PART 3
Taxco, Mexico
Taxco, modest in comparison to the other cities, with its red-roofed, white-walled houses, lay sprawled over a steep hillside. From the moment the sun rose it was a burning yellow disc that hurt to look at. Dogs yapped and barked as they chased breakfast, careering around the narrow streets and awakening residents.
The main street, brimming with silver shops exactly as it has for the last three centuries was abruptly brought to a standstill by a piercingly shrill scream. Immediately all heads turned to search out the unexpected and alien sound; then surged towards an hysterical woman who’d erupted from an alley between the fish-mongers and the Silver-Conchas Taverna.
Babbling and gesticulating wildly she made little sense even to neighbours who had known her from childhood. Stella Gonzalas; a forty three-year-old dressmaker with three daughters and expecting her first grandchild soon, had just stumbled onto a mutilated body in her work-shop, and all of the blessings in her life couldn’t remove it from her sight.
“¡Ayudame, ayudame! Madre Santa, ayudame!” Rocking back and forth on her knees she wailed with worn hands pressed into her eyes and digging deep as if to remove something etched there. “ Es horrible, monstruoso. Pobre alma asesinada. Se an llevado su corazón!” Latching onto one of those trying to comfort her, Stella’s face was a waxen mask and her voice a hushed terrified whisper, “Es el diablo, te digo. ¡Esta aquí!”
At the edge of the crowd and over the hysterical sobbing another voice broke in; drawing the attention of a shop-keeper. “Can you understand her? I don’t speak Spanish. She sure is upset about something.”
Esteban Guierrez turned to find a young blonde americano with a smart blue pinstripe suit and clutching a black briefcase. Still shaken from what he’s heard, he spoke without thinking. “There has been a murder, senor. She says the devil has taken a man’s heart. She says he is here still.”
Then noticing the cold and pitiless blue eyes of his listener, Esteban shook his head and backed away, never taking his eyes off the Wolfram & Hart Lawyer as he made his escape with snakes of terror riding his spine.
***
There was no doubt about it, her life had taken a really bizarre twist.
When Angel had first offered her a job two weeks ago, she’d turned him down flat. Standing beside his big black monster of a car with him looking strangely intent after rescuing her from potential rape, Cordelia had been stunned he’d go to so much trouble to track her down and ask. At the time she’d meant it too.
Growing up in a hellmouth meant you had to choose what you were going to be and that choice had nothing to do with careers and benefits packages. Sunnydale turned out three kinds of people; the fighters, the victims and the escapees. She considered herself firmly in the last category and no way was she stepping back into that arena.
His visible disappointment hadn’t penetrated the thick fog of smothering shock buffering her at the time. But she remembered it later on with her head down the toilet while she noisily spewed everything she’d eaten that day. Thinking herself alone the gentle fingers pulling her hair out of the way had came as a complete surprise. Pride and gratitude warred and for once pride lost; especially since the cool hand rubbing along her spine felt so damned good; soothing the over-heated flesh and massaging muscles knotted with tension.
After what seemed an age and knees hurting from kneeling she’d sagged between bouts of heaving. Trembling all over and practically helpless, Cordelia would have slid to the floor then if Angel hadn’t caught her. Lifting her effortlessly to lie draped over his thigh, he supported her weight so she wouldn’t have to and kept her head still within range of the bowl.
It was dumb, but despite feeling like shit and crying like a baby, the memory of that hour made her feel…good. She tried, but Cordelia couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her like that; outside of paid professionals anyway.
The weird thing was Cordelia knew damn well Angel hadn’t even liked her that much back in Sunnydale, and as much as she hated to admit it, she’d hadn’t really given him much to like. Still living the rarefied life of the rich and popular, Angel had been nothing more than a hottie she’d wanted to claim as her own. Back then, it hadn’t occurred to her to look beyond the package of a handsome face and a tall, muscled body.
Worse, when she’d found out he was a bona-fide member of the undead, she’d labelled him as a ‘thing’ and dismissed him from her mind.
