An American Witch in Paris by Michele Hauf

Author:Michele Hauf
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-12-08T12:32:01+00:00

Chapter 14

Outside the restaurant, Ethan stalked over to the containment crew waiting for action and told the leader the grab had been called off.

“Not today,” he said at the crew leader’s inquiry. “There’s been...a glitch. Sorry. Thanks for being prompt. But we can’t take the demon in hand just yet.”

The crew left, and Ethan ran his fingers back through his hair, hoping he’d made the right call. Gripping and ungripping his fingers into fists, he paced before the shrubbery.

Why was Anyx with Gazariel? And how did that change things? He could have taken Gazariel. But without knowing whether or not the demon had given her the book—or Gazariel may have given the book to someone entirely different—Ethan had decided not to move in. Because what if they grabbed the demon and the vampiress got away?

He could take them both into custody. The vicious yet vain demon with a flair for taking down buildings by stealing a witch’s magic, and a vampiress whom Ethan had once shared his bed with for decades. Their marriage had lasted sixty years.

Punching the air in frustration, Ethan strode off toward the street, then paused and turned back to the restaurant. This was not how the director of a black ops team that collected dangerous objects from across the world must react in the face of adversity. If he intended to continue with fieldwork he must get this right. Stand up to the challenge. As strange and perplexing as that new challenge had become.

He would wait and track them both. He had to know what connection Gazariel and Anyx had and then he would decide how to deal with this.

Of all the women in the world the demon could be having a relationship with, why did it have to be that particular vampiress?

* * *

Tuesday was listening to one of the jazz albums Ethan owned. Having never been interested in the musical style before, she warmed to it now. Swaying to the saxophone’s mournful cry, she wrapped her arms across her chest and closed her eyes. She’d dated a musician once. More than once. A handful of musicians over the centuries. But the one she remembered with a self-indulgent smile had been an ’80s hair-band drummer. Those guys could keep a steady rhythm going. For a long time.

Smirking, she turned to find Ethan standing before her, smiling widely to have caught her in a personal moment.

She stopped swaying. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“The music is on.”

“You don’t mind? I’m starting to like this stuff.”

He tossed his coat aside to the couch and approached, taking her hands in his as if to dance. And then he did start to dance with her, slowly, turning her and finding the beat.

“Billie Holiday is one of my favorites,” he said. “I never missed a concert when she performed in Europe.”

“Really? You were a fanboy?”

“I suppose. I dated a musician or two.”

She chuckled. “I was thinking the same. Two or three, or maybe a dozen. It was all good.”

“That it was.

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