Must Love Hellhounds

August isn’t going to be easy to pin down.”
    “No, it isn’t.”
    Sir Pup whined, and she gave him a quelling glance in the rearview mirror. All six of his eyes were focused on the bag sitting on the console. Three one-track minds, but it was all greed. A hellhound didn’t need food; he just liked to eat.
    “Just a minute, Sir Pup.” She didn’t want to be distracted. “Where did you get this info?”
    “Would you believe your friend talked in front of me?”
    Would she? James was inviting her to come find him—stop him. But to blab in front of someone like a cartoon villain? “No. How do you know where she’s headed?”
    “Why did you pretend to kill him? Why didn’t you carry out your assignment?”
    She clenched her teeth. “You have my file, Mr. Blake. Why don’t you tell me?”
    “I’ve seen the kill order. I’ve seen the report you filed, saying the mission was completed. I’ve seen the forensic report, which stated that the charred chunk of flesh they’d found—which was all they’d been able to recover after you’d blown his house to hell—was a DNA match to James. But none of those forms tell me anything that happened between.”
    Her mouth fell open. A kill order and the follow-up reports? Those weren’t kept electronically, weren’t something Savi could have hacked. Someone had physically gone into CIA headquarters and copied records that she—or even her direct supervisor—wouldn’t have had clearance to access. A Guardian, maybe—teleporting, or slipping through shadows.
    “You’ve obviously no intention of giving me an answer,” Blake said, but he didn’t sound frustrated. He sounded relieved.
    And his accent was still audible.
    “Are you going to give one to me?”
    “No.” He smiled, and his eyes met hers, eerily direct. “But it’s for your own protection.”
    “I could say the same.” But more than that, she just couldn’t—wouldn’t—divulge classified information. Blake could poke around all he wanted. She wouldn’t spill sensitive details about her job now, or fifty years from now. She pointed out, “And knowing what happened then doesn’t change anything. We still have to stop him.”
    “Knowing how I discovered where Katherine was last night doesn’t change anything, either. We still have to get her.”
    All right, she couldn’t argue with that. Yet there must be another way. “Sir Pup, would you let me shoot him? Torture him for answers?”
    Blake had a deep, rumbling laugh. The hellhound pushed one of his heads between the seats, his expression curious.
    She sweetened the offer. “For a steak?”
    Though she could barely see him behind Sir Pup’s big head, she heard Blake say, “What did my uncle ask you to do if she threatened me?”
    Instantly, Sir Pup’s head shifted four times larger, his teeth serrated like knives. Scales rippled over his fur; barbed spikes ripped through, tipped with blood.
    His eyes glowed with crimson hellfire and fixed on Maggie’s hand, clenching the steering wheel. Cold sweat broke out over her skin. His mouth was gentle when his enormous jaws closed over her forearm, but she got the message.
    She was trembling when he let her go. She hoped she didn’t sound as terrified as she felt. “Thanks, Sir Pup. That’s good to know.”
    The hellhound shifted back to his former size and snagged the fast-food bag from the console. He retreated into the back, giving her a clear view of Blake again.
    His face was gray, his hands shaking as he pushed them through his hair.
    “Christ, Maggie,” he said. “I didn’t know that he would—I shouldn’t have asked him that. I’m sorry.”
    She nodded. She hadn’t expected it, either. But she was glad Sir Pup’s demon form hadn’t just scared the shit out of her. Blake had obviously been just as—
    Wait.
    How the hell had Blake known what happened?
    “You saw that. You saw him change.” Her heart knocked against her ribs. She stared at his solid-blue eyes, stunned—but couldn’t deny the evidence. “You can see .”
    “I—” His eyes widened. His mouth closed. His jaw tightened. “You don’t know that,” he said flatly.
    “I don’t? Because I sure as hell—”
    “No, Maggie. You don’t. If anyone asks, you don’t know. Not until we find Katherine. Not until the problem with James is settled.”
    “All right.” She understood that. Her knowing was something that didn’t go farther than this vehicle. Not even to Ames-Beaumont. Because if