Chapter 38

“Sir, a package has arrived for you,” my secretary says, her voice quavering. She knows about the extra security, although she doesn’t know why. She just knows that I’ve placed a dozen security guards between the lobby and my door at various places, and each of them carries a gun.

I’m taking no risks when it comes to having two hitmen in town, both well skilled in their respective styles. Especially since I’m certain Gabriel Jackson would like nothing better than to get close enough to make me his next victim.

“Bring it in,” I snap, not having time nor patience for her mousy pussyfooting about.

Three days.

After a deadline of two days, I’ve been waiting for three days since Jericho promised me my proof. Three days since I’ve had to place myself in this prison that’s my own home and office.

“Sir, the package has specific instructions that you have to sign,” my secretary says quietly. “Should I have them bring the box in here?”

A chill goes down my spine, and I force myself to slowly nod my head as a courier brings in a nondescript cardboard box. On each side are red stickers that say Fragile, Handle With Care, and the top is sealed with plain brown packing tape. “Sign here please, sir?”

I take the clipboard and see that the package is marked Gift, but there’s no other information. I scribble my name, and the courier leaves like he wants to be anywhere but here, already ignored as I look at the box.

“Is that all, sir?” she asks, ready to go just like the courier.

“No. Open it,” I tell her.

“What?” my secretary asks, shocked. “Open it?”

“Yes. Open it!” I growl. “Are you deaf as well as stupid?”

She swallows and shakes her head, taking the knife from my blotter and starting to cut the tape. Already, I can imagine an explosion, a bomb or something being sent by Gabriel Jackson. It’s not his style, but my mind still wanders, contemplating scenarios.

Or perhaps this is finally my proof from Jericho?

The options are endless and therefore too unknown to open the box myself. But my secretary is disposable, with others lined up to fill the financially beneficial role.

“Oh, my God!” she screams, backing away. Her face loses all color. “Oh, God.”

Before I can ask what’s in the box, she turns, retching blindly before fleeing with staggering steps as though she’s drunk. I watch her go, then turn my attention to the box which sits, the flaps open, the plastic that was used to pack the object inside exposed as well.

It’s with almost a sense of inevitability that I cross my office, nudging one cardboard flap aside to look down into the plastic-wrapped face of Jericho.

There’s a piece of paper in there with him, and my hand is steady as I reach in, unfolding it to see the typed note inside.

You once told me you prefer a body as proof, so consider this confirmation of death. And you seem to be rather fond of sending messages, so here’s one for you. If you come after the people I care about, the Fallen Angel will have one last target . . . you. Besides, I think you have other things to worry about.

Underneath is a symbol that looks sort of like the letters V and A combined... but I know what it is. It’s the symbol of an archangel.

It’s the symbol of Gabriel.

Well played, Mr. Jackson. If I weren’t angry with him, I might be impressed with his gall.

His implication that Goldstone is focusing on me should be a threat, but truth be told, it excites me. A worthy opponent for me to win against.

Let the games begin.