Backwoods Boy had surprised her. Again.

  As Riley rose from the cage, something caught her notice on the desk: a box of text-to-speech software. Oops. She was supposed to ask Peter about that, but she’d forgotten. Somehow, Beck had found it on his own. Curious, Riley jiggled the mouse, and an article from the local newspaper came up on the computer screen. He’d been reading along as the voice spoke the words.

  If he kept this up, he’d be able to read anything he wanted.

  “You’re amazing,” Riley whispered. Not that she was going to tell him that or anything.

  Beck objected to her help but needed it to make it to his bed. More griping as she unlaced his boots and helped him out of his shirt. He made her turn around as he stripped off his blue jeans.

  “I’m not going to faint at the sight of your butt,” she said.

  “Ya might, and I don’t want that on my conscience,” he said, tossing the jeans aside.

  He was in the bed when she turned around. She’d seen him without a shirt before, but this time he seemed different. His arms were muscled and his chest well-defined, evidence of a regular weight-lifting regime. He had the classic six-pack abs, now visible just above the covers. Beck might drink beer, but it certainly didn’t show.

  “That’s one wicked bruise,” she said, pointing at his left shoulder.

  “It’ll heal.”

  After a fresh ice pack on his forehead, he was good to go.

  Once Beck was settled, she headed toward the front of the house and dialed Stewart’s number to deliver an update.

  “How’s he doin’?” the master asked.

  Riley gave him a rundown, minus the rabbit.

  “He’s got the hardest head I’ve ever seen,” was the reply. “Do ya need any help watchin’ over the lad?”

  “Ah, no. It’ll be okay.” Riley ran a bluff. “What was Justine doing on the run?”

  Stewart didn’t miss a beat. “The red-haired vixen wheedled the National Guild into allowin’ her ta be embedded with a trappin’ team. Harper and I had no choice in the matter. She insisted on joinin’ up with Beck and Jackson tonight. ”

  Riley’s hunch had been right. “How’d he get hurt?” she asked, pacing from wall to wall in the front room in agitation.

  “Jackson said the reporter snapped a photo, and the camera’s flash made the Three go mad. It charged toward her, and Beck got in the way.”

  Of course he did. “Is the stick chick still alive?” Riley asked.

  “Aye. And unharmed.”

  “Then why isn’t she here watching over Beck? She got him hurt. It’s her responsibility to help him out. No, let me guess: Justine’s too busy to filing her nails.”

  “Lord, lass, that’s a load of jealousy I’m hearin’.”

  “Yeah, it is,” she said as her insides boiled with righteous anger. “He’s hurting bad, and she’s nowhere to be seen. That sucks.”

  “I agree. Yer there because Beck refused to allow the woman in his house. Said he’d only let Paul’s daughter take care of him.”

  Riley stumbled in midpace. “You’re just saying that.”

  “Ya wouldn’t be callin’ me a liar, now would ya?”

  Oh crap. Not good. “Ah, no. Sorry.”

  “Yer like pissed-off cats in a barrel, clawin’ at each other,” Stewart grumbled. “I swear, the pair of ya are gonna be the death of me yet.”

  “I’ll watch over him, don’t worry.”

  “Good. That’s what I wanted ta hear. Call if ya need me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Riley ended the call, wondering what had come over her. Calling a Grand Master a liar was a dumb move, even on her worst day. She tapped the phone against her cheek. Beck had specifically asked for her, not Justine or anyone else. He’d told the woman he was hooking up with that he didn’t want her to take care of him, or be in his house. Was he that mad at the reporter for screwing things up? Or was it something else?

  When Riley returned to the bedroom, her patient seemed to be sleeping, but it wasn’t deep and restful. She took up her post in the chair near the bed, caught by how their roles had reversed. Usually, it was him watching over her after she’d done some blazingly stupid stunt.

  For a time, she monitored every breath, in and out. When Beck paused for a moment she panicked, then he issued a light snore and resumed his natural rhythm.

