The God Game: Evangeline Heart Book 2 (Evangeline Heart Adventures)

by A. K. Alexander

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Extras

  Chapter One

  And, behold, one of them which were with Jesus stretched out his hand, and drew his sword, and struck a servant of the high priest's, and smote off his ear. Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword. — Matthew 26:51-52

  I relaxed into the stylist’s chair. This was a well-deserved luxury and one I didn’t do often. Most of the time I kept my dark hair in a braid or simple ponytail so it stayed contained and out of my way. Sunlight filtered through the wide windows of the salon, bathing me in warm, bright light that didn’t quite penetrate to the shadows I’d tucked deep inside my heart. Steel and glass reflected sunbeams and scattered brilliant rainbows of color across my skin, peppering me with diamonds. Even here, the heavens transcended my life, blurring the lines between reality and the surreal.

  Today’s decadence was a nice reprieve from recent events that had my nerves on high alert. I still had a hard time stringing together that a few short months ago, I’d come home from my fiancé’s funeral to be drawn into a search for a trio of religious relics that together, would open a gate to hell. Oh, and the guy calling the shots? The earthly man, Enoch, who ascended into heaven to become the archangel, Metatron. My normal life as an assassin killing drug dealers and sex traffickers was a thousand times easier than dealing with the unearthly world and Metatron’s challenges.

  I sighed. I didn’t want to think about Metatron and all the upcoming tasks he’d given me, not right now. For sixteen more minutes, I could hide here in the salon and pretend that my otherworldly To Do list didn’t exist. The appointment had been on the book for months and when my reminder had popped up this morning, I’d almost cancelled, but my ratio of normal to unbelievable was low as it was. This would add a gram or two to tip the scale back the other way.

  Mika, my stylist, drew a round brush through my damp hair and flicked on the hair dryer, plunging me into a welcome sound bubble of my own thoughts. Metatron wasn’t letting me tackle this mission by myself, though. Oh, no… He’d given me a fantastic assembly of a team. I had a scholar as ancient as the religious relics he knew as well as the liver spots on his own hand—though with his slipping mind, my confidence level of his wisdom slipped daily. But he made up for those memory gaps with a fierce fervor for this cause. He knew everything there was to know about the Book of Enoch, Metatron’s personal bible of all things heavenly, earthly, and below.

  Then there was Clay, my partner in crime and a brilliant yet flippant thief who didn’t take anything seriously, except maybe the day’s fantasy-football picks. Rounding out the stellar grouping was my aging mentor, currently recovering from hip surgery. He’d brought me up after my parents’ murder and recruited me into the “family business” of assassins for hire. We were a motley crew, to be certain. But based on what I’d seen so far and what I feared lay in store for us, we might just be the crew best equipped to succeed.

  I sighed again and tried to let the tension melt from my body. To say I deserved a day at the spa was the understatement of the year. While Mika’s hair dryer smothered me in a blanket of warmth and the brush tickled my scalp, I let my thoughts wander to Griffin, my fiancé, murdered in retaliation for my hired kill of a South Asian leader—or so I’d thought. With every new rock we’d turned over in our search for the relics, I’d learned that not everything that had happened in my life was quite what I’d been told, and that Griffin’s death was only the first lie. The Angel of Death, Azazel—a former archangel in his own right—had intercepted Griffin’s soul. They’d boosted it like a painting and carted it off to hell, trapping him there. As his soul mate, I was the only one who could save him. Griffin’s holy soul—born of the most royal blood—was a hot commodity, able to wield power for its possessor. And as Azazel was currently trapped in a prison of his own making, he’d steal whatever he needed to be set free.

  Or so he thought. I’d already dealt with his number-one guy, Harrold, a foot soldier sent to keep me from succeeding. But they’d underestimated me. Badly. And I would not fail Griffin. Not this time.

  We’d already found the first relic, the Ring of Solomon, along with a handful of items that we hoped would prove their importance soon. We had a rock from the Garden of Gethsemane, where Judas betrayed Jesus, two of the silver pieces that Judas had been paid in recompense for the betrayal, and a knife once thought to be possessed of powers that shielded a high priest from bad angels. My weaponry was as eclectic as my teammates. We had yet to see which was more useful—or which was the bigger liability. I was keeping them safe and close to me until this thing was over.

  Next on the agenda was relic number two and that was going to require the team to walk straight back into danger. All we knew was that the actual relic was another weapon used that night in the Garden: the sword that Simon Peter—Jesus’s right hand—had used against one of the soldiers that night when they came for Jesus. (He lopped a dude’s ear clean off!) From what Clay and I had been able to figure out—and he was definitely better versed in the religious relics—the sword had disappeared that night. It had been lost in the fray of the events of the next few days and never really talked about, forsaken for the “trendier” relics like the shroud, the chalice from dinner earlier in the evening, and even bits of the cross.

