As Eddie cleared his throat and made like he was all Mr. I-So-Don’t-Do-That, Ad knew better. The angel was a ferocious motherfucker once he dropped the buttoned-up routine—Rachel of the perfect teeth and no last name had been floating on air as they’d sent her off at dawn. And as much as it pained Ad to admit it, he had a feeling a lot of that postcoital blissed-out shit had been from Eddie’s ministrations.

Bastard had a hell of a tongue, evidently—and good job he did. Ad had tried to get into the sex, but he’d ended up just going through the motions.

Eddie rechecked his watch. Looked at his phone. Glanced around. “What did you do to the father?”

“He thinks he came here and Isaac was gone already.”

Eddie rubbed his face like he was exhausted. “I hope like hell Jim gets back soon—that Isaac character is going to bolt. I can feel it.”

“Which is why I hit him with my magic palm.” Adrian flexed the thing. “Jim likes GPS. I don’t.”

“At least TomToms don’t sing like you do.”

“Why is everyone else in the world tone-deaf?”

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Feh.”

A breeze whistled through the bare limbs of the budding fruit trees and both of them stiffened . . . but it wasn’t round two of Devina’s disposables rolling in. Just the wind.

The long wait grew longer.

And even longer-er.

To the point where Adrian’s natural tendency to be in movement itched up his spine and had him cracking his neck. Over and over again.

“How you doing?” Eddie said softly.

Oh, great. Like the caring-sharing shit would help him relax? Even on a good night, that routine gave him the urge to run around the block a couple hundred times.

“Ad?”

“I’m fine. Dandy. Yourself?”

“I’m serious.”

“And we’re not going there.”

Little pause . . . liiiiiittle happy pause that was drenched and dripping in Eau de Disapproval. “You can talk about it,” Eddie countered. “I’m just saying.”

Oh, for chrissakes. He knew the guy was just being all about the buddy-I-got-your-backs, and it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the effort. But after Devina had had at him this last time, his insides were loose and sloppy, and if he didn’t weather-strip his door, dead-bolt it and toss out his welcome mat, things were going to get messy. In ways that couldn’t be cleaned up.

“And I’m telling you, I’m good. But thanks.”

To cut off the convo, he focused on the house. God, that “low-level” spell of Jim’s was so strong . . . as strong as anything Adrian and Eddie could pull off under the full leverage of their powers. Which might well mean that that angel had tricks which could seriously fuck with Devina—