Whoa! Hold the chariots! He was also seeing something else on the angelic being.

He scrunched his eyes shut so that he wouldn't go blind.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked as he reached for the shower doors and stepped out. A quick peek showed that St. Michael had stayed inside and seemed intrigued by the cool water spraying over him.

"I've never taken a shower before. I was curious."

Trond reached for a towel, thankful that he was the only one in the showering chamber at the moment. But then, he wasn't sure if anyone would be able to see the angel. He wasn't taking any chances, especially considering the fact that the archangel must have been in the chapel today, sitting near Nicole, and he'd obviously been visible to her.

"Why didn't you just open the door?"

"There's a door?"

Trond shook his head and quickly donned clean underwear, shorts, and a T-shirt. Then he slipped his feet into a pair of rubber thongs. The whole time he kept his back to the shower. "You better hurry up, or someone might come in," he warned.

"I'll just disappear if they do."

That answered that question.

"What is this substance in a bottle marked Axe?"

"It's liquid body wash. You can use it on your skin or to shampoo your hair."

"It smells heavenly."

Trond sat down on a bench and put his face in his hands, elbows braced on his widespread knees. Could his life get any more peculiar than this? "Why are you here?" Sorry if that sounds rude, my angel friend, but you must admit this is not your usual modus operandi.

Mike could read minds, and often did, but he must not be "reading" him this time because Trond could hear him whistling. My brothers will never believe me when I tell them about this. They'll say I was drukkinn or that I made it up.

"Ouch, ouch, ouch!" he heard come from inside the shower stall.

"What?" he asked. No way was he opening the door to see his heavenly mentor in the nude again.

"My eyes are burning."

"It's the soap. You must have gotten soap in your eyes."

"Soap? You did not tell me it was soap."

Trond rolled his eyes. "I thought angels knew everything."

"Only the important things."

"Just let the shower wash over your open eyes for a few seconds."

Before he could blink, faster than any human nanosecond, the archangel was sitting beside him on the bench, fully dressed except for shoes in jeans and a white T-shirt with the logo "Beam Me Up, Scotty," and reeking of Axe's Cool Mystic fragrance.

"You've been talking with Zebulan," Mike said right off.

So that was his reason for being here. "I have. Once."

"And you did not consider it important enough to notify us."

"I thought you saw everything."

"That does not excuse your keeping secrets."

"Hey, it wasn't a secret. Nothing happened. Besides, I notified my brothers of the presence of a high-level Lucipire in this area."

"I am more concerned with your impressions of Zebulan."

Trond hesitated to speak his mind, it was such an outlandish notion. "I wonder if . . . I don't think Zeb is all bad."

Instead of denying such a possibility, Mike nodded as if Trond had affirmed something he'd already known.

"Is there any possibility . . . I mean, has a demon ever turned?" Trond asked hesitantly.

"Turned what?"

Trond shrugged. "I don't know. Good."

"It has never happened in all the eons," Mike told him.

"What purpose would there be, after all?" Trond remarked.

"Have you learned nothing, Viking? Good is its own reward."

Trond was so sick of motivational sayings. From Nicole. From the SEAL instructors. And now from his heavenly mentor.

"Use him," Mike advised. "If Zebulan has a weak spot, bore in and take advantage."

"That doesn't sound very . . . um, Christian."

"Needs must for the greater good."

Blessed stars! Another proverb! "Can I promise him anything?"

"It is not for you to barter with the devil."

Okay, that put me in my place. Not that I haven't known exactly what my place is for oh, let's say, one thousand, one hundred, and sixty-three years.

"About the woman . . ." Mike started to say and then just stared at him. An archangel's stare was riveting. You couldn't look away. And with the stare, he saw everything.

"It was just a little playing."

Mike made a scoffing sound.

"When in Rome, do as the Romans do." Even Trond heard how pathetic an excuse his attempt at humor was.

And Mike wasn't laughing. "You've been in Rome, Viking, and did not like it. Fodder for the lions, you were, as I recall."

Trond shivered with distaste. If he never smelled lions' breath again, it would be too soon. He couldn't even go to a zoo, as Karl had once wanted him to, when a special panda bear exhibit had arrived from China. Too close to the lion cages.

"Temptation is a two-edged sword, Viking. You would do best to remember that."

Whatever that means!

"It means that while the pleasure can be great, the consequences can be greater."

Oh, so Mike is back to reading my mind? Just great! He could have given me warning.

"What would be the fun in that?" He almost smiled at Trond then.

Which almost caused Trond to topple off the bench with shock.

