Fallen Angels 01 - Covet (24 page)

“Pointing her out to you at the club. I was thinking this was all sort of a game, but it's not. I shouldn't have encouraged you down that road.

It wasn't right.”

That Adrian was so bothered by what was actually just normal guy shit was a surprise, but maybe there was some marshmallow under that crispy exterior.

Jim put out his palm. “It's cool. We're cool.”

Adrian took what was offered. “I'll try not to be an asshole all of the time.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves.”

Adrian smiled. “Yeah, maybe I'll just alternate with being a dickhead.”

“Also something you could easily pull off.” Jim started up his hog and curled his fist on the accelerator to pump the fresh gas right into those big, hungry pistons. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

“Abso,” Adrian said as he hopped on his own bike. “You go first this time.”

“Dog okay there, Eddie?” Jim asked while eyeing the animal—who seemed thrilled with the adventure.

“We're rock steady.”

As Jim headed them back in the direction they'd come from, he took in the yellow of the sunlight and the bright white of the clouds and the blue of the sky and the gray of the road. Over to the left, the river paralleled the road, as did the walking path that had been built along the shore. Here and there, fledgling trees that looked like pencils poked into the earth forced the asphalt to wind around as did flower beds that would no doubt be sprouting tulips and daffodils in a couple of weeks.

The Riverside Diner was another shoreline marker, an old lady of a dive that was the kind of place Jim would feel comfortable in and something he'd been meaning to check out. Word was it had pancakes to die for—

Jim eased up on the throttle. In the parking lot, a BMW M6 that looked a hell of a lot like Vin's was parked next to a green Toyota Camry.

And there was a pair of legs sticking out between the cars, as if a man were lying out on the ground.

Major U-ey action. Lot of gas.

Because Jim had no doubt who belonged to those two shiny loafers.

Whipping into the parking lot, he gunned for the woman who was crouched down by the...yup, it was Vin diPietro who was spread out belly to the heavens. The guy wasn't moving and had a face like someone had stuck a wax mold of his bruised features on the free end of his spine. “What happened?” Jim hit the kickstand and got off the bike.

The woman from the club looked up at him. “He just went down. Like last night.”

“Shit.” Jim crouched down as Adrian and Eddie pulled up. Before they could get off their Harleys, he waved for them to stay put, thinking the fewer people involved in this situation, the better.

“How long has he been out?” he asked the woman.

“Only about five minutes or so—Oh, my God...hi.”

She leaned down as the other guy's eyes opened slowly. At first, they locked on Marie-Terese, then on Jim.

“Wakey-wakey,” Jim murmured as he checked to see whether those pupils responded to the light in the same way. When they did, he was only marginally relieved. “How about we get you to a doc.”

Vin grunted, and as he struggled to sit up, Marie-Terese tried to get him to stay put. “There's nothing wrong with me,” the guy said gruffly, “and no, I don't have a concussion.”

Jim frowned, thinking that even hardheaded assholes tended to take notice when they back-flatted it out in public, but Vin wasn't surprised—or worried. He was...resigned.

He'd had experience with this before, hadn't he.

As the guy started to look around, Jim glanced over at Adrian and Eddie and nodded his head at the road, giving them a signal to head off. The pair took the hint, backing their bikes up and palming a wave before leaving.

“Shit...” Vin said as he rubbed his face. “That wasn't fun.”

“Yeah, I think that's self-evident.” Jim glanced over at the dark-haired woman and wondered why the two had met up. If Vin wanted to keep things quiet about having any connection with those dead bodies, hooking up with her was not the brightest idea—even if it was just for coffee.

“I don't know what happened,” she said. “We just had breakfast—”

“You only had coffee,” Vin muttered, indicating that his short-term memory was working. Assuming she hadn't had French toast, too.

The woman lifted her hand as if she wanted to soothe him, but then dropped her arm. “He ate and we talked and we came out here and—”

“I'm okay now.” Vin pushed himself up off the ground and steadied himself on the Camry's hood. “Just fine.”

Jim grabbed the guy's elbow. “We're going to the doc now.”

“The hell we are.” Vin pulled his arm back. “I'm going home.”

