Dangerous Angel

by Stacy Gail

  “I just don’t understand how that part unfolded. How exactly did you get there? I mean, even if an elderly man was taking his blue pills, he still has physical limitations. Surely he didn’t lift you and travel across the room without your notice, did he?”

  Tension drew lines along Lynette’s brow. “I can’t explain it, even to myself. It happened so fast, where I went from standing by the door to flat on my back in a blink of an eye. When I think about it, all I see is this crazy blur in my mind. I do know this,” she added when Kyle’s face tightened even more, much to Nikita’s growing bewilderment. “Kinks and fetishes are fine here. Expected, even. But we draw the line when it comes to actual violence. I can assure you, those three don’t seem to know that line is even there.”

  Chapter Nine

  It was official. Fate hated him. First it put him and Nikita in the same room with a bed, a riding crop, fuzzy cuffs, cherry-flavored lube and a pyramid made out of condom boxes. Then, before he could do a damn thing about it, a ten-ton gorilla landed right on him—the chilling possibility that Miami wasn’t as demon-free as he’d thought.

  Talk about a mood-killer.

  Kyle scowled as he pulled the master bedroom’s sliding glass door aside and stepped out onto the houseboat’s second-level deck. The sun sank slowly over the Miami skyline in the distance and the sultry air was hold-its-breath still. Like it was waiting. He knew that was probably just a trick of his mind, but somehow the world seemed more ominous than it did a few hours ago.

  Yet, despite the possibility that his demon paranoia could be well-founded, an equally strong preoccupation with Nikita and the game-changing kiss they’d shared kept muscling its way to the fore. What the hell kind of human-angel hybrid was he, to be distracted by something as measly as a kiss when there could be a powerful demon on the loose?

  Only it hadn’t been a measly kiss. It had been a huge, earth-shaking event that changed everything. And if Nikita had given him even the slightest indication she felt the same way, he would have given the showroom attendant his credit card and done his damnedest to test out every item Lady Jayne’s had to offer. But far from giving him the green light, Nikita hadn’t even glanced at him.

  So now here he was, torn between worrying about the world possibly coming to an end, and stressing over whether or not Nikita was just as affected as he was over the change in their relationship. Geez. He had to be the universe’s foremost expert when it came to fucked-up priorities.

  As he settled onto a chaise lounge, the chime of his phone sounded. His pulse kicked up as he reached for it like a drowning man clutching at a life preserver. But the rush of hope that it was Nikita died out when he read the message, only to have the other half of his world slam into him with all the subtlety of a rock between the eyes.

  Neo-Philim.

  His thumb hovered over the screen, an echo of his internal struggle. From the moment he’d found his way to the carefully guarded for-Nephilim-only site, he’d reveled in connecting with what he’d come to think of as his online family. But recently every notification set his teeth on edge. As much as he was grateful to know he wasn’t alone in the world, he was tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. When they kept coming up empty in their efforts to prove Dantalion had been nullified as a threat, the tension inside him grew. If the demon was still in the physical world, they had the power to stop the spawn from hell, at least for the moment. But they were damn close to the point where that monster would be able to unleash madness in the minds of everyone on the planet.

  If Dantalion was still here.

  If.

  As a member of the Nephilim and therefore a partially spiritual being himself, Kyle’s mind couldn’t be touched by Dantalion’s insanity-inducing powers. But that immunity wasn’t saving him from being slowly driven crazy with obsessive thoughts of where the bastard might be. He’d laugh at the irony if his stomach wasn’t busy filling up with acid.

  Irritated with his uncharacteristic indecision, he flicked a thumb over the screen and made himself focus on the message that popped up.

  Hail, Neo-Phytes!

  We’ve been keeping a sharp eye on the riot that kicked up in Toronto, since it seemed to have all the earmarks of Dantalion’s specialty—a hot box of crazy violence for no apparent reason. The concern was so great, our fearless leader Sara and a select group of volunteers from LSI flew up there yesterday evening. But, as all members of the team are still coherent and not wearing dead badgers on their heads, there doesn’t seem to be any demonic reason for the Canadians to have suddenly come down with a rabid case of the screaming meemies. So the consensus is, no demony Dantalion in the Great White North.

