Page 87 of Deliver us from Evil

He gives me an evil grin, as if he’s reading my thoughts, and briefly abandons whatever heavenly dish he’s cooking to make me a cup of coffee.

“Are you saying I’m not capable of pushing a button?” I ask dryly, as he sets down a cup in the espresso machine.

“You shouldn’t have to,” he shoots back. “Not after what we put you through last night.”

I blush, and try to cover it up with my hands before he can notice. But he looks back just in time to see my cheeks turn red.

“Fuck, girl,” he murmurs, “Don’t make me come over there and give you something to blush about.”

I barely stop a giggle from spilling out, instead focusing on the coffee Cass slides over the marble-top island toward me. He tosses the bacon and onions he was frying into a large bowl and starts stirring it as he sends me another lewd smile.

Oh God…is he making a frittata again? I take a quick sip of coffee to wash down the saliva flooding my mouth. And I’m not drooling over the food.

Cass looks like he just walked out of a photo shoot. I know he doesn’t use product in his hair, so how can it look like he spent hours in front of the mirror teasing it into the perfect bed-head style?

Does it even matter that my apron has a pink unicorn on it?

No, it does not.

He rocksawsum.

“Now you let me get this in the oven, then I’m taking you upstairs and—” he begins.

“Breakfast will have to wait,” Rube says from the stairs.

We both turn, Cass with spatula raised, me with my coffee cup by my lips.

As soon as Cass spots Rube, he switches off the oven and starts untying the apron. “What happened?”

Rube looks grimly at me, and then flicks his fingers. “Best if you see yourself.”

My stomach lurches.

No.

No, no, no! I want to stamp my foot like a five-year-old. Can’t I have a little bit of normal?

Cass and I follow Rube up the stairs to Apollo’s room. It’s kitted out with a double bed, and a computer station that—to me, anyway—looks like something out of the Swordfish movie.

The computer area is the only part of his room that’s not chaotic. Everything else is partially submerged under magazines, surfing gear, or clothes.

“Do you ever let the maid in here?” Cass asks. He picks his way across the floor like he’s walking through a minefield.

“She was in here yesterday,” Apollo mumbles absently, and then pushes away from the table, pointing to one of three massive monitors.

Honestly, the only thing he’s missing is a hologram projector.

“What is it?” I ask, standing in the doorway. I don’t have a thing about untidiness…I don’t like computers very much. The most time I’ve ever spent on one was when I was copying the files for them off Gabriel’s laptop.

I guess maybe that’s why I don’t like them—they only remind me of bad things.

“It’s an article posted a few days ago,” Apollo says. “It’s…uh…” he looks up at Rube, who nods. “It’s about Gabriel.”

I frown at him. “He made the news? Why would he do that? He’s got to know the police are after him?”

He has Zachary’s attempted homicide hanging over his head, a fact that I’m pretty sure was made clear when the police taped up my old house and then froze his accounts.

But it was like he disappeared into thin air after his discussion with Apollo. The police couldn’t find a trace of him, and neither could we.

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