Title: Riddle Me This...
Author: Helen
Posted: 10-23-2004
Email: helen_taft@msn.com
Rating: NC-17
Category:
Content: C/A
Summary: This is in response to Kits ‘Charade’ challenge posted in the challenge thread (Page 4). None spoilery background is that Cordy left Sunnydale after ‘Lovers Walk’ and Buffy died fighting the Mayor. Set in the early days of Ats the fic is entirely AU. As for the CURSE, Willow passed out before she got to that particular proviso.
Spoilers:
Disclaimer: The characters in the Angelverse were created by Joss Whedon & David Greenwalt. No infringement is intended, no profit is made. Also, the basis of the challenge follows Sandra Browns novel, Charade. I’ve not read it myself and won’t be in case it knocks me off stride.
Distribution: JF and AO
Notes:
Feedback: Yup, feeding is good, or my muse will sulk. Also, feel free to include criticism too if you feel the urge so long as its constructive, always appreciated
Thanks/Dedication: To Kit for the challenge and letting me start in Ats not BTVS, Also my BETA, Califi for being the pal she is and putting up with me! And also Lysa and Val, for helping my tired grey matter come up with a name.Prologue
Water dripped; ploink, ploink, ploink and echoed around the dark, dank stillness. Here was the kind of place where, if you stayed still too long, the hairs on the back of your neck would rise as a soul chilling and nameless terror surged up to swamp you. Down here imagination was superfluous.
“Look, I don’t know who you are, but this has got to be some kind of mistake. If you’ll just explain…tell me what this is all about then we can work it out...please! You can tell me that can’t you?” Ritchie knew he was gibbering, but was well past caring.
Strapped to a table that bore a horrifying resemblance to a hospital operating table, he jerked his bald head from side-to-side desperately trying to penetrate the gloom and locate his kidnappers. Finding nothing but dark shadowy shapes a hoarse sob worked up from his convulsing throat.
He had no idea where he was being held except that it was possibly somewhere underground and windowless with nothing to illuminate his rank smelling prison. Audible under the pounding drum of his heart, the skittering of tiny claws came from all around, adding yet another layer to the hellish ambience. His skin crawled.
Gaining control of the hysterical sobbing and sucking in a breath of fetid air, he tried to inject some fraught reason into his voice, “This is a mistake, that’s all. Just a dumb mistake and if you’ll just talk to me...” The only hope he had left was that if he said it enough somebody might actually listen to him.
Sweat beaded and prickled all over his shirtless torso, drying over goose-bumped skin until chilled shudders wracked him, causing the leather straps to bite deeper into abused wrists. Legs cramping, he twisted uselessly and groaned when streaks of agony shot up from the ankles they’d already sadistically broken.
All he kept thinking was this couldn’t be happening to him. “Somebody help me, please, please, somebody help me.” Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Please let this be a dream. I want to wake up now.
“If you’re Richard Stokes, 38 years old, and of Sunnydale, California then there is no mistake.”
That much was true, and unable to deny it Ritchie’s full bladder threatened to erupt, “But…but I’m a nobody. I don’t even own a credit card or owe money to anyone. What have I done to you? Why are you doing this to me?” His voice got higher in pitch, verging on strident as panic escalated hearing that dry booming voice.
“Who you are means nothing to us, just what you are preserving in that frail body.” The voice replied. He couldn’t identify the accent, knowing only that each sibilant sound tap-danced along his spine, leaving an icy trial.
Next, the scrape and shuffle of footsteps hinted at something heavy being dragged along the concrete floor, stopping beside the stolen surgical table. “What are you going to do with me?” he whispered as terror spiked, sensing rather seeing somebody close by.
A match hissed and flared into life and Ritchie recoiled from the flame’s first bright eruption. Blinking to banish the floating spots obscuring his vision, he could only to stare with mounting horror at the face revealed by the flickering match. Simultaneously gagging on the stench as a thick, foul smelling candle was lit.
It wasn’t the long curved knife, gleaming in a gnarled hand that caused his heart to stutter and nearly stop, but the grotesque and ravaged features of the creature holding it. Oh God, warm fluid drained unnoticed to soak his pants and seep up his naked back.
“I’m going to remove the heart they gave to you. You may scream if you wish. Nobody can hear you way down here.”
***
Part 1
“My daughter has her prom next week and Lordy can that girl kick up a fuss…”
Hearing that as she was walked past reception, arms piled high with fresh warm towels, Cordelia was unwillingly transported back almost two years, back to Sunnydale High and life as the reigning Queen of all that was hot and popular. Going numb her legs stopped moving.
Mental shutters flipping up allowed old memories to filter back; getting chased by boys because she was beautiful, vampires because she was food, then the big school dances with weeks spent canvassing for votes to be crowned, a social highlight blighted twice, once with having to fight for her life from an invisible girl and then again getting mistaken for a slayer and hunted like an animal.
Just the usual for the town built over a hellmouth. Oblivious to the growing number of surreptitious glances coming her way as she simply stood there, Cordelia was sucked back into reliving how she’d come to leave it.
White walls, white floor, white blinds. White, white and more white. What did it matter when all she could see was the filthy factory caked in grime and spilled blood from its vampire inhabitation? No, that wasn’t quite true. It was the bed she saw being burned in her minds eye… along with the straining pair, lips locked together as if life depended on how deep they could get inside one another.
“Miss Chase, Hi, my name is Dr Steven’s. How are you feeling today, are we treating you well?”
Blinking back into the present, Cordy watched with dulled eyes as the doctor lowered himself into the plastic visitors chair on her left. “Sure, I guess.”
Before she could ask the question burning the forefront of her mind a rotund Hispanic woman entered, too, seemingly out of place in her normal street clothes and lack of a white coat.
Dragging over a second plastic chair she smiled warmly, “Hello, Cordelia, do you remember me, I’m Angela. I visited you the day before last.”
A struggle produced a dim memory of soft hands and a soothingly melodic female voice. Cordy guessed she was some kind of counsellor and all round comforter. Unconsciously clutching the thin bed sheet in nervous hands and licking dry lips, she nodded and asked, “Are my parents here yet?”
Uncomfortable, Dr Steven’s hesitated before answering, “Not yet, but they promise to be here as soon as they can. Problems I understand with travel,” he was hedging she could see it in his eyes. He had a kind face, young and earnest with moss green eyes that managed to convey a compelling mix of intelligence, kindness and sympathy.
She didn’t want his sympathy, Cordelia’s chest tightened. Her parents weren’t coming. Oh God, what does that say about me? Her throat went tight too as unwelcome tears pricked. Latching onto the kindness she asked huskily, “When can I go home? I want to go home,” she couldn’t have held back the pleading note if she’d tried.
Home was somewhere she could cry properly. Not muffle it under sheets draped over heaving shoulders and a damp face; letting the tears of pain, bitter resentment and searing humiliation finally flow and if she was really lucky, rid her body of the awful tightness from having to hold it all in.
Again he hesitated, glancing needlessly down at the flipchart held in square hands before looking towards Angela for support. Catching the by-play between the two of them Cordelia’s belly gave a lurch. She guessed the answer wasn’t going to be what she wanted to hear.