  What if he got really bad and she didn’t know it? Went into a deep coma and …

  Will you quit already? She was psyching herself out. Just keep an eye on him. It’ll be okay.

  In an effort to remain awake, Riley checked out his bedroom by the light from the hallway. It was a guy room. Navy blue comforter, curtains, and sheets, like he’d bought one of those bed-in-a-bag kits. Tidy in a manly sort of way. No fuss needed.

  Like Beck.

  Not wanting to drift off to sleep, she snagged the book lying on the nightstand. She moved into the hallway, curious what Beck was reading. It was a kid’s book, and the back cover said it was a story about a wolf cub named Runt who really wanted to prove himself to his father. The choice of the reading material was telling: Beck had tried to prove himself to Riley’s dad ever since he’d returned from the Army. Now he was doing the same with Stewart.

  Inside the book was a vocabulary list written in her dad’s sprawling handwriting. After every word was its pronunciation and what it meant.

  Riley knew guys who admitted they were uneducated—they usually said “dumb”—but they wouldn’t do anything about it. Like their fates were set in stone. Beck wasn’t accepting his fate but fighting back, trying to make the best of a new life after a crappy childhood.

  Go for it. As long as he felt he was worth all the effort, he’d make it. The moment Beck’s confidence began to crack or his drive faltered, he’d be like the others—another loser who felt he deserved all the evil that life threw at him.

  Returning to the chair, Riley replaced the book where it had been so its owner wouldn’t know she’d looked at it: He could be touchy that way. Though it seemed impossible, she dozed for a time, then woke Beck for his first two-hour check. Groggy, he answered the questions she put to him. So far so good.

  “Ya sleepin’ in the chair?” he asked, then yawned.

  “Trying. It’s not real comfortable.”

  He gave her a grave look. “There’s a sleepin’ bag in the storage closet. It’s clean. It’ll keep ya warm.”

  Riley nodded her thanks and watched him drift back to sleep. After a time, her butt grew tired, so she wandered out into the front room. Bored and desperate to do anything to stay awake, she checked out the shelves on the wall to the right of the front window. She’d seen the pictures before, but never had the opportunity to look at them close-up.

  Riley was taken aback to find a photo of her father posed in front of the high school where he’d taught history classes. She guessed it to be from about five years earlier. Her guess was confirmed when she found a photo of her mom and a twelve-year-old Riley.

  Boy, was I that ugly? On the other hand, her mother was as pretty as she remembered. The camera had caught them laughing about something, the love between them so strong Riley could still feel it. I really miss you. You’d know what to do, what I should say to Beck to make it right again.

  There were more photographs, all of them either of her patient or members of the Blackthorne family. None were of his people. His mother sure wasn’t up on that mantel.

  Riley picked up one of the frames. “Look at you two,” she said, smiling now. The photo was of her dad standing next to a beaming Private Beck decked out in a crisp uniform, fresh out of boot camp. He was one hot-looking dude. Still is.

  As Riley set the photograph aside, her hand brushed against a plain wooden box. Though she knew it was rude, she opened the lid. And gasped. Inside were Beck’s war medals: a Silver Star and two Purple Hearts. She picked up the five-pointed star—it was gold instead of silver and the back was engraved FOR GALLANTRY IN ACTION. She didn’t know much about medals, but guessed they didn’t give this to just anyone. In the bottom of the box were photographs of Beck receiving the awards from some seriously uptight senior officers. The picture with the Silver Star showed him on crutches, proud, but in obvious discomfort from a leg wound.

  Why don’t you have these out where people can see them? It was like he was ashamed of them or something.

  “I really don’t understand you sometimes,” she murmured.

  After putting the pictures and the medals back where she had found them, Riley retrieved the sleeping bag from the storage closet and made herself a bed on the floor in Beck’s room. She was about to fall asleep when she remembered to set her phone alarm, or there wouldn’t be another checkup. Above her she could hear light Beck mumbles about demons and butt-kicking.

  Some things never change.

  EIGHTEEN

  By the time Riley hit the 5:00 a.m. “check Beck’s brain,” she was running on empty. The stress of worrying about him took a greater toll than the lack of sleep.

