“Aye. It’s warded. Also, there is a spell on the room that shall prevent you from repeating anything said inside to anyone not approved to hear.”
Thomas stopped in his tracks. “A secrecy spell?” His head spun. In all his time as district attorney in Eastlake Falls, not once had he ever been subjected to a secrecy spell. They were often used for juries that weren’t sequestered, but never for lawyers.
“Like I said, you shall find out why in a minute.” Joan opened the conference room door and waited for Thomas to enter.
Instincts told Thomas to run. He didn’t like this. At all. But he trusted Joan. She was a good detective and an even better saint. He fought the nausea that hit when he crossed the wards. Joan allowed him entry first and with a single glance at the faces in the room, he knew the shit had hit the fan.
Michael. Tony. The Son of Lust, Dante. St. Joseph, the city coroner. Two immortals he didn’t recognize, and one of the department sorcerers. But most surprising to see were two more Archangels. Azrael, the overseer of death and rebirth and Thomas’s boss, Raguel, enforcer of justice.
Son of a djinn. What in the Fates’ name did we step in this time?
Joan slid into a chair next to Tony while Thomas stood gaping like a stultus.
“Thomas, good to see you.”
He nodded at Raguel. “You too, sir.”
“Have a seat,” Michael said from the head of the table, his commanding voice brokering no argument. Thomas took the nearest one and removed a pad and paper from his bag. No doubt he would need to take notes. Michael gestured toward the pad. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Shouldn’t I take notes, sir?” He glanced around the table. Only then did he notice not a single immortal held pen nor paper.
“Everything discussed in this room is highly confidential and shall be treated as such. Nothing shall be put into corporeal form with regards to this case.”
“But how—?”
Tony pointed at one of the two immortals he didn’t know. “Joel is a Messenger Angel.”
All right. Now it made sense. Messengers could retain large amounts of information and repeat them verbatim with little effort. It was how they carried knowledge to and from the Hereafter, as neither paper nor electronics could cross the plane. It still didn’t explain the presence of the Son of Lust, or the two Archangels.
“As we are all present, we shall begin,” Michael said, effectively ending any questioning. The Archangel turned to Joan and motioned her to the front of the room. “Joan, if you wouldn’t mind?”
She stood and flipped over a white board. On it someone made a crudely drawn timeline; taped next to it were several crime scene photos. The pictures depicted a deceased young female on what appeared to be the floor of a bedroom. Another was clearly a candid of the same female, smiling and happy.
“Two days ago, detective Anthony Martins received a phone call from Dante Vittorio.” Joan tipped her head toward Lust. For the first time since entering the room, Thomas truly looked at the daemon prince. Red-eyed with pale pallor, the male was positively grief-stricken. “Dante was concerned about a female employee who missed seven days of work without letting anyone know. Repeated calls to the female’s phone and visits to her home went unanswered. An officer was sent the following day to check her apartment. Yesterday, at approximately two fifty-five p.m., the officer entered the home under suspicion of the occupant possibly being injured and unable to answer the door. He discovered the deceased female you see here.” Joan pointed at one of the crime scene photos. “This is Melora Alvah, age two hundred sixty-one years—”
“What?” Thomas blurted. Every head in the room turned in his direction, including those of the three Archangels. Shit. His face burst into flames. “Apologies.”
“Quiet!” Everyone shifted their attention from Thomas to the Son of Lust. Lust’s complexion turned crimson, to the point of being almost purple, and his eyes shone the navy blue of his daemon. “When we are done, I must needs leave and tell my mate that an immortal had been killed. She is already living in fear, jumping at the slightest of sounds.” His daemon half was so close to the surface, Lust was actually snarling.
“Calm yourself, Lust,” Michael commanded. Lust closed his mouth, but struggled to cling to his humanity. Michael turned back to Joan. “Continue, Detective Puella.”
Thomas sank in his chair, too embarrassed to make eye contact. But come on! Did everyone believe what Joan danced around? Believe what Lust said? If so, Thomas decided he was entitled to a bit of a freak out. Immortals just didn’t die.