Well, shit. Given the hard angle of the guy's jaw, the only shot Jim had at helping was playing chauffeur and taking him back to the Commodore. “I'll drive you across town, then.”

Vin opened his mouth to argue, but the woman put her hand on his shoulder. “What if that happens again while you're behind the wheel?”

As their eyes made contact and held, the sun broke through the dappling clouds and a shaft of liquid warmth shot down from the sky and bathed them in a glow.

Jim frowned, and glanced up at the heavens, half expecting to see a live-action Michelangelo moment, with the hand of God pointing at the two. But no, just clouds and sky and sun...and a flock of Canadian geese honking their way south.

Jim refocused on the pair of them. What had been painfully lacking over dinner when Vin had looked at Devina was totally and completely showing now: His eyes were locked on the woman in front of him, and Jim was willing to bet his left nut that if he'd asked the guy anything from what she was wearing to how tall she was to what, if any, perfume she wore, the answer coming back would have been one hundred percent accurate.

Jim frowned more deeply.... What if he was wrong? What if Devina wasn't Vin's right path?

“Please, Vin,” the woman said. “Let him take you back.”

Whatever. There was time to worry about that stuff later. Right now, he had to get Vin home. “Give me your keys, my man.”

“Please,” the woman prompted.

Vin actually did it. Palmed up the ringle-jingle, or in the M6's case the black fob, and handed it over to Jim.

“How will you get back to your bike?” Vin asked.

Jim clapped his ass pocket, thinking he'd cab it—and found that he'd been as illegal as Adrian. No wallet. Which meant no license and no cash for a taxi. Shit, the bike wasn't registered or insured either.

Jim's expression seemed to speak for itself as Vin laughed a little. “No plate on that Harley you rolled in on. No license for you, either?”

“Hadn't expected to come this far on it. But don't you worry. I'll obey all traffic laws.”

“Is your car a stick?” the woman asked Vin. When he nodded, she shook her head. “That's a shame, because I can't drive a manual. But maybe I can follow you both and drive you”—she nodded at Jim—

“back to wherever you live.”

“Here will be fine.”

“You're going to call a flatbed for the bike?” the woman said.

“Because you are way illegal.”

“Yeah. A flatbed. I'll get one of those.”

Okay, it was time for the kind of good-bye that didn't require an audience.

Vin pointed to his car. “Considering you have the key, you mind warming that up?”

Jim's brow rose. “I might be acting like your chauffeur, but I'm not wearing a cap and uniform. So if you want some privacy, just ask for it.” The guy turned and gave Marie-Terese a nod. “I'll meet you out in front of the Commodore.”

She nodded back. “See you there.”

Vin watched the guy get behind the wheel of the M6 and shut the door. A moment later, the engine turned over and a thumping vibrated. Stereo was on. Nice touch. Marie-Terese shook her head.

“You really need to go to the doctor.”

“Would you feel better if I told you I've been doing that since I was eleven?”

“No.”

“Well, it hasn't killed me yet.” Abruptly, he thought of his vision of the gun and the sound of the shot, and it took all he had not to sound as desperate as he felt. “Listen, I don't know what's doing in your background....” As her face tightened up, he knew better than to take that one any further. “I realize the owner of that club is making you feel protected, but that's only at the Iron Mask. What if someone follows you home?”

“If you saw my house, you'd understand why I'm not worried.”

Vin frowned, thinking that at least she seemed prepared. “I promise I'm not going to pry, but if you know who might come after you, go to the police. And if you can't go to them, have your manager take care of it privately.”

“Ah...thanks for the advice.”

Man, he hated this. If only he knew what he'd said to her in the trances, except...well, shit, the gun told him enough, didn't it.

“Where do you live?” he said softly.

As she opened her mouth, he thought for a moment that she was going to answer him. But then she caught herself. “Where exactly is the Commodore? In case I get separated from you guys.” He gave her directions. “I'm on the twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth floors.”

“Both?”

“Both.”

“I'm not surprised.” Shit, he could feel her closing herself off from him, unplugging the connection. “I'll follow you guys over there.”

As she turned away, he touched her elbow. “What's your cell number?” There was a long pause. “I'm sorry...I just can't.”

“All right. I understand. But you have all mine. Call me, please.

