Gathering of Angels(8)
“Good. Close your eyes, Claire, get some rest. I’ll walk you through everything myself.”
“Thank you.”
Heather watched her in the rearview mirror, so Claire closed her eyes, pretended to relax. Obviously satisfied, Heather pulled on to the road.
Leaning her head back against the seat, Claire studied Heather through barely raised eyelids. She looked normal, humming as she drove. But Claire felt the darkness that attached itself to the woman, the cold that still chilled her skin.
And when she looked beyond Heather as they drove past the billboard and into town, she saw the darkness, writhing like snakes over the church and the buildings that surrounded it, cloaking the town with an evil that froze her breath.
“Here we are.” Heather stopped in front of a square, brown, one story building, turned in her seat to face Claire. “You all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She smiled, a mocking smile that didn’t fit the face that made it. Shadows darkened the pale blue eyes. “You will understand the joke, Claire. Very soon.” Between one breath and the next, her eyes cleared, her smile became soft, genuine. “Let’s get you out of this cold, and inside. We’ll find out just what happened to you.”
She helped Claire out of the back seat, guided her up the two steps and into the station, settling her in a chair next to one of the metal desks.
“Heather.” Claire cleared her throat, her voice cracking over the name. “Heather.”
“Hmm?” She looked up from the file cabinet, frowning. “What is it, Claire? You not doing okay? I have to admit, you look awful pale.”
“I will take care of her, Heather.” The quiet, masculine voice wrapped around Claire. She wanted to look over her shoulder, look the owner in the eye, see if he wore the same mantle of darkness. He knelt in front of her, gave her a full and close up view of a lean, handsome face and very clear, very green eyes. “What can I do for you?”
Help me—get me out of here. She wanted to scream the words, but she knew she had no proof, nothing but the fear clutching at her.
“If you can call my friend.” Claire swallowed, her throat still not used to talking. “She will come and take me home.”
“Now, you’re not going anywhere until we can ID you,” Heather said. “There are procedures. She can’t just leave, Deputy Asher.”
Claire kept her gaze on the man in front of her, silently asked for Annie’s forgiveness. “Please call her,” she whispered.
He closed one hand over Claire’s, a warm, calloused hand, his thumb brushing her tattoo. Surprise flared in his eyes, disappeared so fast she nearly missed it. “My name is Simon. Can you write down her number for me?” His voice was quiet, gentle, easing the fear. He reached past her, handed her a pad and a pen, waited while she did so, her hand shaking against the pen. Exhaustion still held her in its grip, and she expected it would for some time. “I will make sure you’re safe, Claire. You have my word.”
The intensity of his last words, spoken so only she could hear him, changed her fear to ugly, heart pounding certainty. Before she could say anything he stood, tapping the number into his phone as he walked out the front door. Leaving her alone.
She had stumbled right into the middle of what Annie would call a big nasty. And Annie was about to follow her into it, with no warning. But Claire didn’t have a choice. Marcus would ring every warning bell here—
God above, I can’t—I can’t put her in danger, not after what she has already been through because of me.
Claire pushed herself up, her legs shaking from the effort. She had to stop him before he talked to Annie—
“Where do you think you are going?” Heather stepped in front of her, the darkness that coiled around her so virulent it left Claire nauseous. Cold slapped her, instantly icing the sweat on her skin. “You are mine now. I can smell it on you, sense it, but I cannot reach it. I must be certain before I condemn. Sit.”
Claire obeyed, lowering herself to the chair, then stilled as Heather pulled a pair of handcuffs off her belt. Swallowing, she flinched when icy fingers closed over her right wrist, followed by the touch of cold metal as the cuff snapped shut. Heather attached the other cuff to the arm of the chair, effectively trapping Claire.
“Sit there like a good girl.” Heather leaned in, sniffing at Claire’s cheek. “It will not be long.”
She moved to the opposite end of the small office and sat at a desk, her smile chilling Claire straight to the bone. Claire lowered her head, both hands gripping the arms of the chair, and fought down the panic that wanted to choke her.