Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1)

by Tricia Skinner

  “I’ve been working some odd hours at the paper,” she said. “I promise I’ll get Grams up here, and we’ll buy two slabs to make up for it.”

  “I told ya’ll yo’ money ain’t no good here,” Jimmy said, wagging his finger at her. “Only old folks suppose to lose they memory so quick.”

  She hugged him again then turned to introduce Jarrid. The nephilim was on his feet, watching her.

  “Damn, boy, you a big one.” Jimmy leaned back to take in the half-angel’s full height. “Hell, I can damn near retire after you pay yo’ bill.”

  Jarrid’s thunderous laugh was a sonic boom, resonating in every corner of the small restaurant.

  “After I charge you fo’ bustin’ out my eardrums.” Jimmy rubbed his ears.

  She grinned. “This is Jarrid. He’s helping me with a story.”

  Jimmy whistled before extending his hand, which Jarrid gave a quick shake. The room’s light caused his eyes to take on a luminous shimmer and she stared into them, mesmerized by the lashes fanning his skin in a thick plume.

  “What you like, Jay? I got pork and beef ribs slathered up and ready to find a home in yo’ belly,” Jimmy said, flashing a toothy grin. “I don’t got no tofu, tree bark, or grass clippings. You want health food, get yo’self to the ‘burbs.”

  “Ionie?” Jarrid’s questioning look surprised her.

  “How hungry are you?” she asked. His lips twisted in a wry smile.

  Right. “Jimmy, please bring a sample platter. He’ll tell you to stop when he’s full.”

  “Yep, I’m gonna retire this evening, I tell you right now.” Jimmy clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms in glee.

  “I’ve never seen him happier.” Ionie sat down. “He enjoys cooking, but he loves feeding people more.”

  “What do you enjoy?” Jarrid’s question came out of nowhere.

  How to answer? A thousand ideas crossed her mind. “I love to read. Curl up for days with my eReader and lose myself.”

  “You’ve mentioned that before.”

  “What about you?”

  “Same.”

  Her curiosity stirred. Here was her chance to learn more about the mysterious man across from her. He wasn’t a full angel, but damn, he was the closest she’d ever been to one. Her head whirred past a half-dozen boring questions, sensing the window to Jarrid’s secrets was narrow.

  “Have you been to Heaven?” Seemed a safe enough choice.

  He glanced at her through a fan of lashes. “I was stationed there until my assignment on Earth.”

  Ionie sat up straighter. “What were you assigned to do? I mean, if it wouldn’t break some rules to tell me.”

  A pregnant pause followed, but to her relief, he resumed talking.

  “I find people.”

  “Like a detective?”

  Could he be some type of cop?

  “The description is inadequate, but close enough,” he said.

  Not a cop, and not quite a detective. Who else found people? Nothing popped into her head. She decided to test his openness with a question tied to her mother. “Do angels, um, visit people before they die?”

  Jarrid tapped his index finger on the table in a slow, steady rhythm. “No.” A subtle flicker passed over his face. “You told Tanis you’ve never met an angel.” His cool gaze captured her. “Are you sure?”

  Odd question. She’d sure as hell remember if a guy with wings chatted her up at Starbuck’s. “No angel sightings in my past.”

  Her reply earned a frown.

  My God, he’s moody. “You’re angling to ask me something specific. I can tell.” He’d had her perched on an invisible fence since they met. Ionie crossed her arms.

  His eyes darkened. Instead of answering, Jarrid leaned back on his chair. Jimmy arrived at their table, arms laden with a tray buried under a mountain of glistening meat.

  “I brought a mix of pork and beef ribs,” he said, puffing out his chest. “We’ll call this the appetizer, in honor of my new friend here. The rest’ll be by in a bit. If I see ya’ll fall over, I’ll know ya’ll had enough.”

  With that, he placed the heaped platter between them and left. Ionie stared at the food with a mix of ravenous hunger and worry. Could they eat a quarter of the meal? Jarrid picked up a knife and sliced a slab in half. He placed it on her plate.

