"COME ON! SUCK it in!"

Adrianne jerked so hard on the gaping zipper of the gown that I floundered backward off the three-sizes-too-big heels she'd forced me into. As I sailed back into her, my life flashed before my eyes. She swore, and we both stumbled back into the full-length mirror of the dressing room.

"Is everything all right in there?" The saleslady, Marlene Peapot, gently knocked on the other side of the door.

Adrianne pushed me upright, steadied me by the shoulders, then turned me around to face her. She shook her head, her face caught somewhere between exasperation and sorrow. "I think we're going to need another bigger size, Mrs. Peapot."

"Young lady, my name is pronounced Pay-poh."

We'd been over this a few times since our arrival at Mountain Laurel Bridal a couple of hours before.

Adrianne ignored her again and attempted to straighten the white fluffy fur top that should have been fitted around my shoulders but instead drooped off my chest like a saggy lifesaver. Her nose wrinkled with disgust.

I turned toward the mirror. "I don't like it."

"You'll like it better when we get the right size," she said.

The right size. Ugh.

My hand slid down the bloated bulge that had overtaken my midsection. Oh, the delusions I'd had about pregnancy.

I had been certain I'd be one of those mommies who maintains their size everywhere else while growing a perfectly shaped basketball baby bump. I'd gain my expected 25–35 pounds and have nary the need for spandex or belly pouch pants until right before my blessed due date.

Lies.

Lies.

Lies.

The truth was, despite all the dehydration caused by the puking and tearfulness of my first trimester, I was promising to be an overachiever when it came to average pregnancy weight gain. Every inch of me, from my face to my feet, was swollen or fat. And it wasn't cute or acceptable baby fat either. It was your obstetrician-gives-you-a-food-diary kind of fat.

Dr. Watts started throwing around words like "gestational diabetes" and "polyhydramnios" when the scales revealed I had gained a total of twenty-three pounds at my four-month checkup. She ordered a whole new round of tests which revealed two things:

1. My body was producing too much amniotic fluid, which we needed to keep an eye on.

2. Sloan eats too much ice cream.

Enter the food diary.

It wasn't my fault, however. Demons were coming for me the first day of summer—in 139 days to be exact if not before. So what else was a girl to do but eat her feelings as the clock counts down to her demise? If I was going to go out, I intended it to be with a belly full of happiness. Besides, babies need calcium, right?

But there were others responsible for my reigning position on the pregnancy growth chart. At the top of the To Blame list was Azrael, who cut me off from physical activity with a father-in-law-imposed house arrest for the duration of my pregnancy. I was only allowed to leave home with a supernatural escort in tow. For dress shopping that day, Reuel—my own personal Angel of Protection—waited not-so-patiently in the car. He was fully recovered from his impalement during our showdown with the angels.

I considered myself lucky. Constant security was a fair trade since Azrael didn't lock me up inside the Claymore Worldwide Securities compound like he'd threatened to do "for my own protection" when we got back home. I finally consented to being chained to my townhouse on the condition that he didn't bring up me living at the security compound again.

Then there was his son, Warren, my fiancé extraordinaire. While he did provide my sole form of rigorous exercise (wink, wink), he also cooked lavish meals for me when he was home and left delivery menus for when he wasn't. And God knows this girl should never be trusted with a to-go order and a high-limit Visa.

And, of course, Nathan McNamara, a.k.a. Captain Skittles, was proving to be quite the enabler. He couldn't show up at my door without something that contained sugar like it was a cardinal sin to visit a pregnant lady without an aluminum wrapper full of calories. I was pretty sure he'd packed on a few sympathy pounds himself.

Taiya's continued milk carton status also held partial responsibility for my new habit of stress eating. In the weeks since our return from what I'd begun calling The Battle of Calfkiller River, there had been zero news, zero leads, and zero hope of finding that adorable, freaky little waif. The blurry photo showcasing her arm where I'd jokingly (sort of) written "If found, please call Sloan Jordan" originated from a phone number based in Chicago. It was disconnected by the time we tried to call it back.

