Envy fa-3

by J. R. Ward

  “Legs hurt?” de la Cruz asked as he measured the hobbling.

  “Nah, they feel great.”

  De la Cruz laughed. “Like I said, you need the hospital.”

  “It’s nothing that a good stretch and some Motrin can’t cure. Just take me home, cool?”

  They both got into the unmarked, and as soon as de la Cruz fired up the engine, the good detective cranked the heat. Which somehow made the ice cold in the core of Veck’s body worse.

  “Ffff-uck,” he muttered, grabbing his forearms.

  “No wonder you don’t want to take that bike of yours back.”

  “Huh?”

  De la Cruz put the car in drive and eased forward around the lane’s first corner . . . and there was Veck’s ride. Parked safely off to the side.

  “Hold up,” Veck said roughly. “I want to get the key.”

  “Guess you were distracted when you got here.”

  “You could say that.”

  As Veck went to get out, the blast of cold wind eased the deep freeze in his bones—which probably meant he was into hypothermia territory—and to protect the other man from the gust, he shut the door.

  Sure enough, the key was in the bike’s ignition.

  “Nice touch, Heron,” he whispered, looking around at the brush.

  Over on the left, a soft glow illuminated the budding trees.

  Veck took a deep breath. “There you are. I thought you’d blown this Popsicle stand.”

  “That’s usually my MO.” Heron stepped out, and Veck frowned as a shaggy little dog limped forward with him. “I’m making an exception in your case, though.”

  “Lucky me.” Veck tempered the reply with a half smile. “That your dog?”

  “He’s everyone’s, really.”

  Veck nodded, even though there was no question to answer. “So I think I need to thank you.”

  “Not in the slightest. As I said going in, s’all you, buddy.”

  “And I guess I passed. That whole crossroads thing.”

  “You did. Flying colors.” The angel stretched out his pack of smokes. “Cig?”

  “Thank you, baby Jesus.” Veck slipped one free and then leaned into Heron’s lighter. “Oh, man . . . this is better than a parka.”

  “Yeah, no offense, but your lips are blue.”

  “Just the makeup. I wanted to look pretty for you.”

  Heron grinned. “Asshole.”

  “Actually”—Veck exhaled—“I’m going to be looking for a new job soon—thought I’d try auditioning for the Michelin man. You saying I need to go more silver?”

  “Yeah. That’s it.” The angel got serious. “You’re free now. You can put this shit behind you. She’s never going to bother you again.”

  Obviously, the “she” was not Reilly. “What was that brunette?”

  “A devil of a woman.”

  “You got that right.”

  “So now you need to go to that Reilly of yours.” This was all said in the tone of What are you waiting for, idiot.

  Veck stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “I think she’s dealt with enough.”

  “You’re free.”

  “And so is she.”

  Jim cursed under his breath. “Look down.”

  “Excuse me?” When the angel pointed at the rough earth of the road’s shoulder, Veck obliged—only to roll his eyes when he saw nothing. “What.”

  “Behind you, jackass.”

  Veck muttered something vile, and looked over his—

  On the ground, stretching behind him . . . was a single shadow.

  “Like I said, you’re free.”

  Veck stared at the nice-and-normal for what felt like ages. Then he refocused on the angel. “My father . . . he thinks the execution is going to get stayed. He told me he was going to live.”

  “Not a bet I’d take.” Jim shook his head. “Maybe that was true if you’d have made a different choice, but thanks to the way things worked out . . . I think you’ll like what you see in the papers soon enough. It’s what my boss has told me all along—there are no coincidences.”

  “I thought you were the boss.”

  “I wish.”

  “Veck? Who’re you talking to?”

  Veck glanced at de la Cruz, who’d craned out of the unmarked. “Ah . . .” When he looked back, Heron had disappeared, as if he had never been there. The little animal, too. “Ah . . . no one.”

  “Look, I don’t care if you smoke in the car. Especially if it’ll save you from frostbite.”

