They turned toward me en masse. Garrett Swopes was a tall drink of water with mocha-colored skin and sparkling gray eyes. He also had incredible abs. Not that I was interested in him, but it was hard not to notice his abs when he answered his door shirtless all the time. That could be because I'm always showing up at his house in the middle of the night. Weird how I always needed him around four in the A.M.

He'd been in the middle of pulling on a bulletproof vest. This guy must be bad. It took a lot to get Swopes to wear Kevlar.

It took a moment for Javier to recognize me. He frowned and said something to Garrett, pointing toward me repeatedly. Garrett let him rant, nodded, then waved me to him. The third guy I didn't know. He was at least part Asian and looked like he'd been in one too many bar brawls. But really, who needed all those teeth? It was overkill if you asked me.

I climbed out of Misery and sauntered over to them with a nonchalant smile.

"How did you know where we'd be?" Javier asked.

"I didn't. I just knew where Swopes here would be and I need to talk to him. You are just a bonus." I batted my lashes at him.

His brows snapped together. "You didn't bring any C-4, did you?"

"Javier, you have to let that go. Let bygones be bygones."

He pulled his sidearm and clicked off the safety. "I'll show you bygones."

"Now, now," Garrett said, wrestling the gun from him. "Charley brings out the worst in all of us. It's not her fault."

"He's right," I said. "I have a condition."

"See?" he said, consoling his boss though truth be told, Garrett ran that business and was the reason it was so successful.

"We have a job to do, Swopes," he said before stalking away.

I turned to Garrett, grateful that he had my back. I was growing on him. I could tell. I was a lot like mold that way. "I can help," I said, offering my services.

Javier heard me and came stalking back. He'd planned on arguing with me, but he changed his mind about halfway back. I could see it in his expression. "Yeah," he said, looking me up and down. "You can. Go up to apartment 504 in that building and knock on the door. Tell them Crystal sent you."

Garrett chuckled under his breath and checked his weapon. His arms were all sinewy and muscly when he did it. God, I loved arms. "We can't send her up there."

"Sure you can," I said. "I'm here to help out anyway I can, because that's what friends do for each other. They help each other in times of crisis. They have each others' backs."

He lowered the gun and gave me his full attention. "All right, what'd you do now?"

"What?" I asked, appalled. "Me?"

"We doin' this or not?" the third guy asked. "I have in-laws at my house. They're trying to convince my wife that I'm no good. That she should leave me and go back to Puerto Rico with them. I have to get home before she realizes they have a point."

I laughed and shrugged. "I would make a great distraction. Wait, Crystal isn't a pimp, is she?"

"No idea," Javier said. "But something like that would go a long way in erasing my memory."

"So would tequila. But I'll help. I'm ready. Send me in, boss."

"I'm not your boss."

I frowned at him.

"Okay," Garrett said after Javier showed me a picture of Daniel, the guy they were apprehending, and told me exactly what to do. We were walking hand in hand to the apartment building, and deep down inside I prayed Reyes wouldn't show up. The guy's temper lately well, always was kind of iffy. "What do you need?"

I laughed again, trying to sell the star-crossed lovers bit as Javier and the bad husband took up position, flanking the building and readying to invade. "I need a million dollars, but from you, I need to know how far you've gotten with that book."

"The prophecies?" he asked, surprised. "Dr. von Holstein is still working on the translations, but he's had a couple of exciting breakthroughs."

I had to force myself not to giggle every time he said the doctor's name. It was just funny. I needed to name something von Holstein. Too bad I'd already named my couch. Maybe a chair. Or the saltshaker. I could name her Heifer von Holstein.

"Is that it?" he asked as we rounded the corner to the entrance.

"Not even. Is there anything about the Twelve in there?"

He slowed his stride, just barely, but enough for me to know I'd hit pay dirt. "There is, actually. Several stanzas center around the Twelve and their role in the shit storm to come."

My heart kind of sank. I usually did my best to avoid conflicts with beings that escaped from hell for the sole purpose of ripping out my jugular and presenting my lifeless body to their master. Especially when said master defined the phrase evil incarnate.

I held up a brave hand. "Don't sugarcoat it for me, Swopes."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"God forbid I get a decent night's sleep."