While I knew she was alive and growing stronger every day, my internal GPS was scrambled when it came to locating her. Azrael said my demon mother was behind it, most likely, but he swore that wouldn't stop him from trying to find her. It was almost funny that a few months before I'd been desperate to get rid of the crazy Seramorta who frightened the bejeezus out of me; and now that she'd been taken, I'd do anything in the world to get her back.

And last, but very far from least, was the continued quest for the spirit world's Most Wanted.

My demon mother, Kasyade, and the child-possessing devil, Phenex, were still evading arrest and eternal damnation, but the intel the FBI had gathered on them was interesting, to say the least.

Photos of Phenex, posing as a pre-teen Hispanic girl, were recovered from Kasyade's home in Texas, the office of the prostitution hub in Chicago, and the law office of Abner Tuinstra. She was even the poster child for the ministry's second home in Houston. No one knew her identity, and the FBI assumed she was dead—until Calfkiller River when Phenex showed up and went full-blown Emily Rose on everyone.

Agent Sharvell Silvers had made Phenex her top priority, but so far the only leads dead-ended in more questions.

As for the young girl whose body Phenex had taken, her fate I knew for certain. She was gone. Long gone. And whoever she was, lots of cookie dough ice cream had been eaten in her honor.

But my list of excuses was lost on Adrianne Marx, my best friend and self-appointed wedding planner. She was determined to stuff me into a corseted bodice if it killed me. And it almost did when she finally worked the zipper of dress number three all the way up.

"There," she said with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

I looked at her. "I don't like it."

She scowled. "You haven't looked in a mirror yet."

My bottom lip poked out. "I can't breathe and it's itchy and poking me in the hips."

She pushed me through the door out to the mirrored platform. "You're supposed to be beautiful on your wedding day, not comfortable."

"If discomfort is the goal, I think we've found a winner," I grumbled.

In the reflection of the mirror, Marlene Peapot's head fell quizzically to the side as I stepped up on the platform. I saw why when I caught sight of my appearance. The fabric stretched taut across my belly and shoulders while it gaped around my boobs, hanging flaccid at the front of my pelvis like some kind of anatomy should have been there but wasn't. My fingertips barely extended beyond the extra-long lace sleeves and the frilly skirt engulfed my feet despite the tall shoes.

Adrianne stood so close behind me that her auburn hair brushed my cheek. I wondered if she was trying to picture herself in the gown instead of me. She must have noticed the grimace spreading across my face. "It's winter chic," she said over my shoulder.

I frowned. "I look like I'm going to freeze Narnia."

Marlene took a cautious step forward. "How formal is this wedding?"

"Not," I answered before Adrianne could.

"It will be glorious," Adrianne added.

I shook my head. "It will be at the courthouse."

"And the date?" Marlene asked.

"April 19th," I replied.

She winced. "May I make a suggestion then?"

I said "please" and Adrianne answered "no" in unison.

I nodded at the saleslady to indicate my go-ahead.

She sidestepped away from Adrianne and scurried toward me. "With a style so tailored to your figure, I'm afraid that you'll outgrow it again by the wedding." She tugged at the fabric around my ribs. "How far along are you?"

"Almost five months." It was a lie. I was barely four months along.

Marlene's gaping mouth was the exact reason I'd begun padding the date. She quickly snapped it shut.

I groaned.

She held up her hand. "Wait! I think I know the perfect dress for you." She squeezed my arm, then bolted from the room.

"This is the perfect dress for you." Adrianne's shoulders slumped in defeat. It was rare that she ever pouted. "Who does she think she is?"

My brow rose. "A salesperson. I promise this is not a personal vendetta against your sense of style. It is a lovely dress." And it was true if someone with Adrianne's figure were wearing it. On me, however, I felt like Jabba the Hutt stuffed into a sequined tube sock, and no amount of deceivingly angelic lighting or perfectly angled mirror tilt could convince me otherwise.

My left leg was still an inch shorter than the right one after our rumble with the angels, and Adrianne's shoes weren't helping my new propensity for stumbling. My ankles wobbled again in her heels as I limped off the platform.

She caught me by the elbow and frowned. "You're a liability."

