Guardian Demon (GUARDIAN SERIES) (49 page)

But how did it all fit? “When did the demon visit them?”

“About a month after Walker was killed,” Joe said.

“Did they say why?”

“To offer his condolences. He said that he’d gone to school with Walker at Georgetown.”

In D.C. “But Brandt went to school in Washington. The
other
Washington.” The state, not the city.

“Yep,” Joe said. “Drifter’s checking with the senator’s office now, to see what Brandt’s schedule was at that time. Hopefully we’ll come up with something solid to show he was in two places at once.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “A hunch, huh?”

He scratched his chin. “Well, I struck out on the vampire’s photo. So I guess you could call it ‘a desperate attempt to find a connection before that portal opens, so Drifter and I just threw shit out there.’ No one’s more surprised than me that it paid off.”

It had. But what did it mean? Her mind racing, she tried to put the pieces together. “What time is it now? Do you want to go back, start interviewing the other families, asking if Brandt showed up there, too? Michael and I will hit the owners of those vehicles in Seattle, try to find the vampire’s name and some link to those sentinels. If we come at this from both sides, we’re going to narrow in on the fuckers. Maybe find out who they are targeting to open this portal.”

Michael had been quiet, listening. Now he asked, “You think that’s what it is?”

“I’m thinking it’s a good possibility. Look how they set up everything. They don’t leave shit to chance. Maybe every one of these families has a potential target. Maybe they all pissed off Lucifer in some way.” She glanced at Joe again. “You said Johnson’s widow was on vacation, right? We need to actually verify that, make sure the vacation story isn’t just a cover-up to make sure no one looks for her until it’s too late.”

“As it was too late for Mark Brandt,” Michael said.

“Yeah. Because the demons have a purpose—and it doesn’t make sense that they’d be messing around, visiting these people, for any other reason. It’s got to be tied to that portal, and them getting it open.”

“I agree.” He looked to Joe. “How many families do you have left to revisit?”

“Five more. But those are only the murders we know of.”

“Then we need to make certain we haven’t missed any.” His gaze met Taylor’s again. “Shall we go?”

Still early. But what the hell. All of the vehicles on the surveillance had been driving around at five in the morning. Hopefully, that meant their owners were a bunch of early birds.

Otherwise, they were about to be woken up.

*   *   *

Less than a week of his life left, and Michael couldn’t have asked for a better end. The Guardians
would
stop Lucifer. He would spend almost every remaining hour with Andromeda. He should have been glad for this.

But he would have consumed the world for one second more with her.

All those years ago, when Lucifer had created the grigori, that was what the demon had hoped for—to create beings that would crush humanity beneath their heels.

But the demon hadn’t anticipated the change in Michael’s father and the other demons who’d consumed the dragon’s blood and had lain with humans. He hadn’t anticipated that their seed would only take root when the demons loved their partners. He hadn’t anticipated the grigori being raised within caring families, or the angels’ guidance. Lucifer had no use for love, except for when it caused suffering. Except for when it led to hate.

So the demon failed to see the sharpest weapon within reach.

If the demon had understood love at all, Lucifer could have used it to make Michael into what he’d wanted. He could have dangled Andromeda as a prize. Michael would have conquered the world for her. He would have let it burn.

And using Andromeda in that way would have been a double-edged sword, had the demon known how to wield it. By destroying the world to have her, Michael would know agonies that could have satisfied even Lucifer’s desire for pain. Because such a man could never win Andromeda’s love in return.

Yet rather than using Michael’s love as a weapon, the demon threatened Andromeda—and so Michael would destroy Lucifer, instead.

But Michael still knew one sharp edge of that weapon—he would never win Andromeda’s heart. Not because he would destroy the world, but because he simply didn’t have enough time. And it
was
agony.

Yet, unlike every other pain, impossible to ignore. With each beat of his heart, the anguish deepened. Desperation crawled on sharp claws beneath his skin. He didn’t need to breathe, yet constantly felt as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

And riding along with the agony, his craving for her burned hotter than before. Desire tore at every thread of his control, deeper and sharper than his hunger had ever been.

