He made a grunt of agreement. “I chased around a few leads on Pepper, hoping to shed some light on the identity of his blackmailer, but ended up back at square one. I can handle a lot of things, but an unproductive day isn’t one of them.”
“This from the guy who’s constantly trying to convince me to spend the day in bed with him,” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Angel, that would be a very productive day.” His words were playful, but his tone sounded more worn out than anything.
“Any chance Dabria is the blackmailer?” I asked. “The other night at the Devil’s Handbag, I saw her arguing with Pepper in the alley. He didn’t look happy.”
Patch grew still, pondering this news.
“Do you think it’s possible?” I pressed.
“Dabria isn’t blackmailing Pepper.”
“How do you know?” I didn’t like that he’d taken all of two seconds to make up his mind. Blackmailing seemed to fit Dabria to a T.
“I just do. How was your day?” he asked, clearly not going to elaborate.
I told him about Marcie’s executive decision to move in, and about my mom’s compliance. The more I talked, the more worked up I got. “She has an agenda in this,” I told Patch. “I have this nagging feeling that Marcie suspects I know who killed her dad. And moving in is a ploy to spy on me.”
Patch rested his hand on my thigh, and I felt a surge of hope. I hated feeling like there was a divide between us. “There are only two people in the world who know you killed Hank, and it’s a secret I’ll carry to hell and back if I have to. No one will find out.”
“Thank you, Patch,” I told him sincerely. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier. I’m sorry about Dante, and about this whole mess. I just want to feel close to you again.”
Patch kissed the palm of my hand. Then he laid it on his heart, holding it there. I want you close too, Angel, he murmured to my mind.
I snuggled in beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. Just touching him made the string of knots inside me loosen. I’d been waiting all day for this moment. I could stand tension between us about as well as I could tolerate being away from him. Someday it will just be you and Patch, I told myself. Someday you’ll escape Cheshvan, war, fallen angels, and Nephilim. Someday . . . just the two.
“I found out something interesting,” I said, and I told Patch about Blakely’s football-star little brother, and Blakely’s perfect home game attendance record.
Patch tipped his hat up and looked into my eyes. “Good work, Angel,” he said, clearly impressed.
“What now?” I asked.
“Friday night, we show up at the game.”
“Do you think we’ll spook Blakely if he spots us?”
“He won’t think it’s strange if you’re at the game, and I’ll be in disguise. I’ll grab him and drive him to some property I own near Sebago Lake. It’s empty up there this time of year. Bad for Blakely, good for us. I’ll get him to tell me about the prototypes, where he’s fabricating them, and we’ll find a way to deactivate them. Then I’ll keep him permanently under my watch. It’ll be the end of his days working with devilcraft.”
“I should warn you that Marcie thinks she’s going to be involved in interrogating him.”
Patch lifted his eyebrows.
“It was the price I had to pay for getting this information,” I explained.
“Did you swear an oath to let her tag along?” Patch asked.
“No.”
“Do you have a conscience?”
“No.” I bit my lip. “Maybe.” A pause. “Fine. Yes! Yes, I have a conscience. If we ditch Marcie, I’ll spend the whole night feeling guilty. I lied to her face this morning, and it has haunted me all day. I live with her now, Patch. I have to face her. Maybe we can use this to our advantage. If we show her she can trust us, she just might give us more info.”
“There are easier ways to get info, babe.”
“I say we let her tag along. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“She could figure out we didn’t really break up and tell the Nephilim.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“Or we can let her tag along, and I can erase her memory later.” He shrugged. “No guilt here.”
I mulled this over. It seemed like a viable plan. It also pretty much made me a hypocrite.
A hint of a smile crept to Patch’s mouth. “Are you going to take point on this operation, or are you going to babysit Marcie?”
I shook my head. “You do the dirty work, and I’ll keep tabs on Marcie.”
Patch leaned sideways and kissed me. “As much as I’m going to enjoy questioning Blakely, I’m disappointed I won’t get to watch you battle it out with Marcie.”