  At this point, you might be wondering what did cause the chaos. After getting in touch with a journalist pal north of the border, our intrepid Kendall has uncovered that, in all probability, the riot started out as a neighborhood kerfuffle over favorite hockey teams. Canadians. How I love ’em. And hockey too, now that I think about it.

  Sara’s on her way back to Texas as I’m writing this, but she wanted me to remind everyone to PLEASE keep your proverbial ear to the ground and holler if there’s anything that gives you pause. No matter how trivial it might seem, no stone can go unturned. Yes, it’s entirely possible Dantalion is no longer in this realm. But it’s also possible that he is.

  On a personal note... As you guys know, I’m not a member of the Nephilim, but even I can feel the urgency. Sorry if I’m pointing out the obvious, but with every day that we don’t either find Dantalion or prove beyond all doubt he’s vanished from this realm, we’re potentially losing ground. If he is in fact still in the human realm and allowed to gain full power, that’s pretty much the end of us. So find out where he is, guys. Please.

  TTYL, Macbeth (your human buddy who REALLY doesn’t want to lose his unbelievably amazing mind)

  “Macbeth.” With a sad sigh, Kyle tapped on the comment box. “It’s our job to worry, dude. Not yours.”

  “Yeah, but I live in the world too, Kyle,” came the immediate reply. “I’m not a big fan of being helpless. I want to DO something.”

  SeraphSara, Macbeth’s boss and official head of LSI, was the next name to pop up, no doubt following along from high over the earth in one of the security company’s private planes. “You are doing something, Macbeth. You have from the beginning. You’ve alerted everyone to the problem, and you keep us all connected. We’re a powerful unit because of you. I rest easier knowing you’ll be the first to sound the alarm if any one of us sends up a flare.”

  “I’d still rather have a super power to smash this demon jerk back into hell.”

  “You do have a super power—your brain.” This came from MenloNotThePark, a Bostonian whom Kyle had never actually seen on any of their online conferences, but had come to think of as the steady-eddie kind of guy he’d always wanted to be. “Make no mistake, we will find this demon and give him all that he deserves and more. Believe me, I want to see an end to this just as much as you do. Which leads me to my next question—anyone have anything to report?”

  “I don’t know if I do or not.” Kyle’s thumbs hesitated as he typed, but that wasn’t surprising. He had a feeling he wasn’t the only one who was getting so desperate to find Dantalion he was seeing demonic signs everywhere he looked. “I’m working on a bail jumper case, but it turned a little weird today.”

  “What?”

  “Weird how?”

  “Explain. DETAILS.”

  He sighed again. “Guys, breathe. Might be nothing.”

  For once Menlo was the quickest on the keyboard. “Like Macbeth said, no stone is too small to go unturned, and Dantalion’s MO is to show up wherever a member of the Nephilim is. Deets, plz.”

  “A witness gave a description of an incident that didn’t sound right. An old man moved so fast my witness never actually saw it happen. Then this st
urdy, well-built witness was physically moved by said old man to a location across the room with such speed that it seemed like a ‘blur’ to her.” He read the comment before hitting Send, then felt obligated to add, “It could just be the way she phrased it that made it sound suspicious. She might have also been in shock at the time. This could be nothing.”

  Macbeth’s words appeared in the next heartbeat “Name of old guy?”

  “Not sure. A fellow bounty hunter’s looking into it.” And the more he thought about it, the more Kyle wasn’t comfortable with having Nikita do even tedious, paper-pushing busy-work on this. Somehow he’d have to find a way to kick her off the case, even if it meant kidnapping her and tying her up in his nonexistent basement. “I’ll have more info by tomorrow.”

  “Does your fellow bounty hunter know anything about this?”

  Kyle frowned at Sara’s question. “Define ‘this’, Sara.”

  “You. Us. Dantalion. The potential for an apocalypse.”

  “In other words, your everyday life.”

  Macbeth, ever the helpful voice in cyberspace. For once, Kyle wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it.

