As I walked away, I could barely hold back an eye roll. At myself, not him. Since when had I become such a soft and squishy marshmallow who said things like, “You’re a catch?” I was one autumn storm away from watching a Hallmark movie. Or being in one, what with this cute little town and all. It was so sugary sweet that it was a little hard to stomach.
I stepped outside into the crisp evening air, grateful for the excuse to clear my head and focus on actual work. The property was small but well-maintained, with decent sight lines and only a few potential problem areas. I walked the perimeter first, noting the neighbor’s house—Edna’s, apparently—and the mature trees that provided both cover andconcealment. Not ideal from a security standpoint, but manageable.
Time to get to work. I’d brought supplies in my car, so I grabbed my toolbox that held everything I needed. Starting with the front of the house, I placed motion sensors near the windows, each one no bigger than a button and invisible to the naked eye. A little angelic glamour ensured they blended seamlessly into the window frames.
The cameras were trickier—I needed full coverage without making Charles’s home look like a fortress. I positioned them strategically under the eaves and in the garden, each one disguised to look like nothing more than a small solar light or decorative accent.
The back door got special attention since it was older, with a simple deadbolt that wouldn’t stop a determined teenager, let alone a professional. I reinforced it with a bit of power, nothing too obvious, just making the wood stronger and the lock more responsive. Charles would never notice, but it would buy us precious seconds if someone tried to force entry.
By the time I finished, the house was as secure as I could make it without arousing suspicion. Every entrance was monitored, every approach covered. If Carlo’s people came calling, I’d know about it long before they reached Charles. Because nothing would happen to him. Not on my watch.
It was a strange contradiction, something so dangerous in a wee town like this. Cute as it was, I found these kinds of small towns a little hard to digest. All that forced cheer and everyone knowing everyone else’s business. I’d grown up like that, but I didn’t miss it. I preferred the anonymity of the city these days. Much easier to keep my distance from everyone else.
I stood in Charles’s back garden, surrounded by perfectly manicured flower beds and a white picket fence that belonged in a bloody fairy tale. The whole scene was so aggressively wholesome that it made my teeth ache. Hell, there was probably a community bake-off next weekend and a fall harvest festival complete with apple bobbing and?—
I came to a sudden stop. Wait. Was that why I had been chosen for this assignment? Had Gabriel wanted to punish me?
“Not punish,” a voice said from directly behind me, and I jumped so high I probably set a new Olympic record for a vertical leap without a running start. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape, and I may have let out a decidedly unmanly sound. So much for my supernatural reflexes.
Gabriel stood casually leaning against an oak tree—because of course he’d pick the most ridiculously perfect spot—looking like he’d stepped off the cover of some high-end men’s fashion magazine. Tight black pants that probably cost more than most people’s rent and a black shirt that looked deceptively simple but screamed expensive Italian designer. I spotted the subtle logo near the collar. Yup, Valentino. Because apparently being a celestial hardass came with an unlimited clothing budget.
“Do you have to sneak up on people like that?” I hissed, one hand pressed to my chest like some fainting Victorian lady. “I could’ve had a bloody heart attack.”
“You’re immortal,” he pointed out with infuriating calm. “And technically, I didn’t sneak. I simply appeared. There’s a difference.”
Like I was going to argue semantics with him. About as useless as carrying water to the sea, as my da used to say.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voicelow. People would be able to see me but not my boss, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot having animated conversations with an oak tree. “And could you not lurk behind the garden gnome next time? The neighbors across the street are probably calling the police about the strange man talking to himself in Charles’s back garden.”
“I’m checking in on you.”
“You mean checking up.” I crossed my arms. “Let me guess, you’ve been watching me like some creepy celestial reality show?”
Gabriel shrugged with the kind of casual elegance that probably took centuries to perfect. “Potato, potahto.”
Yeah, not really, but I knew better than to argue with someone who could reassign me to a job I’d detest. “I’m fine. Everything is fine here. Perfect, actually. Couldn’t be better if I tried.”
He simply quirked an eyebrow in that maddeningly superior way that made me want to mess up his perfect hair. “So your protectee didn’t slap you?”
Fuck, how did he know that already? Did he have eyes on me? “Yeah, but…it was a misunderstanding. A perfectly reasonable misunderstanding between two consenting adults.”
“Hmm.” Those golden-brown eyes drilled into mine like he was trying to read my soul—which, knowing Gabriel, he probably was. “Was it now?”
I pressed my lips together. Gabriel had a way of making you say far more than you wanted by staying silent or asking these kinds of questions. And I was the sucker who always fell for it because I couldn’t stand the awkward silence. Not this time though. It cost me everything to keep my mouth shut, but I somehow managed.
Finally, Gabriel sighed like I was the most disappointingangel in celestial history. “What about using your power to clear traffic?”
Oh, I was certain now. He really was keeping tabs on everything I did, the micromanaging bastard. Probably had a whole spreadsheet detailing my every move. “I wanted Charles out of the city as fast as possible. You know, alive and breathing? I thought that was the point of this whole protection gig.”
Gabriel clicked his tongue in that patronizing way that made me want to kick something. Preferably him. “You know what the problem is with you lying to me?”
My heart skipped a beat, then did a little tap dance for good measure. Fuck, I was in so much trouble now. “I’m not?—”
“It’s that you’re so bad at it. Three hundred and twenty-two years old, and you still can’t lie worth a damn. I’ve seen toddlers with better poker faces.”
And here I’d thought I’d been so bloody smooth. “I’m not sure being good at lying is a skill to be proud of, Gabe.”
He flashed me a smile that was all teeth and danger. “But it is. Deception is an art form, and you’re finger-painting while everyone else is creating masterpieces. And don’t call me Gabe. You haven’t earned that right.”