  “You want more?”

  The mouth-watering smells filled her nose. Her stomach somersaulted. “I’m good, thanks. Go ahead.”

  Jarrid pulled the full platter to his side of the table and dug in. She tried damn hard not to stare. She’d barely finished one meaty bone while her date stripped a full slab clean. She gawked, not caring if she appeared rude. There wasn’t a lick of sauce on Jarrid’s long fingers, while two damning drops splattered on her shirt. She ignored the sloppy marks and soaked in the pure masculine energy sitting across from her.

  He liked ribs; that was clear enough. The rate at which bones were discarded was astronomical. He ate so fast she only tracked meat going in and bone coming out. The meal continued the same way through a second huge platter of food. She’d finished her half-slab when she caught him studying her.

  “What?” Ionie prayed she didn’t have sauce on her face.

  “You eat like a bird,” he said.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Don’t you want more? This is good stuff.”

  Ionie laughed, raising her hands to stop him from placing more food on her plate. “I’m close to exploding. But you seem to be doing okay. You should be in a meat coma.”

  “I was only slightly hungry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “This took the edge off.”

  If this was an example of ‘slightly hungry,’ she wondered what ‘starving’ looked like. Her half-angel was proving to be an interesting man, feeding her curiosity like a drug. He had layers, and she wanted to peel them back, one by one.

  “Jarrid.” His gaze locked on her, waiting. “What’s it like? Being half-angel and half-human?”

  The question hovered while she studied him. He could be mistaken for a man in his early-thirties. His hair, long and healthy, showed no sign its rich color would fade. Her fingers tingled as she imagined its silkiness, light as threads but with the hefty weight of a blanket.

  “What’s it like being of two human races?”

  She thought about her mixed blood. Her Caucasian father was a faded memory, but her mother’s African-American features filled her mind. She’d inherited her dad’s hair texture and her mom’s dark-brown color. She glanced at her skin tone.

  Coffee with lots of cream.

  “Being biracial has pros and cons,” she said. “You never feel you belong to either half. I kind of exist somewhere in the middle.”

  “Then you know what it is to be a half-breed.”

  Surprised, she nodded. “Huh. I guess I do.” Another thought popped into her head. “Humans have a tough time being different. I mean, with so many Others around, being plain human feels boring.”

  Jarrid eased forward, his amazing eyes sparkling.

  God, could he be any more handsome?

  “You’re not boring,” he said, the words coming in a deep rush.

  Where have you been all my life? She’d never made time for dating, too busy chasing her career. Who’d she date last? She thought about Dirk Gladwell in college. Dirk the Dick, womanizer and class-A windbag. Running into him on Wayne State’s campus turned into a seven-month ride of sex, lies, and bullshit.

  “I’m more boring than most,” she said, dragging herself back to the present. “I go to work, see my Grams when I can, and read.”

  “I thought humans were social beings,” Jarrid said, his expression confused. “You’re young, beautiful, and at ease with other races.”


  The word ‘beautiful’ zinged through Ionie’s brain. Her body made an imperceptible leap of joy while her heart pranced at full tilt in her chest. Had she imagined it? No, he said she was beautiful. This man with a body hot enough to memorialize in marble paid her a compliment.

  • • •

  A deep blush crept up Ionie’s elegant neck, flattering her skin tone. She reacted to something he’d said, but he didn’t recall speaking any important words. Brown eyes fastened on him, and then she pulled her lip between her teeth and bit down.

  He sat on his hand to avoid reaching across the table. Her lips fascinated him. When she swiped the wet tip of her tongue across the bottom one, a new sensation froze him to his chair — desire.

  The foreign emotion hit with the force of an earthquake followed by a tsunami. Sirens screeched a warning inside his head.

  What the hell? No experience in his long centuries matched the jumbled thoughts burrowing into his brain.

  Pull Ionie into his lap.

