Characters make the story, and nothing is more important to a successful series than good characters. This is doubly important for a romantic suspense series. There are very few out there where the hero and heroine have a growing relationship over the course of several books. JD Robb’s IN DEATH series is perhaps the best known example. 32 books in (which doesn’t include numerous short stories and novellas!) and Eve Dallas and Roarke are still interesting characters who are working through their conflicts without losing sight of the fact that they love, admire and respect each other. All while battling the bad guys and solving a mystery.

Lucy Kincaid has a well-documented backstory. In FEAR NO EVIL, she was kidnapped on graduation day and raped live on the Internet and would have been killed if not for her brother Dr. Dillon Kincaid and rogue FBI Agent Kate Donovan. Fast forward nearly seven years and Lucy now has a Masters from Georgetown in Criminal Psychology and a degree in computer science, with a specialty in cybercrime. She’s interned for the Senate Judiciary Committee, the Arlington County Sheriff’s Department, and the D.C. Medical Examiners Office. She has her life planned out–every job was selected to make her more appealing to the FBI, she knows exactly what she wants to do for them, and she has a clear plan to get there.

Sean Rogan has a more interesting and, dare I say it, mysterious past. He’s 29, and like Lucy the youngest of a large family. Unlike the Kincaids, his family wasn’t close. When Sean was 14, his parents were killed in a plane crash and his older brother Duke came home to raise him. The other three Rogan offspring all live out of the country. They all have obedience to authority issues, except for Duke, and Sean has gotten into a whole bunch of trouble over the years. He’s broken a lot of laws, all for the right reason, and accepted the consequences.

But instead of telling you about the hero of the Lucy Kincaid series, I thought I’d illustrate his personalities through excerpts. It was hard to pick pivotal scenes that don’t give away spoilers, but I think these work! (Though if you don’t like excerpts from the middle of the book, don’t read on.)

In LOVE ME TO DEATH, Sean is running his own investigation into the murder of a convicted sex offender parallel to the FBI—and is about to be called on the carpet for it. This scene from the middle of the book gives readers a clue as to why Sean is distrustful of law enforcement. Lucy is at work while Sean goes to Dillon Kincaid and Kate Donovan’s house. Dillon is Lucy’s brother, a forensic psychiatrist, and Kate is an FBI Agent who teaches cybercrime at Quantico. And my long-time readers will know profiler Hans Vigo, now an assistant director at FBI Headquarters, and close friend to the Kincaid family. Hans has been a secondary character in many of my books, starting with THE PREY.

Sean followed Kate down the hall. Like Lucy, she looked exhausted. Her hair was still damp from her shower, and thick sections fell in her face. She impatiently tucked them behind her ears.

Dillon was sitting at the kitchen table reading a thick file. A man of about fifty with glasses, a slight paunch, and graying hair sat across from Dillon.

Dillon glanced up. “Sean,” he said, gesturing to the stranger, “this is a good friend of ours, Dr. Hans Vigo. He’s FBI.”

“Vigo.” Sean knew that name. “You’re the profiler?”

“Good memory.” Hans shook Sean’s hand. “We haven’t met.”

“No, but my brother Duke—everyone at RCK— speaks highly of you.”

“How is Duke?” Hans asked.

“Same as always.” Sean had been inching closer to see what Dillon was reading.

Kate stood next to Sean and said, “It’s Fran Buckley’s personnel file from the Bureau, Mr. Nosy.”

“Is that why you asked me here?”

“No, Noah Armstrong wants to talk to you.”

Sean abruptly turned to her. “You’re setting me up to talk to a Fed?”

It was Hans who answered. “You were seen on a surveillance tape entering a restaurant owned by Sergey Yuran. Considering his name has come up in the course of this investigation, we need to know what he said.”

Sean frowned. “If I learned something that would have helped, I would have shared the information with Agent Armstrong on Saturday.”

