Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

“Oh no,” I breathed. “Don’t tell me—”

“Yeah,” he said, as he shoved his phone away. “Jacinta Nadler is dead.”

“Fuck,” Jak said. “Nadler really is clearing the remnants of the past, isn’t he?”

I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. And wondered if Azriel was right—that Mom’s murder, and these, might be connected. But if Mom had known something about Nadler, how had Nadler known she did? As far as I knew, she’d never met him.

Did that mean Azriel was also right in suspecting there was a rat in the ranks?

It wasn’t a thought I was willing to entertain, yet I couldn’t entirely ignore it, either.

“It would appear that he is,” Rhoan said. “Although she wasn’t murdered like this. It’s been made to look like a home invasion—she was raped, brutalized, and then her throat was cut.”

I closed my eyes. God. We’d done that. We were responsible for that. If we hadn’t talked to her—

“Risa,” Rhoan said gently, obviously guessing the direction of my thoughts. “We’ve also talked to both her and Blake. The only person to blame for these deaths is the monster behind all this.”

He was right. I knew that, but it didn’t make me feel any less responsible. Because they hadn’t died when the Directorate had talked to them; they’d died when I had talked to them. But I didn’t say anything, watching as he ran a gloved finger around the bloody separation wound just below the victim’s belly button. “You know, it’s almost as if someone has thrust a hand into Blake’s stomach and somehow ripped him apart from there.”

“Aedh,” I said, rubbing arms suddenly chilled. “The Aedh can do that.”

“So can demons,” Rhoan said, standing up. “Let’s not discount anything or anyone until we have forensic results.” He glanced at his watch. “They should be here any minute. In the meantime, why don’t we start going through Blake’s belongings and see if we can find anything that relates back to Nadler. Or anything else that seems out of place.”

He must have seen the surprise cross my face, because he added wryly, “I have officially given up trying to keep you out of this investigation, so I might as well make use of you. And I hate paperwork of any kind, even if it is simply going through it to find clues.”

I snorted softly. “Where do you want to start?”

“Let’s start with the first bedroom, and work our way through the house from there.”

Which is precisely what we did. It was a long, boring process and by the time we’d gone through every room—except the kitchen, which now held the cleanup team—I was tired, hungry, and more than a little over it. Which was probably the whole reason Rhoan had agreed to let us help. It wasn’t so much that he hated this sort of paperwork search; it was that he was hoping it would act as a deterrent and stop me from sticking my nose in any further.

There was zero chance of that happening.

I leaned my shoulder against a doorway and averted my gaze from the goings-on in the kitchen. “What about a storage shed? Did you see one outside when you checked the back door?”

Rhoan nodded. “You two can look at that while I get an update from the team. Use the side gate.”

As one, Jak and I spun and headed out. “Phew,” Jak said, “it’s nice to breathe air untainted by blood.”>“At least you can obey some orders.” He glanced at Jak, his gaze narrowing a little. “You will not report anything you see inside. Not until we give you clearance. Is that clear?”

Surprise flitted across Jak’s face as he nodded. He’d obviously been expecting to be banned from the proceedings.

Rhoan opened the kit and handed us both gloves and plastic booties. “Put those on, and don’t touch anything without asking.”

We both obeyed. Once Rhoan had the floating crime scene recorders up and operating, and was similarly kitted out in gloves and booties, we headed down to the kitchen.

“Jesus, it is similar,” he said, as he entered. Then he glanced over his shoulder at us. “Stay at the doorway, you two.”

He moved deeper into the room, carefully avoiding the bits of blood and gore. James Blake’s torso was only half hidden behind the island, his entrails streaming out from his ruptured body like fat sausages.

“Arms have been ripped off.” Rhoan’s gaze met mine as he added softly, “Head separated.”

I swallowed grimly. I’d been expecting it, but the knowledge still clawed my stomach. “Any idea what time he was killed?”

“The cleanup team will give us a more accurate time, but I’d say within the last half hour. The blood hasn’t really begun to coagulate, and there’s no sign of rigor mortis.”

“Can’t have been,” Jak said. “I was parked outside for half an hour while I was waiting for Risa to arrive. No one came in or out.”

“You couldn’t have seen the back door if you were parked out front,” Rhoan said.