She wasn’t wrong. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible right now, Ms Chase. Look, can I call you Cordelia?” His eyes finally connected with hers.
Trying to read between the lines she simply nodded again not trusting herself to speak, and waiting for a reason that afterwards she’d despairingly think no amount of bracing could have prepared her for.
“Cordelia, I have some news that may come as a shock. Personally, I would’ve preferred waiting until your parents are here, but given the delay and the fact they’ve authorised me to arrange for your transfer. I think its time you were … um…brought up to speed.”
Dreaded circled like a vulture waiting to swoop and for some reason her right arm ached in tandem with the sickly throb of her heart. Inexplicably breathless she stuttered, “Transferred, why?”
Seeing the starkly blue and pinched look about the girl’s mouth it was Angela that answered, butting in gently to the visible relief of her doctor, “Its standard procedure to check certain aspects of patient health when substantial injuries are involved. Those investigations found an…anomaly that needs treating.”
The ceaseless background hum of activity outside the bubble of her room faded. Breathlessness spreading, Cordelia’s vision started to swim, turning the pair blurred, “Anomaly? Is…is that bad?”
It sounded bad- really, really bad to her. Frightened, Cordelia suddenly felt about five-years-old. Oh God, why do I have to be alone? Please, Mom, please I need you! Don’t leave me alone. Lips trembling as that silent wail echoed in her head she tried to hold back the welling tears by scrunching up her face.
The explanation when it haltingly came out dropped all sensation from her belly as the icy snakes of fear solidified. Then survival instincts kicked in and she tuned them out, retreating far away.
Both ears were buzzing and only quieted when Cordy realised she’d stopped breathing altogether. Hauling in a choppy lungful, she was struck with the urge to tell her soft voiced tormentors to shut-up and go away; wait for her parents, or doomsday whichever came sooner. The words got stuck in her throat.
“Cordy, helloooo, Cordy. Are you okay?” Two fingers clicked in front of her glazed eyes.
Drawn back and coming too, she blinked to focus on the face peering worriedly at her. Tall, lithe and pretty with skin the colour of dark chocolate, Lily was the resident beautician and a good friend. Realising what must have happened, Cordy wished the floor would suddenly open up and maybe save her some pride.
Thinking fast she grimaced with embarrassment, laughing, “Sorry, I must have zoned out there for a while.” Her smile was extra wide and laced with apology. “Wow, intense… and boy! Do I need to get more shut-eye or what, only next time, before I go to sleep on my feet, huh?”
Reassured as intended and snagging her elbow, Lily got them both moving, leaning in to whisper, “Um, yeah! You looked like you’d seen a ghost or something. Besides, Hilda is watching you and she looks about ready to explode.”
Shrugging off the funk the memories had left her with and craning her neck around, Cordy aimed a grin at a frowning Hilda standing behind the reception desk. Big boned and white blonde over a wide face, the German woman was framed by the huge glossy white and red, LA fitness sign that managed to make her look even more anal retentive.
“Pfft, let her. Put it this way she has to do something to get that poker out that’s rammed up her ass. Geeze, I’ve never met anyone who needs to get laid so much in all my life. I just pity the poor schmuck who has to climb on, ya know?”
Snorting in agreement and unloading half the towels of her, Lily checked her watch. Her brows climbed, “Are these for sauna? Because if so, girlfriend, you don’t have time to deliver them. As in, don’t you have the graveyard aerobics class to run?”
Cordelia had caught a break getting the class, but only after a lot of hard-work and of course the gym’s manager had risked her only on the last class of the day. It meant working longer hours rather than travel back and forth, except for when she had auditions, but the way she figured it was a girl needs to eat and the cafeteria being free to staff was a big plus.
A quick check of her own watch had Cordy wincing and then aiming a hopeful glance at her friend. Sighing dramatically, the other girl winked a playful brown eye and took the rest of them out of her arms, “Fine I’ll take them over. You go and get ready, then I’ll join you.”
On her way already, that surprise statement had a grateful Cordy turning mid-step, sneakers squeaking a protest on the tiled floor, “I thought you were done for the day?”
Lily didn’t turn or slow as she pounded up the stairs to the next level, just tossed back over one tee-shirt covered shoulder. “I am, but I figured I’d join your class. Even with the discount it’s another fee paying body, right?”
Stunned, Cordy stilled before necessity and lack of time had her shaking off the second funk in as many minutes and jogging towards the staff changing rooms. God, if she wasn’t firmly hetro she’d be in love with that girl. Talk about a world away from Harmony and the other Cordettes. And her, too, if she was honest.
“Hey, I’m working on it aren’t I? Sheesh, who needs enemies when you’ve got yourself?”
***
He kept the outer office lights on and left his own shrouded in darkness. Outside the pitch of traffic lowered to an occasional hum and to any normal person the brooding quiet would have been suffocating. Not so the vampire sitting in silent contemplation.
Two photographs lay on Angel’s desk. Lounging in his worn leather desk chair with an elbow braced and two fingers propping up his forehead, he gazed unblinkingly at the two rectangles of colour. It was a ritual by now and at least once a day he laid them out. He liked to think of it as his homage to the past and a reminder of why getting too close could bring immeasurable pain and grief.
”Are you still my girl?”
”Always.”
”The good fight, yeah? You never know until you’ve been tested- I get that now
Doyle. Doyle. Doyle! Doyle! NO!
Buffy Summers, laughing and full of life shone out from one, while Doyle his one time half-demon sidekick stood resentfully hunched and shadowed as if trying to escape the camera. They were both dead. Buffy a year ago fighting the Mayor and Doyle just last month when he’d saved Angel, Wesley and a boat-load of half-demons from the ‘Scourge’, a battalion of rabid pure-blood demons with a mission to rid the world of human/demon hybrids.
Doyle’s last vision from the PTB’s was still unsolved. A fact that drove Angel crazy thinking he was letting his dead friend down by not being smart enough to work it out. He kept wishing if only they’d had more time, but the vision had come at a stinkingly bad point when they’d been fixated on getting the innocent out of harms way.
All Doyle had told him was that the vision had shown him beating hearts, two pretty girls; one blonde and a brunette, and a gym right here in LA. Not much to go on but neither had realised they wouldn’t have time for a longer debrief later. Doyle, a dark haired and roguish Irishman with a sense of honour that usually bordered on the wayward side had sacrificed himself less than an hour later.
Stricken with the memory of watching him melt into nothing, Angel abruptly sat up, scrubbing his face with both hands as if to wipe it all away. Then sitting back and puffing out his cheeks he couldn’t help repeating the same questions he’d asked a hundred times before now.
“Damn it, Doyle, you were supposed to live. You said you weren’t a hero. Why couldn’t you have just stayed the messenger and then…” realising where he was headed, Angel bit the rest off and shook his head in self-loathing. Then what? He wouldn’t have to have Doyle on his conscience?
The opening of the outer door intruded, heralding the arrival of Wesley Wyndham Pryce. Locking his emotions away again and surging to his feet in one lithe move, Angel swept the photographs up and tapping them once to align the edges properly, slid them into the top drawer of his desk. Some things stayed private, his grief was one of them.
