"Nothing is arbitrary, and there are no coincidences, Jim. In fact, there is another who shall seek what you do, and as the separate quests unite, you will find the next soul."
"No offense, but that doesn't mean shit." Heron glanced at Colin. "And I'm not going to apologize to the talk police for that. Sorry."
Colin crossed his arms over his bare chest. "Suit yourself, lad. And I'll do the same."
Read: Maybe I'll pop you now. Or maybe later.
The last thing Nigel needed was a fistfight in his quarters as undoubtedly that would bring the other archangels, as well as Tarquin at a full gallop. Hardly the intermission one looked for.
"Colin," he said, "do go soak your head."
"I'm wet enough, thank you."
"That is a matter of opinion," Nigel muttered before addressing Jim again. "Go forth and have faith that you will be where you should d do what you must."
"I don't believe in fate, Nigel. That's like picking up an unloaded gun and thinking it'll shoot something. You've got to put the bullets in the chamber yourself."
"And I am telling you there are greater things at work than your efforts."
"Okay, wonderful, so put that on a Christmas card. But don't try to feed that bullshit to me."
Staring into the hard face of the savior, Nigel knew a flash of fear. With this attitude, there was yet one more thing stacked against the angels prevailing. And yet what could he do? Heron had no patience or faith, but that did naught to change the rules of the game or the likelihood that the Creator would inevitably redress Devina's liberties.
At least the latter worked in their favor.
"I believe we are through," Nigel said. "Nothing favorable shall come from our continued conversing."
There was a dark, rather evil moment during which Heron regarded him with a kind of fury.
"Fine," the savior said. "But I don't give up this easy."
"And I am the mountain that will not be moved."
"Roger that."
In between one blink and the next, that angel was gone. And it was not until silence rang out within the tent that Nigel realized he had not been the one to send Heron on his way. He had done that himself.
He was becoming stronger, wasn't he.
"Do you want me to go down and watch over him," Colin said.
"When I agreed to him as the chosen one, I thought there were enough reins to hold him. I truly did."
"And so I say, shall I depart and watch o'er him?"
Nigel turned to his dearest friend, who was so much more than a colleague and a confidant. "That is the purpose of Adrian and Edward."
"Stipulated. But I worry where his growing competence will take him. We are not on a good path with this."
Nigel took another sip of his wine and stared at the empty space that Heron had just inhabited. Though he kept silent, he had to agree. The question was, what to do, what to do ...
Chapter 3
Down below, in the cold woods next to the Monroe Motel & Suites, Veck stood in the direct glare of the ambulance's headlights, his partner de la Cruz on his right, his buddy Bails on the left. Spotlit as he was, he felt like he was onstage as Kroner was rolled out from the trees on a gurney.
Except there was only one person looking at him.
Internal Affairs officer Sophia Reilly.
She was standing off to the side, and as their eyes locked, he wished they were getting together under different circumstances - again. The first time he'd been introduced to her had been because he'd corked that paparazzo.
This shit made one sucker punch look like a day at the beach.
The thing was, he'd liked her the moment he'd shaken her hand, and that first impression had only been reinforced tonight: The detective in him had so approved of her just now, as well as the way she'd looked him over, like even if he'd been bullshitting her - and he hadn't - she would have known.
But they had to stop meeting like this. Literally.
Over at the asphalt lip of the parking lot, there was a thunch as the medics shut the double doors of the ambulance and then the vehicle backed out, taking the illumination with it. As Reilly turned to watch the departure, she was in the shadows - until she clicked on a flashlight.
Before she came back over, de la Cruz leaned into him and spoke softly: "Do you want a lawyer."
"Why would he need a lawyer," Bails snapped.
Veck shook his head at his buddy. He understood the guy's loyalty, but it was a shitload more faith than he had in himself at the moment. "It's a fair question."
"So do you?" de la Cruz whispered.
Officer Reilly circled around the blood pool, wending in and out of the trunks and branches, small sticks snapping under her feet, the sounds loud in his ears.
She stopped in front of him. "I'm going to have follow-up questions tomorrow, but you can go home now."
Veck narrowed his eyes. "You're letting me go."
"You were never in my custody, Detective."
"And that's it."
"No, not at all. But you're through here tonight."
Veck shook his head. "Listen, Officer, that can't be - "
"The CSI people are on the way. I don't want you here when they go through the scene because it represents a potential compromise to their work. That clear enough for you?"
Ah. And he should have guessed. It was dark here in the woods. He could easily pick up or manipulate evidence from the ground without anyone knowing, and she'd been trying to give him a gracious way out.
She was smart, he thought.
She also happened to be beautiful: In the reflected glow of the flashlight, she was stunning in the way that only a natural, healthy woman could be - with no heavy makeup to gunk up her pores or weigh down her lids, and no greasy, slippery gloss on her mouth, she was utterly un-fake.
And that heavy dark red hair and that deep green stare weren't exactly hard on the eyes, either.
Plus there was her take-no-shit attitude ...
"Fair enough, Officer," he murmured.
"Please report to the sarge's office at eight thirty a.m. tomorrow."
"You got it."
As Bails muttered something under his breath, Veck prayed the bastard kept his opinions to himself. Reilly was just doing her job - and being damn professional about it. The least they could do was pay her the respect back.
Before his buddy could spout anything else, Veck clapped palms with Bails and nodded at de la Cruz. As he went to walk off, Reilly's low, serious voice broke out through the night.
"Detective."
He looked over his shoulder. "Yeah, Officer."
"I'm going to have to take your gun. And your badge. And that knife holstr."
Right. Of course. "Badge is in the leather coat over there on the ground. Do you want to do the honors on my nine and strap?"
"Yes, please. And I'll take your cell phone, too, if you don't mind."
As she stepped in close, he smelled her perfume. Nothing fruity or flowery or, God forbid, that vanilla shit. Nothing he could place commercially, either. Shampoo, maybe? Had she gotten the call just when she'd been stepping out of the shower?
Now, there was a picture... .
Wait a minute. Was he actually fantasizing about his coworker ... five feet from a murder scene? While he was a suspect?
Wow.
Yup, that was all he had on that one.
Reilly put her flashlight in her mouth, and then her bright blue gloved hands reached forward. As he lifted his arms to help her get to his waist, a subtle tugging registered in his hips, the kind of thing that he would have felt if she'd been taking off his pants -
The electric bolt that shot down into his c**k was a surprise - and Christ, he was glad that beam was flashing right at his chest and not in a southerly direction.
Man, this was so damned wrong - and unlike him. He didn't hit on colleagues, whether they were admin assistants, fellow detectives ... or Internal Affairs officers. Too much hassle when the inevitable end to the one-night stand came -
Dear God, where was his head at?
Not on reality, apparently.
It was almost like the magnitude of what had happened on that patch of red-stained leaves over there was so great, his brain was seeking shelter in any topic other than the giant, bloody elephant in the forest.
Then again, maybe he'd just lost his mind. Period.
"Thank you, Detective," Reilly said as she stepped back with his weapon and leather holster. "Your phone?"
He handed it over. "You want my wallet?"