“Will there be answers?” she asked.
“To what?” he replied coyly.
“Who’s my father?”
“Why do you think I’d know?”
She rolled her eyes, fed up with his sleaziness. “Before Stede showed up, there were only two beings in all the realms that knew, and one is dead.”
“Yes, your father mourned the fact that he couldn’t hang on to your mother before she delivered.”
Bile rose in her stomach. Her mother had suffered, and Andy sounded as regretful as the demon who’d hurt her.
He separated his hands and tapped his fingers on the table. “I’ll give you some information in return, since it feels as if the power dynamic’s a bit lopsided.”
“You’re so kind,” she said wryly.
“I consider a demon my father.”
“How?” She couldn’t come up with a way. Andy was human. He was evil all by himself, but he was human.
“He possessed the man who impregnated my mother.”
Her eyes flared. They’d known it was possible, but most children who resulted from possessed copulation didn’t know it.
“Mm.” His eyes lit at her shock. “And you’re like my mother.”
Ugh. “How?” She hated that she’d figured out the answer.
“She also fell under Jameson’s spell.” He frowned. “I’m disappointed, actually. I expected more from you.”
Was he saying that to get under her skin? He didn’t know her. He knew of her—and she wanted to know how. “What’s your father’s name?”
“That’s for another time. Now, for the conditions. You can have Jameson’s old quarters. You cannot leave. You’ll have guards twenty-four seven. No outside communication. Everything you need will be brought to you.”
Shit. Restrictions were going to be tight. “That’s a lot of rules.”
“It’s that or a dirty cell.”
She believed him. “Fine.”
“And you can’t tell anyone Jameson is dead.”
Her team had been right. “I see.”
“There’ll be serious repercussions if you do.” He didn’t elaborate.
“Anything else?”
Another sly smile. “I need your blood.”
“We can’t trust her.” Harlowe shook her head, her long braid swinging.
Alma worked on a puzzle of waterfalls at the card table set up in place of a kitchen table, humming quietly to herself. It seemed to unnerve the angels, talking openly around the woman when Sandeen wasn’t in her. Once Boone had realized that, he’d made it a point to only talk around Alma.
Boone had called Harlowe after he and Sierra had gone their separate ways. She’d picked him up and brought him to their new safe house. Alma was a risk, apparently; she was too weak to put on a flight alone to Montana. Nor could they set her up in a house by herself and spare a guard for two places, so they kept an eye on her here, both for her health and in case Sandeen came around again. Alma had been supplied with new puzzles and a tablet for streaming shows.
Boone stood by the table. Harlowe had started watching the Hallmark app with Alma and working on puzzles. The house was nearly identical to the old one, only in a different part of Henderson and without a main-floor office.
“She’s our spy,” he said.
“Who conveniently can’t fight because of her condition.”
“She can get us information. Proof for you to take to the senate.”
“That we can’t trust.”
It was like talking to a brick wall. This angel didn’t know what Sierra had gone through to protect her feelings. “Sierra doubts your senate will let you do anything to Andy. There’s been too much turmoil, too much corruption. She thinks they won’t budge from protecting all humans, that being the divine angels’ area.”
Harlowe’s jaw worked. So Sierra wasn’t the only one who thought that.
“But Sierra can hurt him. If it comes to that, she’s already fallen, hasn’t she? She can do what none of your team can. She can do what none of your realm can.” He gave that a moment to sink in. “Can you at least talk to the rest of your team?”
“We can’t risk gathering as a group. Not with Sierra involved.” Her voice ended on a rasp and she glanced away.
He understood her hurt, the anger, and the abundance of caution, but Sierra had given up her freedom. “You can still contact them,” he said tightly.
Sullen, she pulled out her phone and went to the corner of the living room, keeping her back to them.