Coming out of his inner office, he met the ex-Watcher halfway and hands resting on lean hips, pinned him with a half hopeful, half expectant look. “Well?”
Dreading the response, Wesley tossed his jacket onto the rackety coat-stand, then spread helpless hands. “I returned to the library and re-checked the archives to see if I’d missed any reports, only to find that, as I expected, I hadn’t.
Angel’s face didn’t so much as flicker; waiting for more. Heaving a sigh, Wes ticked them off on his fingers, “There’s still nothing about hearts, gyms or girls in trouble. I even went along to scout out a few, but they’re full of pretty girls of all hair colours imaginable.”
They both glanced longingly at the computer sitting abandoned on the desk by the window, but Doyle had been the only one proficient with its use. “This is hopeless, we’re hopeless.” Wesley groaned and dropped tiredly onto the small, battered brown couch, just as the phone rang.
Since he was closer and Wesley was wallowing in angry self-castigation, Angel picked it up his frown changing from aggravation to intense interest when the caller identified herself. “Kate…” he greeted simply, casting a speaking glance at Wesley, warning him to pay attention, “…what’s up?”
A few words later, an arrested expression dropped over Angel’s pale, handsome face and abruptly he cut her off, “Kate, hold up a second, I’m putting you on speaker phone. Then can you repeat the last few details?” A press of a button later and Detective Kate Lockley’s voice echoed tinnily about the office.
Sure. Like I said, I have a dead male Caucasian on my hands with his heart cut out. You asked me to let you know if anything came up involving hearts and this is definitely a weird one, which I figured is right up your alley.
Raising a brow at that wry comment, he caught Wesley’s shrug, “Thanks I appreciate this, Kate. Can you say again where he came from?”
Oh yeah, sorry, Richard Stokes is listed as being from Sunnydale, California. According to his records he only moved to LA a few months ago.
Sitting up, Wesley’s disillusion fell away, “Interesting,” he mouthed, thinking that was an understatement of gargantuan proportions.
So, are you coming? I can only get you in for 5 minutes tops and I’m only offering that because I’m hoping your um… extra senses can spot something we haven’t.
Pleasantries and assurances to help without taking action later, Angel disconnected and Wesley, now standing next to him having been thoroughly drawn out of his despondency could wait no longer, “That’s it! That’s our connection. How ironic is it that it goes back to our roots- so to speak?”
Whirling to pace without waiting for a response, Wesley’s brain kicked into high gear, “Do you think the blonde in Doyle’s vision-“
“Buffy,” agreed Angel, perching on the desk with his arms crossed and deep in thought too, hiding the stab of pain at speaking her name out-loud.
“So, that just leaves the brunette. Its imperative we find out who she is and where she lives. After all, it’s likely she’s in a great deal of peril.”
“True, but the only way to find her is via Buffy. Hearts remember?”
That stopped him in his tracks with blue eyes going comically wide behind the wire-framed spectacles, “Oh good Lord, yes, I’d completely forgotten about that. Buffy’s organs were offered for transplant after she erm…” faltering at the wealth of bitter pain crossing the vampire’s hewn features, Wesley wanted to kick himself, cursing his own lack of discretion.
Guessing what had caused the sudden discomfort and pushing away from his comfortable perch, Angel waved it aside, adding as he crossed the office to shrug on a long black coat, “Its okay, Wesley. I admit I hated the idea at the time, but given the kind of person she was, it’s what she would have wanted. All we can do now is find out who got them?”
Relieved beyond measure, Wesley beamed at his rapidly disappearing back then moved to follow having snatched his own tan jacket back off the peg, “Excellent, and all I can say is, it’s about time we had a lead we could actually follow with some hope of eventual success.”
Angel’s voice coming from the corridor halted him before he’d taken two steps, “You stay here and find out what you can about the donor programme. I won’t be long.”
Shoulders slumping, a freshly despondent Wesley turned jaundiced eyes on the strangely menacing computer, sitting innocently atop the outer office desk, “What? How does he honestly expect me to get that information this late, it’s almost 9pm? It’s an impossible task. Herculean even.”
***
The far side of the high-ranking office suite was a wall of glass. Gracing the rest where priceless paintings ranging from modern art depicting mutated human forms, to soft pastels from the height of the impressionist era. Underfoot, carpet thick enough to sink into cushioned approaching feet and preserving the profitable tranquillity. Overall, it was a mixture of stark reality laced with hedonism where even the polish smelt expensive.
“Sir, the report’s back from downstairs and it wasn’t the slayers heart. We need to move onto the next one.” Even impeccably suited there remained an irrepressible energy about the young man who knocked, entered on command then strode unhesitatingly forward to deliver the bad news.
Swinging gently back and forth in his expansive executive chair and gazing dispassionately down at the cityscape below, Holland Manners tapped a finger thoughtfully against his lips, then as if reaching an unpleasant decision, swung about to look directly at his protégé saying, “I think it’s disgraceful, Lindsey.”
“Sir?” Knocked off stride, Lindsey MacDonald experienced a whole new level of unease, looking to recover he stiffened his spine adding, “If I’ve done something-”
Smiling his surprise and as if fazing him hadn’t been his intention Holland, waved a dismissive hand, “No-no, not you, how could I be displeased with my star performer. No, I meant this mess. It’s hard to believe in this day and age that a computer glitch can cause so much mayhem. Do they not have backups?”
“Yes, sir, but limited. Which is why we know only the names and addresses of the recipients from the time-period, not their donor’s.”
“Have a seat, Lindsey” once his subordinate was comfortable Holland carried on, “Meaning we can’t focus on the slayers organs, I know. Still, it’s highly annoying. I’m sure I should complain to someone about it.”
“I can arrange for a letter to be drawn up,” offered Lindsey tongue-in-cheek with an utterly straight face.
“Aah, but that would be indiscreet at best. So, tell me, who do we have left on the list of names?”
Reeling them off from memory, Lindsey saved the mystery one for last, “…and finally we still have little or no information on Mr C Chase. We’ve cross-checked all available records and find no matches in the State of California, at least none that have a medical record indicating heart surgery during the established time-frame.”
“Keep looking, he’ll turn up somewhere. This is important Lindsey and we mustn’t let minor obstacles slow us down.”
Gesturing for Lindsey to rise and join him strolling out of the office, Holland tucked a fatherly arm around the younger mans shoulders, adding in a lowered voice, “The Senior Partners are counting on us being able to procure this slayer heart. A bit of advice, never forget the bottom line and trust me, it doesn’t get more bottom than that.”
***
The apartment looked like it had been ransacked by a bunch of whacked out addicts hunting for valuables, who on finding none, took their frustration out on the furnishings. Or, so that was what Kate was suggesting. It only took a single sniff up for Angel to know they couldn’t be more wrong.
“He didn’t die here and it was demons that did this, not humans.”
They’d already worked out the first, but the second was an unpleasant non-surprise somehow, “Are you sure?” asked Kate, not so much disbelieving as not wanting to believe it.
