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  We arrive at their apartment and I follow them up the steps. Gillian fumbles through her bag for her keys, so Keith does the honors.

  Inside, she immediately turns to me, her gaze focused on my torso. “Let’s take off that shirt and see how bad things are.”

  I swear my heart stops. She wants me to undress for her? No problem.

  But for some reason, my fingers fumble with the buttons on my shirt. After a second, she pushes my hands away and undoes each one with a distinctly professional air.

  By the time she lets it drop to the floor, I’m excited in a way I haven’t been for over thirty years. I resist checking myself out, just to be sure. Hello down there. It’s been a while.

  Her eyes caress every inch of me, taking in my tattoos, my pecs, my abs. She swallows. “Just a second.” She turns and heads down the hall.

  Keith is busy staring at my chest, his mouth hanging open. A couple of slow minutes pass, without him saying a word.

  “Here,” she says. A second later, a warm cloth touches my chest, and I hiss.

  Her eyes widened. “Does it hurt?”

  “Just surprised,” I mumble, my voice a bit husky.

  I watch her trembling hand as she wipes the blood from my chest and my side. She goes to the kitchen sink and rinses the cloth several times before coming back. The cloth is always warm. I’m thankful for that.

  Her hand drops to her side. “There’s just a little cut.”

  I look down, wishing, too late, that I’d considered what she might find when she finally undressed me. “Uh. Most of it was paint.”

  “Paint?” she repeats.

  I can tell she doesn’t believe me. “Yeah, I was helping a friend paint her apartment.”

  “Well, geez,” Keith cuts in, his mouth finally working again. “Why didn’t you mention that in the first place? See, Gillian, he’s going to be fine.”

  She brings the cloth back to the sink, wringing it out one last time. “I guess that’s good,” she says, over the sound of the running water.

  “I’m glad that’s over with.” Keith says, even though his tone suggests the exact opposite.

  The room goes uncomfortably quiet.

  “Please, have a seat on the sofa.” Gillian gestures to the couch with one hand, while grabbing Keith’s arm with the other. “I’ll be right back.”

  She drags him down the hall.

  I grin. Not far enough, I can still hear them.

  “What am I supposed to do with him now?” she hisses at her roommate.

  “Anything you want, girlfriend. Although I have a lot of suggestions, if you need them, on what to do with a sexy, shirtless man,” he replies, a smile in his voice. “I’m staying the night with Peter, so you’ll have the place all to yourself.”

  Good man. I’m going to have to buy him a beer sometime.

  “What?! You’re leaving me alone with him?”

  “Of course! I only came back here to get my overnight bag. Toodles!” He grabs a bag from his room and walks past me, waggling his fingers back at her. He throws a wink over his shoulder at me before sashaying out the door.

  Gillian takes a while to come down the hall, approaching more slowly. “This is the only one of his shirts I thought might fit you.”

  I take it, grateful. I pull it on, realizing immediately that it’s far too tight. But beggars can’t be choosers, right? And it was definitely better than putting my bloody shirt back on.

  “Um…it’s pretty late. Do you want something for dinner?”

  Her shyness is endearing. Are you on the menu? Because I believe I’m starting to work up quite an appetite.

  “I don’t have much in the fridge.” She unconsciously touches her hair. “But I can order takeout. Chinese. Pizza. Whatever.”

  “Takeout sounds good. I’m not picky about food—it’s your choice.”

  She decides quickly and, after I give her the go-ahead to order whatever she wants, calls it in. The takeout comes ridiculously fast. Her face turns a light shade of pink as she mumbles about being a regular at the place across the street.

  I watch her closely as we eat. She’s very nervous at first, but opens up as we talk about superhero and sci-fi movies. I can tell she loves science fiction almost as much as she loves science.

  After finishing dinner, we go back into the living room.

  “Do you want to stay the night?” she asks, then rushes out. “On the couch, I mean. That way I can keep an eye on you in case you have a concussion or something.”