  I’d wondered a lot over the last few months at the simplicity of the relics we’d found so far. Solomon’s ring held legendary status with the power to control demons, so that at least made a little sense as something that might open a gate to hell. But a stone? A knife? A sword? I thought for sure we were going after a holy set of keys, not a bunch of weaponry. But what did I know about opening the gates of hell? Maybe that was exactly the kind of thing that opened them.

  I hadn’t seen Metatron since a few days before Christmas, and he’d been as stingy as ever with details and clues. All he’d parted with was our next location—Greece. I assumed I was overdue for a visit from the archangel, but I figured he’d come see me as soon as he wanted to send us back on the trail. I hated that he took his sweet time revealing the information that we needed. He’d already told me that we had a limited amount of time to get Griffin’s soul—apparently it was being stained by evil and the longer he stayed, the less he’d be like himself by the time I got him out of hell. My heart ached at seeing him as anything other than the sweet kind man who’d loved me until his last breath.

  Mika finished and spun me around. I looked like me, except fancier. The deep circles around my blue eyes had faded, and my cheeks finally held some color. Now I was glad that I hadn’t cancelled the appointment.

  I met his eyes and smiled. He’d done far more for me today than just managing a few split ends. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re so v
ery welcome. Don’t be such a stranger next time.” He flipped the ends of my hair forward, drawing my attention back to my own image. My dark hair fell in waves past my shoulders and before I’d left the house, I’d swiped a bit of mascara so I had lashes to frame my eyes, and gloss for a hint of pink across my lips. It hadn’t been much, but enough of an improvement that I looked less like a hired assassin-cum-relic hunter.

  I pushed up out of the chair and grabbed my purse, but when I looked up to follow Mika he was frozen in place.

  And not because I’d stunned him into silence with my good looks. The entire salon was frozen in time. It was one of Metatron’s fun tricks that he used when he showed up.

  With a flair worthy of the high-priced salon, the archangel strode through the front doors, looking elegant and striking in his black suit, icy blond hair perfectly in place. He grinned and stretched both hands toward me like we were fast friends. “Good morning, darling. This look becomes you, like Athena herself.”

  “Metatron.” I arched an eyebrow and took a step back, dodging his grip. “Took you long enough. We don’t have an endless timeline, you know.” His relaxed attitude annoyed me, like we were headed to brunch and he wasn’t a month late for the date. My anxiety spiked at both the anticipation of what he’d come to tell me and being back on the job.

  He looked me up and down but I did not fidget beneath his scrutiny, confident in both my appearance and abilities. “You appear prepared for the next level of your journey.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. For the last three weeks I’d sat on my couch, staring at my blank TV trying to decide if I should watch the recording he’d given me. One I’d watched a single time, coming away overwhelmed and distraught at the imagery that had catalogued my mother’s gruesome death at the hands of my new enemy, Harrold, a man taught and trained by the Angel of Death himself. The problem wasn’t watching the horrific act. It was the lies Harrold had fed me right before Metatron had agreed to give me the recording, and there was just enough of a hint of truth in them that I was deeply troubled about how much I could trust Metatron. I rarely put my trust in anyone, but I’d eagerly—and blindly—swallowed up every detail Metatron had given. I’d wanted—needed—the information about my mom and what had happened to her after she’d made me flee to safety that awful night so many years ago.

  I knew better than to let fear keep me from the truth, but I was paralyzed in the step between knowing it and doing something about it. Considering that the archangel was an integral part of my success as well as a huge source of information, even a hint of distrust in him compromised my mission. For now, though, I needed to pretend that all was right between us so that he would give me the intel I needed to keep this moving forward. I swallowed and nodded, gripping my purse tightly. “We’re ready. Ralph says we have to find the sword, and you say we have to go to Greece—and I’m assuming Athens by your Athena comment.”

  He nodded. “So smart, Evangeline.”

  “Tell me what to do.”

  Chapter Two

  With the world restarted and my mission tucked under my arm like my purse, I headed out the salon to find Clay—the thief—and travel with him to London to see Ralph, the scholar. I turned the corner at 56th and halted.

  Two storefronts down, Clay was already at our meeting place, one hand pressed into the stone wall above the head of a too-young-for-him blonde. She had her red fingernails curled into the front of his tight T-shirt, hips tilted toward his, and body supple and inviting.

  I huffed in annoyance.

  Then I made myself take a deep breath. What did I care if he was dating a college co-ed, as long as he stayed focused on the upcoming task?

  I leaned my shoulder into the wall and waited, hoping he’d finish up and send her on her way. While the afternoon sun heated the top of my head, I watched him, troubled that I had any sort of reaction to the way his lips moved while he talked to her. For a thief, he was built, with broad shoulders narrowing to a trim physique that suited him well as he descended ropes and climbed through windows. He still hadn’t bothered to get a haircut, so now his light curls edged over the tops of his ears and flared at his nape. Today, his navy T-shirt stopped just above the curve of his bicep, revealing the long length of his toned arms as they stretched toward the blonde. He’d matched the body-hugging tee with a pair of dark-washed jeans that nicely accented the curve of his ass.