Pulling her wits together out of sheer willpower, he’d felt strangely warm under her hands; a miracle for a walking corpse. Bracing herself to face him it was his steady and concerned brown eyes that helped her swimming head focus. Gazes locked; the sickening shifting inside her body died down, and in that moment with her defences down he unknowingly breached the walls she’d built around herself.
Kneeling in the shelter of that big body, she finally understood what it was that had kept Buffy enthralled; the quality that had made the blonde slayer melt even after all he’d done as Angelus.
God, Angel really cared.
It scared and thrilled her. Then it made her feel ashamed because even as she did an about-turn and accepted the job, Cordelia knew her reasons had more to with wanting to hold onto that concern; especially coming from someone who’d known her at her worst. Brimming with self-confidence and assuming an assurance bordering on arrogance was more of a habit than reality.
No woman’s an island.
Which was why she was going to be the best damned assistant he’d ever had. By the time she was finished he’d be lost without her, or her name wasn’t Cordelia Chase. She was a different person now. Still a bitch sure, but she saved that for the really deserving. Okay, and maybe the odd occasion when somebody she cared about did something completely dumb, or refused to see reason.
He wasn’t taking her idea seriously. Frustrated by the lack of foresight he was showing, Cordelia planted both hands on her hips, “Hey, it’s not like you’re rolling in it, Mr I’ve-been-alive-and-broke-for-two-centuries. I’ve seen your books and even cooking those babies won’t scramble that bottom line. Did they not have any Fortune 500 for Angelus to target back in the day?”
“Money wasn’t exactly the object at the time,” Seated at his desk, Angel looked insulted. “And I’m two-hundred and forty five.”
You had to be a vampire to be sensitive about losing nearly half a century. Hazel eyes rolled, “Whatever. A costume and an ad in a paper won’t kill you *and* it’ll inject some much needed mullah into this place.”
He had that blank look on his face, like he was watching her lips move without listening to a word. It drove her crazy.
Wearing a sundress that managed to be both sinfully sexy and teasingly demure all at the same time, Cordelia hauled in impatience. One suede covered foot tapped impatiently. Cajoling charm hadn’t worked; back-handed compliments hadn’t worked and to top it off he still appeared infuriatingly impassive after her third attempt. She wasn’t getting anywhere, but since when did a little thing like that stop her?
“Cordelia, just…will you-“ he stopped with a sigh thinking what was the use asking Cordelia not to interfere. It was like asking her not to exist.
Sitting behind his desk with what he was fast concluding was his own personal nemesis standing only two ft away, Angel felt trapped, cornered and powerless. Since she’d come to work for him, Cordelia had ignored or brushed aside every signal, or barrier he’d sent out or built. She was wearing him down and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out a way to stop her.
“I don’t like having my picture taken,” he said finally, reaching for any excuse and praying she’d accept it. “In fact the last time I did I ate the artist afterward.”
Frustration drove him to add the last and he regretted it instantly. Tense, Angel waited for disgust to cross replace the arch ‘I’m waiting one’. As much as they’d loved one another, Buffy had always backed away from him the instant he let any of his past slip out. He hadn’t blamed her for that.
Cordelia didn’t bat a lash. Flipping the magazine to dangle open, she thrust it at him so he could see the attractive blonde in a suit selling accident claims. “Hello! We’re talking a photograph here, not some dumb portrait. Twentieth Century ringing any bells?”
His relief that Cordelia seemed to have missed his slip was short-lived. She wasn’t going to let it go. Angel let the silence lengthen. So far he’d changed how he dressed; wearing lighter colours after she’d complained his black-on- black look ‘sucked the life out of the office’. Then he’d let her re-organise both his desk and the filing all in the name of keeping her occupied, and finally he’d kicked Wes off the outer office desk to give Cordelia her own space.
There were limits and he’d just reached his. Enough was enough. His chair scraped on the floor as he stood.
Glowering from lowered brows Angel rapped his knuckles on the desk and said, “I’m not doing an advertisement in a paper, Cordelia, now drop it.” There; he’d used his hardest voice, the one that always guaranteed instant obedience.
