The Archangel Agenda (Evangeline Heart Book 1)

by A. K. Alexander

  “Maybe I can help you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  After the market, we’d had dinner. And within a week, we were dating.

  God, I missed him.

  Clay came back and sat across the aisle from me, facing the other way. His fingers flexed and unflexed but I didn’t want to interrupt my own memories to find out what was bothering him. That was selfish, but we weren’t a solid team yet, and I had enough to worry about without taking on his issues.

  We stayed silent for the rest of the flight, drifting in and out of sleep. A car was waiting for us as we came off the aircraft.

  I leaned forward and gave the driver Dr. Stephano’s address. A lot of the new agents were fans of Skyping and Google chats, but I’d never trusted them. I didn’t like not knowing who else was in the room. And beyond the fact that the good doctor’s dementia wouldn’t be helped by staring into a screen, there were things you couldn’t feel via electronics.

  We pulled up in front of his flat and Clay held the door for me. I hurried up the steps and Anna let us in. Seeing Ralph’s place before hadn’t done anything to ease that first sudden blast of claustrophobia as Anna closed the front door.

  “Jesus,” Clay said roughly.

  I wrapped my fingers around his forearm to ground him. He leaned close and hissed in my ear. “I’m serious about you telling me shit instead of letting me get ambushed.”

  Anna eyed him warily and I gave her a smile. “He’s fine, just a little squirmy about tight spaces.”

  “Oh. Well, then I’ll go get Ralph. Why don’t you to try and make do in his office.”

  “Thanks.” I dragged Clay into the tiny open space in the center. Our bodies brushed boxes and stacks and each other as we tried to compensate for the lack of room. He shifted and pulled me to stand between his parted thighs. “Not a lot of room.”

  I removed his hands from my hips and took half a step to the right. “How am I supposed to know what your triggers are? First, you’re a mess on the plane, so I thought you’d be more at home here.”

  He shivered. “No one would be at home here. I feel buried alive.”

  Considering I’d felt the same way not so long ago, I couldn’t blame him. But his jumpiness on the plane still bothered me. “What do you have against jets?”

  He stopped looking around the room and stared at me. “Jets are cool. I just know they always come with strings. I don’t like strings.”

  “Not everything comes with strings.”

  He laughed. “You can’t even say that with a straight face.”

  It was true and I smiled. “Okay, but some strings are worth the risk.”

  He shook his head. “Not in my world.”

  “Judy!”

  “Dr. Stephano!”

  He waved a hand at me. “We are old friends now! Do please call me Ralph.”

  I bumped a pile of books and Clay reached out to steady it while I said hi to Ralph and introduced the two men. They shook hands and sized each other up.

  “Sit, sit,” Ralph said, plopping down in his office chair. I didn’t point out that there wasn’t another chair unoccupied, but Clay drew me back beside him and nodded toward one of Ralph’s plaques hanging crooked on the wall. “Judy says you’re a big fan of the Smithsonian.”

  I didn’t miss the emphasis he’d put on my alias.

  Ralph grinned. “Yes. Yes. I’ve done quite a bit of work with them over the years. They’ve always been good to me. Always quick to ask if I have pieces to show in one of their exhibits. Been quite fun.”

  I perched on the edge of a table and ignored Clay’s fidgeting. “Sorry to come and bother you again, Ralph, but we need your help.”

  He tapped his cane on the floor. “Of course, of course. Always happy to aid where I can.”

  “We need to get into the Smithsonian.”

  He blinked and rubbed the edge of his eyebrow. “Well, they still sell tickets, don’t they?”

  Clay’s fidgeting increased.

  I smiled tenderly at Ralph. “I’m sure they do. We, uh, we need to get in … after hours.”

  “What she’s trying to say, Ralph”—Clay’s voice boomed through the room and he lowered it and unclenched his fists—“is that we’re hoping you have some contacts that might give us a … private tour.”

  Ralph’s face fell and I was worried we’d offended him. He thought I was after the piece because of my mom, not because of the real reason.