  “Dammit, can’t ya leave me be?” he grumbled, glaring at her as she nudged him awake.

  That’s the old Beck. Her worry level dropped by half.

  “How’s the headache?” she quizzed.

  “Better. Like a hangover now.”

  “When’s your birthday?” He told her the date—it was coming up really soon. “How old are you going to be?”

  “Ya know that.”

  “If you won’t answer the question, I’ll start asking ones about Justine.”

  A groan. “I’ll be twenty-three.”

  Riley did the flashlight trick, ensuring his pupils were equal in size. She hadn’t realized that the brown irises had pale flecks of gold in them. Nice.

  “What? Is something wrong with them?” Beck asked.

  Flustered that she’d been caught, she said, “No, they look fine. Just being … thorough.” Much to her relief, he accepted that explanation.

  Once the hand-grip test was completed without any obvious weakness, Riley sighed in profound relief. According to the doc, if any of the tests hadn’t turned out right, his brain was doing really bad things, like bleeding. That didn’t seem to be the case.

  “I’d say you lucked out, Backwoods Boy. That hard head of yours came in handy for once.”

  He gave a slow nod but he didn’t release her hands right away. It made her uneasy, so she slid them out of his grasp.

  “Riley…” he began.

  “You should get some rest,” she replied, rising.

  “No, talk to me for a while. Ya wake me up, and it’s hard to go back to sleep.”

  She reluctantly returned to the side of the bed. “Why aren’t there any pictures of your family in the living room?”

  “Only have one of my grandparents but it isn’t framed yet. Never did get any of my uncle. Wish I had now.”

  She noted that regret didn’t extend to his mother. They really must not get along. “Is your uncle dead?”

  “Yeah. He moved to Vegas when I went into the Army and died in a car accident. I was in the hospital when it happened, so I couldn’t get back for the funeral.”

  “Sorry.”

  He wasn’t looking at her now, still fussing with the sheet on his lap. That meant something was troubling him.

  “What’s up, dude?” she asked.

  Beck finally met her gaze. “That mornin’, before the hunters came here, I said some stuff.”

  He hadn’t said it, he’d shouted it, furious that she’d allowed Ori to touch her. It was the first time she’d realized Beck saw her as potential girlfriend material.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Riley said, opting for a safe answer. She was unwilling to examine how much happiness she might have lost by believing the angel’s lies.

  “It does matter.” Beck was frowning now. “I can’t help it, I’m still angry at ya for goin’ with him.”

  That rankled. “Oh, really? So you can hook up with the stick chick or one of those girls at the pool hall, but I’m supposed to be all pure and virginal until you finally get around to noticing me? How does that work?”

  Beck’s frown deepened. “Ya owed me respect. After all I’ve done, then ya go and let him…”

  What? “Because you paid the rent you thought that gave you dibs on me? Like buying a girl supper and expecting her to put out?”

  He jolted in surprise, then winced in pain. “What? Hell no! That’s not what I was thinkin’.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” he said emphatically. “All I wanted was respect.”

  He sounded for real, so she met that head-on. “Respect goes both ways, Beck,” she argued. “You treat me like a kid all the time. If nothing more, Ori treated me like a woman.”

  Riley waited for a lurid comment in retaliation, but instead he opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to come up with a response.

  She rose, wanting a time-out from the guy on the bed. “I’ll be back in two hours. Get some rest.”

  “Yer nothin’ like Justine,” he blurted. “Never will be. She’s … nice and all that but…” He paused, then took a long breath as if to prepare himself for what he was about to reveal. “Ya mean more to me than she ever will.”

  Riley sank into the chair, astounded at the longing of his voice. “You never told me that. All you did was give me lectures and bitch me out when I didn’t follow your every command.”

  “I know I did it all wrong. I’m sorry. I couldn’t … tell ya how I felt.”

  “Why not?” she pushed.

  His eyes were focused on the sheets again. “Because of what I am. Where I come from.”