“There’s not going to be a battle. I’m going to calmly explain to her that she can come along for the ride, but that she’ll have to wait with me in the car while you face off with Blakely. That’s our final offer. She can take it or leave it.” As I said it, I realized just how stupid I sounded for believing it would actually be that easy. Marcie hated taking orders. In her book, the only thing worse than taking orders was taking them from me. On the other hand, she might very well come in useful in the future. She was Hank’s legal daughter, after all. If Patch and I were going to build an alliance, now was the time.
“I’ll be firm,” I promised Patch, adopting a no-nonsense expression. “No backing down.”
By now Patch was full-on grinning. He kissed me again, and I felt my mouth soften its resolve. “You look cute when you’re trying to be tough,” he said.
Trying? I could be tough. I could! And Friday night, I’d prove it.
Watch out, Marcie.
• • •
I was a few miles from home when I passed a police car tucked out of sight on a side street. I hadn’t gotten fifty feet beyond the intersection when the cop switched on his siren and wailed after me.
“Great,” I muttered. “Just great!”
While I waited for the officer to approach the window, I mentally added up my babysitting money, wondering if I’d have enough to pay off the ticket.
He rapped his pen on my window and motioned for me to lower it. I glanced through the glass at his face—and stared. Not just any cop, but my least favorite one. Detective Basso and I had a long-standing history of mutual suspicion and strong dislike.
I lowered my window. “I was only going three over!” I argued before he got a word out.
He was chewing on a toothpick. “I didn’t pull you over for speeding. Left taillight is broken. That’s a fifty-dollar fine.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
He scribbled on his pad and passed my ticket through the window. “Safety hazard. Nothing to joke about.”
“Do you follow me around looking for ways to bust me?” I asked, half sarcastically, half under my breath.
“You wish.” With that, he sauntered back to his patrol car. I watched him steer onto the road and cruise past. He waved as he did, but I couldn’t bring myself to make a rude gesture in response. Something wasn’t right.
My spine tingled, and my hands felt like I’d plunged them into ice water. I’d felt a cold vibe rolling off Detective Basso, chilly as a blast of winter air, but I had to have imagined it. I was getting paranoid. Because—
Because I only felt that way around nonhumans.
CHAPTER
13
FRIDAY NIGHT I TRADED OUT MY SCHOOL CLOTHES FOR cords, my warmest merino wool sweater, a coat, hat, and mittens. The football game wouldn’t start until dusk, and by then the outside temperature would have plunged. As I tugged the sweater over my head, I caught a flash of muscle in the mirror. Halting, I took a closer look. Sure enough, there was definition in both my biceps and triceps. Unbelievable. I’d trained one week, and it was already showing. It seemed my Nephil body developed muscle at a much faster rate than I ever could have hoped for as a human.
Loping down the stairs, I kissed my mom on the cheek and hurried out.
The Volkswagen’s engine protested against the cold, but eventually turned over. “You think this is bad? Wait until February,” I told it.
I drove to the high school, parked on a side road just south of the football stadium, and called Patch.
“I’m here,” I said. “Are we still going with plan A?”
“Unless you hear from me, yes. I’m in the crowd. No sign of Blakely yet. Have you heard from Marcie?”
I glanced at my watch—the one I’d synchronized to Patch’s earlier tonight. “She’s meeting me by the concession stand in ten.”
“Do you want to go over the plan one last time?”
“If I see Blakely, I call you right away. I don’t approach him, but I don’t let him out of my sight, either.” At first I’d been a little disgruntled that Patch wanted me to stay a safe distance from the action, but the truth was, I didn’t want to take Blakely down on my own. I didn’t know how strong he was, and let’s face it, I didn’t even know my own strength. It seemed like letting Patch, who was far more experienced in this kind of tactic, handle the take-down was the smartest move.
“And Marcie?”
“I stick to her all night. After you grab Blakely, I drive her to your cabin near Sebago Lake. I’ve got the directions right here. I take the long route, giving you time to question and incapacitate Blakely before we get there. That’s everything, right?”