“You need more clients.” She shot back, blithely ignoring his unequivocal tone and thrusting out a slim tanned arm pointed toward the outer office. “This place could be swarming with bored, and not to mention rich housewives, all wanting dark and handsome to solve their supernatural problems. Just think of the money…and- my salary.”
Frozen and catapulted back into the past Angel didn’t have a choice but to picture it. Bored housewives in his considerable experience meant heavy perfume and lots of uncovered skin? That nightmare image came all too vividly to mind, bringing a few others along for the ride. When he’d had a taste for upper-class food, Angelus had used his looks to draw in victims, turning their ennui against them. Remembrance had his nostrils flaring as if to catch the elusive scent of warm female skin. The resulting deluge of Cordelia’s fragrance and his unwilling reaction to it had him almost whimpering, and then bolting.
His silence went on too long. “Angel?” Cordelia prodded, impatience in every svelte line.
Sometimes escape was the only option. “I have clients. I don’t need to advertise,” Angel tossed over one shoulder and snatching his coat off the peg, he almost knocked Wesley off his feet as he passed him at the door to outside.
From the stairwell Angel’s deep voice floated back to Wesley as he steadied himself against the doorframe, “Don’t leave her alone.”
A week later…
“How are things with Angel?” asked Giles.
“Getting there, less strained,” Wesley replied into the phone and sipped at his tea. “He and Cordelia seem to have got past their initial difficulties.”
There was a telling silence before a low chuckle, “Hmm, I can imagine what those were?”
You really can’t. He didn’t say it and the mug stilled in mid-air as loyalty warred with the need to air his growing concerns. Sighing, Wes lowered it to the table and sat back on his sagging couch. “It’s been a difficult time for Angel. Lots of memories have been brought back, wounds re-opened. He’s coping and Cordelia is settling in. I suppose on the surface things are working out nicely.”
Rupert Giles was no fool. “Only on the surface?”
Wesley opted not to answer directly. “Do you remember our discussions back in Sunnydale? The ones about Angelus and his…pre-occupation, shall we say, for women?”
“If you mean his tendency to save his most sadistic and inventive games for any female that caught his eye, then yes, I recall them vividly.” Giles went audibly tense, his tone crisp. Wesley could picture the older man as he straightened at his desk. “What about them?” Giles prodded.
“You may not have noticed back then, with his attention so firmly on Buffy, but Angel has a similar focus. Over time I’ve noticed a marked difference between his behaviour with male and female clients.”
“He’s more attentive to women clients?”
“No, it’s not that per se. Angel focuses on what needs to be done. “Wesley searched for a way to explain Angel’s intensity and what was recently bothering him. “Let me put it this way. He takes aggression against women very personally; more so than with a man.”
“The need to atone coming out in a latent fashion, possibly?” suggested Giles before continuing, “I’ve always marvelled at the irony of Angel. It’s a quirk of his that what once made him the most evil of vampires, keeps turning out to be his more useful qualities as a champion for the Powers.”
Obsessive stalking had become untiring body-guarding, and a predator’s dedication to gaining his objective. Useful indeed. “I agree, but that focus tends to make the client, particularly the female ones, dependant on him. A circumstance he refuses to see and won’t do anything about.” To Wesley it seemed Angel actively preferred it that way.
Giles was confused, “I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this. What does this have to do with Cordelia?”
“He’s become almost possessive of her.”
Only when it was physically impossible would Angel let him do any of the watching over of Cordelia and even then it was with reluctance. That was only one of many things bothering Wesley. There was something else growing between the oft-times sparring pair.
“Of Cordelia…” Giles sounded shocked, “and she allows this?”
Not understanding the significance of the last Wesley didn’t address it. “It’s not obvious unless you’ve been working with him long enough to know what is normal and what isn’t. He bends over backwards to keep her happy, but refuses to be honest about what’s going on. Personally, I think he’s got Cordelia, Buffy and Doyle all wrapped in one big, mess of a triangle.”
“Oh dear.”