She may have gotten over the shock of finding out Angel, the man she’d been getting the hots for was in point of fact, a blood sucking fiend, but she still preferred dealing with the scientifically probable. Demons, Christ! As if she didn’t have enough to deal with already.
Seeing his nod and short glare, she raked the fingers of one hand into her hair to drag the blonde mess off her face. “Okay, sorry I just still find it hard to…ya know- deal with that stuff.” Her face was a picture.
Circling the viciously gutted maroon couch gracing the middle of the living space, Angel felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and suppressed it, replying easily, “You don’t have too, that’s my job remember and the reason you called me.”
Watching him thoroughly scout the apartment in half the time it would take her just to give it a cursory once-over, Kate heaved an envious sigh and tucked both hands in the back pockets of her tattered, white-kneed Levi’s, “I guess. So, are you getting anything?”
Straightening from his crouched perusal of the mutilated body and bitterly disappointed, Angel shook his head and then clarified it, “Demons don’t always have a distinctive smell, they just smell…wrong. Most of the time I can only tell one from the other if they’re the kind to use a ritual or something that leaves an odour on their bodies. I’m not getting that here, so I can’t narrow it down yet.”
“Exits?” suggested Kate, determined to get her case on track and not add to the depressing long list of unsolved murders.
Vetoing that with another shake of a dark head, Angel explained, “I checked that before we came in here. They entered and left the building the same way we did. Whoever they are, they’re not the shy type.”
***
A quick call from a payphone to Wesley revealed the Englishman was actually getting somewhere with the names, thanks to some assistance from Willow. Content with that and with nothing better to do, Angel decided to really scrape the barrel and recon some of the nearby gyms.
The final one was just closing when he got there. Stepping out of the Plymouth the last thing he expected was to be greeted by a sharply disbelieving and very familiar voice, “My God, Angel, is that you?”
Turning to locate the speaker he was met with a bright-eyed young woman with long dark hair caught up in a ponytail, disbelievingly he asked, “Cordelia?”
Stepping off the curb onto the tarmac, her teeth flashed white in a fleeting grin, “You mean you’re not sure, so much for super vamp powers, huh?”
“Yes, I mean…of course I know who you are. I’m just surprised to see is all”
Embarrassment aside, Angel couldn’t help cataloguing the changes in the former Queen C of Sunnydale High, dazedly concluding that if anything, she’d got even prettier. Carefully shutting the car door car gave him a precious second to gather his wits and say, “You look good, Cordelia. Are you living here now?”
As he’d expected Cordelia took the compliment as her due, inclining her head and giving him a return inspection of her own. “Thanks, your looking pretty good yourself,” more than good if she was willing to admit that about a dead guy. He was still the picture of dark and brooding, but who was she to deny that held a certain appeal all of its own. “And yeah, LA is home sweet home now.”
“We wondered where you’d gone. Worried, too, after-“ The look on her face stopped him from mentioning the day she got impaled while running distraught from the sight of Xander making out with Willow.
Cordelia’s bulging purse was heavy, lifting the strap to stop it biting into her skin under the thin denim jacket, she shrugged, “I know I left suddenly, trust me, it was a surprise to me too, but I can’t say I wasn’t glad to get away from the hellmouth, ya know.”
Wryly agreeing, he leant back against the Plymouths black side, “I can get that. So…”
“So…”
“You first,” suggested Angel, wondering why it should feel good to see her. They hadn’t been exactly friends in Sunnydale, just happened to inhabit the same orbit and sometimes fighting on the same side. She must have been thinking along the same lines.
Miming a monster face she asked, “So, are you still all, ya know, grr face?” the engaging tilt of her head afterwards took the mild sting away.
Angel blinked in disbelief, thinking only Cordelia would ask that, “Yeah, there’s actually no cure for that,” he advised slowly.
Unfazed, she nodded thinking nobody got her humour and besides, you could take the girl out of the hellmouth but not the knowledge out of the girl, “Got it and …bummer, but your not evil, not here to, ya know, bite people or anything?”
Angel couldn’t figure out if she was yanking his tail or not. Giving her an uncertain look, he explained, “No, I’m sort of helping the police solve a murder, not exactly evil’s idea of fun.”
Behind them someone called out a farewell, turning back from a brief wave, Cordy joked, “Unless you’re the murderer, but I’m guessing snapping the cuffs on you would be a bit horse and stable doorish,” then eyes glinting with sly humour, she finished with a shrug, “Besides, you and cuffs- not exactly a picture that sticks.”
Letting an answering grin curve his lips, Angel tried not to recall a few times in his less than stellar past when that statement would have been categorically refuted, and belatedly remembering his manners, pushed away from the car to offer, “Where’s your car? Or, can I give you a ride somewhere?”
“I don’t have a car, too expensive on my salary, but I’m planning to change that ASAP.” Her wry smile acknowledged his disbelieving pause, recalling the days when she’d spent money like it was nothing more than water pouring through her grasping fingers.
To get it over with bluntly she added, “In case you were wondering, my parents hadn’t paid their taxes in say- forever. So, when the IRS caught up with them a couple of years ago there was nothing left, bar a few toothpicks.”
“Oh, sorry,” what else could he say? Angel remembered how much her lifestyle and popularity had meant to her. Used to a life of luxury finding yourself destitute must be twice as hard to adjust to.
“It’s okay. I’m over it and getting on with my life.” Not like she’d had much of a choice and at least the taxman hadn’t been able to touch the health insurance.
Sensing an imminent awkward pause, Angel gestured to his car, “About that ride?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind that is,” as an alternative to catching the bus, vampire chauffeur was a welcome change.
A minute or so later and happily ensconced in the big and noisy convertible’s passenger seat, Cordy slid him a quizzical look, “So why are you helping the cops solve a murder?” Asking why he left Sunnydale at all was what she really wanted to know, but figured that could lead to all kinds of things she didn’t want to discuss.
Navigating the much lighter traffic with ease, Angel smiled wondering how she’d react, “I’m a private detective now. I run an agency right here in LA.”
Cordelia goggled, “Get outta town, really?!” recovering she swiped away loose strands of dark hair blowing over her cheeks and turned to face him more fully, “You, a private detective. God, that is so…” since whatever she could think of saying might be insulting she changed her mind and waved it away, “…nevermind. Do you have a business card or something?”
“Um…no…why?”
Rolling eyes and up-flung hands spoke volumes, “Hello, calling cards. What if tomorrow night I’m walking home and come across something big and creepy lurking in the dark, other than you of course. How do I know how to get in touch? Angel, you need to market- be accessible, ya know?”
Stumped, Angel wondered if there was actually an answer he could make to that, then settled for, “Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome,” settling back, Cordy waited for him to mention mutual acquaintances. When he didn’t she puffed out a sigh and thinking she was doing him a favour, did it for him, “Okay I’ll bite, how’s Buffy? She’s back in LA, too, isn’t she?”
Not that Cordelia was particularly interested, but figured if she didn’t ask Buffy would find out and put it down to old resentments, which was totally untrue. After the surgery she’d picked up the frayed threads of her old life and weaved herself a new one. Go me!
