He glanced over his shoulder and then stepped back. “Looks like I’ll be seeing you again much later, sweetheart.”

The doors popped closed and the elevator resumed its downward descent, only this time accompanied by its usual hum and at a pace that didn’t drop her stomach to the floor. When the digital readout read “1,” the doors parted. The shitty foyer was in front of her, and she leapt out.

“Cait!”

The stairwell door slammed behind Sam as he ran toward her.

Her knees weakened, but he reached her, pulling her against his chest. “What the hell were you doing with that bastard?”

13

Cait burrowed her face against his chest, her hands clutching his shirt until the shivering stopped.

He didn’t say a single word more while he rocked her inside his arms.

“I see why joo love him.”

Sylvia’s envious tone made her smile. “He’s a brick, isn’t he?”

Sam grunted, his chest bumping against hers.

She tightened her fingers on his chest. “Christ, for a second, I thought I was back there. In the eighties. That the next time I saw you, I’d be too old for you to hold me like this without my brittle bones breaking.”

“Not gonna ask,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Not until I can catch my breath. Saw you in the elevator—for just a second before it closed again. Saw him… Ran down the stairs while Jason ran up. We checked every floor.”

“Jason? I left him here… in the dining room.”

“He ran up, nearly bust a gut to tell me Eddie had you and some shit about you chatting him up.” His arms tightened, growing rigid around her.

She burrowed deeper. “Me chatting up a guy?” She pressed her lips together, tensing. “Must have read the situation wrong.”

“Dammit,” he cussed softly. At last, his arms eased their crushing hold, just enough so he could lean away.

She felt a hole burning into the top of her head and slowly raised her gaze.

Sam’s face was red, his eyes narrow, angry slits. “Were you trying to seduce a damn incubus into coming up to the third floor?”

She winced. Stated like that, her plan sounded stupid. “Almost worked. Except for the part that he didn’t buy a minute of it.”

Sam shook his head. “And what were you gonna do if you did get him up there?”

“I figured you could sit on him until he told us who his accomplice was. Rough him up a bit.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s not like we have to Mirandize a demon.”

Sam’s breath left in a slow exhale. “That was a shit plan, O’Connell.”

“Yeah, I figured that out the moment he asked me if I thought he was stupid. Funny thing was, he didn’t seem all that threatening.”

Sylvia huffed beside her. “That asshole fed me to the wall. Joo t’ink he’s not dangerous?”

Thank goodness Sam couldn’t hear the ghost. He’d be nodding right along.

Sam swallowed. His jaw was clenched so hard he could have pounded concrete. “So, where’d he go?”

“Back to 1980. I imagine his boss is kicking his ass, given Eddie wanted me for himself.”

Sam’s arms dropped, and his hand manacled her wrist. His face was tight and nearly purple, with a tic pulsing beside his eye. “We’re going now. Problem’s not isolated to the third floor. He has control of the elevators too. The whole damn place might be his feeding ground.”

Cait’s feet scuffed behind him, not able to keep up with his fast pace. Inside thirty seconds, they were outside the hotel, and he hit the automatic door lock of his car.

He slammed open the passenger door, pushed her inside, then knelt beside her seat. “Don’t budge,” he said, wagging a finger in her face. “Don’t talk to anyone. Keep the fucking door closed. I’m going back in to clear out the team until I have a chance to sort this out.”

At her scowl, he gave her nose a firm tap. “I’m serious, Cait. You move a damn muscle and your ass is mine.”

“That supposed to do anything but thrill me?” she muttered.

Only he didn’t smile at her quip. He looked ready to chew metal.

The door slammed shut, and Cait stayed right where he’d put her. Besides, Eddie and the demon in the walls had scared the crap out of her. She’d play humble, maybe shed a tear or two, and by morning, everything would be copacetic.

Fifteen minutes later, they were pulling up in front of her apartment. Sam hadn’t said a word since he’d come stomping out of the hotel doors.

Cait opened her car door and slid out, surprised to find her legs a little wobbly after all. By the time she’d cleared the front of the car, Sam’s door slammed and he came right at her, his expression so dark and furious, she at last felt a thrill of fear.

Adrenaline kicked in, and Cait dashed to the door, fishing in her pocket for her keys.

But he was faster, pushing her against the door and reaching high for the key on the ledge. With a grip on her upper arm, he unlocked the door and pushed her, slamming them inside.

His hand dropped from her arm, and she lifted a hand to rub her skin, pretending it hurt, but he didn’t show an ounce of remorse. His expression was scary—his jaw so tight a muscle jumped along the edge. His eyebrows lowered, which shadowed his eyes and made them even more menacing.

“I’ll just go get a shower,” she said, pointing to her bedroom door.

But when she started to turn away, he said, “Cait.”

Just the one word. So clipped it cut.

“You’re off this case.”

Her head swiveled back. “You can’t. You need me.”

“You don’t have a shred of self-preservation. You walked into that elevator, knowing what that bastard was. I don’t know why the hotel didn’t suck you through those doors. Maybe it was Morin’s spell, but you still put yourself in danger. It stops.” He held out his hand. The key lay in the center of his palm. “Keep it off the ledge.”

Her stomach dropped to her toes, sickening her more than the joyride in the elevator had. She scraped it off his palm and curled her fingers around it, not saying a word as he let himself out. This time, he closed the door with a finality that felt like a body blow.

Cait sat huddled in a booth at O’Malley’s. She stared at her Coke, wondering why she hadn’t issued a protest when Pauly slid the glass in front of her. She’d never wanted to stop drinking. Sam had wanted that for her. But he’d handed her back her key. Telling her by his gesture that they were over.

She’d glanced around her empty apartment and nearly wept. But she wasn’t a crier. This time, she’d screwed up so badly, she didn’t know what to do next. She felt so hollow, so alone, she was actually glad to find Sylvia on the doorstep after she’d gathered herself together and decided to skip out to the bar.

“Joo screwed the pooch, chica.”

Cait didn’t answer, her mind made up she was going to wallow in grief for a good long time.

“Man’s right. Joo crazy. Don’ know why joo thought joo could win against somet’ing like that.” Sylvia paused in her monologue. “Hey, joo know that guy? He’s starin’.”

Cait hardly had the energy to lift her head and follow Sylvia’s gaze. But when she did, she sat straighter. Her eyes blurred for a second, but she quickly blinked away the tears.

Her father sat at his table, a Guinness in front of him, glaring back. When she held his gaze, he eased off his chair and approached. His glance went to Sylvia. “Scoot.”

“No please?” Sylvia said, narrowing her thickly mascaraed eyes.

“I’ve forgotten how to be polite,” Paddy O’Connell said, one side of his mouth quirking up. “I could just sit on you, but I really don’t want to get that intimate, sweetheart.”

A frown dug a line between her brows, but Sylvia moved down the seat, making room for Cait’s father on the bench seat.

“Who’s the dead guy?” Sylvia whispered, although Paddy could hear every word.