“So, are you going to help me track down the real soul stealer?” I asked when I found my voice again.
Thane leaned back in the chair. “No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Not my job.”
“Isn’t it your job to make sure souls end up where they’re supposed to be?” I asked, urging my voice to remain calm despite my growing irritation. I was starting to understand why he hadn’t earned his wings yet.
“Yes, but my role in this matter is to bring you in. Another team is searching for the soul.”
Time to try a new tactic. “Don’t you want the glory of bringing the killer in?”
He considered me for a moment, the gears turning in his mind almost visible behind his eyes. “I want the box.”
“The stolen one?”
Thane nodded. “The jewelry box in exchange for my help.”
“What does it do?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. “I couldn’t find anything when I dug through DEA records.”
He simply stared at me.
Either he was about to enter a life of crime and sell the box to the highest bidder, thereby all but forfeiting his wings—if he got caught—or there was something about it I didn’t know. I felt like I was walking into a trap, but no other options presented themselves at this point.
I put my hand out. “Deal.”
Amusement danced across his features like a well-played fiddle.
I immediately started second-guessing working with such a good-looking man. My impulse control was terrible. I would just have to keep reminding myself of what he was—dead.
“We don’t need to shake on it,” he said. “I’m a grim reaper; my word is good.”
I kept my hand out and waited.
With a dramatic eye roll, he leaned forward and slipped his palm into mine. The scorch was instantaneous, setting me ablaze in all the best and worst parts. As a child of the sun, I didn’t feel heat the way others did. If anything, it was more of a comfort than anything, and fire didn’t do a damn thing to me.
The fact that I had such a strong reaction to his touch intrigued me.
So, I didn’t shake his hand to seal the deal—I knew what he said was true. Everyone in the Community knew their word was akin to their god’s. But I needed to see if I had imagined the heat of his touch the other night.
I hadn’t, and now a deliciously tempting throb pulsed between my legs. I bit my lip and dropped my hand before I was tempted to act on it.
What the hell was this guy doing to me, and did he feel it, too?
“Okay, partner,” he said, a glint in his eye. “Where do we begin?”
“First off, don’t call me that,” I said. “Second, I need coffee.” Coffee would help keep my hunger at bay until I had a chance to eat. I didn’t usually shift as often as I had lately, and it was starting to catch up to me. I rose from the couch and made myself at home in his kitchen. “Third, we need to get you better coffee. This stuff is terrible.”
He chuckled from his seat, not bothering to get up and help. So much for chivalry.
“Why do you even keep coffee?” I asked, filling the carafe with water from the sink. I’d have to hope the machine had a filter. “Or an apartment, for that matter?”
“Why do you care?”
“Care is too strong a word,” I said, pouring the water into the machine’s reservoir. “We’re going to be working together, and I’m curious.”
“We all know what curiosity did to the cat.”
“Ugh.” I shot him a look. “Seriously, tell me why you keep an apartment.”
Nothing but silence as I replaced the carafe on the burner. I rolled my eyes. So that was how it was going to be.
“My mother,” he said.
Not quite the answer that I expected. I glanced at him out of my periphery, but he hadn’t moved. “Does she live here?”
He chuckled again, a pleasing sound that promised a good time. “No. She continues to pay my rent.”
After scooping out the grounds with the supplied spoon, I started the machine and then turned and leaned my back against the counter to face him. “Why?”
“In the hopes that my spirit will use it.” His eyes met mine, but his expression was too challenging to read. “So, I do.”
Interesting. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a momma’s boy or even sentimental. The sweet smell of warm earth rose from the filling carafe. “For how long?”
“A while.”
This was like pulling teeth. “Where’s all your stuff?”
“She donated it.”
“How does she afford it?” I asked.
Thane tilted his head to the side. “That’s pretty personal, don’t you think?”
“Do you not like talking about it or something?” I asked with an exasperated huff. I found an empty and surprisingly clean mug in the cabinet above the coffee maker and filled it with coffee.
“Would you like discussing the details of your own death and its effect on the people you left behind?”
I cringed. Ouch. He had a point. I sat on the couch again, this time with a full mug. “Okay then, new topic. What do you guys have on me?”
“Veronica Mirilla Neill, also goes by Falcon.” He grinned when I rolled my eyes. “We know you’re a shapeshifter, though what kind is classified. By your nom de plume, I’d guess bird.”
I held in my sigh of relief so he wouldn’t see it. At least the angels didn’t share the truth of my existence with just anybody. I had no idea where Thane stood in the reaper ranks, but based on this apartment I’d bet he was still pretty new. Then again, people weren’t my specialty.
“Funny. Way too obvious, though, don’t you think? Falcons are really good at figuring out problems, they’re fast, and they’re sturdy. Seemed appropriate for my alter ego and doesn’t have much to do with my species.” It wasn’t exactly lying. I was so much more than just a shifter. “I want what you guys have on me.”
He shook his head. “I’ve already looked through your file; there’s nothing in there that will help this case. I know your parents died nine years ago, that your younger brother was killed three years ago, that—”
“Wait, what? Mad died by suicide.”
“Not according to your file.”
It felt like someone knocked the wind out of me. I couldn’t breathe, my mind frozen in this space and time, his words echoing in an empty chamber.
Maddox had been killed?
9
Sunday Afternoon
I realized after a moment that Thane had continued with whatever nonsense he was saying about my life.
“Who killed Mad? And why?” I interrupted, not caring how rude it might have seemed.
“That part was also confidential.” He eyed me. “You honestly didn’t know?”
“No.” My voice came out as a whisper.
For the last three years, I had blamed myself for Maddox’s suicide. My brother was eight years younger than me, still in high school by the time I had finished college and moved on to a corporate job. Mad struggled in school, especially because I was gone so many hours of the day for my job, not to mention all my late-night partying and drinking binges. I was big into the club scene, trying to numb my anger and fear after our parents left the world.