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“I’m aware.”
“Good,” she said, voice suddenly brisk. “I shall expect to see you within the next twenty-four hours, then.”
“You will.” I hit the End button, then swore like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t help the situation one little bit, but it at least made me feel a little better.
Azriel merely raised his eyebrows and waited until I’d finished. “I had no idea there were that many swearwords in this world.”
I half smiled, as he no doubt intended. “There’s probably not. I just got creative with some non-swearwords.” My smile faded. “What the fuck are we going to do, Azriel? I very much doubt that we can find the key in twenty-four hours—and even if we did, there’s no way in hell I’d give it to her.”
“No.” He rose and walked over, dragging me upright, then wrapping me in a hug that was fierce and warm. One that made me feel safe, looked after. Of course, it was a lie—or the safe part of it was. At least until we sorted out this whole key mess. Then there was Hunter . . .
“Let’s worry about her when we have to,” he said, being his usual practical self. “It is pointless doing so before the need arises.”
“Totally true, but, unfortunately, I’m not built that way.”
“No, and I am extremely grateful for the way you are built.”
I snorted softly and lightly punched his arm. “You, reaper, are incorrigible.”
“Is that not an acceptable thing to say in this world?”
I pulled away. Though his voice was solemn, his blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “It’s totally acceptable. So, shall we head to Stane’s?”
“His system is far more able to search quickly than the computer you have here.”
Which was a given, simply because Stane’s computer was megapowerful and worth megabucks, where as my poor little thing barely had the power to cope with the tax and wage tasks of the restaurant. I really would have to buy a new one when all this was over and things got back to normal.
“Or as normal as they can be given you carry my child,” Azriel murmured. “You have no idea how desperately I desire to see you round and fat.”
“Round I can cope with. Fat, not so much.” I grinned, dropped a kiss on his lips, then said, “To Stane’s, please, driver.”
He wrapped his arms tighter around me; then his energy surged around us and in no time flat we were standing inside the foyer of Stane’s West Street shop. It housed not only his electronics business, but his living quarters and black market business as well. The camera above the door buzzed into action the minute we appeared, swinging around to track our movements. Not that we could go far—the shimmer of light surrounding the small entrance was warning enough that his containment shield was active. Azriel could—and had, in the past—deliver us upstairs, where Stane’s computer “bridge” and living quarters were, but the last time we’d done that, our sudden appearance had just about given Stane a heart attack.
“Hey, Stane, it’s Risa and Azriel.” I smiled up at the camera. “Turn off the shield so we can come up.”
“Hey,” he replied, his warm tones sounding slightly tinny through the small speaker near the camera. “Welcome back. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me.”
“What, you’ve grown so used to me bugging you daily with urgent tasks that you feel lost without me?”
The shimmering field surrounding us died, allowing us to walk toward the stairs at the rear of the shop. Of course, this meant we had to go right through the middle of all the shelves holding the tons of dusty junk that were little more than a cover for his real business—black marketeering. And no one, not even Stane’s mom the last time she’d been down here, had dared to clean this room for fear of suffocating in the resulting dust storm.
“Well, not so much you,” he said, voice amused. “It’s more the champagne you supply with each task.”
I grinned. “You, Stane, are becoming a lush.”
“And damn proud of it,” he agreed. “Come on up, folks. I just made coffee.”
“Excellent.”
I bounded up the steps. He met me at the top, a grin on his face and a coffee in his hand. “Here you go,” he said, honey-colored eyes amused as he offered me the cup. “It’s even the good stuff.”
“You have good stuff?” I said, feigning shock. “Since when?”
“Since I made a most excellent sale of the latest in limpet lasers.”
Limpet lasers were small but powerful lasers that clung to the palm of your hand, and could be fired through various finger movements. “They aren’t exactly a new development.”
He stepped to one side, then swept an arm forward, ushering me on. “These were, trust me.”