“Ms. Alvah was listed as a minor daemon, confirmed on autopsy to be a halfling.”
Halflings were small in stature compared to other immortals, but not obviously so to humans. Opportunists, they turned every situation in their favor, getting others to do things they normally wouldn’t. Most were subtle, but an unchecked halfling could easily scam a large number of humans before getting caught.
Thomas sneaked a glance at the other immortals. A few gaped whilst the Archangels remained stoic, expressions unreadable. Tony appeared detached, almost in a state of disbelief, same as Thomas. But Lust? The Prince of Lust was beyond enraged, his daemon hovering very, very close to the surface. The reactions fit what Thomas knew of the male. Mayhap Lust was a daemon and therefore supposedly evil, but he was also fiercely protective of both his employees and those close to him. No doubt the half-daemon prince took the murder of one of his immortals personally. In truth, Thomas felt sorry for him. A few months ago, Lust suffered through the death of a human bouncer, as well as an assault on another employee, Thomas’s Hope. Before that, Lust endured the kidnapping of his soulmate.
Thomas broke out of his musings when Joan continued. “What we gathered from the scene is that there is no evidence of forced entry or struggle by the victim. Therefore, the conclusion is that the halfling had been subdued, mayhap by a spell. Joseph shall now give us the results of his autopsy.” Joan gestured toward the coroner.
Joseph cleared his throat and spoke from his seat. “No toxins were found in Ms. Alvah’s body. There were no bruises or marks on her skin. In truth, I only discovered a single noticeable irregularity.” He nodded and Joan removed a large photo from a stack on the table and taped it to the board with the others. Thomas’s eyes widened as understanding crept in. “As you can see, there are scorch marks around the halfling’s mouth. This finding—”
“Are you suggesting a Horseman killed this immortal?” Raguel asked, his tone incredulous.
Fates, Thomas couldn’t be more grateful his boss had the guts to question this insanity, because he couldn’t wrap his head around any of it, but wouldn’t have dared open his mouth again. Horsemen can’t kill immortals. In truth, so few beings could have committed this crime, there hadn’t been a single immortal death since the Great Battle.
“Aye. That is what I believe,” Joan said. She turned to the coroner. “Joseph, if you’ll give us the rest of the autopsy findings.”
Joseph went through a bunch of meaningless tests and numbers and Thomas sort of zoned out, pondering the possibility of a Horseman murdering an immortal and what it meant to the citizens of Eastlake Falls. Then, Thomas blinked when Joseph said something that blew his mind. “The lab found no trace of the immortal’s essence anywhere, not even residual matter. I researched immortal deaths and as you all know, traces of an immortal’s life-force are always found in the body. In this instance, Ms. Alvah’s life-force had been completely removed, or in this case, devoured.”
Heart hammering, Thomas closed his eyes to absorb the shock.
The room broke out in chaos. Lust shouted about the need to protect his mate. Michael tried to calm everyone down. Raguel had begun to drill Joan and Joseph for answers. Others chattered amongst themselves. All Thomas heard was the fast-paced whoosh of his pulse behind his ears.
Stunned, Thomas stared into the awful cup of coffee he poured earlier in the department break room, too overwhelmed to speak. He must needs t
ime to process the impossible coming to fruition. Whilst the others continued to argue and debate the evidence, he stood and took his leave, wholly unnoticed. Immediately after exiting the oppressive confines of the conference room, he cancelled the rest of his appointments. Thomas assigned any court appearances to Dominic and told the office secretary to reschedule everything Dominic couldn’t do in his stead.
“Thomas? Thomas, are you okay?”
No. No I’m not.
True to her tenacious personality, Joan followed him. Fates, he liked the detective, but wished she would go away and leave him to wallow in shock and disbelief. Unfortunately, Joan was nothing if not persistent.
“Thomas.” Joan put a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Come. Let’s take a walk.”
