Fireborn

CHAPTER 7

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The words were out before I could stop them.

“A question I was about to ask you,” he snapped back. “I thought you’d agreed not to skip away from your tail and to keep your nose out of this investigation?”

“No. I agreed to be sensible. And I am. Where’s Jackson?”

He wasn’t in the living area—that was for sure—and I couldn’t see any sign of a scuffle. I couldn’t imagine he’d let himself be arrested easily, but then, I didn’t know him well enough to be sure of that.

“Jackson has been immobilized and is in the next room. We appropriated it when we realized what you two were up to.”

I eyed him for a moment. The darkness in him was very present, a dangerous energy that skimmed my skin and made it burn, but his anger—despite his tone—wasn’t as fierce as I’d thought it would be. “And just how did you find us?”

“Did you really think we wouldn’t have an eye on Radcliffe ourselves?”

“We knew it was a possibility, but we did have our fingers crossed that you didn’t know about the tenuous connection between Sherman Jones and Marcus Radcliffe.”

His smile held little humor. “If a private investigator can find out about it, why would you believe we wouldn’t? We have resources Miller could only dream about.”

There was nothing I could say to that, so I simply asked, “How long have you been watching him?”

“Since the murder. He’s not a hard man to find, even if he is an extremely difficult man to pin down otherwise.”

“So, basically, you saw both me and Jackson arrive.”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “We could have pulled you out then, but I was curious enough to see what you had planned.”

And, obviously, he had no lingering sense of regret or jealousy, because he’d allowed me to come to this room and spend several leisurely hours with Jackson.

He’d totally moved on. It was a shame there were still pockets of me that couldn’t and wouldn’t.

“Meaning you couldn’t get close to him, or that Radcliffe really can spot a cop a mile away, however delicious the bait.”

He grimaced. “The latter. Rochelle tried several nights ago. He totally ignored her.”

“So, despite the fact that you’ve warned me away from the investigation, you’re not above using me if it suits a purpose.”

“Totally.” His cool blue eyes bored into mine. “In the end, the only thing that really matters is the investigation. Everything else—everyone else—is collateral damage.”

Charming. I walked over to the bar and poured myself a large glass of red wine. “We were planning to drug Radcliffe via a drink. Is that still an option, or have you something better planned?”

“We have plans. And given Radcliffe will probably have his goons do a sweep of this room before anything happens, Adam and I will be waiting next door.”

“Which doesn’t exactly tell me if you still want me to administer the drug, or whether Adam is going to do his vampire-telepathic thing and render them all senseless.”

He half smiled. Again, it was a fleeting thing, but it nevertheless stirred an ache deep in the heart of me. “He will do his telepathic thing and implant appropriate memories as necessary, both before and after we have the information we need from him.”

I nodded. “You realize that he’s going to have to include memories of Radcliffe messing around with me.”

“Yes.” He studied me for a moment, his expression closing over. “How were you going to get around that problem? I didn’t think you were telepathic.”

“I’m not. Jackson and I were going to make a little noise once Jones was completely out of it.” I shrugged, my gaze on Sam’s, watching for a reaction, any reaction. There was nothing. Why the hell I was expecting one, I have no idea. I really, really, needed to get past this. “He would have come to in the morning with a sore head and no memory of the night’s events, but his guards would have had plenty of action to report.”

“There’s one flaw in your plan—Miller would never have gotten past the guards’ pre-seduction search of the room.”

I flicked a hand toward the sofa positioned near the minibar. “If you’d care to tilt that up, you’ll see it’s actually been stripped of all its stuffing and springs, providing enough room for a man to hide.” And given Radcliffe’s guards were both human, they shouldn’t have been able to sense or scent Jackson. Whether Radcliffe would have was another matter entirely.

Sam grunted, then touched his ear lightly. For the first time, I noticed he was wearing an earpiece. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Radcliffe is on his way up. Adam and I will be next door.”

“Just make sure you don’t leave it to the last moment to capture their minds and render them harmless,” I said. “I do not want Radcliffe’s grubby paws anywhere near me.”

