Demon Angel

out, she was gone.
    The security at the federal building was thorough, but they got through as easily as Lilith had predicted. A uniformed guard ran a metal detector over Hugh's shoes, then turned and performed the same scan on Sir Pup's harness. Hugh fumbled over the basket that held his keys and sunglasses, listening to the banter between Lilith and the guards as she went through the same routine. It was a short conversation, but revealing: she deliberately shoved many people away, such as Taylor and Preston—but for everyday, casual acquaintances, she allowed a friendly relationship instead of playing the bitch. He slipped on the sunglasses and studied her behind the cover of the darkened lenses.
    She spent most of her time away from San Francisco on assignments, away from Colin; had she cultivated any other friendships that weren't false? Or had her existence been as solitary as his?
    They crossed the lobby together, just before five o'clock. The descending elevators were full, and most of the people headed out. She'd timed it well: late enough that the offices would be emptying, but before Beelzebub's assistant would have gone for the day.
    "It's unfortunate you can't just kiss Smith and have the same effect on him as you do on me," Lilith said as she punched the button for the thirteenth floor. Her shoulders were rigid, her form tense—too tense.
    Hugh slanted an amused glance down at Sir Pup. "Why is it that she's so determined to put me in a sexual situation with another man?" He caught her look and raised a brow. "I'll do it, if it makes you happy."
    She pursed her lips. "Maybe when Colin returns."
    "I wonder if his fangs—"
    She growled low in her throat. "You'll touch no one's fangs but mine," she said, baring her teeth and returning her attention to the floor indicator.
    He laughed softly and saw an answering shake of her shoulders. Then the elevator stopped with a quiet ring of a bell, and calm settled over him. Always, that calm before a battle; it was familiar and welcome, as was the thrum of his blood, the subtle tightening of his muscles.
    Easy to fall into sync with her; he had fought her often and he knew her patterns. He made the rhythm of her stride his own, was as attentive to the cues of her body as he was the sights and sounds around them. The advantage of familiarity with the terrain and the people was hers; she took point, just slightly ahead of him. It must be strange for her to trust him at her back—to trust anyone—but she didn't hesitate or glance over her shoulder to confirm he'd taken his position.
    She'd outlined the Bureau's layout before they'd come; Beelzebub's office was in the southwest corner of the building. Hugh quickly adjusted to the low-level noise of the office— telephones, chatter—and it faded into the background. Silence followed in her wake. Agents, casually leaning against desks, talking on phones, paused and watched her progress. More than once, Hugh saw someone begin to call to her, to express surprise or disbelief—or perhaps even to begin an inquiry—but stopping before making a sound.
    It was not just the forbidding expression on her face, he realized, but the result of years of distancing herself from them. She'd established no camaraderie—and they felt no real concern for her beyond the loyalty of brotherhood. She'd cultivated that distance, and now she used it to move undisturbed. A high price to pay for a smooth journey, and he could see her regret that it had cost so much. Had she ever regretted it before? Or only now, when she was on the verge of making the distance irreparable?
    Then she focused, and the regret dropped from her. The assistant's area lay outside the main office; an enclosed room, a waiting area with chairs, but no door—and the desk manned by a demon. It shouldn't have surprised him the assistant had taken the form of an elderly woman; Beelzebub would want his subordinate's appearance to be weak. She wore a headset over her gray curls, and was speaking into a microphone and staring at a computer monitor as they entered. Hugh smiled. Starched and efficient, but too arrogant to give them more than a cursory glance. Her psychic probe told her they were human; they couldn't be a threat. He wondered if she even bothered to scan the dog—probably not.
    Lilith stopped in front of the desk, and slipped her hands into her pockets. "Keep your hands on the desk and your weapons in your cache, or my hellhound will tear you apart," she