Angels' Flight(39)

Nodding, she shoved aside the thought of soaping up his delicious body and picked up the pace. “How’re we getting into the basement?”

Deacon raised an eyebrow. “We ask.”

“Wha— Oh, that’ll work. Two hunters, needing sanctuary and somewhere to clean up. I’m good with that.”

The door to the bar was locked shut, all the neon turned off. Deacon went to knock, but Sara grabbed his hand and pointed to the intercom hidden discreetly to the side. Pushing the button, she waited.

“Yes?” Marco’s voice. Sounding tired, but not the least bit aggressive.

“Marco, it’s Sara and Deacon. We need a place to clean up.”

“I can see that.” The door clicked open. “Come on through.”

They went in. Sara waited until the door had closed behind them to whisper, “Is it just me or does he sound way too normal?”

Deacon was frowning as well. “Either he’s one hell of a good actor or something else is up.”

Marco stuck his head out the door that led up to his apartment. He whistled when he saw them. “Must’ve been some fight. The bathroom’s big enough for two.” A sharp grin that tried to hide exhaustion and failed.

Again, nothing weird about that if he hadn’t yet had a chance to go to bed.

Then she saw the mess that was the bar itself. Bottles shattered, blood on the floor, what looked like bullet holes in the walls. A second later, Marco stepped out from behind the door, and it became apparent he was sporting the beginnings of a serious black eye. “Do I dare ask?” She raised an eyebrow.

Marco thrust a hand through his hair. “Come on up and we’ll talk.”

“Now would be better,” Deacon said, unmoving.

The bar owner looked from one to the other and said, “Shit.” Sounding like his heart had just broken into a million pieces, he sat down on the last step, head in his hands. “He set me up. The bastard set me up.”

Sara was starting to get a headache. She’d come in here expecting to rescue a hurt vampire from an unhinged hunter, and found a shattered lover. “How about we take this from the top?” she suggested, staying out of attack range in case Marco actually was that good an actor. “Where’s Silas?”

“Locked in the basement.” Marco’s eyes were bleak when he glanced at them. “I needed time to get my shit together before I called the Guild.”

“And the man who was with him?”

Marco nodded at the bar. “Silas came up behind him and . . .” He stared at his hands. “I couldn’t believe it. But the blood, God, so much blood.”

Leaving Deacon to keep an eye on him, she pulled herself up onto the gleaming wooden surface and looked down. A vampire’s bright blue eyes stared up at her. She sucked in a breath. If she hadn’t been able to see that his head was no longer attached to his body, she’d have thought him alive. “Dead,” she confirmed to Deacon. “The question is, how did he get that way?”

“Silas,” Marco repeated dully. “He came in here, strutting like a damn peacock. I should’ve left him outside but I—” He swallowed, hand fisted, pain apparent in every taut tendon. “I thought maybe he’d come to apologize. I didn’t see the kid till after.”

“Apologize?” Sara had the sinking feeling they’d all been drawn into one seriously bad lover’s tiff.

“For cheating on me.” Marco finally looked her full in the face. “Here I was, being a putz. I gave my notice at the Guild, set up this place, all because he said he hated knowing I was putting my life on the line with every hunt. I even asked Simon to talk to some of the senior angels, see if we could maybe get the rest of Silas’s Contract transferred to an angel in the States so we wouldn’t have to keep going back and forth.”

“Here.” Sara grabbed a dented but still whole bottle of water and threw it at him. “Breathe.”

“I can’t.” He chugged the entire bottle, then threw it aside. “He was just using me. Wanted out of his Contract—his angel doesn’t like him. I could’ve swallowed that. Hell on the ego, but I’d have swallowed it. I loved him. But the whole time we were together, he was with . . . who the f*ck knows. More than one guy.”

“Marco, that doesn’t make sense.” Sara folded her arms. “Why would he set you up if he was the one cheating?”

“’Cause I dumped him.” And in that moment, Sara saw the hunter Marco was. Hard, lethal, certainly very good at his job. “I told him to get out and stay out.”

“Which meant he lost any chance of getting his Contract transferred.” Deacon didn’t move from his position by the door. “It sounds good. But all the evidence points to a hunter.”

“He took my stuff. My weapons, clothes, one of the ceremonial swords I collect.” Marco ground his teeth together. “I feel so f*cking stupid. I knew he didn’t handle rejection well, but I never thought he’d go around killing people just to get back at me.”

Sara glanced at Deacon. He shook his head in a slight negative. She agreed. Marco was very, very believable. But it was his word against this Silas’s. If they backed him, the vampires would take it badly—unless they had proof. In which case, Silas would disappear to face angelic justice. Hunters could kill, but only in exigent circumstances, or when they had an execution warrant. It made more sense for angels to deliver any necessary punishment—they were faster, stronger, and far more cruel than the vampires they Made.