He snorted softly. “Should have thought of that before you started all this.”

My gaze narrowed. “Fine. Just remember, I literally can play with fire, so if you’d like a crispy suspect, just take your time.”

“A crispy suspect is not going to help either of us,” he retorted. “So don’t make empty threats.”

My sudden smile held little humor. “Oh, trust me, my threats are rarely empty.”

He eyed me for a moment, then shrugged and made for the door. “We’ll wait until the guards check before we move. Adam can only cope with a couple of minds at a time.”

I leaned a hip against the minibar and watched him leave. Two minutes later, there was a knock at the door. My mouth went suddenly dry. I might have once been a cop, but I’d never been undercover. This was a whole new level of danger to me, and as much as I hated to admit it, it was both scary and exhilarating.

I took a sip of wine, then walked across to the door. “Who is it?”

“Marcus Radcliffe.” His voice was low and rough with excitement.

I shivered in distaste, but forced a smile and opened the door. “Well, hello there,” I said, in what I hoped was a suitably sultry voice.

His gaze swept me up and down, and his expression became predatory. “Do I get to know your name, mysterious lady?”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” My gaze went past him. “And I’m afraid this is a party for two, not four.”

He smiled. It was all teeth and falseness. “Of course not. However, I hope you don’t mind if they come in and do a security check of the place. I’m afraid a man of my wealth does have to be careful.”

He placed a heavy emphasis on “wealth,” and I raised my glass to hide my smile. He might have been trying to impress me, but over the many centuries I’d been alive, I’d probably lost more money than he could ever hope to have. Rory and I were not the greatest money managers in the world, but we always had enough squirreled away to live comfortably each life span.

I stepped back and opened the door wider. “Please, be my guest.”

The two men came in. I watched them search for a moment, then said, “Would you like a drink?”

“That red wine you’re drinking looks good.”

I walked across to the minibar. He followed me a little too closely, his nearness burning across my skin like an unpleasant rash.

I poured him a glass and then topped off my own, all the while aware of just how closely he watched my movements. He really didn’t trust anyone. Drugging him, as Jackson and I had planned, would have been difficult.

I turned around and offered him the glass. He smiled and took mine instead. “One can never be too careful,” he murmured. He ran his tongue across the lipstick that smudged the rim, then licked his lips. “Raspberry. Nice.”

My gaze narrowed slightly. He could taste the flavor of my lipstick from a smudge on the glass? Maybe he was a rat—a wererat. Just because all the ones I’d seen over the years had been lowlifes who tended to infest the bottom rungs of the criminal ladder didn’t mean they all did.

I lightly clicked my glass against his. “To tasting more than just raspberry.”

Hunger flared deep in his beady depths. I shivered again and hoped like hell he took it for desire rather than distaste.

The two men came out of the bedroom. “All clear, boss,” the beefier of the two said. “No other people, no bugs.”

Radcliffe nodded. “Then please wait outside.”

They retreated. The door closed behind them with an ominous click. Radcliffe stepped forward and placed his glass on the cabinet beside me. “Now, let’s—”

I neatly sidestepped his grab and gave him a smile. “There’s no pleasure in rushing, Marcus. Let’s sit on the sofa and get to know each other a little more intimately.” I gave him a sultry smile. “Before we actually do get intimate.”

I cast a hopeful glance at the wall that divided this room from the one Sam was in, although I wasn’t sure why, given they couldn’t see me and wouldn’t know I was more than ready for this charade to be over.

But, as Sam had said, I’d made this bed, and now I had to lie in it. Although if it came to that, I sure as hell wouldn’t. I might want to solve the mystery of Mark’s death, but I certainly wasn’t willing to bed a rat to do so. If things got too heavy, I’d start a freaking fire and have the hotel evacuated.

I sat on the sofa and patted the spot beside me. As he sat, his leg brushed mine. His closeness made my stomach turn, but I resisted the urge to move away. “So, tell me a little about yourself.”

He shrugged. “I own several secondhand businesses.”

“They obviously do well,” I said. “That’s an Armani suit, isn’t it?”