Anytime.” He leaned to the side and cranked her door even wider so she could get in, and he waited to shut it until she had the seat belt drawn across her chest. After a couple of tries, her car wheezed into a semblance of an idle, and she glanced up like she was waiting for him to get a move on.

The sound of one of the M6's windows going down made him want to curse. And so did Jim's voice: “Textbook way of getting a ride home is you sit in the car. Unless you want to jump on the front bumper?”

Vin stalked around the BMW, got in and parked it in the passenger seat. “Don't lose her.”

“I won't.”

And he didn't. Jim handled the M6 perfectly. He was fast, nimble...but not so quick that Marie-Terese couldn't keep up.

Against the backdrop of classic rock, Vin didn't feel the need to explain why he and Marie-Terese had been at the diner alone. Not in the slightest.

At all.

“Just answer me one thing,” Jim said, as if he read minds.

“Marie-Terese met with the cops and so did the owner.” Vin looked across the car. “They didn't say anything about us and have no intention to.”

Jim's eyes shot across the seats. “Not what I was going to ask, but good to know. What about the security cameras?”

“Taken care of.”

“Nice.”

“Don't get too excited. I told Marie-Terese that if she was going to get compromised, or if there was any pressure on her, she needed to serve us up like a steak.”

“Answer me one thing.”

“What.”

“What are you going to do about Devina?”

Vin crossed his arms over his chest. “Just because I have breakfast with someone—”

“Bull. Shit. And don't front. What are you going to do.”

“Why do you care?” There was a long pause. So long that they went through two red lights.

As they accelerated after the second, Jim looked over. His eyes were arresting, positively glowing. “I care, Vin, because I've come to believe in demons.”

Vin whipped his head around, and Jim went back to focusing on the road as he continued. “I wasn't kidding when I said I was here to save your soul. I'm beginning to think I got it wrong, though.”

“Got what wrong?”

“Tell me about this fucking Victorian vapors thing you've got going on.”

“Wait, what did you get wrong?”

“I don't think you're supposed to end up with Devina.” The guy slowly shook his head and glanced up into the rearview mirror. “My job is to help you get through this part of your life and end up in a better place. And I'm coming to believe that means you need to be with that woman who...yup, just ran a red light to keep up with us.”

“You should have stopped,” Vin snapped, taking hold of the mirror and yanking it around so he could see Marie-Terese behind the wheel.

She was ten-and-two'ing her hands, and focusing on the M6, concentration tightening her brows. Her lips were moving slightly, as if she were singing a song or talking to herself, and he wondered which one it was.

“So what about this passing-out thing?” Jim prompted. “You're not surprised about it, are you.” Vin reangled the mirror. “You ever hear of a medium?” Jim looked over. “Yeah.”

“Well, I see the future and sometimes I talk when I do. And there's some other shit, too. So...there you go. And lest you think it's a fucking party, let me assure you it's not. I did my best to get it out of me and thought I'd licked it. Guess not.”

When there was just the rising and falling of the M6's massive engine, he said roughly, “You get points for not laughing.”

“You know what? I might have a couple of days ago.” Jim shrugged.

“Now I'm not inclined to at all. You always been like that?”

“Started when I was a kid.”

“So...what did you see about her?” When Vin couldn't bring himself to reply, Jim muttered, “Okay, I'm guessing it wasn't candlelit dinners and romantic walks on the beach.”

“Not hardly.”

“What was it, Vin. And you might as well tell me. You and I are in this together.” Anger spiked, hard and hot. “Right, I showed you mine. Now you show me yours. What the fuck are you doing—”

“I died. Yesterday afternoon...I died and I've been sent back to help people. You're my first.” Now it was Vin's turn to get good and silent.

“Looks like you get points for not laughing, too,” Jim muttered. “Tell you what, let's stipulate that we both have some of the WTF going for us and move along. I need to save your ass from yourself and like I said, I have a feeling the solution is not Devina, but the woman behind us in that Camry. So why don't you cut the shit and tell me what you saw about her—because I'm not going to fail on my first trip out of the park, and the more I know the better.”

Jim Heron did not seem delusional, and considering where Vin was coming from when it came to the freaky shit, he figured he could give at least marginal credence to what the guy said. Even if it didn't make any more sense than...well, medium trances, for example.