Sins of the Lost (18 page)

Chapter 48

Alex slipped back into bed and lay beside Seth, listening to his deep, steady breathing. Light and shadow played across the ceiling as cars passed by in the street below. Pain stabbed beneath her ribs with every beat of her heart.

Sliding an arm under her head, she glanced sideways at the glow of the digital clock. Four a.m. Another hour and she had to be up. The effort of trying to go back to sleep almost wasn’t worth it. Except facing the day would be harder. She closed her eyes. Heaved a shaky sigh. How in all of Heaven and Hell and Earth combined was she going to find the strength to do what the One asked? It didn’t matter that she understood now
why
Seth needed to go back, she was still going to lose him. She was still going to hurt him.

Warm fingers threaded with hers beneath the sheet. A thumb caressed the inside of her wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Seth’s quiet voice rumbled. “About today, and before. I haven’t been fair to you.”

She squeezed her eyes tighter. “Seth—”

“Shh. Let me finish. I know you’re doing your best, Alex. You’re in an impossible place, knowing what you do about what’s coming, trying to protect your world against forces beyond your control. Part of me wants you to give up because I don’t believe you can win, part of me can’t help but admire you for standing up for what you think is right. For not giving in. But another part of me—most of me, I think—can’t get past the guilt of not being able to do anything. I’ve never felt helpless before. It’s not a pleasant sensation.” His hand moved to caress her arm. “But I’m still trying. Even if I can’t stop Armageddon or the Nephilim, I want to be here for you. Without the hysterics of jealousy or feeling sorry for myself.”

Hell and damnation. He wasn’t making this any easier.

“Seth—”

He placed his fingers over her lips. “I don’t think you understand how much I love you, Alexandra Jarvis. You are my entire existence, and I do not—
will
not—let anyone make me regret having chosen you.”

He shifted his weight toward her, and his mouth replaced his hand. She resisted, guilt swamping her. She should have stopped him, should have interrupted and told him about his mother’s visit, about how he needed to go. Should do so even now, because delaying would only make it worse.

The tip of his tongue touched her bottom lip. Traced it. She shuddered.

A tear slid from the corner of her eye. Losing him might be necessary, but it was also wrong. They hadn’t had enough time to get to know each other. They’d never, from the very beginning, had a chance to be anything near normal or ordinary, to just
be
. Christ, they hadn’t begun to explore the possibilities—
their
possibilities. She buried her face against Seth’s neck. If she had to give him up, it wouldn’t be like this. He deserved better.
They
deserved better.

She kissed the hollow at the base of his throat, tasting his skin. Sliding a hand beneath the T-shirt he wore to bed, she drew her fingers, featherlight, over the hard muscles of his back. Seth went still. An image of Lucifer flashed into her mind and merged with one of Seth.

“He should never have made the choice he did. You’ve thought the same thing yourself. It is that which stands between you, not Lucifer.”

Was the One right? Was that the reason—? Her stomach clenched, and her skin dampened, chilled.
No.
She wouldn’t believe that. She couldn’t believe it. Gritting her teeth, she forced her touch lower and let it travel the curve of Seth’s buttock. His breath hitched.

It had been Lucifer between them all along. She was certain of it. She needed to be certain of it. And she’d be damned if she’d let the Light-bearer’s presence remain any longer. Shifting sideways, shelifted herself. Straddled Seth. Felt him surge against her, suddenly, fully aware.

“Alex?” A whisper, startled, filled with the ache of longing. Of need. Deep inside her, a fierce response snarled to life. Another tear slid down her cheek, hidden from him in the dark.

“I love you, Seth Benjamin,” she whispered. “Always.”

Chapter 49

Sweet Jesus, what in hell had she been thinking?

The November morning light filtered into the apartment, as pale and cold as Alex felt as she stood in Seth’s embrace, her every fiber screaming at her to pull away. She prayed that he didn’t feel her stiffness, her resistance. Her regret.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Seth’s hold tightened.

“I’ll miss you, too,” he murmured into her hair, misinterpreting her sigh. His hands slid down her back, kneading, caressing.