Sean didn’t feel comfortable talking to the Fed about something that could get him in hot water—he stood by his decision. He considered calling Duke for advice on whether to pull in a lawyer, but quickly dismissed the thought. He wasn’t going to lean on his brother every time he came head to head with law enforcement. He was a big boy, he would make his own decisions, and he knew he hadn’t been out of line in talking to Sergey Yuran. There was no way Yuran would have spoken to a cop, and if it was true he was under surveillance, Armstrong wouldn’t even be able to get in there. Shaking the trafficker down for the murder of a scumbag like Morton was way down on the priority list from trafficking in guns and human beings—which told Sean that Noah wanted this meeting off the record, hence here at Kate’s house. Maybe the Fed wasn’t the “by-the-book” hardass Sean had thought when he met him on Saturday.

Yet, every time Sean had spoken to cops in the past it had come back to bite him in the ass.

Before he’d been kicked out of Stanford, Sean discovered one of his professors liked child porn. Sean exposed his repulsive obsession so everyone would know what kind of pervert he really was. The Feds promised nothing would happen to Sean if he told the truth about how he’d hacked into the professor’s system and what initially tipped him off. Sean told the truth. Next thing he knew, Stanford expelled him for hacking into the school database. Duke had said the FBI did what they could, and Sean was damn lucky he wasn’t in prison. They’d agreed to expunge the record; however, Sean was certain his FBI file was an inch thick. The incident with the sick Stanford professor wasn’t the only time he’d been in hot water when trying to right wrongs.

Kate said, “Sean, you’d better watch yourself around Armstrong. He’s good, and he doesn’t like interference.”

“I didn’t interfere with anything.”

“Showing up at Ralston’s apartment wasn’t interfering?”

“I’m not going to rehash this. You know why I was there. I didn’t screw with his investigation.”

Hans said, “No one is looking to get you in trouble, Sean.”

Sean didn’t know whether to believe him, but Duke thought Hans Vigo walked on water, and that couldn’t be said of a lot of people, so Sean gave the profiler the benefit of the doubt.

“All right, but if Armstrong arrests me, you’d better be the one to post bail.”

Hans smiled. “I give you my word.”

In KISS ME, KILL ME, Sean and Lucy are looking for a missing teenager in New York City. A habitual runaway, they don’t know if Kirsten has run away again—or is in danger. When Sean tracks down a guy who partied with her the night she disappeared, he wants to make sure the college kid learns a lesson.

Sean waited across from Ryan’s apartment to sure that Trey didn’t circle around and go back. Sean considered going up himself—he didn’t think Ryan knew anything more, but he needed a lesson in how to treat women. Trey hadn’t quite figured out what “a little action” at a rave meant, but Sean knew exactly what Ryan was doing. Had he been the one to drug her? Would he do it again to another girl?

Sean crossed the street and went back up to Ryan’s apartment. He didn’t need to be buzzed in—the buzzer was a standard electronic gadget that Sean easily bypassed.

Ryan was leaving with a basket of laundry. “Hey,” he said, nervous.

Sean grabbed the basket and dropped it to the floor. He got in Ryan’s face until Ryan backed up against the wall.

“I don’t like you,” Sean said. “You use women without a thought.”

“I-I d-didn’t,” Ryan stuttered. “Sh-sh-she was will- ing. I swear.”

“Did you drug her?”

“No!”

“I know she was high on something.”

“Everyone was. The drinks were spiked. It was a really wild party, but I swear, I didn’t give her any- thing. I wouldn’t do that! P-p-please believe me.”

Ryan tried to squirm away and Sean put his forearm across the skinny kid’s chest and held him there. “You may not have given her a mickey, but you sure took advantage of it.”

“I’m s-sorry!”

“I have a lot of friends. I’m putting the word out on you. If you ever show up at another rave and take advantage of another girl, and I find out, you won’t have a dick left to screw around with.”

Sean turned and walked away, confident that the kid believed everything he’d said.

