Eve of Destruction (30 page)

“What type of Infernal was it?” Eve crouched and began digging through the duffel bags again.

“I have no idea.”

She looked at Reed. “Was it your mystery demon?”

“The description is the same,” he said.

“We need to go back to that copse of trees and see what’s there that might help us go after Gadara.”

Montevista exhaled harshly. “You don’t believe he’s dead?”

“She doesn’t believe anything,” Reed growled, still stinging.

Eve glared at him. “Gadara doesn’t strike me as the type to commit suicide. Isn’t suicide a sin?”

“Murder defies God’s command,” Montevista answered. “Suicide is self-murder.”

“So it’s doubtful Gadara would do it, right? He must have had a plan.”

“We can hope, but how would he know how to deal with a class of Infernal we’ve never heard of before?”

“
We
haven’t, but maybe
he
has. It’s the first time he’s seen it right? Maybe he recognized it.”

“I doubt that,” Reed said. “Mariel and I described the creature very clearly.”

“I’m just tossing out ideas.” Eve finally gave up looking for her gun and stood. “We also have to take into consideration the setup you walked into—fire alarm set and Infernal restrained outside. If they’d wanted the soldiers dead, they would have killed them before you guys got there.”

Montevista looked at Reed. “Was she a cop?”

“Interior designer.”

“She’s pretty good at this for a novice.”

“Enough to be dangerous,” Reed agreed.

“Hey!” Eve pushed his shoulder, which didn’t budge him at all. “I’m right here.”

He shrugged. “You’re here. Whether or not you’re right remains to be seen.”

“You agree that the culprit is probably Grimshaw?” Montevista asked.

“If Gadara and Alec think so,” she said, shrugging, “I’ll follow their lead.”

“That’s a first.” Reed’s jaw set. “But you’re not going back to Anytown. That’s not debatable.”

“It makes sense that it would be the Alpha,” she continued, ignoring him. “He’s the only demon we know of who has openly declared war on us.”

Montevista tensed. “He has?”

“He’s already killed me once.”

“He has?”
Running a rough hand through his close-cropped hair, Montevista cursed in Spanish.

“And we’re not having a repeat performance,” Reed said grimly, “which is why you’re not going to—”

His phone rang, interrupting his words. As he pulled it from his pocket, the muffled tune of his
Jessie’s Girl
ringtone became crystal clear. The caller’s name glowed on the screen.

Cain.

Growling, Reed lifted the phone to his ear. “What?”

“Fuck you, too,” his brother retorted. “Has Montevista reached you yet?”

“Yes. And we’re busy.”

“Have you arranged to meet with the colonel?”

Reed’s jaw clenched at the impatience in Cain’s tone. It didn’t help matters to see Eve and Montevista huddled together in conversation. “That’s none of your damn business.”

“It’s absolutely my business, since I’m heading Raguel’s firm in the interim.”

“No fucking way.”
Raguel’s absence had created a firm vacancy.
Shit. He should have made that mental leap earlier. His focus was still on finding Raguel, not replacing him. Once again, Cain was ahead of him, knocking him out of the running before he even had a chance to play.

“Yes way, little brother.” Cain’s tone was so smug, Reed wished he was nearby so they could talk with their fists.

“Then shift over here and deal with the colonel yourself!” Reed hung up, his mind whirling.

Cain’s
mal’akh
gifts had been curbed. He couldn’t shift from one location to another in any celestial way. His wings were clipped and discolored a dark, inky black. Why would
he
be given the power to rule
a firm when he couldn’t be trusted with an angel’s gifts?

It was so unreasonable, Reed couldn’t believe it. Cain was a nomad, a wanderer, a sociopath. Aside from Eve, Reed couldn’t recollect anyone whose feelings Cain had put before his own. How could he be charged with the safety of millions of people?

And why in hell did he sound so damn pleased about it?

He dialed 4-1-1 instead and requested the phone number to the commandant’s office. A few minutes and connections later, he was told that the colonel had left for the day and wouldn’t be available until tomorrow.

“Shit.” He needed a Plan B. After considering his options, he called Hank.

“Cain!” The coarseness of the answering voice was reminiscent of Larry King, yet Hank’s true gender was a mystery. An occultist who specialized in the
magical arts, Hank was a chameleon, changing form and gender to suit the client. The only things that never changed about Hank was the flame-red hair and head-to-toe black attire. Those were staples.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Hank husked.

“Death and destruction.”

“Sounds like my kind of party.” Hank made a choked noise, then shouted, “Be careful loading that box! The contents are irreplaceable.”

“Where are you now?”

“At the Monterey Municipal Airport in Northern California. Raguel called me up here. I had to bring my equipment, so I was forced to fly. Can’t expect Marks to understand how important my gear is. If I left it to them, they’d break everything in transit. Even loading up the rental van seems to be too much for them.”

Alec considered Hank his favorite Infernal. In the dozen centuries or so since Hank joined Raguel’s team, the demon had proven to be extremely helpful. “Who’s with you?”

“Two investigators from the Exceptional Projects Department and two guards.”

Alec exhaled with relief, then explained the situation as it now stood.

“I know,” Hank said. “I felt it the moment Raguel was gone.”

“How?” After noting the complete lack of celestial reaction to Raguel’s disappearance, Alec was more than startled to hear that an Infernal had sensed what no one else appeared to.

“We’ve been working together a long time. He bonded with me just as he has to all the Marks who work for him.”