  “Oh dear. I’m not sure who I could direct you to. Back in the day there was a good group of men who were able to pull strings for private tours. Wealthy chaps, that sort. I used to smoke and drink with, but…” He chuckled, shook his head, and grinned at Clay. “Right fine selection of women a few nights, if you know what I mean.”

  Clay smiled in spite of his anxiety. But then he looked at me and winked. “Yeah, I do know.” He swung his direct attention back to Ralph. “And now? Any of those guys still around that might want to help another pretty lady? Surely, there must be someone on the board still, out of those chaps.”

  Ralph pursed his lips. We needed him to come through for us. This was the one spot we hadn’t been able to figure out. Entry into the museum was tightly guarded and there was no way to sneak past the exterior security. We would have to rely on someone on the inside and probably as part of the security team to let us in.

  “A private tour, eh? You’ve come an awful long way to ask for something like that. And I don’t think they run private tours anymore.”

  I leaned forward and set my hand on Ralph’s knee. “Ralph, we need to get inside when no one will see us. We have to get in after hours.”

  “Oh!” Ralph’s head snapped up. “Is this about that piece? The ring that you went to see Felt about?”

  “Yes it is. Apparently, he no longer has it in his home. I’ve read recently that it’s been moved to a gallery at The Smith,” I said. I didn’t want him to know that we’d both made separate attempts to rip off Dr. Felt.

  Ralph rubbed his chin and looked from Clay to me then back to Clay. I needed him to figure this out without coming straight out and telling him what we were up to. Clay looked away and fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with my methods.

  Come on, Ralph.

  Then, Ralph turned his chair and hung his cane on the lip of his desk, then swiveled back and faced me, hands braced on his knees. “Judy, I’d really like to help you, but you must trust me. What is the story with the ring?”

  I swallowed. I’d already let Clay into my circle of one. Ralph wasn’t exactly a trustworthy ally. Sure, he wouldn’t ever purposefully hurt me, but those lips of his were a little too unguarded. I could just see him sitting around at next week’s card game telling the boys all about the “cutie who’d come to visit, and oh, did I tell you that she wanted me to sneak her into the most guarded museum in the whole world? I still got it, boys.”

  But I needed him and if it meant letting him brag up his role, then I had to risk it. I’d dragged Clay halfway around the globe for this lead and Metatron had sent us, so I had to trust that he, at least, had my back.

  I inhaled and let it seep from my nose. “My name is Evangeline Heart. People call me Evagelina, though I really don’t know how the ‘a’ got a slip in there, but it did. My friends call me Lina, which I prefer. My mother was in Jordan and she did have that relic, but it’s not for sentimental reasons that I want it. I know you believe in Enoch and his book and who he is now as Metatron, so I’m hoping that you’ll believe the rest of this.”

  Ralph grinned and leaned back in his chair. “All right girl, now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I wondered about that last vision of mine,” Ralph said.

  I’d told him all of it—from the moment Metatron appeared at my side in the dive bar off of Times Square to his latest visit in Clay’s apartment, and he’d listened intently, not dismissing a thing, even the unbelievable, which … yeah … I completely understood was most of it.


  Ralph cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his wingback chair. “Right before you showed up at my doorstep seeking the relic, I’d had a vision. I get those sometimes. It was clearer than my usual dreams and visions. Metatron himself showed up in my dream and we walked. We went to the sea. Oh how I do love the ocean.” He smiled. “We walked a good long time and he told me that he needed my help again. I grabbed some shells while we were there. I’ve been of service to the great angels in my years. I’m a true believer and as you are now aware, there are times when the divine needs the help of a human.”

  His face softened and he smiled. “Your mother often helped.”

  I tried not to look shocked.

  “I missed it at first, the resemblance, but now I see it clearly. You have her eyes.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Not well, but I met her. Only once, at a religious conference, but she was so kind. We spent most of the evening discussing some of her rarer finds.” He tapped his temple. “I apologize for not making the connection when you were here last time. This brain of mine doesn’t always connect the dots like it used to.”

