“Son of a bitch.” Rafe shook his head, another more inventive curse following his first. “Damn fool woman.”
Although Charlie’s shift to the big screen in the center added breadth and depth to the image, Evangeline was just as unmistakable on the smaller screen. She moved over the area in front of the greenhouse, her steps slow and plodding as she retraced the night before.
But it was the moment she knelt and bent toward the earth, her hands roaming over the exact spot where he’d burst into flames, that had Rafe out of the security room and headed for the far side of the Archangel.
Evangeline traced and retraced her steps, searching for anything that might prove there was a fire in the area in front of the greenhouse. Yet no matter how hard she searched, each blade of grass was as pristine and green as the one next to it.
She knew horticulture. And the earth. And how the soil nurtured what grew within it. Fire was a natural form of renewal, even with the immediate destruction it left in its path.
But she also knew herself. She trusted her instincts and she sure as hell trusted her eyes.
And last night she saw a man burning in this very spot.
Yet Rafe Stavros stood there this morning, plain as day, and told her nothing had happened the night before on the property.
Was he hiding something? She’d spent her life in Las Vegas and was well aware of the city’s more seedy reputation. More than a few had lost their souls in the desert—gambling was a gateway to any number of crimes. While she’d always believed she worked for one of the more honest and upstanding employers on the Strip, it was always possible the Stavros family was into any number of poor practices.
“What are you doing out here?”
Evangeline popped back on her heels as the low voice washed over her from behind. “Checking the grass.”
“For?”
She thrust her chin out and stared up at him. “Signs of burn marks.”
“Find any?”
“No.”
It shocked her how defeated she felt. She knew what she’d seen, damn it. A man stood in this very spot the night before, on fire. People didn’t just imagine those things.
Even if your mother had?
The small voice whispered through her mind, as scary as it was real. Her memories might be that of a child’s, but Evangeline could still remember the sleepless nights as her mother descended into madness.
“Come with me.” Rafe stood above her, his hand extended. She took in those long, tapered fingers, the strength in them evident as she accepted what he offered.
“Where are we going?”
“For reasons that elude me, you seem offended when I suggest you’re working too hard.”
“I most certainly am no—” Her words—and the corresponding tug of her hand against his—were cut off as Rafe pulled her against his body.
A reply died in her throat as she took in the hard, firm lines of Rafael Stavros. Absorbed them, really. Although she’d—reluctantly—had more than a few thoughts about that body pressed against hers, she couldn’t deny the raw power she felt in the thick musculature beneath that finely cut suit.
Oh, what would it be like to simply stay there, wrapped in the protection of that large, powerful body? He channeled it well, his physicality. Wielded it as easily as he wore five-thousand-dollar suits and several generations of Stavros wealth.
Rafe moved through the gentle swish of electronic doors, the cool, refined air of the hotel wafting over them. His feet echoed on the thick marble floor, a sound of purpose and power, while her sneakers thunked and squeaked beside him. It was only when they reached the entrance to the spa that Evangeline registered their destination.
“What are you doing?”
“You need some rest and relaxation. As luck would have it, I can provide both.”
“I’m not going in there.”
“You afraid of a little massage oil?” The question was flat—bland, even—but Evangeline didn’t miss the unholy light that flared in his gaze. The normal storm-cloud gray had turned a liquid silver, tempting and oh so tantalizing as they stood in the entrance of the spa.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then after you.”
He gestured her forward and she had the choice to stay stubbornly still or nod and move forward.
“Mr. Stavros.” The woman who headed up the spa—Madelina, Evangeline remembered—came up to them immediately. Her gaze showed nothing but Evangeline couldn’t quite squelch the urge to hide her dirt-stained hands behind her back. “How can I be of help today?”
“My friend here needs the full spa package.”
Madelina’s gaze shifted to assessing, scouring Evangeline head to toe, before she gave a solid nod. “Hot stone massage. Ninety minutes. Facial. Manicure. Pedicure. With paraffin, of course.”
“Of course,” Rafe added, his voice solemn, even if that light in his eyes remained stubbornly, wickedly, bright.
“I don’t need any of this. And I certainly don’t need goop on my fingers when all I’m going to do is shove them right back into the dirt.”
She held out her hands proudly, trying to prove her point when Madelina’s elegant fingers wrapped around hers, stilling Evangeline’s movements. “Then it’s all the more important to protect your greatest asset.”
“Call me when she’s finished.” Rafe bit out the edict before turning on his heel.
Although it nearly killed her, Evangeline threw her last card. “I don’t have the money for this.”
Rafe barely gave her a backward glance. “Then it’s good you know the owner. I’ve got plenty.”
Rafe flipped through the file he maintained on Evangeline. He managed the materials himself, unwilling to go through the security team on the details of her or her background.
Orphaned at seven.
Bumped to several foster homes before declaring as an emancipated minor at sixteen.
Worked multiple jobs after that, including a flower shop in Henderson, a crummy little casino barely making it down on Fremont, and wedding bouquets for a nearby chapel.
“Doesn’t let any grass grow under her feet,” he muttered, an image of her doing just that filling his mind’s eye. She wasn’t going to give up on her supposed man on fire and he damn well knew a few hours of spa time wasn’t going to change that.
Rafe continued scanning the file, his careful notes an accompaniment to the various pieces of intel he’d gathered over the past year. Her background had been surprisingly easy to uncover, even with his ability to get details on most anyone he wanted. There was easy and then there was easy, and Evangeline fell into the latter category.
And what he’d learned during that investigation had stopped him cold.
Her father had been a Hunter, focused in and around Las Vegas for the legion of Chaos-seekers who hunted Rafe and his people, the Helios. Their age-old enemies, the Hunters believed eradicating the Helios would unleash their master—Chaos—on the world.
As with most things with the ancients, life was never that easy, and modern times brought