"We couldn't have that."

"Do we win?" I asked. We got to the elevator, which looked about as safe as that guy on the street earlier handing out free samples of blue candy in little Baggies.

Garrett pressed the UP button. "What do you mean?"

"The shit storm. The Twelve." I waved a hand to demonstrate the vastness of it all. "Do we defeat them?"

The doors slid open. We stepped inside; then he pushed the button for the fifth floor while offering me a look of mild confusion. "Why would we fight them?"

"Because they want my head on a platter."

Keeping my hand in his though I wasn't completely sure why, since no one was in the elevator with us he asked, "Why would they want your head on a platter?"

"Because," I repeated, growing impatient, "they're the Twelve. It's apparently what they do."

"Charles, you need to stop watching late-night movies. The Twelve are good. They're sent to protect you, the daughter."

"What? They're hounds from hell. How can they -?"

"Hounds from hell?" When I nodded, he asked, "Literally?"

I nodded again.

"Then we're talking about a different Twelve. The Twelve the prophecies mention say they are all spiritual beings."

"That can't be right," I said as we stepped off the elevator. The dreary halls were paved with stained carpet that had the acrid scent of urine and chemicals. I covered my nose and mouth, trying to guard against the telltale aroma of illegal drug production. I wondered if Daniel was a cook or just a distributor. But the worst aspect of the entire scenario was the cries of a baby down the hall. Why was there always a crying baby down the hall?

We stepped over old fast-food bags, empty bottles of both soda and beer, and a pair of ripped jeans before we found Daniel's door. Garrett took up position around the corner that led to the stairwell, his sidearm drawn.

When he gestured that he was ready, I stuffed a piece of gum in my mouth, raised my hand, and almost knocked.

Garrett questioned me silently with an urgent shrug.

I leaned toward him and whispered, "Why were we holding hands downstairs, playing star-crossed lovers, if I have to go in here alone?"

The grin that spread across his face was so full of mischief, I almost laughed.

"You are a dirty, rotten scoundrel," I said, teasing him.

He winked as I straightened my shoulders, then really knocked.

"What?" a male voice yelled out, clearly annoyed at having been disrupted.

But I'd knocked too soon. I forgot that the only gum I had was the super-duper sour kind. The kind that promised a pucker with every piece.

I blinked back tears, tried to realign my eyelids to the same width, and said, "Crystal sent me," in my best New York accent. No idea why.

He wrenched open the door before I could get my lids completely realigned. I could feel one squinting against the powerful atomic mixture squeezing my cheeks together like an overzealous aunt. The kind with too much lipstick and sharp nails. He paused a moment to take me in, during which time I forced my lids to chill, smacked the gum as annoyingly as I could manage, and winked. He nodded a greeting with his big head. It sat atop his big shoulders only to be outdone by his even bigger belly and what had to be size 14 shoes.

After he surveyed every inch of me in much the same way I'd surveyed him, he glanced up and down the hall. When he was satisfied no one had taken up position around the nearest corner Garrett was good he gestured me inside. "Muffy's in here."

"Muffy?" I asked, following him inside. I was going to have to pretend to want to have sex with a girl? A girl named Muffy? What the hell kind of name was Muffy? If I were a prostitute, I'd go for something cool and exotic like Stardust. Or Venus. Or Julia Roberts.

From my periphery I spotted Javier round the corner, at the opposite end of the hall, narrowly escaping the observant gaze of Daniel the bad guy. Garrett eased forward as our target closed the door, sealing my fate like a ziplock bag sealed in freshness. I could only pray they'd hurry. If I had to kiss a prostitute dumb enough to call herself Muffy, I was going to demand compensation. She couldn't possibly practice good dental hygiene.

"The shampoo's under the sink," Daniel said. "Try not to clog it up."

Okay, this was getting way kinkier than I'd expected. I'd need therapy when it was all said and done. No, wait, I already needed therapy. Never mind.

As my overactive imagination conjured all kinds of scenarios of why Muffy and I would need shampoo, an adorable Yorkie yapped at me from behind a recliner. "And do her nails," Daniel said as he plopped into a creaky recliner. "Last time the girl didn't do her nails."

