He was not some dolt of whom to make demands, and Heron needed to learn some manners.
Nigel pivoted and took a sip. “ ’Tis light and refreshing.”
“Fuck the wine.”
Nigel let that one stay where it lay, and just stared at the savior.
When the Creator had appeared unto Nigel and Devina, and explained that there would be a final contest, both sides had had to agree to Heron’s being the one on the field with the seven chosen souls. Naturally, each opposite wanted its values represented, and the end result was that this massive, war-minded angel standing afore him had equal amounts of the good and evil in him.
Nigel believed, however, that the fact that Jim’s slain mother was within the walls of the manse here would be the tipping factor, and he still thought that was true. Moments like this, however, made him question the very foundation of this terminal game they were all playing.
The angel looked ready to kill.
“You have to tell me who it is.”
“And as I have said before, I cannot.”
“I lost, asshole. And she cheated.”
“I am well aware of the lines she has o’erstepped, and if you recall, my advice to you was to let her do what she will—reprisals shall come.”
“When.”
“When they do.”
Heron did not like that answer, and he began to pace about the ornate tent with its drapes of satin and its Oriental rugs and the low bedding platform—around which, Nigel realized too late, two sets of very different clothes were scattered.
Nigel cleared his throat. “I cannot risk having an overturn that goes against us. I have stooped to Devina’s level too much already by giving you Adrian and Edward. If I help you any further, I chance forfeiture of not just a round, but the entire contest. And that is unacceptable.”
“You know who the soul is, though. And so does Devina.”
“Yes.”
“And that doesn’t strike you as seriously uneven? She’s going to go after them herself—probably already has.”
“By the established and agreed-upon rules, she’s not allowed to interact with the souls. She, as with myself, is supposed to influence you to influence them. Direct contact is not allowed.”
“So why haven’t you stopped it?”
“’Tis not my purview.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nigel, grow a set—”
“I assure you, his balls are just fine.”
At the dry interjection, both Nigel and the savior turned to the draped archway that led into the bath. Colin hadn’t bothered with a robe, but was standing there unapologetically nude.
And now that he had everyone’s attention, the archangel tacked on, “I’ll also ask you to watch your language, mate.”
Heron’s brows shot up, and there was a moment of tennis matching, whereupon his head went back and forth between the two of them.
Nigel cursed under his breath. So much for decorum. And privacy. “Ice wine, Colin?” he said gruffly. “And mayhap some robing?”
“I’m fine.”
“True enough. But your lack of modesty offers you no better cover than the temperate air in this tent. And I have a guest.”
A grunt was all that came in manner of reply. Which was Colin’s way of proclaiming that there was no reason to be a stuffy old tart.
Lovely.
Nigel turned back to the savior. “I am sorry that I cannot grant you what you seek. Believe that.”
“You helped me with the first.”
“I was permitted that license.”
“And look at how number two turned out.”
Nigel hid his agreeing concern behind a sip of his glass. “Your passion is laudable. And I will tell you that your return to Caldwell is well-served.”
“Thanks for the tip. There are two million people in that goddamn town. Hardly narrows it down.”
“Nothing is arbitrary, and there are no coincidences, Jim. In fact, there is another who shall seek what you do, and as the separate quests unite, you will find the next soul.”
“No offense, but that doesn’t mean shit.” Heron glanced at Colin. “And I’m not going to apologize to the talk police for that. Sorry.”
Colin crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Suit yourself, lad. And I’ll do the same.”
Read: Maybe I’ll pop you now. Or maybe later.
The last thing Nigel needed was a fistfight in his quarters as undoubtedly that would bring the other archangels, as well as Tarquin at a full gallop. Hardly the intermission one looked for.
“Colin,” he said, “do go soak your head.”
“I’m wet enough, thank you.”
“That is a matter of opinion,” Nigel muttered before addressing Jim again. “Go forth and have faith that you will be where you should to do what you must.”
“I don’t believe in fate, Nigel. That’s like picking up an unloaded gun and thinking it’ll shoot something. You’ve got to put the bullets in the chamber yourself.”
“And I am telling you there are greater things at work than your efforts.”
“Okay, wonderful, so put that on a Christmas card. But don’t try to feed that bullshit to me.”
Staring into the hard face of the savior, Nigel knew a flash of fear. With this attitude, there was yet one more thing stacked against the angels prevailing. And yet what could he do? Heron had no patience or faith, but that did naught to change the rules of the game or the likelihood that the Creator would inevitably redress Devina’s liberties.
At least the latter worked in their favor.
“I believe we are through,” Nigel said. “Nothing favorable shall come from our continued conversing.”
There was a dark, rather evil moment during which Heron regarded him with a kind of fury.
“Fine,” the savior said. “But I don’t give up this easy.”
“And I am the mountain that will not be moved.”
“Roger that.”
In between one blink and the next, that angel was gone. And it was not until silence rang out within the tent that Nigel realized he had not been the one to send Heron on his way. He had done that himself.
He was becoming stronger, wasn’t he.
“Do you want me to go down and watch over him,” Colin said.
“When I agreed to him as the chosen one, I thought there were enough reins to hold him. I truly did.”
“And so I say, shall I depart and watch o’er him?”
Nigel turned to his dearest friend, who was so much more than a colleague and a confidant. “That is the purpose of Adrian and Edward.”
“Stipulated. But I worry where his growing competence will take him. We are not on a good path with this.”
Nigel took another sip of his wine and stared at the empty space that Heron had just inhabited. Though he kept silent, he had to agree. The question was, what to do, what to do . . .
CHAPTER 3
Down below, in the cold woods next to the Monroe Motel & Suites, Veck stood in the direct glare of the ambulance’s headlights, his partner de la Cruz on his right, his buddy Bails on the left. Spotlit as he was, he felt like he was onstage as Kroner was rolled out from the trees on a gurney.
Except there was only one person looking at him.
Internal Affairs officer Sophia Reilly.
She was standing off to the side, and as their eyes locked, he wished they were getting together under different circumstances—again. The first time he’d been introduced to her had been because he’d corked that paparazzo.
This shit made one sucker punch look like a day at the beach.
The thing was, he’d liked her the moment he’d shaken her hand, and that first impression had only been reinforced tonight: The detective in him had so approved of her just now, as well as the way she’d looked him over, like even if he’d been bullshitting her—and he hadn’t—she would have known.
But they had to stop meeting like this. Literally.
Over at the asphalt lip of the parking lot, there was a thunch as the medics shut the double doors of the ambulance and then the vehicle backed out, taking the illumination with it. As Reilly turned to watch the departure, she was in the shadows—until she clicked on a flashlight.