And with Lucy, Sean is determined to teach her how to have fun. Lucy is serious most of the time, an “all work, no play” kind of woman. And Sean is a “work hard, play hard” kind of guy. He has just taught her to ice skate, both of them unaware that someone is watching them from the crowded outdoor rink. From LOVE ME TO DEATH:

“I’m proud of you, Luce.”

She cleared her throat. “Why?”

“New experiences.”

“I suppose I’m willing to try anything once.”

“Once?” He frowned and looked worried. “You’re not having fun?”

“I’m having fun. Much more than I thought I would. You’re pretty amazing.” He grinned and winked at her, then kissed her cheek and nipped her ear playfully.

“I am, aren’t I?” he teased.

“My, what a large ego you have!”

“All the better to impress you with, my dear.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow and glanced around Sean to make sure no one was in their way. She turned suddenly, in a full circle, surprising him, and he tried to regain control, but she’d gotten her “skating legs” and spun him until he fell on his butt. She grabbed the railing to keep from falling and laughed.

“So that’s how it is.” He grinned. “You’d better watch yourself, Ms. Kincaid, because payback is a bitch.”

“I can hardly wait.” She surprised herself with how easy it was to joke with Sean.

He got up easily enough and pushed her against the railing. His blue eyes sparkled with humor as he said, “You won’t know when or where, princess.”

“I’m so scared,” she said, suppressing a giggle.

He kissed her, opening his mouth slightly, warming her lips, sending a shiver through her body. His hands were on her face, his leather gloves cold but she barely noticed. He held her there, holding the kiss. His body pressed against hers and she was effectively trapped against the sidewall but didn’t panic, didn’t feel anything but the powerful presence of Sean Rogan.

He sighed, put his forehead against hers and whispered, “How about some hot chocolate?”

She nodded, because suddenly she couldn’t talk.

They left the rink and returned their skates. “Thank you, Sean,” Lucy said and kissed him spontaneously. “I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.”

LOVE ME TO DEATH is on sale today! It’s almost surreal, because I’ve been waiting for this date for a long time. I’m currently writing book three in the series, where Sean is the one in jeopardy

And don’t forget the contest Toni is running! The rules are here.

First, the winners from two weeks ago . . . Shanae, Deb C. and Sabrina!!! If you’d like a copy of FEAR NO EVIL, email me (allison @ allisonbrennan.com) your mailing address. If you have a copy, and want to send one to a friend, send me their name and mailing address and I’ll send it to them and give you credit!

Okay, this is a quickie. Sorry! I’m off to New Jersey in the wee hours of Thursday morning to speak to the New Jersey Romance Writers conference. I’m very excited about this conference because I’ve heard fabulous things about it. I’m presenting two workshops, in addition to my speech–one on “Breaking Rules to Break In or Break Out” and the other with Mariah Stewart on the state of romantic suspense.

So because I’m rushing off and 1) wrote a speech (in which I called Rocki a bad angel, but she’ll have to hear about it from someone else because I don’t want her to hunt me down . . . ) and 2) I’m kind of wiped out; I thought I’d do two things.

First, a couple good blogs this week:

Tess Gerritsen on how you can’t please all the people all the time.

Our own Toni McGee Causey’s brilliant post for writers on writing.

Kristin Nelson’s blogs on Royalty Statements (you need to scroll down to catch them all.)

Now, an exclusive excerpt from the upcoming ORIGINAL SIN. (I just sent back my copyedits–woo hoo!–and am both very excited and nervous as hell about this book.) This is a snippet from Chapter Four:

Moira had told Lily to stay away from her cousin, to let Moira know if there was anything strange going on, if Abby confided in her. She’d damn well learned her lesson—rely on no one else—and she prayed Lily was alive.

“We’ll just look around the ruins for ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll know if the coven was here. Maybe we’re not too late.” She said it to give Jared hope; she didn’t believe it.