He raised a hand and lightly touched my neck. I once again resisted the impulse to pull away and took another drink of wine.

“A lady who knows her suits,” he murmured, his gaze becoming distracted as his fingers slipped down my throat and came to rest on my pulse point. It was hammering—hopefully he’d take it as excitement rather than disgust.

“Of course. The suit makes the man.” I paused, then asked, “And is the man married?”

“Of course not.” It was smoothly said, but his gaze flickered briefly from mine.

His fingers were on the move again, slipping down toward my breast. I held myself still, even though the flight urge was becoming stronger and stronger.

God, what the hell were Sam and Adam doing?

Just as his fat little fingers were about to splay over my breast, he froze. A heartbeat later, the door opened. Sam and a tall, thin man with gray eyes and blondish hair walked in. The vampire Adam, presumably.

I scrambled clear of both the sofa and Radcliffe, then swung around to face the two men. “You took your damn time.”

Sam shrugged. “Caution is always better than carelessness.”

He glanced at Adam. A look passed between them, and unease swirled through me. Something was going on. Something that meant bad news for me.

Sam walked toward me. I watched him approach, my wariness increasing and my heart racing with increasing speed. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“I’m sorry, Red, but you can’t stay here.”

“Why the hell not?” My throat was dry and my stomach was beginning to churn more thoroughly. “This is our room, not yours.”

“That’s true, but this is our investigation. You and Miller were warned not to interfere.”

Alarm ran through me. I stepped away from him. Fire flickered across my fingertips, little sparks ready to explode at the slightest notice. “What the hell are you intending to do, Sam?”

“Catch you,” he said.

As if his words were a trigger, my head began to spin and my knees buckled. He caught me one-handed, retrieving the wineglass with the other.

The wine, I thought. He’d drugged the wine. “Bastard.”

“Totally,” he agreed. “But it’s not like you didn’t already know that.”

The room began to fade in and out of focus. It took me a few moments to realize we were moving, and by the time I did, we’d stopped again.

Cool hands touched my forehead, and an odd sort of buzzing ran around my brain. Vampire Adam was attempting to access my mind. Good luck with that, I thought, and wasn’t entirely sure whether I said it out loud or not.

Then the touch was gone, the room was gone, and all that I was left with was darkness.

Waking was hell.

There was a madman armed with a vice intent on squashing the hell out of my head, and my stomach seemed determined to lodge itself somewhere in my throat.

I groaned and rolled over onto my back. My bare back.

I was naked. In bed.

The thought had me lurching upright, but the movement was too sudden and my stomach rebelled.

“Whoa,” a familiar voice said. “Aim for this.”

A bucket appeared under my nose, and I promptly lost everything I’d previously eaten that day into it. When there was nothing left, it was whisked away, and I lay back down on the bed, flinging an arm over my eyes and groaning lightly.

After a moment, footsteps approached. “Where the hell are we?”

“Still at the Crown.” Jackson’s voice was grim. “Just in the room next to ours.”

“Did they drug you, too?”

“Yeah. It was in the wine, apparently.”

Bastards. “Did they also try to erase your thoughts?”

He laughed softly. “They certainly tried, but the mind of a Fae isn’t as easily influenced as a human’s, and mine less so than most.”

And a phoenix couldn’t be influenced at all. We were spirit, a totally different life-form from human, vampire, shifter, or were. I scrubbed the back of my hand across my eyes, wondering whether I had enough energy to go find my bag and grab some aspirin out of it.

“I’m guessing they put us into bed together?” I asked, wondering who’d undressed me. And why it even mattered.

“Yeah.” The bed dipped as he sat down next to me.

“Here, take this.”

I opened my eyes. He was holding out a glass of water and two white pills. Aspirin. “God, I think I love you.”

He laughed softly. “I’m a Fae. We don’t do love, just plain old lust.”

I downed the painkillers, swishing some of the water around to take away the lingering bitterness. “I know, but you’d be quite safe from me emotionally even if you did.”

“Good.” He plucked the glass free from my hand. “But I just wanted to make sure we both understand where we stand. Hate for either of us to want what they couldn’t have.”

