“I would hardly call the passage of centuries an overnight occurrence.”

Sabrael’s head tilted to one side. His unrestrained ebony hair slid over a massive shoulder and the top of a wing like liquid silk. “Perhaps Abel would be the better choice,” he murmured. “He is in the thick of things, as they say.”

Alec laughed through the clenching of his gut. “Abel won’t want the responsibility. He doesn’t even keep his cell phone on.”

“But he follows the rules.”

“Is that what you need right now? With one archangel out of commission, a rogue Alpha with an ax to grind, a rash of slaughtered Marks, and an unknown breed of Infernal on the loose? You want someone who does only what’s required and follows the rules?”

There was a length of silence before Sabrael spoke. “I never knew you had such lofty ambitions.”

“There is a lot you don’t know about me.”

“True. Such as, how badly do you want this?”

Inside Alec, frustration and fury raged. He’d played this game before; it kept his hands dirty. “What do you want, Sabrael?”

“I have yet to decide.”

“Makes it hard for me to decide, then. Of course, Abel won’t give you a damn thing.”

A frightening shadow briefly transformed the seraph’s features. His bluff had been called and he didn’t like it. “I will speak to Jehovah on your behalf. As an interim solution.”

Alec snorted.

Sabrael’s slow smile chilled Alec’s blood. “But you will owe me, Cain of Infamy.”

“You’ll have to take a number.”

“Number one.”

Pointing a finger at him, Alec said, “Get me the go-ahead first. Then, we’ll see where we’re at.”

“What are you doing?”

Reed watched as Eve bolted up from her crouch. Raguel was gone, two Marks were dead, and she was alone; a state that had led to two Mark deaths already today. To make matters worse, he could feel Cain like a phantom limb. Altogether, his patience was short and his temper shorter.

She spun around, her long ponytail arcing through the air. “Jeez! You scared me.”

“What are you doing here by yourself?” he barked. “You should have come back as soon as the girl left.”

“I lost my gun.”

He wanted to shake her. “I don’t give a shit. What’s your aversion to a flame-covered sword? You know you can summon one at any time.”

The line of her mouth turned sullen. “I’m not so great with swords.”

“You killed a dragon with one,” he reminded. “Forget the gun for now and rejoin the others. You’re less likely to be attacked in a group.”

“What if one of the group is the killer?”

Pausing, he stared at her for a long moment. Then he exhaled harshly. “Enough, Eve.”

“Richens didn’t make a sound. Perhaps his attacker wasn’t perceived to be enough of a threat to elicit a scream or a fight.”

“Or the Infernal was a witch, warlock, wizard, mage, or faery who bound his vocal cords.”

“Like the faery who participated in the exercise today? The faery who was within several feet of Molenaar when we found him?”

“Your conspiracy theory is mucking things up in your brain. Did the faery stink or not?”

“To high heaven,” she groused.

“The Infernals who work for firms have a compelling reason to stay in the archangels’ good graces—they can’t go home. You know that. You said it yourself.”

“It seems foolish to rule them out, though.”

He chastised her with a shake of his head. “In the history of Marks, we’ve never had a rogue Mark in training. After a few years, yes. But not fresh. They’re too new to the realities of Celestials and Infernals to decide to go one way or the other. They just float with the tide for a while until they catch their bearings.”

“Okay,” she conceded. “Hang with me; brainstorming helps me think. So, let’s run with the bad guy Infernal theory for a bit. They must be wearing that masking stuff to hide their scent, or Templeton would have smelled them.”

“Or the rat was lying.”

Eve ignored him and went on. “There was no residual smell around either of the bodies. With that level of brutality, the killer would have to be worked up. Blood pumping, soul rotting . . . maybe they cut themselves. I saw a forensic show on television where they said most knife wielders injure themselves. In any case, the scene should have stunk at least a little if it was really an unmasked Infernal who did it.”

Reed felt himself smiling, despite the events of the day.

“You’re laughing at me,” she accused.

“No. I’m congratulating myself. You’re going to be a great Mark, babe. If you don’t get killed first.” He gestured toward the front door. “Speaking of which, we should be tossing these ideas around with the others. Just don’t get them all riled up this time.”

