Sins of the Angels (13 page)

“Excuse me?”

“I know it sounds ludicrous, Jen, but I keep seeing . . .”

“What?” Her sister's voice had gone tight.

Wings,
Alex tried to say. But she couldn't. Couldn't bring herself to admit aloud the undeniable parallel to their mother. She couldn't do that to Jen. Wasn't ready to do it to herself.

“Nothing,” she said. “It's nothing.”

Jen visibly gathered herself, looking determined. “It must be something, or you wouldn't be here acting all weird and jumpy. Just tell me what's bugging you, for heaven's sake. It can't be
that
bad.”

Alex wanted to tell her. Desperately. She needed to talk to someone before she went nuts just from thinking she was
going
nuts, but protectiveness surged in her as she looked into her sister's wary face. Several years Alex's senior, Jennifer had taken her in after their parents' deaths, and she hadn't just set aside her own life to raise her little sister, she'd also become the rock that anchored Alex through some pretty horrific years. She deserved better than to have her foundation shaken by Alex's sudden insecurities—at least until Alex knew for sure what was going on inside her own head.

So Alex made her shoulders shrug and her lips curve upward. “It's nothing. Really. I just think this case is getting to me, that's all. I'm sure a good night's sleep will help.”

With luck, it would also provide inspiration on how to deal with the massive abandonment-of-her-new-partner problem she'd face in the morning.

“Well, if you're sure.”

The relief in Jen's voice belied the concern that remained etched on her face, telling Alex she'd made the right decision. She picked up her cold tea and carried it to the sink, then turned to give Jen, now standing, a quick hug. “Thanks, Sis.”

“I don't know what for, but you're welcome.” Jen returned the hug. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how you're doing, all right? Better yet, come for dinner if you can. You haven't seen Nina in weeks.”

“She'll be home on a Friday night? How'd you manage that?”

“We had a little incident and agreed it would be best if she took a couple of weeks off from some of her friends.”

Alex held back a snort. She knew how difficult things had become recently, with Jen's divorce and the hormones running rampant through Nina's sixteen-year-old body, and she could just imagine the tone of such an
agreement
. “Something I can talk to her about?”

“Not right now, thanks. It was just a few missed curfews, so it's not even that serious, really. She's just testing me, that's all.” Jen shook her head and sighed. “Hell, it was even church related, in a way, so how bad can it be?”

Church related? Alex wanted to ask more of her strongly atheist sister, but Jen's hard face told her now wasn't the time. She walked down the hall to the front door, Jen trailing in her wake, and paused there, hand on the knob. One question, she told herself. Just one to reassure herself.

“Jen?”

“Mm?”

“You don't think—”

“No.” Jennifer cut her off, soft brown eyes darkened by the heavy, unnamed cloud that hung over them both. “Don't say it, Alex. Don't even think it. You're nothing like her.
Nothing.
Do you understand? You're just tired. You'll be fine.”

Far from imparting reassurance, however, Jennifer's vehement denial sat, cold and heavy, in the middle of Alex's chest.

Right beside the realization that Jen had answered the question before Alex had even asked it.

ARAMAEL SHIFTED HIS
weight against the tree trunk. The rough bark scraped through his suit jacket, chafing at his body even as the inactivity chafed at his mind. This standing about, this idleness, was interminable. Unforgiveable. He should be stalking the city streets, homing in on his prey, finding Caim.

He should not be standing here waiting for Alexandra Jarvis to emerge from the tidy, two-story house into which another woman had admitted her almost an hour ago. Shouldn't be wondering what she was doing in there. Who it was she spoke to. What she was saying.

Would she talk about what happened back there in the alley? Or the recognition that had flared between them? Or the way her hand had brushed his wing? Aramael resisted the urge to reach up to the spot she had touched, where a tingle still warmed the flesh beneath the feathers. He wrenched his thoughts back to the question of how much she might have figured out. If only she had a Guardian he could ask—

He ruffled his wings irritably. Hell, if she had a Guardian, he wouldn't be in this mess to begin with. Wouldn't be shackled by an obligation he'd wanted no part of in the first place and now found himself unable to surrender.

Wouldn't be torn between his purpose and a desire he should not—could not—feel.

His purpose. Did he even remember what that was? Did he remember that he existed only to hunt the Fallen Ones, to do what the rest of Heaven couldn't do, what none of them had the stomach for?

A tiny bird, black-capped and bright-eyed, flitted onto a branch near his head and regarded him with interest. Overhead, the evening sky darkened with premature gloom. Aramael glowered at the gathering clouds. A natural weather occurrence, or Caim at work again? His mouth twisted. He shouldn't need to even ask that question, damn it. He should be so attuned to his brother's energies that he knew exactly when Caim became active again, the very instant his brother targeted another mortal.

He should be, but he wasn't. Because a woman, a Naphil, had become more important.

The front door of the house opened and the bird departed in a flutter of feathers. Aramael drew back behind the tree as Alex emerged and descended the stairs toward the driveway, her jaw set and her face clouded. She passed by on the flower-bordered walkway, unaware of him, a bottomless weariness in her eyes. Reaching her vehicle, she stopped, back turned to him, and inserted a key in the door lock.

The thought slid through Aramael, unbidden, making his breath catch in his chest. The gossamer thread of awareness that stretched between them suddenly took on the strength of spider's silk, wrapping around him, entangling him in steely softness. The thought came again.