"I'm aware." I hiked up the skirt and kicked off the shoes. "Help me out of this thing."

Marlene returned when I was stripped down to my cotton granny panties and support bra. She handed a bagged gown over the stall door. "Try this one."

Less than half the fabric of Adrianne's dress came off Marlene's hanger. A good sign.

Adrianne's nose scrunched as she held it up and glanced at the gap between the hem and the floor. "Where's the rest of it?"

"In the virgin bride's section where it belongs," I said.

She rolled her eyes and lifted it over my head.

The conservatively short dress stopped just above my knees, with a high-cinched waist that allowed the ivory fabric to cascade naturally over my expanding baby bulge. The sleeves were three-quarter length, and it had a deep, plunging neckline that accentuated the best byproduct of pregnancy—the boobs. But the real selling point was the material. The outside was elegant lace and tiny beading, but the inside was soft cotton and satin.

"This feels wonderful!"

Adrianne's face didn't reflect my enthusiasm, but it wasn't completely disapproving either. She tugged at the waist, smoothing the cozy fabric into place. "It isn't awful."

"I could sleep in this," I said with a wild smile.

She straightened and scowled at me. "You'd better not."

"It's a jersey cotton blend!" Marlene called out.

Adrianne smirked. "Sounds cheap."

I quivered with delight. "It sounds like pajamas."

She shook her head. "That's not a good thing."

"I promise, it's a very good thing," I argued, wiggling my hips against the satin.

Marlene clasped her hands in front of her heart when I stepped out of the dressing room. "I love it! Do you love it?"

My bare feet scampered up onto the platform. "I love it." For the first time in a while, I felt pretty.

Behind me in the mirror, Adrianne cracked a smile. "You do look cute."

Marlene walked a wide circle around me. "I don't even think you'll need to have it altered."

I pulled the stretch fabric away from my stomach. "And we've got some additional real estate built in for expansion." I found the price tag and made a vomiting noise.

Adrianne swatted my hand away. "Warren says you're not allowed to worry about price."

"Is Warren the groom?" Marlene asked.

I nodded. "I totally hit the fiancé jackpot."

"I'll say. Does he have an older brother?" she asked, tying a silky sash around my waist.

Adrianne caught my gaze in the mirror and smiled. "No, but he does have a father."

I pretended not to hear her. As it turned out, despite conning him into several dinners and even sleeping over at my house once while Warren and I were away, Adrianne's advances had been declined by The Angel of Death. She was still far from giving up hope, however, and she took every opportunity possible to tease me with it. I decided to let the taunting slide as long their relationship stayed platonic. Azrael had been part of our lives for months, and while I literally put my life in his care, I still didn't trust him with my best friend.

"What about a veil?" Marlene's question snapped me back to reality. She dangled a wisp of tulle from her finger.

"No veil," Adrianne and I both responded.

I pointed at her. "Hey! We agree on something!"

She brightened with hope. "I want to curl your hair and pin it up with baby's breath and miniature roses."

I deflated. "You lost me again."

"What about shoes?" Marlene asked, motioning to a glass case in the corner filled with pumps and stilettos.

Adrianne dug her fingers into my arm. "Oh, I saw the cutest pair of strappy crystal and suede Jimmy Choos!"

My head tilted in question. "Jimmy whose?"

She pointed to her feet. "Shoe designer."

I shook my head and shrugged.

Adrianne's face fell back toward the ceiling in anguish.

Marlene laughed. "The two of you are going to have fun with wedding plans."

Smiling to myself, I wondered if both of us would survive.

The sound of alarm bells chimed around the salon like a biohazard warning. Marlene looked up with alarm. I extended my hand toward her. "It's only my phone. Don't worry." I tapped my forehead. "Pregnancy brain is no joke. I forget everything if I don't set reminders."

"What is it this time?" Adrianne asked.

I went to retrieve the blaring phone. "I don't remember."

A notification message blinked on the screen. Monday, February 3rd. Dinner with Dad. Nine Mile. 5:00 p.m.

I checked the clock. "Adrianne, we've got to go!" Dinner was on the other side of town during rush hour. I yanked the gown over my head and draped it over the door. "Mrs. Peapot, can you ring this up for me?"

