The swarm left him on a oner, peeling free just as fast as it had attacked.
Coalescing, it became Colin, the archangel. And the fury in his face was epic.
With a roar so loud it registered as agony in the ears, Colin attacked—and it was so not the same as being hit by that cop at the accident scene.
This was a semi-trailer truck knocking him down—and then beating the ever-living shit out of him, fists making contact with his face, his upper body, his gut. Pain stalled his brain, but instinct from a lifetime of fighting brought his arms up over his head. Trying to curl over on his side, he did his best to protect his internal organs—
The first stab penetrated his right shoulder. The second was too close to his carotid for comfort.
The insane bastard had a crystal knife.
And Jim was not going to make it through this.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he yelled.
“You killed him!” the Englishman spat. “You fucker! You selfish motherfuck—”
Jim tried to capture that thrashing wrist, but there was blood flowing now, splashing all over the place, making any grip he could get slip free. The angel was completely out of control, the force of the stabbing increasing with every downward strike as opposed to easing off as energy ebbed.
In the midst of the flapping of his clothes, and the flashing of that clear blade, and the grunting hatred of his killer, he heard something else…
Barking?
Just as Jim was about to lose consciousness, he turned his head. There, no more than four feet away, Dog was going apeshit.
Unfortunately, Colin didn’t appear to hear any of it.
Which was how Jim finally saw the face of God.
Chapter
Thirty-seven
This time, Cait put her clothes away properly. Washed off her makeup and moisturized. Brushed and flossed and clipped her fingernails.
She was tired, but wired, as she and Teresa had called it in college.
Eventually, there was only so much pre-bed primping a girl could do before it was time to get under the sheets and commence the great ceiling stare-off.
God, what a night.
And it was interesting. No matter what happened in the future between them, Duke had taught her something significant. While she was with him down at the boathouse, she had lost track of everything for a little bit—and not just in terms of her work on the book or her classes or her bills. That internal monologue of criticism had actually shut up for once, and its absence had been more instructive than its commentary. She had simply existed in the moment when they’d been together, pulled free from her upbringing for a long breath of air … and it had been marvelous.
Of course, the tape that played in her head had come back online, especially during the awkwardness at the diner. But at least that transient experience had proved she could turn it off.
She needed to do that more often, preferably not with anyone else’s help…
It was entirely possible that that freedom was what “living” really meant.
Could it be that the vocabulary of a day or a night, what she did, where she went, who she was with, what color her hair or clothes were, was not the dispositive thing, not what would get her what she was after? Rather, it was her own internal approach to it all that made the difference.
Duh, she thought.
She just hadn’t put it together until now.
And she did have Duke to thank for the revelation, even though he had no clue what he’d given her aside from the best sex she’d ever had.
Staring across her room, images of him were as vivid and three-dimensional as the moments that inspired her memories, and it didn’t take long before she was out of bed, and going for her closet. Sometimes the only way to calm her brain down was to draw whatever was in it.
And reliving those eyes, that mouth, the jaw, she had touched? No big sacrifice.
Turning the overhead light on, she found the big bag she used during the day slumped in its cubby, sure as if it were asleep. Rummaging through the Altoids, tissue packs, sunscreen, sunglasses, old-fashioned address book, recent copy of
That her sketchbook wasn’t in there.
Where the hell had she left it?
A quick trip downstairs proved that it wasn’t in the kitchen, and she even went out into her car and checked under the seats.
On one level, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. There hadn’t been anything in it other than rough sketches, outlines, doodles, and notes on current projects, but the content wasn’t the issue. Something of hers was out in the world on its little lonesome, unprotected—she felt as though she’d left her SUV unlocked downtown after dark.
Heading back to her bedroom, she shook her head. Maybe she needed to get a dog to reprioritize things properly.
Or … a child.
Her steps faltered and she stopped halfway to the second floor. She couldn’t possibly have just thought that. Nope. She wasn’t having children—that had never been part of her goals. Ever.
And okay, if she had had that passing brain spasm? It was clearly the result of the hormone overload she’d been enjoying for the last forty-eight hours.
She was
In fact, that resolution had been part of the reason Thom’s call so many months ago had hit her so hard: He had always agreed with her. No kids—it made life simpler and less expensive. Nicer and more tidy. They were going to be two professionals living in a home with white carpets and lots of glass.
The spic-and-span version of a picket fence.
Cait restarted her ascent, her mind churning. Having sex on boat cushions in a semi-private place was not “nice,” and neither was what she’d done the night before at that club on the floor. And making out by her parked car in the cold because she didn’t want to leave the man she’d just made love with was definitely not “tidy.”
And yet here she was, counting down the hours until she could become undone all over again.
Maybe the last six months at the gym and the various other self-improvements had been a case of laying a new kind of groundwork for her life. And if you went by the truism that timing was everything … a Duke, not a Thom, was what she needed.
It was entirely possible that nice-and-tidy wasn’t what she was after anymore.
Her phone started to ring just as she was resettling against her pillows. With a lunge, she all but cleared her bedside table to get at the thing, a smile breaking out not just over her face, but deep within her chest. “Hello?”
Talk about perfect timing…
“Hey, Cait.”
She sat upright in a rush. “G.B. Oh, hi.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
Yes. “No. Not really.”
Crap.
“Sorry to call so late. But I’ve left you two messages, and when you didn’t get back to me, I got worried—you know, after what happened to you in the parking garage.”
“Oh, yeah, no. I mean, I’m fine.” She pushed her hair back and pulled the lapels of her pj top closer. “I just