A reluctant Jared followed her into the night. He had his own flashlight and a cell phone, which he used now to call Lily for the twelfth time since they left Moira’s motel room twenty minutes ago. Once again, his girlfriend didn’t answer. Now her message box was full.

Almost as soon as she’d stepped from the truck, Moira smelled evil. A subtle aroma on the edge of the ruins, growing with each step she took. Incense. Poisoned incense. Strong herbs and odors to control spirits. But it was the sulphuric stench of Hell itself that raised the skin on her arms and made the scar on her neck burn. As Moira neared the midpoint of the spirit trap, she slowed her pace, her feet heavy as lead. Slower. Slower. She wanted to run back to the small, safe island off Sicily and lock herself inside St. Michael’s fortress. She didn’t need this, didn’t want it, but she could not shirk her responsibility.

All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men—and women—to do nothing.

As Moira approached the wide circle painted in white on the ground, it became clear that the ritual had been interrupted. There were signs of violence—overturned candles, disturbed earth, a feeling of unrest, of commotion. While no candles burned, the scent of extinguished flames hung in the low-lying fog.

There, in the middle of the circle, was a dead body.

Comment (even just hi, have a safe trip, break a leg, don’t choke at the podium) for a chance to win a copy of the novella that is the prequel to ORIGINAL SIN–and also has absolutely FABULOUS stories by our own Roxanne St. Claire and Karin Tabke. And if you have a question, go ahead and ask–I’ll check in when I land on the East Coast!

It’s that time of the year. Publishers start thinking about cover concepts 8-10 months out from publication. Though my second book of my FBI Trilogy was just released on Tuesday (FATAL SECRETS–an RT Book Review Top Pick!), and the next is still two months out, we’re talking about how to package my Seven Deadly Sins series.

Packaging is not easy. While there are lots of reasons why books sell (or not), packaging is certainly one of the most important.

What’s in a book “package?”

The obvious include the cover itself–arguably the most important part of the overall package–and the back cover copy (or inside flap for hardcovers.) The goal of the cover is for readers who don’t automatically buy your book because of your name to pick it up. It needs to intrigue them. The cover needs . . .

. . . to tell the reader what genre/type of story to expect. It sets the tone. This is the “same” part of the phrase “same but different.”

. . . to be visually interesting/eye-catching/intriguing . . . overall, attractive for the type of story inside. This is the “status quo.” No one intends to create an ugly cover, but there are often covers that seem to be blah or boring.

. . . to stand out as unique, not the same book you read last week. This is the “different” part of the phrase “same but different.” And the hardest to achieve. How do you create a totally unique cover while still positively conveying the type of story inside?

For my supernatural thriller series, I have two primary concerns. First, this isn’t a traditional paranormal romance, nor is it an urban fantasy. It’s a classic supernatural story–what some might have branded as “horror” in the past–but with a growing, multi-book relationship, an ensemble cast of characters, and an epic battle of good vs evil. If I was allowed to write a 1200 page novel ala Stephen King’s THE STAND, I could write this seven book series as one book (though certainly structured differently! They’d be battling the seven deadly sins simultaneously, building to an earth-shattering climax, rather than battling them individually book by book.) But each of these books will be about 450-500 pages and contain a complete story . . . while also continuing the multi-book story arc. So how do we convey this in the cover? I argued for a simple cover with a single focal point–an object that exposes the sin inside so that people would understand on a gut level, while also conveying that the book is paranormal. We’ll see what they do.

My second concern was how to show that this is a series with a returning cast of characters rather than what I traditionally write, which is a complete romantic suspense with an HEA. We’re going to have something like “Book One of the Seven Deadly Sins Series” or something similar as a tag line, which will hopefully help. But again, this is important information to convey to the reader and I want them to know what they are getting.

Titles are also important. Does the title tell you what the story is going to be? SUDDEN DEATH pretty much tells you that it’s a suspense novel, right?

