Sins of the Lost

“Are you still there?”

“I—you—” Jen paused. “You don’t know.”

“Know what?” Alex saw Roberts emerge from his office, scan the room, focus on her. He pointed, then jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. You. In here. Now. She nodded and held up a finger. One minute. She returned her attention to her sister, who hadn’t answered. “Jennifer, what don’t I know?”

“I thought—it’s past ten. I thought you would have found out by now.”

“I just got into the office. We had a shooting last night—” Alex broke off and shook her head. None of that mattered. Not to Jen, anyway. “Can we speed this up? Roberts wants to see me. What haven’t I found out yet?”

“You know I love you, right?” Jen asked. “And I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

The blood in Alex’s veins turned cold. Slowed to a sluggish trickle. “What’s going on, Jennifer Abbott? What have you done?”

A defensive note entered her sister’s voice. “It’s for your own good, Alex. You’ve been under so much pressure since—since the fire and everything. And I’m not the only one who’s worried.”

“Jennifer.”

“Jarvis!” Roberts still stood in the doorway. “Today!”

He turned and disappeared into his office, giving her a clear view of the desk within, the chairs in front it— and the gray-haired woman seated in one of those chairs. Alex lowered the phone from her ear and slid it closed on her sister’s rambling explanation as the woman turned.

What in hell was Elizabeth Riley doing in Toronto?

* * *

“You don’t look particularly pleased to see me.” Elizabeth Riley stayed seated as Alex stepped into Roberts’s office and closed the door. Her sharp blue eyes watched Alex from behind wire-framed glasses.

“I’m not. I mean, I am, but—” Alex paused, took a firmer grip on the thoughts milling through her brain, and tried again. “Did Henderson send you? Is he all right? What’s wrong?”

“He was fine when he dropped me off at the airport last night, and nothing is wrong.” Her lips pursed. “Well,” she added, glancing at a stoic Roberts, “nothing more than usual, anyway.”

“So you’re here because . . . ?”

“Dr. Riley is here at the force’s request,” Roberts said, and her gaze flew to his. Or tried to, except he refused to meet it. “Please. Sit.”

She remained standing, fingers locked over the back of the chair beside Riley. The force’s request? Understanding gelled. Her sister’s phone call. Jen had known about this. She’d been in on it. They’d all been in on it: Jen, Roberts, Riley, Henderson—it was a goddamn conspiracy. Alex scowled, but Roberts held up a hand, cutting her off.

“I’m going to get straight to the point, Detective. Dr. Bell went over my head to the chief. I’ve been told that you either voluntarily put yourself into therapy or I’m to suspend you.”

She actually rocked back on her heels for an instant, so startled was she by the announcement. She gaped at her staff inspector. “You’re serious. When did you find out?”

“The same day I returned you to duty.”

Alex did a quick calculation and realized with a start that what seemed a lifetime ago had only been three days. So—the closer Armageddon got, the faster time passed? Great. And now she was to be saddled with Riley and “therapy” as well? She favored the psychiatrist with a baleful look but directed her words to Roberts. “You couldn’t have told me then?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference. This was out of both our hands.”

“Still—”

“Besides, given all that’s going on, it might not be a bad idea.”

All that’s going on? Alex stood for a long moment without responding, going first cold, then hot. An iron band closed around her chest. Tightened. You have no goddamn idea what’s going on.

Roberts continued. “Dr. Riley is here because you need the support. I know the signs of trouble, Alex, and I’m seeing them in you.”

Aware of Riley’s keen observation, Alex lifted her chin and stepped back from the chair’s support. “I don’t have time for this. I have files to—”

“Make time.” Roberts’s uncompromising voice stopped her at the door. “I meant what I said about not wanting to lose you.”

Then don’t make me dredge up things that are best left buried.

“Staff—”

“It’s an order, Detective.”

Anger flared inside her. Sudden, icy, raw. The tiny little cracks that had begun forming in her facade over the last few days widened. Roberts and Riley wanted her to talk? To share her secrets? Fine. She spun to face them.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said. She flicked a look from her boss to the psychiatrist. “Maybe I do need to get some things off my chest. What do you suggest we start with, Dr. Riley? Oh, I know. How about the nightmares I keep having about eighty thousand Nephilim babies being turned into Lucifer’s army against humankind? That has to be worth a session or two, don’t you think? Or maybe we should talk about how my angel soulmate has been put in charge of protecting me from the Fallen One that’s been following me. Too complicated? No problem, I have lots of other issues we can discuss instead. In fact, here’s a real doozy. Why don’t we talk about how I haven’t been able to let the One’s son touch me because I can’t get past his father raping me?”

Roberts made an odd choking noise and went pale. Riley regarded her narrowly.

Shit. She hadn’t intended to blurt out that last one.

“Alex—” Riley began.

“Don’t,” she grated, hating that the door at her back was all that held her upright. “You could have backed me up from the start, Riley. You could have told him everything he needed to know over the phone.”

“No. I couldn’t. Not in good conscience,” the psychiatrist said, “and not when I agree with him. I told you in Vancouver that you can’t keep pretending you can do this alone. You need to talk—”

“No,” Alex snarled. The remainder of her facade shattered, raining across her psyche in shards and drifting dust. “I don’t. In fact, you know what? I don’t need to do any of this. Not anymore. I’m done. With you, with them, with everything. As far as I’m concerned, the entire goddamn world can go to Hell.”

She wrenched open the door and stalked out of Roberts’s office through the silence, past the stares, and away from Aramael.

Chapter 32

Bloody Hell. Aramael stared after Alex as the outer office door swung shut behind her. The shock of a dozen mortals lay like a weighted blanket over the room. Only a few had been close enough to Roberts’s office to hear her actual words, but those words would spread faster than wildfire when people began talking. Murmurings had already started. Bloody, bloody Hell.

Aramael hesitated, torn between going after her or attempting some kind of mitigation in her wake. No. Like it or not, he would have to leave Alex unprotected for an instant. Heaven itself needed to get involved in this crisis. This—all of this, including Alex right now—was beyond his ability to contain. He strode toward the file room at the back of the office and, as soon as he was out of sight of prying eyes, pulled out of the mortal realm.

Verchiel, blessedly, was in her office and on her feet the instant she saw him.

“Aramael! The woman—what’s wrong?”

“We have a problem.” He filled her in on the past few mortal minutes. “We need to do some kind of damage control. The mortals—”

“You know we cannot interfere like that.”