"Pay-poh," she said again with a heavy sigh.

"Sorry!"

Adrianne wedged her tall frame through the door, taking care not to flash Marlene the sight of me in my skivvies. "What are you late for?" she asked, stooping to gather up all our stuff.

I frowned. "Dinner with Dad."

"When?"

I cringed. "In fifteen minutes."

"Sloan, it's every Monday night. How do you forget every single week?" she asked. "I have a head injury and I've never been this scatterbrained."

The memory of Adrianne's accident still made me shudder, and I refused to let her tease me with it. "Correction: I healed you from a head injury."

Her eyes widened, and she pressed her index finger over her lips. "Shush!" She pointed to the door Marlene was standing on the other side of. "You're not supposed to tell people that, remember?" she whispered.

I clamped my hand over my mouth. Oops.

She laughed. "Tie your shoes. We've got to go!"

* * *

If Marlene Peapot had heard my claim to supernatural abilities, she didn't make an issue of it. We paid for the dress and made it to Nine Mile at 5:06. Reuel, my Azrael-appointed bodyguard, accompanied us. He'd stayed in the car while we were in the bridal shop, but there was no way the 6'4, 309-pound angel would miss out on a meal. That guy could eat more than me…which, lately, was saying something.

Dad was seated at a high-top table near the bar when the three of us walked inside. He waved as we crossed the hardwood floor and rose to greet us. "There's my beautiful girl," he said, kissing my cheek.

"Hi, Daddy."

"You brought friends, I see." He smiled. "Hello, Adrianne, Reuel."

Reuel, who still refused to speak English, grunted with a nod.

Adrianne gave my dad a hug. "Sorry we're late."

Dad's taunting grin turned toward me as we pulled out our chairs. "I'm getting used to it."

I hoisted myself up onto the seat next to him. "Oh, hush."

"I was hoping Warren would be with you. It's been a while since I've seen him," he said.

I nodded. "Me too." And it was true. Since Christmas, Warren had been away searching for Taiya with Azrael more than he'd been home.

"Did you tell me he's in Chicago?" Dad asked.

I shook my head. "No. He's in Texas."

Dad looked up at the ceiling. "Where'd I come up with Chicago?"

"Azrael went to Chicago a few weeks ago because that's where the phone number that sent the picture of Taiya originated, but he didn't find anything. Since then, Azrael and Warren went to New York after tracing all her demon father's affairs back there, but nothing turned up there either. Now they're in Texas interrogating the two guys Warren and Nathan helped put in jail there."

"Wow, I'm behind," Dad said with a chuckle. "When will he be back?"

"He's supposed to be home sometime today, but I haven't heard from him," I replied.

"Have they found out anything about her?" he asked.

I thought for a second. "Not much."

"Her arm," Adrianne said.

"Oh yeah. You remember how my name was carved into her skin on her forearm?"

Dad frowned. "Yeah."

"The FBI brought in a handwriting analyst. Her father Ysha put it there," I said.

"What does that mean?" Dad asked.

"It means he sent her to me."

"Any idea why?"

I shook my head. "No, but I really wish somebody would send her back."

Dad's mouth dipped into a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry they're having such trouble finding her."

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Nobody's as sorry as I am."

Adrianne held her hands in the air. "If we don't stop talking about this, Sloan's going to melt into a puddle of tears right here."

She was right.

"Guess what we did today, Dr. Jordan," Adrianne said with extra enthusiasm.

"What did you do today?" Dad asked, matching her chipper tone.

The tension eased in my neck and shoulders.

"We bought a wedding dress!" Adrianne announced.

"A wedding dress?" He looked at me. "No kidding?"

"No kidding," I answered.

"Does this mean you and Warren set a date?"

"Actually, yes." I swapped a smile with Adrianne. "April 19th."

He blinked with surprise. "The day after your birthday?"

I nodded. "It was Warren's idea."

Dad smiled. "So he'll have a better chance of remembering your anniversary?"

Adrianne laughed. "So Sloan will."

