“Who’s Timothy?”
“His kid.” She swallowed hard. “The one you killed.”
Alec’s gaze narrowed. “Did you overhear the call?”
She pointed to the sitting room. “He took it in there. I couldn’t hear him, but he wrote something down. Then he dressed and grabbed a change of clothes. That’s all I know. I promise.”
An Infernal promise was worth about as much as used toilet paper, but the smell of the wolf’s fear was potent. If there was anything that passed as truth with Infernals, it was that they’d do anything to save their own skin.
“How long ago?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe.”
Touching her neck, he sent a surge of power through her that rendered her unconscious. He leaped from the bed and moved into the next room. There was a small writing desk with an old-fashioned corded phone. A blank pad of paper and a pencil waited for the next note or message, while a desk lamp sat unlit and oddly placed, as if it had been shoved aside hurriedly.
He picked up the pad and pencil. Rubbing the tip of the lead lightly over the page, he revealed the imprint of the prior messages.
Right at commissary
Right on Pvt. Mitchell
Left on Garrison Way
White van, black Suburban
Directions to the duplex where Eve was staying. Why? The consensus was that Charles was responsible for the terrorizing of Raguel’s class. If that were true, why would he be jotting down Eve’s location as if he didn’t know it? And why would that information, which he should have already had, cause him to leave two willing women in bed?
Alec shifted back to the motel. He freed Giselle, whom he’d once again cuffed to the sink. “Come on.”
She scrambled to her feet and ripped the gag from her mouth. “Is he dead?”
“Not yet. But the pups are.”
“All of them?” Her tone was both awed and horrified.
“Yes.”
“Oh, man . . .”
A surge of alarm struck him, a rolling wave of emotion from Eve that halted him midstride. He reached out to her, but the sensation was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a quiet, peaceful stillness.
“Hurry up,” he bit out, urged to haste by the mystery.
“Where are we going?”
“Monterey.” He returned to the bedroom.
“Yay!” She clapped. “That’s south. We’re finally getting somewhere.”
“Don’t get too excited.” He touched her and tried to shift to the other room, just to see if he had the skill to move them both. He made the trip. She didn’t. He shifted back, cursing.
Giselle’s eyes were lit with amusement. “Doesn’t work on Infernals. Our cooties don’t travel well with angels.”
“I’ll have to leave you here, then.” He glanced at the clock. It was shortly after four. “The way things are going, we might all be dead soon. You should go do something you always wanted to do before you croak.”
“Ha! Archangels can’t die. And you’re not getting rid of me. Cain of Infamy turned into Cain the Archangel, and I had to be in the vicinity when it happened. I’m half dead already. At least with you I have a chance of saving the other half.”
Alec pulled the car keys out of his pocket and set them on the dresser. “Archangels aren’t invincible.”
“Might as well be,” she scoffed. Then a stunned silence permeated the space between them. “Wait a minute . . . Something happened to one of them, didn’t it? Which one?”
“You can head down to Anaheim. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”
“That’s why you’re an archangel now, isn’t it?”
He pulled out some cash and set it next to the keys. “Grab everything that’s here and take it down with you. I don’t want to have to come back here, if I can help it.”
“Cain, damn it! Talk to me.”
He moved into the adjoining room and took a last look around, praying that he wasn’t forgetting something. With the enormity of information passing through him—from the handlers underneath him and the seraphim above him—he was barely keeping his own thoughts straight.
“Are you a machine?” she cried. “Don’t you care at all about what this means? I’m not ready for the world to end yet.”
“Can anyone ever be ready for it?” he retorted, aggravated by her outburst.
Giselle skirted him and got in his face. Hands on her slim hips, she demanded, “What about that woman you were talking to on the phone last night? I heard the tone of your voice. She’s special to you. Do you care about what the end of the world means to her?”
Alec paused and exhaled harshly. Examining his feelings for Eve was like trying to see through fogged glass. He knew they were there, could see the shadows and shapes, but the details were lost to him. It was similar to being served his favorite dessert and discovering he had no appetite.
“Yes,” he said, honestly. “I care about what happens to her.” There was more than sex and love involved in his feelings for Eve—respect and admiration, affection and nostalgia. The best days of his life had been spent with her. Being an archangel didn’t change everything.
She nodded. “Okay, then. Tell me what’s going on, so I can help.”
He related the bare minimum required to bring her up to speed, while simultaneously reaching out to Eve. She seemed to be . . . napping. She was presently a blank slate, hovering in the space between consciousness and REM sleep. He frowned, wondering if the panic he’d felt from her a moment ago had been part of a dream. Having never shared a connection like this with anyone before, he wasn’t certain how they worked. He reached out to his brother and found him unconcerned about Eve beyond what Alec would expect.
Abel expelled him forcefully. Stay out of my head, Cain, before I find you and kill you.
Alec gave the mental equivalent of flipping him the bird.
“Wow.” Giselle sank onto the bed. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be any help, but I will sure try.”
His brows rose. “What happened to the Mare who thought we were on a suicide mission?”
“She hooked up with an archangel. Kinda changes the odds, you know.”
“Pack your stuff. We leave in five.”
The conference call was anticlimactic. Raguel had, of course, been absent. His replacement was a no-show. Sara had a poor connection. It was decided to postpone the bulk of the conversation until all seven firms could be represented.
Reed left the crowded interior of the duplex in favor of the driveway. He was trying to figure out a way to keep Eve out of Anytown short of tying her up, when a low female voice drew his attention.
“Hey.”
He turned his head and watched the blonde—Izzie, the Goth girl—approach. She had her fingers shoved into the teeny pockets of her black skirt and her eyes were half lidded.
“Hey back,” he replied.
“I hear Cain was around earlier.”
