And just standing in the place reaffirmed the fact that this was a diversion he simply had to make. He might be in the business of saving souls, but right now a man’s life was on the line: Isaac Rothe had bolted from the XOps fold, and Jim was supposed to kill him for it.

File that under Fuck No.

Except here was the problem: The way Matthias the Fucker worked, if Jim didn’t off the AWOL soldier, someone else was going to do it . . . and then an operative would come for Jim.

Little late on that one, boys—he was already dead.

His immediate goal? Fake out his former boss and find Isaac. Then he was going to get that soldier out of the country and safe . . . before returning to his day job of going head-to-head with Devina.

He hated the delay because no doubt that demon was already gearing up for their next battle. But stepping out of one life and into another was never simple and never cut-and-dried. Inevitably, there were tendrils of what had gone before that you had to snip and cast off, and that took time.

The truth of it was: He owed Rothe. Back in the desert two years ago, when Jim had needed help, the man had been there for him, and that was a debt you didn’t walk away from.

It was also probably why Matthias had given Jim the assignment. The fucker was well aware of their connection and of what had transpired that night on the other side of the globe: At the time, their boss might have been in and out of consciousness, but he’d tracked enough during those dark hours of transport and flight and medical intervention to know who was around and what was doing.

Right. Focus. Where were the stiffs?

“Downstairs,” he said to his boys as he strode over to an Exit sign.

On the way to the stairwell, the three of them walked past all manner of motion detectors without setting the things off, and then they ghosted through a closed door one by one.

Bringing Adrian and Eddie on this little excursion was safer, because God knew Devina could be anywhere at any moment—plus Jim was still learning all the tricks that came with being a fallen angel, and Eddie was the master at them. Spells, potions, magic—that wizard and wand shit was Blackhawk’s forte.

He’d clearly gotten his PhD in Abracadabra and didn’t that make the SOB handy.

Down on the cellar level, everything was stark and clean, the cement floor and walls painted gray. The sweet smell of embalming fluid drew Jim to the right, and as he strode along, he felt like he’d jumped back in time. Fucking weird. This sneaking-around routine was exactly what he’d excelled at for all those years with Matthias—and precisely what he’d been determined to get away from.