Chapter Two

"Are you all right?" Lucifer asked anxiously.

She winced, swallowing down the urge to expel her stomach's contents. "I'll live. Did you see the kidnappers?"

He shook his head.

Chloe gestured for him to help her up and he offered his arm, albeit reluctantly.

"I don't get it," she said, struggling to her feet with Lucifer's assistance. She felt around her waistband for her gun, but came up empty. Her phone was also AWOL. "Why would the killer bother to set us up? We weren't even close to catching him."

"Or her," Lucifer chimed in. He'd made it clear he still thought their original suspect was guilty, alibi be damned.

Chloe turned in a slow circle, soaking up the details of the dim warehouse around them. Aside from the chloroform, the air smelled of old mildew and new construction. An odd mix. Lighting was spare—just a few lonely bulbs twinkling high overhead like cold stars. The concrete on the floor looked fresh and carelessly poured, full of bumps and uneven patches. The walls were made of smooth, thick-looking metal. The only furniture was an overturned wrought-iron bench, which seemed to have been bolted to the floor at one point and then ripped out. Of the two doors that Chloe could see, both were solid iron, painted red, and badly dented.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her mutinous stomach. "No matter who the killer is, there was no reason to interfere with the case. We had nothing on anyone."

"Yes, but perhaps whoever it is knows we'll get them in the end. We always do, after all." Lucifer's eyes held a hellish gleam as he said it.

It was a fair point, but Chloe's gut didn't quite buy it. Kidnapping a cop and her partner just because they might someday solve the case? Her eyes fell on the overturned bench again, this time noticing traces of red paint on one of the arm rests. She looked back to the battered doors, then at her partner. "Did you dent the doors in like that?"

"Well, I wasn't just going to sit around, twiddling my bloody thumbs while you were lying there unconscious."

Chloe glanced at the mutilated iron doors again, this time with newfound appreciation. It was easy to forget how powerful Lucifer was, given how rarely he showed his true strength. He'd probably even ripped that bench out of the floor before using it as a battering ram.

Her admiration for her partner's celestial abilities quickly dissolved, however, when she realized the implications. They were trapped in a building so secure even Lucifer couldn't break out of it. They had no food or water, and the walls were almost certainly soundproof. What if the kidnapper simply…left them here and never came back?

An image flashed through Chloe's mind of the man who'd died out in the desert after being "fake" kidnapped as a prank. His hand reaching out for salvation that would never come as he slowly baked to death under the unforgiving sun. Lucifer himself had only survived that incident because he'd been immortal at the time. But now, being this close to Chloe, he was every bit as mortal as she was. And dying of dehydration and starvation was much slower than dying of heatstroke. It could take days.

Chloe shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Here," Lucifer said, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders.

She wrapped the garment tighter, allowing herself a few precious seconds to savor the warmth of the fabric and the soap-and-spice smell of its owner. She smiled at her partner. "Thanks."

Lucifer smiled kindly back at her, looking far more like an angel than the Devil he actually was.

"How long do you think we've been here?" Chloe asked. There were no windows, so no way to gauge time of day, or gain clues about their location.

Lucifer cleared his throat. "I've no idea. I only woke a short time before you did."

Chloe noticed him glance down at something in his hand. Hope prickled in her chest. "What're you holding?" She took an eager step forward. "A phone?"

He shot her a flat look. "Why, yes, Detective—I've had my phone this entire time. I was just about to ask if you wanted to order take-out. There's this new Chinese place that's positively heavenly."

Aaaand the Devil was back. She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm as he opened his palm to show her what was actually in it: a small piece of silvery-white fabric with a black pattern on it that matched his vest. The little pocket square from his jacket. Chloe was about to ask what he was doing with it when he suddenly brought it to his mouth to cover a small cough.

Lucifer regarded the makeshift hankie with a look of distaste before lowering his arm. On closer inspection, Chloe belatedly registered the fact that her usually-impeccable partner's shirt was partially untucked, spilling out from under his vest. His hair was also disheveled—in a very boyish, not-at-all unattractive way—and his face was several shades whiter than usual, making the darkness of his eyes stand out in stark contrast.

He might be the Devil, but he'd still been drugged and kidnapped, just like she had. His head was probably pounding as badly as hers was, his stomach fighting just as hard to keep ahold of its contents. And he was far less accustomed to these unpleasant sensations of mortality than Chloe was.

The fact that he put himself in harm's way every single day, that he was actually willing to give up life everlasting, just to be by her side, never failed to floor her.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, mentally berating herself for not asking sooner.

Lucifer waved a hand. "Oh, I'm fine." He coughed again into the balled-up fabric and winced with displeasure at the action. "Well, nothing a little hair of the dog wouldn't cure, at any rate."

Chloe rested a sympathetic hand on his arm. "It's just the chloroform irritating your lungs. You'll feel better once it's cleared out of your system."

A loud, thunder-like crackle made them both flinch and look up at the ceiling.

A woman's voice suddenly filled the warehouse, emanating from speakers Chloe couldn't see.

"It's not," the mystery woman said. "And he won't."