Silence

“You wouldn’t happen to know any former archangels who are missing their necklace?” Dabria asked speculatively.

“I’ll wire your money over tomorrow,” was Patch’s mild answer.

“What does Hank want with an archangel’s necklace? On his way out, I heard him tell his driver to take him to the warehouse. What’s at the warehouse?” Dabria pressed.

“You’re the prophetess.” This said with an undercurrent of amusement.

Dabria’s tinkling laugh resonated through the studio before turning playful. “Maybe I should look into your future. Maybe it intersects mine.”

That brought me to my feet. I strolled out, smiling. “Hello, Dabria. What a nice surprise.”

She swung around, outrage blazing across her features as her eyes took me in.

I stretched my arms over my head. “I was taking a nap when the pleasant sound of your voice woke me.”

Patch smiled. “I believe you’ve met my girlfriend, Dabria?”

“Oh, we’ve met,” I said cheerfully. “Fortunately, I lived to talk about it.”

Dabria opened her mouth, then shut it. All the while, her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink.

“Seems Hank came across an archangel’s necklace,” Patch said to me.

“Funny how that worked out.”

“Now we figure out what he plans on doing with it,” Patch said.

“I’ll grab my coat.”

“You’re staying here, Angel,” Patch said in a voice I didn’t like. He didn’t often hint at his emotions, but there was a clear note of firmness mixed with … worry.

“You’re taking this one alone?”

“First, Hank can’t see us together. Second, I don’t like the idea of dragging you into something that could get messy fast. If you need one more reason, I love you. This is uncharted territory for me, but I need to know that at the end of the night, I have you to come home to.”

I blinked. I’d never heard Patch speak to me with this kind of affection. But I couldn’t just let the matter drop.

“You promised,” I said.

“And I’ll keep my promise,” he answered, shrugging into his motorcycle jacket. Crossing to me, he tipped his head against mine.

Don’t think about moving an inch outside this door, Angel. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I can’t let Hank put the necklace on the archangel without hearing what he wants. Out there, you’re fair game. He’s got one thing he wants — let’s not give him two. We’re going to end this once and for all.

“Promise you’ll stay here, where I know you’re safe,” he said out loud. “The alternative is I order Dabria to stay put and play watch-dog.” He raised his eyebrows as if asking, What’s it going to be?

Dabria and I exchanged a look, neither of our expressions remotely pleased.

“Hurry back,” I said.

CHAPTER 29

I PACED PATCH’S STUDIO, SELF-TALKING MYSELF OUT OF running after him. He had promised me—promised me — he wouldn’t take Hank down on his own. This was my fight as much as it was his, more even, and given all the countless ways Hank had made me suffer, I’d won the right to dole out his punishment. Patch had said he’d find a way to kill Hank, and I wanted to be the one to send him into the next life, where the deeds he’d committed in this life would haunt him for eternity.

A voice of doubt crept into my thoughts. Dabria was right. Patch needs the money. He’s going to deliver Hank to the right people, give me a cut of the money, and call it even. Between asking permission and begging forgiveness, Patch held firmly to the latter — he’d said so himself.

I braced my hands on the back of Patch’s sofa, breathing deeply to imitate an air of calm, all the while inventing various ways I might bind and torture him if he returned without Hank — alive — in tow.

My phone rang, and I shoveled through my messenger bag to answer it. “Where are you?”

Short, hard breathing sounded in my ear. “They’re onto me, Grey. I saw them at the Devil’s Handbag. Hank’s men. I bolted.”

“Scott!” Not the voice I expected, but by no means unimportant. “Where are you?”

“I don’t want to say over the phone. I need to get out of town. When I went to the bus station, Hank had men there. He has them everywhere. He’s got friends in the police force, and I think he gave them my picture. Two cops chased me into a grocery store, but I got away through the back door. I had to leave the Charger behind. I’m on foot. I need cash — as much as you can get — hair dye, and new clothes. If you can spare the Volkswagen, I’ll take it. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can. Can you meet me in thirty at my hideout?”

What could I say? Patch had told me to stay put. But I couldn’t sit back and do nothing while time was running out for Scott. Hank was currently occupied at his warehouse, and there was no better time to try and get Scott out of town. Beg forgiveness later, indeed.

“I’ll be there in thirty,” I told Scott.

“You remember the way?”

“Yes.” More or less.

As soon as I hung up, I rushed through Patch’s studio, opening and closing drawers, grabbing whatever I thought would be useful to Scott. Jeans, T-shirts, socks, shoes. Patch was a couple of inches shorter than Scott, but it would have to do.

Upon opening the antique mahogany armoire in Patch’s bedroom, my frantic search slowed. I stood in place, absorbing the sight. Patch’s wardrobe was impeccably organized, chinos folded on the shelves, dress shirts on wood hangers. He owned three suits, a tailored black with narrow lapels, a luxurious Newman pinstripe, and a charcoal gray with Jacquard stitching. A small bin stored silk handkerchiefs, and a drawer held multiple rows of silk ties in every color from red to purple to black. Shoes ranged from black running sneakers to Converses to Italian loafers — even a pair of nubuck flip-flops for good measure. The woodsy scent of cedar lingered in the air. Not what I was expecting. At all. The Patch I knew wore jeans, T-shirts, and a ratty baseball cap. I wondered if I’d ever see this side of Patch. I wondered if there even was an end to the many sides of Patch. The more I thought I knew him, the more the mystery deepened. With these doubts fresh in my mind, I asked myself once more if I thought Patch would sell me out tonight.

I didn’t want to believe it, but the truth was, I was on the fence.

In the bathroom, I threw a razor, soap, and shaving cream into a duffel. Then a hat, gloves, and mirrored Ray-Bans. In the kitchen drawers, I found several fake ID cards and a roll of cash totaling more than five hundred dollars. Patch would be less than thrilled when he discovered the money had gone to Scott, but given the circumstances, I could justify playing Robin Hood.

I didn’t have a car, but Scott’s cave couldn’t be more than two miles from Delphic Amusement Park, and I set out at a brisk jog. I kept to the shoulder of the road, pulling the hoodie I’d borrowed from Patch over my face. Cars streamed steadily out of the park as the hour edged toward midnight, and while a few people honked, I managed not to draw much attention.

As the lights leading out of the park thinned, and the road curved toward the highway, I jumped the guardrail and headed down toward the beach. Grateful I’d thought to pack a flashlight, I swept the beam over the craggy rocks and started the most difficult part of the journey.

By my estimation, twenty minutes passed. Then thirty. I had no idea where I was; the landscape of the beach had changed very little and the ocean, black and glittering, stretched on forever. I didn’t dare call out Scott’s name, out of the horrible fear that Hank’s men had somehow tracked him and were also combing the beach for him, but every once in a while I stopped to shine the flashlight slowly across the beach, intending to signal my location to Scott.

Ten minutes later a strange birdcall carried down from the rocks above. I stopped, listening. The call came