"Yeah, right. Let's get out and walk around a bit, get the lay of the land."

  I obviously wasn't going to get any more information out of him. The next exit didn't look particularly promising. I kept driving until I glimpsed an exit with a selection of gas stations.

  I drove to the station on our side of the road. It was a chain I recognized as being a bit cleaner and more modern than the others clustered near the exit.

  "We don't need gas," I said when we pulled into the drive for the station.

  "Let's get some anyway," Boyd said. "It's a good chance to look at traffic."

  I gave up arguing and drove to a pump. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Go inside, use the bathroom. You know, the usual gas stop stuff. Get a candy bar or something. I'll do the gas." He hopped out of the car before I could protest.

  I took my purse from its spot under the seat and walked to the main building, shivering when the biting wind swirled around me. I entered the warmth of the gas station and went to the restroom.

  I have always had the philosophy that when one is presented with a relatively sanitary bathroom, one should avail themselves of the opportunity. You never know when it might come again.

  I emerged to find Boyd examining a display of sunglasses. He selected a pair then went to the cash register, cup of coffee and sunglasses in hand. I joined him.

  "Not hungry?" he asked.

  I shook my head and watched him pay for his purchases. As we were leaving the station, he stopped and looked to the left. I stopped, too, not sure what he saw.

  Demons? Monsters? No, it was a damp-looking cardboard box. He went to it and peered down. "Assholes," he muttered.

  I looked down. A kitten peered up at me, a gray tabby with dark markings on its face and light-colored mouth and tummy. "What is it doing here?"

  The kitten tried to climb up the side of the box but it was too small and the sides too tall. "Somebody abandoned it."

  Boyd thrust his purchases at me. I managed to grasp them without spilling too much coffee. He reached down and plucked the little critter out of its confinement. It clung to his coat with tiny paws splayed wide.

  "What are you doing?" I demanded when he strode back to the gas station.

  "Finding it a home." He went inside. I jammed his sunglasses into my pocket and picked up the box, looking for some identifying mark.

  By the time I ascertained there was none, he had reappeared, kitten still clinging to him.

  "They won't take it. The nearest shelter is down the road a bit, in Mason City." He walked toward the car.

  "What are you doing? We can't have a kitten running around the car." I followed him but was almost run over when he wheeled about.

  "You're right. Here." He thrust the animal at me and disappeared back into the gas station.

  "What?" I discarded the coffee cup into a trash can so I could corral the kitten, who was clawing its way along the front of my coat.

  It peered up at me, green eyes faintly accusing. "I didn't do it. Blame whoever left you there."

  It butted up against my chin, shivering against me. With a sigh, I unzipped my coat and thrust it into the warmth against my body. It immediately began to purr.

  I went back to the car, sliding into the driver's seat and closing the door to block the wind. The kitten seemed incurious about its surroundings. In fact, I think it started to sleep.

  Poor creature. Who knew how long it had sat there in the cold? "Assholes," I murmured, rubbing the small head.

  Boyd returned to the car with a box like the kind fruit came in with holes on the side, as well as a sack of bulky items.

  "I guilted them into giving me some towels," he said. "Here. Put him in here."

  "Him?" I peeled the kitten away from my chest, frowning with dismay when I saw my snagged sweater.

  I plunked the little one into the box while Boyd stowed his sack below his legs in the front seat.

  "Yeah. It's a him. Spike. That's his name." Boyd balanced the box on his knees while he fastened his seat belt. "Let's go."

  "You probably shouldn't name him. That will make it harder to give him up." I started the car and pulled out of the station.

  "Wait a minute. You're a Saver. You're supposed to save creatures like this."

  "Yes, but we're in the middle of a mission. We have priorities."

  He glared at me. "This is a priority right now."

  "Okay, okay. We'll get him to a shelter."

  "Maybe. I want to see what the shelter looks like." Boyd stared obstinately out his window. "It's got to be a no-kill place."

