No. Not his own mind.
He’d die at least owning that.
Keeley’s hand found the gun. His finger hooked the trigger before Rosario noticed. He managed two shots, sending bullets through her upper leg. Her femur snapped just below the hip joint before she fell. “Aagh! Fuck!” she screamed.
The gun stayed in his hand. It felt heavy, too heavy to turn and use, but also like salvation. His strength seemed to return in the form of the gun in his hand.
Then the butt of a rifle slammed into his head. A sword stabbed through his chest. Keeley fell to the floor beside Rosario, who roared in anger and reflexively went for the nearest source of fresh blood. This time, her kiss and her fangs were not kind.
He hadn’t the strength to aim his weapon at anyone, but his gun was loud. It would at least warn his friends. It would disrupt his enemy. Paul Keeley died pulling the trigger of his gun until there were no bullets left. The flash of his muzzle lit the darkness with each shot.
He died fighting.
Chapter Seventeen: By the Sword
Sleeping alone felt strange.
Alex lay in his cot under a pair of old, stiff Army blankets. The room was too cold to sleep without his shoes on, but he figured he could manage. Something about the blankets and the cot felt familiar. He’d slept like this before, in another life, or maybe in more than one. For once, the thought didn’t bother him. He’d made his peace with all that yesterday, and last night.
Two women he adored helped set his head straight last night, and then invited him into their bed. Were it not for his interest in them-and his ridiculous and completely unnecessary effort to find an icebreaker-he wouldn’t be here now. He wouldn’t have Rachel and Lorelei in his life.
He wouldn’t be lying here, thinking that it suddenly felt strange to sleep alone when he’d done exactly that for all but the last five or six weeks of his life.
He wondered if Lorelei would sleep tonight. He wondered where they kept her and when he might see her again. That brought unpleasant, unbidden thoughts.
You know what she looks like now. What she truly looks like.
She’s a murderer. A monster. She’s led you on for all this time.
Alex stared at the darkness above him, wishing he could silence the unwelcome voice in his head. He accepted Lorelei’s past. He knew she had things to hide from him. If she wanted to hide her scars, was that wrong? Were they his business?
Life with Lorelei was nothing short of amazing.
She only wants to corrupt. She uses you. This fantasy life of easy sex and luxury is all distraction and manipulation. What does she do when you aren’t looking?
She’ll want other men. She’ll whore around behind your back, if she hasn’t already. You think you indulge her, but she fucks other men and laughs at you.
Alex scowled and rolled over on his side. That was a stupid thought. They’d had that conversation, and inevitably would again when the time came. The notion of Lorelei getting with other guys didn’t turn him on. The idea that they would both live honestly and freely together meant the world to him. Jealousy seemed like more of a burden than a right.
This isn’t right. It isn’t natural, and you know it. Living with Rachel isn’t natural or right, either. She’s mad. You can see she’s mad.
What angel would allow all of this?
That seemed dumb, too. Alex only remembered tiny fragments, but Rachel answered to her peers for everything. She went before them, with Alex and Lorelei, and the other angels allowed it.
More broken memories. How much of your mind can you lose? How much can you let them steal? Demons and witches and lunatic angels?
What if Hauser is right?
Ugly feelings churned in his stomach. Not Hauser. Fuck that guy. He didn’t have to hurt Lorelei like that. And the guys-
He hurt Lorelei with holy power. Righteous power of good. What does that say about him? About her?
If Rachel loves you so much, where has she been since then?
His frown deepened into a scowl. Why were all these dumb thoughts coming to him now? Rachel had so much more to deal with than Alex and his problems, regardless of how bad they got. Alex took a long, deep breath, trying to calm himself and silence his worries.
Then he heard the pops of a gun.
He held still, eyes open to the darkness as he listened. Two shots, then a pause, then a sustained series of shots from a semi-automatic. Nothing more came. He was on the third floor of the building, and to his impression that put him far from any of the other improvised cells. The noise might have come from a different floor, or perhaps he just heard the echo… but those had to be gunshots.
He heard hurried footsteps, too. Alex pushed the blankets away and sat up as he heard keys jingle. One of them went into the lock on his door, and then the door opened.
Hauser stood there with his gun drawn, wary for any ambush from within the room. “Turn around and put your hands behind your head,” Hauser ordered quietly.
“Did you hear that?” Alex hissed.
“Shut up, turn around and assume the position, kid,” Hauser snapped. Even with his temper flaring, he kept his voice low. “You’re the key to all of this. I’m not letting you out of my sight or letting you pull any tricks. And if somehow you do get away, I swear to God I’ll have you on the most wanted list so fast your head will spin. Now turn around!”
Holding his own anger, Alex did as he was instructed. It wasn’t until Hauser had the cuffs on him that they heard the angry roar of multiple guns downstairs.
* * *
Everyone in the break room went for their weapons at the first sounds of gunfire in the hallway. Amber and the other two plainclothes agents carried only pistols. The trio of tac guys at the table closest to the door had considerably more on hand. The tactical team leader-he’d introduced himself before, but Amber could only remember his first name was Miguel-snatched his MP-5 off the table as he rose from his chair. He glanced toward Amber and the other agents and gave a couple of hand signals: Wait. Check the window.
Amber and the others crouched low while Miguel turned out the lights. By then the gunfire outside ended. Nine shots in quick succession and then nothing. She looked to Nguyen and Lanier but found her fellow plainclothes agents inclined to follow Miguel’s lead.
Pistol in hand, Lanier slipped up to the window and risked a peek outside. “Shit,” he hissed, jerking his head back down. He promptly reached for the old, heavy drapes and pulled them shut. “There’s gotta be two dozen people creeping around out there!”
“We can’t stay in here,” said Nguyen. Open laptop computers at the tables offered some ambient illumination, but with the overheads out and the curtains drawn the room was dominated by shadows.
The tactical guys pressed themselves up on either side of the door. Miguel took the lead, his weapon at the ready. He checked his men, threw a readying look to Nguyen and her agents, and put his hand on the doorknob. It opened inward, which didn’t allow for Miguel to use it as cover, but the tac leader moved like he knew what he was doing.
Within a single breath, Miguel’s MP-5 went off at whatever he spotted down the hall. Sudden urgency filled his eyes as he fired, as if trying to hit something too fast to pin down. It all happened too quickly for anyone to help or react. One second he stood in the doorway shooting, and the next he had a rapier through his chest.
At first all Amber saw was a black shape, a sword, and a staggered comrade. The attacker moved with incredible speed and power, shoving Miguel against the wall and then tearing his blade free in a torrent of blood. He spun back to face the room, fangs bared and his black frock coat swaying dramatically.