One thing I learned early on is that, as far as publishers are concerned, titles don’t have to mean anything. They don’t have to reflect the story, or a cool plot twist. SUDDEN DEATH is fairly interchangeable with most suspense novels. It’s a great title (I picked it, so I’ll admit I’m pretty partial to it,) but it still is rather generic. THE HUNT was another of my own titles, and certainly reflects the story–the killer is “hunting” his prey in the Montana wilderness, and the heroine is “hunting” the killer. It has a dual meaning. KILLING FEAR, another of my own titles, has a double meaning as well. The heroine is fearful after walking in on her dead roommate in the dark six years before. She has to combat that fear–kill it–in order to survive by the end of the book. And it also relates to the villain who has no real emotions, including fear. CUTTING EDGE also has a double meaning, since the killer uses a knife and the first target is the scientist heading up a cutting edge technology company.

The titles for the first two Seven Deadly Sins books are: ORIGINAL SIN and CARNAL SIN. I am thrilled with the titles because they not only convey the sin involved (envy and lust respectively), but most people will have an instant, visceral reaction to the title. They will know what it means, they (hopefully) will be intrigued enough to pick it up.

ORIGINAL SIN works on multiple levels. One meaning of “original” is “first” and this is the first book in the series. “Original Sin” is when Adam and Eve fell from grace by eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Eve was lured into sin by the serpent, who represents jealousy as it’s suggested by many theologians that the serpent was jealous of humans because God appeared to favor them over all other of His creations. Envy itself is the one sin that has no personal gratification–in lust, one has physical satisfaction; in greed, one gains wealth and means; in gluttony, one enjoys good food and drink. But envy seeks to deny the object of the envy something that the envious can not have himself. It’s the only sin that derives pleasure from the destruction of another person.

Envy is the primary reason that the villain releases the Seven Deadly Sins from Hell. She is envious of the youth and beauty of others; envious of power. She wants it for herself, but the only way to get it is to destroy.

So you can see why I was thrilled with ORIGINAL SIN as a title.

Our own Toni McGee Causey has had a major re-packaging of her Bobbie Faye series, and for the better.

First, I do LOVE her original title BOBBIE FAYE’S VERY (very, very, very) BAD DAY. It fits the book brilliantly and tells the reader what to expect–the story of Bobbie Faye’s bad day, and because of the parenthesis, you know that it’s going to be humorous. But as we’ve learned, titles don’t mean much of anything, right? They need to go with the packaging. And the packaging needs to tell the reader what to expect.

The packaging for Toni’s book was all wrong for the story. And worse, she was shelved in fiction. That’s the curse of death for any book not written by Jodi Picoult or Toni Morrison. But with the packaging, the book didn’t say “mystery” or “thriller” or “romantic suspense” though it had elements of all three, none fit it right. Frankly, it’s out-of-genre, it transcends being pigeon-holed in a category. It’s funny, irreverent, fast-paced, quirky, and original. It’s Stephanie Plum, with a gun, on speed.

Does this cover tell you that?

Great title, poor packaging. What’s with the crustacean on the cover? And this is what just KILLS me. I stayed up ALL THE EFFING NIGHT READING THIS BOOK BECAUSE I COULD NOT PUT IT DOWN!!! Does that cover tell you that this is an unputdownable book?

Now, publishers may be a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but they’re not stupid. And they knew they had an incredibly talented writer in Toni. As book three in the Bobbie Faye series was nearing press time, they decided to reissue the first two books in mass market–with new covers, new titles, new packaging. All to gear up for the third brand-spanking-new book that will be out this August.

So VERY BOBBIE FAYE became CHARMED AND DANGEROUS. A slightly more generic title, but it does exactly what it’s supposed to: it intrigues you. It’s witty and a pun, implying humor as well as suspense (going along with the next two titles, GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE GUNS and WHEN A MAN LOVES A WEAPON–and I’ll admit, the third title, and the third cover, is my absolute favorite.) This is NOT easy to do, especially with a title, but this time all three are winners. And there’s a tag line that rocks as well: “Love down South just got a whole lot deadlier.”

