Her eyes stung and her vision blurred. She scrubbed at her lashes with impatient fingers. She hated crying in front of other people, but it was worse with Reed, who fidgeted uncomfortably in reaction. Much like his father. So unlike Alec, who felt too much and was open about it.
Reed looked down at their joined hands. “Raguel is probably dead.”
Eve froze. It was a good thing her heart worked like a machine, considering how many times she’d been surprised today. “What would make you say that?”
“The impression I got from Sara is that Cain wouldn’t have been promoted if Raguel was still alive.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know. It makes sense. There have only been seven firms forever. Maybe that number is immutable.” His gaze lifted to meet hers. “I have to look into it.”
If Gadara was dead, then Riesgo might be, too. She supposed she’d rather take the word of an archangel over Satan. But she had never been a blind-faith sort of person. She couldn’t believe anything without proof. Which meant that somehow she had to get Satan to provide some evidence that he had the goods.
She had a long day ahead of her tomorrow.
“I need to crash,” she said. The sooner she fell asleep, the sooner she could get up and get to work.
“Yeah.” He watched her with dark, slumberous eyes. Waiting.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
In answer, he stood and pulled her to her feet, then carried her to bed.
A ringing phone woke Eve.
Turning her head, she peeked at the nightstand clock with one eye. It was just before eleven in the morning.
“Oh man. . .“ she groaned. “We overslept.”
Reed pinned her in place with a heavy leg thrown over hers. “Ignore it.”
“The world is going to hell,” she argued, “and we’re in bed.”
“Anywhere else you’d rather be when the world ends?”
He had a point. She lifted the arm he had draped over her torso and kissed the back of his hand. “I have to answer that.”
He rolled onto his back with a growl, freeing her. By the time Eve picked up the receiver, voicemail had intercepted, but a quick scan of the caller ID told her the call bad originated from Gadara Tower. She was about to dial her office line when the phone started ringing again.
She sat up. “Hello?”
“Ms. Hollis.” Her secretary, Candace, spoke in a whisper and sounded slightly panicked. “The police are here for you.”
Eve brushed her hair back from her forehead. Beneath the oversized T-shirt she wore, Satan’s necklace throbbed between her breasts. “Yikes.”
“I told them you were out to lunch and that you would call them when you returned, but they insisted they’d wait for you to come back.”
“Double yikes.”
Reed sat up.
“Okay’ Eve said. “I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“Thank you.”
“No, no. Thank you. You’re doing a great job. Be there soon?’ She hung up and winced at Reed. “Cops.”
“I heard,” he murmured.
Eve stared at him, unable to look away. As a mal’akh, he suffered none of the aftereffects of sleep that mortals did. His eyes weren’t puffy and he had no morning breath. He was simply gorgeous. Relaxed in a way she’d never seen before, bare-chested with slightly mussed hair that looked as thick and soft as it felt.
Sighing, she tossed the covers back and climbed out of bed. “1 have to go.”
“I’ll take you there.”
Right. She had no car. “Forgot about that.”
Half an hour later, she was dressed in a pencil skirt and silk blouse with her damp hair restrained in a sleek chignon and three-inch heels on her feet that still left her shorter than Reed.
He’d showered with her, then shifted home to change. While he was gone, she thought about how little she knew of him. She’d never been to where he lived, so she had no idea what his taste in furniture and design was like. As a designer, knowing those things would give her a lot of insight into who he was. As would the selection of books he owned or the lack thereof, his MP3 playlists, DVD collection...
“Ready?” he asked.
Eve nodded. “What about your parents?”
“I checked on them on the way back from my place. They’re fine. Dad is snoring on Cain’s couch. Mom’s watching the news and catching up on the soap operas she likes to watch. She says she can miss a year and still not miss anything.” Gripping her biceps, he smiled. “Damn, you clean up nice, babe?”
“You’re never anything but dressed up’ she said, looking at the perfect knot of his tie. No one wore a three-piece suit like Reed.“Complaining?”
“No way I could when you look so fine. But you know that.”
“Just need you to know it, too. Hang on.”
A few minutes later, Eve’s heels were tapping out a rapid beat down the hallway to her office. She slowed before entering, grateful that her breathing and heart rate remained steady and even.
“Detectives,” she said in greeting as she spotted the two familiar figures waiting in the receptionist’s area of her office. “What a surprise.”