“You didn’t miss anything.”
She shrugged. “I’ve met him before.”
“I’m sorry.”
A smile teased the corners of her pretty mouth. His gaze rested there, his thoughts returning to what that mouth had done to him earlier. The memory had as much impact as remembering to get his hair cut—convenient and good for the vanity, but not necessary. He wished he could say that about Eve.
“It was not so bad,” she said. Her gaze locked with his. “In fact, it was very good.”
Reed froze, absorbing the innuendo with growing unease. Her accent was Germanic. “You’re from . . . ?”
“Germany.”
“Sarakiel,” he growled.
“I was marked by one of her team, yes.”
“When?”
“A few weeks ago. I arrived in California the day class started.”
“And which firm will you be attached to when class is over?”
Her smile widened. “This one.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. In the normal order of things, Izzie would have had anywhere from one to seven weeks to settle into her new country and firm. She would have been assigned housing, given a vehicle and a bank account, shown around the city, and had a tour of Gadara Tower before starting training. In some cases, Marks were transplanted to their new firms, then found themselves back in their home countries for training if that’s the way the schedule fell. But following that bit of protocol would not have placed Izzie in the same class with Eve.
Nothing was coincidence. Sara had known of Izzie’s past and put it into play against Eve. Izzie’s selection was the hand of God, but using her as an irritant . . . that was pure Sara.
“You are not happy about this,” Izzie murmured.
“Why would I care?”
“Sara believed you would be pleased. But then, I do not think she knows how you feel about your brother’s girlfriend.”
He kept his face impassive, despite her dig.
“You called Eve’s name,” she continued, “when you came.”
Screw beating around the bush; he didn’t have time for it. “What do you want?”
“The same thing you do. Cain away from Hollis.”
He laughed. “Did no one tell you that Cain has been promoted to archangel? He’s incapable of giving a shit about either of you.”
“I do not need him to care. I just need him to give me an orgasm.” Her lashes batted coyly. “You and I can help each other.”
Seeing the similarities between Izzie and Sara, fury filled him. With his wings spread wide, Reed lunged across the distance between them, his face contorted with the rage of angels. He caught her by the throat and lifted her feet from the ground. Her eyes were like saucers in her pale face, her stained lips parted in a bid for breath.
In a terrible voice he warned, “You forget your place. We are not equals.”
“I d-did not m-mean—”
“Keep your distance from Eve. You will do nothing to her. Nothing.” His free hand lifted and cupped her face, his thumb pressing into her lips and smearing her purple lipstick along her cheekbone. “Or you will answer to me.”
Her hands wrapped around his wrists. “P-perhaps you w-will answer t-to Sara . . .”
His grip around her neck tightened.
“Abel.” Montevista’s sharp tone snared his attention. “What are you doing?”
Reed tossed Izzie to the grass that bordered the driveway. She puddled, but he knew she wouldn’t stay humbled for long. He faced the guard, schooling his features into a less frightening mien. “It seems Ms. . . . ?”
“Seiler,” Montevista provided grimly.
“It seems Ms. Seiler has too much time on her hands. Perhaps you have something you can occupy her with?”
Montevista nodded. “Come with me, Seiler.”
Izzie stood and straightened her skirt. Her slow smile with its ruined lipstick was macabre and served as a warning to Reed. Like Sara, life was all about the game to her—the maneuvering, the planning, the winning. Cain was a prize to be won and Reed had played right into her hands by joining his brother as a notch on her belt.
Retracting his wings, he turned away. Shit. Sara being here would only add to the tension. Cain was out of commission, but the obstacles in Reed’s path hadn’t diminished; they’d just changed. And women were much sneakier than men.
He looked at the house across the street, returning his attention to the most pressing problem. The redhead—Michelle—had come outside with a camcorder. The Great Dane and the Scottish Mark—Callaghan, the Ken doll—stood nearby. She appeared to be filming the neighborhood, whether for the show or for fun, he didn’t know. He was concerned, however, by Callaghan’s presence. The class was supposed to be in the house, helping Hank with the processing of evidence. Observing the many duties of the Exceptional Projects Department was part of training. Why wasn’t Callaghan participating?
Reed shook off the thought. Eve’s paranoia was filling him with suspicions, too. Fact was, Callaghan was a man and Michelle was pretty and possibly available. In the Mark’s shoes, Reed would think that making out with a hot redhead was more fun than hanging out with Hank and his potions, too.
Sensing Reed’s stare, Callaghan looked up and waved. He said something to Michelle, then walked over.
“Montevista asked me tae keep an eye on them,” Callaghan explained when he reached Reed. “So they dinnae wander off.”
“She’s cute.”
Callaghan grinned. “Aye, that she is. She wanted tae see Anytown now for some daytime filming, but I think I talked her out o’ it.”
“Where are the others?”
“In the house.”
Reed made an aggravated sound. “This whole thing is f**ked all around. We don’t have the time or resources to baby-sit them.”
The unmistakable sounds of gagging preceded the abrupt appearance of the French Mark—Claire, the fashionista—lurching from around the corner.
She paused at the sight of them, swallowing hard. “I never thought I would wish for the ability to vomit,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” Reed’s gaze lifted to the side of the house she’d emerged from.
“The E.P.D. investigators are examining R-Richens’s body.” She bent over and clutched her knees, inhaling and exhaling carefully.
The urge to puke was all in her head, but like the Novium, knowing the cause didn’t make the phantom feeling seem any less real. Reed sympathized. He wasn’t fond of cadavers either, especially grisly ones.
“I have to leave,” she said. “I hate this place.”
“We’re trying,” he murmured, also sympathizing with whichever handler ended up with her. She was going to need a lot of help acclimating to the mark.
“I hated him, too,” she said.
“Who?”