“One more thing,” Patch said. “Be careful.”
“Always,” I said, and pushed out of the car.
I flashed my student ID at the ticket booth, bought a ticket, and meandered toward the concession stand, eyes alert for Blakely. Patch had given me a thorough description, but as soon as I was inside the stadium, mingling with the crowd, half the men in sight could have passed for Blakely. Tall and distinguished-looking with gray hair, a wiry build, and the intelligent but slightly nerdy appearance of a stereotypical chemistry professor. I wondered if, like Patch, he’d be in disguise, which would only make picking him out of the crowd that much more challenging. Would he be dressed in lumberjack clothes? Standard CHS Razorbills garb? Would he go so far as to dye his hair? If nothing else, he would be in the top percentile when it came to height. I’d start with that.
I found Marcie at the concession stand, shivering in pink jeans, a white turtleneck, and a matching pink puffer vest. Seeing her dressed this way made something in my brain click.
“Where’s your cheerleading costume? Don’t you have to cheer tonight?” I asked.
“It’s a uniform, not a costume. And I quit.”
“You quit the team?”
“I quit the squad.”
“Wow.”
“I have bigger things to worry about. Everything else kind of pales in comparison to finding out that you’re”—she glanced around uneasily—“Nephilim.”
Quite unexpectedly, I felt a strange sense of kinship with Marcie. The moment quickly dissolved when I ran down the list of various ways Marcie had made my life miserable in the past year alone. We might both be Nephilim, but any similarities ended there. And I’d be smart to remember it.
“Do you think you’ll recognize Blakely if you see him?” I asked her, keeping my voice down.
She shot me a look of irritation. “I said I know him, didn’t I? Right now I’m your best shot at finding him. Don’t question me.”
“When and if you see him, keep it discreet. Patch will grab Blakely, and we’ll follow him up to his cabin, where we can all question Blakely together.” Except by that point, Blakely would be passed out and no good to Marcie. Minor detail.
“I thought you broke up with Patch.”
“I did,” I lied, trying to ignore the guilt twisting my stomach. “But I also don’t trust anyone else to help me deal with Blakely. Just because Patch and I aren’t together doesn’t mean I can’t call in a favor.” If she didn’t buy my explanation, I wasn’t too worried. Patch would erase her memory of this conversation shortly.
“I want to question Blakely before Patch does,” Marcie said.
“You can’t. We have a plan and we have to stick to it.”
Marcie hitched her shoulder in a really snooty way. “We’ll see.”
Mentally, I did some deep breathing. And quashed the urge to grind my teeth. Time to show Marcie she wasn’t running the show. “If you mess this up, I will make you regret it.” I put all my warning behind it, but right away I knew I needed to work on issuing threats. Maybe I could recruit Dante’s help. Even better—get Patch to teach me the finer points.
“Do you really think Blakely has information about who killed my dad?” Marcie asked, fixing her eyes on me in a calculating, almost perceptive way.
My heart stumbled, but I held my expression in check. “Hopefully tonight we’ll find out.”
“What now?” Marcie said.
“Now we walk around and try not to draw attention.”
“Speak for yourself,” Marcie said with a snort.
Okay, so maybe she was right. Marcie did look fantastic. She was cute and annoyingly confident. She had money, and it showed in everything from her tanning-salon glow, to her so-natural-they-passed-as-real highlights, to her push-up bra. A mirage of perfection. As we marched up the bleachers, eyes flicked in our direction, and they weren’t looking at me.
Think about Blakely, I directed myself. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than energy-sucking envy.
We strode along the bleachers, past the restrooms, and cut across the track circling the football field, heading toward the visitors’ section. Much to my chagrin, I saw Detective Basso in uniform standing on the top row of the bleachers, gazing down at the rowdy visiting crowd with hard, skeptical eyes. His gaze shifted to me, and the doubt in his expression deepened. Remembering the strange feeling he’d given me two nights ago, I grabbed Marcie’s elbow and forced her to walk away with me. I couldn’t accuse Basso of following me—he was clearly on the clock—but that didn’t mean I wanted to remain the subject of his scrutiny any longer.
