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I could find my dad.

And wasn’t that horrifying. What if I found him dead? Or worse, at the center of this mess, trying to turn me into some sort of government lapdog of weird supernatural power, or bargain me off to demons as a sex slave or something?

I’d have thought the decades on my own would have cured me of any emotional obligation to the man. But finding out my mom was dead had hurt more than I expected. I’d helped Nat cross souls over while realizing my pain was more about never getting the chance to resolve how I felt about her before she was gone from the possibility.

Human emotions sucked. And apparently, death didn’t cure them.

I closed my eyes and let the library dissolve around me. When I opened them, I was standing in the living room of my parents’ house.

It spread around me in the dark like a showroom, untouched by actual living. It had always been that way. A display of perfection and wealth rather than a home. I realized Jonah’s apartment had been the same. His space the only part that reflected the chaos of who he’d been and how his parents had hidden his trauma.

But I’d stood here a few weeks ago, for the first time in decades, resolved to rescue my kid brother. And I’d seen my grandmother’s ghost. She’d asked me to take care of Ivan, then vanished.

Nat said sometimes ghosts passed on their own. He said it came from accepting the transition from mortal life to the beyond. Not every death needed an escort. But I couldn’t help wondering if she was still here. Watching her kid make mistakes.

Only one way to find out.

Though as I wandered from room to room on the first floor, finding everything in its place and no sign of another ghost, not even a single mote of floating memories, something tugged at the back of my brain.

Something was off.

As if the whole place was too clean. Almost as if it weren’t real. Even the lines of the weave. Like this was some perfect doily left on the table to hide a stain.

Where were the police? Why wasn’t there any sign of a search? Were they still waiting on warrants?

I glanced out the window, surprised to find the street clear and no sign that anyone lingered nearby. As a homicide detective, having found Melody Holt dead, the first thing I’d have done was search the home. Every drawer opened. Fingerprints taken. Papers sorted. Computers confiscated. An entire deep dive into her life.

Then I remembered what Angel said. The ME suspected suicide.

Women were four times less likely to off themselves than men, though more likely to succeed. But a woman of means? Away from home? That wouldn’t have even made my list, even if the cause was something typical, like poison.

Something wasn’t adding up.

I headed up the stairs, wondering if maybe there’d be a sign of something upstairs.

At the top, all the doors stood open, gaping into darkness. I hesitated. Not because of remnants of a search, there were none. And not because of movement, as the house was still.

But because there was a faint flicker of purple in the room that had once been mine.

35

ANGEL

The hour ticked past midnight as I glared at my computer screen. The pastries had helped. Having seen Jude for a heartbeat had soothed my nerves. Hardy giving me space, using an open desk in the bullpen instead of Jude’s old one, spoke of his awareness of people. His efficiency in sorting documents, searching files, and flagging information spoke to levels that only Tiana and Bobby could match. I’d have approved him for our team in any other circumstances.

I waved goodbye as Hardy headed out for the night.

Victor appeared at the office door just after the witching hour. I grumbled at him that I was fine.

“You should go home.”

I didn’t look up from the screen. “Did you see Adrian and Melody were separating. Melody filed for divorce not long after Jude took custody of Ivan.” I finally met his gaze. “That makes her death and Adrian’s disappearance even more suspicious.”

He stepped into the room, folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. “Some might say this is a conflict of interest for you.”

“Some can go to hell,” I said. “Adrian has an apartment downtown. Near his office. No sign of him.” I scrolled down. “But the house,” I pointed at the screen. “It’s on the back of the list. Just a police presence outside to watch for movement. No warrant yet. Why aren’t they looking into Melody’s death?”

“All departments are spread thin.”