So how do you package such titles?

Just. Like. This.

Okay, I’m back. What, you didn’t know I was gone for the last two hours? Well . . . I pulled out my copy of BOBBIE FAYE, the one that’s being reissued on Tuesday June 2, to find a short little scene to give you a taste of Toni’s voice. Well, yep, though I’ve read this book (twice) I got sucked in. This scene . . . no, this one! . . . oh, no, I have to put in THIS scene, it’s perfect. Lo and behold, I’ve re-read most of the book. Finally, I just had to pick something or this post wouldn’t be up in time.

In a nutshell, Bobbie Faye is being chased by the police for (not) robbing a bank, bad guys, and sordid others as she tries to save her stupid-ass brother Roy who got himself kidnapped. She herself kidnapped Trevor, who became her getaway car after the not-quite-a-bank-robbery robbery. They’ve already had some tense moments, and have, oh, two minutes of downtime here in the shed of a gunrunner.

She looked down at the gun again, remembering what the hell she needed Trevor for, and cursed under her breath. She couldn’t ditch him just yet and get away from all those muscles and the abs and the crinkly eyes, holy geez. She had to focus until they safely found the geeky boys and the tiara.

He turned at that moment and saw her sitting on a crate, staring at him. “You okay?” he asked, squatting on his heels, bringing himself blue-crystal-eye level to her, looking sincerely worried.

The bastard.

“Yeah, I’m just having a little girl-time here, rethinking my choice in nail color,” she snapped, and instead of snapping back, he grinned. He fucking grinned at her, that big-cat-stalking-its-prey-sort of grin, making her very very nervous.

“Cut it out.” He only grinned bigger. “I thought we had an agreement going here. You hate all women, I hate you.”

“I think I’m making an exception in your case.”

“Well I’m not.”

He looked her up and down, and her skin flamed hot, and his smile grew more wicked.

“Oh, I think you are.”

She started to retort as he turned away, but there was an internal war going on, with Lust (which had not been out to play in a long, long time) beating the hell out of Common Sense, and she could feel certain body parts placing bets. She opted for ignoring him because she didn’t think “nuh uh” was a very convincing comeback.

Trevor opened the doorway a crack and watched a moment until he was satisfied it was clear to leave. They eased down the pier toward the boats tied at the end when the first scowling guard came out of the house. Bobbie Faye knew they were in plain sight, but the guy acted as if he didn’t see them, which was just phenomenally odd. As she was contemplating this, a second man walked around the corner of the house and the first guy seemed to be trying to wave away a mosquito or something. Or maybe he was trying to indicate they should get moving.

“Sonofabitch,” Trevor muttered. “Head for the white boat at the end.”

“You mean the Triton 5220?” she asked, which surprised him enough for him to turn to her with a blank, shocked expression. “What? Girls can know boats.”

He didn’t get a chance to answer. Bobbie Faye thought she heard a firecracker pop then bam, something hit the pier not far behind them, and they both looked in the direction of the house in time to see the two guards running in their direction, the second one definitely sporting a gun.

Bobbie Faye was pretty sure that if she’d read her horoscope that morning, it would have said something like, “Today the universe hates you. A lot. A whole freaking Grand Canyon lot of hate. Stay in bed. Better yet, dig a hole, hide.”

She hauled ass down the pier with Trevor right behind her. They passed a glassed-in Peg-Board set up where all the keys to the boats were stored, and Bobbie Faye jumped into the boat as Trevor slammed the butt of his SIG Sauer against the glass, shattering it, all the while trying to hide his frame behind the skinny wooden stand as the running guards shot at them.

“They’re not labeled,” he shouted, and then turned to her, shocked again when the engine revved. She’d hot-wired it.

“What is the deal with you being pokey? Get in!”