Back and forth along the track Marcie and I walked. The stands were crowded, night had settled in, the game had started, and other than Marcie’s throngs of male admirers, I didn’t think we drew any unwanted attention, despite the fact that we hadn’t taken a seat in over thirty minutes.
“This is getting old,” Marcie complained. “I’m tired of walking. In case you didn’t notice, I’m wearing wedge boots.”
Not my problem! I wanted to scream. Instead I said, “Do you want to find Blakely or not?”
She huffed, and the sound scraped my nerves. “One more walk-through, and then I’m done.”
Good riddance! I thought.
On our way back to the student section, I felt an eerie tingle slink over my skin. Automatically I turned, following the sensation to its origin. A few men loitered in the darkness outside the high fence surrounding the stadium, hanging their fingers on chain links. Men who hadn’t bought tickets but still wanted to watch the game. Men who preferred sticking to the shadows rather than showing their faces under the stadium lights. One man in particular, lean and tall despite the way he slumped his shoulders, caught my attention. A vibe of nonhuman energy whipped off him, sending my sixth sense into overdrive.
I kept walking, but I said to Marcie, “Look over by the fence. Do any of the men over there look like Blakely?”
To her credit, Marcie limited her glance to a surreptitious flick of her eyes. “I think so. In the middle. The guy who’s hunching his shoulders. That could be him.”
It was all the confirmation I needed. Continuing to walk along the curve of the track, I pulled out my phone and placed a call.
“We found him,” I told Patch. “He’s on the north side of the stadium, outside the fence. He’s wearing jeans and a gray Razorbill sweatshirt. There are a few other men hanging around, but I don’t think they’re with him. I only sense one Nephil, and that’s Blakely himself.”
“On my way,” Patch said.
“We’ll meet you at the cabin.”
“Drive slow. I’ve got a lot of questions for Blakely,” he said.
I’d stopped listening. Marcie was no longer by my side.
“Oh no,” I whispered, suddenly feeling a shade paler. “Marcie! She’s running over to Blakely! I have to go.” I charged after Marcie.
Marcie was almost to the fence, and I heard her high-pitched voice screech, “Do you know who killed my dad? Tell me what you know!”
A slew of curse words followed her question, and Blakely instantly turned and bolted.
In an impressive display of pure determination, Marcie scrabbled over the fence, slipping and struggling before she swung her legs over, and took off after Blakely into the unlit breezeway tunneling between the stadium and the high school.
I reached the fence a moment later, shoved my shoe into a chain link and, without breaking speed, vaulted over. I barely registered the shocked expressions of the men milling about. I would have attempted erasing their memories, but I didn’t have time. I tore after Blakely and Marcie, surveying the darkness as I sprinted ahead, glad my night vision was much sharper than it had been when I was human.
I sensed Blakely ahead. Marcie, too, although her power was considerably weaker. Since both her parents were purebred Nephilim, she was lucky she’d been conceived, let alone born alive. She may have been Nephilim by definition, but I’d possessed more strength than her as a human.
Marcie! I hissed in mind-speak. Get back here now!
Suddenly Blakely went off my radar. I couldn’t detect him at all. I stopped in my tracks, mentally feeling my way through the dark breezeway, trying to pick up his trail. Had he run so far and so fast he’d vanished off my grid completely? Marcie! I hissed again.
And then I saw her. Standing at the far end of the breezeway, the moonlight illuminating her silhouette. I jogged over, trying to keep my anger under control. She’d ruined everything. We’d lost Blakely, and worse, he now knew we were onto him. I couldn’t imagine him surfacing at another football game after tonight. He’d probably retreat into his current secret hideout entirely. Our one chance . . . blown.
“What was that?” I demanded, stalking up to Marcie. “You were supposed to let Patch go after Blakely. . . .” My last few words came out slow and hoarse. I swallowed. I was looking at Marcie, but something about her was horribly, terribly wrong.
The Complete Hush, Hush Saga Page 103