Between HeVan and Hell Read online

  Between HeVan and Hell

  Book 2 of the Nephilim

  By: Lucy Kelly

  Edited By: Caroline Kirby

  Published by: JK Publishing LLC

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

  © Copyright August 2012 MvN. All rights reserved.

  All cover art and logo © Copyright 2012 by JK Publishing

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Thank you to all of you who read the first book and liked it. I received many emails of encouragement and I really appreciate it. I’d also like to thank my good friend Victoria, for keeping me going when I was stressed out and helping me so much. Victoria, this one’s for you.

  Lucy Kelly

  Contact me at [email protected]

  Visit me at http://www.facebook.com/authorlucykelly

  Check out upcoming events on http://www.lucykellyauthor.com

  Mark of the Nephilim logo © Copyright 2012 by MvN

  Chapter One 5

  Chapter Two 16

  Chapter Three 30

  Chapter Four 40

  Chapter Five 56

  Chapter Six 65

  Chapter Seven 72

  Chapter Eight 85

  Chapter Nine 91

  Chapter Ten 99

  Chapter Eleven 105

  Chapter Twelve 113

  Chapter Thirteen 120

  Chapter Fifteen 137

  Chapter Sixteen 143

  Chapter Seventeen 152

  Chapter Eighteen 160

  Chapter One

  Graciela Perez glanced at the clock and then shifted her weight from one foot to the other—again. She was working undercover at Hell; it was the newest casinos on the river and rumored to be laundering money. It was against the law in Illinois to gamble, unless you fell under the Riverboat Gambling Act. There were one or two gambling boats that made their way up and down the river, but they were mostly pleasure cruises with some gambling thrown in for atmosphere. The casinos were permanently docked so people could find them and once you stepped on board, you couldn’t even tell you were on the river.

  She dealt out another hand of blackjack. The décor was beautiful; the commercial carpeting had the look and feel of an expensive Aubusson in colors of black, maroon, blue, and gold. The tables were all carved mahogany with slate tops and green baize. The print on the tables was understated and classy. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the more prosaic twenty-first century lighting hidden behind decorative wall sconces or recessed in the ceiling’s plasterwork. That plasterwork also hid the cameras that were aimed at each and every table. All the sit-down games had comfortable, leather chairs. There were even separate facilities for cigarette and cigar smokers. She wondered idly who they’d bribed to get that approved, as smoking was not allowed in businesses or restaurants in Illinois.

  Another hour and I’ll be able to clock out and go home, get out of the Grace Kelsey skin for a while and back into my own, she thought.

  They had her working the three to midnight shift until she finished her training. Then she’d get the eleven p.m. to six a.m. shift. She dealt another round of cards to the players and then her own. She was only three days into this assignment, and already she was wishing for the comfort of the surveillance van. Sure, sitting in a van for hours at a stretch, watching your liquid intake so you wouldn’t have to pee too frequently could get old. But at least it didn’t kill your arches.

  She wondered why she always ended up in spiked heels showing a lot of leg. Standing five foot nine in her bare feet, she had a lot of leg to show. Her sister, Addie, had always envied her inches, and she had secretly envied Addie’s gorgeous auburn hair. Addie took after their mother’s side of the family, and she took after their father’s. Her skin had the dusky tone of a Latino heritage, though she still sported a dusting of freckles. Where Addie’s eyes were green, her eyes were almost black and her hair was a shiny brown, so dark that it looked black and very straight. She could never get it to hold a curl.

  She spoke to her players as she paid out the winners and scooped up the chips from the losers.

  “It’s the cards, gentlemen, don’t blame me,” she said, pointing to the plastic horns on her head. “They’re just there to hold up the halo. I swear.”

  The players chuckled at her lame joke as she dealt yet another hand.

  Grace remembered when she first made detective; she was posted to vice. She thought she’d be busting numbers games and drug dealers, but no, not her. She had to walk the street as a prostitute, busting tourists and slobs from the suburbs coming into the City for a little ‘fun on the side'. They hadn’t even set her up as a high-class call girl and gone for the deep pockets. Nooo, she had to walk the stroll in hot pants and high heels in March, when it was still snowing. She almost went to her union rep on that one. She’d been relieved when the hazing from the others in the unit was finally over; she was one of the guys now. Up until she’d been pulled for this assignment, she had been working mostly sex crimes. She was an expert interviewer of both victims and their abusers.

  She took another look around as she collected the chips from the losers and paid out the winners. Just then the pit boss walked up behind her with another dealer and had her switch out.

  “What’s up, Gregor?” she asked. “I’ve got another hour on my shift.”

  “Mr. Kadyrov is having a private game in the back and he wants you to deal. Come with me,” he said, moving towards the back.

  As she followed him, she thought, Hot damn! Maybe I’ll get something tonight.

  There were three reasons she’d been picked for this assignment. First, she’d been working the 5th district over on the Far South Side for almost her entire career as a cop. She wasn’t known in this district and was less likely to have her cover blown.

