I nudged him with my shoe, but he was out cold.
Hurried footsteps rang out behind me and I flipped around, still clutching the shovel. Patch emerged from the darkness, breathless from running. He looked between me and the fall en angel.
“I—got him,” I said, still in shock that it had been so easy.
Patch gently pried the shovel from my hands and set it aside. A faint smile twitched his lips.
“Angel, this man isn’t a fall en angel.”
I blinked. “What?”
Patch crouched beside the man, took his shirt in his hands, and ripped the fabric. I stared at the man’s back, smooth and muscular. And not a wing scar in sight.
“I was sure,” I stammered. “I thought it was him. I recognized his tattoo—” Patch peered up at me. “He’s Nephilim.”
A Nephil? I’d just bludgeoned a Nephil unconscious?
Rolling the Nephil’s body over, Patch unbuttoned his shirt, inspecting his torso. At the same time, our eyes traveled to the brand just below his clavicle. The clenched fist was all too familiar.
“The Black Hand’s mark,” I said with astonishment. “The men who attacked us that day, and nearly drove us off the road, were Hank’s men?” What did it mean? And how could Hank have made such a grave error in judgment? He’d claimed they were fall en angels. He’d sounded so certain—
“Are you sure this was one of the men in the Ell Camino?” Patch asked.
Rage leaped inside me as I realized I’d been played. “Oh, I’m sure.”
CHAPTER 28
HANK ORCHESTRATED THE CAR CRASH,” I SAID, deadly quiet. “Originally I thought the crash had upended his plans, but none of it was by accident. He told his men to hit us, and he planted it in my head that they were fall en angels. And I was stupid enough to fall for it!” Patch transported the Nephil’s body behind an overgrown hedge, concealing it from the street.
“This way he won’t attract any attention before he wakes up,” he explained. “Did he get a good look at you?”
“No, I took him by surprise,” I said distractedly. “But why did Hank need to crash his car? The whole thing seems pointless. His car was totaled, he was severely beat up in the process—I don’t get it.”
“I don’t want you leaving my sight until we’ve figured this out,” Patch said. “Go inside and tell Vee you don’t need a ride home. I’ll pick you up out front in five.” I scrubbed my hands briskly over my arms, which prickled with goose bumps. “Come with me. I don’t want to be alone. What if there are more of Hank’s men inside?” Patch made a sound that wasn’t quite amusement. “If Vee sees us together, things will get messy.
Tell her you found a ride home, and you’ll call her later. I’ll stand just inside the doors. I won’t let you out of my sight.”
“She won’t buy it. She’s a lot more cautious than she used to be.” Quickly I worked out the only plausible solution. “I’ll ride home with her, and after she leaves, I’ll meet you up the street from my house. Hank is there, so don’t drive any closer than you have to.” Patch pulled me into a brief, hard kiss. “Be careful.”
Inside the Devil’s Handbag, a loud murmur of complaint spread through the audience. People threw wadded napkins and plastic straws on the stage. A group on the far side of the floor took up chanting, “Serpentine sucks, Serpentine sucks.” I elbowed my way over to Vee.
“What’s going on?”
“Scott bailed. Just up and ran. The band can’t play without him.” A sick feeling settled in my stomach. “Ran? Why?”
“I might have asked him if I could have caught him. He took a running leap off the stage and sprinted for the doors. Everyone thought it was a joke at first.”
“We should get out of here,” I told Vee. “The crowd isn’t going to hold much longer.”
“Amen to that,” Vee said, hopping off her bar stool and scurrying toward the doors.
At the farmhouse, Vee bounced the Neon into the driveway. “What do you think got into Scott?” she asked me.
I was tempted to lie, but I was tired of playing this game with Vee. “I think he’s in trouble,” I told her.
“What kind of trouble?”
“I think he made some mistakes and upset the wrong people.” Vee looked bewildered … then skeptical. “Wrong people? What kind of wrong people?”
“Very bad people, Vee.”
That was all the explanation she needed. Vee shoved the Neon into reverse. “Well, what are we doing sitting here? Scott’s out there somewhere, and he needs our help.”
“We can’t help him. The people who are looking for him don’t exactly have a conscience. They wouldn’t think twice about hurting us. But there is someone who can help, and with any luck, he’ll be able to help Scott get out of town tonight, where he’ll be safe.”
“Scott has to leave town?”
“It’s not safe for him here. I’m sure the men who are looking for him expect him to try to leave, but Patch will know a way around them—”
“Hold up! Back up. You’ve got that whack job helping Scott?” Vee’s volume shot higher and she glared at me accusingly. “Does your mom know you’re mixed up with him again? Did you ever think maybe, maybe this was information you should tell me? I’ve been lying about him this whole time, pretending he never existed, and all the while you were hooking up with him behind my back?” Hearing her blatant confession, minus any trace of remorse, ignited my temper. “So you’re finally ready to come clean about Patch?”
