The bed was to the left. It sat low to the ground and was quite large. A California king, Alec guessed. It was covered with a chocolate satin duvet and cream pillows with brown and rust-colored trim.

The sight of the perfectly made bed both lured and depressed him. He was exhausted. While Eve’s body had been changing and storing up energy, his had been drained by worry, guilt, and lack of sleep. If he had a choice, he’d be curled up with her, not fighting the urge to crash. Alone.

He was tired of being alone. Which added to the whole fucked-up situation he found himself in.

His desire to do what was best for Eve—get her life back—was in direct opposition to his long-held need to cease wandering. His mentorship gave him the opportunity, for the first time, to prove that he could play well with others.

Finally, after centuries of nomadic living, he’d been assigned to a home base. Through his mentorship of Eve, he could learn what he needed to know to achieve his ambitions. If he absorbed all the layers of the mark system well enough, he had a shot at pleading his case for stability. He could teach others to perform as well in the field as he did . . . if he had a cadre of handlers and Marks at his disposal.

It had been his long-held dream that one day he would convince Jehovah that by running his own firm he’d be more productive. Everyone knew that expansion of the mark system was long overdue. He wanted to be the one to step into play when a new firm was created. No one had the field experience that he did.

As usual, the choices given to him were damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. He needed Eve to get ahead. But he wasn’t what she needed.

His eyes went gritty with exhaustion.

“Don’t do this to me,” he bit out, glancing skyward. “You know damn well it’s not a good time for me to fall asleep.”

But his wishes were ignored, as usual. He was due for a punishment because of killing Abel, and Jehovah had kept the method of chastisement on retainer. Ben ching him in the heat of the game was an easy and effective way of putting him in his place—behind the curve.

Alec collapsed face first into the mattress and lost consciousness despite his best efforts.

When he awoke a few hours later, his anger surged as if it had been simmering throughout his forced nap. Through the open doorway to the hall, the cries of seagulls and the sound of waves crashing against the beach reminded him of a thousand other awakenings. Too many days of his life all the same, blending seamlessly and unremarkably into each other. He wanted a different life, one he shared with someone. He wanted Eve, but he couldn’t have her.

He would have to find a way to free her, then let her go. Again. He had no idea where he would find the strength to walk away a second time, but he’d do it. Even if it killed him.

“Eve!” he shouted, running his hands through his hair before pushing to his feet.

She was gone. He sensed it. Her absence from the house left a chilling void. It was also life threatening. An untrained Mark was a susceptible and irresistible target for Infernals.

Cursing under his breath, Alec yanked on his clothes and raced out of the house.

Taking a deep breath, Eve pushed open her car door and stepped into the Southern California sunshine.

She paused a moment to run her hands over her Knott’s Berry Farm T-shirt. If she’d turned her brain on, instead of running on instinct, she would have found something more suitable to wear to church than sweatpants and a faded T-shirt. Although she didn’t believe in or ga nized religion, she respected the beliefs of those who did. But she hadn’t planned to come here.

Her gaze moved over the roof of her car to the contemporary, almost-southwestern style of the new Catholic church. In her opinion, it looked more modern Christian than old-world Catholic, but what the hell did she know?

Which was exactly why she was here. She never tackled any project without exhaustive research first. As a child, her Southern Baptist parents had exposed her to religion, but her recollection of those early Bible classes was weak at best.

Eve rounded her car and crossed the massive parking lot, heading toward the carved wooden doors that protected the interior. There were a few vehicles near the front. Some had religious stickers or emblems on the back, but for the most part there were no outward indicators of devotion. The sort of devotion that could drive someone to visit church in the middle of a workweek.

Gripping the handle, she pulled open the door and entered the cool, quiet interior. Like the outside, the inside had a clean minimalist design. The ceiling arched thirty-plus feet above the center of the worship hall and boasted exposed wooden beams in an intricate pattern. Straight ahead, a bronzed statue of the Crucifixion protruded from the wall and shimmered under the glare of a massive spotlight. Eve shivered at the sight, finding the depiction of eternal torment creepy rather than inspiring.

As always, she paused within the threshold, searching inwardly for any sense of awe or contentment. So many people described a sense of homecoming when they entered a house of God. She felt no different than she would entering a convenience store.

