Devil's Trap

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"Augustine, what the hell happened to your hand?" Fitzgerald prompted, handing them both another cup of coffee. Jack had never had a drink before, but he coveted nothing more than some whiskey to compliment the residual bitterness in his mouth.

Stella shook her head. "I was a little nervous is all."

Jack didn't catch the pleading gaze she threw his way. "We didn't see the whole congregation. Just one of the priests."

"What did you get from him?" Fitzgerald asked. He leaned forward over the table.

Jack swallowed. "He was definitely nervous. The church was obviously not very welcoming to visitors. They also had very warlike mannerisms, as if it had been ingrained into them. The routines, the ritual, everything."

Stella nodded nonchalantly. "He was scared of me, which is a good and bad thing."

She jumped as Lawrence and Healy entered the room. Healy's face was red. He put his hands on the table in front of Stella, staring into her eyes.

"Did you know Harold Grey personally?" He asked her, his eyes full of fury.

"No!" She said, tilting her head. Her stare was competing with his. "Why do you think that?"

"Because we sent a few fellows to check on him, and he's gone." Healy lifted his hands, circling her. "It never occurred to me that I may need to question Detective Lawrence's judgement, however, that is apparent now. He frequented your theatre."

"And how the hell was I supposed to know that?" she asked.

He slammed his fists on the desk. Stella flinched. "If he recognized you, Stella Augustine, parading around as Clara Smith, the day after one of the most gruesome homicides became linked to him, he could have fled to Waverly Street then and there. He could have warned our only suspects and killed our only lead."

Stella brought her voice low, hissing. "That was your ineptitude, not mine."

Healy raised an arm, as if he was about to bring it down on Stella's cheek. She grabbed his wrist, her scarred hand pulsing with blood around his arm.

"You could have gotten our best detective killed!" Healy yanked his arm away.

Jack stood up, narrowing his eyes. "The church didn't know, Detective Healy," he said, a bold overstep from his position in the hierarchy of homicide investigation. "By the time we walked out of there, his body language had changed. He felt like we were predators before he came in, but after we walked out, he believed that we were who we said we were. If he had known, that same perturbation would have been apparent during our last interaction."

"But you could have-"

"But we didn't," Jack said. He looked at Stella, her arms crossing her chest. "We've had a very long day, and if you want us to return tomorrow I suggest you let Miss Augustine take a break."

Healy scanned Stella, as if he was seconds away from spitting at her. He looked at Jack, surrendering. "You are far overstepping your bounds, Detective," he warned. His eyes were still raging. "You can go to Meridian Hotel under your false identities."

Jack nodded. "Thank you."

"Lawrence only booked a room for you, Winona, as a precaution. If you want the same for Miss Augustine, I recommend you work something out with her," He took a final, cold glare at her. "Her safety isn't my responsibility."

"I understand," Jack said. He tipped his hat. "Detective."

Healy left the room, the door slamming behind him, and left only Fitzgerald still with them. Stella was staring at the table.

"He wasn't going to hurt you," Jack said, immediately chastising himself. As if that sentiment was going to help her sleep at night.

She heaved a sigh, tossing her hands in her lap. "Ish kabibble," she said. She stood up. "I'm heading home."

Fitzgerald pursed his lips. "Please, stay with Winona." He scratched his chin, shrugging his shoulders. "He might actually be able to help you."

With that, he left, leaving Stella and Jack in the conference room, alone with their coffees and shared awkwardness.

Stella stood up. "I've got to go see a man about a dog," she said, turning to leave.

"Wait, why don't I try to get you a room at the Meridian?" he asked.

"You don't have to protect me," she said. She turned the doorknob. "I need a drink."

Jack followed her out the door. "For God's sake, Stella!" he shouted. She stopped, turning on her heels in lieu of the sudden outburst. "I know you think I'm being arrogant. I'm not. Your life matters to me. We are so incognizant of whatever is happening in that church, whatever got Clara O'Malley murdered, whatever they plan to do to you. If Harold Grey manages to tell them, your life could be at stake."

"Has it ever occurred to you that I am more than willing to take that chance?"

"I know you're more than willing to take your life, if that's what you're asking!"

She gasped. Her eyes found his, scorching. "Who told you?" Jack took a few steps toward her, hoping that she wouldn't snap at him. She looked ready to commit a murder herself. She took a step closer to Jack, her fist balled up at her side. "Who the hell told you!?"

Jack glanced around the hall. Empty. "Why should it matter?"

Stella tilted her head, her brows furrowing in wrath. Her fist rose inches under his chin. "Because that's not something I necessarily want people to know, that's why!"

"What?" Jack prompted. "Are you going to take a swing?"

"How do you know that?" She yelled.

"Fitzgerald warned me of the reasons Lawrence suggested you to be our stand in." He shook his head, her wrist still under his chin. Her eyes were softening now, still burning with anger but the fire in her eyes was dying down. The flames had become embers. "Anything else I can help you understand?"

"Quit being so damn condescending!"

"I'm not condescending!"

"What an earful." She shook her head, her hand trembling beneath his chin.

"Would you shut up?"

Her fist pressed a little harder into his neck. "Make me!"

Before he knew what he was doing, his hands were on Stella's face and his lips were on hers. Stella didn't protest for a second.

Her fingers found his hair again, and she traced them down his skull until her arms were around his neck and his tongue was between her teeth.

Jack opened his eyes, letting her collapse into his chest. "I hope I didn't-"

"No! No, I wasn't acting that time." she cut in. She bit her lip, looking up and into his eyes. There were tears in hers. "How about we punch the bag for a few hours at the Meridian?"

He smiled, glancing at his feet. "How about it?"

Tentatively, he kissed her forehead. Stella offered her arm to him, provoking a chuckle on both parties.

The two stepped out onto that familiar curb and stopped. Their eyes drifted to the stars, and then to each other. There was a beautiful kind of nothing up in that clear sky. Of course, there was the atmosphere and then the planets and then the rest of the galaxies in the universe, but arm in arm in the city that never sleeps, they could conquer the constellations.

Who would have thought?

A demon and an angel could seize the stars.

Together.