“What I want is sex. But not,” I added hastily, as a lusty gleam appeared in his eyes, “right at this particular moment.”

He laughed and rose. I noted in amusement that he was more than half-ready for action. I resisted the temptation and dragged myself into a sitting position. “I don’t suppose you gleaned any information from them before you were knocked out?”

He shook his head as he dumped the glass back in the en suite. “Those two were clams. What about you?”

I grimaced. “Not really. The drug took effect before they began questioning Radcliffe.” I hesitated, remembering my brief conversation with him. “Is he married?”

Jackson plopped down next to me and stretched his long legs out beside mine. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Because when I asked him, he said no, but his body language said yes.”

“Why would he lie about something like that?”

I shrugged. “Given he’s into the black market, maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know about her. Maybe he fears she could be used as leverage against him.”

“Possible.” His expression was contemplative as he began to run his fingers idly up and down my leg. My head might be locked in pain, but the rest of me seemed to be in fine working order. “Did either of the cops hear him say that?”

“Not that I know of.” I hesitated. “But Adam—the vampire—would have read his thoughts. He’d surely know.”

“Not necessarily.” His touch was slowly moving around to my inner thigh. Anticipation began to thrum through me. So much, I thought wryly, for the headache. “Despite what humans think, not all vampires are telepathic, and the ones who are usually need to be very specific in what they’re looking for. They haven’t got carte blanche access to the mind, especially when it comes to weres.”

“Yeah, but knowing Sam, he’d have someone on his team who was one of those few who did.” I paused. “So Radcliffe was a wererat?”

He glanced at me, his expression surprised. “You couldn’t tell?”

“I thought he was, but the senses of a phoenix aren’t that specific.”

“But they’re very prettily packaged.”

I smiled at the compliment. “So our next course of action is looking for the wife?”

His hand slipped between my legs and the caressing continuing, running up and down my inner thigh, sending shivers of delight racing through my body.

“Either that, or we attempt to find out who else Sherman Jones worked with. He’s our only other lead.”

“He’s missing.”

“Someone on the streets will know something. They always do.”

His fingers lightly brushed the junction of my legs, then moved away again. I resisted the urge to growl in frustration. “We do have one other option, although I daresay the cops have already checked it.”

“What’s that?” His voice was becoming more and more distracted. This time, his fingers didn’t brush. They slid through my slickness, caressing and teasing.

I took a somewhat shaky breath and somehow managed to say, “The waitress.”

“The waitress?”

“The one my boss used to chat with every morning.”

“Then she’s definitely an option.” He shifted, grabbed my hips, and tugged me down the bed. “However,” he added, as he slid his body over mine. “There’s only one woman I want to talk to right now.”

Except there wasn’t a lot of talking from that moment on, just a whole lot of loving, until an hour had passed and we were both replete and exhausted.

“Best cure for a hangover ever invented,” he said, his breathing a harsh rasp as he finally lay down beside me. “Unfortunately, we now have less than half an hour to be out of here.”

I glanced at the clock. It was nearly ten fifteen, which meant I was more than a little late for work—if I had a job left, that was. I shifted onto my side and propped my head up with my arm. “I need to go to the lab and report in.”

“I’ll drive you there, then walk across to the café and apply some Fae charm to the waitress.” He hesitated. “She got a name?”

“Sandy, I think. But there was also a Michelle he often talked to. One of them reported Sherman Jones lurking about, but I’m not sure which.”

“Good. As you said, the cops have probably gotten everything out of them, but it doesn’t hurt to double-check.”

I nodded, then swung my legs off the bed and headed for the shower. Unsurprisingly, he followed; exhaustion in a Fae was apparently a rather short-lived state. It meant my shower was rather longer than intended, and we barely checked out of the hotel in time.

We parted company just down the road from the Chase Research Institute and, as I headed inside, the awareness of being watched again rose. It seemed my official watcher was still very much on the case.

“Hey, Emberly,” Ian said, his brown eyes somber when they met mine. “Heard you had one hell of a weekend.”