The need to make her his. To claim her.

Andromeda would reject that claim—and so he didn’t dare let go of his control. He had to protect her from that need. Protect her from himself. If this agony grew any greater, it might strip him down to the core. Just as he’d been in Hell, when he’d hurt her. Michael knew he should walk away, let another Guardian accompany her during this investigation.

But Michael couldn’t even tear his gaze from her, let alone take a step in another direction.

He couldn’t bear to miss a moment. She gave so much, and he’d take it all with him into the dark eternity of Chaos. Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh, every second. Even this agony, he’d happily take with him—and he’d destroy himself before he hurt her again. As painful as losing her was, far better than the agony of hurting her. And far better to know the anguish of never making her his, than knowing the pain his death would have caused if she
had
loved him.

So he collected more seconds, cherishing every one. Their first stop had been to Special Investigations’ former headquarters, where she’d vanished a vehicle into her cache. Better for getting around, she’d said, since Michael couldn’t teleport to an address. Which was true, but he could easily glance at a street map on his phone and jump in close to the right location. And the expensive car she’d taken was no more “federal agent” than his suit. But the grin she’d given him while sliding behind the wheel made him disregard how the cramped interior restricted his range of motion.

What did she enjoy the most: getting back to the job, “borrowing” Colin’s car, or driving the powerful vehicle through the winding streets?

Michael didn’t know. But he took pleasure from her enjoyment.

He took his pleasure simply watching her. Her smooth confidence as she drove, punctuated by irritation and curses when other cars went too slow or failed to signal a turn. Waiting at a red light, the way she drummed her hands on the steering wheel, as if to the beat of a song in her head. When they parked a block from the first residence, she dragged her slim fingers through her fiery hair, taming the curls into a thick braid. She formed a jacket to match her trousers, gave him a look. Michael dropped into his Agent Smith persona and lifted an enquiring brow at her in return.

Her laugh was low and warm. “Are you ready, then?”

“I’m always ready for you, Agent Taylor. The fun part is making you ready for me.”

Her eyes brightened, and for an instant, she simply looked at him with her lower lip trapped between her teeth. Then her gaze flattened slightly, and she said, “Do you mind if I take the lead on this?”

“I prefer it.” No flirting this time. She had her job. He had his. “I’ll be at your back.”

Protecting her.

But no danger lurked here. No scent of vampires lingered in the air. Small yards lined a broad street. No fences. Everything open. Nowhere to hide from his gaze.

He disliked his stiff shoes. They muffled the sensation in his feet like cotton stuffed into his ears. The paved walk up to the house could have warned him of approaching vehicles, approaching feet. He’d have felt Andromeda’s steps instead of only hearing them.

She rang the bell. From inside, he heard a woman cross a carpeted room to answer it, her mind unguarded. A buzz of irritation underscored her lilting psychic song. No other hearts beat inside the house. No other minds. The door opened to reveal a woman in a robe, her hair slick from a shower. Irritation turned to confusion and worry when Andromeda held up her badge.

The woman’s fingers tightened on the edge of the door. Her gaze lifted from the shield to Andromeda’s face. She didn’t glance at their hands or measure their stances. Wary, but not looking to attack.

“Is something wrong?”

“Stacy Williams?” At the woman’s nod, Andromeda introduced herself and Michael. “Nothing is wrong. We’re just here to ask a few routine questions about a robbery that occurred in the area last week. May we speak with you?”

“Okay, but—I have to be at work in a half hour.”

“We’ll only be a few minutes.”

With a nod, Stacy Williams stepped back and let them in. Four windows, ceilings high enough to fly beneath. The living room opened into a kitchen, knives displayed in a wooden block. A decorative lamp with a sharp-edged copper shade stood on a short table near Michael’s left hand.

The room was decorated in cream, brown, and orange. He didn’t think it mattered. But he forced himself to notice, in case it did.