  A warning bell went off in her head, urging her to tread carefully. Or better yet, not go there at all.

  “You go to sleep. I’ll be back in a little while to bug you again.” Riley tucked the sheet around him, her eyes never leaving his careworn face.

  “Ya didn’t have to take care of me,” he said. “Ya could have walked away tonight.”

  “And leave you alone? No way.”

  “I owe ya for this,” he said simply.

  “No, we’re even.” Let’s keep it that way.

  Beck’s eyes were closed by the time she reached the doorway. Slowly, his breath evened, and then he was asleep. There was something so peaceful about watching him.

  Though he’d let her have a quick peek inside his industrial-strength armor, Riley knew better than to read too much into that. By morning, he’d be sure to put distance between them. That was just his way.

  Maybe someday he won’t have to.

  * * *

  Just as Riley had predicted, Beck crawled out of his sickbed a short time before dawn, and the terse announcements came fast and furious: He had a tolerable headache, and she didn’t need to ask him a bunch of questions because he wasn’t going to die today. And that he really needed a shower.

  “Ya can go home now,” he said, shutting the bathroom door behind him like she’d served her purpose and was now an embarrassing annoyance.

  Jerk. Then she sighed. In the past, Riley would have been furious at him, but she’d begun to anticipate this complex man’s emotional swings.

  Two steps forward, one step back.

  The bathroom door opened, and Beck poked his head out, blond hair sticking in all directions like a punk rocker’s. It looked kinda cute. “Call me when ya get to Stewart’s, okay?”

  He was playing big brother again. Riley shook her head. “No.”

  Beck opened his mouth to argue, then changed his mind.

  “Okay,” he said. “Yer not a kid anymore. No reason I should be treatin’ ya like one. ” The door closed again and an electric razor hummed to life.

  Maybe I should have hit him on the head a long time ago.

  * * *

  Though she’d told Beck she was heading to Stewart’s, the moment Riley turned the key in the ignition, Ori’s voice called out to her. Right on time—it was nearly dawn.

  “Go away, angel. If you’re bored, talk to another statue. Just leave me alone.”

  She’d backed onto the street when the full blast of Ori’s will hit her. Riley rocked in her seat, tears streaming from her eyes. Her head felt like an overripe watermelon the second it hits the pavement.

  “Stop it!” she called, cradling her head. The pain abruptly vanished. Behind the sudden respite was the unspoken threat: Come to me or the pain will be back. Threefold.

  Swearing loudly, Riley headed toward the cemetery. At least Beck was the in shower. If he knew she was having morning séances with Lucifer’s Number One Seducer, he’d go ballistic.

  Since it appeared that Ori couldn’t break free of his prison, Riley parked at the west entrance and hiked in. As she hoped, the chilly morning air did the trick, clearing her mental cobwebs while the exercise eased aches in her back and legs. The discomfort would pass; what was important was that Beck would be okay. She’d been there for him, like he’d always been for her. That felt really good.

  Martha the angel was sitting on the steps to the Watch House, like she’d been waiting for Riley to appear. Her knitting needles moved at warp speed, generating what appeared to be a stocking cap in bright purple yarn.

  “Oh, good, you’ve come. The Fallen has been making such a racket,” the angel said disapprovingly. “He’s disturbing the peace of this holy place.”

  “Wouldn’t that be what a spawn of Hell would do?”

  The angel pondered on that and shrugged. The needles kept moving.

  Laying her backpack down, Riley sat on the wall in front of the small brick building.

  “Can you get him out of my head?” she asked. “Do an exorcism or something?”

  “He’s there because of your free will. You’ll just have to deal.”

  Tough love from an angel. That bites.

  “He thinks I’m going to set him free,” Riley said. “His ego is the size of a planet or something.”

  “That’s not uncommon with us angel types,” Martha replied, her eyes twinkling now.

  Riley scuffed the toe of her tennis shoe against a paving stone. “Why didn’t Lucifer want my soul?”

  Martha gave her a sidelong glance. “You say his name so casually.”