Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3) by Marie Johnston (best authors to read .txt) 📗

Why was that so important?

The screen of Harlowe’s phone lit up the inside of the cab. “I’ll give you directions to the safe house Dionna had set up.”

Dionna, their team leader. An angel warrior. Right.

Oh, and Sierra had been a warrior. Trained to fight demons on Earth.

She’d taken on an adult male, supposedly possessed, but Boone had witnessed Jim’s irrational anger himself. Whatever the reason for it, Jim had been armed and was over half a foot taller than Sierra. She’d taken him down in seconds.

Boone hated how their fantasy world matched reality so well.

He couldn’t forget the lack of footprints around where Sierra had lain, abandoned and injured. Injuries that resembled an appendage being cut and torn from her back.

He rubbed his face again, concentrating on Harlowe’s directions. The house was in Henderson and this was his first time in Las Vegas.

He and Phoebe had talked about coming here. He’d never made it a priority. His work had been more important. He’d had the ability to save a lot of people. There had been no need to wear a cape or fly around. All he’d needed were the motorcycle skills he’d learned from his dad before the man had died and his detective skills. He’d only needed to be his gruff, quiet self and the club had opened their doors, believing he was just another working stiff with delusions of grandeur and badassery.

He’d avoided Vegas because he knew too much of what went down in this town. As an ATF agent, he’d had enough of big cities and their merciless criminals. He’d wanted to escape to his Montana cabin. Phoebe had wanted a husband at her side.

That he’d finally come to Vegas for a reason so similar to his old life made him antsy. He was tempted to ask Sierra more questions about Numen to get his mind off his former career.

But they had reached Henderson, and the trip was nearing its end. He pulled up in front of a two-story stucco home in a neighborhood full of them. The light of the streetlamps illuminated the single patch of grass in the front yard and that of every other yard on the street. Rocks surrounded prickly bushes as landscaping. A brick-red garage door was opening thanks to some app on Harlowe’s phone. The rest of the house was a cream color that’d reflect the hot desert sun.

He pulled into the empty garage. Was the house empty too? Was it full of regular furniture? Bookshelves and picture albums like a real family lived here? Did a real family live here while these people pretended it was a “safe house”?

If it was empty and full of electronic surveillance equipment, would he have an easier time believing all of this?

The garage door closed them in. He got out and stretched his cramped legs. During the drive, he’d only gotten out to fill the pickup with gas and keep an eye on Sierra as she went into the gas station with the others and wove through the aisles to the bathroom.

One of the warriors—because why not call them that—had stayed with Alma. Sandeen took great pleasure in using the women’s restroom, leaving Harlowe the only one who could accompany him.

Sierra got out, but Urban beat her to the box to get the luggage. He didn’t talk to her, didn’t look at her.

The whole shun the fallen thing was real between them.

If this was an act, these people were in 120 percent.

Chapter 9

“No one’s here,” Harlowe said as they walked in. The warrior had spoken to Sierra as little as possible. In the gas station bathrooms, Harlowe had given her the cold shoulder. Sandeen had taken the edge off by bickering with the other woman. “There’s only three bedrooms. You can stay with your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” The words soured in her mouth. She didn’t know what Boone was. They’d been close, sharing their worst. He hadn’t wanted to go any further than that, and it hadn’t mattered if she’d wished to or not. Boone deserved more, and she had more pressing issues to worry about.

Like a baby and trying not to get kidnapped.

Boone was right behind her, piling into the house, which smelled like fresh paint. The place echoed with their voices. The counters were bare and the furniture was sparse. A dining room table with a simple white top and black chairs was paired with a couch and love seat in the living room.

The house was large, the living room the size of Boone’s entire cabin. The bathroom might even have a tub. She could go for a soak, a little time to think about the left turn and then sudden right her life had made in the same day.

“Regardless, you two have been sharing a space.” Harlowe’s tone was as hard as her steely gaze. “You can keep doing it. Urban and I will be coming and going. There’s a pergola in the back with a waffle terrace on either side that blocks us from the neighbors.”

No one would see them transcend. To a human, it’d look like they vanished and reappeared at random times. No wonder this house made the perfect safe house. Angels could pop in and out without raising suspicion or being seen suddenly disappearing and reappearing at all hours of the day and night.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Boone rumbled. For a guy who’d refused to leave her side after hours of listening to what must, in his mind, be pure fiction, he sure was avoiding her now. She couldn’t blame him.

“No can do,” Harlowe continued as Urban ushered Sandeen into the house. The host drooped like she was going to collapse. “Alma gets the main floor. The other room upstairs is for me and Urban to take turns sleeping. When we’re not sleeping, we’re going to be set up in the kitchen and living room. All the doors and windows have sensors. We’ll know if anyone tries