Alec reached a hand out to the wall, bracing himself against what he considered to be an earth-shaking revelation. “Do all Infernals working for archangels bond with their firm leaders?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Holy shit. Infernals bonding with archangels. Sharing information. Seeing how each other’s minds worked.

Shaking off his astonishment, Alec went back to the original point of his call. “When you get to McCroskey I need you to report all of your findings to me in real time. Don’t wait for an official report.”

There was a short pause, then, “Have you stepped into Raguel’s wings?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“You give orders like an archangel, my friend. But you do not sound like one.”

Archangels had a unique resonance to their voices that inspired both awe and capitulation.

“Roll with me on this,” Alec said.

“As you wish. I look forward to seeing your lovely girl again.”

“Keep her out of trouble for me, will you?”

“And away from Abel?” Hank purred. Working for the good guys didn’t mitigate the innate desire Infernals had for chaos and conflict.

“That, too. Call me when you know something.”

“Will do.”

Alec hung up and headed into the adjoining room’s
bathroom. He stood over Giselle and called out, “Wakey wakey.”

The Mare didn’t budge.

Alec turned on the faucet. He filled his cupped palms with the flowing water, then dumped the whole of it on Giselle. As she sputtered and lurched into a seated position, he backed up swiftly. Her attempt to swipe at her eyes was arrested by the handcuffs, resulting in a yanked arm and a string of muffled bitching.

He crouched beside her and pulled the gag down to hang around her neck. “Sweet dreams?” he asked, smiling.

She glared at him through wet, spiky lashes. “What did you do that for? I wasn’t finished.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“You suck, Cain,” she grumbled. “Totally suck. Get me out of these cuffs.”

“I need you to draw a layout of Charles’s compound. You gonna give me a hard time?”

The petulant curving of her lips changed to a bright smile. “Does this mean I don’t have to go with you? I’ll draw you the best map ever. Then I’ll just wait here for you to finish and we can drive—”

“I need some blood, too.”

“—down to Anaheim and—” Giselle’s blue eyes widened. “My
blood
? After you chained me to a bathroom sink? You’ve got to be—”

“Okay.” Alec pushed to his feet with a dramatic sigh. “Have it your way.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get my knife. If you don’t squirm, it might not scar too badly.”

“Wait!” she called after him, the handcuffs rattling against the pipes. “Let’s talk about this some more. You didn’t give me a chance to think. You can’t wake a girl up in the middle of a meal and expect her to be fully coherent.”

He stood just outside the door with his back to the wall, smiling.

“Cain! Damn you,” she complained. “Didn’t your mother teach you any manners? This is not the way you’re supposed to treat guests!”

Backtracking, he kneeled at the sink and pulled the cuff keys out of his pocket. “When you’re an uninvited guest, all bets are off.”

He released her and stood.

Giselle rubbed her wrist, then she held out her hand to him for assistance gaining her feet. Her blonde hair was a mess from both the handkerchief and bed head, but the look was a good one on her. “This floor is hard and cold.”

“If you hadn’t wiggled so much, you might have been somewhat comfortable.”

“You shouldn’t cuff people to pipes!”

“Don’t make me gag you again.”

“You are really not a very nice person.”

“Says the demon who gives people nightmares,” he retorted.

“I have to eat!”

Alec preceded her out of the bathroom. He went to the nightstand and withdrew the hotel letterhead from
the drawer. Setting it on the tabletop along with the provided pen, he said, “Draw. Now.”

“Go. To. Hell.” But she plopped onto the edge of the bed and caught up the pad. Her hand began to push the pen across the paper. “It’s a gated community. I don’t see how you’re going to get past the guards. You stink.”

Alec opened the backpack he’d set on the other bed and pulled out a bottle of body wash. The contents had already been laced with an anticoagulant. He just needed some Infernal blood to add to the mix.

“You’re going to fix that.” He faced her.

Giselle’s eyes dropped to the syringe in his hand. Her mouth fell open. “Uh . . .” She swallowed hard. “I’m afraid of needles.”

“It will only pinch a minute.”

She shook her head violently and stood. The pad dropped to the floor. “You don’t understand. The sight of blood makes me vomit.”

Alec’s brows rose. It figured that he would end up with the one demon who had a gore complex. “You don’t want to find out what happens if you puke on me.”

“Then don’t stick me with that! What kind of sick torture is this?”

“You know damn well what I’m doing.” He gestured to the bed with a jerk of his chin. “Sit down.”

“Can’t we have sex instead?” she suggested, setting her hand on her hip and trying to look seductive. “You’ll smell just as nice, and it’s less painful.”

“For you maybe. Now sit.”

Giselle opened her mouth, but the look on his face must have warned her off. She dropped back onto the bed and held out her slender arm, turning her face away.

Alec kneeled and said, “I’m good at this. It’ll be over before you know it.”

She kept her head turned. “People only say that about things that last forever.”

“Count to twenty.” He secured the tourniquet. As always, he took a moment to absorb the similarities between them—the beating hearts, the pumping blood, the fragile shell of their skin.

“Ett, två,”
she began, shivering as he tapped the inner fold of her elbow with his fingertips,
“tre, fyra—”

Alec slid the needle into a plumped vein.

Giselle screeched and jumped to her feet. Her knee struck him in the chin, sending him toppling backward into the neighboring bed.

He started to laugh, then pain lanced his brain like a white hot poker. Clutching his head, he yowled in agony.