A Terrible Fall of Angels (Zaniel Havelock #1)(38)

The thought of going back to the apartment drained away the excitement and the last adrenaline from the emergency at the hospital. I wanted to go home, and the apartment would never be that. I wanted to go home with my wife and be there when Connery got home from preschool, but I couldn’t have that today. There was a dinner planned, almost a date; we’d take it slow, because Reggie didn’t want to take it fast. I took a deep breath and squeezed my hands around the steering wheel until my scratched arm protested as if some of the nail marks had gone into the muscle. I hadn’t had stitches because the skin had peeled away underneath her nails; you can’t stitch a scrape, just bandage it and wait for it to heal.

I could chase after Reggie like an unwanted dog she’d dropped off at a shelter. I couldn’t face the thought of going to the tiny apartment, so what did that leave? Exercise; one of the reasons I was in the best shape of my life was that it was one thing I could do that I could control. I could always lift more weights, or run one more mile, or . . . but I was too hurt to hit the gym, or even run. You use your upper body a lot more than you think when you run. So, what next? What would I do if Charleston told me he didn’t need me and to go home, rest, and heal?

I wanted to go home and finish working on one of the dozen projects around the house that had gone on hold when I left. Again, I couldn’t do that unless Reggie allowed it, and that hurt more than any wound. I wanted to go home, and I couldn’t because it wasn’t home anymore. We had a dinner planned, I told myself again, but that pessimistic part of me that had been growing louder over the six-month separation was in my head now, telling me that I should figure out what home meant without Reggie. What would home mean if it was just me and Connery half the time and me alone the rest of the time? The thought made me want to put my head down on the steering wheel and weep. Where could I go? What could I do to keep the dark thoughts from eating up all the good ones? The only answer was work; I could go back to work, I could try to figure out why everything was different with this demon possession, if that was even the correct term for it. I could find the demon that had helped Mark Cookson rape and kill our victim, Megan Borowski. I could find the demon that either had killed Mark Cookson or was using his body to commit crimes, because unlike angels, demons didn’t just go back to Hell and get lost in the Infernal fires. They stayed up here until they were forced back to Hell. Angels enjoyed Heaven and being closer to God; no demon I’d met wanted to return to Hell.

A car stopped behind my parked one. It was blocking me in, and it took me a second to realize it was Reggie. She turned the engine off and got out of the car. I had a moment of my heart lifting in pure happiness; maybe she was going to say the date could be tonight, or maybe she wanted me to come home even to do some tool-using chore. I’d take it. I’d be her handyman with no benefits if I could just be in the house when Connery came home from school. Then I saw the tension in her body, the way she held her lips, and knew underneath the big sunglasses her eyes would be black dark with anger.

What in Heaven’s name had I done to piss her off now?





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE




I got out of the car, so I was standing and facing her as she said, “Why are you waiting for me? I agreed to the dinner.”

“I’m not waiting for you,” I said.

“Were you going to follow me to see if I got a date or something?”

“It never occurred to me to follow you, Reggie.”

“You’re a cop, it’s part of what they teach you, isn’t it?”

“I suppose, but I’m just waiting—”

“For what; if you’re not waiting to see where I go next, what are you waiting for?” she demanded.

“To know if I join Charleston at the crime scene or go with another detective to get background on a suspect.”

That seemed to calm her down a little. “Oh, well, how long does that take to find out?”

My phone rang and saved us both from a conversation that I really didn’t understand at all. “Hey, Havoc, wait until you see what we found at the parents’ house!”

“Just tell me what it is,” I said, smiling because she sounded so excited.

“Who is that?” Reggie asked.

“It’s Detective Bridges.”

“Lila, you mean.” And she raised both her eyebrows up high enough that they showed above the sunglasses.

“Yes, Lila Bridges,” I said.

Lila said, “I thought your text said the therapy was over.”

“We’re in the parking lot,” I said.

“Is she asking where we are?” Reggie said.

“Yes,” I said.

“What?” Lila asked.

Reggie pantomimed me handing the phone to her, but I was too confused about what was happening, so I put it on speaker. “Lila, you’re on speaker, Reggie wanted to talk to you, I think.”

“Hi, Reggie,” Lila said, her voice neutral friendly.

“Hi, Lila.” Reggie’s tone was overly friendly and didn’t sound right. “Did he text you as soon as our couples therapy was over?”

“Her and Charleston,” I said.

“Havoc wanted to know if I was done talking to the parents.”

“Parents, what do you mean, parents?” Reggie asked.