  Veck looked back to where Jim had been standing. The man was gone, the glow had faded . . . and yet the presence remained somehow.

  Go to your woman, you moron, Jim declared into his head.

  “Veck?” de la Cruz said. “Come on, you can smoke in here.”

  “Nah,” Veck replied after a moment. Then he stabbed the ember out on the sole of his boot. “I think I’m quitting.”

  “Again.”

  Veck snagged the motorcycle’s key and got back in the unmarked. As he and the other man closed their doors, Veck stared across the front seat.

  “Do you believe in God, Detective.”

  De la Cruz made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Absolutely.”

  “So does that mean that demons exist?”

  “Hell is real. Unless you’ve forgotten that girl we found at the motel? Or what happened to Sissy Barten.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  De la Cruz nodded and began driving off. “But yeah, I got the faith. And I believe that sinners go to Satan’s living room for eternity and the just go to Heaven and the mighty Lord provides. I attend Mass with my family every week, and the Good Book”—he pounded on the glove compartment, the door flipped open, and a little red Bible glowed in the tiny light—“is always with me. If there’s one thing that life’s taught me, God takes care of us, my man.”

  “So you think . . . people can be saved.”

  “No, I know it. And once you got the faith—and I don’t care what kind it is—it transforms you. There’s no going back, and no one and nothing can take it away from you. You open the heart, and it comes in, and that’s when you know hit’s going to be all right.”

  Veck nodded and fell silent as he stared out the front window.

  Together, they bumped along the dirt lane. Got out to the county road and hung a left. Angled over for the highway.

  After they were on the Northway and headed toward Caldwell, Veck said, “Permanently.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m quitting permanently.”

  De la Cruz looked over. “You know . . . this time, I believe you.”

  “Take me to the hospital.”

  “Emergency room or inpatient.”

  Veck smiled a little. “Wherever my partner is.”

  De la Cruz grinned and clapped him on the chest. “Now you talkin’, my man. Now you makin’ some sense.”

  CHAPTER 49

  Far above, in Heaven’s lap, as Jim stood at the foot of the manse of souls and stared up at the second flag waving lazily on the parapet, he thought . . . two more to go.

  If he managed to get two more of those flappy bastards on top of that wall, he could quit this shit.

  And his mother would be safe forever.

  And Sissy would be free. If he hadn’t sprung her before then.

  “You have done well.”

  Nigel’s autocratic English accent didn’t seem quite so annoying.

  “Yeah, but I’m not stopping now.”

  “In this you are correct.”

  Jim nodded, and then looked over at his boss. The guy was dressed in a pretty damn sharp suit, this time black with pinstripes. Matter of fact, he looked like an elegant gangster as he stood beside a table set with fancy-schmancy plates and crap. Two of the other archangels and the big Irish wolfhound were seated, clearly waiting with patience for the go-ahead on the dessert that was all laid out.

  “On that note,” Jim murmured, “I’m goin
g back down. Next round will be starting soon.”

  Or at least, he hoped it would.

  “Won’t you stay for an after-dinner sweet? We have a seat for you.”

  “Thanks,” Jim said. “But I’ve got someone I have to see.”

  “Very well.”

  Except before he could disappear, Nigel drew him aside, out of the earshot of the others. “We are not yet finished, you and I.”

  “Sorry, I’m really not hungry.”

  “With regard to this agreement you had with Devina—”

  “You mean who the soul was.”

  The archangel cleared his throat. “Yes, indeed. I would caution you—”

  Jim clapped the guy on the back and ignored the glare he got in response. “I got this, Nigel. Trust me.”

  As he cocked a half smile, the odd, noncolor eyes of his boss narrowed. “Sometimes I wonder if that is wise.”

  “Trusting my ass? Well, you picked me.”

  “I am e’er reminded.” The angel caught Jim’s arm. “But I would tell you something.”

