The Archangel Agenda (Evangeline Heart Book 1) (13 page)

Chapter Twenty

We were barely wheels up when Clay dove into the research about the Renwick Gallery. I tried to keep up, but he was deep in his zone and I gave him some space, figuring he’d involve me when he wanted to. Breaking into places was his specialty and it was why I endured him.

“Holy shit!” he blurted, barely ten minutes in. “It’s a house.”

I frowned and set down my magazine. “What do you mean,
it’s a house.
”

“Look at this.” He swiveled his laptop toward me. I stood and walked over, twisting the screen so it was facing him again and we could look at the same time. I bent over his shoulder and studied the exterior of the building. He shifted and I caught the scent of his aftershave, remarkably like Griffin’s. How had I not noticed that before?

I rubbed a hand across my neck and focused. The two-story brick building had a very house-like façade with simple windows and a front door, topped off with a high crown of a roof and large stone accents. “Looks a little more palatial than most houses I’ve seen.”

“What do you think I break into, darling, 1970 bi-levels?”

He had a point, and this was probably small compared to some of the places he’d been in. It was certainly smaller than Felt’s place. “Okay, so it’s a house. How are we going to get in there?”

              He puffed up his chest. “I got a plan.” His fingers raced across the keyboard and I backed away, feeling somewhat comforted by his confidence. For all that he annoyed the shit out of me, he was a good thief. I left him to the bulk of his planning, my brain overworked and overtired from what Ralph had told me.

“Lina, seriously, this is going to be a piece of cake,” Clay said, shutting the laptop lid and yawning. “Let’s catch some shut-eye so we can hit the ground running when we get there. I called Ferdinand and he’s ready for us.”

I stared at him, “You called him?”

He laughed and reclined his seat. “Yeah, about ten minutes ago. You were sitting right there. For a chick with royal blood, you sure do daydream a lot.”

I scowled at him. “It’s been a long day.”

“Whatever. Just don’t go getting all big-headed just because Ralph thinks you’re the shit.”

“You’re the one who brought it up. I don’t get it.”

He snorted. “Yeah, you? With the tequila and eff bombs. You’re certainly no Mary Poppins.”

He threw his arm over his eyes and smacked his lips together like he was settling in for a deep snooze. I envied him. My brain wasn’t going to shut off anytime between now and when we landed. At best, I’d be able to let my body rest, but sleep would elude me. And he was right about the ludicrousness of the royal blood. I didn’t doubt that my mother had been something special, but I was just as Clay had described, the antithesis of royalty. Unless empty wine bottles and bullet cartridges counted for something.

I stood and pulled a blanket from the overhead compartment and laid it over him. He raised his arm off his eyes and peeked at me from beneath a toned forearm. He was strong and alive and for all that I’d dismissed his abilities and seriousness, he was a good partner for what we had next. I believed he could get us in, retrieve the relic, and get us out without getting caught.

If I weren’t so emotionally invested, I’d let him go in on his own.

If this were any other mission, I’d have relieved myself of the duty. I was a liability to the success of this mission and I knew it. I was too committed, too emotional. If we had critical decisions to make—and what mission didn’t?—I was the last person I’d want to rely on in that pivotal moment.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He shrugged and lowered his arm, his hand coming down to encircle my wrist. “You okay?”

“Not really.” I rubbed my forehead with my free hand. “I will be, I’m just … that was a lot of intel that I didn’t expect.”

“Sleep. Let your subconscious work it out.” He yanked my arm, unbalancing me, and I had nowhere to go but into his lap. I squirmed off and onto the seat beside him, but he kept his arm around me. There was no playfulness in his grip, but no threat either. I was half sprawled across the seat and his body.

“Get some sleep.” He pushed my head down on his chest and I elbowed him—though not as hard as I might have under any other circumstances.

His grip relaxed and I moved fully onto the other chair. He tossed half of the blanket over me. Inches separated our bodies, his body heat warming the space between and I could almost feel the blood pumping through him. Everything about Clay set me on edge, but I focused on the simple rhythm of his breath as he fell asleep and used it to calm my frayed thoughts, and finally drifted off to sleep.

The pressure in the cabin changed, waking me. We began our descent into D.C. and I quickly lifted my head, realizing it had been on his chest and pulled my hand back from where it had rested across his abs. I’d gravitated toward his warmth and solidity during my restless sleep while I’d dreamt of Griffin and the impossibility of our mission.

The dream had twisted into a nightmare more than a few times and I sat up, recalling it now, looking for a message. I hadn’t dreamt of Griffin since his death. And with Ralph’s warnings and theories so fresh in my mind, I teased solutions from my subconscious, hoping it had worked through the puzzles.

