“Yup. They don’t have anything to say. Can’t talk.”
“Probably why she likes them.”
Ad came over and wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt. The glimmering red stain left behind looked like something a psychologist would ask her patient to interpret.
To Jim? It looked like the opening of a cave. A dense, dark cave that had the body of an innocent stashed against the back wall.
Yeah, like that interp was a shocker.
As a groaning sound bubbled up, Jim thought, Damn that demon. She was smart. If your subordinates were incapable of speaking about you, either because they were mute, dumb, or pain-resistant, it was damn good strategy—
“That was fun to watch.”
At the sound of Devina’s voice, Jim and Ad locked eyes. In silent agreement, they both made like her appearance was nothing unexpected. And as they rose to their feet and turned to her, Jim put himself in front of the other angel.
He was not losing another one to that bitch. Not tonight.
“Hiding from me, Jim?”
The demon’s eyes all but reached out and grabbed him: They were so intense, it was like being physically struck.
Silly thing to say, though. He hadn’t realized she couldn’t find him.
“Radar not working, Devina?” So that was why Ad had gotten attacked. She’d wanted to draw Jim out.
The demon stepped delicately across the grass. She was wearing heels high enough to make him wonder how she handled the elevation sickness, and her skirt was the size of a napkin and the color of the Vegas strip.
Sounded ridiculous, looked hot—as long as you didn’t know what she really was.
And houghs never going to forget that.
Reaching behind, he put his hand on Ad’s forearm. The other angel was hard as a concrete block, utterly immobile—and he was going to have to stay that way: He was not in the right frame of mind to tackle an out-and-out with the enemy.
Neither was Jim, to be honest. But she wasn’t going to know that.
“Got something on your mind, Devina?”
She stopped when she came up to her undead soldier who’d been shish kebab’d. Staring down at the thing, she put her hand out, and with all the urgency of someone picking up a newspaper, summoned the form into her palm, drawing it up from the ground in a liquid rush and absorbing the stain into herself. When she was through, the shovel remained where it had been left, buried in the ground to the handle.
“How’s Eddie doing?” She smiled. “Smelling like a rose?”
Jim wanted to curse. Of course she led with that.
It was the one thing guaranteed to make Adrian flip out.
Fucking hell—just when he’d thought this night couldn’t get worse . . .
CHAPTER 31
As Reilly met the hard eyes of her partner, she guessed the pair of them were going to miss another pizza opportunity: Standing across her kitchen, Veck was looking downright pissed off, and although she bristled at the caveman routine, it wasn’t like she didn’t know where he was coming from.
“Why didn’t you tell me,” Veck demanded again. “Or, shit, if not me, anyone else?”
“Who says I was stalked.”
“Why else would you move the furniture into that arrangement.”
See, this was why you didn’t want to date a detective. . . .
Linking her arms over her chest, she leaned back against the counter. “I didn’t actually see anything.” She shrugged. “If I’d had something to report, I would have told you. But I just sat in that chair all night, wondering if I was paranoid. Nothing happened.”
“You should have called me.” At that, she cocked a brow, and he cursed as if he were remembering how things had been left between them. “Okay, okay . . . but, damn it, I don’t want you up alone for hours waiting for someone to break into your house.”
“I was all right. I am all right now. And I guarantee you that if anyone had come into my house, I’d have taken care of the situation.”
Muttering something about Dirty Harry, Veck went over and sat at the kitchen table. Bracing his arms on his elbows, he rubbed his head. “This shit is out of hand.”
Which part? The idea that they were being stalked? The Kroner situation? The body they’d found?
The sex? The “love” thing?
So much to choose from.
As she took the chair across from him, she thought of her parents, sitting together at their table in that nice house of theirs. She’d bet they’d never had to stare at each other over this kind of—
A screech lit off from behind the house, and she and Veck were up on their feet before the high-pitched burst faded.
Guns came out as they both back-flatted on either side of the sliding door that opened to the backyard. Reilly nailed the overhead light switch, plunging the kitchen into darkness, before hitting the one that cranked the security lights on.
Her eyes searched the brightly illuminated yard.
There wasn’t much to her back forty. It was more like a back four, and the only vista she had, such as it was, was of the boxy, suburban connect-the-dots of the other houses in the neighborhood.
Nothing was out there. That she could see.
Her instincts told her another story. And made her think of all the footprints “Jim Heron” hadn’t left behind.
“I feel like I’m going crazy,” she muttered.
“Funny, I’m worried we aren’t.”
When nothing else happened, they waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually, they both peeled off from the door and reholstered their weapons.
“We need food. And a shower,” she muttered. “And a psych eval.”
When there was no response, she glanced over at her partner. Veck was pacing around, looking as if he were about to levitate off the floor.
It went without saying that there was going to be no talking him down. So she stepped in front of him, forcing him to stop or mow her over. He stopped.
“Food. Shower,” she commanded. “In that order. We can skip the psych thing for now.”
He smiled at her and brushed her cheek with his hand. “This your way of asking me for a date, Officer.”
“Guess it is, Detective.”
“Then how about we start with a shower,” he said in the kind of deep voice that made her consider the value of cleanliness.
Meticulous, soapy, slow-going cleanliness.
She had to clear her throat. “Because I have a feeling we’re going to be up there for a while.”
“You don’t say.” He stepped in closer and put his hands on her hips. “You think we’re that dirty.”
“Try filthy,” she said, focusing on his lips. “We are past dirty and into filthy territory.”
Veck purred on a low throb as one of his palms went up to the small of her back. The other went down and gripped her, bringing her flush against him so that his erection was a hard, thick demand pushing into the front of her hips.
As he rolled his pelvis, he stroked her with exactly what she was breathless for.
And in response, Reilly rose onto her tiptoes, arched into him, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Veck . . .”
“Yeah,” he growled.
Tilting her head to the side, she put her mouth less than an inch from his. In her breathiest, sexiest voice, she murmured, “What do you want on your pizza . . .”
Then she sucked his lower lip in and bit it ever so slightly.
He groaned and tightened up all over. “Tease.”
“I’ll be your dessert—”
Turned out you didn’t taunt a man like Veck. He backed her up against the wall, took both her hands, and held them out against the si Reilly oster paper. Pressing himself into her, so that she felt him from her thighs to her breasts, he worked a rhythm of retreat and advance until she was panting.
“You’d better order now,” he said, licking up her throat. “Or I’m not going to let you get to the phone for a while.”
He stretched out her arm, putting her in the vicinity of the receiver. But he didn’t stop with the erotic riding, or the tongue. Instead, he pushed his leg between hers so the friction got worse . . . or better, depending on how you looked at it.