Crave (Fallen Angels 2)

Body number two was halfway down to the front door and clearly the source of the smell. . . . Yeah, wow, that bastard was a candidate for a closed coffin if Jim had ever seen one: His face was distorted from the inside out, the bullet having traveled up the meat and bone of his chin and nose before exiting on a hrow-open-the-doors-and-sing-like-Ethel-Merman routine at the crown of his skull.

Going by the snake tattoo around the guy's neck, it had to be Matthias's second in command.

And Isaac was standing over the guy with a puss full of what-the-fuck.

Rothe looked up and raised his weaponless hands. "He did it himself. He f**king did it . . . himself. Damn it. . . . How's the father?"

Jim knelt beside the captain to double-check. Yup, Childe had been beaned on the head, likely with the butt of a gun, but he was already starting to moan as if he were coming around.

"He'll be all right." Jim rose up and headed down to Isaac and the other guy. As he got closer, the smell got worse--

He slowed and then stopped altogether. And rubbed his eyes.

A shimmering gray shadow covered the body of Matthias's second in command from head to foot, moving around the arms and legs and blown-off head in the same way Jim's spell shifted and covered the house they were all in. And the blood was all wrong--gray, not brilliant red.

Devina, Jim thought. She was either in the man or had taken him over.

"He just put it under his chin and pulled the trigger." Isaac sank down onto his haunches and nodded to the gun that was in the corpse's right hand. "He used my weapon to do it."

"Get away from the body, Isaac."

"Fuck that, I have to clean it up before--"

Jim wasn't interested in arguing and grabbed hold of the guy, pulling him up and back a couple of feet. "You don't know what it is."

"The hell I don't. He came to pick me up."

Jim glared at Isaac. "Last I heard you were lamming it."

"Change of priorities."

Damn it, get abducted for twelve hours and the world goes to shit: Isaac turning himself in, dead demon in a civilian's front hall, no one making sense anymore.

"I won't let you go back in, Isaac. Or sacrifice yourself to keep someone else alive." Because how much you want to bet that was what was going on here.

"Not your choice. And no offense, but I still can't imagine why you give a shit." The soldier took out one of XOps' transistors, which had this time been disguised as a Life Alert. "Besides, it's moot. I've already resummoned."

That blinking light made Jim want to holler. So he did. "What the f**k are you doing? Matthias is going to kill you--"

"So."

A patrician voice interjected. "I thought you were coming forward with information on Matthias."

Jim glanced over his shoulder. Alistair Childe had gotten to his feet and was coming down to them, his hand on the wall like he needed help balancing.

"I thought that was the plan, Isaac. And, Jim, I thought you had died over in Caldwell. Three or four days ago."

Jim and Isaac both hopped on the Total Pass Train and ignored the rhetoricals. Which was easy to do considering how much needed figuring out.

The fact that Matthias's number two had come in and killed himself with Isaac's gun was only surface dressing. The core truth was that Devina was all over this situation. But to what end? If Isaac was the target, why the f**k hadn't she just taken him now while Jim wasn't around?

"Did she--he have a clear shot at you?" Jim asked. "At any point?"

"You mean to kill? Hell, yeah--I was up against the wall, palms planted, with my weapons on the floor. That's about as clear as you get."

"This makes no sense." He looked down at the body. "No sense."

"We have to get rid of the body," Isaac said. "Before I go, we have to--"

"I'm not letting you turn yourself in."

"Not your call."

"God damn it--"

"My thoughts exactly." Isaac frowned, his narrowed eyes roving around Jim's puss. "And what the f**k happened to you last night?"

For a split second, Jim strongly considered banging his head against the wall, except that was redundant, given the shape he was in. How the hell was he going to get Isaac out of this mess?

It wasn't like he could come clean and explain what was really doing: Well, see, I really did die, and Matthias is not the problem. I'm trying to keep you away from a demon who wants your soul. And I don't have a clue what she's playing at here.

Yeah, that would go over like a lead balloon.

Isaac didn't wait for an answer to the question about Jim's face. Clearly, the guy had been in a brawl with eight hundred bouncers or some shit, and that was not his business. What did have his name written all over it was this operative who'd somehow managed to magically fix his own arm before he killed himself.

Unless . . . twins?

Shit . . . yes. That had to be it. And what a tool for Matthias to f**k with people's minds. No wonder he'd picked the SOB to be second in command.

As Jim cursed again and took up wearing a path in the hall's runner, Isaac bent down and quickly unbuttoned the second in command's sleeve. No trace of anything on that forearm in the form of a surgical repair, no evidence the skin or bone had ever been broken.

Twins. Had to be.

With a quick rip, he tore open the black shirt, buttons popping off and bouncing on the floor. The bulletproof vest that was revealed was a surprise. Yeah, they were standard-issue, but why would you bother with one if you were going to turn your skull into a pi?ata?

Unsure exactly what he was looking for, he stripped the Velcro straps off the vest--

"Holy . . . crap . . ." He leaned in to make sure he was seeing right.

All down the guy's stomach there were deep scars that formed a pattern, and as Jim took a looksee and started in on another round of cursing, Isaac kept going with a fast pat-down. Cell phone, which he put aside. Wallet with a hundred in cash and no ID. Ammo. Nothing in the boots except socks and soles.

Stepping over the body, he headed for the kitchen to get a trash bin. As he was pulling the thing out of its cabinet and wondering how many arms and legs would fit in it, he heard footsteps behind him. Obviously, the peanut gallery had followed, but come on, people. No more talk; they needed action. Grier was locked in the damn closet upstairs and he had to get the shit cleaned up before he let her out--

"You lied."

Isaac froze and cranked his head around. Grier was standing on the far side of the island with the cellar door just shutting behind her. How in the hell had she . . . Crap, there must be a hidden stairwell that linked to the basement. He should have guessed there would be multiple escape routes.

As she stared at him, she was white as Kleenex and shaking in her shoes. "You never intended to come forward. Did you."

He shook his head, not knowing what to say and all too aware of what was in her front hall. This situation was totally out of control. "Grier--"

"You bastard. You lying b--" Abruptly, she focused over his shoulder. "You . . ." She pointed at Jim, who'd come to stand in the archway. "You were the one in my room the other night. Weren't you."

An odd expression filtered across Jim's features, kind of a f**k-me, but then he just shrugged and looked at Isaac. "I will not allow you to turn yourself in. "

"Your new theme song is getting on my nerves," Isaac bit out as he decided to bag the bin and go unstructured with some of Hefty's best.

Chatter, a lot of chatter from just about everyone--and all of it directed at him. But whatever. Selective deafness was something he had excelled at as a kid, and what do you know, the skill set came back to him without a hint of rust.

Isaac bent down under the sink and prayed that the most logical place for more trash bags was in fact--bingo. He took out two of them along with a broom and dustpan that were not going to survive this particular job.

God, he wished he had a hacksaw. But maybe with some rope, they could fold the bastard up tight and carry him out like a sloppy suitcase.

"Stay with her," he said to her father. "And keep her in here--"

"I saw it happen." As Isaac froze, she glared at him. "I watched him do it."

There was a long, silent pause, as if she had snapped all the chains of the men in the room.

She shook her head. "Why did you even pretend to go along with it, Isaac?"

As she stared at him, the trust was gone from her eyes. And in its place, there was a cold regard that he imagined people in laboratories wore as they watched the results of petri-dish cultures.