Pausing, I patted the hidden pocket of my jacket and the envelope still tucked inside. Starla would contact me soon for an update, and I hadn’t even had time to read the information she’d given me.
I made a mental note to make time.
Then I raced down the stairs to the first floor and headed for the exit.
In the foyer, I pulled up short as the door to apartment 1A slid open a crack. Ugh. Now was not the time for nosy neighbors.
“Hey, Patrice,” I said, adjusting my tense expression to something more open and hopefully innocent.
The face that stared back at me was not, however, Patrice. In fact, he wasn’t even Patrice’s gender. Or age bracket. Damn, since when did Patrice have friends? And a cute one at that?
He was leaner than I tended to go for but well-made, that was for sure. With hazel eyes that cut right through to the parts of me that wanted male attention, he was almost too good. . .
Subtly, a ripple of power rolled off him and sniffed its way over to me like a curious puppy.
Damn. A warlock. That made sense.
I tried not to think of Z, my ex. He’d been a warlock too. And a smooth operator—until he’d been an ass. I no longer trusted warlocks on principle.
“Um, hi,” I said, all my defenses up now.
The hottie stepped closer. “Hello. You must be Gemini.”
“Gem.” My eyes narrowed. “Who are you?” And how do you know my name?
“Forgive me.” He held out his hand. “I’m Rourke. Patrice’s nephew. She had an accident this morning. I’ll be staying with her while she recuperates.”
Patrice having an accident wasn’t a surprise. She was elderly and blind as a bat. Her hunky nephew, however, was news to me. News I didn’t have time to get into right now.
“Sorry to hear it,” I said, offering a quick shake of his hand before dropping it again. The last thing I needed was for him to get a reading on everything I was hiding. “Give her my regards. Listen, if you hear anything weird from my apartment tonight, feel free to ignore it.”
He planted his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets, clearly interested in chatting now that I was going to dish out something personal.
Apple didn’t fall far there.
Patrice was the nosiest hermit I’d ever met. How she stayed so informed about everyone’s lives when she never spoke to us or left her apartment, I had no idea. But she was the lifeblood of my building, that was for sure. She was also the worst clairvoyant I’d ever met. Her nephew’s talents remained to be seen.
“Why would I hear weird things from your apartment?” he asked.
“Well, I just got a cat, and it’s a bit temperamental, so it might try knocking a few dishes off the counter. You know how they like to punish their owners for leaving them alone.”
“I didn’t realize.” His smirk made me nervous.
“She’s a rescue, so I think her previous, uh, environment was probably pretty traumatic,” I went on. “The vet says she’ll probably act out. Anyway, if you hear anything, don’t be alarmed.”
Stop. Babbling.
“Funny, I could have sworn my aunt told me pets aren’t permitted in this building,” Rourke said.
His eyes glittered in amusement, and I had to remind myself punching a warlock wasn’t a can of worms I had time to open just now. Also, my constant urge to punch people as a solution was probably unhealthy.
“I know, I know.” I inched forward, doing my best to seem friendly. “Listen, if you can keep this one to yourself, I’ll owe you one.”
I started for the door, hoping a quick exit and ambiguous promises would convince him, but his next question stopped me. “What will you owe me?”
I turned back, racking my brain for something he might want. “Uh. I’ll owe you. . .”
“How about a date?”
My eyes widened. “What?”
Rourke flashed a white-toothed smile. Very boy-next-door. “I don’t know anyone in town. Thought you might be willing to keep me company some time.”
Over Rourke’s shoulder, I noted the runes spread out on the sagging card table inside Patrice’s living room. A shelf behind the table held a scattering of Mason jars containing things I couldn’t identify and didn’t want to think about next time I ate a meal.
Rourke’s sharp hazel eyes didn’t miss my nosiness. “I’m doing a healing spell for my aunt,” he explained.
At the sight of the specimen jars, I remembered where I was supposed to be right now.
