Fallen Giant

by Monica Owens

Levi blinked at her. “I’m not being funny.”

  Chapter Seven

  Trish’s mouth fell open. Levi couldn’t help but smother a grin at her expression. That gorgeous, thick, heavy hair was bundled up in another ponytail today. Her curvaceous body was squeezed into another pantsuit. But she’d been looking at his ass. Surely that meant he could look at hers.

  Right now, though, Trish needed to give him answers. Something funky was happening in this small town. Something more than just it being a small town.

  “You said there was no Satanic—”

  “No,” he interrupted. “I said there was no satanic cult. I didn’t say there wasn’t a slice of Satan hanging around.”

  Trish narrowed her eyes. Which he happened to think was utterly adorable when she did it. She didn’t answer him.

  He sighed and leaned forward. “Look, let’s figure out these murders, okay? Then we’ll deal with big, black dogs, insects turning into crows, and some junkie not taking care of her kid.”

  “Colton’s mom tries—”

  “Well, she doesn’t try hard enough. And I’d rather the next crime scene we pull up to not be his murder.”

  “Don’t say that!” Trish snapped, slapping her hand on her desk.

  Levi folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair.

  When he said no more, Trish fidgeted behind her desk, her eyes darting to the wall of murder next to them. “The lung and kidney,” she said softly.

  “Yeah, want to explain that?” Levi demanded.

  This time, her eyes wandered out to the outer office. He hadn’t heard anyone else arrive, but Trish was clearly uncomfortable. “I think we should go to the medical examiner’s office,” she announced.

  “Trish. I don’t want the run around. It’s fucking hot out and the last thing I want is to be in the middle of Death Valley with another murder. We’ve got to—”

  “Let’s go to the medical examiner’s office,” she interrupted, speaking louder.

  Now Levi turned his head and followed Trish’s gaze. Sheriff Grande had come in, quiet as a mouse, and stood at the counter, making himself coffee. As they both watched him, Grande stared off into space, stirring his coffee slowly, not even acknowledging their presence.

  Levi pursed his lips and looked back at Trish. He lifted his eyebrows and she shook her head.

  What. The. Fuck.

  “Let’s go to the medical examiner’s office,” she said again.

  “Yeah,” Levi responded, getting to his feet. He watched Trish gather her working folder on the case, her keys, and a small wallet. He wanted to take the lead, go out and shake the damn sheriff and ask him what the fuck was happening here, but he knew it wouldn’t make a difference. That fucker didn’t know what the hell was happening.

  Trish paused when they pulled flush with the coffee counter. “Sir, we’re heading to the medical examiner.”

  Levi watched, concerned for Grande, when he simply stared at the wall, stirring his black coffee, and ignored Trish.

  “Sir?” Trish tried again. She touched Grande’s arm and the older man jumped.

  “Oh. Detective.” He looked over at Levi. “And…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, well.”

  “The Dodds and Thompsons had another fight. Rusty might be in to file a report.”

  The vacant eyes that stared at Trish made Levi feel uncomfortable. “Oh?”

  “And Mrs. Feeney’s sure she’s seen that dog again.”

  “The dog,” Grande muttered, then glared down into his cup of coffee.

  Levi couldn’t hold it in anymore. This man was in charge of this town’s well being. What the fuck was wrong with him? “Yeah, big black dog, Grande. Anyone else ever seen it? You ever go out there to check on it?”

  Grande’s head jerked up. “Might I remind you that you’re only here as a guest. You might want to curb your tongue.”

  “I might,” Levi sneered. For some reason, this half-assed sheriff really angered him to the depths of his core. “Let’s go, Trish. We’ll solve this fucking murder problem you seem to be having.”

  He took hold of Trish’s arm and steered her toward the door. Once safely outside, he kept steering, straight to his car.

  “Let me go!” Trish fumbled with her folder, her keys, her wallet, and his hold on her. Finally she wrenched her arm free. “What is the matter with you?” she huffed at him, and he was pleased to see her breasts pleasantly rising and falling. “We’ll take my car.”