The low drone of voices off to her right turned her attention toward a recess filled with a life-size statue of the Virgin Mary and a profusion of lit votives. Two people knelt there, a woman and her child, their heads bent in prayer.

“Can I help you?”

The warm huskiness of the masculine voice froze her in place. The timbre was that of a phone sex operator, which put it seriously out of its element in a church.

Curious, Eve pivoted to face the source.

She was startled to discover a portly balding man in a priest collar. “Hi,” she managed through her stupefaction.

“Hello,” he replied.

Not the same voice. She frowned.

“I’m Father Simmons. This is Father Riesgo.” The priest gestured behind her and Eve canted her body to see whom he referred to.

She almost gaped, but caught herself in time. “Father.”

Younger than Father Simmons by a good two decades, Father Riesgo looked so fish-out-of-water in the collar that it seemed more of a costume than anything else. His features were rugged and blunt, his green eyes extraordinary, his cheek marred by a scar she guessed came courtesy of a knife blade. With his dark hair slicked back in a short tail, he seemed more renegade than missionary.

“Hello.” He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. “How can I help you?”

“I need a Bible.”

Both priests blinked, as if taken aback. She inwardly kicked herself for being an idiot. So her father didn’t own a Bible and her mother’s was written in kanji. She should have headed to the bookstore, not driven around aimlessly until she found a church in which to give her moronic tendencies free rein.

Father Simmons set his hand on Father Riesgo’s shoulder and said, “I will begin preparations.”

As odd as her day had been so far, the fact that she’d been left to the care of Father Riesgo was not inconsequential. Perhaps they thought she was a nut who might require some muscle to get rid of. Eve couldn’t decide if that was funny or sad.

Riesgo nodded and waited until the other priest had moved out of earshot. Then he returned his attention to Eve and studied her for a long moment. “What’s your name?”

She winced and extended her hand. “Sorry. Evangeline Hollis.”

“Ms. Hollis. It’s a plea sure to meet you.” His grip was strong and bold, like the rest of him. He gestured to the nearest pew, but she shook her head. “Okay,” he agreed, in that sinful voice. “Are you a member of this parish?”

“To be honest, Father, I’m not even Catholic.”

“Why come here, then? To St. Mary’s?”

She hesitated a moment, reluctant to display any further stupidity. Riesgo was the kind of man one approached without facetiousness. His green eyes seemed to take in everything with a laserlike intensity, and the set of his square jaw warned against subterfuge. But in the end, Eve went with the truth simply because that was her nature. “I’m not sure. I’d like to refresh my memory about some biblical stories, particularly the one about Cain and Abel, and I realized I don’t own a Bible. This building just happened to cross my path at the wrong time.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t wrong.”

Eve took a tentative sidestep toward the door.

Riesgo stepped as well, keeping abreast of her. “We offer classes, Ms. Hollis. The Rite of Christian Initiation. We would love to have you participate. For many, the Bible is a journey that needs a guide. I wouldn’t want you to feel lost or overwhelmed.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not interested in joining the church. I just need a research source.”

Riesgo’s smile returned. “Wal-Mart sells Bibles. They’re priced around five dollars, I believe.”

“Of course.” She mentally kicked herself. “I should have thought of that. Thank you.”

Eve continued to edge her way toward the door.

Father Riesgo kept pace, grinning. “Ms. Hollis?”

“Yes?”

He reached into his pocket and held a business card out to her. “If you have any questions, please feel free to contact us here.”

“You’re too kind.” She accepted the card only in the name of politeness. “There are churches closer to me, so I doubt I’ll be bothering you again.”

Father Riesgo was disconcerting by nature, but when his focus narrowed, the intensity was arresting. He wasn’t handsome by standard definition, but charisma . . .he had it in spades. Combined with the husky voice, he probably lured a ton of women to mass.

“Hmm . . .” His skeptical hum made her slightly defensive.

“I have a bad sense of direction.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’re looking for answers, and your search brought you here. Would you mind waiting a moment? I have something for you.”

“I’m in a hurry,” she demurred, fearing a long lecture and hard sell ahead of her.

“A minute only. I’ll be quick.”

He set off at a lope down the center aisle. She watched in fascination, absently noting that the severity of his black garb did nothing to detract from the grace with which he moved.