“Come clean? Come clean? I lied because unlike that dirtbag, I actually care what happens to you. He’s not right in the head. He showed up and your life was never the same. My life either, while we’re on the subject. I’d rather face down a gang of convicts than bump into Patch on an empty street. He’s real good at taking advantage of people, and it sounds to me like he’s up to his old tricks again.”
I opened my mouth, so upset I couldn’t untangle my thoughts. “If you saw him the way I do—”
“That ever happens, you can bet I’ll gouge my eyes out!”
I strove for composure. Angry or not, I could be rational. “You lied, Vee. You looked me in the eye and lied. I’d believe it of my mom, but not you.” I pushed the door open. “How were you going to explain yourself when I got my memory back?” I demanded suddenly.
“I hoped you wouldn’t get it back.” Vee threw her hands in the air. “There. I said it. You were better off without it, if it meant not remembering that freak show. You don’t think straight when you’re around him. It’s like you see the one percent of him that might be good and miss the other ninetynine percent of pure psychopathic evil!”
My jaw fell open.
“Anything else?” I snapped.
“Nope. That sums up my feelings pretty adequately on the subject.” I shot out of the car and slammed the door.
Vee rolled down her window and poked her head out. “When you come back to your senses, you have my number!” she called out.
Then she floored down the driveway and sped off into the darkness.
I stood in the shadow of the farmhouse, trying to collect my cool. I reflected on the vague answers Vee had given me when I’d first come home from the hospital without a shred of my memory intact, and my temper threatened to explode. I’d trusted her. I’d relied on her to tell me what I couldn’t figure out for myself. Worst of all, she’d coll aborated with my mom. They’d used my memory loss to push the truth further out of reach. Because of them, it had taken me that much longer to find Patch.
I was so worked up, I nearly forgot I’d told Patch to meet me down the street. Reining in my anger, I stormed away from the farmhouse, keeping my eyes alert for signs of Patch. By the time his form slowly took shape in the shadows ahead, the worst of my sense of betrayal had died down, but I wasn’t ready to call Vee and extend forgiveness just yet.
Patch was parked by the roadside, straddling a black vintage Harley-Davidson Sportster motorcycle. I felt a shift in the air when I saw him; something dangerous and enticing resonated like a live wire. I stopped in my tracks at the sight of him. My heart stammered a beat, almost as if he held it in his grasp, commanding me in his own secret ways. I believed it. Bathed in moonlight, he looked positively criminal.
He handed me a helmet as I walked up. “Where’s the Tahoe?” I asked.
“Had to ditch it. Too many people knew I drove it, including Hank’s men. I parked it in an abandoned field. A homeless guy named Chambers is living out of it now.” Despite my mood, I flung my head back and laughed.
Patch lifted his eyebrows in inquiry.
“After the night I’ve been having, I needed that.”
He kissed me, then secured the helmet strap under my chin. “Glad I could help. Hop on, Angel. I’m taking you home.”
Despite being deep underground, Patch’s studio was warm when we arrived. I took the time to wonder if the steam pipes running beneath Delphic helped heat the place. There was also a fireplace, which Patch promptly lit. He took my coat, storing it in the closet just off the foyer.
“Hungry?” he asked.
It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “You bought food? For me?” He’d told me angels can’t taste and don’t require food, which made grocery shopping unnecessary.
“There’s an organic grocery store just off the highway exit. I can’t remember the last time I went shopping for food.” A smile glittered in his eyes. “I might have gone overboard.” I walked into the kitchen, with gleaming stainless-steel appliances, black granite countertops, and walnut cabinetry. Very masculine, very sleek. I went for the fridge first. Water bottles, spinach and arugula, mushrooms, gingerroot, Gorgonzola and feta cheeses, natural peanut butter, and milk on one side. Hot dogs, cold cuts, Coke, chocolate pudding cups, and canned whipped cream on the other. I tried to picture Patch pushing a shopping cart down the aisle, tossing in food as it pleased him. It was all I could do to keep a straight face.
I grabbed a pudding cup and offered Patch one as well, but he shook his head no. He perched himself on one of the bar stools, leaning his elbow on the counter contemplatively. “Do you remember anything else from the crash before you blacked out?” I found a spoon in the drawer and took a bite of pudding. “No.” I frowned. “This might be something, though. The car crash happened right before lunch. I originally thought I couldn’t have been unconscious for more than a few minutes, but when I woke up in the hospital, it was evening.
That means my time line is missing about six hours … so how do we account for those missing six hours? Was I with Hank? Lying unconscious in the hospital?” Something worrisome flicked across Patch’s eyes. “I know you’re not going to like this, but if we could get Dabria close to Hank, she might be able to read something off him. She can’t see inside his past, but if she still has some of her powers and can see his future, it might clue us in on what he’s been up to. Whatever his future holds, it’s dependent on his past. But getting Dabria close to him isn’t going to be easy. He’s being careful. When he goes out, he has at least two dozen of his men forming an impenetrable barrier around him. Even when he’s at your house, his men are outside, guarding the doors, pacing the fields, and patrolling the street.” This was news to me, and only made me feel more violated.
