Lexine grabbed the computer, and Ginger reached for a towel.
The screensaver disappeared, revealing pictures of the exterior and interior of a house. Lexine stared, her mouth open, holding on to the counter to keep from pitching off the stool. One picture showed, in marvelous detail, the colorful, fish-themed mosaic floor from her dream. The one on which Jett had died.
“What the hell is this?”
Ginger glanced at the screen. “Oh. That’s the house where Lawrence’s daughter-in-law and grandson live. It was for sale briefly before the mother changed her mind, apparently, so Lark found those shots on a realtor’s website. Jett was looking at them to get familiar with the layout before he went in.”
“This is where Jett has gone?”
“Yeah.” Ginger tucked her hair behind her ears. “What’s wrong?”
“That floor was in my dream. That’s where…” Lexine held either side of the laptop screen in a white-knuckle grip. It couldn’t be, yet there it was. Never had she seen an uglier kitchen floor, even if she hadn’t first seen it covered with blood.
She shuddered and the back of her neck prickled. They weren’t mated, but now, seeing that floor, she knew that the future hadn’t been altered entirely. Knew it with a cold certainty that went straight to her bones. Mating or no mating, Jett was going to die on that floor. The only difference she’d made? Now, he’d die alone, or with his killer.
But it didn’t make sense. How could the dream have occurred? If she’d accepted Jett’s proposal, would he have bitten her right then and there? Such a moment could have gotten out of hand, perhaps. They could have gone from proposal to sex, his mouth against her skin, the temptation too much. Yes, it was possible.
However, he would never have brought her on the hunt for Lawrence, so how was she with him, in the dream? She scrubbed her face with her hands. Because, whether she’d accepted his proposal or not, she’d have sought Ginger out to confide in, and she’d have seen the computer and the accursed floor.
Holy shit.
She had to go after him.
“Ginger, I need to get there. Where is this house?”
“You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can!” Lexine flipped through the browser tabs on the Internet browser and found a map with the address marked. She scribbled the info down on a piece of paper, studied the roads, and headed for the door. “How long ago did he leave?”
“Over two hours ago.”
“Damn it! I—” She paused with her hands on the doorknob. With his head start, he could already be hurt. No. Oh, no, she was not going to walk into the future the dream had shown her. She was not going to drive out there just to see him die.
She had a much better idea. Jett would need a healer.
She opened the door and rushed down the stairs, Ginger right behind. She stopped at the second floor and pounded on the locked door. Ginger reached over Lexine’s shoulder and entered the security codes. Rushing inside, Lexine headed straight for Raphael, who got to his feet, his feathers bristling.
Lexine swallowed. She had no right to ask the archangel put himself at this much risk—flying into a human town, an enemy like Lawrence and who knows who else in the area—but she was going to, anyway. She summed everything up: “Raphael, I’ve been having prophetic dreams and I need you to go to Morgan, or Jett is going to die.”
…
Jett drove Andrew into Morgan, wishing there was some other place to leave the kid. But, even though it was best that Andrew wasn’t around when Jett made minced meat out of Victor Lawrence, the colony couldn’t hold on to the kid and risk backlash from the human authorities.
“My grandfather is a bad person, isn’t he?” Drew stared out the passenger window.
“What makes you say that?”
“I saw a video on his computer.” Drew turned. “I think you were in it.”
“Me?”
“And Raphael. He healed you. Raphael’s wing was covered in blood.”
Jett tensed. Security footage from Thornton’s prison? Had to be. “Yeah, that was me.”
“Raphael was a prisoner, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was.”
Drew fell silent as another mile of road passed. “My grandfather did that?”
“No. That was someone else.”
“But my grandfather knew about it,” Drew whispered.
“Yes.”
“He did nothing to help.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Drew fidgeted. “My grandfather helps people. He researches diseases like my mom’s. He does surgery on people who’ve been in accidents. Why didn’t he help the archangel?”
Jett gripped the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to lie to the kid. “Your grandfather wanted Raphael to cure the sick and injured.”
“Raphael said he can’t help everyone.”
“That’s right.”
“But my grandfather wanted to force him? Hold him against his will?”
“Yes. When that didn’t work, he tried to kidnap Raphael’s infant grandchildren. He murdered three demons and kidnapped a five-year-old to try to achieve his goals.”
Drew sniffed. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, kid.”
“That’s all right,” Drew whispered. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone. But do you have to kill him?”
Ah, shit.
Drew stared, his eyes wide. “Please, don’t.”
“I have no choice.” Even if Jett could forgive the past, Lawrence would be a continuing threat in the future. There was no reasoning with the man. Jett had tried that many times, only to secure additional beatings. “I need to keep the archangels safe. It’s my job.”
A mailbox with the reflective numbers Jett had been watching for came into view. He turned onto a gravel driveway. A little black sedan and a fancy white sports car sat in front of the garage.
“That your grandfather’s car?”
Drew said nothing.
“Why don’t you go find your mother, kid. She must be worried about you.”
Drew opened the door, jumped out, and ran toward the house.
Jett sighed and rubbed his forehead. Nothing better than an innocent child to take the buzz out of a justified revenge killing. Damn it. He got out of the SUV and followed Drew to the front door.
He picked up Lawrence’s scent. His blood ran cold and he growled.
“Mom! I’m home!” Drew hurried inside.
Jett eased into the mudroom, alert to every sound, scent, and movement. The kitchen—which had an astoundingly ugly tile floor with orange fish—was empty. Drew ran down a hallway.
A scent neither Drew’s nor Lawrence’s nor the woman’s gave Jett pause. Leather and cigarettes. The scent of the man who’d shot Jett full of tranquilizer, taken Bryce, and abandoned the child in a garbage bag.
Jett grinned. Excellent. Another asshole who deserved to die. This would be a fruitful night.
“Jett!” Drew screamed, horror in the boy’s voice.
Jett ran down the narrow hall to a bedroom. A woman and Lawrence lay on the bed, bound. Andrew stood, gaping, his eyes wide.
Lawrence looked up and blanched.
Jett heard the floor creak behind him. The stench of leather and cigarettes strengthened.
“Andrew, get out of here!” Lawrence struggled.
Jett whirled to face a gun leveled at his chest. The wielder wore a black suit and the white collar of a pastor.
“Finally.” Leather and Cigarettes smiled. “I get to kill another demon.”
He pulled the trigger, but Jett anticipated and jerked out of the way. He pulled his own gun, but froze. The pastor grasped Andrew by the arm and pointed the gun at the child’s head.