Her stomach gave a liquid roll. The moment she’d cracked open her eyes in the cold, watery light of the November dawn, she’d known her mistake. Known that she hadn’t made anything better, not for either of them. She hadn’t made it easier to let go of him, or for him to let go of her.

She’d made a monumental error.

And it had become a goddamn disaster in the making.

She pulled out of Seth’s grasp. “I should go. Traffic—I don’t want to miss my flight.”

“I still don’t want you to leave.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” She stretched her mouth into what she hoped would pass for a smile. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”

He framed her face with his broad, strong hands and kissed her forehead. “I already do.”

Alex picked up her keys from the hall table and shouldered her overnight bag. She turned to the door.

“Alex.”

She looked back, into eyes as dark as night itself and the steady warmth that glowed in them.

“I love you.”

She spun around and stepped into his embrace, burying her face in his chest. Memorizing his smell, his warmth, the sound of his heartbeat. “I love you, too, Seth Benjamin,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”

Then, tears blurring her vision, she fumbled for the doorknob.

***

Aramael knew.

She didn’t know how, but he did.

She saw it in the rigid set of his shoulders, the almost imperceptible sagging of his black wings . . . the bleak agony etched into his face. Her step slowed, and only with grim effort did she keep moving toward the vehicle.

She went around to the driver’s door and unlocked it. He remained still. Staring across the roof at his back, she tried—and failed—to come up with words to . . . what? Apologize? Explain? Ease his pain? None of those things were possible; none of them should have been necessary. He knew Seth was her choice. She’d made it clear to him time and again. Abundantly so. He couldn’t claim he hadn’t expected this, damn it.

Clamping her mouth shut, she climbed into the sedan. Aramael followed suit. Silence hung over them like a toxic cloud for the duration of the drive to the airport, making every breath burn in the back of her throat. Not until she parked the car, switched it off, and opened her door to get out did Aramael finally speak.

“You’re making it more difficult for both of you.”

She went still, then leveled a cold look over her shoulder. “This is the only time you get to mention it,” she said, “and the only time I will tell you that it’s none of your business. Are we clear?”

The tiny muscle in his jaw flexed. “Crystal.”

“Good. We have a flight to catch.”

Chapter 50

“Detective Jarvis? They’ll see you now,” a male voice said.

Alex looked up from the magazine she’d been pretending to read and dug up a smile for the admin assistant who had previously offered coffee to her and Aramael.

Aramael, who glowered out the window, his palpable hostility giving her ample reason to feign interest in the future of motocross in Canada. He’d been like this ever since the apartment, making the past few hours—at the airport, in the plane, in the taxi they’d shared—the most uncomfortable of her life. Bar none.

She set aside the magazine and stood.

Aramael straightened.

“No,” she said. “We’ve been over it a dozen times, Ara—Trent. You’re not coming in with me.”

His voice stopped her at the door. “Just—be careful.”

Be careful what you say, what you tell them. Protect our secrets.

All valid warnings, but if they’d called her to Ottawa, it was almost certainly too late for careful. And far too late for secrets.

She followed the young man down the hallway. Her cell phone vibrated with another call from Jen—the fourth one this morning. Thumb poised over the buttons, Alex hesitated. Then, as the administrative assistant stopped in front of a door and looked askance at her, she smothered her guilt and touched the button to ignore the call. Jen hadn’t left a voice message with any of her other calls, so it wasn’t urgent. It would wait until tonight.

Stepping past the assistant, she entered the room and scanned its occupants. Three men, one woman, all seated at a small, circular table; all wearing suits and the vaguely harried expressions of those who carried too much responsibility. She recognized none of them.

But she did recognize the logo of the Toronto coroner’s office on the DNA report laid out on the table.

One of the men, middle-aged and balding, with the lean look of a habitual runner, stood. “Detective Jarvis, I didn’t realize you’d been injured. I hope the trip wasn’t too much for you.”

She touched fingertips to the healing cuts on her face. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Superficial.”