Griffin and I had been walking through Central Park, his arm draped across my shoulder and his fingers playing with my hair. I’d been tucked against his side, content and enjoying the simplicity of the moment together. There had been so few of them, with my erratic schedule and his long nights preparing for court cases. But this one had felt perfect, like a moment sliced out of the chaos and suspended in a bubble of romantic bliss. Then, in that crazy shifting of dreamland, we’d crossed a bridge straight into a fiery pit. Griffin’s grip had changed into something sinister and he’d threatened me. His face morphed into a dark and hideous mask of death and devil, hair melting onto his scalp and his eyes darkening until they were gaping holes to nowhere. Heart pounding, I’d been torn between running away and dragging him out of there.

The scene changed and it was snowing, clean of the fear and horror of what I’d just witnessed. We were coming out of a bar, drunk and laughing, barely holding each other up as we slipped and slid on the icy sidewalks. Cabs were sparse and we’d reveled in the kiss of icy air against our hot cheeks on the walk home. The snow fell harder with each block, until it was a blizzard, clogging our steps, trapping our legs. I lost my grip on Griffin and he fell, disappearing beneath the mountains of snow. Frantic, I dug for him, but more snow covered every swipe of my hand.

Within seconds, the flakes were above my head and smothering me, trapping me, drowning me.

I yanked myself clear of the dream and gasped for air.

Clearly, my mind thought I was overwhelmed and unable to save him and that wasn’t the kind of cheerleading I needed. Yes, this was impossible, but there had to be a sliver of hope or Metatron wouldn’t be hanging the entire mission on me and this eclectic team of mine. I breathed slowly, forcing my mind to clear the negativity. I’d been here before—hundreds of times. My missions weren’t ever easy, but I succeeded one hundred percent of the time and I would this time too.

I would be okay. I had an archangel on my side, not to mention God and righteousness. I had to cling to that advantage. In my world, good always won. Always. I would find a way to save Griffin, to save my own grief and guilt over his death, and to put the good guys firmly on the winning side.

I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair and lifted the shade. We were still under cover of night and though I wasn’t as rested as I wanted, we couldn’t waste any more time. We had to go after this now.

Clay yawned and thankfully made a point of not mentioning that I’d just been draped across him. “Morning.”

“Not yet.” I glanced over my shoulder. His hair stuck up at weird angles and his lids were still low and drooped. Girls probably found his morning after look pretty sexy. I nudged his thigh with mine. “Let me out.”

He angled his hips and I eased past him, careful to touch as little of him as possible while he watched me the entire time, lips curved in a slight smile that went with his sexy bed head. I used the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and grabbed an apple on the way by the display on the table. I sat in the chair across the aisle from him. “What else do we need to go over?”

He stretched and stood, scratching his jaw and rubbing his arms like he was trying to get the blood moving. “We’re set. I’m telling you, this is going to be easy-peasy.”

“Equipment? Communication?”

He shook his head. “Nope. This is as straightforward as it gets. Might as well be shoplifting a soda.”

I bristled. “Thinking like that is how you get caught.”

He leaned over and tapped my nose. “No. That’s how
you
get caught.” He straightened and strolled away, whistling.

Chapter Twenty-One

I waved off the pilot’s offer for a car and we headed through the airport and toward the subway. Taking a cab or a car would leave a trail and we were already involving Ferdinand—
and
Ralph. With any luck, Ferdinand was as eager to help as Ralph said he was and would get us on the property and into the
house
. From there, I just had to stand guard while Clay strolled in and out of the building.

It was way too simple.

My nerves got the better of me as we climbed the metro stairs and crossed K Street into Farragut Square. Pools of light from the overhead lamps stretched out before us and we walked briskly along the sidewalk. I wasn’t sure where Ferdinand and Clay had designated as the meeting spot, but I wanted to get that part firmed up before we got much farther. I hoped he was meeting us here in the park, where it would be easy to pass information.

We continued without interruption onto Connecticut Avenue, which would circle us back behind the Renwick Gallery. I moved closer to Clay until our shoulders brushed. “What’s the plan?”

He shook his head and sped up, his long legs eating up the sidewalk. We looked like we were hurrying and I didn’t like it. Everything about this was making me unravel. Never in my life had I run such a chaotic, unplanned mission. “Tell me,” I hissed.

He cut his head sharply to the left. Was the plan coming undone and he couldn’t tell me? I scanned the street, sidewalk, and shadows, looking for what was about to go wrong. “Just trust me, Lina.”

“What?”

His hand slid down to take mine and we crossed, then he tugged me beneath the tree line on the wrong side of the street. Shadows closed around us as we moved from tree to tree. While my nerves frayed one at a time, Clay moved silently beside me, staring straight ahead.

Midway up the block, a golf cart whipped down the closed-off street. Its young driver stopped at the curb and I stiffened. This couldn’t be Ferdinand—not based on Ralph’s description.

Clay kept walking, ignoring the security guard.

“Evening,” the guard said.