Normally, I would have argued, but on Friday two weeks before, I'd actually forgotten to go into work. I just didn't go. Warren had left, entrusting my care to Reuel, who wouldn't have reminded me even if he were inclined to speak. Through groans, body language, and brooding, he'd made it perfectly clear how much he despised hanging out in my office downtown. It wasn't until my boss called at lunchtime—and we were half-way through season two of Game of Thrones—that I realized my error.

It was that night that the talks of me resigning from my job with the county began.

Azrael staged a reality-tv-worthy intervention with Warren, my dad, and even Nathan McNamara. Azrael and Warren argued I would be safer at home. Dad reasoned the change would be in the best interest of my health. But Nathan was the only one who was brutally honest. He pointed out that since all the angel nonsense had overtaken my life, I sucked at my job. And he was right. The Buncombe County office deserved better.

I handed in a tearful resignation letter to Mary Travers the following Monday. She cried, which was a shock. I cried, which was not. I trained my replacement, a bubbly intern named Emily, and the office threw me an impromptu baby shower/going away party. It was all very ceremonious and depressing. My job was the one thing I'd held onto from my "normal" life, and now it was gone.

Dress shopping was Adrianne's bright idea to cheer me up on my first official day of being unemployed. I was pretty sure Reuel would have preferred being at my office.

"I think an April wedding sounds perfect. Where will it be?" he asked.

"The courthouse," I said, studying the menu. "The magistrate said he—"

"Absolutely not," Dad interrupted.

"Thank you!" Adrianne tossed her hands up, happy to have found a like-minded cohort in her argument that a basic legal ceremony was a preposterous idea. I wanted a simple wedding. Warren wanted me to have what I wanted. Azrael thought the whole idea was stupid. And nobody asked Nathan McNamara for obvious reasons.

"What's wrong with the courthouse?" I asked.

Dad's face rumpled with disapproval. "Nothing's wrong with it, but I only have one daughter. I'd really like to give you away, Sloan."

Well, I couldn't argue with that.

Adrianne was wearing her unmistakable I-told-you-so smirk.

"We could do it at the house," he suggested. "In the garden or in front of the fireplace if it rains. Your mother would have loved that idea."

Dang.

Adrianne clapped and squealed, certain I was backed into a proverbial corner that I wouldn't try to get out of. "I'll take care of all the details!"

I sighed with a half-smile. "I'm sure you will."

Mom was the reason I didn't want a big wedding. It was too excruciating a thought for her not to be there. Some days her absence was almost tangible, like Christmas or the first time I heard my baby's heartbeat. I knew my wedding would be one of those moments. It's strange how grief can bend time. It felt like she'd been gone for an eternity, yet with each tiny reminder the sting was raw and new.

As if reading my mind, Dad gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be a perfect day. You'll see." He winked, then sat back in his chair. "All right. What shall we have for dinner?"

I held up the new, shiny black credit card issued to me from Azrael's account. He was now supplementing my (nonexistent) income and Warren's. To make myself feel better about yet another loss of normalcy in managing my own finances, I used that card. A lot. "Order whatever you want, folks. Dinner's on The Angel of Death tonight."

* * *

The silvery winter moon was glistening off the bare Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance when Adrianne turned onto my street. From the back seat, I peeked between her and Reuel and saw cars lining the street in front of my house. Warren was home. His Dodge Challenger (that Nathan had finally recovered from impound) was parked next to mine in the driveway. Azrael's truck was at the curb behind Nathan's county-issued SUV, and there was a black sedan behind him that instantly triggered flashbacks and a severe case of PTSD the second my eyes landed on it.

It was the FBI.

My palms began to sweat.

"What the hell's going on?" Adrianne asked.

I gulped as she slid the transmission into park. "I have no idea."

Closing my eyes, I sent my evil radar into the house. Nothing sinister lurked inside my home…nothing sinister that was human, anyway. I looked at Reuel in question. He didn't answer.

"Maybe it's a party because the evil queen is dead and peace has returned to the galaxy." Adrianne's tone was sarcastic. Even she knew better.