  “Blah, blah, blah—”

  “The next soul. You will recognize him as both an old friend and an old foe who you have seen of late. The path could not be more obvious if it were spotlit.”

  Jim rolled his eyes. “Nice road map, Nigel. As usual, you put a real sharp point on ‘obtuse.’ ”

  “Trust me.”

  As Jim cocked an eyebrow, one side of the archangel’s mouth lifted in a smile.

  Jim had to laugh. “You know, it’s a wonder we don’t get along better.”

  “I would have to agree.”

  On that note, Nigel sent him back, and the trip was easier than the first couple of times he’d gone up and down to earth.

  At least this time, he didn’t have to die to get his travel ticket stamped.

  Taking form in front of the garage he now lived in again, he looked up. The windows of the apartment were dark, and with no exterior lights on, the night extended through the yard, past the forest, and out to the rolling field beyond. But all was not black. Off in the distance, the white farmhouse had its two lanterns on the front porch glowing, the beacons throwing off a pair of peachy flushes, as if the structure were blushing a little.

  Man, it was frickin’ cold. No moon out, either.

  Looked like it was going to snow—

  “And so you won.”

  Turning around, he greeted Devina’s arrival with a broad smile. “And that would be ‘again.’ Come to watch me gloat?”

  “No.”

  “Pity, it’s a hell of a show. I’ll even give you an intermission in case you want to get more popcorn.”

  As usual, she was looking fine as a brand-new dollar bill, all put together in one of her outfits that left nothing to the imagination: Tonight, those curves of hers were wrapped up tight in bright red.

  “You know why I’m here,” she said.

  “Nowhere to go, huh. So sad.”

  “Our deal, Heron.” Now she smiled. And as she walked forward, her hips moved like she was ready to be ridden hard. “I kept up my end of the bargain. In spite of what you think of me, I told you who the soul was—I didn’t lie. So you’ll be coming with me now.”

  Jim let her saunter on over. And he let her have her little moment of satisfaction.

  And when she was right in front of him, he let her reach out and cup him between the legs.

  But as she opened her mouth, he cut her off. “I did.”

  She laughed, a lovely sound that suggested that in her mind, they were already fucking. “I believe, in the human marriage tradition, the response is ‘I do.’ Is that what you’re after, my love?”

  He pointedly removed her hand. “I lied, Devina.” He leaned in and put his mouth right next to her ear. “Fibbed. Falsified. Fabricated. You know allllll about it, don’t you. So how’s it feel being on the other side, bitch.”

  When he stepped back, the confusion on her face was something for the history books. If only he had a camera . . .

  “Do I need to draw you a picture?” he murmured.

  Abruptly, her expression changed, her features darkening to the point of violence.

  “Intent is irrelevant,” she said in a low tone. “You were very clear.”

  “Oh, I think you’ll find intent is everything. You can’t take what’s not yours, and I didn’t let you in—I led you on.”

  “You . . . bastard,” she spat.

  “All’s fair in love and war. And don’t pretend you didn’t write that playbook.”

  She hauled back and slapped him across the face. “Don’t you forget your place.”

  Jim laughed at her. “Never for a minute.” Except then he got serious. “But, Devina, you and I need to be clear on something—if you go back and mistreat . . . anyone . . . I’ll make sure you never get a piece of me again.”

  “I already know you don’t keep your promises.”

  “That’s a vow.” He pounded his chest and then put his forefinger right between her breasts. “From me . . . to you. You hurt anyone down there, I’ll never fuck you again.”

  For a split second, her mask slipped, that monstrous visage with its rotting skin and jutting ridges of bones making an appearance.

  Jim cocked his head. “You know, demon, anger suits you. To a T.”

  There was a long moment of tense silence, and then she seemed to get herself under control, the fake beauty covering up the evil underneath once more.

  “I will never trust you again,” she announced.

  “Sounds good to me.” He lifted up his hand and waved. “Bye-bye, Devina.”