  I doubted that a shelter in the middle of rural Iowa would be no-kill, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

  Boyd busied himself with unpacking his sack, which contained two small bowls, a bottle of water, a newspaper, a small empty candy bar carton, and some boxed cat food.

  "The kitten might be too young for that food," I pointed out.

  He poured water into a dish and shook out a few kibbles. "It'll soften." He placed the dish in the box, peering down at its occupant with a wistful look. "What kind of jerk abandons a baby to die in the cold?"

  I wisely didn't address that question. Unfortunately, when you're a Saver, you see all kinds of jerks. I didn't want him to be too discouraged at this early stage of his celestial career.

  We lapsed into silence, Boyd with his gaze out his window or occasionally checking the orphan on his lap.

  I was occupied with driving and alternately worrying about the weather, eyeing the dark clouds piling up to the west. We were almost to Clear Lake, Iowa when Boyd said, "I think we should get off at the next exit."

  "Really? Why? It's not the right time of year to visit the Buddy Holly crash site, if that's what you're thinking about."

  "What?"

  I gestured to the sign. "Clear Lake. It's where Buddy Holly died. American Pie and all that."

  Boyd shook his head. "I forgot that song. No, we need to get off here for another reason."

  "And what's that?"

  "We're being followed by demons."

  Chapter Four

  "HOW DO YOU KNOW?" I peered into the rear-view mirror but just saw traffic. Nothing unusual.

  "Can't you feel it?" Boyd hunched his shoulders. "Can't you tell?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Feel it. Go ahead."

  "I'm busy driving," I snapped. "I don't have time for metaphysical experiments."

  "Then get off at the exit and we'll—"

  "Look, if we just stay on for a few minutes, we'll be at Mason City. We can find the animal shelter and get rid of the kitten and check for demons at the same time."

  I pointed to the map on the navigation screen. "See. There's an exit just ahead. We'll only have to go out of our way for a few miles. Then we can get back on the Interstate and keep going."

  I drove past the Clear Lake exit, refusing to look at him when I did so.

  "You're sure anxious to dump an abandoned animal," he muttered.

  "And you're sure anxious to rescue one," I retorted. "Why is it so important?"

  He looked down into the box. "You don't often get a chance to do the right thing. When you do, you should do it."

  My anger began to ebb. "You're an angel now. You'll get plenty of chances to do the right thing for a long, long time."

  "Yeah, well, maybe I'm still adjusting." He shifted his gaze to the scenery outside the car. "We can go to the shelter."

  I ignored his grudging tone and tapped the Map app. "Directions to nearest animal shelter," I said.

  "Take the next exit," the voice intoned. "The shelter is 2.3 miles east."

  "See? Not far." I checked the traffic behind me when we exited. Three other cars exited as well, but I didn't examine them closely.

  The off-ramp was somewhat icy. It went upward into a spiral leading back over the freeway on a bridge. I negotiated it cautiously, breathing a sigh of relief when we were done with the turn and heading straight again.

  The voice instructed me to take the next right-hand turn, which led to a county road on the south side of Mason City, a modestly large town in northern Iowa.

  "The animal shelter is one mile ahead, on the right side of the road. It is open on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from ten in the morning until five in the evening and on Tuesday and Thursday from ten in the morning until noon and from three in the afternoon until nine in the evening."

  I glanced at the dashboard clock. It was 12:30. "Rats. We missed it. They're closed until three o'clock."

  "What kind of business hours are those?" Boyd grumbled.

  "The business hours of a place that is probably staffed by volunteers. Do you want to get lunch somewhere?" Then I remembered the kitten. "Perhaps drive-through?"

  "I suppose we can wait until the shelter opens again."

  "I'd rather not. There was snow in the forecast. I hoped to be to Des Moines before it hit. We might be delayed driving through Nebraska if the weather is bad out west. If we are delayed, I'd rather be in a larger metro area where we have more options for lodging and where the plow services might be better."