“Alec says sometimes you have to shake things up,” she grumbled, “to see what falls out.”

“Everyone has been shaken up enough.” And it was about to get worse. Somehow, he had to tell them about Raguel without inciting total pandemonium. The Frenchwoman in particular seemed fragile.

She nodded. “You’re right. We have work to do, too. Garza and Hogan are missing, so we should—”

“Romeo and the princess are back. Looking rumpled and slightly worse for wear.”

“Maybe there’s something in the water. Seems to be going around.”

“Could be. Toss a little aphrodisiac in the food, get everyone so horny they’re too busy getting off to fight back, and wham! Take ’em out. Brilliant Infernal strategy.”

Eve snorted. “You’re a riot.”

“It was your idea. And where did you come up with those nicknames?”

“Don’t you know?” She stared at him. “You were in my head.”

And what an experience that had been. He had no idea how other women’s brains worked, but he knew he liked the way Eve’s did. It was convoluted and slightly twisted—as he’d come to accept as the norm for females—but regardless, it functioned with what he considered to be the perfect mix of creativity and common sense. She also had the hots for him. Not just the horny kind of hots, but the deeply rooted type of fascination that could lead to something that scared the shit out of him.

“I was interested in other things at the time.”

“Hope you enjoyed the view,” she said testily. “I got nothing out of you, besides a swift kick in the ass.”

He hadn’t had a choice. He couldn’t allow her to see his ambition to ascend to archangel. And her role in that. “Sure you did. You’re so attuned to me now, you have no defenses. I walked right up to you and no alarms went off.”

“It’s called distraction.” But her frown belied her words.

“You wish that’s all it was.”

She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face and looked adorable while doing it. “Why can I still feel you and Alec in my head?”

He was still reeling from the experience. He had a picture of Cain in his mind, one built by a lifetime of association. Yet Cain, as seen through Eve’s eyes, was not the same. “Hell if I know. I’ve never heard of anything like it.”

“Well, someone has to know what happened and how long it will last.”

“Yes. And I intend to find out. In the meantime, let’s rejoin the others. We have a lot to discuss.”

Eve scrubbed both hands over her face. “I feel naked without a gun.”

The statement would have sounded melodramatic coming from most people, but Eve had spent a few hours of every week for the last few years practicing her aim at a Huntington Beach shooting range. As a single woman, living alone, she’d felt as if she needed the added protection. Reed was more inclined to think her senses had picked up on the Infernal undercurrents, even if her brain hadn’t yet been trained to catch on. She was made for this work.

He gestured toward the door. “We’ll ask the others if they’ve seen it.”

“Ugh.” Eve’s nose wrinkled. “I’d prefer to think it was around here somewhere.”

Reed crossed his arms. “Why?”

“I set it down earlier. You know . . . before.” Her gaze moved to the hallway, which was clearly visible from where they stood. “I don’t want to think about one of them seeing . . . hearing . . . I would rather believe I didn’t embarrass myself.”

“You would rather pretend it didn’t happen,” he corrected. “I won’t let you.”

Eve glared. “If you want to remember your tryst with a tart, go ahead. But don’t presume to make that decision for me.”

“A tryst,” Reed repeated wryly, indulging in an inner smile. “With a tart. My . . . You are jealous.”

“Fuck you.”

Irritated by his own feelings of guilt, he taunted her by reaching for his belt buckle.

“Whip it out,” she challenged. “See what happens.”

Pausing, Reed assessed her warily. He couldn’t get a read on her thoughts. “What do you intend to do to it?”

“Did Izzie get the third degree, too?”

“No.” His hands went to his hips. “I told her what I wanted. Her opinion didn’t matter.”

“Yes, that seems to be the only way you like it.”

Reed’s jaw clenched. She was referring to their lone encounter in the stairwell. He hadn’t been able to get in her fast enough. Everything in his way—her clothes and conscience—was disregarded in the intensity of his need.

“It’s the way you like it, too,” he bit out.

“A one-shot deal.” Her mouth thinned to a fine line. “Lucky for you, you found greener grass elsewhere.”