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I was about to object, but the idea of a little liquid courage didn’t sound half bad. Gideon pulled me off the couch and I followed him. He swung open the door to leave, and ran smack dab into Ian Welch and his cameraman standing outside. Ian fell to the floor from the collision. He looked up at Gideon with a plastic smile, ignoring his obvious lack of apology.
“What are you doing here?” Gideon demanded.
He tried to be smooth and close the door behind him, but it was too late. They spotted me.
“Is Aya Harris a person of interest?” Ian barked, bouncing back up to his feet. He threw the foam microphone in Gideon’s face, but received a glare instead. “Is she helping you catch the killer?”
“Aya Harris is simply a resident of this apartment. No further comment. Now get out of my way.”
“Are you engaging in an illicit affair with a suspect, Agent Ward?
The temperature in the hallway jumped by a few degrees. Gideon snarled at Ian Welch, the air around him full of static electricity. For the first time, I could see the supernatural in him. His body seemed to fill up the entire space, although he stood just short of six feet. At the same time, an intense energy radiated from his eyes, turning the normally hazel color into a vivid green. Boy, was I glad not to be on the receiving end of that glare.
“Stop trying to make a story out of nothing,” I said, stepping between them, my hands on their chests. Gideon’s heart pounded under my fingers, the heat of his body soaking into the palm of my hand. “There’s nothing here. I’m just trying to help Agent Ward answer some questions. I’m sure they’ll let you know when they have something.”
We didn’t have time for a fight between a Child of Moros and a hell demon. While I was sure Gideon could hold his own, anyone could see the demon housed within Ian’s bag of flesh was itching to jump to the surface. Most of the hell demons were relatively weak on Earth’s surface, but a few of them could really pack a punch. I didn’t want to find out what kind of demon Ian Welch had sold his soul to for a bit of fame.
Ian smiled at me, his cheeks straining with the effort. “Sure, sure. No story here. Well, keep us informed.”
He jerked his head at his cameraman and they both made a swift exit to the street. Gideon watched them go, his hands on his waist like some imposing superman figure. I realized my hand was still on his chest, so I slowly dropped my arm.
“Whiskey. Need bar and whiskey now.” Gideon’s voice was hoarse.
He gave me a desperate look and I nodded, leading the way.
Across the street was a little hole-in-the-wall place called Larry’s. It had the customary neon beer signs and dark tinted windows. They didn’t serve food and they didn’t serve fancy mixed drinks. Their customers came for something a bit more standard. The bartender didn’t blink an eye when Gideon ordered us each a double whiskey, neat.
“Sorry about that.” Gideon gulped his drink and turned to me. “I didn’t want you to see that.”
He didn’t need to apologize to me. Ian Welch and his crappy microphone could push anyone too far.
“That’s okay. You should see me when I lose my temper. Not pretty.” I took a sip and cringed. It’d been a long time since I’d tasted whiskey or anything stronger than my merlot.
“I have a hard time imagining you as anything but pretty.”
Gideon swallowed the rest of his drink and raised his finger to the bartender for another round. He gave me just enough time to hide the look of pleasant embarrassment on my face before turning to me again.
“No really, it’s a harpy thing.” The words spilled out of my mouth with nervous energy. I’d only known him two days, but he already had a way of making me lose control of my thoughts and my tongue. “We’re all talons and big black wings. My wings could stretch from that wall to those tables.” I pointed at a table about six feet away. “It’s really scary.”
“Until I met you, I always thought harpies were half bird,” Gideon said. He swirled his whiskey in the glass, staring at the amber liquid. “And old. Half bird, half old ugly woman.”
I laughed. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that.
“Yeah, that’s the rumor. But fortunately for me, I’ve only got the wings and talons. And I’m not an ugly old woman.”
“No, not even close.”
I looked up from my drink into Gideon’s eyes. They’d reverted back from vivid green into their former hazel color. Worry and stress were still etched into his face, but the whiskey had already relaxed some of the lines.
He was the type of man it was impossible to stay angry with. Even though my blind date was bound to hate me for skipping out on our date, at that moment, I didn’t care about Trevor or what he thought.
“How did you find out about Nicky?” I hated to change the subject, but Gideon’s gaze was making me nervous. A dangerous heat had started to rise in my stomach, and I was in a rush to put it out. “Was it the feather?”
The bartender refilled his drink and left the whiskey bottle on the bar for us, returning to the small flat screen on the other end of the bar. A football game was on. The camera was panning in on some players dumping water over their heads on the sidelines while the announcers discussed a bad call a referee had made just minutes ago.
“Yeah, the feather was our first clue,” Gideon said. “The SI has been tracking your brother for the past seven years. A colleague from headquarters called me today about the possible connection and when they told me they suspected Nicolo Harris was involved, I realized it was your brother.”
I figured that the SI would be keeping tabs on Nicky. It wasn’t often that the supernatural world had a serial kille
