“He was in my room.” Grier shook her head. “That’s how I knew you were having the nightmare. He pointed the way so I would go to you. I thought it was a dream, but why would I have pictured his face so clearly?”
“Because you saw him. Last night at the fight. He was with me.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
Right. The guy had stood directly in front of her. “You said he was an angel.”
“Well, it appeared as if he had wings.”
It was theoretically possible that Heron had paid her a visit—but with the security alarm, you’d have to assume that if he had, he’d merely been on the far side of her French door. In her disorientation from waking up, she’d no doubt only thought he was inside. And that had been just a coincidence with Isaac’s nightmare. . . . As for the wings? Jim Heron had been no saint, much less an angel. Whatever she’d seen had to have been reflections in the glass. Had to be.
Grier’s dad spoke up. “I’m telling you, he’s dead. I keep alert tracers on the Internet on the names of the operatives I know of—and he was shot in Caldwell, New York, four days ago.”
Isaac rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe everything you read. I spoke with the guy in the back garden here at nightfall. Face-to-face. Trust me, he’s alive, and we need him.” Isaac got to his feet. “His buddies are watching this house as we speak, and personally, I think Heron’s declared a vigilante war on Matthias—so I’m pretty damn sure we can get him to work with us—assuming they haven’t killed him already. I believe he’s MIA at the moment.”
“I hope he turns up then because the more you have to go on, the better.” Childe tapped the dossiers. “You should plan on reviewing all of this tonight, filling in the blanks, trying to piece together what you know—even if you don’t want to turn in your fellow soldiers, it may aid your own recollections. I’ll go upstairs into the hall bath and use my secured phone there to make some calls and get things set as fast as I can.”
“Roger that. But I want you to stay away from the windows and not leave the house.”
“I’ll be careful.” Childe glanced at his daughter. “I promise.”
As Grier’s dad disappeared up the stairs, Isaac checked the Life Alert. The transistor was still showing that the signal had been sent, but there was no answer yet. Which meant either he was too far underground in this wine cellar to receive it . . . or Matthias was taking his own sweet time getting back in touch.
He looked at Grier. “I’d better stay aboveground for a while in case they’re trying to reach me.”
“What are you going to do? If they want to meet with you right away?”
“Until I turn myself in, I’ve got a little leeway. But your father needs to work a couple of miracles fast.” And please, Lord, let Jim Heron be okay—and show up
She stroked the dossiers with her elegant hand. “He’s good at miracles. It’s actually his specialty. You should see him in negotiations.” Her eyes went down to the file. “I’m going to stay here. I want to see which if any of these men I recognize. There were a number who came to the door when I was growing up and I always wondered who they were.”
As she fell silent, he took a step forward. And then another. Around the table he went, until he was by her side.
When she looked up to him, he carefully brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, because how could you be.”
“Have you ever felt . . . like you don’t know your own life?”
“Yeah. And that’s what got me to change.”
Well, that had been the first step. He was starting to believe that she was the second. And between her father and Jim Heron . . . three was the magic number. God willing.
“You know what?” she said. “I’m really glad I met you.”
Isaac recoiled. “How in the good Lord’s name can you say that?”
“You were the key that unlocked the lies.” She went back to staring at Jim Heron’s picture. “I feel like without you it would never have come to light. Only something so shattering . . .”
As she let that drift, he stepped back. “Yeah. That’s me.”
She nodded absently, turning the page and getting lost in the faces of men who were just like him . . . men who had ruined her family.
Shattered it.
Were the operatives who had killed her brother in there? With notes?
Somehow he doubted her father would put her through that.
“Can I bring you some wine?” he asked before he made himself go.
Grier smiled a little. “I’m surrounded by it.”
“True enough.” He should have offered coffee. Water. Beer. An oil change. Anything he could do for her or give to her to ease her.
Well now, on that note, there was an improvement he could make. He could leave her.
“I’ll be upstairs.” When he got to the door, he looked back. She was buried in the dossiers, brows tight, arms in her lap as she leaned forward over the table.
Yeah, leaving her was going to make things so much better.
He turned away and took the stairs up to the kitchen two at a time. Pausing at the base of the back stairwell, he listened. Not a sound. Which made sense if her father had locked himself up in a secured bathroom.
Shit, he couldn’t believe that he was going to shine a light on Matthias. But then sometimes natural death was too good for someone. Better that they rot behind bars or get lit up like Times Square in an electric chair.
It was almost as if he was supposed to have met Grier and her father at this precise junction in his life—that the pair of them had been preordained to show him a way out that was far more honorable than what he’d planned.
Jim Heron was going to be important as well, however.
Palming up one of his guns, he slipped out the back door into the garden.
Sidestepping the motion-activated light, he waited in the shadows without making any noise, and sure enough, one of Jim’s pals stepped up a moment later. The instant he laid eyes on the guy, it was clear the vibe remained off: This one with the braid had the tight lips and hard stare of a man who still didn’t know where a member of his team was.
“Jim not come in for a landing yet?” Isaac asked. Even though the answer was clearly,
“I’m hoping you can see him in the morning.”
Isaac glanced at his watch. “I don’t know if I’ve got that kind of time.”
“Make it.”
Easy for him to say. “Will you let me know if he shows?”
As the guy nodded once, Isaac got pretty frickin’ worried. “Is he all right?” When the man shook his head slowly, Isaac cursed. “You going to tell me what’s doing?” Silence. “You know, FYI, people think he’s dead.”
“All I can say is . . . right now, he wishes he was.”
Adrian watched as Eddie talked to Rothe up near the back door, and whereas Ad was usually nosy as hell, he didn’t care what they were saying.
Nigel. Cocksucking Nigel.
Mr. Holier-than-thou-aboveboard.
Who was more than willing to let his best asset get used and abused by the enemy just because he was too much of a little bitch to roll up his sleeves and pound Devina into the ground.
Meanwhile Jim was gym equipment for a bunch of pervert assholes.
Man, he just didn’t get this do-nothing. If one of his boys was captured and he could spring them? Didn’t matter what he had to do, what sacrifice there was to make, where he went: He would get the sorry sonofabitch back. And yet where was their boss man? Having dinner.
Made a guy want to feed Nigel his dessert right up the ass.
Adrian rubbed his face so hard he nearly sanded his nose off. The trouble was, Devina’s little workshop wasn’t accessible to him and Eddie unless they jumped through her mirror—otherwise she had to take you there herself . . . and she released you only when she was good and ready.
And not before.
That was why they’d gone to Nigel. There was a rumor that the archangels could go down to Hell under
