Berlin, Present Day
“Motherfucker.”
Several people turned to see where the atrocious cuss word had come from. They just as quickly turned away. At six feet seven inches, Araqiel wasn’t someone to cross, angry or not, but right now, he was angry and it roiled off him in waves.
Gressil sidled closer. “See something?”
Rack jabbed a finger at the catalog in his hands. “Found this.”
Gressil looked at the picture in the book, then followed Rack’s gaze to where a pair of dirty, broken chains lay. They fairly radiated with energy, a sure sign that they were supernatural.
Rack remembered snapping those chains and dragging Sam out of his prison. He didn’t think he’d ever see those shackles again.
Gressil whistled low. “So it’s true. More of this shit is popping up.”
Rack slapped the catalog closed. “It’s a silent auction. Let’s bid and get the fuck out of here when we win.”
Gressil chuckled, despite the seriousness of the situation. “What makes you think we’ll win?”
Rack bared his teeth. “We’ll win.”
They had to wait four hours for the auction to be over. They took turns watching the Plexiglas case the chains rested inside, but they didn’t see anyone else put a note in the book, a clear sign that there was another bidder. When the auctioneer came around to close down the sale, Rack was certain they’d won.
Only they hadn’t.
Rack tamped down the rage inside of him as he watched the auction house employees carefully open the Plexiglas and swaddle the chains in some sort of silky cloth, then place the item in a high-quality black box. The auctioneer stood by, his book in his hands, marking off items, then he silently directed his subordinates toward the exit.
Rack got to his feet.
“Look, we can’t win them all,” Gressil told him, grabbing his arm.
“We put two million on that shit,” Rack retorted. “I want to know who won.”
Gressil let him go and Rack stalked to the exit.
He followed the two employees to the street, where they carefully placed the shrouded chains inside a luxury vehicle’s back seat. The auctioneer was speaking quietly to the person who Rack assumed had won.
He felt a solid punch of anger to his gut.
A tall, willowy woman with black hair, cut chin length and straight as a poker stood with the auctioneer. She was nodding to what the portly gentleman was saying, all while pulling on her leather gloves. She wore black leggings, black knee high boots, and a black leather jacket. Dark glasses covered her eyes, but Rack knew she wasn’t looking at the gentleman speaking to her. She had a rare, almost priceless object in her vehicle, more than likely her eyes were darting from side to side, checking for someone like him.
Someone who wanted to take that rare, priceless object away from her.
So he assumed she caught sight of him when, swiftly, she cut the auctioneer off, shook his hand firmly, and got into the back seat. Rack heard the soft accent of her voice as she called out, “Au revoir. Merci beaucoup.” Then the door slammed shut and the car exploded into traffic.
All along they’d assumed that Semyazza was behind the procurement of the angelic articles. Now Rack had seen with his own eyes that it wasn’t their fellow fallen angel, a Rogue who’d left their ranks almost immediately on their return to earth.
Their enemy was a woman.
****
Esme Jean-Pierre yanked her designer sunglasses off and twisted in her seat to watch the man who’d been watching her get smaller and smaller as the car roared away. Finally, she couldn’t see him anymore, and she turned back to face front where she met the driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror.
“What?” she demanded.
He shrugged and looked away, but this man that had been assigned to her here in Germany wouldn’t stay quiet long.
Esme leaned back against the seat and glanced down at the box the auction house employees had secured in the vehicle. She knew better than to open it and look inside, but she desperately wanted to. All the items she procured for her employer were draped in mystery, and Esme wanted nothing more than to know what she’d bid on. But that’s not how her employer wanted things.
Initially, she had believed she would be procuring exotic and one of a kind items of a religious nature. In fact, when she interviewed for her position, she had informed her new employer that her job at the Louvre had been exactly that. She had a knack for finding and purchasing the odd, the unusual, the hard to find historical pieces once lost to the public.
Her job had turned into one of running and fetching. Handing over euros to giant auction houses, meeting with out-of-the-way dealers and taking possession of objects her employer purchased.
Esme frowned at the box next to her. While she’d basically become a gopher, she couldn’t fault the money that sifted into her bank account each month. She was well set for life. She could return to France whenever she wanted, set herself up in a little house, maybe a chateau, and live out her days.
She reached out and lifted a corner of the box.
“Ms. Jean-Pierre,” the driver suddenly scolded.
Esme dropped the box corner and yanked her hand back. “I just wanted to see.”