“Cordelia, Buffy is dead. She died after graduation,” that simple statement uttered so low knocked the breath right out of her.
A colossal fender-bender right in front of them couldn’t have dragged her horrified gaze off his averted face just then, “Oh My God. Angel, I’m so sorry, I honestly didn’t know. I’ve been so out of touch. I mean, Buffy seemed so eternal- like you. I just assumed-“
She was practically wringing her hands. Taken back by her reaction given they hadn’t been on good terms and unaware of her own close brush with death, Angel shook his head, “Cordelia, its okay. You didn’t know. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”
Easy for him to say, he hadn’t just put both feet in his mouth and done a pirouette. Still reeling she had to ask, “How did it happen?”
It was comparable to prodding a barely healed over wound, but Angel answered as best he could, “She was mortally wounded stopping the Mayor making his ascension to demon and died a few days later in hospital. We were all there at the end.” He hadn’t left her side hoping that she’d open her eyes and speak to him at least once. She hadn’t.
Skilled at assessing subtleties Cordy saw the splinters of grief buried deep in onyx eyes. Saying sorry again just seemed a waste of time. No words could encompass all of that pain, so she didn’t even try, “Is that why you left Sunnydale to come here?”
Immeasurably grateful she hadn’t showered him with platitudes, Angel nodded a little more enthusiastically than usual, “Yeah, I like it here though. Big city, lots of things to do.” Not to mention people to save, monsters to kill.
Well, she wasn’t going to argue with that, city life suited her better too. “I’m glad,” she said and wisely left it that. Rounding the last corner onto Cordelia’s street she pointed to her building, “This is me, just here will do.”
Pulling up to the curb, he left the engine idling and turned to scan the Spanish style apartment building, “Nice place.”
Getting out, Cordelia shut the door with a pleased smile lighting her face, “It is. Thanks for the ride, Angel. It was weird, but kind of nice seeing you again.”
Pausing due to a poignant stab somewhere in the region of her heart, Cordy took a moment to soak up the darkly handsome face she had, long ago, coveted. That was another life though, so she dismissed it as nostalgia after a moment.
“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Maybe,” he agreed with a brief smile and left it at that, certain it was unlikely.
***
When he eventually got back to the office, Wesley was bent over the printer and squinting to read as it spat out letters. Shutting the door behind him, Angel’s expression still bore a bemused stamp as he shrugged out of his coat.
“Do you remember Cordelia Chase? She had her own groupies called the Cordettes and loved being-“ he almost repeated the old phrase, ‘Queen of Mean’, but having just spent a fairly pleasant half hour with her that felt- wrong.
“I just met up with her,” he finished instead, strolling over to the coffee machine to pour a mug of the bitter brew. “She’s training to be a fitness instructor here in LA.” Tipping back his head he took a swig and then scrunched his face up in disgust at the taste, luckily it was the caffeine he was after.
“Photographs only, still its strange” Pursing his lips, Wesley’s attention didn’t stray from the printer, only straightening as it came to the end.
Flicking the sheet out to proffer it toward the vampire, he announced, “You’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve managed to obtain a list of Donor recipients, unfortunately none donor specific. Oh, and Willow wanted me to tell you it was distressingly easy to hack into the files.”
Taking the single sheet and scanning it Angel’s brows drew together in a perplexed frown, “Richard Stokes is here, but I don’t recognise…” He came to one and fell abruptly silent.
“What is it?” asked Wesley moving to stand beside him, trying to see over the vampires shoulder.
Silently, Angel pointed to one name about half way down the page, “Mr C Chase.” It couldn’t be, could it? “We’re looking for a pretty brunette,” he muttered, “But Cordelia Chase wasn’t sick when she left Sunnydale, was she?”
Part 2
12.30 a.m.
The rotating lights from the squad cars bathed the front of the apartment building with an unearthly blue glow. The paramedic van had already come and gone having uselessly attended a scene where death was not in question. Now a white van labelled starkly with ‘mortuary’ waited in its place.
Angel avoided the gaggles of blue uniforms standing hunched and uneasy in the buildings doorway, using the basement as an entry point instead. Finding Kate was simple; he just followed the sound of voices on the third floor.
Every single bulb in the hallway had been broken and glass crunched underfoot as he manoeuvred his way around white-coated forensics technicians wielding brushes coated with black power.
Kate’s voice drew him and the tight edginess in it was audible halfway down the hall. “I don’t care if you have to fly halfway around the world to find the guy. Just find him. Jesus, we’re racking up the bodies here and personally, I don’t want another one added to the tally.”
He winced picturing the tension on Kate’s face. She was a dedicated law enforcer and this case had to be killing her. There had been twelve names on that donor-recipient list Angel had given Kate. Ten were now dead with eight of the murders already completed before the connection was picked up. Angel felt a flicker of anxiety flare from the knowledge he was keeping the thirteenth a secret; Cordelia Chase. He was losing sleep wondering when the demons would turn their attention on Sunnydale’s once-upon-a-time princess.
The door was open. Kate; blonde haired and pretty with a penchant for mannish clothes was standing beside the covered body. At least five other people were milling around the small, neat apartment.
“Kate” Angel said to announce his presence.
“Angel,” she said crisply, looking up with something akin to desperation gleaming out of sky blue eyes. “Glad you could come at such short notice.”
“No problem. You know I’ll help when I can.”
She missed the inflection in the last three words. “We need all the help we can get and I’m not too proud to say it. This case is a total nightmare. We’re running out of victims and I hate feeling helpless.” Kate dropped wearily to her haunches next to the corpse. Under the fluorescent strip lights the deep shadows on her face seemed etched as she looked up at the vampire. “We should have been able to protect him.”
Her frustration was palpable. Angel didn’t know what else to say, “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. We’d still have this pegged as a random killing by a serial killer if it weren’t for you.” She sighed and steeled herself to unzip the gory remains, “I just wish we could stop the bastards.”
It was the same MO as last time, only this woman’s face was fixed along even more terrified lines. Kate’s words gave Angel a chill and he froze, waiting for her to catch his eye. “You can’t stop them; just delay them until I find out whose doing this and end it. Remember, Kate, these killers are not human.”
Unwillingly Kate responded to that quiet demand. Then rallied her wits and rebelled. “It’s my job-“
“It’s your job to protect, not die in vain. We talked about this, don’t welch on me now.” Angel was always uncomfortably aware of her attraction to him, but it was intertwined with her trust in him and he wasn’t willing to try and untangle them. Sometimes it even came in handy, if only subconsciously. He could see he’d won.
2 p.m.
Cordelia gave her best winning smile to the parents of the worst behaved seven-year-olds she’d ever had the misfortune to come across, “Hi, you must be Mr and Mrs Velman. I’m so sorry to drag you away from your shopping like this, but the arcade is clearly signed; under eights must be supervised at all times.”
For very good reasons she didn’t add. Up until the last ten minutes the customer services desk had, thankfully, been quiet today, even though the mall itself was busy with everybody buying last minute treats for night-time when the trick-or-treaters were let loose.