Want to read this book? Good! So do I . . . again. So I’m going to sign off and curl up with a damn good book. And one of you will get a FREE copy of the original, collectable, BOBBIE FAYE . . . all you have to do is comment by midnight tonight, Thursday, and the winner will be posted at 12:01 (ish) PST in the comment section by moi. You’ll get the book early next week, before everyone else . . . And if you don’t win the collectable copy, you can always order the new and improved packaging wrapped around the same fantastic book for yourself at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or an Indie.

“Deliver Us From Evil” is my novella in the anthology WHAT YOU CAN’T SEE, on sale now from Pocket. I share the cover with two wonderful writers, our own murderous gal Karin Tabke, and MSW friend Roxanne St. Claire. We all delve into something a little new and different by incorporating supernatural elements into our romantic thrillers.

In my story, historical architect and demonologist Anthony Zaccardi rushes to Santa Louisa, California after his best friend, Rafe Cooper, asks for his help. He’s too late to save the twelve troubled priests at the Santa Louisa Mission, and Rafe is in a coma. Anthony is certain a demon is to blame; down-to-earth Sheriff Skye McPherson is just as certain that this is the work of human hands.

This scene comes at the beginning of Chapter Six when Anthony breaks into the mission to search for clues on how to send the demon back to Hell, and Skye confronts him.

Six

Anthony picked the police lock.

He didn’t need his flashlight; the lighting had been restored in the mission. He quickly walked through the kitchen and down the main hall.

The mission had been destroyed from within. He’d seen the destruction earlier when he’d broken in to save Rafe; now the sad reality sank in.

Beautiful artwork, hundreds of years old, had been defamed. Every statue in the alcoves had its head removed. Paintings slashed. This, Anthony thought, was the work of human hands. A demon would crush the statues; humans defaced.

Anthony found Rafe’s room, accurately guessing that it would be closest to the kitchen. There was one small window facing the rear of the mission. A small night-light in the corner illuminated the room with shadows.

Anthony closed the door, looked at the wood. It was splintered and cracked, as if someone had been scratching from the inside. He shined his light on the marks, saw the damaged wood stained with dark blood. Deep gouges, likely made with something metal or hard wood had been used to pry open the door. Now Anthony knew how Rafe’s fingers had been broken, his fingernails torn.

The police had obviously gone through the room. Rafe’s computer was gone, only wires remaining. His files had been rifled through and many had been removed. The drawers of his desk were open.

But the police didn’t know the secrets the mission held, nor the many hiding places.

Anthony traced the ridges of the stone wall. He’d been in many missions, in many ancient buildings. He could find any hiding place . . . there. Around the edge of one stone he found a small, ancient release. A facade for a stone safe.

Sure enough, Rafe had left something in the space. A leather-bound journal. Anthony removed it, put the stone back in place.

Anthony carefully opened the journal, hoping for a clue. Several sheets of paper fell out and he stooped to pick them up.

The door opened and the lights came on.

“I thought you were going to do something stupid.” Skye McPherson stood in the doorway, gun drawn. “You’re under arrest.”

“Don’t.”

“Hand me those papers.”

He did.

“And the book.”

Reluctantly, he handed it over.

“Are you armed?”

“I don’t carry a gun.”

“Turn around and put your hands on the desk.”

“I told you–”

“You expect me to believe you? You broke a police seal and entered this building in the middle of the night. You’re attempting to remove evidence. You’re in hot water, Mr. Zaccardi.”

Help us.

Skye frowned, glanced around the room.

“You heard,” he said, incredulous.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hope claimed a corner of his heart. “You heard the voices.”

“I don’t hear any voices,” she snapped. “Turn around.”

He complied. Her hands moved around his waist, his thighs, his ankles. He wanted to think of her as a cop; he could only think of her as a woman. A woman who didn’t know what danger she was in, nor what power she had.

She removed his cross. “You’re clear, but I’ll keep this for the time being.”