Clay didn’t say anything and I kept my head down. I wanted to be polite and lie to the guard so he’d leave us alone. But I had to trust that Clay and Ferdinand had a plan—a
good
plan.

Another cart came from the opposite direction and hopped over the curb. Now this was getting out of hand. I didn’t have enough weapons on me. I had the two knives I’d worn to London and the unsharpened relic that Ralph had given me. Neither great options in this scenario.

“Judy, is that you?” I hesitated and Clay turned, my hand still locked in his.

The first guard looked puzzled. “Hey, Ferdinand. You know these two?”

The older guard wedged his cart between the first and where we stood. Clay inched us past the bumper of both vehicles, giving us a wide escape if we needed it. I squeezed his hand in acknowledgement. Whatever happened from here on out, we were in it together and I had his back.

“Yeah. My niece, Judy.” The older guard got out and held onto the roof support of his cart. “Been a long time, sweetheart.” He gave me a bear hug and I hugged him back. He eyed Clay up and down. “And, who is this lad? Is this who your mother was telling me about? Stephen? Stephen King?”

I eyed them both and smiled. “It is, but not the author.”

“Of course not. He’s your guy, your mom said. Hey, Tanner…” He glanced at the other guard. “Mind if we chat for a second if you want to go ahead and finish your sweep, Tanner.”

The young guard—Tanner—looked us over and I gave Ferdinand a nod and me a sweet smile. I cocked my hip and pressed into Clay. His arm dropped to my waist and he turned us toward Ferdinand.

“So great to see you, Uncle Ferdy.” I leaned forward and clasped the old man’s shoulder, hoping like hell that we could trust this guy.

Tanner waved and peeled out, spraying a fine mist of dust and gravel.

Ferdinand glanced at Clay. “You ready?”

Clay nodded and handed over the coin. Ferdinand eyed it. He looked at us both with a grin that I’ve seen only on Alice and Wonderland’s Cheshire cat. I’d say the guy had been coveting that piece for some time.

“How long?” Clay asked.

Ferdinand turned the gold piece over in his hand, and grinned, then pocketed it. He looked up and jerked his head toward Tanner. “It’ll take him twenty-two minutes to sweep the area and come back here. I’d get to going.”

That wasn’t much time, but if Clay was right and this proved to be a simple pickpocket job, we’d be out and headed up Pennsylvania Avenue before anyone knew we’d been there.

Ferdinand dug in his front pocket and pulled out a key. “This’ll get you through the construction fence, then you’ll need that code I texted you to get into the building. They’ve put Felt’s portion of the display in the gallery off the store and you’ve got to go through there to get to it. The rest of the building is closed.” He made a face. “This should be too. Some damn politician got his pants in a tumble when they moved up the Renwick remodel. Pulled every string he had. Guess Felt donated a couple mil to this guy’s campaign.”

He shook his head, clearly disgusted at the inner workings of politics.

“And we don’t have anyone else to worry about? No one in the building?” I couldn’t believe they’d just leave a huge building unguarded. Wouldn’t they keep at least one guard inside?

Ferdinand chuckled. “I’m sure Felt thinks they have an armed guard watching over that display twenty-four, seven. The Smithsonian doesn’t have that kind of manpower. We got enough going on in the main buildings. The Renwick has never had much worth stealing.”

He grinned a wide toothy grin. “’Til tonight.”

“I’m so sorry to have to involve you in this.”

He shrugged and slid back on the seat of his golf cart. “Ralph said the piece was his to start with, and your mother’s before. I don’t think that’s stealing.” He patted his pocket where he’d put the coin and winked at me. “Besides, I got what I wanted.”

Clay palmed the key and stepped to the curb. “Thanks.”

Ferdinand grinned and saluted. “Give my best to Ralph next time you see him. Be safe.” He gunned the cart and rocketed over the curb and onto the deserted street. Clay hurried across and turned right, staying close to the Blair House until we hit the corner and raced toward our destination.

High white construction fence enclosed the entire building and scaffolding clung to the deep red brick exterior. Felt probably had no idea that the building looked like this or he’d never have agreed to let his collection come. Sure, it was prestigious to be displayed in the Smithsonian, even an out-of-the way gallery like the Renwick, but there couldn’t be more than a handful of people needing a gift shop so badly that they’d navigate the construction detours and fences to get inside.

We did, though.

Clay hurried to the big truck entrance and made quick work of the lock. He pulled the fences apart and I slipped through first and headed toward the back of the building.

“Over here,” Clay whispered, drawing me to the small door. I hurried over. “You’ve got to stay and keep watch. Be my eyes.”

I shook my head. “We have no communication. How will I let you know?”

“Phone.” He nodded and arched his eyebrows, holding out his hand.

I handed mine over and he quickly tapped in his numbers. “Text me.”

Then he was gone.