  “That’s not something I usually talk about with anyone, much less Nikita.”

  “Oooh, Nikita Tesoro. The spicy Cuban-born bounty hunter who racked up more bounties than you in the Miami-Dade area last year. That Nikita?”

  Kyle’s jaw dropped. “For the record, I made more money than she did, and how the hell do you even know that, Macbeth???”

  “Remember who you’re texting to? The King of Teh Interwebz?”

  “Shit. Right.”

  “Besides, I found a picture of you and her together when I was running a background check on you after you first appeared on Neo-Philim. Annnnnd, I may have cropped you out of the shot and printed it out so I could sleep with it. Is she that crazy-pants hot in person, or is she just another internet wet dream?”

  Kyle’s thumbs flew before he could think it through. “MINE. WATCH IT.”

  There was an awkward pause in the flow of comments before Macbeth popped up. “Yikes. Deepest apologies, dude.”

  “I hate it when people give unsolicited advice.” Sara appeared next, but her words seemed so un-Sara-like Kyle had to re-check the screen name just to make sure it was her. “Really. Now that you know that about me, I hope you’ll listen to the advice I’m giving you. TELL HER. If you feel that strongly about her, and you two are working together on a case that might lead to saving the world as we know it, this Nikita has every right to know. I was afraid to tell Gideon, but now that he and I are together I’m only sorry I didn’t tell him sooner and in such a way that would have been special for both of us. Instead, he found out my Nephilim secret in the worst possible scenario imaginable. I still regret that. If she feels the way you do, it’ll be okay.”

  Kyle stared at the message while his brain emptied to become the world’s biggest echo chamber. If she feels the way you do... Why the hell were they talking about feelings? Even if Nikita’s on-again, off-again feelings weren’t already impossible to discern, he had no idea how to figure out his own. He was a guy. Feelings weren’t his thing. Well, other than the fact that he felt like he wanted no one else to look at her. Or touch her. Or make her smile or kiss those delectable lips...

  Shit. Maybe he had some feelings to sort through after all.

  * * *

  With a track of her favorite flamenco guitarist Armik playing through an open window, Nikita slammed the trailer door behind her with more force than necessary. The sultry whisper of an ocean breeze murmured to her like a lover bent on seduction. It didn’t calm her. Neither did her burst of violence unleashed on the door, or the trill of spicy music she usually adored beyond reason. Nothing made her happy. Nothing made it right. The churning and burning inside could only be appeased by one thing.

  Sex.

  With a frustrated sigh she spread her towel on the dry, deep sand that existed above the rocky beach before she headed to the water’s edge, just visible in the moonlight. Gentle now that the storm had passed and not yet agitated from a storm due in a couple days’ time, the surf licked at her toes exposed by her flip-flops, and absently she kicked them off higher up in the direction of her abandoned towel. The day’s events had cost her dearly, a fact she could at last admit to herself. She hadn’t been done in by the boring bureaucracy of trying—and failing—to get a name on Paul Hardy’s grandfather, a task set for her by Kyle as they left Lady Jayne’s Discreet Boutique. It was Lady Jayne’s itself that had her all tied up. It was definitely her kind of place, and she had no doubt she’d go back there one day to enjoy all it had to offer.

  But the one person she shouldn’t imagine enjoying it with was the one she couldn’t get out of her mind.

  “Kyle, you are such a bastard.” She wasn’t sure why she bothered saying it out loud. Cussing at him didn’t help. She’d been doing it for the last hour and all it did was twist her up all the more. What she wouldn’t have given to cast her inhibitions aside and follow the desire to take Kyle to bed. Any bed. She wasn’t known for restraint whenever she had the biological urge for pleasure, so it was vexing that she’d slammed on the mental brakes when that urge was greater than ever. If it had been anyone else, there wouldn’t have been that hesitation. Just do it and forget it. Wham-bam, thank you, ma’am.

  But with Kyle, there would be no whamming or bamming. And there sure as hell wouldn’t be any forgetting.

  And that was the problem.