***
With Cordelia not due for a while, Wesley decided to broach Angel on the topic of their latest case. Matters had become strained between the two of them recently and despite having so far only danced around the subject, he knew Angel was aware of his disapproval. Not that it did him any blasted good. Nobody told Angel what he should and shouldn’t do, although perhaps with the single exception of Cordelia herself.
Nervously certain that he was headed for an unpleasant interview, he took the stairs to go down to the vampire’s apartment rather than use the noisy elevator.
Seated in an armchair with only a few lamps on to provide a dim light, Angel looked normal, even relaxed. His dog-eared photograph of Buffy was laid carefully on the chair’s arm, close to hand and spying it, Wesley almost felt foolish enough to leave. Possessive of Cordelia indeed!
Having known the instant Wesley began his descent and without looking up as he slowly turning a page, Angel stopped his retreat. “What did you want, Wesley?”
“I’m concerned about Cordelia.”
The dark head stayed down-bent, “Don’t be. Nothing’s going to happen to Cordelia. I won’t allow it.”
Being brushed off got Wesley irritated enough to push. “That’s all well and good, Angel, and I know you mean it. However…”
A dark basilisk stare sliced into him for the pause. “Spit it out Wesley, you’ve been twitchy for days.”
A deep breath seemed wise. “I think keeping her in the dark is a mistake.” He rushed on before Angel cut him off. “I really don’t see the harm in warning her she’s the target of a group of demons set on removing her heart.”
“That’s because you don’t know her. I made the decision based on what I knew of Cordelia from Sunnydale. Right or wrong, the time for confessions has past.” Angel didn’t let any of his own uncertainties show. At the time he’d done what he thought best.
The expression on that hard face didn’t change. A sure sign he was annoyed in the extreme, and the tone suggested the discussion was over. Refusing to drop his gaze, Wesley ignored the sudden desire to answer natures call. Carefully he said, “I don’t agree.”
In the months since he’d joined Angel in his mission this was the first time he’d ever directly questioned the vampire’s methods.
There was a long pause before Angel set aside his book and got up to walk into the kitchen. Wesley wasn’t sure if his destination being the refrigerator and its gory contents was a subliminal message. Angel was a hero, of that he had no doubt, but being a watcher wouldn’t let him forget there was a villain in there, too.
Keeping his back turned to Wesley, Angel poured and drank from a tall glass. Only when he was finished did he turn and answer. “If Cordelia knew the truth she would never trust me again and probably leave LA.” The memory of a contrite and ashamed Xander had him adding, “She can be unforgiving about being deceived, no matter what the reason.”
The Xander situation was much more extreme, but it still applied.
He’d begun, so he’d finish. “I wouldn’t blame her. You’re using her as bait aren’t you?”
The accusation abruptly reminded Angel why he hated being questioned. “Doyle’s last vision was about Cordelia and Buffy; three very good reasons why I won’t let her run away from this. As for being bait, she can’t outrun them anyway. Three of the victims had already left California and they still ended up dead. I can’t protect her if I can’t reach her.”
The slam of the door upstairs and a cheerful, “Hello, anybody here?” was heard before Wes could frame a reply. Pushing away from the counter Angel brushed past him with a low voiced warning, “This conversation is over. Agree with me or not; we’re doing this my way.”
Upstairs Cordelia had already managed to stake a claim on the whole office. Her denim jacket was thrown across her desk, a chiffon scarf that hadn’t been there before hung over the wooden railing dividing the office, and a box of donuts had been dumped beside the coffee maker; with the girl herself rummaging around inside the fragrant container.
Leaning on the doorframe Angel shrugged off his irritation enough to say pleasantly, “You’re early. We weren’t expecting you for another couple of hours?” He wasn’t anywhere near as relaxed as he appeared. Her predictable schedule was one of the bonuses of the case, one of the few.
Triumphantly clutching a white sprinkled confection, she said airily. “My last class got cancelled. So, here I am ready to be Girl Friday to your Dark Knight. Besides, it was here or home since I can’t afford to go shopping until you pay me.” Pausing she arched a brow, “That’s a hint in case you missed it.”
