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  But I wouldn’t have to worry about her much longer. No, indeed. Soon I would be Full-Fledged, relaxing on my own private cloud, enjoying twenty-four hour cloud service, indulging in the spa, free to socialize as much as I wished… and light years away from the very anal Alessandra Foscari, or as I mentally dubbed her, the Bane of My Limited Existence. Ah, yes, after centuries of bad food, loneliness, and boredom the afterlife was soon to be heavenly. Literally.

  Determined to be pleasant, I inclined my head in greeting. “Director Foscari. You’re looking well. You haven’t aged a day since last we met.”

  She frowned. “No one ages here, Lord Ryland,” she said in her slightly husky voice through which whispered the barest hint of an Italian accent.

  Did I mention that in addition to being anal she possessed no sense of humor whatsoever? “Ah, well that explains it. And please, call me Tristan,” I invited, as I had on all our previous meetings-- an invitation she’d never accepted or reciprocated.

  Her gaze flicked over me in that dismissive way of hers that set my teeth on edge. “And you look the same as well, Lord Ryland.”

  Translation: I didn’t care for the way you looked last time and I still don’t. Sheesh. What a pill. So much for being friendly. Still, I took the high road. “Thank you.”

  She cocked a single dark brow. “What makes you think that was a compliment?”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  “You’re fishing for accolades in the wrong pond,” she informed me in a tone clearly meant to put me in my place. “We have much to discuss so I suggest we begin.”

  “By all means. What is my task?”

  “Before I tell you the details, you need to know that this is the last task I’ll be giving you.”

  Amen to that. “As I have no intention of failing and will soon be Full-Fledged, I agree.”

  “No, you misunderstand. I mean that regardless of the outcome, even should you fail… again, this is the final task I’ll be assigning to you.”

  “You’re leaving your position?” Most likely a promotion. I didn’t doubt for an instant she was a first class suck-up. I knew she wasn’t sleeping her way to the top-- none of that went on in the heavenly echelons. At least as far as I knew. And even if it did, it would take a blow torch to melt this frigid ice queen.

  “I’m not leaving, my lord. You are. The Council passed a new ordinance. Effective immediately, Angels-in-Waiting are granted a maximum of five assignments to meet Full-Fledged status. As you know, I am here to give you your fifth assignment.”

  “Yes. Which I shall complete successfully.”

  “That is, of course, everyone’s wish. However, given your history, I fear the possibility of failure looms large. Should you fail, you will not receive another opportunity.”

  “I’d have to remain here? For eternity?” Tension gripped me. Damn it, no. Such a fate was unthinkable.

  “No.”

  Whew! Thank God for that--

  “In the event of failure on the fifth task, Angels-in-Waiting will be immediately expelled from Pre-Pearly Gate and sent where they were originally slated to go upon their death. In your case-- Hell.”

  And just like that Pre-Pearly Gate Limbo wasn’t looking so bad. True, I hated it here, but I sure as hell didn’t want to go to Hell. The mere thought slicked sick fear through me, something I had no intention of allowing my nemesis to see.

  Adopting the aristocratic insouciance I’d worn with such perfection during my life, I murmured, “A bit too warm for my tastes, therefore I suggest you tell me what task I’m assigned so I can begin.”

  She gave a brisk nod then consulted her handheld computer, a tablet I recognized as a new model I’d just read about in last week’s Humanity Update. Task Directors always had access to the latest gadgets. It would be a blatant lie to suggest I wasn’t deeply envious.

  “Your assignment will take place in London.”

  Nostalgia and keen anticipation flooded me. London… how amazing it would be to see the city I’d called home again! To observe the changes two centuries wrought. Would my former town home on Park Lane in Mayfair still be there? Any of my old haunts? Clearly I’d misjudged Miss Foscari, for she’d obviously softened over the past four decades. After all, she could have sent me somewhere horrid, to some miserable place no one had ever heard of. To some mosquito-infested, snake-ridden jungle. It was damn decent of her to set my assignment in a city so dear to my heart and words of gratitude rushed to my lips.