  Lavish her lips with slow kisses until they plumped with need for him.

  Her feminine aroma sang out, ensnaring him.

  She’d taste like the exotic scent she gave off outside the Stronghold; dark spices dipped in fruit and chocolate.

  Tremors shoved against the walls of his soul. His body, a virtual pillar of purity, craved the woman sitting across from him. The skin on his hands dampened.

  One touch.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud,” Ionie said. “But you’re gorgeous.”

  His brain misfired at the husky tone of her voice. A second enticing blush blossomed under her skin. His internal sirens deafened him. This was beyond his experience. He needed to regain control.

  He almost overturned the table in his haste to leave.

  “Time to go,” Jarrid said, a hint colder than he anticipated. He opened his wallet, dropped a clump of twenties on a napkin, and pulled her after him. He exited the restaurant without a word to Jimmy.

  Ionie stumbled and would have fallen if he didn’t have a tight grip on her arm. He opened the passenger door and tossed her onto the seat. Once inside, he peeled out of the parking lot of Jimmy’s Barbecue like the Four Horsemen had tried to hitch a ride.

  He had no clue where he was going. “Where do you live?”

  “What happened?” she asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  No, I’m the idiot who almost forgot his mission.

  Jarrid ground his teeth until his jaw protested. Ionie …

  Scratch that. The reporter was bait.

  Instead of blanketing Detroit to pick up traces of the Renegade, like his brothers, he’d been lusting over a woman.

  A very not boring human woman. Jarrid stared at the windshield.

  He didn’t lust.

  He hunted.

  He killed.

  He almost missed her whispered address through his fuming. He turned the truck around, heading for the city’s east side. The residential area housed a mix of traditional single-family homes, but some were well-designed duplexes. He pulled to a stop at the address she’d given.

  “Can you tell me what I did? I thought we were having a fun evening.”

  He forced himself to look at her rigid posture. Ionie’s face was mired in confusion. He felt like an asshole.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong,” Jarrid said. The words sounded wooden to his ears. He hoped she didn’t notice.

  She clutched her bag and exited the truck. He joined her and they walked toward the nearest house, his senses primed. The Renegade searched for Ionie, and he planned to keep her safe. The Order never broke vows.

  The gentle jingle of keys brought his attention to his bait. He winced. The term ate at his brain. Hell, the team now had trouble seeing the outgoing reporter like an object. Was he any different?

  Ionie unlocked the door. “Something weird happened at Jimmy’s.”

  No shit. Weird took on a new definition after tonight. He didn’t respond.

  “Fine. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Goodnight, Jarrid.”

  She closed the front door, leaving him relieved and unsettled. Did she say tomorrow?

  Jesus Christ.

  • • •

  October brought a mixed bag of weather to the city. Days dawned with a bright sun blazing weak heat across the concrete landscape, while bone-chilling nights reminded Detroit’s inhabitants of winter. Jarrid couldn’t care less. The frigid cold didn’t register thanks to his high body temperature. His mood, however, redefined frosty.

  He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. Although he’d parked outside the Stronghold, his mind hadn’t made the trip. A vivid image of Ionie’s perfect lips begging to be kissed surfaced — along with his baffling reaction.

  “Damn it!” He shoved his double-crossing emotions into a grenade-lined box. Ionie was a means to an end. He’d made similar arrangements in the past. Place the right tantalizing bait in front of an unsuspecting mark. Swoop in and take down the target, a common practice among expert assassins.

  How close was the Renegade to finding her? He clawed his fingers through his hair, ruffling it around his shoulders. She couldn’t be allowed to write any more stories about the outlaw’s victims. If the Directorate picked up on them, they’d swoop in and grab her.

  No way. He needed his target to assume she was unprotected and come out of hiding. Then the Order could snare him.

  Another twinge of guilt struck. Jarrid had never struck up lengthy conversations with other lures. He’d never laughed at their jokes, or shared snippets of his life. Ionie summoned his curiosity, drawing him in.