  “I drove here from Vegas,” he told her.

  Trish sent him an exasperated glare. “That’s great. Do you want an award?”

  “No. But I’m driving. In my car.”

  “Look, Levi—”

  “No, you look, Trish,” he cut in. “Something is up with your goddamn sheriff. With your whole goddamn town. And until we know what that is, we will not be discussing this town in a vehicle or building that could possibly be bugged.”

  Trish’s mouth dropped open again. And while he was mentally high-fiving himself for rendering her speechless twice in one morning, considering it made her cute as hell, there were three murder victims awaiting them.

  He wrapped his hand around her bicep again. “Come on, Detective. Leave your department-issued car behind and we’ll use my truck. We’ll find plenty of things to bond over.”

  She didn’t drag her feet this time. He opened the door and she climbed into his pickup. Levi took his time walking around to the driver’s side. The feel of eyes on him made his skin crawl.

  He looked up and saw the mayor standing in a window. Levi paused, his hand on the hood of his truck, and watched the mayor watching him.

  The older gentleman wore a white shirt, suspenders, and a bow tie. He knew quite well Levi was looking at him, but he made no effort to move away from the window. What the fuck was with this old goat? Levi frowned. What was so fucking exciting about watching Levi get into his truck…?

  His horn blared and Levi stumbled back, his hand to his heart. His head swiveled to his passenger’s seat.

  Trish made a motion with her hand for him to come on. He barely suppressed a grin. Trish was becoming his favorite person in this town. She didn’t take shit, she did her job, and she cared about people.

  “I’m coming,” he muttered.

  When he glanced back up at the window the mayor had been in, the man was gone.

  “This place is fucked up,” he mumbled. He got into his truck and let Trish point him in the right direction.

  *****

  Orrie made it to the outskirts of Beelitz right before the sun went down. Since their home in Triberg had been compromised, Sam and Paige were living here, all the way across the country. Throughout the years, Sam purchased property throughout Germany, putting the real estate in holding companies, knowing full well exposure or something like it could happen. They’d been exposed, in a horribly cruel way, lost their home, one of them even losing his immortality—although Orrie didn’t think Rack minded that so much since he was able to live with the pretty, petite Esme for the rest of his days. But returning to Triberg was not a likely scenario right now. Orrie only stayed close by because he could become his dog.

  The mansion Sam and Paige lived in was near the center of town and he sped toward it. The wrought iron gate was open, but Orrie saw the red lights indicative of cameras. There would be no friend or stranger entering the estate without Sam knowing.

  He pulled up the drive and parked in the still cobblestone driveway. The mansion had taken a hit in the Second World War, but Sam used their ever increasing net worth to fix the damage and reinforce the home.

  Right now, Orrie couldn’t think of a nicer home for Sam to live in. He got out of the car, his boots scuffing along the cobblestones.

  “Well, lookie here. What a sight for sore eyes.”

  Orrie grinned and came around the front of his car. “Look at you, you old bastard.”

  Sam laughed. He stood on a balcony up on the second floor, leaning against the thick wr
ought iron. Orrie noticed the beard right off, flecked with white strands of hair, and the white at Sam’s temple.

  “What’s with all this?” He gestured to his own face and hair.

  “What? You don’t like my mature look?” Sam laughed again, the sound booming and pleasant. Orrie hadn’t heard Sam laugh a lot, not before Paige anyway. “Come on in. Kitchen door’s open. Paige is around somewhere.”

  Orrie headed to the door while Sam left the balcony. He certainly didn’t think Paige would be in the kitchen but there she was, all blonde, thin, and bossy.

  “Orrie! I thought I heard a car pull up. Did you have a good trip?”

  Orrie let her envelope him in a hug and he even sighed into her shoulder. “Hi, Paige. How are you doing?”

  She squeezed him tight. “We’re all right, Orrie. When will you get tired and join us?”

  “Maybe soon.”

  “That would be delightful.”

