“That wasn’t a request.”
“I thought you were my partner, not my superior.”
“Actually, if we go by rank, I am on top of you.” With a wince, she wished she’d phrased that differently. “And I can also take care of the paperwork about what we did yesterday.”
“Thanks, but I’ll do it.”
She turned to check her e-mail. “You’re taking the afternoon off, remember.”
When there was no response, she thought maybe he was gathering his things up. She should have known better.
He’d just leaned back in his chair and was staring at his computer monitor. No doubt he wasn’t seeing anything on it. “I’m not leaving. I just want to work.”
And that was when she realized he had nothing. No one to go home to. No one in his life—he’d left the “next of kin” slot unfilled in his HR file, and his emergency contact was that Bails guy. Where was his mother? she wondered.
“Here, eat this,” she said, putting her Micky D’s bag in front of him. “It’s just a cheeseburger, but you look like you could use some calories.”
His hands were surprisingly gentle as he picked up the gift. “I don’t want to take your lunch.”
“I had a big breakfast.”
He rubbed the wrinkled part between his eyebrows. “Thanks. I mean that.”
As he took out the yellow-wrapped package and made efficient work of the burger and the large fries, she found herself sliding back into step with him, even though neither of them were on their feet and walking.
But then, partnerships were like that. At times the gears interlocked smoothly. Others? It was all grind and squeal. And it wasn’t always clear why or when things returned to being at ease.
Although in the case of last night, it was very damned obvious what had thrown them off.
Clearing her throat, she said, “How’d you like to try dinner again.”
Going by the way his head whipped around, she might as well have dropped a bomb in his lap as opposed to the golden arches.
“You’re serious,” he said.
She shrugged, making like she was nonchalant. “My mother was mortified I went fast-food for lunch and is insisting I head over there tonight. Actually, I think she would have made me drop by even if I’d had roughage and tofu—the urge to cook comes over her from time to time, and as an only child, the extra mouth matters. Mom cooks big, if you know what I mean.”
He fingered up three fries, chewed them down, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You sure you want to do that.”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
He focused on the red carton. “Well . . . then yeah. I’d like that. A lot.”
As Reilly got busy texting her mom, he said, “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
The dark bass in his tone suggested he wasn’t just talking about table manners, and she knew it was the kind of vow she should take as well. It took two to tango, and God knew she’d been right there with him in her kitchen.
Then again, she wasn’t wearing anything Victoria would go hush-hush about. So they were probably safe.
Probably.
“Okay, how do you spell ‘Heron,’ ” she murmured as she pulled up a blank incident report on her screen.
There was the briefest of pauses. And then he said quietly, “Just like the bird.”
CHAPTER 18
As night fell, Adrian was drunk . . . but not horny.
The two didn’t always go together. It was very possible for him just to be horny—for example, whenever he woke up, he was usually ready for some action as well as stone-cold sober. However, very rarely did he float a couple of beers without getting that itch that had to be scratched. And it wasn’t that he ever got piss-faced drunk—he wasn’t sure that was possible. But angels could get buzzed, and generally speaking, that led to all kinds of hi-how’re-ya.
As he put down yet another empty longneck, he counted on his fingers. “Wait, was that six? Or seven for us?”
For once, the other angel was keeping up with the pound-backs. Ever since the pair of them had walked through the Iron Mask’s front door an houromise t, the guy had been going one-for-one with Ad’s pace.
“Eight,” Eddie muttered, as he held up his hand for the waitress.
The woman immediately nodded and headed for the bar. She’d been good: moved fast, kept her eyes open, and didn’t seem interested in cutting him and his boy off.
As Adrian waited for the next round to be delivered, he sat back in the crushed-velvet booth and surveyed the dark, moody crowd. Out of habit, rather than necessity, he guessed it was time to switch modes from drinking to fucking.
Such a romantic, wasn’t he.
At least he knew he’d find something. This Goth club was the sort of place he felt perfectly comfortable in—the cast of characters, from the bartenders to the waitresses to the people filing past, were all his people: not a pink, paisley, or preppy POS in sight.
And usually it took him no more than a minute and a half to find a worthy candidate. Tonight? Even the chippie with the butt-length black hair and the Marilyn Monroe and the satin bustier wasn’t capable of getting his ass off the couch.
Come to think of it, he wasn’t even hard.
Fucking Jim Heron.
The waitress showed up with the next set of longnecks, and Eddie leaned forward to put yet another twenty on her tray. He passed Ad’s bottle over and settled back.
“I think we need to get busy,” Eddie said.
“ As in . . .”
At that moment, Rapunzel of the night paraded by, shakin’ that ass, and Eddie’s eyes followed the show, burning deep red.
Well, wasn’t this a role reversal. Typically, Ad was the scout.
“Why don’t you do some business.” Adrian sucked half his beer on a oner. “I’ll watch your Bud.”
The long-haired woman paused just past where they were camped out and looked over her shoulder. Given her expression, she might as well have just laid herself naked on a table for them.
“You sure?” Eddie asked.
“Yeah, I’m just going to hang.”
“I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.” Hell, the night was long. Maybe a couple more in him and he’d be ready. God knew Eddie could go for days straight, so they could still double-team something.
As Eddie rose to his feet, his erection was obvious—and the kind of thing that Enzyte guy from the TV, Bob, took all those pills to sport. And as the female who’d caught the angel’s eye got a proper look at him, she practically levitated out of her bustier, her hand creeping up to her throat . . . and drifting down to her cleavage.
You can cut the seduction, sweetie, Adrian thought. You got him.
And he was going to be spectacular.
Eddie always was.
“Have fun,” Ad muttered.
“You know where to find us if you change your mind.”
As Eddie took off, Ad finished his beer . . . and, as time crawled by, went to work on his buddy’s.
“You didn’t find her attractive?”
The low drawl made his skin crawl.
And he refused to look to the left. “Evening, Devina.”
The demon sauntered through his field of vision and took Eddie’s spot in the booth. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw that she was in a stunner of a black dress, the kind that made more sense for a fancy-schmancy cocktail party at some mansion . . . the kind that parted to show so much leg that the garters holding her stockings up made a brief appearance.
“You don’t fit in here, Devina.”
“I know, I’m too good for this place—happens to me all the time.” As the waitress came over, the demon smiled. “A glass of white wine if you have it. And put it on his tab.”
“Don’t have a tab,” he cut in.
“Then he’ll pay cash.”
Adrian felt the first stirring in his cock, but it wasn’t sexual. It was anger toward the enemy. Man, he was never aroused by her the proper way, but she did make him hard.
Was it the same for Jim?
“So where is your third wheel,” the demon asked. “I believe you are missing one part of your tripod.”