“Fine.” I shook my head, urgency driving me. “I’ll hang out with you.” I couldn’t allow the word ‘date’ to come out of my mouth. This guy was slippery. I could feel it. “I have to go now. I’m late for work.”
“Great. And I’ll ignore your cat. Have a good night.”
He smiled again, probably trying to be charming or cute, but I ignored it and whirled, shoving out onto the street and looking for a cab. If I was going to make it in time, I needed to haul ass for the nearest Bargainmart.
Chapter Five
“Thirty-one minutes, thirty-seven seconds.” Adrik’s tone was a warning and a smug victory all rolled into one. Luckily for him, and probably for me too, I was too winded to argue. “I almost gave up on you,” he added.
I bent at the waist, sucking in deep breaths and glaring up at him through soggy eyelashes. “First, it’s . . . raining like a . . . motherfreighter out here,” I managed. “Second. . .” I wheezed.
Adrik’s mouth quirked in mild amusement, but when I couldn’t form the words required to finish my sentence, he finally gave up.
“Tell you what, you can use the next few hours to come up with something good for whatever’s second.”
He nodded at the scene behind me in a “get moving” sort of gesture.
I hesitated, daydreaming about using my newly purchased shovel on his face instead of on demon cleanup. If only Nephilim were that easy to kill. . .
Instead, I waited until he’d walked away and was locked in conversation with a man I assumed was the recorder—the SSF’s version of a coroner who’d record his official report once the body had been disposed of. Then, I picked up my supplies and made my way toward the dead Gorscht demon.
It was exactly where Jax and I had left it earlier, only a lot smellier.
I stopped long enough to tie on one of the masks I’d purchased. They hadn’t been on Adrik’s shopping list, but when I’d spotted them next to the industrial-sized cans of paint thinner, I’d had a feeling they’d come in handy.
I put on gloves and got to work.
Before I could even begin to dispose of the demon’s remains, Murphy had to be extracted from its belly. And even more unfortunate: the poor schmuck doing the extraction was me.
By the time I’d managed to cut my way through the pounds of scaly flesh and release Murphy’s body from where it had wedged itself in between what could have been a spleen and a kidney, I was beyond disgusted. Already, Murphy had begun to melt, thanks to the acid goo lining the demon’s stomach. But what was left of him was still solid enough to make my muscles burn with my efforts. And just as I’d predicted, Jax’s machete had completely dissolved.
“Jophiel’s going to be pissed,” the recorder said as we all watched Murphy’s remains being carted away. “That’s the second informant we’ve lost in two weeks.”
“He’s going to have a lot of questions,” Adrik agreed, and I looked over to find him staring at me.
Heat crept up my throat, and I turned away before he could notice any guilty vibes I might be giving off. While I worked, I listened to them talk, staying far enough away that they couldn’t ask me questions.
“It’s also the fourth death within a three-mile radius,” the recorder added.
“That means the portal must be close,” Adrik said.
A portal?
I shot Adrik a glance out of the corner of my eye, but he didn’t react other than a frown and a nod.
“Don’t forget to classify that sectio
n of the report,” Adrik added.
The recorder agreed and went back to filling out his paperwork.
Glancing furtively toward the floor, I noted the pentagram symbol was missing.
That was strange.
Pentagrams, especially those activated by magic, usually became permanent. Near-impossible to remove, according to the warlocks who cast them. Had someone come back to remove it after Jax and I had left?
Or was it a coincidence?
Maybe Adrik and the recorder were right. Maybe there was an actual portal somewhere close by. That made more sense. No one had been dumb enough to summon demons willingly in decades.
Portals, on the other hand, were usually created using hellfire from the “other side.” They popped up out of nowhere and remained an open entry for demons until an SSF agent discovered it and called in a team to shut it down. A portal this far into the city would be noticed almost immediately. The fact that no one had found it yet wasn’t a good sign.