He sighed and tossed his cup in the nearest trash bin, his stomach too upset for more terrible institutional coffee, and the last thing he needed was to lose his breakfast. Joan led the way down the stairs and out the front door of police headquarters. The courthouse, where Thomas worked and had his office, stood on the opposite side of the city square. Eastlake Falls Square wasn’t large, but it contained a park that was a favorite spot for workers to take their lunch, and for mothers with small children. Kids loved to play by the tiered fountain, tossing in pennies and making wishes.
They entered the park, nearly empty considering the early hour, barely nine o’clock.
“Sit.” Joan gestured at a bench. He complied and she joined him. “Listen, I need you to make this happen. We must needs catch this bastard and stop him or more immortals shall perish.”
“I know. It’s just… how do we stop a Horseman? And why would he feed upon immortals? How is it even possible?” He rubbed the back of his neck and wiped his now sweaty palm on his suit pants.
“I don’t know.” Joan frowned, her forehead creased in thought. “Joseph isn’t even sure how he’s doing it. Raphael is researching, as is Azrael.”
Thomas forgot about the Archangel of Death. Fates, he must be furious. Azrael was protective of every soul, whether immortal or human. It never occurred to Thomas that Azrael would care about a dead daemon, as they don’t have souls. But it made sense. If an immortal died, no matter the type, Azrael would be involved. Especially since such an event was practically unheard of.
“When will they have answers?”
Joan shrugged. “I don’t know that, either.” She shifted to face Thomas. “What I do know, is that it’s our duty to protect the citizens of Eastlake Falls, human, angelus, daemon, sanctus… Just because we never need worry about the safety of daemons before, doesn’t mean we don’t owe them an explanation and a warning.”
“I know all this, Joan,” Thomas said, somewhat testy. She acted as if he didn’t know his duty.
“Then get over yourself, More. Next time, mayhap it shall be a saint. Or someone you know. Someone I know. Fates, it could be you or me.”
He jerked back as if Joan punched him in the gut. How did it never occur to him that every immortal in the city was now at risk of death, something they never need worry about? “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to hunt down this motherfucker and make him pay.” Thomas’s mouth fell open when Joan cursed. “I know,” she said with a grin. “I figure if there was a time to break my rule, now seemed about right.”
A tiny smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, it is.”
Joan turned serious. “If the Horseman is going to break the rules, so are we. I’m running point on this one. Tony shall continue to look for the immortals behind the compound. He doesn’t want the Horseman to distract us and allow the criminals to slip through our fingers.”
“Fates, it feels like everything’s falling apart.” He slumped on the bench and wondered what Hope was doing right now. Was she thinking about their date? About him? About their kiss? Right now, Hope was the only bright spot in Thomas’s existence. Her presence so brilliant, he could see her through the thick fog of evil that settled over the city.
Joan patted his knee. “Our job is to put Eastlake Falls back together again, or keep it from falling apart.” Joan stood. “I must needs go. I’m supposed to put together a task force and a team to hunt for the Horseman.”
“See you later.”
“Bye, Thomas. I’ll stay in touch.”
He sat on the bench for a long time, wallowing in his thoughts. It had been a long time since he’d felt despair so deep he must needs claw his way to the surface to see the sun. Thomas dug out his phone and sent a text to Hope.
Thomas- Might I see you this evening?
A human female and her two offspring scurried past, the children giggling and squealing whilst their mother trailed behind. Thomas watched them play with the fountain, holding out their tiny hands to get them wet in the spray. The phone dinged in his hand.
Hope- I work till 10.
Thomas- Mayhap after?
Hope- Ok. Meet me at the club?
He smiled and swallowed when his pulse skittered for a half-second. In roughly twelve hours he would be face to face with Hope. Fates, what that human female did to him, as evidenced by his racing heart and rush of blood to his groin.
Thomas- I shall be there.
Thomas would gladly, and greedily, take any bit of happiness wherever he could find it, and for him that meant Hope Hartley. With a heavy sigh, he rose and trudged toward the courthouse. Waiting on his desk was a ton of work that must needs be done. If he could concentrate—which considering his morning thus far—was highly unlikely.
ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES until Hope finished her shift. Thomas hadn’t shown up yet, but would be here soon. The butterflies in her stomach wouldn’t stop fluttering. Not since she read his text early this morning. In the middle of wiping down a table, Hope felt a change in the air. Nothing major. Nothing anyone should have noticed. Almost as if the air became electrified, like the sensation you get when you scuff wool socks across a carpet. The prickly, tingly, buzzing in your fingers right before you get shocked on the nearest doorknob.
She glanced over her shoulder and her breath hitched. Thomas stood on the threshold. The butterflies did a dance and her mouth went dry.
He. Is. Gorgeous.
Drop-fucking-dead gorgeous, in fact. At that moment, Hope realized this was the first time she saw him wearing anything other than a suit and tie. And wow, did the man know how to do casual. Because Thomas stood several inches taller than most, she watched as he scanned the room, no doubt looking for her. Instead of waving or catching his attention, Hope took the opportunity to indulge in his hotness.
Pressed and starched button down gone, in its place he wore a black, short-sleeved T-shirt. One that revealed toned biceps and forearms, quite a bit larger than she would have thought he could hide under his suit. Without the collar of the dress shirt, his neck was exposed, thick and smooth with tendons flexing as he turned his head side to side. God, she desperately wanted to lick across the shadowy stubble on his sharp jawline and suck on the skin of his throat until she left a mark.
Jeez, she really needed to dial down the libido.
That’s when Thomas’s heated gaze landed on her. He smiled and Hope’s heart just about stopped. The way he looked at her, like she was not only beautiful, but something to cherish. He didn’t see an ex-stripper or an easy lay. Thomas saw Hope, the person. As he began to weave through the crowd, that dark stare never wavering, she went weak in the knees. Face burning from the intensity of his gaze, Hope squirmed and glanced down. Big mistake. Now her eyes were pointed in the direction of Thomas’s jeans—well-worn, faded in all the right places, and tight as sin. Oh God. They were so tight she could see the outline of his sizable package. Her gaze bounced back to his face and her cheeks flamed hotter when she realized Thomas’s lips pulled into a tiny smirk. Oh hell, he caught her staring directly at his crotch.
She wished she could sink into the floor.
“Hey,” he said when he reached the table she was supposed to be cleaning.
“Hi.” After getting busted drooling over his crotch, no way could Hope meet his eyes. Instead, she quickly stacked empty glasses on her tray. “Um, I’m almost done. I just have to…” She gestured at the tray.
“Sure. I’ll wait at the bar.”
Hope followed his feet move in the direction of the bar before hurrying to the pass. “I’m heading out,” she told Bethany, the bartender.
“No problem.” Bethany winked. “Hot date?” She tipped her head toward Thomas.
By now, Hope knew her face was as red as the cherries they put in people’s drinks. “Um, yeah. I mean, it’s only our second date. It’s, um, not really serious. I think.”
“Relax.” Bethany put her hand on Hope’s. “I know Thomas More. He’s a good guy. Go and have fun.”
Hope exhaled and blew a piece of hair out of her face. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Bethany turned to a customer and Hope made a beeline to the break room to ditch her apron and change shirts. No doubt she smelled like beer and hot wings. Besides, she didn’t want to go on a date wearing her one-size-too-small Intrigue T-shirt. She pulled on a lightweight tank top stashed in her locker and checked her hair in the mirror. The rules stated anyone with long hair had to wear it up since they served food and drinks, so there wasn’t much she could do except leave it in its ponytail.
Whatever.
Hope left the break room and came to a stop as she passed the open office door and recognized the two women sitting inside.
“Verity? Faith?”
Verity gave her a halfhearted smile and rose, crossing the room and pulling her into a hug. “Hope! I didn’t know you were working tonight.”
“I… yeah, I’m just leaving.” She frowned. “When did you guys get here? I didn’t see you come in.”
“I let them in the back door.” Hell, Hope just about jumped out of her skin when a deep voice came from the office, behind the open door. Dante Vittorio, owner of the club, walked over.
Hope For More (Trinity Book 3) Page 11