Demon Fire (Angel Fire #3) - Marie Johnston Page 0,55
Andy,” Harlowe said.
Sierra shrank in on herself. Anger lit her eyes when Jagger and Urban confronted her, but when Harlowe did it, pain wrote itself across Sierra’s face. The two had been close.
“He’s a demon. And you were working with him.” Harlowe waved toward Boone. “And you got a human involved. You told him everything about us, and we can only clean up your mess. We seem to be doing that a lot lately.”
Sierra reared back like she’d been slapped. He stepped in despite knowing he should stay out of it. If the others were behind the curve after all the revelations of the day, Boone hadn’t even made it to the race. This wasn’t his world, it was theirs. He also didn’t know the Sierra they knew, but the Sierra he’d been with for the last two months wanted to do her share. She wanted to help. She wasn’t a criminal.
He held his hands up, hoping it was interpreted as the universal sign of let’s calm down and that it didn’t mean something else in their world. “Look. Sandeen’s gone. Alma’s exhausted and needs to lie down. Sierra and I are stuck here. I have no one to contact and I’m sure you’ll be monitoring her closely to make sure she’s not talking to anyone either.”
Jagger’s chest deflated and Urban followed, their aggression deflating. Harlowe wasn’t so quick to let her anger die down, but she was too well trained to let her emotions take over the situation.
“Fine,” Harlowe said. “Urban and I will continue to monitor Alma. She’ll be an easy host if Sandeen returns. If not, she’ll be confused, and she’s hours from her home.”
“Maybe she knows something,” Urban grumbled.
As protective as Sandeen had been of Alma, Boone doubted the woman would roll over on him. The demon was out for himself, but he wasn’t heartless.
And that was a sentence Boone never thought he’d take seriously. “Come on, Sierra. You need to get some rest.”
Her stricken gaze met his and she nodded. With her arms hugged around herself, she let him lead her upstairs.
Chapter 12
What a fucking day.
Boone stood outside the bedroom door with his hand on the doorknob. He couldn’t bring himself to go inside. Sierra might still be napping after the afternoon of shock and accusations. She’d walked into the room and gone straight to bed, emotionally exhausted.
Instead, Boone turned, sat down at the top of the stairs, and watched the flurry on the main floor. He wasn’t needed or wanted. Sierra’s former teammates had had their minds blown, and while some of their anger toward her was justified—if he were in their position, he’d probably have the same suspicions—he thought they all needed space. The warriors were scrambling to revamp their mission plans in a way that reminded him of a team he’d worked with before he went undercover. An informant and a fellow agent had been killed. Months of work had been destroyed, identities exposed, and it was an overall shit show, but that hadn’t stopped the team from trying to save what they could and put the bad guys away.
Extra surveillance on the house had been added. The delivery driver Boone had thought was one of them had arrived. His name was Bronx. Another warrior. His duty was to watch outside the house and make sure no one was trying to get in or out, namely him and Sierra.
Being a captive under partial suspicion was an odd feeling. He’d joined the police force and gotten a band of brothers in uniform. He’d been one of them. They’d trusted each other with their lives. With the ATF, it’d been the same, but then he’d gone undercover. After some initial inherent distrust, he’d ingratiated himself with a local biker gang. He’d gone in as a frustrated salesman who’d realized his life was boring and all that was left was working for the man and maybe getting yearly raises that barely covered inflation.
He’d been more believable than he’d hoped. He hadn’t climbed to the top of the biker food chain, but he hadn’t needed to. He’d been able to collect incriminating evidence as a middleman. He’d “sold” drugs like they told him to. They’d accepted him. He’d become one of them. Meanwhile, he’d had a team he worked with. Guys he’d trusted with his life, and as an undercover agent, he’d trusted them with the life of his family.
The team was gone. By the time the trial was over and Johnny “the Bear” Cobb, Chicago