Possession

  And then it was done.

  So still.

  They both went so still except for their breathing, which remained haggard.

  In the aftermath, her body glowed from the exertion, her heart rate slowing gradually, the heat rolling out of her muscles and her skin until she began to feel the cool floor beneath her.

  So good. The whole thing was exactly what she needed.

  Except ... as the silence began to sink into her addled brain, she thought, Now what? She had no clue how this was supposed to work--

  "Duke?" a male voice said on the other side of the door. "You in there?"

  Oh. Crap. Talk about a reality injection.

  Her ... lover, she supposed was the word for it, lifted his head and shot a glare upward. He also cranked his leg around and shoved his knee into the steel panel to make sure it wasn't opened--and in the process, reminded her that they were still very much joined.

  Dear Lord, what had she gotten herself into?

  "No, I'm not," he said in a guttural snarl.

  Pause. "Duke, my man, you got someone in there with you?"

  "No."

  "Because the visual and the audio are off and we're concerned that you're--"

  "He's not alone," Cait said sharply. "Okay?"

  Pause. Longer this time. "Oh, Jesus, sorry ... I, ah, shit, man, we never thought that you would be with a--I mean, you don't usually do that with the females, or, I mean, anyone, so, ah--"

  "Later, Ivan," Duke snapped.

  "Oh, yeah. Sure ... absolutely, my man..."

  The volume on the commentary drained out, like whoever it was, was walking off the apology. Or tripping over it, as was the case.

  Duke focused on her, his expression utterly unreadable. "What he means is, I don't bang women at work."

  "Then why'd you ask me here?"

  "Because I couldn't wait any longer and you already had a date for tonight."

  "What if I hadn't gone to the theater?"

  "I'd have been stuck having to stalk that idiot singer until I ran into you again." This was said as if he'd rather have teeth pulled out of his head by a tractor.

  Cait had to laugh. "G.B.'s music really not to your liking?"

  For a moment, something cold flared in his face. "No. Not at all. You, however"--he brushed his lips across hers--"would be worth the audio suicide."

  She brushed her hand though his short hair, and studied his face, memorizing it.

  "I should go," she said eventually, even though in her heart of hearts she didn't want to. She just didn't know what the other option was--the sex had made him anything but a stranger. Unfortunately, that had only lasted while they were doing the deed.

  His lids lowered. "I'm not finished with you."

  Instantly, her heart started to pound again. She should probably try to play it cool, but she wanted more of him. In whatever form the sex took. Life was too damned short not to be transported to heaven at least one more time.

  "Good," she said.

  "Tell me your number."

  After she recited the digits, she frowned. "Don't you want to write it down?"

  "You're not that forgettable--trust me."

  As if to prove the point, he took her mouth again and kissed her thoroughly, even as he reached between them to the base of his erection and held the condom in place while he withdrew.

  Chilly air hit her most sensitive skin, and yup, that reminded her that her breasts were everywhere and so were her clothes.

  A sudden image of the other set she'd left on her bathroom floor flashed before her eyes.

  Maybe this was a trend?

  Okaaaay ... he was up and dressed so much faster than she was. Then he turned away, as if he knew she wanted a little privacy.

  Getting to her feet, Cait pulled her jeans back on and then fumbled with her bra, the straps confounding her, the hitch in the middle of her back refusing to cooperate. The turtleneck was the same, going on messily over her head, her arms getting stuck.

  "All right," she said.

  As Duke pivoted back around, he seemed so remote, so tall, so removed.

  Had they really just done that?

  He opened the door without another word and the air that rushed in smelled kind of like the salon's had, all kinds of shampoos and hair sprays mixing together. Which was strange. Maybe they had dancers somewhere in the club--

  Oh, look, a group of big guys with black shirts that had STAFF printed on them. And they were allllll staring at her from their vantage point of about ten feet away.

  Fantastic.

  As Duke started to walk forward, she hid behind his shoulder to avoid meeting his colleagues in the eye--and what do you know, that was when reality set in.

