Close To The Ground by Mariotte Jeff

Author:Mariotte, Jeff [Mariotte, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Doyle looked at his watch. Then he looked at the clock on Angel’s computer. Or was it Cordy’s?

Seemed like she was the one who’d gone down to Staples and come back with a trunkload of office supplies when she’d gotten it in her head that Angel should have a real business. And it sat at “her” desk in the outer office.

Whoever the machine belonged to, the point was that both timepieces agreed that it was 11:30 in the morning and Angel hadn’t come home all night. And Doyle was worried.

I mean, he told himself, there’s always the possibility that he met someone and had a pleasant night with same, and is having some trouble dragging himself away.

But this is Angel, he reminded himself. So no, that’s certainly not what happened. The vampire was more of a brooder than a mover, Doyle knew. Women seemed to find him attractive, but it all seemed to slide right past him.

So where can he be? Outside the sun was high and bright. Angel wouldn’t exactly be wandering the streets — he’d be a crispy critter out there now, so Doyle hoped he was at least holed up someplace dark.

All kinds of horrible images presented themselves to Doyle when he thought about it. Angel bursting into flames, exposed when the sun rose over Southern California. Angel staked and dusted, the way he and Cordy always feared he’d end up — the way they knew they might have to finish him themselves, if he ever lost his soul and turned evil again.

Maybe that’s what had happened — he’d gone bad, and either couldn’t remember his way home or was afraid to come back, afraid that his best friends would have to kill him.

Or afraid that he’d kill them.

Either way, it was bad news.

Doyle reached for the phone, dialed information, and asked for the number of Monument Studios. When he got the main switchboard, he asked for the studio tours department. After a minute’s wait, listening to some annoying soft pop on the hold music, a woman’s voice came on the line.

“Monument Tours,” she said. “Can I help you?”

“Yeah,” Doyle replied. “I need to talk to Cordelia Chase.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Chase is working right now. Is this a personal call?”

“Personal?” Doyle asked. “Course not. It’s a . . . an emergency. A work-related emergency. Highly work-related.”

“So you’re on the lot, then? Give me your extension and I’ll page her.”

“Never mind,” Doyle said. “I’ll find her myself.” He hung up.

No help there.

But he had to do something. This sitting around, waiting, not knowing . . . he couldn’t take much more of it. Francis Doyle — the first name was a state secret, more closely kept than the recipe for a nuclear weapon or Coca-Cola, although Angel and Cordy had found out at the same time they learned that he had been married once, to a human woman — owed a lot to Angel. He’d been — was “assigned” the right word? — to

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