Accepting embarrassed apologies with a serene nod and another smile, Cordelia puffed out a relieved breath when the tow-headed little horrors were pulled away.
Out of hearing she let out what she really thought. “And next time don’t try and offload your responsibilities on the poor unsuspecting public. God, those two need a leash and a cattle prod. Brats!”
Chin cupped in a palm and getting back to her magazine, Cordelia leisurely turned a page. “I am never having kids. Never, ever. There isn’t enough money in the world-“
“Excuse me, Miss?”
Geeze, sneak much? She plastered on another smile and slid the magazine out of sight. “Oh hi. Sorry I was miles away. Can I help you?”
That marked a frenetic hour where it seemed everybody needed something from her; wheelchairs, lost parking tickets, lost children, lost car-keys. Every time she turned there was another harassed and irate customer looking for her to solve their problems. “It’s a conspiracy, that’s what it is. Someone up there has decided to pay me back for refusing to do Saturdays.”
It was a running battle between Cordelia and her boss that she refused to do evenings or weekends. Like she was dumb enough to agree to work during the malls busiest hours. Having two jobs was bad enough she reasoned, and the benefits associated with staff discounts only swayed her so far.
The Starbucks kiosk beckoned and she gave into it rather than return to her station and yet another, dweeb who’d misplaced his spouse, rug-rats, Oldsmobile, sense of direction or colostomy bag.
The beige and forest green uniform was still a draw and she had to skirt around a waterfall to avoid a militant looking woman towing a shrieking child. Reaching Mecca she said feelingly, “I need to win the lottery,” to the guy inside the kiosk.
“You and me both,” was the laconic reply. “The usual?” he asked reaching for a paper cup. His name tag was the same as her, a big smiley face with text in the middle. His name was Bud, a good match for his blonde hair and tanned face.
She liked him better now he‘d given up hitting on her and just kept it low-key and friendly. “Yup, and give me an extra shot of espresso. Something tells me I’m going to need all the energy I can get today.”
“Coming right up.”
Leaning on the counter, Cordelia rolled her neck to relieve tension induced by being friendly when she felt like screaming. A bunch of girls passed them by and caught her attention. Long sleek limbs encased in designed jeans, slinky tops to teasingly expose tanned perfumed arms where perfectly accessorised with Italian shoes and Prada purses. Blonde hair was worn long and glossy. They looked like the pampered princesses she’d been. Today, it stung.
“God, I miss those days.”
“What?”
Wincing, she gave Bud a sheepish smile and took her coffee, “Never mind, and thanks.”
“Sure. Oh and here’s a tip, avoid the demons.”
Choking on a mouthful of foam, Cordelia turned back thinking she couldn’t have heard that right. “Come again?”
“The demons; actors paid to entertain the shoppers. They’re roaming all over, didn’t they tell you?” He could tell by the blank look on her face she hadn’t. Leaning over he explained, “So customers don’t sue they’ve been told to keep any um… antics to the mall staff. We got told we’re expected to take part at the staff meeting this morning.”
She’d overslept and missed it. “You have got to be kidding me?”
“Would I do that to a fellow colleague?” Grinning, Bud shook his head. “Why do you think I haven’t moved out of here once today?”
“Great, where can I get me one of those,” she grumbled and moved off again, warily eyeing the crowds moving between the escalators, fountains and circular gardens. Demons had always been drawn to her, which was why she’d always been lumbered with the role of bait-girl by Buffy. Just because she was a couple of hundred miles away, she didn’t make the mistake of thinking the fake kind would be any different.
As fate would have it, when searching for demons she spotted a familiar dark head on broad-black covered shoulders, or at least thought she had. Angel was here, shopping? As in, willingly being stuck among crowds of people, dodging speeding buggies and painted clowns on stilts selling balloons? For the first time in hours a real smile blossomed. “What, he ran out of crushed velvet long-johns and thought he’d pop into k-mart. This I gotta see.”
Still not certain she wasn’t seeing things, Cordelia made her way though the obstacle course made up of candy, hot-dog and toy vendors towards where she thought she seen the vampire. A glance skyward allayed a sudden stab of fear. Of course there was no direct sunlight, everybody would bake and then who would part the shoppers from their cash, or credit cards.
So, it was possible Angel was here, just not very plausible given what she remembered of the dour and brooding vamp with a soul.
Intent on her own hunt, Cordelia forgot all about watching out for demon/actors until a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. Jumping like a scalded cat and spinning around, hazel eyes widened seeing a guy who looked like he’d got Frankenstein and big foot mixed up in a bad way. Oh crap.
Back-peddling she lied, “Hey, I’d love to..ya know…help with the holiday mood and all, but I’m running an errand, so-“ She bumped into another of them and groaned. God, could this day get any worse?
A dark blur answered that silent question. Before she could blink Semi-naked and hairy Frank was picked up and thrown bodily to crash into the candy stand, getting himself covered in pink candy-floss; while the cowl-covered monk in a skull mask was picked up by the throat and swung around once before being catapulted through the glass window of an electrical store. Ouch!
Oh-my-God. “Angel” she wailed, “what are you doing?”
In the process of grabbing her up to haul off to safety, Angel paused, “Saving you from demons.”
Cordelia’s jaw dropped in disbelief, “Are you insane?” Thumping him hurt her hand more than him. The dumbass just looked bemused and glanced down at the spot on his chest she’d nearly broken her knuckles on. “Forget I asked, of course your freakin’ insane. Only this time you’ve really out-done yourself.”
“Hey!” Dark brows lowered into a severe frown. Hands on hips, Angel growled low, “They were attacking you-“
“They were actors. It’s Halloween for chrissake. You might know it; it’s the one night in the year you’re actually expected to roam around causing mayhem.” She yelled infuriated.
The penny dropped, well crashed, and not for the first time around this girl, Angel wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. All around them a crowd of on-lookers stood ogling them and looking fully prepared to bolt if he started tossing people around again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know-“
She wasn’t having any of it. “What the hell happened to that so-called super vamp sense of smell?” A hand waved wildly in front of his face, nearly smacking him on the nose, “I thought you could tell the difference?” she asked, irritation in every line.
“I can-do…normally…” flustered, Angel stopped and tried again, “what I mean is, normally, yes.”
“So, what? It took a day off today of all days and you decided to pay me a visit and get me fired?”
Fired? Angel gulped realising the mess he’d caused would have repercussions for her. “I’ll explain it wasn’t your fault. You won’t get fired.”
“You think?” she jeered.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia saw the security guards wading through the crowd. She shoved him away, “Get out of here, Angel, before I change my mind and let them drag you off to a padded cell.”
He didn’t want to leave her, but couldn’t think how to smooth this over. Usually he would just punch his way free. “Cordelia…”
“Will you just get going, already. You can’t help me and what the hell do you think they’ll say when they can’t find your pulse?”
9 p.m.
“Those look gruesome,” Lee smirked, “I didn’t know ogling photos of mutilated corpses was one of your peccadillo’s.”
