I lowered my gaze to the table. “Look, can we just drop it for now? I’m not really in a sharing mood.”
“Fine,” he said, and the annoyance in his voice made me feel guilty. “There’s another reason I was looking for you. There was an incident this morning that I think we should look into.”
“What’s that?”
“A local museum was robbed. The thief took nine different pieces and killed two guards, injuring a third.”
“I’m assuming there are ghosts involved.”
Michael shook his head. “No. This has the mark of a demon on it.”
A chill trickled down my spine. I met his eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen me shiver. “Which demon?”
“I don’t think it’s Belial,” he replied in a gentler tone, and I relaxed a bit. “But I do think it’s something we should investigate, in case there’s something bigger in the works.”
“What makes you think it’s a demon’s work?”
“The items that were stolen are part of a new exhibit of cursed weapons. Scythes, sickles, machetes, spears, you name it. Most of them were imported from Europe. Some things can gain power when they are the cause of several deaths. You’ve probably heard of myths like James Dean’s car or the Hope Diamond, right? If an object is directly responsible for a large number of deaths, eventually it can become powerful enough to harm even an archangel. We can’t let them get out of the city, or any of the angels stationed on earth are in danger.”
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“I think we should talk to the injured guard and see what he has to say about the break-in, and then find out if anyone tried to fence the stolen property.”
I eyed him. “That sounds like something only the angels would need to do. Why do you need me?”
“The questioning I can handle, but talking to someone who fences stolen valuables isn’t my department. Demons in that bracket won’t talk to me, but they might talk to you.”
“So I’m a honey trap, then?”
He paused and then flashed me a winsome smile. “If you don’t mind.”
“As long as I don’t have to wear heels, I’m fine with it. When is this going down?”
“We’ll talk to the guard tonight, just to make sure the demon doesn’t try to make a move. I’ve ordered someone to watch over him, but better safe than sorry. We can start looking for potential criminals once we’re sure the demons are involved.”
Michael and I both stood, gathering our respective jackets. “Now there’s a phrase I don’t hear often enough in my life.”
The archangel held the door open for me with a grin. “Welcome to my world.”
Chapter 11
As we strolled into the hospital, I couldn’t help thinking about Maroon 5’s “Harder to Breathe” because I was having a difficult time staying calm. I had been kidnapped and beaten senseless by an agent of Lucifer, and yet the white coats the doctors wore scared me just as badly. The men who had taken me from my mother wore those same damned lab coats. Every time I saw one, it awakened a dormant fear inside me—fear that I’d be dragged away from someone I loved again, fear that I’d be placed into the waiting hands of another horrible person. It would never truly go away.
Michael’s shoulder bumped mine, which shook me out of my thoughts. I glanced at him. “What?”
“You’re frowning.”
“Am I supposed to be smiling right now?”
He faced forward, looking at our reflection in the elevator doors. “No, but you look like you’re about to bolt at any second.”
I watched the digital numbers change one by one as we rose up to the right floor, fiddling with the rosary in the pocket of my leather jacket. Somehow, the beads had a calming effect on me. “I’m fine.”
“Hard ass.”
A tiny smirk touched my lips. “Stop thinking about my butt. You’re an archangel.”
He grinned, but didn’t reply.
The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open, revealing the shiny linoleum floor and baby blue walls of the recovery wing. I took a deep breath and followed the archangel out, resisting the urge to readjust the fake press badge clipped on my lapel. Imitating the press was much less dangerous than imitating a police officer or federal agent. It had been Michael’s idea. I suspected he had been watching Supernatural recently. It amused me to no end, especially considering the fact that he was a dead ringer for Jared Padalecki.
We walked down the hallway towards Robert Sterling’s room with confident strides. However, I noticed something odd along the way.
“Where are the angels you asked to keep an eye out on him?”
Michael came to a stop in front of Sterling’s room, frowning. “Good question. I called them on the way here and they said everything was quiet.”