There was another gunshot, only it hadn’t been aimed at him, but rather the nearest security camera. Sparks fell from the hole in the plastic shell. He turned to see the first gunman, his double, approaching down the center of the cubicle aisle. Franks picked up a nearby swivel chair and hurled it at him, but the double quickly dodged to the side. Strayhorn was coming out of Franks’ office, aiming the Colt, but their assailant fired first. Strayhorn gasped when the bullet slammed into him. He fell back into his office and disappeared.

So much for keeping the rookie out of trouble.

The false Franks reached up to the side of his head and removed a radio earpiece. “Now it’s just us.”

There was no way he could cover the distance without getting shot, but Franks charged. He’d gladly absorb a few rounds for the chance to beat this imposter to death.

Surprisingly, the double tossed the Glock aside and met Franks with open hands and a smile. The smile seemed very alien on Franks’ face.

Picking up as much speed as possible, Franks lowered his shoulder and crashed into the fake, driving them both back, through one cube wall and then another, before crashing through the glass of the conference room, through the air, and finally hard against the floor. They were ugly face to matching ugly face, so Franks head-butted him in the nose. Normally that would have worked, but he might as well have slammed his forehead into a brick for all the good it did. Franks levered himself up, trying to pin the man’s arms beneath his knees so he could pound his face into hamburger with his fists.

Only one arm slipped through, an open palm landed on Franks’ chest, and shoved. Franks found himself airborne, until his brief flight terminated with an awkward landing on top of the conference table. The table legs broke from his impact and the whole thing collapsed beneath him.

The double was already back on his feet. Illusion magic shimmered around him, but then it broke, revealing a Caucasian male, with close-cropped blond hair, approximately early twenties, six foot four, and appearing to be an extremely fit two hundred and fifty pounds. After picking him up and throwing him through some walls Franks estimated his actual weight was much higher. Franks had never seen this person before.

“It’s good to see that mortal existence hasn’t made you soft, brother. You always were formidable.”

Even if the voice was new, the tone was not. “Kurst . . .”

The demon prince gave him a nod. “I’ve finally found a way back . . . No thanks to you.”

He had been hoping that the imp he’d questioned in California had been lying to mess with him. That was sort of their thing.

“You betrayed us, Franks.”

“We betrayed God.” Franks rolled off the table.