Jim had had no clue where to go, but then Dog had appeared in their path . . . and led them to an abandoned three-story walk-up.
Leaving Adrian and the animal to guard their dead, Jim had returned to the hotel, packed up all their shit and loaded it into his truck. When he’d returned, he’d parked in an underground garage a couple blocks away, and flashed over with all sorts of plans to move to greater safety and collect the other vehicles and bikes that were still in the lot at the Marriott.
In the end, though, he’d just sat around, and given Adrian a break—because the guy had looked as if he were about to shatter.
Eventually, they’d had to relocate, however, and he’d decided that coming here was their best bet in the immediate short term. And Adrian had gone along without comment, except that was probably not a good sign—he was clearly still numbed out, but that wasn’t going to last, and what was on the other side? Biblical wasn’t going to cover the half of it, most likely.
Jim unlatched the back gate and let it fall. “Do you want to—”
Adrian sprang up and over the gunnels, landing deftly next to Eddie. Scooping up the shrouded remains, he stepped off the bed, and walked over to the side door. “Can you get this for us?”
“Yeah, sure.”
With Dog leading the way again, Jim went over and opened the exit and then all three of them went up the exterior stairs. At the top, he used a lock pick, worked the doorknob in a matter of seconds, and stood to the side as Adrian went in.
The single bed was just the way it had been when Jim had left, the sheets tangled from the last bad night’s sleep he’d had there. And yup, the money and the key were right where he’d put them on the counter of the galley kitchen. Sofa was still under the picture window, with the thin drapes pulled closed. Air smelled vaguely of hay, but that wasn’t going to last.
Not with Eddie around.
As Jim looked over at Adrian, he knew there was no reason not to use this place. Matthias was in Devina’s well of souls for eternity so it wasn’t like he was any threat, and the rest of XOps was going to be busy scrambling to fill the leadership void the guy had left behind. Besides, Jim’s only problem had been with his old boss.
Who he’d let down in the last round.
“There’s a crawl space back here,” Jim said, walking over to the kitchen.
Next to the refrigerator, there was a narrow half door that led into a shallow, Sheetrocked area under the eaves of the roof. Reaching in, he turned on the bald lightbulb and got out of the way.
As Adrian crouched down and went inside with his burden, Jim opened one of the drawers under the kitchen counter and took out a long knife.
He didn’t hesitate as he put the blade against his palm and streaked it through his skin.
“
Adrian backed out of the crawl space. “What are you doing?”
Bright red, shimmering drops fell to the floor in a little trail as he walked over to where Eddie had been placed. The truth was, he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on here, but his instincts were guiding him, pulling him forward, and putting his bleeding palm against the inside of the half door . . . as well as on the body itself.
Before he retracted his dripping hand, he vowed, “I don’t leave fallen soldiers behind. You’re going to be with us—until you come back
Shutting the door, he looked over at Adrian, who had backed up against the counter and braced himself. The angel was staring at the linoleum like it was tea leaves . . . or a map . . . or a mirror . . . or maybe nothing at all.
Who the fuck knew.
“I need to know where you’re at,” Jim said. “You want to stay here with him or do you want to keep fighting?”
Vacant eyes rose from the floor. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He would have handled this better.”
“Ain’t no good way of dealing with it. And I’m not going to twist your arm about anything. You want to do nothing but mourn, that’s perfectly fine with me. But I have to know what you’re up for.”
Shit, it was probably too early to ask the guy to think about what he wanted for lunch, much less whether he was tight to fight. But they didn’t have the luxury to go all therapisty, explore-your-feelings. This was war.
When Adrian just mumbled something about how “not right” it all was, Jim knew he had to get the guy’s attention.
“Listen to me,” he said slowly and clearly, “Devina did this on purpose. She took him from you because she’s depending on the loss incapacitating you. It’s Strategy One-oh-one—isolation. Me from the two of you . . . you from the world. It’s your choice whether it works or not.”
Adrian shifted his stare over to the door Jim had shut. “How can something so . . . huge happen so fast?”
Jim went back in his own past, to a kitchen he had known so well, to a bloody scene he had never forgotten: his mother dying in a pool of her own blood, as she had told him to run as fast as he could, as far as he could . . .
He totally got the whiplash Adrian was dealing with, the horrible realization that the pylons you’d depended on to keep your sky from falling had turned out to be made of paper instead of rock.
“Bombs happen.”
There was a period of silence, and then a soft ticking sound over the floor. Dog, who had mostly stayed out of the way, was limping over to Adrian, and when he got to the guy, he sat on the angel’s combat boot, and lay his head against the angel’s shin.
“I’m not mad,” Adrian said finally. “I’m not . . . anything.”
That was going to change, Jim thought. The question was when.
“Stay here with him,” Jim said. “I’ve got to go out into the field. I don’t want DelVecchio on his own.”
“Yeah . . . yeah.” Adrian bent down and picked up Dog. “Yeah.”
The angel walked over and sat on the couch, putting the animal on his lap and keeping his eyes locked on the crawl space’s door.
“Call me,” Jim said, “and I’ll be here in an instant.”
“Yeah.”
God, Ad was like an inanimate object that breathed. And Jim’s last thought was, Devina was playing with fire. Adrian was going to wake up from this stupor . . . and then there was going to be hell to pay.
After closing the door, Jim paused to light up a cigarette and look at the sky. Clouds were boiling up over the garage, and he found himself looking for an image or a sign in them.
None came.
He finished his Marlboro, and just as he was about to take off, he heard a radio inside the apartment get turned on.
A cappella. Bon Jovi’s “Blaze of Glory.”
How appropriate.
Jim took to the air, following the beacon that was DelVecchio. And he was about halfway to his target when he realized . . .
He didn’t own a radio.
CHAPTER 28
“Here, let me help you.”
Reilly braced her stance between two boulders the size of wing chairs, and then bent down and reached her hand out.
Veck looked up at her for a moment. “Thanks.”
Their palms met and clinched, and then Reilly cranked back, putting all her weight into the lift. Even with the