  Her upper crust British accent made him feel something he never thought he missed: home. When the four fallen angels lived in that building in Triberg, they’d been roommates. Paige showed up and made it home. She bossed and she frowned and she preferred things be done her way, but that was Paige. She loved them all as brothers—well, except for Sam, whom she loved with all her heart—but Orrie often forgot how special the bond was with her.

  He leaned back and looked down at her. “Well, milady, you’re still as lovely as ever.”

  “Ah, you smooth operator. How much do I owe you for that compliment?” she demanded. She squeezed his biceps and swung out of his embrace. “I hear the demon coming…”

  Samael the Seraph filled the doorway. Still big. Still scary. But now with a grin from ear to ear. A dog pushed past Sam, its big body shoving past his master with hardly a grunt.

  Orrie got down on one knee when Hound came to him. “How you doing, buddy?”

  The dog, once a hound of hell, licked Orrie full on the cheek and slathered drool all over him. Orrie had to laugh, then he stood.

  Sam was right there.

  Sam didn’t hesitate but pulled him into an embrace, clapping his back and holding him close. “Orus. Good to see you.”

  For so many years, Orrie had been the enforcer of their crew. But nothing had been able to stop Semyazza from tearing them apart. Orrie always felt guilty for that, but Sam held no ill will. Orrie wondered if he was in the same position, if he’d be able to do the same. Maybe that’s why Sam was in charge and not Orrie.

  “All right, boys, move on to the living room. Orrie, certainly you’ll have items to get out of the car, but you’ll have plenty of time for that later,” Paige began to boss. “I’ll get you some tea and bring it in shortly.”

  Sam pulled back and rolled his eyes. “No tea, Paige.”

  “Well you certainly can’t want coffee, now can you?” she demanded.

  “Whiskey, Paige,” Sam rumbled.

  “Whiskey!” Orrie turned to see her glaring at the both of them. “If you want whiskey then just take him to the library. I won’t be a serving wench for the both of you.” Her eyes softened though, and Orrie thought he saw a flicker of a smile. “Go along then and let me make up a plate for Orrie since he’s driven so far. I don’t want that whiskey to go straight to his head.” Now she winked at him and Orrie had to grin.

  Sam grinned too. “All right. Come on, Or. Come see what Paige has done to this house.”

  “I haven’t done a thing without your approval, you big lug!” Paige shouted after them.

  Orrie noticed Hound stayed with her.

  He followed Sam down a hallway with an Oriental runner, whitewashed walls, and exposed beams painted a dark brown. Here and there were antique mirrors and paintings, but nothing crazy and nothing that Sam wouldn’t enjoy. If there was ever a perfect woman for Sam, it was Paige.

  They small talked while waiting for Paige to bring food. When she did, she brought enough for both, thick wedges of sandwiches, filled with meat, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes. She brought a pie as well, with smaller plates and forks. She fussed over the two of them, making sure they had enough food, enough drink, enough everything. Finally, she placed a hand on Orrie’s shoulder and squeezed.

  “So good to see you, Orrie.”

  She turned quickly and left, pulling her serving cart out behind her and closing the door softly.

  Orrie looked around himself, at all the food, the pie, the pile of napkins. “Is she a homemaker now?”

  Sam smiled sadly. “She misses you. Misses Gres. Misses that bastard Verrine.”

  “And Rack?”

  “Oh, she misses him too. But she can’t stand Esme.”

  “Still?”

  Sam shrugged. “I’ve been around a long time and I still don’t understand women.” He picked up a half of his sandwich. “So tell me about what happened.”

  Orrie took a deep breath and launched into his story.

  Chapter Eight

  The drive to the medical examiner’s office wasn’t a short one. Trish hated to say it, but Levi’s truck was a whole lot more comfortable than her car, and she felt safer. Well, not because of Levi, but her car was sort of a dump and this pickup seemed to be pretty new…

  Trish sent Levi a sideways glance. One arm out, wrist hooked over the steering wheel. The other arm bent with the elbow resting on the door. He ran the side of his index finger along his lips.