  Yup, that had actually happened. On the floor. Behind an unlocked door at his place of employment.

  Shit. Maybe she couldn't handle being a blond, after all.

  As Duke led the way over to the rear exit, he avoided the wide stares of his coworkers and did his best to block their sight of his lady friend. Not sure how successful he was at the latter. Damn it.

  It wasn't that he was ashamed of what they'd done. She had come here for exactly what they had both wanted, and it had been awesome. But he wasn't going to have her gawked at.

  The door opened outward, so he turned himself to the side, his broad body shielding her. And as she shuffled by him, her arm brushed across his chest, reminding him of all the different kinds of contact they'd just had on the floor of the interrogation room.

  Mmmmmm.

  Outside, she went over to a Lexus SUV of some sort--and he followed, tracking every move she made: Those hips were swaying, not in the hyper-extended way some women threw it, but in the natural fashion of a woman who'd been properly serviced. And the curve of her ass? He wanted to put his hands all over that--

  His cock started to thicken, the sexual urge coming back to him like he hadn't been laid in weeks. Months. Maybe years.

  She'd been ... really fucking hot. Nervous, uncomfortable in the beginning ... and then nothing but high-octane, full-bore with it during the sex, her nails ripping into his shoulders as she opened herself wide on the floor, uncaring about anything except the two of them coming together.

  Not what he'd expected, to be honest.

  This whole thing had started as a way to stake a claim against a man he hated. But the actual experience had shifted his goals. Now, this wasn't about a vendetta rooted in the past anymore--in fact, he'd meant exactly what he'd said to her. They weren't finished, and no, he most certainly did not need to write her number down. It was in his brain like those orgasms he'd given her were: indelibly.

  As she hit her key fob and disengaged the Lexus's alarm, he jumped ahead, opening her door. And just as with the start, she didn't seem to know how to end things.

  He did.

  Stepping out of the way, he let her get into her seat and do up her belt and start her engine. Then, when she turned and looked up at him--

  "We're not done yet," he said, the statement a bald demand more than anything romantic.

  With a lunge, he went in for a dominating kiss, capturing the sides of her face in his palms, penetrating her mouth the same way he had back when she'd been naked and sprawled out underneath him.

  She responded instantly. And as generously and openly as she had before.

  She was like a well with no bottom.

  To the point where he eyed her backseat. Pretty big. He didn't know much 'bout these fancy cars, but if she sat on his lap...

  A shrill round of sirens brought his head up and out of the car. On the far side of the parking lot, a pair of cop cars were whistling down the back lane at a dead run--and they reminded him that as tough as he was, the boss lady didn't let her security guards pack, and the later it was, the more likely anybody was to get jumped in this part of town.

  This woman might well be safe with him right now, but she still had a drive to get out of here.

  "You'd better go," he said, refocu
sing on her face. Her hair was all messed up, and he liked the fact that his hands had been the cause.

  Especially considering who the other option had been.

  "Yes ..." she whispered.

  "Go now." Before he stopped thinking straight and started getting her into that backseat.

  Duke shut the door before she could say anything else. And then for some reason, as he stepped away, he was suddenly totally and completely anxious--something he did not have much experience with.

  He was better with aggressive. Much better.

  And he really didn't want to look at the fear too closely.

  As she reversed out of her spot, he walked forward, staying in her headlights, staring through the bright illumination, meeting her in the eyes even though he couldn't see them.

  And then she was gone.

  Duke took some deep breaths and pulled it together. A moment later, he went to look at his watch--and was reminded that his Rolex had disappeared. Taking his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, he checked the time that way.

  Damn it. Too early to leave so he had to go back in and face the music.

  And gee, what do you know. Big Rob, Silent Tom, and Ivan were still kibitzing, now by Alex's door.

  Duke headed in the opposite direction, back to the interrogation room. Which proved to be a dumb idea. As he went over to that far corner and started to reattach the wires to the monitoring units, the three of them took the opportunity to line up like they were at a zoo and had taken an interest in one of the tigers.

