"We—” the blond cut off as the redhead elbowed him, hard, “—need your help."

She nearly frowned at the obvious gesture. Blondie had meant to say something else. Something like, We know , perhaps?

"Logan Saeter.” The redhead stood halfway, holding out his hand.

Jordan shook it briefly and turned to the blond, who stood completely. “Kiran Tait.” That devastating smile was still on his lips, warm and inviting. “Call me Kir."

"Pleased to meet you. How can I help you gentlemen?"

They waited until Jamie brought in the coffee and water, shutting the door behind her, before Logan spoke. “We need to prove that Oliver Grimm attempted to murder Kir and frame me for it."

Jordan couldn't keep the shock out of her voice. “Excuse me?"

"He's telling the truth."

Jordan stared at Kir. Kir stared back. He looked like he was willing her to believe Logan. “Oliver Grimm, head of Grimm and Sons?"

Kir nodded. Logan looked amused.

Jordan stood. “I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I don't think I can help you."

Logan snorted. He turned to Kir and grinned. “She thinks she can't help us."

Kir frowned at Logan. “Shush.” He turned back to Jordan and smiled that angel's smile. “We know Grimm is like your grandfather. It's why we wanted to work with you. If we can get you to believe us, perhaps we have a chance of proving it to the rest of the world."

She stared at him like he'd just grown another perfect head on those perfect shoulders. “Are you freakin’ insane?"

He blinked, looking startled as her voice went from cultured smoothness to a rough Philly accent in two seconds flat. Logan snickered, his expression delighted as Jordan lit into them with both barrels.

"He's my grandfather ."

"Step-grandfather."

" Doesn't matter! Hello? Conflict of interest here!"

"That's the whole point. If someone with your ethics believes us, and can prove it, we'll be able to see to it that Grimm is punished for what he's done."

She looked back and forth between the two of them, angel and demon, and wondered if they were actually telling the truth. Logan had a smirk on his face, but he still managed to look viciously determined.

Kir looked ... hopeful. Like his fate rested in her hands. Add in that Oliver Grimm was a cold son-of-a-bitch who scared the bejesus out of her, and...

Fuck. Kir blinked, the wistful hope on his face tugging at her heart. Puppy dog eyes. I'm screwed. She was a total sucker, and she knew it. She sighed and sat down. “Tell me your story.” Man, I am so gonna regret this...

Kir grinned. Yes! They'd gotten her to hear them out. Now, if he could curb Logan's natural instinct to yank people's chains, they might get her to agree to help them.

"I have an ... unusual tale to tell. Do you like mythology, Ms. Grey?"

The look on Logan's face was priceless. One brow rose as he turned to Kir with a What the hell are you doing?!? expression. They'd talked strategy in the car on their way over to Jordan's office, and this wasn't what they'd discussed.

Fuck it. She'd learn the truth sooner or later. To his mind, it was better to lay their cards on the table before things went too far.

And if that didn't work, there was always Logan's back-up plan. Tying her up and carting her off, whether she liked it or not, held a certain appeal. He tamped down his urge to do just that, explanations be damned.

What is wrong with me? He'd never, in all their long years together, even been attracted to anyone other than Logan, but the small, curvy woman seated behind her desk drew like no other being had since

... well, since Logan.

"Mythology?"

The slow way she drawled it, sitting back in her seat with a blank look, said it all. She had her voice back under control, too, the smooth, anchorman, androgynous accent back in place. Odds were good that, after his story, they'd be falling back on Plan B. He held back a shiver of lust with difficulty, keeping his gaze off Logan. There was nothing he wanted more than Logan's happiness, and it would kill Logan if he saw desire for another person on Kir's face. “Yes, Ms. Grey. Mythology. Norse mythology in particular."

Her gaze darted to Logan and back to him. Those wide, dark brown eyes were carefully blanked. He viewed that with regret. They'd been lovely filled with her laughter. He wondered briefly what they would look like full of passion, or languorous with sated lust. “Okay, I'll bite. What bit of Norse mythology should I become acquainted with?"

"The bit where Loki was directly responsible for the death of Baldur."

"I'm familiar with that myth, yes."

The careful way she was wording her responses wasn't encouraging. “I thought so.” He leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “I want you to think about the myth, if you don't mind."

"Okay."

"Baldur was invulnerable to all substances, save mistletoe, which was, at the time, too young a plant to give its word not to harm him. Loki supposedly discovered this, handed the blind god Hodr a dart or arrow tipped in mistletoe, and guided his hand. Baldur died as the mistletoe pierced his heart. Loki fled as the gods killed Hodr for Baldur's death.

"Hel claimed she was willing to release Baldur back into the world if every living being cried, mourning him. But the gods found one holdout, a witch named Pokk, who was supposedly Loki in disguise. Pokk refused to weep. Hel held Baldur in her grasp and refused to let him go. When the gods realized they'd been tricked they returned to the cave, determined to exact revenge. Pokk fled into the back of the cave, turned into a raven, and flew off into the night. Eventually the gods tracked Loki down, tied him to a mountain with the entrails of his own son, there to writhe in torment until Ragnarok.” He turned to Logan.

“Did I miss anything?"

"Nanna's death."

Kir winced. “Right. The goddess Nanna, on hearing of her spouse's death and the failure of the gods to bring him back to life, committed suicide.” And it galled him to say the lie. There was no way Nanna would have killed herself. Grimm had murdered her to protect his secrets, and whatever she'd known had died with her. And going to Hel and trying to speak to the dead was an exercise in futility.

"Right. So, now that our cultural anthropology lesson is done, what does this have to do with my grandfather?"

He ignored Logan, who was shaking his head in disbelief. That sardonic look was back on his face.

From the relaxed way he sat, hands crossed over his stomach, Kir knew his lover was ready for anything. Logan always looked the most relaxed just before he sprang into action. “Have you ever wondered how much truth there was in the old myths?"

She leaned forward in her chair. Her elbow landed on the desk as she rested her chin in her palm. “Not

particularly, no."

"All right. Think like a detective, then."

She smiled. “Yes, that will be so difficult for me."

Her sarcastic drawl had his eyes narrowing. Damn, she's asking for it.

Part of him wanted to give it to her, too. He eyed Logan sideways, not surprised to see his lover's eyes narrowed on him. He turned his attention back to the woman seated behind the desk and ordered his cock to stand down.

"If you're familiar with Loki then you're familiar with his ability to shift shape, right?"

"Yes."

"Are you familiar with the fact that the only form Loki couldn't shift into was a bird?"

She looked thoughtful. “No."