  He rested his head on the battered steering wheel. He’d been different during dinner. Nothing intruded. No Directorate breathed down his neck. No Renegade lurked in the bushes. He wasn’t an abomination to be shunned.

  God of All, Ionie hadn’t recoiled when he told her bi-racial was similar to being a half-breed. She’d accepted the comparison, no doubt on her trusting face. Maybe that explained his reaction. She treated him like a man.

  Just a man.

  He groaned in the truck’s cabin. She didn’t know what he did for a living. She accepted the steaming pile of lies he handed her. He needed help? Get real. He had reacted to her because he normally avoided humans. Women were distractions since the dawn of the entire race. A growl rumbled in his throat.

  “Trouble?”

  He turned his head and found Nestaron leaning against the truck, picking at his fingernails. “No. I’m peachy.”

  “Ionie.”

  The simple statement caused Jarrid’s pulse to quicken. “What about the reporter?”

  Nestaron’s glimmering eyes didn’t blink.

  Great. He swore under his breath. The super-observant brother was analyzing him up. Tonight was not done fucking with him.

  “She’s nice.” The other nephilim shrugged. “Funny, too.”

  “Don’t get attached,” Jarrid said, his tone cold. “She’s bait.”

  “Facts are facts.”

  Oh for the love of … “What do you want, Nesty?”

  Another shrug.

  “Any luck with your trace?” Jarrid asked, praying the subject would shift in another direction.

  “Nope.”

  He got out of the truck and slammed the door. Nestaron followed him into the warehouse and through the long hall to the dining room. Jarrid grabbed a bottle of Southern Comfort. At his brother’s nod, he poured a liberal amount of booze into two shot glasses. He welcomed the liquid fire burning his throat. Nestaron tossed his down the same way, like he’d needed it.

  Jarrid poured another round. They drank in companionable silence for several minutes, giving Jarrid time to calm his stormy mood. “Tonight was a bust.”

  �
��Big time,” Nesty said.

  “Guess Tanis will keep this up until we either find a trace, or the Renegade gets a bead on Ionie.”

  Nestaron rubbed the back of his neck. “Make her visible.”

  Jarrid knew the inevitable. Ionie was no use to them out of sight. She had to be dead center of the target. The outlaw would only come out of hiding if he believed himself close to capturing what he coveted.

  “You cool?” Nestaron asked.

  Jarrid poured himself another drink. Where could he place her so the Renegade would notice? Detroit was a large city with a quarter of a million people. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Nestaron tapped a long finger against his empty glass, which Jarrid filled to the rim. He spied the near-empty whiskey bottle.

  “The Church,” Nesty said.

  Holy shit. Jarrid wanted to kick his own ass for missing the obvious. The Church was the hangout for supernatural beings in the city. The deconsecrated building was off limits to humans unless they arrived with Others. The rich and powerful frequented the nightclub. If he took Ionie there, her presence would spark rumors.

  Rumors a fallen angel wouldn’t miss.

  “You’re a smart son of a bitch, Nesty,” he said. A grin curved his lips. “One night at The Church will do more for our tracking than turning over garbage bins.”

  “Backup?”

  “Yeah, buddy, I won’t take chances with this mark,” he said. “You and Cain get situated inside the building before we arrive. Kas will be on standby on the street. I’ll ask Tanis to monitor cell phone chatter from here.”

  “Triangulate. Snare. Target acquired.” Nestaron slammed his empty shot glass on the counter. The glass shattered, showering the floor in crystal shards. A lazy smile hitched the corner of his brother’s pale lips.

  A tremble of anticipation rolled up Jarrid’s back. He’d make Ionie visible all right. She’d get introduced to every well connected Other in the club. Hell, if he had to stick neon bulbs on her forehead, he’d do it. A smile curved his lips. Ionie would explode when he told her she was going to the ultra-exclusive nightclub.

  “One problem.” Nesty released a low whistle and shook his head.

  “What? You have doubts?” Jarrid asked.