  "Don't ask," Duke said. "Not one of you ask a single frickin' thing."

  When he finally had to turn back around to them, he thought, Fucking hell, even Silent Tom, who never took much of an interest in anything, was focused on him.

  "She's not from here," one of the three--not Tom--said.

  Done with his little tech job, Duke pushed his way through the other bouncers. With any luck, there'd be a couple of stragglers in the bar area who he could muscle out the front door--preferably when it was closed and locked.

  One thing he was not going to do was discuss with the old ladies on his tail the woman, the hookup, or any future plans.

  Out in the club proper, he was bummed. The lights had been cranked up, the chaos of a busy night showing in all the wet places on the floor, and the cockeyed furniture, and the dropped napkins--and the condom wrappers.

  How romantic.

  As he started to do a sweep, the brigade of boots following behind him proved that gossip wasn't just for sixteen-year-old girls with Hello Kitty fetishes. Apparently, yoked-up muscleheads could be into it, too.

  Duke spun around. "No. No. And no."

  One for each of the nosy bastards.

  "You were out of sight for a while," Big Rob drawled. "So there was a 'yes' in there somewhere."

  So not doing this.

  As he turned away, Ivan said, "Come on, man, it's just, you haven't--"

  The voice that cut the guy off wasn't one he recognized. Then again, Silent Tom hadn't gotten his nickname for no good reason: "Okay, boys, let's back off."

  That was all it took.

  Maybe the other two hadn't ever heard him speak either, and were too shocked to keep bloodhounding their other colleague.

  Whatever it was, Duke thanked God as he was left in peace--

  Stopping in his tracks, he realized ... his woman had never given him her name.

  At least he had those digits, though.

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  When Jim came awake in a hospital bed, all he could think was, Maybe it had been a dream. Maybe ... the whole thing, from meeting Nigel and the other archangels, to the Devina nightmare, to the game itself ... had just been a product of the electrocution at the job site.

  A fiction created by an overload of neurological stimulation.

  And assuming that were true? Well, then, Adrian was fiction, and so was Eddie and the fact that the guy had died. There were also no souls to be saved. No Heaven and Hell, either--at least not that he had to be concerned with.

  He had nothing to worry about other than simple problems like paying monthly bills and whether his truck was running sound under the hood.

  Shiiiiiiit, whoever didn't think normal was bliss? Hadn't lived very hard.

  Closing his eyes, he reached over his head and pulled himself into a glorious, full-body stretch, the relief pouring through him. He was free for the first time in his adult life. Free of his shady work as a member of XOps. No longer the puppet of a cruel mastermind. And not now or ever a "savior" tasked with rescuing humanity from a bored Creator and a super-bitch demon--

  "You're finally awake."

  Jim jacked up off the pillows.

  Across the room, sitting in a chair, Sissy Barten was alive and well.

  Which meant they were both dead. And his reality hadn't really changed.

  "Fuck," he breathed, easing back down and shutting his eyes again. Wonder how many hours he'd been out? Hard to know. Felt like a while.

  "Are you okay?"

  Bringing his hands to his face, he rubbed, hard--at least until every pain receptor in his entire body told him to CUT THAT OUT RIGHT THIS SECOND.

  Ah, yes. His face had in fact gone through the windshield.

  And that meant his truck was wrapped around a tree, his head had sustained a trauma, and his leg was fucked-up. It also meant that somewhere, at this very moment, if not sooner, a police officer was running the plates on the F-150 and discovering that the vehicle was registered to a dead man ... who looked exactly like Jim.

  "We've got to get out of here." With a groan, he sat up, swung his legs around, and saw, oh, joy, that he had a cast on his left calf.

  Nothing he could do about that at the moment.

  Redirecting, he started to go to work on the inside of his arm, taking out the IV with practiced efficiency. "Come on--"

  As alarms started going off behind the bed, Sissy shook her head. "Oh, no, I'm not going anywhere. The doctor came in with the nurse. You've got a concussion and..."