  “And she helped the angels?”

  “She and Metatron had a special relationship. He didn’t mention if she worked with others, but I know of many other instances with other people.”

  I nodded and glanced at Clay, looking totally awed and hanging on Ralph’s every word, as though he’d come face to face with the archangel.

  “Did Metatron tell you anything else in your vision—anything else besides Mom?”

  “Yes, Metatron asked if I would please help a fellow human out. When you arrived on my doorstep, I thought it was this old-man mind of mine being tricky, because there you were, a beautiful young woman asking for my help.” He shook his head. “Quite a coincidence for most people, but… Well, you spend as much time as I have in the Book of Enoch and helping out those of The Divine, it’s hard to dismiss these things.”

  He leaned over and clasped Clay’s shoulder. “You keep alert. People will be after you. Bad people.”

  For once, Clay didn’t brush it off with a cocky comment. He sat up straighter.

  “We have to take the risk,” I said. “Bad people, demons, or what not.” I thought of Griffin. Where was he in that moment? What was he suffering through?

  Ralph turned his serious gaze on me. “Yes. You must not fail at this.”

  “Will you help us?” I asked. “We need to get into The Smithsonian, Ralph. It’s what has to be done.”

  “I’m not sure how I can assist you. I’m an old man who used the front entrance every time…” He smiled. “Well, not every time. My friend, Ferdinand, he’s been a security guard out there since he dropped out of high school, he used to leave the back door open for me. I can’t believe I forgot about him for a minute or two. Good chap. He struggled some when we were children. You know that my family lived in Washington D.C. for many years. My father was a diplomat. I went to school at Georgetown but came back here and furthered my studies at Cornell where I met my lovely Sarah…”

  He frowned and his eyes glossed over. He waved a hand at us. “Anyhow, my father loved the Smith and it is how I made some friendships with the rather well-to-do. However, my friend Ferdinand was not of that lot. No. But he made me laugh. Oh did he make me laugh! My Sarah, when he came to visit, oh no … she was not impressed at all by him.”

  He smiled and again that faraway look shrouded his features.

  No way was this going to be that simple, that Ralph’s friend Ferdinand would be able to get us inside. Clay stayed relaxed and drew the story out of Ralph. “Oh yeah? You guys get into some trouble? The kind your Sarah wouldn’t have approved of?”

  Ralph laughed and shook his head at the memory. “Oh brother, you could say that. Well, we never got caught. That of course was before my Sarah, and I could never tell her of our adventures.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Surely Ralph hadn’t found some of his relics by ill-gotten methods.

  “Oh, you name it. We played poker into the wee hours beneath The Spirit of St. Louis, we polished off a bottle of whiskey staring up through the T-Rex’s ribcage…”

  Clay laughed with him. “Is he still there? Sounds like the kind of guy I’d like to meet.”

  Ralph sobered. “I believe he is. It’s been some time since we spoke. Maybe a couple of years even. But I do believe that Ferdinand is going to work there until they find him dead and propped up beneath one of the displays.” He wiped the corner of his eye. They’d teared up while he’d been laughing.

  Anna came in with lunch, stalling out the boys’ storytelling. The two of them flirted with Anna and made a fuss over the sandwiches she’d brought in. She acted like she had to suffer putting up with them, but I think she secretly liked it.

  I grabbed a sandwich, thanked her and wandered away, pretending to look at one of Ralph’s dusty pictures while I wondered if Metatron had bothered to mention Azazel and his involvement in this whole thing to Ralph. Clay laughed loudly at some comment of Ralph’s, making Anna blush. She slapped Clay playfully on the arm and left.

  I couldn’t help thinking about how different Griffin would have been in this whole scenario. One, he’d have never bought the surreal aspects. As a lawyer, he was serious about tried and true proven facts. He’d have checked out in the first two minutes of this conversation and begged me to stop talking nonsense. But I’d loved that about him, too. He was down-to-earth, the rock to my crazy, always-moving life. Two, he would have cross-examined Ralph and Anna as if they were on the witness stand. He’d never have thought to take Clay’s soft approach—that, whether or not I wanted to admit it, was working.