As usual around her, Angel was nonplussed. “Paydays next Friday,” he hazarded and made a mental note only to feel a stab of guilt seeing the fleeting wince that passed over hazel eyes. She was short of cash. Damn.
He followed her with his eyes as she rounded the desk to sit down, “Look, Cordelia, if you need money-“
Between licking sticky icing off her fingers, she brushed him off, “I just bought donuts didn’t I? I’m fine, stop fretting.”
Powerless to stop it, Angel felt a smile curve at the picture she made; so fastidious and yet with a blob of dough and sugar waiting to be devoured. “Would you tell me if you weren’t?” he asked following his instincts and guessing not. He understood pride, and respected it.
Mid bite, Cordelia crinkled her nose and waited to swallow before answering. “I was kidding, Angel. Geeze, don’t take me so seriously. Go have a donut and chill,” thinking about it she added, “If that’s possible for you. For a dead guy you have a habit of getting hot under the collar.”
After the first few days, he’d learned not to take her references to his lack of a pulse personally. In fact their occasional sparring over his vampirism was strangely relaxing. Now he crossed his arms and quirked a brow. “I don’t eat, remember?”
“Like I could forget the liquid lunch.” Her eyes rolled, “Try it and put those fangs to good use on something solid for a change. Besides, I want know what you’re like on a sugar high.”
Dumbstruck, he nearly laughed. In two centuries he’d never met anyone like her. Cordelia’s bluntness, acidic wit and deceptively off-hand concern were entirely hers. Based on the time he’d spent with her Angel accepted he hadn’t known her at all before. For a girl who he’d dismissed as self-absorbed, her curiosity about everyone and everything kept blindsiding him.
That wasn’t the only aspect of Cordelia that knocked him off stride. After a year Wesley still struggled to even mention his food supply, never mind plop a glass of blood on his desk and tell him caustically to drink up because he was making him nervous chewing on a pencil. She was something else and he’d been in a daze for an hour after that.
Realising he was staring Angel reached over to flick up the lid and looking inside it, said dryly, “You don’t want to see me on any kind of a high, Cordelia, trust me.”
Helplessly basking under the undivided attention of someone who had once struggled to say two words to her, that little reminder didn’t sink in straight away
When it did her eyes went wide and Cordelia’s shot out of her chair and made it across the room in record time. Then snatching the box of sugary goodness out of reach, she backed up and grinning, gave in to the impulse and taunted. “Good point, so hands-off. No highs of any kind for the boss, or his evil alter ego.”
For just a fraction of a second after seeing Cordelia dance backwards to her desk, Angel was tempted by the idea of giving chase. He even tensed in anticipation of making a move. What stopped him was the knowledge that he wasn’t remotely interested in the box only her reaction if he did. The realisation was as stunning as a douse of icy water.
Cordelia sensed it, too. They both froze and stared with mouths going dry.
So engrossed in their impromptu game and its abrupt close neither noticed the still figure of Wesley. Watching from the inner office and uncomfortable at the by-play, he finally stepped up and spoke to announce his presence. “Does that go for me, too, or can I snaffle one?”
Focused entirely on Angel, Cordelia jerked at the intrusive sound of a new voice and then feeling embarrassed, snapped, “Geeze, sneak much. You’re as bad as he is. Next time cough or something will you?” Wes didn’t seem to be listening, too busy eyeing both her and Angel. Feeling unaccountably awkward she followed up with a sheepish shrug and slid the box on the desk. “And sure, help yourself.”
Returning to her seat, Cordelia didn’t look back at Angel as she sat down again, pretending instead to have a pressing need to stare fixedly at a blank screen.
Behind the still expression her thoughts whirled. Whoa! What the hell had just happened? Angel had looked ready to pounce and the thrill that had given her suggested she wouldn’t have minded all that much. “I need to get more.”
“You’re going out?!”
They both voiced the question simultaneously and it was only then Cordelia realised she’d spoken out-loud. Scrupulously avoiding Angel, she focused on Wesley, “Is that a problem, because if it is, tough. Nobody mentioned it when I signed on for this gig.”