  I try not to sound disappointed as I say, “Sure.” Even though sleeping in her bed sounds a heck of a lot better.

  “The couch is a pullout. And I have extra sheets and blankets.” She backs out of the room and scrambles down the hall.

  5

  Gillian

  What is it about this guy? It isn’t just that he’s gorgeous. When we spoke at dinner, he listened. It’s been a long time since anyone but Keith listened to me like that. And he draws me in a way I can’t explain. Like gravity.

  I ruffle through the closet, looking for a set without flowers. Something manly. Between myself and Keith, sometimes I don’t know who’s more girly. I finally find a matching set in royal blue. When I turn around, he’s right behind me.

  I shriek. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry,” he says, but he’s grinning.

  He seems overly large in the small hallway, and my racing heart can’t seem to slow down. I sway toward him, brushing him with the sheets. He leans toward me as well, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me. After an awkward silence, I thrust the sheets at him, not sure what else to do.

  “Thank you,” he replies, chuckling as he walks back down the hall in front of me.

  I try not to ogle him too much as he walks. But I can’t help myself. I’ve never seen a man as perfectly formed as him. The guy must hang out at the gym day and night to keep his entire body so tight.

  An image of his naked chest flashes in my mind, and my whole body feels flushed. I remember running the cloth over him in the kitchen, caring for him. How had wiping blood off an injured man become so hot so fast?

  He’s already pulled out the bed when we reach the living room. I don’t know how he did it that fast.

  I stand there awkwardly until he tosses me one side of the fitted sheet. I shouldn’t notice his easy strength, how he simply lifts the corner of the mattress to tuck the corner under. Or the way his long fingers smooth over the sheet. Making this bed together feels strangely intimate.

  “So, uh, what do you do?”

  He pauses. “You mean, for a living?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m in…law enforcement.” For some reason, that pause worries me.

  “What kind of law enforcement?”

  He gives me a level stare. “The kind that enforces laws.”

  I’m not even going to respond to that.

  When it becomes obvious I’m not going to let it go, he sighs. “Look, it’s classified. I can’t really tell you about it. That’s also why I didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

  I search his face, but he seems to be telling the truth. His eyes are clear and look at me unwaveringly.

  “All right, Mr. Classified. Water is in the kitchen, bathroom is the first door on the left. I’ll pull out a couple of towels and leave them in there for you.”

  He places the other sheets on the bed, nodding. “All right, thank you very much for letting me stay here tonight.” He grabs the skintight shirt behind his neck and pulls it off over his head with one hand.

  His incredible body hits me again, but this time I’m not worried about his injuries. I feel almost paralyzed as let my gaze slide over every inch of him. He looks like a magazine cutout, muscular and tanned from the waist up. Every ab is visible beneath taut skin. They ripple as he folds his T-shirt and sets it on the coffee table.

  He looks up, and I can tell he’s debating whether to pursue me or not.

  As drawn as I am to him, we just
met. I start backing away. Straight into the wall. “Oomph,” I grunt ungracefully.

  “Are you all right?” His face is filled with concern.

  My face flames in embarrassment. “I—I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. In the morning. Good night.”

  His mouth quirks up at the corners and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh at me. I flee down the hall to my bedroom, closing the door, and locking it for good measure.

  Maybe the lock should go the other way. I’m not sure who needs more protection. Me from him—or him from me.

  6

  Brion

  My eyes open and I stare at an oddly high ceiling. Oh. Right. I’m still at Gillian’s. I sit up slowly. Argh. My back muscles bunch uncomfortably. Sleeping on human beds always does that to me. We don’t have to sleep upstairs, but down in the 3rd dimension we have many of the same needs as humans.

  Or maybe it was getting hit by a bus yesterday. That was graceful.

  I’m not sure I slept at all last night. Every few hours Gillian came out and pressed a soft palm to my forehead, or simply stood over me, watching the rise and fall of my chest. Her concern warmed me, but the thought of her so close to my bed, wearing her pink pajamas edged with lace, made it impossible to think of anything besides her.

