by J. R. Ward
Chapter 45
When Veck's phone went off at quarter to nine, he was so keyed up, he almost didn't bother answering the fucking thing.
He'd been marching around his house, waiting for something, anything to go down with Heron, that he was practically vibrating off the floor, all live wire with nothing to plug into.
"Aren't you going to answer it," Jim asked from the other end of the kitchen. The angel had been smoking quietly in the chair he'd sat down in, like, frickin' days ago.
Okay, it hadn't been days. This stretch of nothing happening felt like decades.
As the ringer went off again, Veck glanced over. He'd tossed the cell on the counter and it was on vibrate, the thing inching closer and closer to the edge with every trembling ring-a-ding-ding.
He was quite content to let the POS walk itself right off into a free fall. Except then he saw that the screen had one word on it: Reilly.
Veck all but ped across the countertop. "Hello! Hello? Hello!?"
He had no idea why she would be calling him, but he didn't care. Maybe she'd misdialed, or maybe she needed the pizza guy's number. Or, hell, even if she just wanted to cuss him out, he was down for -
"You sound so pent-up there, DelVecchio. "
He frowned at the male voice. "Bails?"
"Have I told you how much I love your name? DelVecchio . . . " The guy drew out the syllables. "Mmm, just the sound of it gets me off. "
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"DeeelllVeccccchiooo. "
Abruptly, Veck felt a shot of blind aggression nail him in the heart. "Why are you on Reilly's phone?"
Although it wasn't as if he couldn't guess. Christ, here it was again, he thought. Another snow job by someone he'd assumed he could trust - only this time, he was terrified of the consequences.
He looked over to Heron, who had put his cig out in the ashtray and gotten up - as if this was what he'd been biding his time for. "Why, Bails?"
There was a grunt and a scraping noise . . . the kind of thing that a pair of feet made over the earth.
"Sorry, just moving the body. "
Veck squeezed the phone so hard, one of the dial keys went off with a screech. "I'm going to kill you. If you hurt her - "
There was a slapping sound. And then a groan. "Wake up, bitch. I want you to talk to him. "
"Reilly. " So help them both, Veck was going to rip Bails's head off his shoulders and bowl with it. Then he was going to disembowel the body and cut off the arms and legs.
But first, he'd castrate the motherfucker.
"Reilly - "
"I'm . . . sorry . . . " a weak voice said.
Veck closed his eyes. "Reilly, I'm going to get you - "
"I didn't . . . believe you . . . so sorry . . . "
The words were slurred, as if she had a swollen mouth, or maybe - God forbid - had had some teeth knocked out.
"I'm going to come and get you. Don't worry - I'll - "
She cut him off. "I know . . . you didn't . . . do it. . . . Bails . . . lied - "
Her scream was so loud, Veck had to jerk the phone away from his ear.
"Reilly!" he shouted, his voice ringing around his kitchen. "Reilly - "
"Sorry," Bails cut in. "I had to introduce her to my girlfriend. They're going to have some fun together - at least until you come join us. "
"Tell me where you are, motherfucker. "
"Oh, I will, but I have someone who wants to say hello first. But not to you. She says for you to give Heron the phone now. "
"Fuck that - "
There was a rustle and then a female came on the line. "Hello, little Tommy. "
Oh, shit, that voice was . . . all wrong. Like someone had one of those distortion filters over the receiver. But that wasn't the only problem.
His father had called him that when he was young.
"Now listen, Tommy, I want you to give the phone over to that big, beautiful man who's standing across your kitchen from you. Then I want you to grab your coat and get nice and armed - I'm talking your guns, your knives, whatever you like. By the time you come back to where you've been pacing around for the last few hours, Heron will tell you where to go. "
"Who are you?" he gritted out.
"You know exactly who I am. " The laugh that followed was blade-sharp. "One note, by the way - those towels you keep putting up? They might stop you from seeing me, but it's not a vice versa kind of thing. I've always had my eye on you. "
Veck shifted his stare over to Jim. The angel was shaking his head from side to side slowly, as if he knew exactly what was being said even though the cell was all but stapled to Veck's ear.
"Before you throw the phone to Jim," the woman, or whatever the fuck it was, said, "you should know that if anyone comes with you, I'll kill her. I'll take the knife I have right now in my hand and I'll start with her face. Are you aware of how long someone can live without a mouth? Long time. Ears? Teeth? She can be alive, but praying to be dead if you know what I mean. And I won't stop there . . . I'll go down to her fingers. Just to the first knuckles. I'm good at walking the line, keeping them alive if I want to - who do you think taught your father all of his tricks?"
"If you touch her - "
"Who said I haven't already. Now be a good boy and throw the phone. "
"Catch," Veck barked, as he tossed the thing over.
He didn't wait to see whether there was a safe landing. Racing for the stairs, he took them three at a time, the soles of his shoes squeaking, especially as he hard-cornered it on the second-floor landing.
The closet in his bedroom was full of weapons. Guns, ammo, knives - how that bitch knew about it all, he didn't want to think -
"Motherfucker !" he shouted as he opened the doors.
The shelves were empty.
But of course. The police had come and taken everything he had into evidence.
"That's not what you're going to need. "
He wheeled around - and recoiled. Standing in the doorway of his room, Heron's partner, Adrian, was looking like a hot mess: His shirt had been rotted through in places and . . . Christ, the smell.
Whatever, though, the guy was alive and breathing, and with the way things were going, that was the only data screen that counted.
"Guns aren't going to work," Adrian said.
"The hell they won't. "
Rushing out of the room, Veck pushed past the man, his eyes watering from that acrid stench. Downstairs, he checked the other two obvious places he'd kept autoloaders: in the kitchen under the sink, and under the couch.
Gone.
Only one stash left.
As Jim Heron's angry voice drifted in from the kitchen, Veck went into the utility hall that connected the garage to the house. The washer and dryer were behind a pair of louvered doors, and he busted both sides open before squatting down. The dryer unit had been dropped during his last move, the bottom panel becoming loose enough so that if you knew where to press, it . . .
Snapped. Right. Off.
And there they were. Two nines with fully loaded clips, with everything stored in plastic bags to keep them lint free.
"Thank you, Jesus. "
"Those are not what you need. "
Veck looked up. Jim was standing over him, that cell phone in his hand. The angel was so pissed off, a flush had ridden up his throat and nailed him in the face, but that wasn't the only glow he had going on: There was a fierce light emanating from his body, like he was a Lava lamp in the on position.
Veck leaped to his feet, images of Reilly being defaced giving him a very precise picture of what in fact was required. Ripping the guns out of those Ziplocs, he double-checked their actions, and then went down low again for the two extra clips.
"Where is she?" he demanded as he loaded up his pockets.
"If you go in there half-cocked, you're going to choose the wrong path. "
"Fuck that, I'm
fully cocked. " He grabbed the guns, and shoved Heron out of the way.
His spare holster was hanging from the coatrack by the back door, and he slipped the straps over his shoulders. Both weapons went in perfectly, because he was a one-size-fits-all kind of guy, and then a light windbreaker covered the show.
"Where is she," he snapped.
"We need to talk first. "
"Not on my list of things to do. Sorry. "
At that, he unsheathed the pair of autoloaders and pointed one barrel at Jim Heron's chest and the other at Adrian's.
"Now, where is my woman. "