No danger here. Satisfied, he watched Andromeda, keeping his other senses attuned for any emerging threats. Despite her frustration when she’d been waiting to go, after Andromeda began to work she showed infinite patience. Never hurrying, examining every detail. Asking her questions and exploring the answers from different angles.

By the time she said her thank-you and good-bye, he couldn’t remember any of what Stacy Williams had said. He’d heard every word, watched Andromeda’s every response. He hadn’t listened.

That was . . . unlike him. He’d never had trouble focusing. He
had
been focusing. But only on Andromeda.

Leaving the home, he waited until the door closed before asking, “It wasn’t her vehicle?”

“No.” Andromeda paused in the middle of the paved walk and looked up at him. “She showed up on the surveillance because she was driving to a gym class. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

She studied him for a second longer. “So what’s informing Agent Smith’s personality today? You just heard about your dead grandmother? Someone poisoned your dog?”

There was no backstory here. Just that, even while playing Agent Smith, knowing he would never have her filled him with the same agony.

But a story would have been easy to create. Michael Smith didn’t have a piece of his soul missing because he clung too hard to a woman who wanted to be rid of him. A thousand other diseases might kill a human, though. He could pick any one. Make up a visit to a doctor, a grim prognosis.

Now Michael Smith was wondering how to tell the woman he loved. And although he hoped to hold her every response close for after he was gone, he also knew that any possible response would rip his heart to shreds. Her tears would destroy him. No tears would do the same.

He preferred her anger to hurting her. He would prefer her hate. But he couldn’t bear any of them—as Michael, or as Michael Smith.

He shook his head. “The next address is nearby?”

“Yes. Just two blocks over.” With a lift of her chin, she indicated the direction. “Walk or drive?”

“Walk.”

“You don’t like the car, do you?” Her teasing glance was followed by a quick grin. “I would have thought a guy like Agent Smith would love a car like that.”

“I enjoy taking the time to walk with you more.”

She gave him a knowing look. “And walking doesn’t confine you in a steel can?”

“That, too.”

Her soft laugh echoed through him and sparked his smoldering need to a burning roar. She started down the street at an easy pace. Michael remained still, his hungry gaze fixed on her retreating back.

She had so many vulnerabilities. The sway of her backside. He could grab her hips and haul her up against him, rip down her trousers, and slide into her. The bounce of her hair. He could wind the thick braid around his hand and drag her in for a taste.

Take her. Make her mine.

Instinct raged that tempting refrain. Michael closed his eyes. It could not happen. He was hers. She couldn’t be his. He could only have her trust, her friendship. Her kiss and her touch. Maybe her bed.

He had no time for more.

And it was best this way. The dissonance would kill him. That would be difficult enough for his friends. His only consolation was that Andromeda would endure. She might grieve when he died. She wouldn’t be destroyed.

As Michael would be, if he lost her. And Michael didn’t know how he would have endured these final days without her. But instead of despair, he had joy. He had warmth and laughter. He’d fallen in love.

With a woman who realized that he’d also fallen behind, and who turned to him with concern warming her incredible psychic song.
Andromeda.

Her gaze on his, she returned to his side. “You’re sure you’re okay? Because your eyes are black.”

The façade of Agent Smith slipping away, along with his control.

Michael didn’t want to be the man in this suit. He wanted to walk behind her with his wings spread and his weapon on fire, so that she would never feel threatened, never afraid, never hurt.

But if his control slipped much further, he might be the one to hurt her.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I was just watching you. And I wanted you.”

Though he didn’t even have to look at her for that.

Color tinged her skin. Not embarrassment. Heat. But she didn’t lose focus—she only did when she touched him. She only did when the need overwhelmed her. He loved it when she lost control.

He loved it when she didn’t.

“Just keep it tucked in for now, Agent Smith.” She tilted her head down the street. “Shall we?”

“Yes.” He scraped the persona back together. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he drooped his shoulders and altered his voice. Every person had a song, a rhythm to their movements. He only needed to hum along and dance to it. “Who’s up next?”