Boone sat down next to Alma. He wished they realized how hard it’d been to let Sierra go. Her plan had one part that had made him agree to it. She’d be safer with Andy than anyone else. When he learned she was pregnant, he wouldn’t hurt her, and he wouldn’t let anyone else hurt her. They risked him using her blood, but she’d argued that it was a negotiation tactic.
He doubted Andy negotiated.
But while Sierra was at the club, she couldn’t get run off the road again.
“I like Sierra,” Alma said. “She’s a strong girl.”
“I agree.” And brave.
“My demon doesn’t want her to get hurt either.” Her soft features crumpled for a moment before she refocused on her puzzle. “I’m worried about him.”
“What? Why?”
“If he told the bad people where we were, then he must’ve been in trouble.”
“Sandeen?” Boone didn’t know anything about the underworld. Sandeen could’ve been in trouble. A demon with a heart of gold? He wouldn’t go that far, but he agreed with Alma. The demon was tricky. He could’ve used the information about the safe house to get himself out of a tight situation.
“Yes. Sandeen.” Her smile was wistful. “I call him my demon, but he’s no demon.”
“Did you see him when he stopped possessing you?”
She shook her head.
“He had horns. And fangs.”
“Bah.” She clicked a piece of sky into place. “He isn’t made of darkness, just raised in it.”
Boone’s brows popped. Deep words from an unexpected source.
“So, how did Sierra’s appointment go?”
“Good. She’s about sixteen weeks along now.” He selected another sky piece and tried it. It was like sitting next to Sandeen again.
“Oh, how precious.”
Harlowe approached them again. “Director Vale is actually coming to talk to you. Either way, we’ll have to know what level of captive she is—willing or forced.”
They worked on the puzzle for twenty minutes with Alma’s humming to fill the silence. The screen door opened and a tall man with a shaved head walked in. He wore the same black outfit as the rest. Half his face was mottled from old burn scars.
“Oh my.” Alma’s voice resonated with awe.
Light amber eyes pinned him in place. “Boone.”
“Director Vale?”
He stopped a few feet from the table and crossed his arms. Muscles bulged from the guy’s sleeves, making Boone wonder if he’d missed a few too many wood-chopping sessions in the last couple of weeks. “You have the honor of being the first human I’ve talked to about us.”
Alma patted his arm like it was truly an honor.
The director’s lips quirked. “Both of you, it seems. Which brings up my first question. Why the fuck are you telling us this in front of a willing demon host?”
“Young man—”
Director Vale’s eyes flashed to Alma. “I’m older than you.”
Alma put her hand to her chest and looked him up and down. “You must’ve taken excellent care of yourself in your youth. But my demon isn’t bad. Ask them.”
Harlowe’s lips flattened like they usually did when Sandeen was the topic. Boone nodded. “Sierra doesn’t think Sandeen will be back. He’ll find another fallen that Andy doesn’t know about.”
Director Vale scoffed. “She’s willing to bet the whole precarious mission you two concocted on that?”
“Our options are
limited,” Boone replied.
The director jammed his hands on his hips and paced from the kitchen to the living room and back. He stopped in the same spot. “Why the bloody hell did she do what she did?”
“We couldn’t stay on the run indefinitely. We’d been rammed by two vehicles already. This way, she can control it, and she can get us information.”
“There is no us, human.”
“I’ve had experience with undercover work.”
“You can’t go in that club.”
“I can and I will. I’ll even get that fucking tattoo.”
Bryant crossed his arms and leaned back on the rickety folding chair. Boone met the director’s harsh stare and held it.
“They know who you are,” Director Vale finally said. “How do you think you can get in there?”
“After the crash, the demon thought I was a warrior—and that was after Sandeen gave the safe house away.” Alma had to be right. Sandeen had only given enough information away to save himself. “I don’t think they know about me, and I’ll change my look.”
“You two seem to be staking a lot on what you think Sandeen hasn’t done or won’t do in the future.”