  I shift uncomfortably. I was hard damn near all night. And it had been ridiculously hard to keep my eyes mostly shut, feigning a peaceful sleep.

  I try to smooth down my hair the best I can. A nervous energy fills me and, glancing around the room, I try to find something to do. I can make her breakfast. Maybe that would wrest a smile from her.

  I pad to the kitchen and rifle through the fridge. Eggs. Bacon. Tomatoes. Peppers. Garlic. Bread. Perfect. I can work with this.

  Before long, the aroma of bacon and eggs fill the air. It’s funny, but even though I don’t have to, I still love to cook. And eat.

  I hear her open her door and come into the kitchen behind me. “Good morning.”

  She’s adorably rumpled from sleep, her long, straight blond hair slightly frizzed. Her eyes are wide, and I can tell she doesn’t know what to say. There’s that hungry gaze again. It slides over each of my tattoos, then my chest, then my abs, then lower.

  But I feel much the same. My eyes devour her, wishing I could brush that lace over every inch of her body.

  I can tell the moment she realizes I’m watching her.

  A blush creeps up her neck. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Good as new.”

  “What are you making?” She tries to look around me at the pan on the stove.

  She looks adorable. But way too serious. I want to see her smile.

  I step to the left, then the right, blocking her view. “No peeking,” I tease.

  She grins at that, looking a little more at ease. “I’m pretty sure it’s bacon and eggs.”

  “And I’m pretty sure you know what that looks like already.” I wink. “Do you want coffee?”

  “Yes, please.” She glances at the clock. “I want to get dressed. How long do I have before it’s ready?”

  I turn back to the pan. “Ten minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready in five.”

  When the shower turns on, I try my hardest not to imagine her in there. Wet. Naked. Down boy. Those kinds of thoughts are exactly the ones that will get me in trouble.

  I freeze as I’m stirring the eggs. What’s going on with me? I’m acting like a horny teenager, not the ambivalent angel I’d grown to accept.

  She reemerges just as I finish putting the food on the table, her hair still wet from the shower.

  “This is wonderful.” She looks up at me shyly. “You didn’t have to make breakfast.”

  I laugh. “Of course I did, after you saved my life and everything. Please, eat up.”

  She rolls her eyes, but sits down and takes a bite. Her eyes open wide. “Oh my,” she says with her mouth full. “This is delicious. What did you put in these eggs?” She picks up the plate to look at it.

  “Just veggies and spices. The way my mama showed me how to make it.”

  “Your mama sure knew what she was doing.”

  “Yes, ma’am, she did.” I’m strangely pleased by how much she enjoys the food. She eats almost as fast as I do.

  When she’s finished, she puts down the fork with obvious reluctance and looks at her watch again. “Thank you so much for breakfast. But it’s almost seven and I’ve got to head off to work in fifteen minutes.”

  I nod and begin to gather the dishes, but she stops me by placing a hand on my arm. Energy arcs between us, making my skin tingle.

  She pulls back with a gasp. “Please. I’ll get this. Why don’t you grab a shower?”

  It’s only minutes later that we are standing awkwardly just inside her front door. “Thank you so much for helping me yesterday. And allowing me to stay the night.”

  She laughs. “I don’t think I did much for you, but at least you weren’t alone.”

  I pause at that. “You’re right. I wasn’t alone. And believe me, Gillian, that was enough.”

  For the first time I realize how lonely I’ve been since becoming an angel. I have friends, other warriors, but no family. No love. I put my hand on the door handle, but don’t open it. “I’d really like to see you again.” My stomach jumps a little, and I realize I’m actually worried about what she’s going to say.

  “Me, too,” she says, her gaze locked on her shoes.

  I feel a surge of hope. “How about dinner tomorrow night? We could meet at the coffee shop.”