  If I cared—which I didn’t.

  Clay kissed the blonde slowly and leisurely, then turned her and squeezed her butt as she walked to the waiting cab. She slid in with the practiced care of a woman used to being watched and I could think of a million things I’d rather practice, mostly involving guns.

  My attention drifted to Clay, intently watching the blonde’s departure. When he glanced up at me, the cocky grin was enough to yank me away from any attraction I felt for him—which I didn’t. I pushed away from the wall and walked toward him.

  “Hey,” he said, opening the door to the small deli where we’d agreed to meet for lunch and updates on what we’d been working on for the upcoming mission.

  We didn’t do this often, and now I was glad for that. “Hi yourself.”

  “Oh good, I was hoping you’d be your normal friendly self.”

  I ignored his barb and smiled at the hostess. She led us to a table in the far corner and I rearranged the chairs, sitting with my back to the wall and facing both exits.

  He shook his head and plopped into the chair opposite me, lanky and relaxed. “Doesn’t that get old, thinking someone is always after you?”

  “No. And after the attempt on your life in London, I’d think maybe you’d start. Have you eaten?” I lifted my menu, hiding the frustrating burn in my cheeks. He’d been so cute and jovial with that girl, but he poked and prodded me incessantly, always trying to aggravate me. He was like a sliver I couldn’t dig out from under my skin. I shouldn’t care, but I did. I liked being around him too much for my own good, especially since this entire mission revolved around my barely-dead fiancé’s soul.

  “Hey.” He put his index finger on the top of my menu and pulled it down. I tried to push it back up, but he held it. “You look pretty today.”

  I glanced up, met his gaze for a second, and looked back at the day’s specials. “Thanks.”

  He took the menu away and tucked it beneath his folded arms on the table. “What’s eating you?”

  A thousand things that shouldn’t be. I’d already lost my hold on the calm that Mika had given me. Metatron’s visit hadn’t helped and now I was antsy to get on to the next part of our mission. I cleared my throat and looked at him. “Metatron just came to see me.”

  He frowned. “Damn. I wanted to be there again.” His gaze skimmed my lips and the soft curls in my hair. “You really do look pretty. But something else is bothering you, what’s up?”

  I shook my head, hating that he was observant enough to realize the obvious. No way was I going to even hint that I cared about the kiss he’d shared with that girl. Because. I. Didn’t. “Nothing. Let’s eat and then we need to head out to Ralph’s.” I glanced around the mostly deserted deli, still wary about being overheard, though we had a lot to discuss. I credited that loose end for my unease. “I’ll fill you in on the plane.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You sure that’s all that’s bugging you?”

  Luckily, the waitress showed up and I concealed the hint of heat warming up my face with a long drink of water and ordered a club sandwich and fries. Clay and I had been through a fair share of crazy over the last few months, including attempts on both our lives, and I was sure it was that shared experience that was affecting me, not any sort of attraction. But either way, I needed to get that under control and focus on our upcoming mission. Metatron had promised it would be much more difficult than the last and I had to be at my best. I wanted to tell Clay everything Metatron had revealed, but we couldn’t do it here and as the stakes of this mission escalated, I wasn’t sure we could do it anywhere.

/>   Clay handed the waitress our menus, then turned to me and winked. “If I’m good, will you let me get a piece of pie for the road?”

  I rolled my eyes, relieved to be back on joking terms—at least for the moment. I agreed, because there was no chance he could behave himself for an entire meal.

  Chapter Three

  Outside the deli, Clay pointed toward a beefed-up silver Hummer. “I’m parked over here and I’ve been keeping an overnight bag in the back just in case you pulled another last-minute trip on me.”

  “Great. My bags are already at the jet.” I’d sent them with Malcolm when he’d left last week for another mission, knowing they’d be safe and ready at the secured airstrip instead of having to drag them around. Looks like we’d both been restless about the pause between relics.

  He held my door for me and I climbed into the beast. “Nice ride.” The interior was gunmetal gray and spotless. Clay was so flippant and carefree that the raw manliness of the vehicle caught me off guard. I’d pegged him for a ’69 Camaro convertible or something equally casual, but with a hint of masculinity. He climbed in and I inhaled the leather and his tropical air freshener—not his spicy cologne.

  He pulled into traffic and I launched into our most pressing issue—the double-cross and deception from his buyer. I’d let that one go far too long and should have dealt with it immediately, but Clay had forced me to back off, assuring me that he had it handled every time we’d talked since the party. I was done waiting on him. The last thing we needed was a loose end, especially one who’d already tried to kill Clay.

  “Tell me about the buyer who set us up at Jeffries. Who is this guy, anyway?”

  Clay checked his rearview mirror and changed lanes, speeding past the slower traffic on the right. “Never met him. That’s how I work with all my clients. He sent me a secure message through my system about five years back and I’ve stolen a dozen pieces for him since.”