He faced her. She was close, only inches from him as she holstered her weapon. He reached up to touch her face, and she flinched. He dropped his hand and said, “You can’t deny what you heard.”

She swallowed, took a step back. “What’s this?” she started flipping through the journal.

“I suspect it will speak of Rafe’s concerns. He would have hidden his notes if he thought something was going on here.”

She frowned, reading the journal.

“What?” he asked, inching closer. She smelled of pine and soap. All natural. All woman.

“It’s in Latin.”

Latin? Rafe hated Latin. Anthony could practically hear him groaning during class.

She tucked the journal under her arm and looked at the papers.

“What are those?” he asked.

“Copies.”

“Of?”

She didn’t say. He peered over her hands. Santa Louisa Grocery.

“Why would he keep copies of the food deliveries?” Anthony asked.

When Skye didn’t say anything, he knew she had the answer. “We need to work together, Skye.”

Her head shot up. “You said you weren’t a cop. Has anything changed in the last–” she glanced at her watch “–fifteen hours?”

“You need me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“But you know I had nothing to do with what happened here.”

“How? Maybe you were working with your friend Rafe. Maybe you’re supposed to steal artifacts while I’m trying to solve a mass murder. Maybe–”

“You don’t believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

“Ianax.”

“What?”

“That’s the name of the demon in the sacristy. Human blood was used, wasn’t it?”

“I can’t discuss the investigation with you.”

She had a great poker face, but her eyes exposed her soul, which told him he was right. He also had thousands of years of history to draw upon.

“Ianax was a triple agent, so to speak. He was a spirit on Satan’s side, but attempted to convince St. Michael the Archangel that he was gathering evidence against Satan, all in an attempt to find out how many were staying on the Lord’s side and who were going with Satan. He gave information to both sides.”

She stared at him blankly. “You’re a lunatic.”

He hardened. He was used to people not believing him, but he desperately wanted Skye to trust him. The dead depended on it.

“Ianax was banished to the deepest pits of Hell by Satan when he attempted to overtake Hades. He’s an ancient demon, feeding on hate and revenge. It takes three dark souls and human sacrifice to draw him out.”

“I’ve read thousands of crime reports. There’s no proven case of human sacrifice by Satanists in America.”

Anthony continued. “Your people don’t know everything, and human sacrifice is rarely what you envision. He’s here. You sense it. You heard the voices of those trapped between Heaven and Hell. But you won’t open your heart.”

“You can’t tell me that a spirit killed those men.”

“Not alone, but Ianax was part of the massacre and if we can’t send it back to Hell more people will die.”

“Bullshit. More will die if we don’t capture the people who killed those priests.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“I don’t know what planet you live on, Mr. Zaccardi, but where I come from you put people in prison and they stop killing innocent old men.”

He’d said the wrong thing, but he persisted. “I agree, we need to find the three involved in order to send Ianax back. If we don’t, he will grow more powerful.”

“Why are you so certain there are three people involved?”

“The seal. In the sacristy.” How could she convince this woman what took him a lifetime to learn?

“You look so normal,” she muttered.

A rare anger grew in Anthony’s chest, the rage he fought to keep firmly at bay.

He grabbed Skye by the arms and pulled her close. “If you think this is a game, more innocent people will suffer. I am deadly serious, Sheriff McPherson.”

Her lush mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Let. Me. Go.”

Anthony dropped his hands, the anger washing away in embarrassment. He didn’t manhandle women. It was Skye’s total disdain of him and what he said . . .

He should be used to it by now. Few people truly believed that evil existed. They talked about it, gave it lip service, but didn’t believe in evil spirits, that they could be summoned and used, that they grew more powerful with every moment they spent outside of Hell, feeding on the cruelty and rage and hatred of human beings.

“Trust me,” he said simply, imploring her with his eyes. He saw a hint of doubt in her face, the desire to believe him. Then it vanished.

But hope was all he needed. He’d worked with far less.