  “Thank y-- ”

  “-- London, Georgia.”

  My smile slowly faded. “I beg your pardon?”

  She continued scrolling on her tablet. “London, Georgia. In the United States. East coast.”

  “I know where Georgia is located, but-- ”

  “Excellent. London is in the north part of the state, a small town in the Blue Ridge Mountain region. Very picturesque. Your assignment concerns a couple: The man is Liam Gallagher, age 29, a fireman, originally from Chicago, moved to London two months ago. The woman is Emma Heely, age 30, born and raised in Massachusetts. She moved to London three months ago from New York and is the town librarian. Mr. Gallagher and Miss Heely are Meant to Be, but for some strange reason circumstances keep interfering. Very odd.” She shrugged. “Whatever the reason, it is in The Plan for them to find True Love. Your task is to remove the obstacles blocking them and make certain they fall in love. You have four weeks-- ”

  “No.”

  She looked up from the tablet and regarded me with an expression that suggested I’d grown another nose-- one with a hairy wart on it. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, ‘no.’ Do you not know what that word means?”

  She frowned. “Yes, of course I know what it means. I simply fail to see why you’ve said it.”

  “Because I am refusing the assignment. Find something else.”

  “You cannot refuse an assignment, Lord Ryland.”

  “I beg to differ as I’ve just done so.” I jerked my chin toward her tablet and fought to contain my rising anger. “What else do you have in that little device of yours? How about something horse related? I’m very good with animals.”

  “Your assignment cannot be changed once it’s been decided upon.”

  “The bloody damn hell it can’t.” The words exploded from me with volcanic force, the build-up of two centuries of frustration. “Anything can be changed provided the desire to do so exists.”

  Color suffused her pale cheeks. “This cannot be changed.”

  I paced several feet then turned to face her. “Why, why are you doing this? Surely you see this task is just setting me up to fail again? I’ve proven-- four times-- that I am ill-suited to arranging these matters of the heart. Four times I’ve asked you for a different assignment, four times you’ve refused, four times I’ve accepted that decision, and four times I’ve failed. This time I do not accept it. I demand you find something else. There must be some other good deed I can do.”

  “There isn’t, and I’m afraid you are not in any position to demand anything. It is unfortunate that over the course of your four previous tasks you’ve made no progress because this is your last chance, Lord Ryland. I can do nothing to further help you.” She imparted all that in a perfectly calm voice which only served to irritate me further. Damn it, the woman was the most infuriating, impervious creature I’d ever encountered.

  “Further help me?” A bitter sound escaped me. “The next time you help me will be the first time you’ve done so.”

  “That isn’t true-- ”

  “It bloody well is!”

  “I cannot send you to the Council unprepared. If they do not deem your assignment challenging enough you’ll not only be banished to Hell, but I’d stand to lose my position as well.”

  Understanding dawned, and with it, utter disgust. “I see. So this is all about your advancement in the angelic hierarchy.”

  Something that looked like anger flashed in her eyes and dark satisfaction filled me at the unprecedent
ed show of emotion, especially if that emotion was indeed anger. Why should I be the only furious one?

  “This is not about me or my advancement, Lord Ryland.”

  “Really? What Banbury tale will you attempt to foist upon me next? Wait-- I know. You’re going to say that this idiotic assignment is ‘perfect’ for me. Then reiterate that it has nothing to do with promoting your own agenda.”

  “Actually, that’s precisely what I’d planned to say.”

  I offered her a deep, mocking bow. “Then I must congratulate you on your ability to utter bald-faced lies without even a hint of emotion. A most formidable talent, one I’m certain served you well during your brief time on earth. And one, I must admit, I’m surprised is allowed of an angel. But that’s politics for you-- filled with corruption.”