  Clay stuffed the end of a sandwich in his mouth and brushed his hands on his pants like a complete heathen. “I’d love to hear more about Ferdinand.”

  Ralph was quick to oblige. “The last we spoke, he’d been put on grounds patrol. Relegated him to a golf cart and a radio. He has to report suspicious activity to the ‘real’ security guards now … men trained by the military with special certifications.” He shook his head in disgust. “No respect.”

  His intense gaze turned on me and his eyes cleared, like the rest of the past was falling away and he was realizing why Metatron had sent me to him.

  “Like Azazel’s lack of respect.”

  “Tell me about Azazel.” I lifted my chin. My thoughts about Griffin were safely tucked away now, and I was ready to learn. “How does he kill, how does he get what he wants from his prison?”

  He’d become my target and I needed to know him. I needed to know how they’d taken Griffin’s life and if they’d done it on purpose. I’d trusted my industry sources that had chalked up his death as a retaliation killing for the South Asian kingpin I’d killed the month before. Though I’d never been compromised until then, the math had made sense and I knew the organization sought to hit me where it hurt the most. I’d torpedoed a hole in their entire operation, but I’d always been confused about why they’d come after me instead of the CIA, which had hired the hit.

  The CIA operative who’d hired me hadn’t meant for me to see the photos of Griffin, but I’d been running early for the appointment, and his assistant had let me into his office. I’d glanced casually at his desk as I’d sat down, not looking for anything, but I did the usual sweep of details I always did when I walked in the room. It was the scar on Griffin’s left hand that had caught my attention. The one from when they pinned his hand back together after his career-ending injury as a college quarterback.

  I’d traced that scar a million times, with the pad of my index finger, my tongue... Overcome with my grief, I’d shifted the stack of photos to see his face again.

  But the face in those photos didn’t belong to Griffin anymore. It was mutilated nearly beyond comprehension. Both eyes had been swollen shut, blood had matted the hair at his temple and his throat...

  His throat had been slit ear to ear.

  The operative had rus
hed into the room just in time to catch me as I’d passed out. When I’d come to he’d apologized profusely for leaving the photos where I’d been able to find them. But I couldn’t unsee them. My Griffin, a man so gentle and kind and who lived firmly on the right side of the law, tortured to glean information about his “freelance journalist” fiancée. As I’d passed out, my last thought had been that he’d probably died hating me, knowing I’d lied to him about so many things.

  About everything.

  I swallowed the bitter guilt and focused on Ralph. “Why”—my voice cracked—“why Griffin?”

  “Angels are forbidden to take life. However Lucifer and Azazel are both brilliant at manipulation. Quite the masters, actually. If they wanted Griffin specifically—and I imagine they did—they would have found a way to misdirect a human.” His face softened. “Perhaps one who didn’t like you, one who wanted to hurt you. They’d make that dislike fester and boil until they lashed out, taking Griffin in the process. Problem solved, and they didn’t disobey God’s order directly.”

  I stood up quickly, upset by what Ralph was saying, especially with the thoughts of Griffin’s horrible death so fresh in my mind.

  “Is there anyone in your life who would have wanted to hurt you?”

  Clay leaned back in his chair, watching me intently. All joking was gone from his features.

  I paced and ran a hand over my hair. “Yeah. Quite a few, actually.”

  Ralph’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  My gaze darted to Clay’s but he hadn’t flinched, not about to give anything away that I didn’t want to reveal. It was a surprising peace offering from him.

  I exhaled and clasped my hands behind my back. “Ralph, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I’m a hired assassin and there are a whole mess of people who’d like to have me killed in retaliation for what I’ve been hired by governments to do.”

  He leaned forward and patted my hand. “I was a soldier, dear. I understand having to kill for purposes contradictory to our hearts.” He straightened and winked at Clay. “You’re probably quite fantastic at it.” He laughed and slapped his knee. “Good God, they probably never see you coming!”