As if anticipating my pending heart attack, Warren's tall frame appeared in the front doorway. He was in jeans and a faded red t-shirt, wearing the leather jacket I'd bought him for our late Christmas morning do-over. The few months since his military-enforced scalping had done wonders for his hair. It was the perfect finger-raking length, just long enough to fall away from his face when I dragged my nails through it. The simple sight of him in the glow of the porch light eased the tension building in my neck and shoulders. The baby fluttered in my stomach.

Bedroom eyes not included, the only time Warren's face was readable was when he was really angry. That was rare and usually directed at Nathan McNamara. On the porch, he was expressionless, but nevertheless, it made me nervous.

Adrianne parked behind my car in the driveway. Reuel got out, pushed his seat forward, and offered a hand to pull all my frumpiness out of the back seat. Warren was coming down the steps when we reached the front sidewalk.

I pointed to the convoy parked on the street. "What's this about?"

He held up his hands. "Don't freak out."

"Why would I freak out?" My unconvincing voice was a couple octaves higher than usual.

Warren's right eyebrow rose to taunt me. "Silvers came back with us. She has news."

I stopped walking so quickly Adrianne bumped into me.

"We need to install brake lights on your ass," she said.

I ignored her. "Silvers is here all the way from Texas? That can't be good."

"There's been a break in the case. A positive one."

My heart swelled with hope. "You found Taiya?"

He frowned. "Not that big of a break, unfortunately." He reached for my hand, and when our fingers touched, his warm energy flowed through my body. "Come inside. I'll let her explain." He turned back toward the house. "How was dress shopping?"

"Ugh."

Adrianne jostled the hanger of my dress causing the opaque plastic to rustle. "After much toil and tribulation, it was a success."

Warren smiled at me as we walked up the steps. "So you really are going to marry me?"

I looked up at him. "There's no going back now."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and pushed the door open.

Nathan stood as we walked into the house. His plainclothes attire of tan tactical cargos and a black half-zip fleece didn't forewarn if he was on official police business or not. The ball cap on his head, however, signaled he was off duty; the patch on the front had a picture of a tyrannosaurus and the caption Licensed to carry small arms. He smiled when our eyes met.

Sharvell Silvers and Azrael were seated together on the new sofa I'd bought to replace my Taiya-stained white couch. The new one had sleek black, stain resistant leather, and a pull-out bed. It also made fart-sounds anytime someone moved on it, especially Azrael for some reason. Like it was manufactured for the sole purpose of keeping the Archangel of Death humble.

He moved to get up. Phwaaaaawert…

The room erupted into muffled snickers.

Azrael scowled as he stepped aside to let me have his seat.

I walked over to the couch and extended a hand to Sharvell. She shook it. "Hello, Agent Silvers."

She smiled, her lips painted a dark crimson. Her eyes were wide as she took in the sight of me. "It's good to see you, Sloan. You're looking…healthy."

Healthy = Fluffy.

I sat in Azrael's spot. "It's good to see you too. What brings you all the way up here?"

"We've had some developments." Her tone was shaky. "Given the nature of our past dealings with each other—"

I lowered my voice. "Because of all the angel stuff?"

She swallowed. "Yes. Because of all the angel stuff, we all agreed this conversation should be had in person."

I looked at Azrael. "A little heads up would've been nice."

He looked at Warren for an explanation.

"It was my idea to wait till we got back here," Warren said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because they were probably afraid you'd do something stupid," Nathan interjected.

My head whipped toward him, but his eyes met mine with a silent dare for me to argue. I kept my mouth shut and sank back into my seat.

Agent Silvers handed me the stack of folders that was balanced on her lap. "Have a look for yourself."

When I flipped open the first one, the haunted eyes of Phenex stared lifelessly back at me. The photo was clipped to a stack of papers. The girl's name was Maria Juarez, age fifteen, and the daughter of Jorge (deceased) and Marisol Juarez of San Antonio, Texas.

Juarez. Juarez. Juarez…

I tapped the page. "I recognize this name. How?"

"Rex Parker and Tito Juarez, who we just visited in jail," Warren said.

My head snapped back. "Oh."

