Demon Angel

best. And that you show up with an injury that looks like something out of a horror flick, and that the doctors tell us your rate of recovery has been… unusual. But we have no evidence to give to my superiors that might protect you—and I don't doubt Smith will be coming after you soon. We can help you," Taylor said. "But we need you to give us something, too."
    He smiled for the first time since awakening. "That sounds very much like a bargain," he said. Pulling away from her, he slowly walked back to the bedside table and collected his eyeglasses. "But not one either of us can fulfill. I don't have any evidence to trade, and you certainly can't protect me."
    "If you don't have physical evidence, we'll take information."
    "What good will anything I have to say be? Even your partner doesn't believe you," Hugh said, glancing past her to Preston.
    The older man stiffened. "I do."
    "You only believe that she believes it."
    "Perhaps that is true, but it doesn't change the fact that he is willing to listen," Taylor said. "And I couldn't blame him for not believing what he has not seen."
    He'd once told Lilith almost exactly the same thing, but referring to a priest instead of a detective. His chest ached at the memory, more fiercely than his injuries.
    Where was she?
    Taylor's cell phone rang, saving him from an immediate response; she scowled at the display before answering. Her tone changed quickly, and she looked at Preston, wide-eyed.
    "Tom's sending the images through now," she said, and handed her partner the phone. Tucking her hands into her blazer, she rocked back on her heels and waited, watching Preston with an expectant—almost triumphant—expression.
    Hugh turned away, looking over the room to make sure he'd left nothing unpacked. It was white, sterile—exactly the type of room that made him most uncomfortable, and he'd heal no more quickly here than at home. And, when she returned, Lilith would know where to find him.
    If she returned.
    "They could be faked," Preston said suddenly, with a note of aggrieved disbelief.
    "Dr. Castleford, is Agent Milton a demon?" Taylor asked.
    Hugh's ribs protested as he jerked his head up, turning back to stare at the detectives. Preston held the phone in his hand, frowning down at it.
    Taylor's eyes narrowed on Hugh's face. "She is. And you knew who she was when we visited your office with her on Friday." She made a disgusted sound. "And the setup congeals. She gave us the letter, which, because of your book, only made us more suspicious of you."
    Hugh looked between the two of them, then at the phone; relenting, he offered, "She didn't know about the book. The letter was designed to lead you to Polidori's and the nosferatu, and to remove suspicion from me."
    As if understanding the information meant that he was bargaining, Taylor countered, "You must realize telling us that only implicates you in a conspiracy to falsify evidence. Why is one agent from the FBI planting evidence against you, and another agent trying to do the opposite? Why would she use the letter, instead of bringing forth real evidence to clear your name?"
    "There is none. And the semen and the blood at her apartment are mine." Hugh glanced at Preston. "She has to lie; she's a demon. She protects herself by lying. It allows her to excuse any good that comes from it."
    "Why would she need the excuse?" Preston rose from the chair, gave the cell phone back to Taylor.
    Hugh's expression hardened, and he shook his head. "No. It's your turn."
    A smile played around Taylor's mouth, and she gave him the phone. Hugh had to squint to make out the picture on the display: black and white, slightly blurred—but the figure in the center was undeniably Lilith. In her human form, except for the dark outline of her wings. A small, dark figure lay at her feet.
    "Press the back arrow," Taylor instructed.
    With his thumb, he moved through two more pictures: a close-up of Lilith's face, and the grainy image did little to conceal the resignation in her expression; and another, from a different angle, with her back to a small crowd—she was poised on the bridge railing, as if about to leap over. His throat closed; wordlessly, he handed it back to Taylor, and waited.
    Preston said, "According to witnesses, she caught a jumper, then jumped over the side herself."
    The relief and joy that washed over him left his knees weak, and he slowly sat down onto the hospital bed. "She saved him?"
    "Scared the shit out of him, too."