“You said Bails was dead when you left the cave.”
“He was dead when I got there. Shot in the head.”
“By who?”
“Reilly just said he did it himself.”
The officer nodded and scribbled.
Man, Veck thought, he was so done with being on this side of the law.
“Well, that’s all I’ve got for now.” The officer looked up. “I imagine you’ll want to get to the hospital. Can I give you a lift?”
Veck shook his head. “I’m just going to go home.”
Except, shit, how was he going to accomplish that, given the way Jim Heron had brought him out here? And where was the guy, anyway?
At that moment, an unmarked pulled up, and Detective de la Cruz got out, the brisk wind blowing at the man’s coat and hair.
“Okay, Detective,” the other officer said. “Take care. And no doubt there will be others from your own department with questions.”
“I think one’s just arrived.”
As the uni walked off to his squad car, de la Cruz strolled over, his head shaking back and forth on the approach.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” De la Cruz offered his palm. “How you doing?”
Veck shook the hand that was offered briefly, and became aware that he was getting cold. “I’m okay.”
“You look it,” the guy said dryly. “You need a ride back into town?”
“Yeah.” On that note, how was he going to explain how he got out here?
Oh, who the hell cared anymore, he thought.
“So Reilly went to the hospital,” he said.
“I heard. Also heard you saved her.”
More like she saved him. Not that anyone was counting.
“She was the one, by the way,” de la Cruz continued. “The one who found out about Bails. We think that’s why he targeted her. She found him on your father’s thing on that Facebook what’s-it. Then she followed up on something he’d lied about concerning your past—with a little help from someone else.”
Given the dark light in the detective’s eyes, it was not a stretch to wonder what role the man had played on that front.
“Thank you,” Veck said softly.
Casual shrug. “I wouldn’t know, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Listen, I called her parents on the way in. Let them know she was going to St. Francis.”
“That’s good.” It meant he didn’t have to bother them. “You want to question me?”
The detective’s weary eyes met his own. “I want to take you to the hospital. You’re shivering in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Am I?”
“Come on, St. Francis has a stethoscope waiting for you—”
“Reilly doesn’t need to see me now. Or ever.”
“Don’t you think that’s her call?”
Not in the slightest. There was too much that couldn’t be explained—and the context of that vast informational void was not pixie dust or unicorns or leprechauns. It was demons and evil and double shadows. It was what he had been seeing in mirrors all of his life. It was nothing that you wanted anyone you truly loved even reading about, much less being around.
“Mind if we get in your car, Detective? I think you’re right, I’m fucking freezing all of a sudden.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Good plan. Except when Veck tried to walk forward, the heavy muscles of his legs locked up tight against his bones, the lactic acid buildup from the sprint to the rim compromising not only his ability to walk, but challenging his pain tolerance.
“Legs hurt?” de la Cruz asked as he measured the hobbling.
“Nah, they feel great.”
De la Cruz laughed. “Like I said, you need the hospital.”
“It’s nothing that a good stretch and some Motrin can’t cure. Just take me home, cool?”
They both got into the unmarked, and as soon as de la Cruz fired up the engine, the good detective cranked the heat. Which somehow made the ice cold in the core of Veck’s body worse.
“Ffff-uck,” he muttered, grabbing his forearms.
“No wonder you don’t want to take that bike of yours back.”
“Huh?”
De la Cruz put the car in drive and eased forward around the lane’s first corner . . . and there was Veck’s ride. Parked safely off to the side.
“Hold up,” Veck said roughly. “I want to get the key.”
“Guess you were distracted when you got here.”
“You could say that.”
As Veck went to get out, the blast of cold wind eased the deep freeze in his bones—which probably meant he was into hypothermia territory—and to protect the other man from the gust, he shut the door.
Sure enough, the key was in the bike’s ignition.
“Nice touch, Heron,” he whispered, looking around at the brush.
Over on the left, a soft glow illuminated the budding trees.
Veck took a deep breath. “There you are. I thought you’d blown this Popsicle stand.”
“That’s usually my MO.” Heron stepped out, and Veck frowned as a shaggy little dog limped forward with him. “I’m making an exception in your case, though.”
“Lucky me.” Veck tempered the reply with a half smile. “That your dog?”
“He’s everyone’s, really.”
Veck nodded, even though there was no question to answer. “So I think I need to thank you.”
“Not in the slightest. As I said going in, s’all you, buddy.”
“And I guess I passed. That whole crossroads thing.”
“You did. Flying colors.” The angel stretched out his pack of smokes. “Cig?”
“Thank you, baby Jesus.” Veck slipped one free and then leaned into Heron’s lighter. “Oh, man . . . this is better than a parka.”
“Yeah, no offense, but your lips are blue.”
“Just the makeup. I wanted to look pretty for you.”
Heron grinned. “Asshole.”
“Actually”—Veck exhaled—“I’m going to be looking for a new job soon—thought I’d try auditioning for the Michelin man. You saying I need to go more silver?”
“Yeah. That’s it.” The angel got serious. “You’re free now. You can put this shit behind you. She’s never going to bother you again.”
Obviously, the “she” was not Reilly. “What was that brunette?”
“A devil of a woman.”
“You got that right.”
“So now you need to go to that Reilly of yours.” This was all said in the tone of
Veck stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. “I think she’s dealt with enough.”
“You’re free.”
“And so is she.”
Jim cursed under his breath. “Look down.”
“Excuse me?” When the angel pointed at the rough earth of the road’s shoulder, Veck obliged—only to roll his eyes when he saw nothing. “What.”