With my head down, I concentrated on my work.
It took hours to cut the dead demon up small enough to cart him away. For that, Adrik called in a couple of thugs who looked like ‘roided out janitors in their dark gray SSF uniforms that were practically splitting at the seams. What they lacked in verbal acumen, they made up for in brute strength, though. Everything I hacked up, they piled into lye-coated barrels and carted into a creeper van before the whole mess was hauled off to some undisclosed location for further dissection then destruction.
By the time I’d finished cutting, chopping, and mopping, my muscles felt as gooey as the slime I’d spent hours wiping away.
Adrik stayed through it all, chatting quietly in the corner with the more official-looking men who came and went while I worked. By the time the last of the demon had been carted off and the vans and their muscle-bound drivers had left us, I was a hot mess. Hangry, tired, and in desperate need of a stiff drink.
“Come on,” Adrik said, waving at me to follow him.
I gripped the shovel tightly in my sore and calloused hands and obeyed. Mostly, I was just too tired to say no.
He led us back outside where I let the chilled breeze wash away some of the sweat coating my skin. My jacket was tied to my waist, and my tank top was tied around a cut on my leg where I’d gotten too close to a sharp scale protruding from the dead demon’s head. In need of a bandage, I’d stripped down to nothing but my sports bra.
Adrik had stared at me for a long time after that.
Now, the breeze felt amazing for the three seconds it took to exit the warehouse and enter the dilapidated home Adrik referred to as our office.
Inside, my tired eyes adjusted easily to the shadowy darkness as I followed Adrik into the living room. The shovel in my hand grew heavier as I spotted the brand-new couch and chairs that had been set up along the far wall.
Adrik gestured to them before disappearing into the kitchen. “Have a seat,” he called back.
“When did you get furniture?” I asked.
“They were delivered after you left this morning,” he said.
My tired legs carried me as far as the nearest couch cushion before I slumped down on it and leaned back against the plush fabric.
“Comfy,” I murmured, promising to close my eyes for only a moment.
The clinking of ice against glass snapped me awake. “What—?”
A triple shot of whiskey stared back at me, the expensive crystal dangling in front of my face, thanks to a smooth, toned hand—the sight of which left my mouth dry. I took the glass, fully awake, considering the sad fact that a man’s hand had just turned me on without even touching me first.
I really needed to leave that out of my diary.
I also needed to get laid.
“You did good tonight.”
I looked up from my glass and swallowed the mouthful of amber liquid, enjoying the burn as it slid down my throat. “I did?”
Adrik nodded from across the room. He ignored the cozy chairs and opted for a slouchy lean against the mantle. Part of me wanted to warn him about the risk to his expensive-looking shirt if he kept rubbing it over the mildewed walls, but it was his dry-cleaning bill.
Besides, he looked sexy as hell in the low lighting with his shirt sleeves pushed to his elbows and his eyes all soft. Maybe they were tired, but I was going to call them soft.
“A cleanup that size typically takes a team of six. You did it with three, and you did all of the heavy-lifting yourself without complaint.”
“Ah, I think those two Jims did the heavy lifting,” I corrected. “I just hacked the thing up like a fatty steak.”
“Jims?”
I shrugged. “I had to call them something since they weren’t capable of sounding out their own names without flexing their muscles at me, so I decided to call them both Jim. They looked like a Jim. I mean, any guy who can’t touch his own shoulders probably has a one-syllable name, so I figured—”
“I get it.” He pressed his lips together, and I wondered if he was trying not to yell at me or hiding an actual smile. Either way, his eyes remained soft, and I decided I liked midnight-Adrik much better than ten a.m.-Adrik.
“Jims aside,” he went on, “you did well. Clearly, you aren’t afraid to get your hands dirty. The agency needs more commitment like yours.”
He held his drink up in silent salute before downing a good portion of it.
“Thanks,” I muttered, staring down at my drink. “But it’s not the agency I’m committed to.”
