“I’m really sorry, Rachel,” Marshal said, sounding embarrassed. “They asked me to come in early when someone canceled, and it wasn’t like I could say no.”

“No, it’s okay,” I said, glad I was my own boss, even if my boss was an idiot sometimes. Stepping inside, I shifted out of the foot traffic and took my sunglasses off. “I had an errand come up, so this might work out better anyway. You want to grab a coffee at Fountain Square?” Three is good. Not breakfast, not lunch. A nice, safe hour with no expectations attached. “The only thing is I have to be back on hallowed ground by sunset,” I added, remembering. “I’ve got a demon gunning for me until I can figure out who’s sending him to kill me and knock some sense into him or her.”

As soon as I said it, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was trying to drive him away. But Marshal laughed, quickly sobering when he realized I was serious. “Uh, how are your interviews going?” I asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Ask me in a few hours.” He groaned softly. “I’ve got two more people to meet. I haven’t kissed so much ass since I accidentally knocked a customer off the dock.”

I chuckled, my gaze rising across the busy lobby to the signs directing people to the elevators. My smile ended with a flash of guilt, then I got mad at myself. I could laugh, damn it. Laughing was not saying I had cared for Kisten less. He had loved to make me laugh.

“Maybe we should try tomorrow instead,” Marshal said softly, as if he knew why I was suddenly silent.

Tucking my shades into my bag, I headed for the express elevators. I was meeting a Mr. Doemoe at the observation deck. Some people just love the cloak and dagger. “There’s a coffee cart at Fountain Square,” I suggested with a bitter resolve. I can do this, damn it. It was right next to a hot dog cart. Kisten had liked hot dogs. A memory hit me—an image of Kisten in his snappy pin-striped work suit, leaning casually next to me against the huge planters at Fountain Square, smiling as he caught a drop of mustard from the corner of his mouth, the wind ruffling his hair and him squinting from the sun. I felt my stomach cave. God, I can’t do this!

Marshal’s voice intruded. “Sounds great. First one there buys. I take a grande with three sugars and a hint of cream.”

“Black, straight up,” I said, almost numb. Hiding in my church because of heartache was worse than hiding there because of a demon, and I didn’t want to be that person.

“Fountain Square it is,” Marshal said. “I’ll see you then.”