  We were at the designated exit and I took it, but instead of going south, I went north, which would take us into the town. "Let's find a place to pull over and discuss what to do with the animal."

  "Spike."

  "Right. Spike." I tried to sound patient and concerned. I suspect I sounded peeved, which I was. "What do we do with him?" I looked at the box he held.

  "Take him with us."

  "We can't take a kitten with us on a cross-country trip."

  "Why not? Better a kitten than a puppy."

  Well, he had a point.

  "Stop there." Boyd gestured to a large building on the right side of the road.

  I peered at the sign which read Weed and Feed. There were quite a few pickup trucks near it.

  "What is this?" I turned into the parking lot.

  "It's a farm supply store. Go inside and get us some pet supplies," Boyd ordered. "A travel cage, litter box, kitten food, some litter."

  "Why should I go inside and do the shopping? It's your kitten." I parked next to an enormous red truck, which dwarfed us with its size.

  "You want to stay out here and see if any demons drop by?"

  I jammed the car into park. "Do you want me to leave it on for the heat?"

  "Nah, it's not that cold."

  I would have argued but I didn't want to waste the time. I lunged out of my door, snatching my purse as I went.

  "I'll be right back," I promised.

  "No hurry," he called out. "We're fine."

  I had visions of a gun battle taking place in the parking lot of a farm supply store. I raced inside.

  My senses were assaulted by odors of tires, popcorn, and an earthy aroma. It seemed to come from hefty bags of something called Finisher Feed Pellets, which were stacked near the entrance.

  I surreptitiously evaluated the other customers, but no one made my spine tingle or my hands itch or whatever I was supposed to feel when a demon was nearby. I took a shopping cart and scurried down the aisles, spying a sign for Pet Supplies. An array of canned goods greeted me.

  A quick examination showed several foods designed for kittens. I chose a variety, reasoning that even if we surrendered the tiny beast, we could always donate the food to the shelter where we left the animal. I added a small sack of Kitten Kibble to round out his diet.

  I went around the aisle and discovered several litter pan choices. This presented a dilemma, because where would we put it in the car?

  In the end, I bought a large cat carrier, big enough for the creature and his bowls, plus a smaller carrier and a low pan for his bathroom requirements.

  I added a "Cozy Kitty Cushion" to my cart, a couple of small bowls, an assortment of toys, then I headed for the registers.

  A popcorn machine was busily spewing out fluffy morsels. I paused to fill a bag and munched while I waited to be checked out.

  I peered through the main doors at the parking lot. I saw Boyd next to the car, talking to a man. They did not appear to be fighting, so I assumed the conversationalist was not a demon.

  I paid for the purchases in between munching my popcorn. When I emerged, Boyd hurried to meet me.

  "He's toilet trained," Boyd announced, taking the heavier shopping bag from me.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "He used the tray. Spike."

  "What tray?" I looked into the car. Spike the kitten peered up at me from his fruit-shipment box and yawned.

  Boyd pointed to the empty candy bar carton sitting on the floor of the passenger side. It had been filled with shredded newspaper and was, apparently, a makeshift litter box.

  "I dumped the results in the trash. That's fresh paper now."

  "That's a relief." I set the bag of supplies on the ground and opened the door of the travel cage. "Here's his new home, complete with a nice, warm cozy kitty pad."

  Boyd extracted the kitten from the box and tucked him into the cage, putting the cage on the back seat.

  The kennel was big enough for the cardboard litter box and one of the small dishes, as well as for the kitten. I had badly overestimated the size needed.

  "That works good," Boyd assured me. "Keep all his stuff in one place." We stowed the supplies and I went around to the driver's side.

  Boyd leaned on the car and spoke to me over the top. "That guy I was talking to said there's a couple of animal shelters south of here, in Ames, and Des Moines and around there. That's probably where we should drop Spike tomorrow. They might not be open by the time we get there today. Why don't you let me drive for a while?"

