmases or Easters? Was it Hal oween or the Fourth of July, or no particular holiday, just some offhand recol ection of a sweet moment between the two of them? Or maybe it was something witnessed between Sissy and someone else that showed the girl’s kindness or empathy or humor. . . .

He wanted to see what she saw. Even if it was nothing good. Or nothing at al .

But he didn’t intrude on her. Enough of her daughter had been stolen—

The vibration against his chest wal was not his heart going haywire on him. It was his phone on vibrate.

Taking the thing out, he read the text from Adrian:
Ben tryn 2 reach u—need u now.

Jim didn’t want to leave, but he was out of the house in a second. Speeding over to the east, he zeroed in on Adrian—

And flashed right into a fight on the back lawn of Veck’s partner’s house.

What the
fuck
?

Devina’s minions had apparently boiled up out of the night, their smoky bodies circling Adrian like scavengers over a fresh corpse. But at least his boy wasn’t dead—and wasn’t about to be, given the way his deadly body was poised to do battle.

Jim upshifted immediately into ful -on aggression and he didn’t wait for the bel to ring. He jumped right in, throwing himself at the closest minion, tackling it hard. As the bastard screeched, that high-pitched sound was what got things rol ing—between one second and the next, everything went shit-wild.

Holding the SOB down, Jim curled up a fist and pummeled the thing with a punch to the “head”—and then he took advantage of the split second of paralysis to look up and summon a visual and audio barrier around this freak show. This was a neighborhood, not a vacant field. And al the hand-to-hand was happening mere yards away from three other houses. Al of which had plenty of phone lines that could cal the police.

CPD uniforms were
not
what they needed right now.

Outing his crystal dagger, he offed the minion under him and then stabbed at everything in front of him, slashing and lunging, leading always with the sharp point of the weapon Eddie had given him and taught him about.

Everything came out in the violence, al his pain and his fury unleashed, until he didn’t notice the acid blood from the enemy splashing his face. And he didn’t care that the shit was eating through his leather jacket and beelining for more of his skin. In fact, he couldn’t feel the earth beneath his feet as he powered from demon to demon ; he was at once total y with it and utterly disappeared.

And in his wrath, they couldn’t touch him: These were boys coming for a man’s job, and they were getting served.

After Jim stabbed another black chest cavity, the acidy spray hitting his jaw and throat, he dumped the body and got ready for the next—

The blow across his back was a real tooth rattler, the kind of thing that made you see stars and hear birds chirping. But like the trained solider he was, Jim went with the momentum, letting himself fal to the ground and then curling at the shoulder at the last minute to avoid further injury.

When he stopped his rol and looked over, the minion who’d gone after him was ready for round two.

Wel , hel o there, yard man, he thought.

The bastard had gotten itself a shovel and obviously used the thing like a tennis racket, swinging and fol owing through with the flat metal end. And it was hard to tel , but it seemed like laughter was coming out of the three-dimensional shadow.

Clearly, the dumb bitch thought he was in charge, and Jim was more than happy to teach Devina’s lackey a life lesson in assuming shit. Staying down and playing like he was compromised, he waited for it to come on over—which it did, sure as if Jim were holding the strings to those oily arms and legs: Moving like a robot with stiff joints, the minion approached with the heavy tool balanced between both hands. Closer. Closer . . .

When it was in range, Jim jacked up his torso, double-palmed the handle, and yanked hard. The minion jerked forward and fel off balance, gravity grabbing that body and pul ing it right on top of Jim.

Good thing it wasn’t bleeding.

Jim’s boot met the thing’s pelvic bone to stop the descent, and then it was a case of rol ing back and kicking the weight free—while keeping the shovel, of course.

As the minion went for a little joyride through thin air, Jim sprang up, stayed with it, and was the first to welcome it to its new home on the ground: Swinging the shovel around, he drove the business end into the bastard’s shadowy chest.

The scream was satisfying. But even more fun was to step back and watch as it pinwheeled in slow-mo: Apparently, Jim had put so much into the strike, the tool had penetrated right into the ground—about three feet, going by how much of the wooden handle was showing. The minion was locked on its back, an insect mounted.

The thing looked up and snarled.

“Yeah? So come and get me.” Jim gave it a second to get up. “No? Prefer being a welcome mat? Suits you, motherfucker.”

Jim kicked it hard in the head, going soccer bal on that loose skul , and then left the SOB where it was; across the lawn, Adrian was about to get back-doored by a minion that had found a spade and was gunning for him at a dead run.