“You could say that.” I picked up the pen and signed in. “I don’t suppose Abby has left a message for me?”

I hadn’t received anything on my phone, which was slightly odd, given everything that had happened.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, she has. Lady Harriet wants you upstairs ASAP.”

“Upstairs? As in, her office?”

He nodded gravely. “’Fraid so.”

“God, that cannot be good,” I muttered. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” he stated cheerfully, making me smile as I headed for the elevators.

Lady Harriet’s offices were on the top floor of the Chase building. I’d never actually been there before—when they’d employed me, I’d gotten as far as the personnel offices two floors down. Plebs were rarely invited any higher, so it was with some trepidation that I stepped out of the elevator and walked along the plushly carpeted corridor to the double doors that presumably led into her offices.

They swished open as I approached. Abby looked up from the landing-strip-sized desk she sat behind. “Emberly,” she said, her voice oddly distant. “Ms. Chase has been expecting you.”

“Yeah, sorry, but it’s been one hell of a weekend and I slept—”

“That is not important right now,” she interrupted. “Please go straight in.”

She pressed a button on the control panel to her right, and the doors directly in front of me opened. The room beyond was both huge and shadowed, and it suddenly felt like I was stepping into the den of an ogress. Unease stirred, and I had to force my feet forward. The floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the full length of the room should have flooded it with light, but the heavy curtains were drawn, making me wonder if Lady Harriet had a vampirelike phobia about sunlight. She wasn’t one, of course, because she was often out and about during the day, going to meetings and doing interviews, but the utter darkness was still odd.

A huge bank of bookcases lined the wall to my right, and to the left there were two doors, both of which were closed. Harriet Chase sat impassively behind a mahogany desk, which dominated the center of the room. Only she wasn’t alone.

A man lounged casually in one of the visitor’s chairs in front of the desk. Even seated he looked tall, and he had gray hair and old-fashioned rimmed glasses that perched precariously on the end of his nose. He had the air of a professor, but, as my gaze met his, the image that rose wasn’t scholarly. It was of Death herself; she was standing close by his shoulder, waiting for her chance to reach out and take my soul.

I stopped, my heart hammering and my mouth suddenly dry. “You wanted to see me, Ms. Chase?” I said, my gaze still on the man in the chair rather than Harriet herself.

“Yes,” she said, her voice almost mechanical. “Professor Baltimore’s death is both unfortunate and untimely, but his work is far too important and must be continued.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. Fear of the man in front of me had frozen over my throat.

“Luckily, Professor Heaton here is available to jump on board at short notice.” She beamed at the man. It was a false thing, and hard to believe. “We are extremely lucky to have him.”

“I’m the one who is lucky.” His voice was a low rumble of sound and surprisingly pleasant—the total opposite of what I’d been expecting. “Baltimore was someone I admired greatly. I’m honored to be picking up where he left off.”

Where Mark left off was being dead. I somehow doubted he’d find that such an honor.

“Of course, given you worked with Professor Baltimore for so long, Emberly,” Harriet continued, “and you are already familiar with his research, it is in everyone’s interest for you to continue your position as an assistant to Professor Heaton.”

Work for Death? Not if I could help it. I wasn’t that desperate for a peaceful job this life span.

“But—” It came out croaky. I swallowed heavily, then added, “I’m technically not a research assistant. I rarely did more than transcribe his notes.”

And she knew that, so why the pretense?

She half shrugged. Again it was an almost mechanical gesture. “That doesn’t alter the fact that you’re more familiar with his work than most. So, could you take Professor Heaton down to the labs to familiarize himself with the work space?”

“What, now?” I squeaked.

“Now,” she said firmly. “It is more than two hours into your workday, after all.”

Heaton rose from his chair in one long, fluid movement, and I resisted the urge to step back from him. He reached across the desk and shook Harriet’s hand. “I cannot wait to get to work, Ms. Chase.”

His words sent another chill down my spine as visions of Mark, tied to a chair and beaten to death, rose like ghosts to taunt me.

He swung around and swept a hand toward the door. “Shall we go, Ms. Pearson?”

No, my inner voice said. No!

