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

There was a knock on the door. She popped her head up from her task. “Jagger. Hi.”

He stayed in the doorway. The desk took up the rest of the space in the room. “Director Vale wanted me to tell you that the senate signed off on everything, including leaving the decision of who would provide the surveillance up to the director.”

She chuckled softly. Smooth way around having to tell them it would be her. She sobered. “I don’t like him risking himself like that for me.”

Jagger lifted a shoulder. “With Felicia on the senate, and Mother, he won’t lose his wings. He might lose his position, but that’s what makes him perfect for it. He could give fuck-all whether they oust him or not.”

Those were probably Director Vale’s own words. “Any word on Harlowe?”

“She asked the director for a shot at hunting Sandeen. Since we have to find him and we’re not exactly a standard warrior team anymore, it’s our next task.”

Which gave Harlowe the perfect excuse to stay away from the safe house. Loss seeped in. Sierra had her team—sort of. They were congenial, and they might double-check her work, keep an eye on her while residual distrust worked its way out. But they were here. It wouldn’t be her and the baby against the world.

Dionna had asked if she planned on staying in the house. Sierra could work from anywhere, but until she had more than a few paychecks in her account, she had no way to move. It was a stable place, and with a baby arriving in a little less than four months, she would stay.

Jagger shoved his hands in the pockets of his black tactical pants. “How’d the appointment go?”

She’d missed her second visit while she was at the club, but they’d called her to fill a cancellation yesterday. “Good. Strong heartbeat. The big ultrasound is next week. Then we’ll know for sure if there’s little wings.”

A smile ghosted over his lips. “I, um, talked to Mother.”

Since Sierra had one thing in common with Jagger’s mother, Chanel Hancock, she dreaded what the subject of their discussion had been. “Oh?”

“I asked her what she would think about Father having kids while he was fallen.” The muscles in his jaw clenched. Had he worked out how he felt about any of this?

Chanel was considered an ice queen in the friendlier circles, a cold bitch to those more daring. “What’d she say?”

“She said Father was a lot of things, but the only thing she thought he ever got right was me, and she didn’t see why that would be different for any other child.” The side of his mouth kicked up. “Provided, of course, their mother was a class act like mine.”

“If this kid is anything like you, Jagger, I’ll be a very lucky mom.”

Moisture shone in his eyes and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. Just know that big brother gives a shit. I’m not leaving you alone, Sierra, not this time.”

This would be the time to give him a hug, but they hadn’t been those types of warriors. “Thank you, Jagger.”

“Yeah. Glad to have you back.” He winced. “I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I’m glad, and extremely grateful, to be working with you again.”

He gave a final nod and walked away.

His steps faded quickly. It wasn’t like any of the warriors stomped. She rolled her shoulders. Her back didn’t ache like it used to, but she had to stand for a minute.

As she stretched, voices drifted in. Was Urban here? Bronx? Urban had offered to take her shopping for new clothes, but her leggings and ugly T-shirts still fit. When she earned her own money, she’d buy her own clothing. Dionna had asked what was wrong with what she’d brought, oblivious to the black hole of fashion they’d come from.

Sierra smiled. Dionna hadn’t intentionally set her up with crap clothes after all. The warrior female just didn’t know or care about fashion—and that had lifted a huge brick off Sierra’s shoulders. None of them hated her, except maybe Harlowe, and she understood why.

She swung her arms down and brought her right hand to rest on her belly. It was sticking out more than ever. She rubbed her firm stomach.

“Have you felt it move yet?”

That voice curled around her like a warm blanket in front of a fire. “Boone.”

He stopped in the same place Jagger had been. “I’m sorry I left.”

Her heart swelled so large with hope she was afraid everyone in Sin City would hear it shatter if Boone said no to her next question. “Does that mean you’re back?”

“Do you want me to be?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “But I can’t change who or what I am, or what I’m going to do in my life.”

He drifted closer, his steps silent on the ceramic floor, as if he was afraid she’d run him out. “I don’t want you to. My driving partner put me in my place on the way back to Montana. She said I was a lucky bastard and that I was being stupid.”

More voices spilled into the house from behind Boone. She gave him a questioning look.

He grinned. “That’s probably Urban showing Alma the new puzzle he finished earlier.”

Urban had taken pictures to send to Alma, but since Alma didn’t have a phone, he’d asked Sierra to print them. “You brought Alma?”

“Packed us both up, put the house and cabin up for sale, and came straight here.”

He’d sold his cabin? That place was his refuge. “Boone.” Tears pricked her eyes.

He was there, his arms around her, his soap-and-pine scent surrounding her, his lips buried in her hair. It’d grown long enough since she’d fallen that the ends were turning black. And she was letting them. She was in a realm where two-toned hair was pretty tame.

“Don’t cry, Sierra. I just wanna make you happy for as long as I’m allowed to. I love you.”

“Oh, Boone.” She sniffled and buried her face in his shirt. “I