“What is this—Home fucking Depot night?” Jim muttered as he got out his dagger again. “Behind you!”

Adrian dropped to the grass just as the gardener from hel stabbed forward. Great timing—the minion caught one of his buddies right in the gut.

Trouble? Al that blood was going to golf-sprinkler Ad.

Jim was just about to pul a breathing tarp when Adrian took care of the problem, going combats-over-cranium and getting the fuck out of the way.

There were only two upright minions left and he and his buddy split the difference, Jim taking the one with the hoe-hoe-hoe and Adrian whipping up onto his feet and circling the other, crystal dagger in handt>

Unwil ing to wait for a strike, Jim lunged forward, and grabbed onto the spade’s handle, yanking it vertical and then snapping out so the tool’s hardwood hel o’d the minion in the frontal lobe. Cue the
duh
moment—which Jim exploited by stabbing the thing.

As he wheeled around, he got to watch Ad dust the other fucker by opening a trapdoor in its intestines, and then nailing it in the head.

After that, there was nothing but panting breath and steaming leather and stil ed lawn supplies.

Jim glanced around, wondering where al the—Ah, yes, Reil y had a neighbor with one of those backyard shed things, and the squat box had been busted open. Too bad the lawn mower was stil nestled in there—that would have been fun.

Coulda given a whole new meaning to a high-and-tight haircut.

“You okay?” he said to Ad.

Ad spit on the lawn. “Yeah.”

They were both bleeding from scratches, but at least on Jim’s side, he was feeling better. The fighting had blown the carbon out of his pistons, and he was more himself. Calmer. More capable of focusing.

Good timing, he thought as he went over and knelt down by the bastard who was nailed to the ground.

“You ever work one of these over for intel?” he said as he measured the thing. It was moving slowly, clearly stil alive. Whatever the fuck that meant.

“Yup. They don’t have anything to say. Can’t talk.”

“Probably why she likes them.”

Ad came over and wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt. The glimmering red stain left behind looked like something a psychologist would ask her patient to interpret.

To Jim? It looked like the opening of a cave. A dense, dark cave that had the body of an innocent stashed against the back wal .

Yeah, like that interp was a shocker.

As a groaning sound bubbled up, Jim thought, Damn that demon. She was smart. If your subordinates were incapable of speaking about you, either because they were mute, dumb, or pain-resistant, it was damn good strategy—

“That was fun to watch.”

At the sound of Devina’s voice, Jim and Ad locked eyes. In silent agreement, they both made like her appearance was nothing unexpected. And as they rose to their feet and turned to her, Jim put himself in front of the other angel.

He was not losing another one to that bitch. Not tonight.

“Hiding from me, Jim?”

The demon’s eyes al but reached out and grabbed him: They were so intense, it was like being physical y struck.

Sil y thing to say, though. He hadn’t realized she couldn’t find him.

“Radar not working, Devina?” So that was why Ad had gotten attacked. She’d wanted to draw Jim out.

The demon stepped delicately across the grass. She was wearing heels high enough to make him wonder how she handled the elevation sickness, and her skirt was the size of a napkin and the color of the Vegas strip.

Sounded ridiculous, looked hot—as long as you didn’t know what she real y was.

And houghs never going to forget that.

Reaching behind, he put his hand on Ad’s forearm. The other angel was hard as a concrete block, utterly immobile—and he was going to have to stay that way: He was not in the right frame of mind to tackle an out-and-out with the enemy.

Neither was Jim, to be honest. But she wasn’t going to know that.

“Got something on your mind, Devina?”

She stopped when she came up to her undead soldier who’d been shish kebab’d. Staring down at the thing, she put her hand out, and with al the urgency of someone picking up a newspaper, summoned the form into her palm, drawing it up from the ground in a liquid rush and absorbing the stain into herself. When she was through, the shovel remained where it had been left, buried in the ground to the handle.

“How’s Eddie doing?” She smiled. “Smel ing like a rose?”

Jim wanted to curse. Of course she led with that.

It was the one thing guaranteed to make Adrian flip out.

Fucking hel —just when he’d thought this night couldn’t get worse . . .

A
s Reil y met the hard eyes of her partner, she guessed the pair of them were going to miss another pizza opportunity : Standing across her kitchen, Veck was looking downright pissed off, and although she bristled at the caveman routine, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was coming from.