  I hesitated. "Why?"

  "You've been driving all day. It's my turn."

  "What about Spike?" I looked at the back seat. The kitten was curled up in his carrier, apparently asleep. As travel companions go, he was certainly easy-going.

  "He's fine. Come on. Let me drive."

  "Oh, okay." I went to the passenger side and slid in. Boyd got behind the wheel and held out his hand. "What?"

  "The key."

  "You don't need one. It's a keyless ignition. As long as I have the key and I'm in the car, it can be started. Just press the button."

  "What's all this?" He pointed to the icons on the steering column.

  I touched each one. "Media player for the radio or the iPod. Phone control."

  "Phone?"

  "My phone is synchronized with this car. I can send and receive calls here."

  "Geez. What a world. What's that?" He tapped an icon.

  "Cruise control. You can set the speed and let the car handle the gas." I looked at the looming clouds in the distance. "I only use it when the weather is good."

  "Makes sense. I guess." He touched the starter. Soon we were back on the road.

  Instead of taking the turn leading back to the Interstate, Boyd continued driving south. "Where are we going? You missed the turn back there."

  "That guy I talked with at the store said a storm is coming in. This road parallels the Interstate but it's not heavily traveled. If someone is following us, they'll stand out like a sore thumb."

  "But the storm. We have a better chance of finding a place to stay if we stick with the major roads."

  "There's a motel about thirty miles south on this road and a couple more fifteen or twenty miles south of that. We'll find a place."

  He glanced in the rear-view mirror then went through the intersection onto the two-lane blacktop highway.

  I looked around. The town receded behind us. Ahead were farm fields stretching on either side of the highway.

  "But what if someone is following us? We're so isolated here. What if we need help?"

  "We won't."

  I thought about that for a minute. "Listen, you and Spike might be able to handle whatever is thrown at you, but I'm not sure I can."

  "You're underestimating yourself. Trust me."

  I was silent for a few more miles. We left the environs of anything urban and were now well and truly in the country. The wind had picked up. Eddies of snow blew across the road, making small wind devils in the high spots.

  The sky had that ominous pewter color which could signal anything from a blizzard to hail and everything in between. "Where's my gun?"

  Boyd glanced at me. "What?"

  "You said you got me a gun. When do you plan to show me how to use it?"

  "First chance we get."

  "When will that be? I mean, we'll be at a hotel. You can't very well step outside and show me how to fire it."

  "I'm not going to train you. I'm just going to show you the basics. All you have to do it aim it and pull the trigger. Just the fact you have one will slow down anyone coming at you. It takes a lot of training and discipline to fire a gun correctly. We don't have the time or the patience for that."

  I digested that information for a half-mile or so. "What do you mean by discipline?"

  "It takes more than just practice to get good at marksmanship. Or any self-defense training, I guess."

  Boyd kept his eyes fixed on the road with just occasional forays to the rear-view mirror. "That guy—Captain Booker—he's an expert at hand-to-hand combat. He's a good shot, too, but close-in fighting is his thing. That takes more than just study and practice. You have to do it day in, day out, for hours. It becomes second nature."

  He glanced at me. I saw what I thought was confusion, or maybe a dawning realization, in his eyes. "It's who you are. It's not just something you can do."

  "That means that if that circumstance is removed, the person might have an extremely challenging time adjusting to other circumstances?"

  I had an inkling about what he was describing. It was probably like being an angel. If that was taken away from me, who would I be?

  "Exactly." His hands tightened on the wheel. He didn't wear gloves. I know he had them, but I had never seen him wear them. Now I saw why. The fingers on his right hand were crooked, bent at an add angle.

  I remembered his file and those notations about special training in the states during his service overseas. "You weren't just a soldier, were you?"

  He glanced at me. "I guess you could say that."

  "What did you do?"

  "A bit of this and that. I think I know why they chose me for this."

 

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