  Jim let her keep talking as he got on his feet and tested out his left leg. Sore. Very sore. But thanks to the cast, it held his weight well enough that he could hobble around and look for some clothes. Rifling through the mostly empty closet, all he could think of was the last time he'd done this, in this hospital. That nurse had been a battle-ax, but--

  Sissy stepped in front of him. "Get back in that bed. You're not leaving."

  "Oh, really." He leaned down so they were eye-to-eye. "Let me clue you in on something. I don't actually exist in this world, and I've learned from experience, you can't have a foot in both places. It fucks with their heads."

  "Your leg is broken."

  "Doesn't bother me at all."

  "Then why are you limping."

  "I'm not."

  She glared right into his face. "Do you know the definition of the word?"

  "Do you know how fast we gotta get going here?"

  Moving around her, he started opening drawers in a shallow, fake-wood cabinet. Nothing. No pants, shirt, boots. "Don't worry about me. I've had much worse and lived."

  "Except for that one time when you died, right." Sissy went back and sat in the chair. "Whatever, I'm staying. Where you go off to is your problem, not mine."

  Jim cranked around and blinked away his double vision--okay, clearly, he was in a lot of pain, but he was backseating the sensation so completely, he was unaware of anything other than his internal directive to get-the-fuck-out-of-here. "You're crazy."

  "All things considered, I'd say that's your diagnosis, not mine--"

  "Much as I loathe to agree with him, the fool has got a point."

  The dry English tones brought both their heads around.

  "Colin," Jim muttered. "Nice to see you."

  Not.

  The archangel was dressed in whites, but it was his version of same, not Nigel's--white track pants, white T-shirt, white Converse All Stars. He looked like a Bea
stie Boy. Or ... a hot guy who most women would enjoy looking at.

  And for some reason, that cranked Jim out--especially as Sissy slowly got to her feet and came forward. For shit's sake, it would have been so much better if the guy had been decrepit or sported a stick up the ass, like Nigel did. But nooooo, he was nothing but tall, dark and haloed. In short, not Sissy's type.

  At least, not if Jim had anything to do with--

  Wait a minute. Was he actually getting jealous here? In a hospital room. When Sissy was doing nothing but simply stare at the slick bastard?

  Guess the concussion thing was right enough--and apparently, the sector in his brain responsible for having any fucking sense at all had been shut down by the swelling.

  Jim kicked shut the drawer with his bad foot and nearly passed out. "I got this, Colin," he muttered.

  When neither of them paid any attention to him, he put his body in between the two. "I. Got. This."

  Colin cocked a dark eyebrow. "Actually, mate, there's considerable uncertainty about that--which presents us all with a problem, doesn't it. You've got a lot riding on you."

  "Thanks for the recap. But I'm tight."

  "Then why would you be here on a ward with your head in bandages and your leg--"

  "Because shit happens, Colin, okay? Now will you leave--"

  "You must take care of your business." Colin's stare narrowed. "Before you compound your bad decisions."

  Jim leaned in, even though he was in no shape to fight about things. "I am taking care of--"

  "Not that business--"

  "Sir?"

  Annnnd here was another interruption, this time by a nurse who had thrown the door open. "Sir? Please get back in bed--"

  Ignoring her, he focused on Colin. "I can handle--"

  "Who are you talking to? And, sir--your IV! You took it out?"

  Cue the chaos. Suddenly there were people in white coats and scrubs all over the place, all of them talking at him--while Sissy backed up into the wall, and Colin looked on with a bored expression.

  Jim shoved the medical staff away, at least until a six-footer got up into his personal space and announced, "There's no AMA checkout for you. You're going nowhere until the police take you down to book you."

  Jim rolled his eyes. "You actually think I'm going to get arrested?"

  "It's called reckless driving. Misappropriation of identity. Assault--remember when you tackled that paramedic? We had to treat him for lacerations, by the way."