Ingram and Jones stood, Jones with the dreaded worn briefcase in his hand. “Ms. Hollis.”
She gestured for them to follow her into her office. Taking a seat behind the desk, she reached for her phone. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee or tea, perhaps? Or water?”
“Nothing, thank you,” Jones said, with an edge to his tone that told her he was done tiptoeing around her.
“Okay.” Eve clasped her hands atop her desk calendar. “Please don’t tell me there’s been another death.”
“Not yet,” Ingram answered, stroking the end of one side of his mustache as he studied her. “Do you know Father Miguel Riesgo?”
Eve wished she had a good poker face, but knew that she didn’t. The two detectives watched her avidly. Jones leaned forward.
“Yes, I know him,” she answered.
Ingram nodded. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Last night. Why?”
“A missing persons report on Riesgo was filed this morning by a Father Ralph Simmons.”
“A little premature, isn’t it?” she asked. “There is no waiting time in the state of California,” Jones said. “Father Riesgo didn’t show up at the church this morning and his car was found at Glover Stadium here in Anaheim. So was yours.”
“Yes. My boyfriend picked me up for an impromptu dinner.” She cursed inwardly when her mark burned. Give me a break, she thought. It’s pretty damn close to the truth.
Jones withdrew a notepad from his pocket. “Alec Cain?”
“No. Reed Abel.”
“Cain and Abel?” Ingram’s brow rose.
She shrugged lamely.
A knock came at the door just before it opened. Gray Man walked in. He was dressed in a three-piece suit of dark gray, his tall and slender frame moving with an easy grace. His hair and eyes were a lighter shade of gray than his garments, and his thin lips were curved in the vaguest hint of a smile that never seemed to reach his eyes. Eve’s gaze moved past Ishamel to her secretary. Candace offered a reassuring smile.
“Excuse us,” Jones said, pushing heavily to his feet. “Can you please wait outside until we’re done here?”
“I represent Ms. Hoilis,” Ishamel said smoothly, approaching and extending his hand. “Ishamel Abramson?’
“Do you feel the need for counsel?” Ingram asked Eve, eyeing her.
“I am here at the request of Gadara Enterprises,”
Ishamel explained, taking a seat on the sofa near the door. “Ms. Hollis is pivotal in the redesign of the Mondego Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. We want to be certain that nothing interferes with the completion of the project.”
Jones stood motionless for a long moment, then he hummed a doubtful sound and sank back into his chair. He proceeded to ignore Ishamel in favor of focusing more heavily on Eve.
She cleared her throat. “I’m confused as to why homicide detectives would take an interest in a missing persons case.”
Ingram dug into the briefcase. “Once your name was brought into it, we followed a hunch.”
Great. “A hunch?”
Once again, photographs were pushed across her desk toward her. This time, it was a stack half an inch thick. She flipped through the uppermost layer.
The photos were black and white, and very grainy. Eve looked them over, quickly deducing from the quality and angles that they were stills taken from security cameras around the athletic field and nearby traffic lights. She was relieved to see that neither Satan nor Azazel were visible to the cameras, although in some shots she looked ridiculous because it seemed she was talking to dead air.
“See what we see?” Ingram asked, scooting to the edge of his seat and leaning over her desk.
Eve frowned, not sure what he was referring to.
“Here.” He pushed the photos around, revealing the ones that sat beneath the few she’d glimpsed on top.
Her breath caught at a blown-up image of the chain-link fence behind her. The Nix stood there, fingers linked through the chain, an odd smile on his face. She glanced at Ishamel, who stood and came forward.
“That looks like the guy in the drawing you showed me,” she said to the detectives, sitting back to put distance between her and the image. “The sketch artist’s rendering.”
“Right,” Jones said. “The man we’re looking for in conjunction with the Punch Bowl Murders. We’ve got him on a traffic light camera a block away. He was standing alone on the sidewalk, but he might have an accomplice who managed the abduction.”
“Punch Bowl Murders?” she repeated, finding it horrifying that something so heinous would bear such a ridiculous name.
Ingram’s fingers tapped the stack of pictures. “Unfortunately, the quality of the security cameras around the stadium is poor. They have blind spots and record in intervals, so there are times when neither you nor Riesgo are on film, followed by times when you are.”