He stared at Alex's abruptly taut back. Disbelief joined the seething mass that had once been coherence. She'd heard him.

But she couldn't have. He hadn't spoken aloud, couldn't have said what he hadn't even known he felt—

He stepped farther behind the tree as Alex turned. Felt her puzzlement, her indecision, the faint uneasiness that ran through her. He held himself rigid, waiting for her to decide she had been imagining things, to get into her car and leave so he could follow, undetected—

And then he felt Caim.

Caim watched the bloody heart quiver into stillness, life fade from blank, staring eyes. Distaste sat thick and bitter in his throat—not for what he'd done, but for how he'd done it. Killing without the rush of anticipation, the expectation that this might be the one he sought—fuck, what a letdown.

He scowled.

Fat raindrops began to fall, making tiny explosions in the blood pooled at his feet. There had to be a happy medium. Something between the passionless act he'd just committed in an effort to needle his hunter, and the impassioned one that would bring that hunter down on him in a heartbeat. He shook his head and wiped his hands on the mortal's jeans. He'd never before killed for the sake of killing. Never gone about the act without real purpose.

Sure as hell had never dreamed doing so would bring so little pleasure.

Caim turned his face toward the sky, squinting against the rain's increasing onslaught.
See? I'm not entirely beyond redemption,
he thought to her.
You would have known that if you'd just let me come home.

No answer came. He hadn't expected one. She had never answered. Not once since he'd left. Not when he had begged her forgiveness; not when he'd professed remorse; not even when he had sworn his undying loyalty . . . if only she allowed his return.

Such was her love.

He cocked his head to one side and made his thoughts go still. Nothing. No sense of impending pursuit. No frisson along his spine warning him of a Power's approach. Right, so now he had a baseline. Knew how much control was too much. He'd let go a little on the next, a little more each one after that, until he found the perfect balance: enough passion to incite Aramael's hunting instincts, and enough control to allow himself to withdraw to a safe distance before Aramael arrived. Enough that his brother wouldn't feel him watching, waiting for—

“Hey! You! What the hell are you doing?”

The shout ripped through Caim's skull, shredding his thoughts. A hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Caim staggered, caught his balance, straightened to his full height, and extended his wings, bringing his focus to bear on his attacker. The man's eyes went wide. Caim reached for his throat. Then more loud voices. Clumsy, heavy steps. Grotesque shouts.

The man turned and fled. Caim saw a cluster of people running toward him. He hesitated. He could easily kill them all, but he could already feel his control slipping into the state where he would be unable to feel Aramael's approach and might not escape in time.

Hell.

He clenched his muscles against the urge to pursue the man. Flicked a last look at the approaching mob. Then, with a snarl, ramped up his energy vibration and left the scene.

 

ALEX FELL BACK
against the car door as Jacob Trent exploded from behind the giant maple tree in her sister's front yard. Even as her heart stuttered its shock, however, part of her wasn't surprised. Pissed, yes. But not surprised.

She focused on pissed.

“What the hell are you doing? Stalking me?”

“He's made another kill.”

Alex's heart stalled. Christ, not again.

“Did you hear me?” Trent demanded.

Alex rubbed her hip where it had connected with the side mirror. She didn't want to answer him. Didn't want to believe him. Hell, if this kept up, she didn't think she even wanted to be a cop anymore. Not on this case, anyway, and sure as shit not with this partner. She stooped and snatched up her keys from where she'd dropped them. Metal ridges bit into her fingers.

She glared at Trent. Later, she'd have questions about how he'd followed her. Why he'd followed her. Why in God's name she felt a frisson of pleasure at the idea in spite of her anger. Right now, however, she
was
a cop, and no matter how much she might dislike his uncanny ability to feel the killer, she couldn't deny its existence. Not after this afternoon.

She unlocked the car. “Where?”

Heading around the vehicle, he pointed west. “And no, I can't be more specific,” he growled. “Just drive.”

Alex's cell phone trilled at her waist. Ignoring Trent's mutter of impatience, she pulled the phone from its case and flipped it open. “Jarvis.”

“We have another,” Joly's voice told her. “With witnesses. Lower Sherbourne at the Gardiner underpass.”

Due west of where she and Trent stood. A spatter of rain hit Alex's cheek, another the hand she rested on the car. She met Trent's eyes across the car roof.

“Jarvis, you there?” Joly asked.

Nope. She really, really didn't want to be on this case anymore.

“We're on our way,” she said.

Twenty minutes later, Alex pulled up beside a cluster of police vehicles, turned off the windshield wipers and the engine, and climbed out of the sedan into the exhaustscented, headlight-lit underpass. She scanned the heavy equipment parked beside the scaffolding rigged for repair work on the hulking structure.

Trent slid out of the passenger seat. Alex turned her back on him. She'd made no effort to break the silence between them on the drive over and wasn't ready to do so now. Given the kinds of questions looming in her mind, it just seemed safer that way.

Not to mention saner.

She spotted Joly examining the ground beside a massive concrete pillar and headed toward him, leaving Trent behind.

“Well?” she asked. “Do we really have witnesses?”

The radio chatter on the way over had been fast, furious, and frustratingly conflicting. One witness, several witnesses, victim still alive, victim DOA—by the time she'd made it halfway here, she'd been ready to rip the radio out of its housing and toss it out a window.

“Witnesses, forensic evidence, guy running from the scene.”