Demon Angel

he couldn't have missed the dilapidated housing around them, but he hadn't commented on it.
    Of course he wouldn't. "They won't deign to come to this area," she explained, and slid her hands into her pockets. "Beelzebub, other demons. They prefer luxury, and I found the poorer my surroundings, the less likely I would be bothered by them, or have them show up unannounced." She smiled wryly. "And it takes almost all of my salary to feed Sir Pup."
    He arched a brow. "You didn't just vanish it from a pet store? Like the books?"
    "I have some morals; I won't feed my dog stolen food. And I didn't like meat in my cache. It makes me feel… bloody." She shuddered. "And I couldn't, even if I'd wanted—books were in the public sphere, but the meat was under private possession. I could have fought the butcher for it, I suppose, defeated him in battle and then vanished it…" She glanced at his expression and sighed. "I won't do it anymore. I can't do it anymore."
    "Is it so terrible?" His voice was low.
    "No," she admitted.
    Though he looked relaxed, half-sitting on the bike and his hands tucked into his pockets, his intense regard sent shivers over her skin. "I'll give you all the books you want," he said.
    She leaned down, and his lips were warm and firm under hers, full of love and promise.
    And it was easy to let go her petty pleasures.
    A ribald shout from a passing car broke them apart. Sir Pup lay at her feet, grinning up at them.
    "Pervert," she told the hellhound, laughing. "All clear?"
    He chuffed softly.
    "Let's do this quickly then," Hugh said.
    The hellhound had already broken through the locks and the police tape at her door. Though very little of it had been hers, her throat tightened when she saw the state of the room: stripped of books, the weapons gone… even the threadbare carpet ripped up, as if they'd searched for items beneath the floorboards.
    Hugh's hand found hers, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. When he gestured toward the closet, she burst into laughter. They'd taken the door. She imagined a forensics lab trying to make sense of the ragged holes from her claws, the scrapings from her nipples.
    She quickly stifled her amusement; very likely, the neighbors had been asked to contact the Bureau if she came home. A quick glance in the closet confirmed that it still held most of her clothes. She grabbed several items at random, breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw her suit hanging in its place near the back. Her heart lightened even further when a quick search of the jacket yielded her badge and identification.
    "Got it," she said and began changing.
    Hugh appeared at her side, a plastic bag in his hand, and piled her extra clothes inside. "Taylor and Preston don't seem the type to have missed your ID in a search."
    Lilith frowned. "They aren't. It's evidence of an abrupt departure, perhaps under coercion—no agent would leave without his ID. This is probably Smith's work. The Bureau took over the investigation, yes?" At his nod, she said, "Then this is a result of their search, not the SFPD. They just got rid of the weapons and books, then left a mess to make it look good." There were enough demon agents in the Bay Area that the search could have been handled solely through them; no one would question poor investigation techniques.
    "Did your saving the boy on the bridge force Lucifer's hand?"
    Her zipper rasped as she yanked it up. Her holster and gun had been in the pile of weapons; she would have killed for them now. She hated to go anywhere empty-handed. "What do you mean?"
    "You interfered with his free will when you caught him." Hugh's gaze was dark with remembered pain; she sucked in a breath, realizing how her action must have seemed deliberately self-destructive.
    "I didn't even think of that when I caught him," she said. "I was just pissed that he was being so fucking stupid, and interrupting my brooding time."
    Hugh's lips twitched, but his gaze was serious. "But Lucifer had to either destroy you or Punish you—or, since you were a halfling, revert you back to human. He would have had to make that decision even if I hadn't forced your physical response. So had he already decided to condition you"—his mouth twisted with quick anger—"or did he have to make the decision after you caught the boy?"
    "I don't know." She finished buttoning her vest, and met his eyes—and suddenly saw what he was getting at. "You think that even if I was brainwashed and went through with it, he never