  Nikita bent to test the water’s temp with her fingers, frowning in preoccupation. She didn’t know she could want anyone the way she wanted Kyle. No, she viciously corrected herself. What was happening to her went far deeper than a mere wanting. It was even more than a lustful desire. What was beyond rampaging lust? If it weren’t so damned embarrassing to admit, she’d suspect it was that unknown, soul-deep yearning the poets of old droned on about. Too bad that idea led to concepts even more foreign to her. Things like belonging. Sharing. Needing.

  Loving.

  Fabulous. Now she was losing her mind.

  A sound of impatience escaped her. Insanity had to be the only explanation for those devastating concepts to even cross her mind. Especially that loving and needing garbage. They were the worst. She’d never forget the merciless agony of depending on first her mother, then her father, only to have them vanish as if they’d never existed. In their own way, both of her parents had chosen to leave when she’d needed them the most.

  Then she sighed. That wasn’t fair and she knew it. Her mother leaving through the permanent door of death wasn’t something she would have ever wanted to do. That was something for which Nikita could only blame herself.

  The only good thing that had come from that horrific time was the crystallization of a truth that had protected her ever since—to depend on another human being was nothing more than an emotional death sentence. There was no guarantee anyone would want to hang around on a permanent basis. She didn’t even know why the word permanent existed. There was no such thing. That was why she insisted on living for today and today only. There were no pretenses when it came to depending on someone to be there, because she knew they wouldn’t be.

  Since that was the case, there sure as hell was no need to love.

  Nikita whipped the loose nightshirt she wore over her head, so hot that even the thin cotton veil was too much to bear. When the water lapped at her feet, she dropped her shorts and undies as well and stacked everything in a neatly folded pile on top of her flip-flops. The great thing about her property was that it was such an ugly stretch of rocky beach. No one wanted it and it was hard to get to, thanks to the single dirt road much farther up the beach. The chance of anyone getting a glimpse of her was just about zero as she indulged in a pastime that had been a favorite of hers from her first memories—skinny-dipping.

  And if
she was lucky, she might find a way to drown the notion of that toxic-waste word love.

  A sigh of relief rippled from her as she sank inch by sweet inch into the cool embrace of the ocean. As it always did, the scent and feel of it brought her back for just a moment to when she was eight years old, alone, and waiting for death. It happened every time she set out on her board, and she combated it by mentally daring the sea—and its hidden denizens—to come and claim what it had missed so many years ago. It was one of the reasons she’d started surfing in the first place. She supposed it was her way of tempting fate, or maybe on a deeper, not-quite-healthy level, offering to give up her life as atonement for still being alive. That part, she knew, was nothing more than survivor’s guilt. Logic told her she had nothing to answer for. It wasn’t her fault she was still breathing, and her death sure as hell wouldn’t even up the cosmic scales. Nothing she could ever do would bring her mother back to life.

  But still, the thought emerged from the darkest part of her, as it always did when she went into the water. Come and get me, I’m right here.

  With a quick breath she ducked her head beneath the surface before bouncing back up to wipe the stinging salt water from her eyes. Her toes could easily reach the rocky bottom, and since she had no interest in swimming late at night, she instead flipped onto her back and looked up at the stars while gentle waves bobbed her about like a cork. This was what she’d needed; the pure peace of floating along, with not a care in the world and leaving the very idea of Kyle behind on the shore where it belonged.

  Kyle...

  No doubt he liked to skinny-dip too.

  The flash of headlights brought her snapping upright, irritated she’d been stupid enough to clog her ears with water when she was at her most vulnerable. The sullen growl of the engine silenced beside her SUV parked on the dirt track about a hundred feet from her portable home, and the only area other than the trailer’s slab where a vehicle wouldn’t potentially sink in the ever-shifting sand. When the driver’s door opened and she traced a familiar masculine outline, she gave serious thought to not letting him know where she was. God knew she didn’t need the kind of trouble he brought to her doorstep. And trouble was exactly what she’d have if she crossed paths with him while wearing nothing but water. He was bad for her. He made her yearn, for crying out loud. Hadn’t she learned the hard way that needing someone only led to hurting when they left?