Wait? Was he serious? I thought I was supposed to be a prostitute or something.

I scanned the area for other occupants, but he appeared to be alone. "Okay, I gotta text Crystal and let her know I'm here, ya know?"

"Fine, whatever." He picked up the remote and turned off the mute. A game of some kind was on, the sound of a cheering crowd blared through the room. Good thing. The noise would muffle any ruckus the guys made.

I scooped up Muffy to keep her out of harm's way, then texted Garrett the situation: One male. Alone. And a Yorkie. Count to thirty. I wanted to get Muffy into another room before they broke down the door.

"I ain't seen you before," Daniel called out to me. "You work with Crystal long?"

"Um, yeah, you know."

He muted the TV. Damn it. What'd I say?

"How long?" he asked. He stood again and came into the kitchen just as I sent the text.

I stuffed my phone into my pocket. "Only a couple of months. She needed someone while Valerie was out."

"Who the fuck's Valerie?" he asked, easing into the kitchen. Keep it simple. Keep it simple. But before I could answer, he asked, "Is she that skinny chick that ran off with Manuel?"

I laughed and shrugged. "I don't know. I never met her."

"That chick was psycho, man. You should have seen what she did to Muffy's ears. She just needs a trim, okay? I don't want no sissy-ass do with bows and shit. Fuckin' Valerie. I told her that, and she still gave her pink highlights."

You could give a dog highlights? "Okay. No bows. No highlights. Got it."

"Okay. Just so we're -"

The front door crashed open, and I took a dive with Muffy. I couldn't keep the term muff diver from popping into my head as I did so. Daniel wasn't stupid. He didn't hesitate a second before he went for the large kitchen window. He slid the dirty pane up and scrambled headfirst through the thing, his large body deceivingly quick.

"Swopes!" I called out, tossing Muffy onto her pallet and hurrying through the window after him.

What I didn't realize at the time was that Daniel was a planner. A suspicious sort. He knew if anyone came at him from anything other than the front door, they'd have to take the fire escape up to his apartment, so he'd loosened the rails. No one could come up without it collapsing, and only he knew where to step to get down safely. The poor man's alarm system.

I never got the memo. Thus, the moment I basically fell through the window, following him onto the rigged fire escape, the railing gave beneath our weight and toppled over, secured to the exterior wall only by the bottom bolts. Daniel clung to a set of bars he'd installed, probably for that very purpose, but without a stable foothold, he couldn't hang on for long. The railing swayed, metal clanging against metal as the third guy from our party stood in the alley at the bottom, his eyes large as he watched. Daniel grunted as his hands slipped, and he fell onto the rocking fire escape, his weight causing another bolt to go.

In an instant, we dropped a perilous foot. I had a death grip on the bars, my feet dangling as I tried to get a foothold. I looked down again before I remembered the old adage: Never look down. Five stories was freaking high!

"Charley!"

Garrett was hanging out the window above me.

"What?" I asked. "Get me off here before I plummet to my death."

But he was gone. Seriously?

"Having fun?" Reyes asked me. My adrenaline had spiked, and he was there. It was kind of nice, but he was incorporeal. He couldn't really help me. Or, well, I didn't think he could. He was sitting on the railing, his full robe waving like the sails of a flagship in the wind. He pushed back the hood, then let the robe settle around him and disappear.

"Not really." I heard sirens in the distance.

"Son of a bitch," Daniel said, trying not to make the metal contraption sway. He was more on the top part of the escape and I was more on the bottom part, hanging on by my fingertips. Memories of the elementary school playground flashed before my eyes. I sucked at monkey bars. I was always the girl who got blisters and fell into the dirt halfway across.

"Any ideas?" I asked him.

"You could climb up," he said matter-of-fact.

I was literally hanging by my fingertips. Climbing up from this position would require way more upper body strength than I currently possessed. "You're not putting any weight on this metal thing, are you?"

"I don't think so. I can go if you want."

"No!" I shouted.

"Bitch, what?" Daniel said. "I didn't do a damn thing to you."

I groaned. I had to be stuck on a collapsing fire escape with a guy who could give a sumo wrestler a run for his money.