  “Where you got hit? Isn’t that bad luck?”

  I wink at her. “I heard you can’t get hit by a bus twice on the same street.”

  She looks at me as if I’m pulling her leg.

  And I am.

  I don’t know what to do, so I take the back of her hand and kiss it. An electric shock goes through me as my lips touch her. A glance at the stunned expression on her face tells me she felt it, too.

  “Tomorrow night at seven, then?” My eyes drink her in.

  “Tomorrow at seven,” she agrees.

  I don’t know if I’m allowed to date a human. I’m pretty sure it’s against the rules, in the fine print somewhere.

  But I do know that for the first time since becoming an angel, I feel a spark of hope.

  7

  Gillian

  When I enter the building that houses my lab, Keith is waiting for me. “Oh my God, girl, I’ve been waiting here for an hour to find out what happened last night! Don’t keep me in suspense—give me details, tell me everything!”

  “Be quiet!” I shush him, looking around. “He’d just been hit by a bus—I wasn’t going to jump on him last night.”

  His hand goes to his forehead and he moans in pain. “Oh God, girl, you’re killing me here. Pleeeease tell me I did not leave and stay the night with that horrible Peter, listening to him snore all night long, just so you could do absolutely nothing with the hot, scrumptious specimen of a male that practically landed in your lap!” He’s shaking my shoulders in despair by the end of his speech.

  I try to look chagrined. “I’m sorry I let you down, babe.”

  He looks so crestfallen that I have to console him.

  “But you know what? He asked me out to dinner tomorrow night.” I wink.

  “Oh thank goodness!” He’s almost crying with relief. “The night was not a total disaster!”

  I put my arm around his shoulders for a quick hug. “Definitely not, but I’d better get to work.”

  He nods. “All right, sweetie. See you later.”

  As the elevator door opens before me, he calls out, “Gillian! What was his name?”

  I shrug. “I really have no idea.”

  “What?!”

  After I step into the elevator and the door closes, I can’t stop laughing. Had we really gone through all of that, and I forgot to ask him his name?

  ***

  The elevator doors open o
n the twenty-eighth floor. Hand and retinal scanners at the door double-check my identity before they let me into the enormous lab that takes up a quarter of the building.

  Due to the nature of my work, I need a bird’s-eye view of the city.

  I begin setting up my equipment and computer programs for the experiments of the day.

  I’ve just finished setting up when there is a loud crack. The door to the lab falls inward. Hesitantly, I start to slide toward the panic button.

  Two men walk in. I want to call them men, but I’m not exactly sure they are. Their suits don’t seem to fit right. And they look different. Dangerous.

  “Gillian Matthews?” the first one asks. He wears big, rimmed glasses, but they’re too far down his nose to be of any real use.

  I’m just feet from the panic button. If I can just keep them distracted for another couple of seconds. “Who’s asking?

  The second one clears his throat, stroking his dark beard. “I wouldn’t touch that button if I were you.”

  I stop. How does he know? “What do you want?”

  “Your notes, laptop, and you.”

  His words hit me like a meteor. I understand the notes and the laptop, but me?

  “Why?” I try to look shocked. “What on Earth do you want with surveillance stats?”

  “Surveillance stats?” the one with the beard repeats back with a brow raised.

  “Yes, I’m just measuring the flow of traffic on the roadways so we can set the traffic signals more effectively. Are you with the government?”

  The guy with the beard looks up at the one who is fidgeting with his odd glasses. “Dean, what does the boss want with surveillance stats? Maybe we got the wrong girl.”

  The other one finally snatches his glasses off his nose and chucks them across the room. They smash against the wall and shatter. “She’s lying to you, Blaine. Do you always have to be so gullible?”

  I don’t think these two are professionals. I’ve only made it two steps closer to the panic button, but managed to pocket two of my USBs.

  Dean turns back to me. “We know exactly what you’re doing. Turn it over, or we’ll make you wish you had. And then we’ll take it anyway.”