Battle Angel (Immortal City 3)

Jacks reached down with a feeling of foreboding. He unfastened the brass brad, flipped open the flap, reached inside, and pulled out a glossy photo.

Panic and shock zipped up Jackson’s spine and into his skull. It was a photo of Detective Sylvester.

With Louis Kreuz.

Kreuz was a traitor.

“I’m assuming you know both of those men, Jackson?”

“Yes, sir.” Jackson hadn’t told Gabriel about Sylvester’s surprise visit, but Gabriel knew the two had worked together in the past.

“That photo was taken just a few days ago,” Gabriel said. “Are you aware that Detective Sylvester is running an anti-Angel organization here in the city?”

“I’ve heard some things.”

“So then you might be wondering what one of our most esteemed Angels, the head of our Guardian training program, would be doing with him. Outside the sanctuary. Wouldn’t that strike you as a bit curious, Jackson?”

Jacks nodded. “It would, sir.”

“This is a serious breach. Imagine, trusting someone with the most important information, and learning he’s been a traitor the whole time. Right under our noses.

“Already, he’s posed a serious threat to each and every one of us. Our security has been compromised from the inside out. He needs to be stopped before anything else happens. This is a war we are fighting here. And we must be victorious.”

Gabriel looked at Jackson carefully.

“And after we stop him . . . we stop the detective. You understand what I’m asking of you?”

“Yes, sir,” Jacks said. His stomach tightened, blood flowing with endorphins. “I understand.”

“Good. I know this may be difficult for you,” Gabriel said, putting a gentle hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “But we must do our duty.”

Jacks met his gaze and nodded, his eyes unblinking.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Detective Sylvester sat with his hands clasped and resting on the worn, wooden pew in front of him. His eyes drifted around the darkened sanctuary of the Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. He was the only parishioner in the empty cathedral at this hour. A few candles flickered near the altar, casting light up into the vaulted arches. A soft yellow-orange glow danced along the stained-glass windows that faced the pitch-black city beyond.

Sylvester was trying to pray. It had been a while, and he felt a block in his heart as he sat there. But he continued. He needed to. He didn’t know what else to do.

Louis Kreuz had gone missing just hours before. He’d missed the nightly drop, and while Louis was many things, he wasn’t forgetful. And he wasn’t sloppy. The entire resistance was waiting with bated breath for any information, but so far nothing had come through.

And Sylvester had a bad feeling.

Despite the warm light from the candles, a chill hung in the air of the spacious cathedral. The detective coughed lightly, sending an echoing boom through the chamber.

Again and again Sylvester wondered what he could have done differently to prevent this. The detective racked his brain trying to think of what safety measure they’d overlooked, what contingency plan they’d botched, until he was washed over with echoes of the guilt he felt over the girl he was too late to save those many years ago.

And the worst part of all was that Sylvester knew it was useless. He’d never find the answer.

Yet now he was moved by a different feeling as he sat in the pews he knew so well. Somehow, he needed to get square with his God, and in a hurry.

He needed absolution.

He clasped his hands together tightly as he bowed his head.

Just then, the old door of the church opened with a creak, and a gust of wind sent the candles at the altar flickering. The priest had left long ago and wouldn’t be coming back this night. A strange feeling came across the detective’s entire body as he sat there kneeling. Was it anticipation? Or dread? The detective cast his eyes back to the church door.

A dark silhouette stood in the threshold. The door closed with an echoing boom, and Sylvester knew they were alone together.