  Sure he was gorgeous, but she tried not to think of that. Instead she surreptitiously studied the ink that swirled up and down his arms, over his hands, up his fingers. She’d heard that tattooing yourself was addictive. Clearly if he was tattooed up and down his arms, hands, fingers, neck, and who knew where else, he was addicted. But what did all those swirls and loops mean to him?

  “You gonna tell me about the kidney and lung?”

  Trish jolted, almost forgetting that they really had things to discuss. “Oh.”

  “Or you got something else on your mind?” He nodded to the clock on the dash. “We’ve got time.”

  “What do they mean?” Trish blurted, gesturing to his arm.

  “What? The tattoos?” He glanced at her, then turned his eyes to his forearm, down his wrist, then spread his fingers out so she could see down each individual finger. He wore rings, too, but he was tattooed to his fingernails. “They’re reminders.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of who I used to be.”

  “Who is that?”

  He tightened his hand on the steering wheel and with the other plowed his fingers through his hair. “Let’s just say you wouldn’t have wanted to know me way back when. Each one of these tattoos is a mistake I made, a reminder of what I’ve done so I never do it again.”

  She swallowed. Did she really want to know what he used to do? It mustn’t have been legal, not if they were mistakes. Maybe she didn’t want to know. Maybe she shouldn’t know. But then… “Did you kill people?” she asked, without even thinking about it. The words flew past her lips and she almost squealed in embarrassment.

  But Levi grinned. “No. I did punish them, though.”

  “You were a theology professor,” she muttered.

  “Yep. One that saw too much and one that wanted to make everything right.”

  “But you didn’t kill.”

  “Nope.”

  Trish frowned. The whirls of black on his arms were dark, menacing, but they didn’t look like any kind of punishment. In fact, altogether, they appeared, in a way, beautiful. “So how do these make you remember?”

  He tightened his hand on the steering wheel. “They just do.”

  “But how? They’re just a design.”

  “They aren’t just a design.”

  “I guess I don’t understand.”

  He blew out a breath. “I’ll show you.” He took his left hand and wiped it down his arm. That’s it. Just wiped his palm down his arm, starting from under his T-shirt sleeve down to his wrist. Such a simple move.

  But Trish sat transfixed.

  T
he whirls and loops coalesced into faces. Young and old. Beautiful and ugly. Snarling and smiling. She couldn’t take her eyes off his arm. Where had the faces come from? He’d just touched his arm. Wiped his palm over his skin. Was there makeup on the tattoos? To hide what they were?

  Levi swiped his palm back up and the faces disappeared. Back to whirls and loops. Trish reached out and grabbed his bicep.

  “How did you do that?”

  When he didn’t answer, she squeezed tighter and looked up into those gorgeous eyes.

  “How? How did that happen?”

  “Why don’t you start telling me what’s wrong with your town? Then I’ll start spilling my secrets.”

  Trish pulled her hand back as if badly burned. “I-I—”

  “Yeah. Look, Trish, we’ve both got secrets. And we’ve got plenty of time to discuss them on the way to the ME’s office. I’ve shared. Now it’s your turn.”

  Trish returned her gaze out the front windshield. Miles and miles of desert as far as the eye could see. There was no way out of this, she’d have to tell him. But for a while now, Trish felt like maybe she needed an outsider to help her make sense of this all. With the murders happening, she really needed to figure this out.

  Maybe Levi was the one she needed. But who was he? Theology professor, her ass. And how did he turn those tattoos into faces? What did those faces mean? What had he done? Who was he?

  She covertly looked over at him. He watched the road out the window, driving his massive pickup with ease. He might be here to steal her job. He might just be here to drive her out of town. She moved her gaze back out the window, again watching the desert go by. How many more bodies were out there?

  “Trish,” he said softly.

  When she didn’t answer, he leaned over and took her hand. She gazed down at where their fingers entwined and she felt tears come to her eyes. In that moment, she decided that he wasn’t there for any of that. He was there to help those people, those poor savagely murdered people, the same thing she wanted to do. She knew it, felt it in her detective’s gut. She could sense it about him. He wasn’t here to destroy her. He was here to help.