“I’ll have you arrested. How’s that for legitimate?”

Boy howdy, did Cookie nail his mood. What the frackin’ hell? “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just threaten me.”

“I’ll have campus police pick you up in ten.”

He hung up before I could gasp in his face. Via an electronic signal transmitted through radio waves. But still.

I made it to my classroom on the main UNM campus with few incidents and fewer arrests to speak of. Two men in my life, two of my favorite, were suddenly ordering me around. Like they had the right. Just no. Besides, Ubie had no grounds for an arrest. Not without signing his own warrant as well. He was an accessory to many of my out-of-the-box crime-fighting procedures. If I went down, he went down.

Men.

Our business teacher, a Mr. Hipple, was a fine instructor as instructors went, but he seemed to lack my enthusiasm. My vision. My complexity.

I raised my hand.

He kept talking.

It reminded me of grade school when my PE teacher wanted us to climb a rope and I asked her if she could apply that skill to a real-life situation. You know, so I could understand why I had to climb the rope. I hated the rope. It chafed. And made my arms shaky.

I kept asking Mr. Hipple, a very tan man in the prime of his midlife crisis if the shiny new Corvette he drove were any indication, to apply a broader scope to his principles. Like, say, in a world domination kind of way.

I raised my hand again. Mr. Hipple let loose a loud sigh and said, “Charlotte?”

“Oh, just Charley. Okay, so let’s say the world was headed for another economic crisis and the housing market were to totally crash again – how would, say, a god fix it?”

Mr. Hipple scrubbed his face with his fingers, then pinched the bridge of his nose before replying. I took that as a good sign. Like he was really mulling over how best to answer my question.

“Charley, would you like to ask a question that actually pertains to this class?”

A couple of students snickered, and I folded my arms over Danger and Will and sank down in my seat. What was the point of my taking the class if I couldn’t use the information in the future?

Reyes must have felt the same way. He was still following me. Still incorporeal. Still dark and brooding and hotter than a sidewalk in August. As Reyes’s heat blasted across my skin, his anger at Mr. Hipple’s answer apparent, Mr. Hipple went on with his pointless lecture.

I supposed I couldn’t blame the guy. It was an odd question, but I was beginning to think that taking over the world might not be such a great idea. I knew nothing about management beyond my own PI firm, and Cookie handled most of that. I knew nada about performing miracles or parting seas or calming storms when asked.

I was in way over my head. Mr. Hipple was right. Not that he said that, but I felt it was implied.

Reyes had taken the seat behind mine. They were the kind where the desk folded away to the side if you didn’t need it. As quietly as I could, I folded my desk away in anticipation of our break. Since the class only met once a week, it was almost three hours long, and I’d had a lot of coffee before coming in. My bladder was screaming at me.

No, wait, that was the departed girl who ran up and down the halls screaming for someone to lend her a pencil. I’d had that nightmare a few times myself. She was in a hospital gown, though, so I wasn’t sure why she was haunting the UNM campus instead of, say, a hospital.

She’d rush into the room, scream for someone to lend her a pencil before it was too late, then run back out again, disappearing through the wall in which she came. Poor kid.

I felt the warmth of Reyes’s gaze on my back before he returned his focus to the angel leaning against the wall in the front of the classroom. This one was probably the most surprising I’d seen yet. He was a ginger, and while he wore the requisite long black coat, he wore something I could only describe as a kilt underneath. It wasn’t a true Scottish kilt, but it resembled one in that it was a man-skirt. A black leather man-skirt that came to his knees. The belt at his waist was wide and held a variety of weapons, and his sword was strapped to his back.

He was a scrapper, through and through. And Reyes kept a close eye on him. Close enough to be mistaken for aggression. I swore if those two threw down in the middle of my business class, someone was getting an ass kicking. Most likely me if I tried to step in, but I needed to pay attention. We had our first test next week. I didn’t have time for rumbles.

“Miss Davidson,” Mr. Hipple said, drawing me out of my musings. “May I speak to you?”

I glanced around as students rose and filed out of the classroom. He’d called break, and I missed it. I had no idea how long we had.

I nodded and wound my way to the front of the room, coming way too close for comfort to William Wallace, the highland angel. But he was too busy staring down my main squeeze, who’d followed me, putting them within fist-throwing distance. Damn it.

“Miss… Charley,” he corrected. “Can you tell me what you hope to get out of this class?”

“I put that on the questionnaire you sent around the first night.”

“Yes, you did.” He pulled out my answer sheet. “You are taking this class to learn more about business administration and management should you succeed in taking over the world.”

“Was that redundant? Putting down both administration and management?”

“Not at all. My point is, I assumed you meant that metaphorically.”

“Which part?”

“The part about you taking over the world.”

“Oh, right.” I was leaning against the desk, and Reyes leaned against me. Leaned into me. His warmth soaking through to the marrow of my bones. “No, I meant it quite literally, though I probably should have phrased it differently.”

He braced an arm against the desk, putting a barrier between the angel and me. It was protective and kind. Despite his anger at my taking the Foster case, he still protected me. It would’ve even been romantic had the kid not come in again and screamed in my face.