They stared at each other for a long moment. The takeaway, Jim supposed, was that even with the win they’d bartered for, she wasn’t sure she could come out on top. Therefore, this plan was her strategy for winning it all: Get Jim to flake out … and then take everything because of a forfeiture.
Thinking that she was coming at this in any way but for her sole benefit would be like expecting a rattler not to use its fangs.
“I can’t trust you,” he said evenly.
She jutted forward on those heels of hers. “And I already know your word is for shit—or do I need to remind you that you lied to my face. The difference here is, I’ve never given you a vow to break.”
“There’s always room for Jell-O, sweetheart.”
“Try me.”
“Couldn’t we start with something easier, like you borrowing a fiver from me?”
“Joke all you want. But I’m right about all this—and do the math. It’s mutually assured destruction, so the playing field is leveled.”
“Yeah, but come on. Assuming that you’re not f**king me completely, and I really don’t believe that for a heartbeat, do you honestly think if we go to the Maker and hit Him with this, that He’ll be all, ‘Whatever, you guys,’ do you? Not going to happen.”
“Won’t be the first time He’s hated His creation, I’ll tell you that. And what is He going to do? Make me act if I don’t want to?”
“But according to you, if Nigel’s dead, my fate’s sealed—so technically, I’m out of the game already.”
“Not if you quit, Jim. Not if you stop playing right here and now.” When he fell silent, she nodded. “You think about it, and then you call me.”
Jim expected her to sidle in for a kiss. Instead, she just gave him another long look … and then she was gone into the night.
Left alone, he turned back to the house, where he had to imagine there was a round two or three going on.
She hadn’t even tried to get to the soul in play. And she’d shown up without minions, without some sex ploy, with nothing but her charming self, and a bright idea—not her usual MO. But come on, he wasn’t going to be a fool.
Yeah … the only rationale that made any sense was that she’d decided she really couldn’t win this. Except … they were even, now, and she was arrogant—so he wasn’t sure he could buy that. Then again … they were two-two only because he’d given her one of the rounds.
Jim wandered slowly back into the house, passing through the door again, sitting back down on the sofa.
She had a point about the free will thing. Choice had always been part of the human experience, for good and bad. Did that apply to angels and demons, too?
It had never dawned on him that he could opt out of this bullshit.
And Devina was right.
He did not want to be Nigel when he grew up.
The question was, how could he independently verify all of it. And how much time did he have before the Maker came a-knockin’ … and Jim ended up with a “promotion” he didn’t want?
Chapter Forty-six
Cait was back in the Palace Theatre’s parking garage.
She was once again on that ramp that ran down between levels, walking fast, hearing the footsteps of someone behind her.
Panic got her going even quicker as she shot out to the lower lineup of cars and broke into a full-on bolt. Dragging her purse in front of her, she dug into it for her phone—
A gun. This time she had a gun.
Instead of her cell, she took out something mean and black. It was loaded, although she didn’t know how she knew that, and as she gripped the weapon, her palm fit perfectly, sure as if the thing had been made for her.
In the manner of dreams, she kept running, heading for the doors of the elevator that seemed to be ten miles off in the distance and staying that way. And in her wake, her attacker was getting tighter on her, closing in—
In the blink of an eye, she was at the vertical pair of buttons, one arrow up, one down. She jabbed at both with her left hand, craning around, waiting for whatever it was to come out of the shadows.
The ceiling lights were extinguishing one by one, tracking the figure, always a step ahead so she couldn’t see who it was.
Punching the buttons—she was punching the buttons as those illuminating fixtures went dark and death came for her.
The doors were not opening. This time she was locked out of her escape.
Spinning around, she slammed her back against the elevator’s closed entrance and put the gun up at chest height.
“No!” she screamed. “Stop!”
Whoever it was just kept coming. For an eternity, she stood braced for death’s approach, time slowing to a crawl even as her heart fluttered in her chest and her blood boiled with terror.
“Noooo!”
Losing control, she pulled the trigger over and over again, shooting at whatever was coming at her, the popping sounds echoing all around, the recoil vibrating up her forearms and into her shoulders. The more she squeezed off rounds, the faster her attacker seemed to come—
The lights directly over her head were the only ones that stayed on. So she finally saw what she was firing at.
Her scream was louder than the gun—
“Cait! Cait, wake up!”
Someone was in her face, holding her arms, getting in the way.
Stuck between reality and the nightmare, she pushed against a solid weight, trying to get away, panic overtaking higher reasoning.
“Cait!” The voice, the deep male voice, chipped a crack in her fear. “Easy, there—it was a nightmare, whatever it was—just a dream, Cait.”
She froze, everything except for her breathing going still. “… I was going to die…”
“Come here … lie on me, come here.”
Duke. It was Duke with her in the bed, and the instant she made that connection, she collapsed into his bare chest, his arms wrapping around her and holding her tight.
“Shh, you’re okay. I got you.”
The shivering came next, her whole body quaking. “Thank God you’re here,” she said roughly. “Oh, God…”
If she’d woken up alone?
“You’re all right.”
“It was awful … it was so real—I was back in that parking garage, getting chased—”
“What parking garage?”
As she told him what had happened to her, she felt him stiffen underneath her, his powerful body tightening up as if he were prepared to go out into Caldwell and find whoever it had been—and kill them.