Demon Marked

faint hope brightened her face again. “That would be very helpful. Thank you.”
    Shit. With a sharp nod, he shoved against the door, escaping the SUV’s warmth and plunging into the icy air. So polite again. He wished she’d stop doing that.
    Or better yet— he needed to stop giving her reasons to be grateful.

CHAPTER 6

    The omelets were good, and pulling off the highway a few hours later gave Nicholas a chance to stretch his legs, gave him some breathing space. The demon must not have agreed about the food, however, or like and dislike didn’t matter. After only a few bites, she’d set down her fork, scraped her chair back, and stood.
    “The taste isn’t familiar.”
    She’d stalked away from the table after that announcement, leaving Nicholas to finish his meal alone. Since he was accustomed to eating by himself, her sudden absence suited him. So did knowing that her politeness had gone out the door.
    She had, too. From his seat by the window, Nicholas watched her trudge through the foot of snow that hadn’t yet been plowed from the edge of the parking lot. Hood up, hands in pockets, she did an excellent job of acting just like a human bracing herself against the cold. She reached their SUV, then must have remembered that Nicholas had the key fob.
    Even from this distance, he could have unlocked it for her by remote. He signaled the waitress for another coffee, instead, and waited to see what the demon would do.
    He wasn’t surprised when she simply leaned back against the driver’s side door, and began watching everyone else. She’d done that on the plane, he remembered. In this diner, too, before they’d been served—and she’d managed to unsettle half the people eating here. Some of that effect came from the tattoos; the reaction to the symbols had been visible as they’d come in. Many of the diners turned to look, and others flinched or recoiled. He’d heard more than one mutter about “ruining such a pretty face.”
    But most of that uneasiness stemmed from the unwavering, unreadable stare leveled at the person she observed, and that she didn’t glance away when they caught her looking. A few had tried to stare her down in return. Not one of them had succeeded.
    If Nicholas hadn’t already been convinced that Ash wasn’t Rachel, the way the demon unsettled everyone would have persuaded him. Rachel had been friendly, outgoing, and eager to strike up a conversation with any stranger just to learn about them. Ash didn’t speak to or approach anyone. Rachel had killer instincts when she invested, but she’d been a negotiator at heart—always trying to find common ground. She began by putting the person at ease. Ash didn’t bother. Rachel pointed out injustices and tried to fix them. She’d have made everyone who’d recoiled from Ash’s tattoos aware of their reaction . . . and she’d have done it gently. Ash didn’t seem to notice, though she must have sensed those same reactions. Apparently, however, she just didn’t care that they’d judged her.
    Yet still, she watched them all—and Nicholas didn’t think she stared anyone down for the same reasons he might have. As a tool of intimidation, it had been a useful technique in his business negotiations. After an opponent backed down once, even over something as trivial as eye contact, that person would begin to concede in other ways, too.
    He didn’t think Ash looked for concession. He didn’t think she stared to win. She simply watched.
    Searching for something familiar? Perhaps. Her lack of emotional response made it difficult to guess exactly what she wanted to gain when she observed someone.
    Shit. Difficult to guess? Not at all. She was a demon . And he needed to remind himself that she was probably just looking for their weaknesses.
    Fucking stupid, that he needed to remind himself at all. By now, that knowledge should be ingrained.
    Maybe Cooper had found something to drive that knowledge home. It was night in England; his investigator should have been able to speak with the nurses and sent his long report by now. How to check his e-mail, yet throw the Guardians off the scent if they were looking for him?
    His gaze fell on a sullen-looking teenager in a nearby booth, slouching in his seat and holding a phone between his hands—scrolling through an online social site. Beside him, a harriedlooking woman pored over a map, her finger tracing a southbound route.
    Too easy.
     
    He paid the kid fifty dollars for five