  “This is not over.”

  “Predictable parting shot. Just what I’ve come to expect from you.”

  He was aware he was pushing his luck, but flush with winning another round, he didn’t give a crap.

  Devina, however, was finished playing, apparently. She tilted her chin down and looked at him from under her carefully sculpted brows. “See you soon, Heron.”

  And just like that, she was out of there, ethering away.

  In the aftermath, Jim shook a cigarette from his pack and lit up. On the exhale, he laughed again, enjoying the buzz going through him. It was kind of like he’d just had sex—the good kind.

  Turning to the garage, he strode over to the stairs, figuring he’d check in with Adrian before he went—

  As he exhaled, he frowned and wondered if he was hearing things. But no. That radio he did not own was playing again. . . .

  An a cappella version of Train’s “Calling All Angels.”

  What the hell?

  Mounting the stairs quickly, he put the cigarette between his lips as he pushed open the door. . . .

  Sitting on the floor, with his back against the crawl space’s entryway, Adrian had his head in his hands. With soft, perfect pitch, he carried the lyrics slowly, beautifully . . . as if he had been born for the microphone.

  “I thought you couldn’t sing,” Jim said.

  Adrian didn’t lift his head, but he stopped and shrugged. “I just did that to piss him off. You, too, matter of fact.”

  Jim exhaled a steady stream of smoke. “You got a nice voice.”

  Funny that he preferred the off-key, annoying shit.

  When there was no reply, he said to the angel, “You going to be okay if I do a quick errand?”

  “Yeah. We’re fine. I’m just going to sit with him.”

  Jim nodded even though there was no eye contact. “You need anything?”

  “Nah. We’re good.”

  Staring across at the massive figure of the angel—whose heavy legs were curled up, and powerful arms were resting loosely on the knees—Jim was beyond ready for the next round: Adrian had seemed alive again for a while tonight, animated, engaged. This resolute stillness, on the other hand, was too close to Eddie’s condition for his liking.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Take your time.”

  The separation wasn’t good, but Jim had t
o do this. Some things were a choice . . . others were a matter of necessity if you had any honor at all in your bones.

  Turning around, he went out the way he’d come in, quietly closing the door behind him. Before he left, he put his palm on the wall of the garage and closed his eyes.

  With hard concentration, he called up the memory of Adrian and Eddie in their hotel room at the Marriott, the pair of them arguing back and forth, and trading potshots. He imagined them doing that again, seeing Eddie’s red eyes squaring off at Adrian’s theatrics, while the other angel threw his arms up in exasperation.

  They were back together again in this vision he created in his mind.

  They were safe and whole.

  They were both alive.

  When he opened his lids, there was a subtle glow around the entire building, a phosphorescent illumination that threw no shadows, but was more powerful than stadium lighting.

  Just as Jim retracted his hand, the first snowflake fell from the sky . . . which was his cue to disappear into the thin, cold air.

  CHAPTER 50

  It was two and a half hours after Veck arrived at St. Francis Hospital before he was finally free to go see Reilly . . . two and a half frickin’ hours.

  Then again, when de la Cruz had pulled up to the entrance next to the emergency room to drop him off, he’d thrown open the car door and found that he wasn’t able to stand up.

  Kind of a rate-limiting issue.

  So instead of going through the revolving doors of the inpatient building and heading up to Reilly’s room—which he had the number of thanks to a call into hospital information—he’d ended up in the ER himself. Where, of course, they wouldn’t give him any details about her or her condition.

  Damn HIPAA rules.

  And, man, they crawled all over him.

  After he’d been poked, prodded, and X-rayed, they’d tried to suggest he needed an IV for fluids, but he’d shut that one down and informed them he was leaving. By way of compromise, they’d wrapped an Ace bandage around the thigh that hurt more, thrown another mummy special on his opposite ankle, and told him to go home and expect to feel worse the following day.