18. Chapter 18

Lucifer seemed surprised, and most definitely pleased, to find her still waiting for him, outside his secret and so very unethical interrogation room.

“Enjoy the show?” He grinned and Chloe couldn’t find anything deceitful in the smile. He really was happy. Were mood swings something she ought to be concerned about? Some sort of sign of madness? Or, she thought with a creeping sense of disquiet, was she just terrible at reading men? She’d been sure with Dan after all, sure enough for marriage and children, and, well, look how that had turned out.

Maybe it was time to throw society’s rules out the window and judge him by actions alone.

“It was certainly unique,” she replied dryly, choosing to avoid the difficult topics for now. There’d be plenty of time for that, after.

“As long as you were entertained. Quite the pretty one wasn’t he?” He nudged her and winked.

Chloe snorted and shook her head in exasperation, the uncomfortable feeling dissipating that easily. No, this was just Lucifer. He was an unapologetic rascal of the first order, but he’d never deliberately hurt her.

“What will you do with him?” She asked carefully as they walked up the stairs to the ground floor.

Lucifer shrugged. “I’ll keep him for now, he may prove useful, but after it’s all said and done, he’s yours.”

Chloe missed a step. Lucifer offered her his arm. She took it, blankly, and held tight until they were back on ground level.

Had he just…?

Chloe took the drink Lamia pressed into her hand and sipped, appreciating the artificial warmth of the real alcohol. No more fake martinis for her. She tipped the glass back and collapsed onto her seat at the bar, which had remained conspicuously open for her in the heaving club. Her two ‘guards’ were still on duty too on the table behind her.

She gave herself a moment to think as the alcohol buffered her against reality.

Yep, she was damned sure that Lucifer had just offered her Amir’s life to do with as she wished, like a present or a novelty mug, like that was a real thing that actually happened in life.

To think she’d actually liked mafia films before this.

#

She went back up to the apartment after that, leaving Lucifer down below to work his magic and set up an alibi if she knew him at all, and before she could be tempted to order a second martini.

Connor was still at his desk, hunched over, and sickly pale in the blue light of the reflected screens.

“Hey,” she said, only a little awkwardly. It had been creepy, but he’d really pulled through with all of that information, and that deserved some recognition and gratitude. It was only fair. “Good work on Amir.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Connor replied, turning only his head to peer over his shoulder at her, fingers still flying over the keyboard as he typed out what looked like a message on some sort of forum or message board; she was too tired to go and have a proper nose about.

“Yeah sure,” Chloe rolled her eyes, “Plausible deniability, I get it. Try and get a few hours sleep alright? Don’t try working all night, it won’t do you any good.”

“Who are you really trying to convince?” He asked, head turning back around to his screens. “Between the two of us, I wouldn’t be worrying about me.”

She had a feeling he wasn’t talking about sleep deprivation, but she’d reached her limit for the night and slipped into her room, shutting the door behind her.

The heels came off and she groaned in sheer bliss as her feet met cold, flat stone. It had been worth it, Amir had been thoroughly distracted, and nobody was going to remember her face if they were looking at her breasts, but oh she was glad she’d never have to wear any of it again, most especially Lucifer’s damned lingerie.

She showered, changed, and collapsed onto the bed. As she rolled over - thinking vague thoughts about if it would be better or worse for her sanity to wash her borrowed underwear and return it to Lucifer or to keep it when he’d know that she was keeping it –she caught a glimpse of the clock.

It was deep into the early hours of the morning, nearly three already, and her traitorous mind ran the numbers instantly, like they’d already been inside her mind, waiting to spring on her.

Thirty seven hours to go.

Well, exhausted or not, there went any chance of rest.

#

Because she couldn’t possibly hate herself enough, she overslept the next morning.

“One o’clock?” Chloe gasped, scrambling out of bed and tearing off the scanty nightie she’d been reduced to – more of Mazikeen’s nonsense – only to discover that the clothes she’d thrown to the floor last night had been washed and ironed, and now hung up neatly in the wardrobe, right next to the opulent display of red, rouge, and ruby lingerie.

One day, Chloe promised herself, she really would strangle that man, but she was grateful not to have to go into the office looking as much as a mess as she felt. It was shallow, and her mouth twisted at her priorities, but appearances mattered. Especially hers, given her career, history and situation.

“Breakfast?”

“You’re back,” Chloe said, smiling faintly as Mazikeen rose from the sofa, tucking one of her far too many knives into an unseen holster. “Wait, where’s Lucifer?”

“He’s taking care of business,” Mazikeen said, and pushed a cup of coffee across the marble table that Lucifer called a breakfast bar. Chloe drank it, needing it desperately for all the sleep she’d accidentally gotten last night. It was good, and the few synapses that adrenaline hadn’t snapped awake, flared to life.

Right, well, Mazikeen was helpful this morning – afternoon. Chloe felt her insides twist again in guilt. Too late to change it, she told herself, taking another sip. Maybe the lost morning wouldn’t damn her for the next fifty years if she just got enough done today.

Determinedly, she turned to Brent’s station. The desk was now littered with three empty mugs, the wrappers of multiple sugary snacks and a blanket. The hacker sat exactly as she’d left him – as if he hadn’t moved all night – and morning damn it – long.

“Anything?” She tried not to put any emotion into the word, but it came out sounding wrecked with hope.