  Second, she had a great memory. Since they hadn’t figured out a way to wiretap the casino, the fact that she could accurately remember conversations up to four hours later was a great skill, which gave them a big advantage.

  And last, she looked great in Hell’s mandatory uniform. She was stuck wearing red, spiked heels, red boy shorts and a red corset with black trim. Oh, and she couldn’t forget the fake devil horns in her hair, and the swinging devil tail attached to her shorts. Even now, following Gregor, some drunk tried to catch hold and pull her by the tail. Fortunately she was prepared and avoided him quite easily.

  Setting the place up to look like an English Regency-era gambling hell was classy. Guess a lot of the customers didn’t get why it was called ‘Hell’— hence, the cheesy costumes the dealers and cocktail waitresses had to wear. At least the male dealers got to wear long pants.

  They reached a door with a guard in front of it and a red velvet rope. The guard removed the rope, and Gregor opened the door and gestured her inside. This was the high-roller room. No commercial high-traffic carpeting in here. She could feel her heels sink into the deep pile. The room had a lighter feel because of the pale blue, si
lk wallpaper. There were no prints on the walls, only actual oil paintings and a beautiful chandelier that dropped down from the high ceiling. The table was polished cherry—no felt top—it was an antique. Each of the chairs was large and comfortable, upholstered in Ox-blood-red leather. Next to each chair, there was a small occasional table with an inlaid top for drinks or anything else the player wanted to keep on hand.

  “Ah, Miss Kelsey, please join us,” said Mr. Kadyrov. Vasily Kadyrov was her main target. When you first met him, you saw an old man with a full head of nearly white hair, sharp, gray eyes and the straight bearing of a soldier. He was only five-nine; the same as her own height, but his posture made him look taller. He spoke softly and often used kind and gentle words. She wasn’t deceived; the sharp, shrewd eyes gave him away. They were as cold as winter; even the kindest words couldn’t soften them. She was always surprised that others didn’t see what she could so clearly. His grandson, Anton, was his carbon copy but a younger, less refined version. He was an inch taller with black hair and those same scary eyes.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kadyrov. I’m told you need a dealer?” asked Grace.

  “But, of course. We have a friendly, little game between associates. And a chance to look at a pretty girl at the same time,” he said.

  One of the other men looked her over—he made her skin crawl and she tried to ignore him as best she could.

  “I wouldn’t mind giving this girl a workout. She’s prettier than that other one you sent over,” he said.

  “Andre!” Mr. Kadyrov said in a sharp voice. “Grace is a good girl. She is engaged to be married; isn’t that right, my dear?”

  “Mr. Kadyrov, I didn’t say that! I said that before he went out of town, he told me he’d have an important question to ask me when he got back. If you keep talking like that, you’re going to jinx it for me,” Grace said shyly as she shuffled and started to deal the cards to the group of men.

  “And where did you say he was, my dear?” Mr. Kadyrov asked as he threw in two cards and got replacements.

  “Oh, he’s on a road trip with his younger brothers,” she said.

  Now, why did I say that? That’s not my cover story.

  “Not a business trip?”

  “He’s taking care of business, too. It’s just that since he had to drive, he thought it would be best to take his brothers with him,” she said.

  Okay. Saved that one, Grace thought.

  “You never said what kind of business he has. Why did he have to drive?” asked Mr. Kadyrov before upping the bet.

  He’s completely ignoring the other players and grilling me; what’s up? Better turn up the super-power, I need to see if he’s fishing and get him to back off.

  “He had to drive because of what he’s carrying. I’m not supposed to say what it is, Mr. Kadyrov,” she answered.

  He nodded and seemed to become engrossed in the game. For the next thirty minutes, the four men played without talking, other than to place their bets. From what she could see, the creepy guy seemed to be winning. By the end of an hour, he’d won around ten thousand dollars. At that time, they stopped playing, and it seemed that the game was going to break up.

  The three men left. Mr. Kadyrov turned back to her as she was straightening the cards and putting them away.

  “My dear, you see how I lose? It is because there is a mystery. You are the cause of me losing because my curiosity is now consuming me. So you will tell me what your boyfriend does, yes? And also what he looks like. I pay attention to my staff, we’re family. Your own father is gone; you must let me guide you. I will check him out and let you know. You don’t want to go out with someone who doesn’t pass my checks; it could be dangerous.”

  Shit, he knows something. But he doesn’t know everything.

  She’d been using her powers to get a bead on this old man since they first met. He might look like a kindly old man, but she knew he was a stone cold killer and would have no hesitation in having Thug One hold her down while Thug Two raped and murdered her right in front of him.

  “It’s so sweet the way you look out for everyone, Mr. Kadyrov. All right, I’ll tell you. You promise not to tell anyone else?” she asked.