“I don’t doubt he’ll throw me under the bus if he needs to. But I’m willing to take the chance that Sierra can find out enough to help take care of the Andy problem.” And if Sandeen showed up in the middle of the club, pointed at Boone, and told everyone exactly who he was, Sierra would still be alive. Andy wouldn’t risk hurting her or the baby. “But I need your word that you’re going to do everything you can to save her.”
“Of course we would.”
“Like you stood by her during her fall?”
The director’s flinch was subtle, but Boone caught it. “She wanted to take the fall on her own. Take responsibility.”
“She did. And you let her. Will she continue to pay for it?”
“Leo Richter does.” The director cut his gaze away. The deep friendship between the male Sierra had gotten hurt and this angel was clear. “But you’re right. It’s time to move on. The senate is finally starting to listen to us and change our laws regarding the fallen.”
“They’ll all need protection. Especially Sierra, since she’s taking on Andy to protect you and the rest of your team.”
Grim understanding rippled over the director’s face. “She would do that, wouldn’t she? Shite. I wish the senate would budge when it came to at least that rat-faced bastard.” He yanked out the fourth folding chair and sat on it backward. “Tell me the plan you two came up with.”
Chapter 16
As far as prisons go, this could be worse.
Sierra’s legs dangled from the edge of the king-size bed. She didn’t want to think about how much sex and how many women Jameson had had in this bed. When Andy had led her to the penthouse a week ago, she’d asked if the bedding had been changed.
It has. The body of his last lover, excuse me, second to last lover, has been removed.
She’d shuddered. Welcome back, self-disgust.
The penthouse was smaller than she’d expected. A bedroom. A bare walk-in closet. A kitchen with empty cupboards, a cleaned-out fridge, and no table. Okay.
There was a third floor that Andy claimed was vacant. Jameson had liked to feel the music and step outside his door to witness the debauchery in the club from the wall-to-wall window. It wasn’t quite one-way, she recalled from her walk through the dance floor. This side was darkened. She’d be a shadow.
Good enough.
Groceries had been delivered shortly after she’d arrived. Had Andy done it or one of the bouncers? Did he use an assistant or was he a control freak?
A midwife had arrived yesterday. She wasn’t what Sierra had expected. Sierra had been briefed to tell the blissfully demon-free woman that Andy was her brother and that she’d fled a bad relationship. Other than that, the midwife asked for a pee sample and asked her the same questions the nurse had asked what felt like months ago. She’d also wanted to draw a vial of blood, but Sierra had refused. Her deal with Andy was that he had to uphold his side of the bargain before anything sharp came close to her skin.
She hadn’t specified a time. To her surprise, he hadn’t either. Was he busy moving his own chess pieces into place?
Sierra had also asked for things to do. Reading, coloring, movies, she didn’t care. The days were boring. Other than surreptitiously searching the quarters for cameras and listening devices, she didn’t have a thing to do.
She’d gotten ten coloring books, five boxes of various pens and markers, three boxes of thrift store novels in all genres, a box of DVDs, also all genres, and an old TV and DVD player. Andy didn’t trust her with streaming.
It’d been a week. Time to see how far her leash extended.
She pushed her hair behind her ears and rose. The clothing Andy had ordered for her was nicer than the ones her teammates had set her up with. The closet was now full of maternity pants in all sizes and fabrics. A few robes too—sky blue, ruby red, and soft brown. She didn’t know if Andy realized they wore robes in Numen, pristine white ones. If he did, he was probably rubbing it in that she wasn’t in Numen. She wasn’t touching the robes.
She’d received a pair of athletic shoes that were half a size too big, a pair of black canvas shoes like the ones she’d arrived in, and fluffy white slippers.
Stuffing her feet into the slippers, she went to the door. The bouncers who had walled her off when she first arrived took rotations as her guard. The one whose junk she’d punched hadn’t been put on the rotation. Andy must not trust him.
She opened the door, and her guard jumped. Had he fallen asleep standing up?
“I’m going stir-crazy.”
His mouth pursed. “You can’t leave.”