  Her skin flushed an even deeper pink. “Lying is prohibited for Task Directors, Lord Ryland. As for your assignment, believe me, it does not reflect well on me when one of my Angels-in-Waiting is unsuccessful. Your repeated failures have proven most problematic for me. Indeed, the Council wished to terminate you after you your last failed assignment.”

  “Then why didn’t they?” I asked bitterly. “Termination would be preferable to this miserable partial-existence.”

  She didn’t answer for several seconds. Just looked at me in that disconcerting way of hers. Finally she said, “They didn’t because I interceded on your behalf.”

  “And why would you do that?” Before she could reply, I answered my own question. “Of course-- because it would reflect poorly on you if I was terminated. Well, in that case, don’t give me this asinine True Love task. Give me something that will help both of us.”

  “I am-- ”

  “No, you’re not. But since you’re clearly hell bent on sending me to Hell, you’ve left me no choice.” I drew in a deep breath (yes, Angels-in-Waiting breathe. I don’t know why as there seems no point to it, but we can), then said, “I am hereby invoking my Crisis Clause.”

  The words echoed between us in the misty, tension-thick air. Invoking my Crisis Clause was a bold and desperate step. Every being in Pre-Pearly Gate was granted one Crisis Clause, to be used in only the most dire of emergencies, a power play that granted a one-time use of powers not otherwise given. Angels-in-Waiting did have some limited powers at our disposal to help us complete our tasks, but the Crisis Clause was huge. An enormous chip I was prepared to cash in to extricate myself from this untenable assignment.

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Lord Ryland.”

  “You know, I’m bloody well tired of you saying that.”

  “I’ll be delighted to stop as soon as you cease making impossible demands.”

  “The Crisis Clause is mine to use at my own discretion. You have no jurisdiction over it, nor can you refuse to allow me to use it.”

  “True-- except in the case of changing task assignments. I’m afraid you have no choice here.”

  “There’s always a choice. I could self-terminate.” God knows I’d considered doing so on many occasions over the past two centuries. So why hadn’t I? Because such a move would send me directly to Hell. And, as I’ve already said, I truly don’t want to go there.

  She studied me for several seconds. “Yes, you could. But I would find that very disappointing.”

  “Because it would reflect badly on you.”

  “No-- although there is no denying it would. But because I’ve never believed you to be a quitter, Lord Ryland. Or a coward. And it would greatly disappoint me to be proven incorrect.”

  Her words surprised me. I believe it was the first compliment she’d ever given me, rather backhanded though it was. But what she did next rendered me utterly gobsmacked.

  She stepped forward and grasped my hand.

  I went utterly still, shocked at the sensation of being touched. After two centuries I’d forgotten what it felt like. The unexpected warmth of her skin against mine stunned me. Heat crept up my arm then spread over my entire body, as if I were slowly submerging into a steamy bath.

  “You can do this,” she said, her gaze intent upon mine. “You must do this. If you succeed at a task that is deemed too easy, the Council will not be pleased. Such a success is considered the same as a failure. In order to achieve a high enough Goodness Quotient your task must be something well outside your comfort zone, especially in your case as this is your final chance. Your task must be comprised of elements at which you are unfamiliar, at which you do not excel, nor that you believe in. For you, that is True Love. The decision is final.”

  She released my hand and my fingers involuntarily clenched in an effort to retain the lingering heat. Her features gave no indication she’d felt what I had, but just then her gaze shifted downward, settling on my fisted hand. Had she experienced that same sizzle? A tiny frown furrowed her brow, but was erased so quickly I had to wonder if I’d imagined it.

  Then she lifted her chin and stared at me with her usual bland expression. “The problem lies not with the assignment but with you, Lord Ryland. In case it’s escaped your notice, you’re a very stubborn man.”

  “Well, isn’t that like the damn cat calling the dog hairy,” I muttered.

  “And you know nothing about women.”

  A huff of humorless laughter escaped me. “I beg to differ. Indeed, I know far too much about them.”