“I know more than I did yesterday,” Brent said grimly. “I am forty-seven per cent certain I can find her before tomorrow.”

It was a kick in the teeth. The numbers made an unwelcome reappearance in her mind. She’d overslept – selfish, stupid, awful woman – and that gave Trixie twenty-seven hours. Just over a day, to know her child’s fate.

God damn it all.

“Did you find Amenadiel at least?” This she directed back to Mazikeen.

Mazikeen grimaced – perhaps the most human expression Chloe had ever seen her wear – and took out her knife again, angrily flipping it from hand to hand.

“Yes and no. I know where’s he’s been, I tracked him to the Castello place, saw his influence there, tracked him two miles east and then the trail vanished. Poof. Gone.” She made a strange fluttering gesture with the hand not holding the knife, flicking her fingers out demonstratively. Poof.

“What influence?” Chloe didn’t like to think about Amenadiel’s involvement. He hadn’t exactly been a friend but they’d been cordial enough, until he’d turned around and decided to use her daughter as some sort of leverage over Lucifer.

Another man she’d misjudged.

Mazikeen gave her a long steady look, and Chloe scowled. Her patience for this sort of bullshit was already transparent and growing thinner. Hadn’t she proved herself already? Wasn’t it blatantly obvious to Lucifer’s bartender – lieutenant? Right hand? – that Chloe wasn’t going to betray them? Did she really think Chloe would dare until after she had Trixie back?

“Do you really think Lucifer won’t tell me when I ask him?” She raised an eyebrow, keeping her tone cool and flat. She didn’t want to offend Mazikeen – but both of them knew that every time Mazikeen and Lucifer had argued over Chloe and Chloe’s influence over him –Chloe knew there’d been many – Lucifer had always come down on her side.

The hit struck true, and Chloe tried to feel victory instead of guilt when Mazikeen grimaced again.

“Amenadiel’s persuasive.” The woman said sounding vaguely bored. “A little nudge here, a little whisper there, and bam, you’re walking down a different path. The Castellos, our prey, everything was already in place – but out of the innumerable little brats running around the place, they picked yours to use.” She pointed at Chloe with her knife. “The only child Lucifer could be made to care about. That’s not chance, that’s design.”

Right, so, Amenadiel was some sort of negotiator? Chloe twisted her mind back and forth, trying to picture it. He’d been well spoken, sure. A highly educated man undoubtedly. Did being black help or hinder him, she wondered, before deciding it probably depended on his audience. He probably had a white counter part, for the same reasons, if her idea of the size of Lucifer’s “Family” was accurate. What was it Lucifer had said? A lower order, one of many? Yes, that could fit.

What was his job, exactly? She had a hard time picturing Amenadiel meeting hostile strangers in abandoned warehouses negotiating the street price of each gram. Perhaps he operated out of a boardroom? Some sort of white-collar business that required the FBI to take down?

Speaking of…

“Are we liaising with the police at all?” Chloe asked gingerly. She didn’t want to say anything that would ruin Lucifer’s position with this crowd – snitches got stitches and so on – but there was no denying they’d amassed a solid block of information the FBI could use.

She hadn’t even considered that they might not be co-operating, but, well, she was too used to doing everything by the books. There wasn’t a single report she’d written that couldn’t be accessed by another agency or colleague with the right form. Besides, in her head she was the police – and so hadn’t quite twigged that her colleagues wouldn’t know everything she knew.

Brent paused his work, and looked between her and Mazikeen – clearly deferring to the bartender for an answer.

Mazikeen shrugged.

“No.”

On balance, Chloe decided that that hadn’t been a refusal, just an answer. It was hard to tell with Mazikeen.

“…Could we?” She ventured.

Mazikeen shrugged again. “Lucifer didn’t give me any orders either way.”

Chloe’s spine stiffened, and she turned to the hacker. “Send them what we have, please, but find a way to do it safely. I don’t want them finding you, or us.”

She took it as a victory that Connor didn’t look to Mazikeen for confirmation, before switching screens and setting to his new task. “If they could find me, they’d find the other guy too,” he scoffed, but then went silent as he focused.

Chloe silently prayed she hadn’t just done anything to upset Lucifer’s position. She knew he’d agree with her – or at least wouldn’t resent the use of all possible resources – but she wished he were here to check. She had no idea how to navigate the currents of a criminal empire.

“When will Lucifer be back?”

“I’m to drive you to the station,” Mazikeen replied, which Chloe took to mean none of your business.

“Fine,” Chloe said tightly. “Brent, you have my number. Text me regular updates, I wont be able to answer a call easily. Mazikeen, let’s go, I’m already late.”

Twenty-six hours to go.

#

Agent Johnson met her at the door, so Chloe knew the news was bad.

“Malcolm’s dead?”

“Torn apart by dogs, right inside the cell,” the older man replied, the deep bruising beneath his eyes telling her how much sleep he hadn’t gotten last night.

“Dogs?” Chloe squeaked. “How did they get inside?”

“No idea.”

With a sudden, sickening, clarity, Chloe remembered the conversation she’d had with Lucifer.

“Where are Mazikeen and Lilith?”

“Lilith is out with the hounds.”

“I thought they couldn’t find Trixie’s trail.”

“She’s not hunting for the spawn, detective.”

Lord above, Chloe thought, Lucifer had ordered this.

#