“He does not like us to know,” the driver reminded her.
The driver’s French was without flaw, but she knew it wasn’t his first language. Neither was the German they spoke with their employer. Even the English she’d heard on occasion had a distinct accent that she couldn’t place. It seemed her driver/bodyguard was just as mysterious as her employer.
They drove out of Berlin to a home half built into the side of a hill. The driver, whose name was Jove, came to a halt at the gates, slid his window down and entered a code into the silver box standing outside. The gates slowly began to open and when he had plenty of room, Jove drove through straight to the underground garage.
Esme had protested when she saw the home she was to stay in. Not even Jove resided in the house with her. He had his own guest suite off the garage where he monitored the cameras that covered the estate.
The house had a state of the art security system so Esme didn’t need a key to enter. After Jove parked and the garage door closed, she approached the door and put her palm on the black keypad attached to the wall. A red light appeared and scanned her palm, unlocking the door for her. She entered and shut the door behind her. Moments later the door clicked again as Jove went through the same process, coming inside behind her carrying the black box from the auction house.
It took two of them to put the new acquisition in its place. Esme led the way, down another hallway, through another high tech door and into a temperature controlled room well under the house. Without Jove, Esme could stand outside that room all day and have her palm scanned, but the door wouldn’t open. As could Jove. If one or the other tried to enter alone, the door would remain locked and a message would be sent to Esme’s employer.
He’d explained all of this her first day in the house.
Once inside, they had precisely ten minutes to secure the black box. Esme pulled out a ledger, recorded the purchase and Jove attached the box to the security system. Her part was done long before Jove’s, but he’d made it clear the first time they brought something down here that he didn’t need help. So Esme stood to the side and watched him finish his work. Afterward, they left the room together, scanned their palms again, and Jove nodded to her, disappearing as he always did back to his rooms.
Esme watched him go and suppressed a sigh. This was not what she thought she’d be getting into with this job. Sure the money was good, but something also wasn’t right.
Her phone jangled in her pocket, startling her. She placed a hand over her heart and took a calming breath. So easy to be alarmed when her head wasn’t in the right place.
She pulled the phone out and slid her finger across the screen to answer. “Oui?”
“Dear, Esme.”
Her employer always spoke to her in French, which was comforting. Her German wasn’t the best, but it was always good to hear her native language. “Monsieur, how are you today?”
“Very well, my dear. Did you get it?”
“Yes, sir, we were able to win the silent auction.” Esme started back down the hall to head into the house. “Sir, if you would tell me what you are looking for, I could help to locate the items—”
“Perhaps that day is coming,” he interrupted. “But for now our arrangement works perfectly. I’ll need you to go down to Triberg next weekend. There’s an old castle that a family has to sell. They have several items they’ve agreed to sell to me.”
“Triberg. Yes, of course.”
He fell silent and she could almost hear his mind switching gears, his mood change. “Did everything go as planned, Esme?”
She frowned. “Yes, why do you ask?”
For a moment, she thought he knew about the eyes watching her, following her as she took possession of the item her employer had purchased. The man she had seen standing on the sidewalk, the heat from his gaze searing deep inside her. For a moment, she thought he might send her elsewhere, away from Germany, and she desperately needed to be in Germany.
When his voice came, it was soft and almost apologetic. “I know that you and I discussed other means of purchasing items, with you going to the auctions and procuring items, so I know this is not your ideal job.”
“Sir—”
“Let me assure you, my dear, that day will come. However, right now, there are items all over the world that need my attention. Once the first spate of them are safely purchased, we’ll be able to go on as we planned. I do promise that.”
Esme ran a hand through her short hair and sighed. “Sir—”
“Esme, I hired you for your professionalism as well as your talent. Please give me the benefit of the doubt.”
She felt herself nod. She did understand. She truly did. “Sir, I appreciate that you need to purchase items quickly so as to take advantage of their sale. I will defer to your judgment.”
“Ah, thank you, dear Esme. Now pack for your trip to Triberg. I’ve purchased quite a few things there and they’ll need to be catalogued as well. Au revoir.”
He’d hung up before Esme could answer, and she slowly lowered her phone. She glanced back at the door she’d come out of, the room she couldn’t enter on her own. This job had dropped in her lap, given her the excuse to come to Germany when she’d desperately needed to.
But maybe that had been too convenient. Maybe she’d made a huge mistake.