***
Kate Lockley was punchy from lack of sleep, but the strain shadowing light blue eyes didn’t lessen their sharpness. Blonde hair was scraped back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way and her tee-shirt, jeans and jacket were plain and utilitarian. She was second in line of the cavalcade of unmarked cars. Directly behind her and sandwiched between her and the last sedan was the windowless van ferrying one very nervous Jason C. Richards. He had every reason to be nervous since his was the last name on the list of donee’s and he was the only remaining survivor; a fact that did not make for reassuring reading.
They’d located and contacted him and now they were bringing him back home to Los Angeles at his own request. She had to wonder at that decision, given all the indications so far pointed to the killers working out of LA. Still, he was a free man in a free country and all they could do was protect him. At least he’d agreed to go to a safehouse.
When Kate had told Angel what was going on, he’d offered to shadow them, but knowing how twitchy the whole department was and that a strange car shadowing would be noticed, she’d turned him down. A decision she now sincerely regretted. Being a cop was bred into her bones and instincts honed from experience were screaming a warning. If they reached the safehouse unscathed it would be a miracle. Her hand hovered over the police radio before reluctantly dropping.
The streets showed no unusual or suspicious activity; meaning she had nothing to report other than a serious case of the heebie-jeebies. Not exactly something the other guys would want to hear.
A few miles down the road an old woman was crossing the street at an excruciatingly slow pace. Braking was the last thing Kate wanted to do, but with no choice she did so and watched the tan van follow suit in her rearview mirror.
This close she could see through the lead car without a problem. Staring at the bent figure, she willed her to move faster with her fingers tapping a nervous tattoo on the steering wheel.
Then her eyes went wide and the bottom dropped out of her belly when the ‘old woman’ turned, straightened and whipped off the concealing coat and floppy hat to reveal something that looked anything but human. She got a blurred impression of russet skin and flame red eyes.
“Oh fuck!”
At the same time as the demon leapt onto the roof of the lead car and stabbed a spear-like appendage that had grown out of its ‘hands’ down into the interior, there was a tremendous crash from behind. The sound of metal rending under enormous pressure was followed by an impact strong enough that Kate’s head was slammed onto the steering wheel, leaving her dazed and bleeding.
Something had hit the cavalcade hard enough to send each vehicle ramming into the next. In seconds they’d been reduced to helplessness and crushed together; there was no escape. Gunfire rent the air and flashes of hot lead spat out inside the lead car as well as from the front cab of the van behind her.
Through the steam rising from the twisted hood of her car, the demon stood massively tall and powerfully muscled. Staggering only a fraction under the onslaught, it remorselessly returned to its murderous task, and two stabs later the cops in front lay slumped.
Ogodogodogodogod!
Scrambling for the radio and unclipping her firearm, Kate sucked in a deep breath and got ready to pray for a miracle. What good were bullets for Godsake? her brain screamed, but it was either that or…nothing. Before she could bring the receiver to her lips though to put through an emergency call, the demon leapt onto the hood of her car. Guessing what was going to happen next it was only by reaching out and depressing the seats release to throw herself back did Kate avoid being skewered. Glass showered over her and there was a crunch of plastic followed by a sizzling crackle.
Its focus though was the van behind her and it didn’t stop to make certain she was dead. Heart slamming behind her ribs, Kate felt sick as a single dent appeared above her as it leapt from the car’s roof; swiftly followed by screams from the van and god knows where else.
Trembling like a leaf, she closed her eyes and gathered her courage before reaching for the car door. The radio was wasted and she still had an innocent man to protect. Unfortunately for Jason C. Richards it had gotten twisted in the double crash and refused to open no matter how much she yanked and sobbed with frustration.
Craning her neck around Kate could only watch helplessly as the demon and two others emerged from the van with a slumped figure slung over one shoulder. Tears of helpless fury filled her eyes and feeling hopeless she crawled through to the back of the car between the seats and felt around for her jacket. She needed the cell-phone inside it. Or, more accurately she needed Angel, fast!