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brown with gold flecks. They’d been smoldering when he’d hauled her against him, but she hadn’t been afraid. In fact, she’d been aroused.
    Of course, that might have been more the result of being thrust against his hard chest. She disliked tall, skinny men. This was a man who had strength and substance. He’d easily lifted her into his arms when she’d crashed through the door with those two idiots on top of her. She wondered what his chest looked like without his shirt.
    â€œAre you going to stand there all evening?”
    She blinked. “What would you have me do?” Oh, dear. Had he heard the sultry tone of her voice? She had to stop picturing him naked—or herself naked with him touching her. He was her enemy. He was blackmailing her. She didn’t like him.
    Fallon cleared her throat. “What I mean is, what am I supposed to do?”
    â€œLook around.” He gestured to the room.
    Fallon frowned at the overturned desk and the broken table. “For what, exactly?”
    He sighed impatiently. “I don’t know. You’ll know it when you see it.”
    â€œOf course. That helps.” She made her way to the desk because Fitzhugh was on the other side of the room and she thought a bit of distance might be for the best. She was not a tidy person, but she could at least straighten the spray of papers and quills. There wasn’t much she could do about the dried ink on the floor. She glanced at Fitzhugh, who was holding a parchment toward the lamp and reading. At least she looked busy.
    She lifted papers and stacked them neatly, covering a yawn with her hand. She was weary and would much rather be sleeping than digging through Lucifer’s forgotten papers. A five pound note fell out of an envelope, and she picked it up to stuff it back where it had come from. Even if she’d been poor, she would never be so poor as to take Lucifer’s blunt. She opened the envelope and caught sight of a familiar emblem. She pulled the paper out, noting it was a receipt for a deposit box at Lloyd’s Bank. This was not unusual. She imagined Lucifer had quite a few things hidden away in boxes all over London as well as abroad.
    What interested her was that the box had been opened by a man listed as Gabriel. No surname, no other identification. Simply Gabriel.
    Fallon remembered Gabriel. He looked every bit the angel he had been named for. He had golden blond hair he wore long around a narrow, defined face. His movements, his voice, his hands were smooth and soft. He’d touched her once, when he was leading her to her father, and she’d been shocked at how soft his hands were.
    Hers had never been so soft.
    She glanced at Fitzhugh. This was probably the sort of thing he would want to know about. She sighed. And if she told him, it would only prolong their association. And if she didn’t tell him, she’d probably end up telling him later, and then he’d accuse her of keeping more secrets.
    She sighed again. “Here.” She held out the receipt. “This is probably what you’re looking for.”
    â€œWhat is it?” he came toward her, took the paper, and walked back to the lamp. He scanned it. “Who is Gabriel?”
    Fallon nodded. He’d cut quickly to the meat. Fitzhugh was no fool. “Lucifer’s majordomo. He ran the club when Lucifer was away and obviously took care of some of Lucifer’s financial dealings.”
    Fitzhugh glanced at her. “You met him?”
    She wanted to lie, but he was looking at her with those eyes. Why did those eyes have to be so compelling? Why did they make her want him to keep looking at her?
    â€œYes. On several occasions.”
    â€œAnd?”
    She struggled for the words to describe Gabriel and settled on, “I didn’t like him.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe was scary, but in a different way than Lucifer was scary.”
    He frowned at her. “Scary? The same