Agent Silvers thumbed through the pages until she found another paperclip. She pulled that bunch out and laid it on top. It was a federal indictment. The United States v. Marisol Juarez. Oh boy.

Marisol, Tito's mother, had been arrested as the head of the prostitution ring in Chicago. I looked at Warren. "I guess three's a charm and this trip was productive."

He nodded and shrugged at the same time and sat on the arm of the sofa beside me. "It answered some questions and created a lot of others."

Agent Silvers crossed her legs. "We showed Tito Juarez the photo of Phenex. He said she was his sister, but that's all we got out of him before he started making demands about a deal for release." She shook her head. "I'm not willing to do that unless I have no other choice."

"But you do have another choice," I said. "Talk to their mother."

"Exactly." The agent leaned toward me. "That's why I came to talk to you. I was wondering if you'd come with me to see her."

I touched the center of my chest. "Me?"

"No," Azrael barked, taking a reflexive step forward.

Judging from Azrael's reaction, this was not part of the originally planned conversation. Warren, however, slouched forward, balancing his elbows on his knees as he tapped his fingertips together. "I agree with her."

"What? This is ridiculous," Azrael said.

Warren looked over at his father. "Marisol Juarez isn't going to talk to us or the FBI. Sloan has a way with people. She's helped Nate get reluctant witnesses to talk before."

"He's right," Nathan added. "Not to sound too cliché, but I think it's part of Sloan's gift."

"It's too dangerous," Azrael argued.

I looked at Agent Silvers. "I'll do it."

My agreement was based partly on a desire to help, but mostly on my desperation to get out of the house and do something useful. The fact that it bugged Azrael was a bonus, regardless of whether or not he was acting in my best interest.

She looked pleased. "We can fly to Chicago tomorrow morning."

I glanced back at Warren. "You'll come with me?"

He nodded. "Of course."

Azrael walked toward us with his hands raised and a face that implied we had both lost our minds. "Hold on a second. Nobody's going to Chicago."

My mouth fell open. "Az, this woman probably knows how to find Phenex. And if we find Phenex, we could find Taiya—"

"Taiya's not in Chicago, Sloan," he interrupted. "If she was, I would have found her."

I turned my palms up. "That's beside the point. Marisol Juarez is the best lead we've had recently, and you know as well as I do that Phenex is the most direct path to Taiya and Kasyade."

He folded his large arms over his chest. "That doesn't mean you have to go to Chicago."

I smirked. "Yeah, it kinda does. If you and Warren walk in there, she might drop dead of a heart attack."

He scowled. "You know that's not true."

"Maybe not, but she definitely won't tell you anything."

Azrael looked at Silvers. "Can't you subpoena records on the Juarez kid? Or let me put pressure on Tito and get him to talk?"

"First, I'm afraid that whatever you might get out of Tito won't be admissible in court depending on your tactics of interrogation."

Agent Silvers had a point, but the rest of us didn't care about how all this would play out in a court of law.

She continued. "And I've started the process through my office, but we don't have time to wait for the courts to get the information about the child. She could be in danger or—"

"The child is dead, Silvers." Azrael put his hands on his hips. "She's a lost cause."

The agent visibly swallowed, then cleared her throat. "Well…" Her voice croaked. "If you want my help on this, you need to trust my judgment. I believe that the safest and most expedient route to getting the information is to go through Marisol."

"With my help," I added.

For a second, Azrael was speechless. Then after a beat, he pointed at Warren. "I'm ordering you to stay here."

This had become a common practice in our lives lately. It didn't take long to figure out what price Warren paid to come back to Earth as a full-blown angel. Free will. Similarly to the way I was able to control the souls of humans, calling them to me at will, Azrael was Warren's new puppeteer. If he so desired, he could make Warren tap-dance around the dining room table—which he did one night over drinks and homemade fajitas. While we'd all gotten a good laugh about it at first, I wasn't laughing about it anymore.

Warren had spent a lot of years in the military, so taking orders didn't bother him as much as it bothered me. It hadn't proven to be a major problem yet, but it was only a matter of time. And Azrael putting his foot down about Warren accompanying me to Chicago might be the tipping point. Next to me, the "angry muscle"—as I had taken to calling it—was working in my fiancé's jaw.