  At his nod, she bent towards him and whispered, “He deals in rarities, old weapons, usually, and other antiquities. He brokers deals between parties and handles the transactions. He doesn’t like people knowing about it because the things he handles are worth a lot of money.”

  Leaning back, she continued, “He has dark-brown hair and light blue eyes. He’s tall, really tall, just over seven feet. He’s not a tank, although like a body builder on steroids, he’s lean and strong like an athlete. He makes me feel small and delicate,” she finished with a sigh.

  Oh, shit! What did I just do? That’s not what Detective Anthony looks like! How can he be my undercover boyfriend now?

  “And he’s returning to town tomorrow?” he asked. Grace was too shocked at herself to think, so she just nodded.

  “Well, you will bring him by to meet us. You work for us now, and we look after our own. Now, I think your shift was over some time ago, and we’ve kept you late. Here, take this and catch a cab home,” he said, as he pressed a couple of twenties into her palm. Then he walked her to the door. Just as he opened it, he said to her, “You never did tell me your young man’s name, dear.”

  So she blurted out the names that had been burning through her brain for days.

  “It’s Jalen. Jalen Contadina. His brothers are Justyn and Jett.”

  After she left, he turned to one of his henchmen. “Andre has received his payment; that operation will be carried out as planned.” Watching Grace walk through the crowd to the employee area. “I’m still not sure about her; even though we haven’t been able to peg her as a cop. If she shows up with that Detective Anthony you recognized talking to her on the street...well, then, I’m afraid that as pretty as she is, I’ll have to hire a new dealer. This one will be fired, permanently.”

  Grace changed into her street clothes in one of the dressing rooms as quickly as she could. It felt good to get out of that horrible outfit and back into her faded jeans and t-shirt advertising the restaurant she worked at last. Mostly it felt good to take off the spike heels and put on her soft leather, low-heeled boots. Like millions of other women, she spent too much money on shoes. If she didn’t show her face on the street in fifteen more minutes, the cavalry would come in and the operation would be blown. So she quickly grabbed up her purse and lightweight coat. It was always colder when she got off work than it was when she came in. She’d take the cab home to her cover apartment, as this was deep cover, and she couldn’t go home to her condo on the lakefront. Kadyrov had eyes all over Chicago, so they were pulling officers from unlikely places.

  Fareed Singh had worked in records for all of his years in the police force in a big warehouse. He’d never worked the streets. They’d had him take a job as a cabbie four months before she started this assignment. He could have retired with his pension any time in the last ten years; he just liked his job, so he’d stayed on. Now his age was working in his favor. He looked like many other Indian cab drivers, older than most and working the night shift to eke out a living.

  He’d taken legitimate cab fares for all that time and had started a habit of buying a midnight snack at the all-night café at the end of the block. He was usually there when she got off work. If she was ever in trouble or had important information, she was supposed to wave him down and take a cab home. She’d only been on duty for three days, and she was already going to wave him down. The Captain was going to think she didn’t have what it took to get the job done. Either that or after three days she already had something hot, unlikely as it was. If possible, she’d report the possible payoff to this Andre character and his crew.

  She stepped outside and was swinging her purse over her shoulder when Gregor appeared at her side.

  “Mr. Kadyrov asked me to get a cab for you.”

  “Thanks, Gregor, I
am tired. It was awfully nice of him to give me cab fare home,” she said.

  She almost laughed when she saw that the cab he waved down was the one she wanted. She was reminded of the danger she was in when Gregor handed her inside and told the driver her address; just a subtle reminder that they knew where she lived.

  Noticing a tiny, red light on his radio, she waited until they’d driven several blocks and turned a corner before she spoke. “Hello. How do you like driving a cab?” she asked in a friendly voice.

  “Miss? Well, it’s alright, Miss. I like to drive and I get to see the city. Not be closed in,” he answered.

  “I’m glad you like it. I knew a guy named Tony who drove a cab once. He said it was a dead-end job. He liked to drive, too, though. He ended up working as a long-haul trucker. He didn’t even mind being out of town for weeks at a time.”

  “Young men these days, off on adventures. I’m an old man; I’ll stick to driving a cab. Here's your address, Miss. That will be eight dollars and sixty cents,” he said.

  “Here,” she said, handing him a twenty. “I worked late tonight so my boss was nice enough to pay for the fare. Especially since he lost ten thousand dollars to an associate, some guy named Andre. The guy gave me the heebie jeebies. I hope you don’t have to drive all night long and you can go home soon,” she added, as she stepped from the cab and shut the door.

  She thought it was nice of Sgt. Singh to wait until she’d opened the door to her apartment building before driving off.

  After he watched her enter the building, Fareed picked up another fare at the end of the block. Detective Briggs, from the Norwood Park District, was pulled in for this operation. They wanted to bust Vasily Kadyrov badly and had put aside jurisdictional arguments and were working together. Glancing at the car radio, he saw the green light; there were no listening devices in the car.