He nodded. “Well, thank you for coming. I’m Stephane Boileau, aide to the minister of public security. This is Frank Allan from CSIS, Vic Hamilton from the RCMP, and Madeleine Renault from the GOC.”

The Canadian Security Intelligence Service, the national police force, and the Government Operations Centre responsible for coordinating the country’s emergency response management. Oh, yeah. The time for secrets had definitely passed.

Alex shook hands with everyone and then took the only empty seat.

Stephane Boileau slid a pair of wire-framed glasses onto his nose and pulled a notebook toward him. Turning to a clean page, he jotted down a note. Alex waited. At last he looked up.

“Detective, I trust you understand that what we’re about to discuss here is highly sensitive.”

“I’m fairly adept at keeping secrets, Mr. Boileau.”

He peered at her over the glasses, then nodded.
“Bon,
”
he said in French.
Good.
“Then we begin. You know why you are here, of course?”

Because I know things you don’t
. “Not exactly, no.”

“There have been a number of unusual occurrences across the country. The serial killer in Toronto, an amnesiac man who disappeared from a Vancouver hospital, the DNA match between the children born of these pregnancies and a”—Boileau looked down at the papers before him—“a claw. These things, along with the freak earthquake that hit Vancouver . . .” His voice trailed off and he raised his eyes back up to hers. “Detective, your name seems to be the one common thread between these incidents. We’d like to know why.”

“You forgot to add the scrolls to your list.”

Boileau and the others exchanged a flurry of glances. For a shot in the dark, her accuracy was impressive. Boileau cleared his throat.

“You know about the scrolls.”

She nodded.

“And did you know they’re missing?”

“Missing?”

“The Church reported the theft to Interpol yesterday, but they’ve been missing for more than a week.”

Hell.
She’d known it was just a matter of time before those damn things bit them on the ass.

Resting his elbows on the table, Boileau folded his hands and leaned forward. “I’ll be blunt, Detective Jarvis. We’re dealing with a highly nervous population. That makes us nervous, too. We know what’s in the scrolls and what the DNA evidence tells us, and we know that—somehow—you’re connected to everything that’s happening. If we’re going to keep a lid on this, however, we need to know more. We need to know everything.”

Alex stared out the window. The drizzle that had started while they were in the taxi from the airport had settled into a steady, miserable downpour. She grimaced, picturing her umbrella on the closet shelf at home.

“Well?” Boileau prompted.

“You must have theories,” she said, knowing full well she attempted to sidestep the inevitable. Maybe she should have let Aramael come into the meeting with her after all. Maybe he could have done one of those memory-wipe tricks and made all of this just go the hell away.

“Detective—”

She shoved back the chair and stood. Arms crossed, she paced the width of the meeting room. “What if I told you it was true?”

“The information in the scrolls?”

“Yes.”

Boileau tapped his pen against the table. “What if I told you we already believed it?”

Tension she hadn’t known she held in her shoulders slipped away with a suddenness that made them sag. She stopped pacing and stared at the others. Not one gaze turned from hers. “Seriously?”

“Not exactly as written, of course. The scrolls are thousands of years old, after all, written when humans had little to no understanding of possibilities such as extraterrestrials, and—”

“Extraterrestrials?”

“Of course. That is your explanation for this, isn’t it? We’ve been studying the possibility for years. Decades, even. It would be arrogant in the extreme to believe ourselves the only life in the universe, after all. And now that the children born of these pregnancies are exhibiting such unusual traits—”

“Wait,” she interrupted. “Unusual how?”

The minister’s aide leaned back with a sigh. He exchanged another look with one of his companions, the woman from the GOC, who shrugged in response.
Your call,
the gesture said.

“Inhumanly so,” Boileau said. “They’re continuing to mature at a phenomenal rate, their IQs are off the charts . . .”

She waited, certain he hadn’t finished.

But it was the woman who continued. “There’s evidence of other traits as well,” she said. “Violent ones. And . . .”

Alex stared at them, but the four gazes that had so willingly held hers a moment before had settled with steadfast focus on the table before them. “And?” she prompted.

“And they’ve disappeared,” Boileau said. “Two days ago.”