“I just want to wander out here.”
“Fallen,” he barked and blocked her. He towered over her, his shoulders eclipsing her view. His eyes were bloodshot like he’d been on a bender the night before, and his ink-black hair was shaved close. Except for the bleary eyes, there wasn’t a part of him that didn’t look like a bodyguard.
“I can look out the window, can’t I?”
“Get inside, fallen.”
That wasn’t the insult he thought it was. She’d heard it so much in the last two and a half weeks that it was now tied to her identity. Yes, she was fallen. She’d dealt with it. Everyone else needed to as well.
“Wouldn’t the clientele like to see Jameson’s knocked-up side piece wandering around? Give them a little hope?”
“Andy’s charged with your care.”
The bodyguards didn’t even know Jameson was dead. “Then ask him if I can look out the damn window and listen to the music.” A steady beat reverberated through her feet. She could feel it inside as well as out here, but she needed every advantage she could get.
The guard bristled, but put his hand to his ear and half turned his back. She looked to the ceiling and sighed. He’d realized this wasn’t the big time of bodyguard work, hadn’t he?
He twisted around. “Why?”
“Because I’m fucking bored!” she yelled, hoping that if Andy was down the hall in the conference room, he’d hear.
It must’ve worked. The guard removed his finger from the bud in his ear. “You have five minutes.
“So generous,” she said sarcastically, but inside she was grinning. Andy was in his office. That was her cue.
She’d be patient. The time alone to reflect on Andy’s delight over her baby had solidified her intentions.
She’d been right to leave the ultrasound picture with Boone. Holding back her disgust wouldn’t be possible if she had to watch Andy’s eyes glow if he found it. There was no way Andy was getting his hands on this baby.
As a warrior, she could do humans no harm. It would be the same for her team. As a fallen, she had no such restraints, and if Andy was the first and last human she killed, so be it.
The shiny, black metal beast gleamed under the Las Vegas sun. Th
e weather was perfect for riding. Too bad he disliked motorcycles. For a while, it’d been exciting. Then it’d been work. When he’d ridden, it had meant he was away from his family, deceiving anyone who rode with him about who he really was. After the shooting, motorcycles had become something he could freely hate.
Yet, here he was again.
Four days after Sierra had given herself up, he’d used the new black car Harlowe had gotten and gone out for a haircut. As hunks of his hair had hit the floor, the man he’d hoped to forget had re-emerged. The lack of hair made his eyes sharper, angrier. He was back to looking like he’d kill someone with his bare hands any second. He’d trimmed his beard so it was a quarter inch longer than stubble and gone to another thrift store for worn blue jeans and used T-shirts. He couldn’t look like his clothing still had their tags on.
The next stop had been the most run-down tattoo shop he could find. Harlowe had said she’d used a Sharpie the one time she’d infiltrated the club, but that was one of the rules about undercover work: commit fully. He hated the little black rose on his biceps, but he’d already checked into what it’d take to laser it off as soon as he could.
Then he’d come home to the bike Urban had procured. An Indian, from this century, and thankfully it looked like a model from the years that Boone had ridden. Gleaming black metal and a black seat with a small rip to add legitimacy. It didn’t bring back the itch to ride. But he didn’t have the urge to kick the thing over either, so whatever mental hang-ups he’d had were in the past. It was a tool to help Sierra.
Boone should’ve done a few test drives, but it was time to go to the club. It wasn’t a biker club this time. But he was undercover again. Two excruciatingly long weeks had gone by and it was time to put the next phase into action.
The tattoo labeled him as a disciple. Harlowe and Urban had assured him that most club-goers went there to flirt with the dark side and get laid, heavy on the getting laid. Boone wasn’t going that deep into character. He’d have to come up with some other reason to lurk around the club.
He tossed a leg over the seat and pushed the button. The engine purred to life, not as obnoxious as the last one he’d owned. His nerves thanked Urban.
Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) Page 19