ANGEL BLUE [1]

LEAD 33: working stiff[s]

      I’m brooding, and to make things worse, Dad confirmed with me over breakfast at his apartment that he’ll be meeting with Janine Stevens at the airport. He didn’t specify if she was traveling alone, I didn’t particularly care either, but that didn’t excuse the fact that today (as in Christmas Eve) will be spent catching up with my parents.

      “You’re doing it again,” Dad said.

      “What?” I mumbled through a mouthful of chewed-up bacon.

      “Something you inherited from your mother,” he took a gulp of his coffee. “You’re doing everything you can to avoid talking, something happened, you wouldn’t have asked to come over with a bruised face for nothing. What happened Akira―did Samuel hit you?”

      “What―no,” I swallowed. “We revived Nikita and to keep Quade out of it, I had dinner with him. He said something that pissed me off and there was a scuffle, I broke my nose, it was my fault not his.”

      Dad mulled it over for a moment; he took another gulp of his coffee before lowering the mug onto his saucer. His brown eyes hardened to the colour of dark chocolate, the etchings of his deep-set frown lines became prominent as he looked over the redness around my nose, the swelling had gone down at least. However, to Dad, that didn’t make the situation any more bearable.

      “What did Oliver say to set you off?”

      To delay the question longer, I stuffed my face with two more rashers of bacon and chewed slowly. Dad waited patiently for the response which I wasn’t prepared to give. If I told him that I doubted my relationship with Sam (a relationship which I hadn’t mentioned at all), all hell would break loose and Sam would probably (most likely) end up in the gutter where Quade wanted him.

      “Um, I better go,” I scrunched up my napkin and tossed it on the plate. “I’ve got some work to discuss with Nikita.”

      “Akira,” Dad sighed, grabbing onto my wrist. He opened his mouth to say something, probably to stop me from leaving, but he decided against it and gave me a lop-sided smile. The expression didn’t reach his eyes, the chocolate had melted and split, as if what he was thinking couldn’t be spoken aloud. “I’d really appreciate it if you talked to your mother for once, I know what she’s done, but please for my sake―at least be civil with each other, it’s Christmas Eve and I really don’t want you both ending up in a double homicide.”

      “No guns at the table then?” I sighed.

      “No guns at the table,” Dad established with a nod.

      • • •

      My forehead’s pressed so hard into the book I was reading that I think the typeset from the chapter is engraved on my forehead. I stayed up the entire night picking through all available files on Oliver Quade to come up with nothing. For a man known as the Godfather of Exterminations, he’s clean as a whistle―and that really pisses me off.

      There’s not one incriminating piece of evidence I can use against him, not any accountable scrap of material that could condemn him to a life of crime. If Quade is Q, he’s laughing at me, watching with delight as I make a mockery of myself on the worst Christmas Eve of all time. I want to be sitting on the couch watching Criminal Minds Christmas Killer Edition with my boyfriend, not in a pointless feud with my own mind and my doubts.

      Q must feel threatened, causing him to lash out and cause enough damage to distract those on the AB case. He’s being the arsehole that flips the puzzle board when almost all of the pieces are locked into place.