She closed her computer and got up. If she hurried she could get a shower before she made the forty-five minute drive up the freeway.
…
The building wasn’t what she’d expected. Instead of an office inside a law firm or strip mall, she parked her car in front of a small converted church. At least she assumed that’s what it was by the stained glass windows. There wasn’t a steeple or a bell.
She opened the carved oak door and stepped into the shadowed office. A stylish woman with short black hair chomped her gum behind a desk, stapling papers into manila folders. Glancing Tegan’s way, she stopped stapling for a moment. “Are you Megan?”
“It’s actually Tegan. Like Megan with a T.”
The receptionist popped her gum and shrugged. “Suit yourself. Gabe will be back in a few minutes.”
Stapling recommenced, the pound and grind of bending metal snapping through the space. Tegan glanced up at the high ceilings and took a seat on the long pew opposite the woman’s desk. Time slowed, the rhythmic stapling lulling her into a comfortable trance. Maybe she was more exhausted than she’d realized.
The large door burst open. Tegan shot up from her seat, her feet instinctively moving into a fighting stance. A tall man with broad shoulders, brown hair, and sunglasses blew through the narthex toward the chapel area. His features were striking even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark lenses of his shades. The strong angle of his jaw and the way his hair brushed the collar of his black coat made her pulse jump. He was perfectly mussed somehow, like he’d just rolled out of bed looking like that.
For some reason she’d been imagining him much older. The whole paranormal thing sounded like an old man chasing a silly superstition. This guy was also a little less polished than she’d expected. Judging by the swollen lip and the scrape at the corner of his mouth, he’d had a recent job that had gotten physical.
Her pulse thrummed in an inappropriate response. The fact this guy might know how to fight should not excite her. Obviously her hormones were aching for some male contact.
Screw that. The last thing she had time for was a man.
“Martie is my five o’clock here yet?” His voice was deep and a little hoarse. Rough and sexy.
The stapling came to an abrupt halt, and Martie pointed a red, perfectly manicured finger. “That’s her.”
He spun around and tipped his head, peering at Tegan from over his sunglasses. “You’re Megan?”
His light green eyes almost made her forget her own name. “It’s Tegan. Tegan Ashton.”
“Like Megan with a T.”
She nodded, an unexpected smile curving her lips. “Exactly.”
He held out a large hand. She stared at it for a second. This was a business meeting, nothing more. Other than her karate classes, she hadn’t touched a man since the attack.
I won’t be a victim. I’m not a victim.
She forced herself to place her hand inside of his, and he squeezed, giving her a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gabe.”
His fingers brushed her wrist, sliding across her palm as he released her. Almost tender. She’d forgotten how a simple touch could calm instead of threaten. Pressing her lips together, she reminded herself to breathe.
He gestured toward his office. “Come on back.”
…
Gabe took off his coat, doing his best not to wince as the right sleeve skimmed his dislocated elbow. It would heal of course, but it would hurt a helluva lot less if he’d taken the time to reset the joint.
But he didn’t want to be late. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice the odd angle of his elbow.
Offering her a chair, he stepped around his desk to hang his coat, but he kept his dark glasses on. Easier to give his clients the once over if they didn’t know where he was looking.
All part of the job. Although today was more enjoyable than usual.
When Martie had told him his new potential client thought she witnessed a murder, Tegan had his full attention. Now that she sat in his office, it was clear even if she didn’t have a big case, she would’ve caught his attention. Her thick auburn hair fell just past her shoulders, and her dark brown eyes and pouty lips teased him. They had a softness that contrasted with the rest of her body.
Which was toned and tempting, even through her clothes. Hard and tense like she was ready to take on the world at a moment’s notice. Her face looked a little pale, shadows lingering under her eyes. No sleep, and judging by the way her fingers trembled when he released her hand, she probably needed to eat too. Her fighting stance the second he entered the office hadn’t escaped him, either. What turned this angel into a warrior?
None of his business. Giving a damn would only get her killed. He’d been down that road before, and he refused to lose another person he cared about. Best not to care at all.
He pulled his sunglasses off, and his potential new client gasped.
“You should put some ice on that eye.”
“I’ll be all right.” He sat behind his desk, chastising himself for not checking the mirror in the car before he came in. Damn. He knew that hit was going to leave a mark. “So, tell me why you’re talking to me instead of the police.”
“Because they don’t believe me.” Her doe eyes pleaded with him. He’d seen the look before.
Gabe rolled his head slightly, snapping his vertebrae back into alignment. “Why not?”
She wrung her hands in front of her for a moment before shooting up from her seat and leaning against his desk.
“You know what? Let’s cut the crap. I have money, and after calling every PI in SoCal, you’re my last shot. I need you to find the guy who gave me this.”
She caught her finger in the neckline of her T-shirt and tugged it back to reveal a jagged hook-shaped scar on her collarbone, with a raised edge all the way around it. The center of the wounded flesh was discolored, almost gray. His pulse raced. He’d seen these scars before, but never on a living person. No human had given her that scar.
Releasing the shirt she met his eyes. “It’s been four years since he attacked me, and last night I saw him on a webcam in my neighborhood.”
Gabe stood up, resting his hands on his side of the desk and leaning closer to her. This close, he could see the flecks of green in her dark eyes. No sign of a fine outer ring of gold—the first sign of a demon incognito.
Good. This woman was human.
And somehow she’d done the impossible by surviving a Hingo demon attack. It was unheard of in his line of work.
“I’m on the case.”
“Same price I was quoted on the phone?” Her eyes narrowed, her gaze searching his.
“Yeah.” Gabe nodded. For a chance to send another Hingo demon straight back to Hell, he’d almost take the case for free, but he kept that to himself. A guy had to eat.
He reached for his coat without thinking, his arm tweaked, unable to straighten. “Damn it.”
She came around his desk, frowning. “Somebody beat the crap out of you.”
“You should see the other guy.” He smirked. “Do me a favor and—”
She grabbed his wrist and already had her other hand ready to lever his elbow back into place.
“You’ve done this before.” He gripped the desk with his freehand.
“And it hurts like a son of a bitch.” She tugged hard.
Sparks lit around the edge of his vision while he cursed under his breath. Finally a loud pop echoed through the room, and she let go of his arm.
Gabe moved it a little, tentative.
“You need to ice it.”
“I’ll be fine.” And he would. He glanced at his new client, impressed. “You’ve got skills.”