  “I am not speaking of the biblical sense. I’ll allow that you know a great deal about a certain type of woman, but bitterness resulting from your dealings with those women has skewed your view. Even after having two hundred years to reflect on the matter, you still fail to realize that not all females are the same. Just as all men are not. True Love is possible. And it does exist.”

  “In my experience, this True Love you speak so fondly of is nothing more than the ramblings of deluded poets with active imaginations and nothing better to do than scribble down their drivel.”

  “That attitude is exactly why you’ve failed in your four previous tasks.”

  “Which is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you. And it is why I am doomed to fail this time as well.”

  “No. This assignment is going to cure you of your ill-conceived notions.”

  “No. This assignment is going to send me straight to Hell.”

  “We shall have to agree to disagree, Lord Ryland.”

  Damn vexing woman. Well, I’d show her. I’d complete this foolish True Love assignment and not only save myself from eternal damnation, but more importantly prove to this annoying creature that I could succeed no matter what idiocy she threw my way.

  The hint of a smile crossed her lips and my eyes narrowed with the sudden suspicion that she’d somehow discerned my thoughts. Then my shoulders tensed at the infuriating realization that my nemesis had played me like a Stradivarius. Before I could issue any sort of set down, she said in a brisk tone, “Your itinerary and instructions will arrive shortly. I’ll check in on you as my schedule allows. Best of luck.” She vanished with a barely audible swish.

  I stared at the space she’d occupied, my entire body humming with tension. “Play me like a violin, will you?” I muttered. Damn it, that really irked. Well, she was about to have a few of her own strings plucked.

  I dragged my hands through my hair. How hard could it be to make these two humans fall in love? Not very, although my previous botched attempts might indicate otherwise. But as I told you, circumstances beyond my control contributed greatly to those failures. Nor were my efforts helped by my belief that True Love is a ridiculous entity. While my opinion on that score remained the same, my motivation was now strong enough to trump that opinion. I was not going to Hell. And that irritating Task Director was not going to best me. Once my instructions were delivered I’d know all about this fireman and librarian. After I arrived in London I’d be able to see everything they’d do, hear everything they said, yet I’d be invisible to them. Getting the clueless humans together to find True Love? Piece of cake. Then I’d spend eternity in that heavenly spa and n
ever have to see Alessandro Foscari again.

  I smiled and rubbed my hands together at the prospect.

  Let the True Love games begin.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Thick smoke enveloped him, a dense, dark swirl that rendered his high powered flashlight nearly useless. Intense heat rolled through the apartment, forcing him to crouch, both sure signs that flashover was close. Search and rescue complete. Gotta get out. Now. Now.

  But the warning flickered through his brain an instant too late. The floor beneath him trembled and his stomach tightened with dread. Not good. Damn it, not good. For the space of a single heartbeat his gaze met those of his partner through the haze of smoke. Cade’s eyes reflected the grim knowledge he knew showed in his own.

  An ominous groan sounded above them and they leapt into action. Go! Go! Go! Debris from the collapsing ceiling fell around them as they raced into the hallway. Flames licked the walls, climbing higher as acrid smoke billowed. Don’t think. Just move. Cade shoved open the stairwell door, went through first. He brought up the rear, forcing himself to focus on counting the floors as they descended. Ten. Nine. Eight…

  Another tremble in the floor. This one stronger. A wall of smoke. Heat… Christ the heat. Like being surrounded by Hell itself. Seven. Six. The next tremor threw him to the floor. Burning pain seared his side. He pushed to his feet and stumbled ahead, trying to see Cade. Nothing visible except that curtain of black, blinding smoke. He called out, but the hiss and crackle of flames, the groan of collapsing walls, the exploding of windows swallowed his voice. Only static in his earpiece. Down. Down. Faster. Faster. Lost count. What floor? Don’t know. Don’t know. Just keep going. Don’t stop.