“They’re not. I’m just thinking is all.” Lindsey flicked him a sardonic glance, “You should try it some time.” He was beating his head against a brick wall, but couldn’t stop, no couldn’t afford, to stop trying. Frustration was bitch who unfortunately loved him. Dropped the grisly photos, he rubbed a finger between tense brows, before admitting low, “Holland is getting testy about the thirteenth name.”
“Hmmm, still can’t find the elusive, Mr Chase, huh?” Dropping into the chair opposite, Lee stretched out his legs. “Don’t you just hate it when that happens? It’s just a name, somebody somewhere knows him.”
“Somebody knows, yeah. Its just finding who that is that’s driving me insane.” The swivel chair was one of Lindsay’s favourite things about his office. Turning to survey the cityscape below his expression turned pensive. “Thirteen, unlucky for some,” he murmured without thinking.
Unseen, Lee grinned again, enjoying Lindsay’s tense pre-occupation. “Keep your priorities straight, unlucky for them you mean.”
Lindsey just grunted and wished Holland had given this case to someone else. At the time promotional opportunities had blinded him to the pitfalls. It wasn’t taking human life that bothered him, unless it was his own. No, he could handle that knowing that it would have happened anyway, only giving someone else the kudos if he suffered an attack of conscience. The way he figured it, humans were only tolerated by the senior partners, so what were a few early deaths?
Lee was talking again and reluctantly Lindsay tuned back in, “…why not do one of those radio ads. You know the ones I mean, emergency broadcasts when a family member is dying and nobody knows how to get in touch.”
The idea had merit except for one crucial thing. Swinging back, Lindsay was pleased to shoot him down, “Then what happens when he turns up dead, Lee?” He shook his head in mock admonishment, “What have I told you about thinking and consequences, huh?”
As usual, the barb slid off Lee’s rhinoceros hide. “Pay someone to pay someone to do it. Hell, throw in a reward. What have you got to lose?”
9.30 p.m.
Unaware of the strife she was causing a law firm she’d never heard of, Cordelia Chase was having a crisis of her own. She’d arrived on location expecting a bit part in a romantic drama, only to find she was the lead in a porno. Shocked to the core and speechless for once, she’d been hustled downstairs to get changed before she could work out which screeching objection to get out first.
It looked more like a scrap of black net that a costume, worse the sequins seemed designed to draw the eye, rather than conceal her nipples.
“Will somebody please tell me what I’m doing here? God, I should have guessed from the title. Sugar and Spice, ugh. Tom, you are so dead when I catch up with you… big fat weasel!”
Tom was her soon-to-be-fired-after-maiming agent. Snatching the offending costume off the peg, she gave it a shake as if that action alone would make it a little more substantial and heckova lot less whorish. It didn’t work.
“No way am I wearing that.” Throwing it down in disgust the garment landed in a tangle of sequins and gossamer thin nylon. Whirling to pace, she threw up her hands. “Damn it, I should have smelled a rat when I found out it was a night-time gig. Is the guy deaf? I said drama, comedy and commercials. At no time did I say I’d do porn, eww!”
Hands on hips, both cheeks puffed out as she pondered her latest excruciating embarrassment. She had to get out of here. The only problem was she was surrounded by a film crew that looked like they belonged on the Jolly Roger. Somehow she didn’t think they’d take her leaving well.
“So sneak. You can do sneaking can’t you?” Still pacing as much as her short denim skirt would let her, Cordy shrugged. “How difficult can it be? Porn-kings…not exactly loaded with smarts, ya know?”
Maybe not, but she was in a basement bathroom with the ‘movie’s’ director pacing the hall up top waiting for her to emerge. Rather than deflating her that realisation just got her more irate. Pride had her stilling with a spine ramrod straight. A black scowl creased between perfectly plucked brows. Who the hell did he think he was, stopping her from making a dignified exit when none of this was her fault? She hadn’t had a clue what the project was about until she got here. If they couldn’t film today; it was their own problem, not hers.
Well, there was no point wasting any more time. Snatching up her purse Cordelia stomped towards the stairs and freedom.
“I’m leaving and if he tries to stop me, I’ll kick him hard enough to turn him into a eunuch, then scream until his eardrums burst.”
Rattled and with her aggravation meter squarely in the danger-zone, she didn’t stop with the epithets and diatribe the whole time she was ascending. “…Jerk, loser- scumbag. I mean who the hell does he think he is, patting my ass. Nobody pats my ass unless I give them a certified written invitation.”
Shuddering just thinking of that narrow, leering face, Cordelia faced the fact she’d made a mistake staying. It was too late now, but she should have turned around and walked out the second she laid eyes on him and felt her skin crawl.
What really pissed her off was the fact that normally she was so careful, priding herself on always checking out the details in advance. Today she hadn’t and all because, thanks to Angel’s hero complex, she was now fired and lucky if she didn’t get stuck with a repair bill. Was there such a thing as insurance against idiot vamps?
“Okay, so I’m dumb. Everybody’s allowed to be dumb occasionally. It’s like a cosmic law or something.”
Temper had the door slamming open harder than intended, but Cordelia didn’t slow down. In the hall she didn’t just meet Steve, the scum-bag in question, she barrelled into him. Before he could do more than blink and open his mouth, Steve found a stiff finger jabbing into his chest, scrupulously avoiding gaping areas of canary yellow shirt.
Glaring hazel eyes shot sparks, “You need a shrink if you think I’m gonna wear that thing you call a costume downstairs. You, mister, have just wasted my time.”
Just thinking about the hours she’d spent agonising over her wardrobe and hair had her temper skyrocketing. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to curl hair like mine? Forever that’s what.” Tossing aside long glossy dark strands, she continued to rant, “For your information, I am an actress. As in, I’m selling my talent and not my body. Got it, sicko?!”
Steve didn’t even realise he was backing away down the hall, but her single nail felt like a talon digging for blood. Her mouth kept flapping but he didn’t catch any of it, too, caught up by her beautiful and furious face. She was spitting mad, but fucking gorgeous with it. Seeing that flushed face with honey eyes flashing fire, he couldn’t help but get hard thinking about the fun they could have filming. Jesus, she was a wildcat. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Hank had the equipment which was why he was in front of the camera, but hey, that didn’t mean only he was the only one got to sample the goods. Thinking with his gonads and bypassing his brain, he wrapped a hand around a warm, slim arm.
“Sweetheart, why so angry?” She stopped and stared, narrow-eyed. Missing the signals he gave her his best smile, “We can work this out. Just go and put the costume on like a good girl and we-“
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve just said, have you?”
Guilty as charged. “I was captivated by your beauty.”
Could he spell smarmy? “Yeah right. God, you’re so pathetic it’s unreal. I’m outta here.”
Vibrating with angry disgust, Cordelia swept past him and was at the door before it sunk in for Steve that his actress was walking out on him. He lunged, catching her arm just as she pulled open the front door. They weren’t in a studio today, but a private house and once outside there was no security to stop her, or him for that matter. A tingle spread over his scalp at the errant thought. After the last time, he’d sworn he’d never force another one, but today temptation was strong enough to swamp caution.
Wheedling he said, “Look, you can’t go. I’ll never get a replacement actress in time for today’s shoot. C’mon gimme a break.”
