“No,” Promise said, shaking her head again. “If she doesn’t know anything, we’d be harming her. She’d never be able to return to her life. If nothing else, the Kurjans would learn of her.”
Ivar’s neck felt like a broad hand was squeezing his flesh, making breathing difficult. “She knows something.”
“Maybe not,” Promise said gently. “Her paintings may be from dreams. Or rather, she may think they’re dreams. We don’t want to cause her pain, Ivar. She’s had enough.”
That was a fair point. Even so, if the woman could provide any information about a way to save Quade, Ivar was going to take it. “All right, ladies. You need to figure out how to get her to meet with you.”
Promise tapped her unpainted nail against her lips. “I’m thinking I need to buy a painting or three.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Promise smoothed back her hair and then straightened her flowered blouse, making sure the miniscule camera was pointed at the light green door.
“Stop messing with the button,” Ivar growled through the earbud in her left ear.
She stilled. What a bossypants. Faith stood on her right and Grace on her left, both sporting hidden cameras too. She felt like an undercover cop from a television show, and even though this was deadly serious, she couldn’t help the flush of excitement rippling through her. A quick glance at her friends revealed pink cheeks and sparkling eyes.
Ivar had secured the entire neighborhood, taking point in a vacant house on the other side of the block, along with Ronan and Adare. Soldiers were stationed out of sight throughout, and the three helicopters had headed out to sea to pretend some maneuvers, just in case the Kurjans had caught wind of their leaving Realm headquarters. But the rain slashed down, and the clouds remained dark over the night sky, so hopefully it was just a precaution.
Promise knocked on the door, her adrenaline flowing freely.
She could hear somebody press against the door to look through the peephole. The porch light came on. Then a series of locks, at least five, were disengaged.
The door opened. “Dr. Promise Williams?”
“Yes. Hi.” Pain hacked into Promise’s temples from within, and she gasped, pulling shields into place.
“Promise?” Ivar asked, sounding as if he was already moving.
Promise coughed. “Excuse me. Sorry about that. Allergies.” Her eyes watered from the pain, and she doubled the diamond in her shield, pushing most of the pain out. There, that was better. “I’m okay,” she said. Partially. Obviously Haven had a lot of power, because the pain echoed still, not horribly but still present.
Promise held out a hand to the very petite blonde. Small to the point of appearing fragile. Both of her eyes were a dark green, so she obviously wore a colored contact in at least one eye. Did she ever allow the black iris to show? “It’s nice to meet you. I take it you checked out my credentials?”
“I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise,” the blonde said quietly. “I’m Haven.” Her voice was throaty but not as much so as any of the male demons. “Who are your friends?”
Maybe two doctors would reassure the woman or at least impress her a little.
Faith stepped up. “Faith Cooper. I’m a neurologist, and I’m interested in the thoughts behind your paintings.” They shook hands.
“Don’t like doctors. I just paint.” Haven released Faith and looked toward Grace. “You?”
“Oh.” Grace switched her dark camera to the other side so she could shake. “Grace Cooper. Big fan.”
Haven’s chin lowered. “Grace Cooper the photographer?”
Grace straightened. “Well, yes.” A smile bloomed across her face. “You’ve heard of me?”
“Now I’m the big fan,” Haven said, animated for the first time. “What happened to you? There were tons of photographs and then you just disappeared.”
“Oh, head injury, coma, and now recovery,” Grace said with a wave of her hand.
“I see.” Haven stood back to look them over. “Promise, Grace, and Faith. Huh. Who would’ve thought? All we need is a Hope to make it complete.”
Promise coughed. The woman had no idea. “It is funny.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Haven opened the door wider and gestured them inside. “Come on in. My studio is actually upstairs in the attic. Well, what used to be an attic.”
They stepped inside a small living area decorated with bright splashes of jewel colors. A tuxedo-type cat with luminous green eyes looked up from his perch on the back of the sofa, blinked, and then returned to sleep.
Haven waited until they’d moved farther inside before reengaging all the locks, one at a