"In the vein of nothing ventured, nothing gained . . ." Trond scrambled to stand up with dignity, then flexed his fingers nervously. Good grief! Now I'm quoting motivational sayings. "I was wondering what exactly is the penance allotted for near-sex?" He wouldn't even bother to ask about full-blown, up-to-her-womb, screaming sex with a woman. The answer would no doubt scare him spitless, or was that sinless?

When he got no answer, Trond glanced sideways and saw that Mike was gone, leaving only a single white feather in his wake.

At the same time, Cage walked in, a towel wrapped around his middle, preparatory to taking his own shower. "Hey, Easy! Who you talking to in here?"

Trond twirled the feather between his thumb and forefinger and said, "Just myself."

Twelve.

Angel to the rescue . . .

Nicole dreamed that night, and her dreams starred Guess Who?

Men got their satisfaction in wet dreams. Hers were hot and very unsatisfying. Thus, she was tired and cranky and no way ready for the voice mail she received from Commander MacLean after breakfast, just before heading to the command center for the first briefing of the day.

"Lieutenant Tasso: A woman named Cyndee Walsh is trying to reach you. Claims to be an old friend. Says it's important. Here's her number."

Oh my God! She hadn't talked with Cyndee for years, despite their having been next-door neighbors and best friends from grade school. In fact, Cyndee had been the only one who'd halfway believed her reports about Billy's abuse.

When Nicole had left Chicago, she'd cut off ties with everyone, fearing Billy would come after her. Later, when she'd become stronger and able to stand up to bullies like her ex-husband, she'd still kept her distance, not wanting anyone she contacted to suffer for association with her. As far as she knew, her dad was still on the force.

She sank down on a bench under a palm tree facing the beach. With heart thumping, she hesitated, then placed the call.

"Cyndee?"

"Nic, is that you?" She squealed, just as she had all through high school.

Nicole smiled, pleased that some things didn't change. "Holy cow! Cyndee Walsh! How are you?"

"I'm fine, but it's Cyndee Dillon now," she said. "Brad and I got married last year. Finally."

Regret swept through Nicole in waves . . . regret that she hadn't even known that her onetime best friend had married. "I didn't know about the wedding, but, hey, it's about time. You two have been making googly eyes at each other since second grade."

"We still do."

"That's nice," Nicole said, and she meant it. "Remember the time in fourth grade when you socked him in the belly for sharing his baloney sandwich with Meg Kelly?"

"It wasn't baloney," Cyndee said with a laugh, "it was salami, and I've been reminding him of that ever since. Whenever he does something wrong, I bring it up again. He just doesn't understand how we women hold on to things."

And wasn't that the truth. Bad deeds had an eternal shelf life. Women might forgive the sins of their lovers, but they never forgot. "Oh, Cyndee, it's so good talking to you again. I've missed you."

She could hear the catch in Cyndee's voice when she said, "I would have invited you . . . heck, you were supposed to be my maid of honor, but I couldn't find a current address. Even your mother doesn't know."

If she'd told her mother, her mother would have told her father, and he in turn probably would have informed Billy. While seven years had gone by, Nicole couldn't be absolutely sure Billy wouldn't still seek retaliation. His fury at her leaving him-desertion, he'd considered it in his warped mind-had been monumental. It wasn't that she was afraid of him now. It was just that she'd put that part of her life behind her.

She wouldn't have gone back to Chicago for Cyndee's wedding, but she would have cherished the invitation. Cyndee had been maid of honor at Nicole's wedding to Billy. She should have been able to return the favor.

"As it is, I practically had to sign my life away with some commander named MacLean to get a message to you." Cyndee was still talking while Nicole's mind had wandered. "Where are you, Nic? I mean, I know you're in California, and you're in some kind of hotshot female SEAL program. There was that feature story in USA Today about all those women warriors."

Ah! That blasted newspaper article. When given permission to do the article, the reporter had promised not to use names or clear pictures of any of the women. Unfortunately, she and two other women had been front and center.

"Billy made fun of that story down at the station, by the way. Said it must be a troop of dykes."

"He would. The jerk!" It wouldn't have mattered what Nicole had done after she'd left him. He honestly believed she couldn't succeed at anything without him.

"You got that right. He considers himself the Irish stallion, but he's more like a horse's ass. You have no idea . . . well, I guess you do."

The fine hairs stood out on the back of Nicole's neck, as she wondered, despite herself, what else he'd done.

"Did you ever marry again?" Cyndee asked.

"Nope."

"Is there someone special in your life?"

For some reason, Trond's face popped into her head. He was special to her, all right. Special trouble. "Nope. No one."

"I bet there are lots of opportunities, though. I've seen some of those SEALs on TV, and they are pure hunks."

"Some are," she agreed. "Cyndee, you told Commander MacLean that it was important that you reach me."

She could actually hear Cyndee inhale deeply, as if for courage. "It's Billy."

Silence followed.