I pushed myself up off the couch and stood toe-to-toe with Azrael. "Then I guess I'll be going alone."

He blinked.

I stuck my finger in his face. "You may be able to tell him what to do, but you're not the boss of me." I considered stamping my foot for dramatic effect, but I didn't. "And if you're trying to keep me here by not letting him come with me, then I'll go without him."

The muscles around his dark eyes slowly relaxed. He knew I was right. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it. "We'll all go then."

I released the fists I hadn't realized I'd balled at my sides. "Fine."

Agent Silvers rubbed her forehead. "Forgive me if this is a stupid question, but why is Sloan any safer here than in Chicago?"

I pointed at Azrael. "Because he thinks he's the supernatural air traffic controller of Asheville."

She turned her ear toward me. "Huh?"

"I track who from my world is coming and going in this area," Azrael explained. "I've taken a lot of precautions to protect Sloan, and here in the mountains, she is a very important fish in a very small pond. Chicago is quite the opposite and is extremely dangerous for her."

"Is there anything the government and I can do to help keep her safe?" Agent Silvers asked.

"No," we all answered in unison.

Warren stood and put his arm around my shoulders. "I'll work on flights. You're good to leave in the morning?"

"Seeing as I no longer have a life, sure."

He winked at me.

I turned toward Nathan who was leaning against the back of the sofa behind us. "Are you coming with us?"

He shook his head. "I'm going to sit this adventure out. Some of us aren't on the Almighty's payroll."

I looked at Azrael. "The Almighty has a payroll?"

He rolled his eyes.

"If you're sitting this out, why are you here?" I asked Nathan.

"He was with me," Azrael answered. "He dropped by to tell me the good news."

I was surprised. "Good news?"

Nathan nodded. "Looks like I'll be headed to New Hope. Azrael made me an offer I can't refuse."

Agent Silvers crossed her arms. "Must have been quite an offer. You made it perfectly clear to the Bureau that you had no intentions of leaving Buncombe County."

Nathan glanced away with an awkward chuckle, and the rest of the room kept silent. Everyone except Agent Silvers knew exactly why Nathan's intentions had changed. His reason for staying in Asheville was twelve weeks and a pair of Jimmy Shoes (?) away from marrying someone else. And just because our relationship had been successfully wedged into a little platonic box, I still felt as guilty as a sinner in church.

Warren cleared his throat, signaling a shift in the conversation. My hero. "Well, I can't wait to hear all about this offer. Over dinner, perhaps? I'm starving." He patted his flat stomach and then wrapped his hand around mine. "Who's coming with us?"

Azrael nodded. "I could eat."

Reuel grunted in agreement, of course.

"We already ate," I reminded him.

Adrianne took a step closer to Az and flashed me a smile that warned me to keep my mouth shut. "So what? We can eat again."

I sighed.

"Agent Silvers?" Warren asked.

She stood, shaking her head. "I've got some paperwork to wrap up tonight, so I'm going to go back to my hotel. You have my cell number. Let me know when you finalize your travel plans. I land at O'Hare around nine in the morning."

I nodded. "We will."

Warren's head swiveled toward Nathan. "You in?"

Nathan pulled his keys from his pocket. "Nah. I'm gonna head home." He walked over and offered his hand to Warren. "But you guys be safe tomorrow. Call me if you need anything."

"Will do, brother," Warren replied.

Nathan gave me a side hug as he walked past. "You be careful," he said softly in my ear.

"Promise." I grabbed him by the sleeve as he pulled away. "Wait. When do you leave?"

He shrugged. "We haven't ironed out all the details yet. It'll be a little while."

I nodded, unsure of what else to say. It wasn't exactly news that Nathan was going to work for Claymore, Azrael had been talking about it for weeks, but the reality of it coming to pass was a bit jarring. Even though in a sense his acceptance of the job made him a more permanent fixture in our bizarre little family, Nathan McNamara was leaving. And it meant a whole lot more than a career change.

Warren tugged on my hand. "You ready?"

I nodded. "I'm ready."