Shaking him off like he had a disease, Cordelia raked him with a scornful glance. “Not a chance and besides, you don’t need an actress, you need a prostitute.” A brow arched, “Among other things.”
Her tone was unmistakable. Grabbing hold of her again, Steve’s narrow face became pinched, the thin lips disappearing altogether. “There’s no need to be bitchy. It’s just a job?” He was getting pissed and it showed.
Cordelia didn’t give a crap if he was getting angry. “Beg to differ, asshole. Now…let-me-go!”
Steve’s thoughts whirled like a rat in a maze. Hitting on a solution his expression turned cunning. He knew how to change her mind and afterward it wouldn’t matter, they’d have the tape as evidence she’d been willing. “No.”
Cordelia gaped “What did you say?”
Her threat radar, usually so proficient, had been drowned out by indignation. Now it kicked into overdrive. Oh Crap!
9.37 p.m.
“I don’t like this,” announced Angel into the silence.
Wesley glanced up from his book, penlight in one hand. “It’s a house?” He made it a question. “Besides, do you really want to risk another fiasco like in the mall?”
That’s was true and it looked innocent enough, but over the last two centuries Angel had learned not to question his instincts. Opening the Plymouths door, he left Wes with a simple instruction. “Wait for me here. I’m going to check it out.”
Eyeing the tall, powerful figure loping across the street, Wesley shrugged and lost interest when the vampire disappeared amongst the cars and van parked on the drive.
Back inside, Steve the Weasel was a lot stronger than Cordelia had given him credit for having that irritating wiry strength men had even when they weren’t built big. No matter how she struggled and dug in her heels, she was still dragged down the hall and into the floodlit great room.
Pushed into a black leather armchair; panic forced her to re-evaluate her approach. Shakily she said, “Look, can’t we at least talk about this?”
“No.”
So much for a new approach. Ah well, talking is over-rated anyway.
“Fine, let’s not talk then.”
When Steve came back holding a syringe aloft, Cordelia went as tense as a coiled spring. Thinking it was fear, he was unprepared for the white-out pain when she lunged and grasping his balls in merciless fingers, yanking and twisting until he was yowling in pain. He bent double as Cordelia jack-knifed to her feet. The top of her head met his chin and snapped the head back with tongue crunching power.
Dizzy and seeing spots, Cordy dived for the door and screamed when a hard hand grabbed onto her hair, ruthlessly halting her flight.
Dragged back to the chair, tears stung her eyes from the pain in her scalp.
Hoarsely she said, “Did I mention I’ve got herpes?”
When Angel stepped into the room nobody noticed. They were all, too, caught up in the action being caused by a screeching, scratching and kicking female with shapely legs and curvaceous ass being displayed for all to see. Fighting with all of her might, Cordelia hadn’t realised her skirt was around her waist. Later she’d figure that some things just slip your mind when everything you are is being threatened on a fundamental level.
Lots of things flew through Angel’s head; cracking skulls, breaking limbs or tearing them off, ripping some genitals off bodies and stuffing them in mouths for them to choke on. Violence, an integral part of his make-up thanks to being a demon, was for once welcome. A red mist of rage rose up.
A single glance assured him she hadn’t been stripped, meaning the assault hadn’t got sexual yet. He still wanted to kill them. Any girl being treated this way would cause him to intervene, but he knew Cordelia and that made it personal.
Three men were wrestling with her on the chair, two of them holding her arms and trying to still her legs, while the third was injecting something into her. Wading in, he lifted needle-guy and one of the others by their collars off her and simply knocked their heads together, knocking them senseless, before tossing them into a virtual forest of camera’s and boomers. With the last of the trio, he drew back and drove a fist full into the guys shocked face, sending him spinning away with a spurt of blood and several loose teeth.
They noticed him now. With his back to Cordelia, Angel faced them off and counted a total of seven males in the room. Seven-to-one, it didn’t take much imagination to guess how this would have ended. Given what he was and how he’d been before being resouled, he got the visuals in 3-D, and the resulting urge to vamp-out had ripples running along the skin of his face. Behind him, Cordelia’s thundering pulse and panting breathes filled his ears until he tuned them out to focus.
Dazed and frightened out of her wits, at first Cordelia had thought they’d pulled off her of their own accord; until she’d looked up and saw a darkly murderous face she recognised. Heart leaping, she realised why the attack had ended so abruptly. Still handsome and yet brutal with his teeth gritted and lips drawn back in a snarl, he was literally a sight for sore eyes. Angel had come to save her- again. Second time lucky she thought semi-hysterically.
Oh God, only in her world were the saviour’s vampires. Bizarrely nobody else, not even a room full of cops, could have made her feel safe so quickly. The kicker with that was that as the fear drained her temper soared again.
“Are you okay, Cordelia?” Angel asked a little tersely, something she forgave him for since he was standing between her and them.
“Peachy now you’re here.” The rusty sound of her voice gave away more than the words. She licked her lips and tacked on a heartfelt, “Thanks.”
He had his back to her and didn’t see the building fury. It felt like every muscle in her body was clenched to snapping point. Goose-bumps chased along the skin of her arms and legs. Everything she’d suffered in the last few minutes was nothing more than a taste of what might have been if not for Angel. Growing up on a hell-mouth meant she was used to being saved- from demons. Heck, that was almost natural, but needing to be saved from human beings was more than she could stomach.
Through the thick fog of rage coursing through her, Cordelia heard Angel talking to her attackers, “The only reason you aren’t lying in a pool of your own blood is that Cordelia has been through enough tonight. We’re leaving and if any of you move, I’ll reconsider.”
Leaving, just like that? The words came out of nowhere, “Don’t let me stop you, Angel.”
They were like the ripples following a rock being thrown in a still pond. All eyes swung her way. Standing, Cordelia stepped out from behind the protective shield of Angel’s tall frame with her head high and eyes gleaming. “In fact, forget that. I’m not leaving…”
She made a slow beeline for Steve, “…until I give you all something to think about for the future.”
Stunned by her reckless move, Angel gaped and then went to intervene; halting the attempt when she snapped her head around to pin him with a glare. He didn’t need to hear the words, don’t try and stop me. Every line of her stiffly held body screamed revenge. Cordelia saw his acceptance when his gaze shifted back to the men. Turning her head, she got back to stalking a dazed and uncomprehending Steve. Angel stepped back, content to remain a silent warning of swift reprisal if she didn’t get her way.
A few minutes later, outside with the star-studded and clear sky making the air crisp, Angel watched Cordelia walk stiffly towards the Plymouth. She was careful to keep a few feet between them. Strangely uncomfortable with the silence, he was moved to break it.
“I think you busted his jaw,” he said awkwardly.
Cordelia’s back stiffened at the sound of his voice. Reaching the car she didn’t open the door but instead turned to face him. From her tight expression he could see it coming and was helpless to deflect her.
“Not that I’m not grateful, but do you want to explain to me how you came to be there?” Before he could open his mouth she held up a hand. “And before you say it, I don’t believe in coincidence. Spill, Angel”
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