“Someone special?” he asked.
“Hell no,” I blurted but then realized it left me without a plausible explanation. Evidently, one he was still waiting for.
Adrik shook his head. “It’s pretty clear there’s no love lost between you and the agency. I don’t fault you for it.”
I eyed him, suspicious. “Maybe not, but I’m also not buying this teammate vibe you’re trying to feed me.”
His lips twitched. “Fair enough. We’ll do an exchange. Here’s mine: I asked for this job.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why on Earth would you do that?”
His amusement faded, and in its place was the brooding I’d seen in him earlier. “Because I deserve it. And because it’s something I have to see through to the end.”
“That’s not an answer,” I pointed out.
He pushed off the wall and strode to the armchair that sat across from where I slumped on the couch. He sat and crossed his legs, his arms draped over the high armrests. Between his broad shoulders, slanted jaw, and sexy eyes, he looked like a damned meal. My mouth went dry, and I tried to tell myself I wasn’t hungry—not for food, and not for . . . whatever other satiation Adrik might offer.
“You don’t need to know the details,” he said. “Only that I asked for this. And that means you can trust me.”
My brows shot up at the last part because the jury was still way out on that one.
“Your turn,” he added, and there was something about his expression—still sad but a little more open. More pleading—that convinced me.
I sighed. “Fine. Telling you won’t change the facts, anyway,” I muttered. Adrik cocked his head questioningly, but he didn’t interrupt. “Eight months ago, my father was killed on duty,” I announced.
Adrik’s expression flickered with something, but I pressed on before I could identify it. If he pitied me, it would only make this worse. “The agency blamed it on a demon attack, which was horse shit since he didn’t have a scratch on him when his body was found. Not to mention, he’d died in his human form, and my dad would never have faced off with a demon as anything other than a griffin. But no matter how many times I asked, begged, or pleaded, no further inquiries were made. The case was ruled on and closed. After we buried him, the agency sent us a silver star for his service then walked away.”
“And you want revenge on them?” Adrik asked in a low voice.
I shook my head, thinking of the file Starla had given me earlier. It felt like forever ago, a
nd I was getting pretty damn salty over being too busy to do more than glance at it. Parenting was a huge time-suck as it turned out.
“I want answers.”
“You don’t believe it was a demon that killed him.”
“Would you?” I asked, leveling my gaze against his. He blinked, and I knew it was the only agreement I’d get.
I took another drink, my senses still sharp enough to read him from across the room.
“What do you think it was?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“But you’re going to find out.”
“Yes,” I said because there was no use denying it.
“That’s why you want to be an agent,” he said. “Access.”
“Yes,” I said again.
The silence that fell between us felt like a third set of ears. I filled it by swallowing down the rest of my drink. When I’d emptied the glass, Adrik still hadn’t spoken, and I rose, assuming it was my cue to get lost.
“It’s a strange case,” he said softly. “Don’t you think? The Gorscht demon being already dead when we found him and no report of the incident. Almost as if someone didn’t want to take credit for the kill.”
I turned slowly, careful to keep my expression neutral. I wasn’t stupid enough to think he couldn’t hear my heart racing, but I was fully ready to do what every other girl in a regrettable decision with a hot guy would do: blame it on the alcohol.
“Maybe they got spooked by something,” I said with a shrug, purposely lilting my words a little. Drunk girl talk couldn’t be trusted, right?
“If a Gorscht demon isn’t enough to spook them into running, I don’t see how killing one would be,” he pointed out.
“Maybe they didn’t want to deal with the SSF.” As soon as the words were out, I knew I’d played into his hands. His dark eyes gleamed with knowing, and whether he called me on it or not, I was certain he knew I’d been the one to slay that demon.
What else did he know?
“Who wouldn’t want to deal with the SSF?” he asked. “Especially as the hero.”
Knock Em Dead (Supernatural Security Force Book 2) Page 6