But I forced my feet to turn around and walk out of the office. He followed, a somber, forbidding presence who seemed to loom over me. He drew close the minute we left Abby’s office, until every breath seemed filled with the nonscent of him and my skin crawled in distaste. Only, he didn’t just have no smell; there was no heat in him, no sensation of life.

I remembered Abby’s lack of life, Lady Harriet’s mechanical responses, and my heart suddenly lurched.

He was a vampire.

And he’d been controlling them both.

I closed my eyes briefly and battled to remain calm. One thing was abundantly clear—I couldn’t get into the elevator with him. I couldn’t go anywhere alone with him. If he’d been controlling them to get at me, then he certainly couldn’t intend anything good.

The urge to run was hard to ignore, but if I moved too soon, didn’t plan my escape, he’d have me. Vampires were fast. Superfast.

My gaze swept the corridor almost frantically and came to rest on the fire escape down at the far end. I took a long breath, gathering courage, then strode forward, punching the elevator call button and hoping like hell the one closest to the fire escape answered. It was the one I’d come up in and—given how little time had passed—there was a good chance it was still sitting on this floor. The light above the doors flicked on, and I moved toward it with relief.

“Such prompt service,” Heaton said, as if to make conversation. Maybe he sensed the tension in me and was trying to calm me.

Maybe I was overreacting and he was just a professor who intended me no harm.

But if that was the case, why mind-control the two women?

I clenched my fists against the flames fighting for release. I had to time this precisely if I didn’t want to provide the security cameras with more of a show than they were expecting. I might not want to work for this vampire, but I wasn’t about to out myself as something other than human, either. Of course, that was presuming the cameras were actually working. Heaton’s appearance had all the hallmarks of a well-planned raid, and I doubted he’d chance the police using security-cam images to track him down if something went wrong.

But would he know that Lady Harriet had a separate system working in her office? Few people did. I knew only because I’d been working late the night it had been installed. It might have been a secret installation, but no one had informed the workmen, and they hadn’t minded telling a curious female what they were up to.

As the elevator doors fully opened, I pretended to stumble. Heaton was following so close that not even his vampiric speed could prevent him from running into me. As he did, I caught his arm and yanked him forward with every ounce of strength I had, so that he sailed over my back and crashed into the rear wall of the elevator.

Then I spun and ran like hell for the stairs.

I flung the door open and called to the fires as I raced downward. They came in a rush, sweeping through my body like a maelstrom, flinging me from flesh to flame in an instant. No longer restrained by physical form, I leapt over the railing and surged downward, until the sound of the door above opening again echoed across the silence. I swept back over the railing, keeping to the wall and out of his sight as the race downward continued. As I neared the exit, I switched back to human form, and suddenly the awareness of him surged. He was only a couple of floors above me, a dark and forbidding presence that swamped my senses and snatched my breath. I crashed out into the foyer and ran like hell for the doors.

“Hey, Emberly,” Ian called, as I raced past his desk. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I yelled, not wanting to say anything and risk the vamp getting into his head. “Just got an urgent errand.”

The doors swished open and I raced out into the sunshine. I didn’t immediately stop, but ran down the street to put some distance between me and the main entrance.

Finally, I stopped and turned around. Heaton had halted on the cusp of sunlight, his face impassive but his fists clenched. The darkness in him rolled out in waves, battering my senses, making me gasp.

I dragged my phone out of my purse and took a photo of him as he turned away. I doubted he’d seen me do it, but I also had no doubt that I hadn’t seen the last of him. I might have escaped him this time, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try again. And if they knew where I worked, then they knew where I lived.

I grabbed my phone and called Rory.

“Hey, babe,” he said, his voice cheery. “What’s happening?”

“Don’t go home,” I said, the words coming out in a rush.

“What? Why?”

“Because a vampire intending me no good just made an appearance at the Chase Institute, and I don’t think I can risk going home. I don’t think you should, either.”

“Are you okay?” Concern swirled through his voice. “Do you want me to come pick you up?”

I hesitated. I always felt safer with Rory around—he was my rock, the one person I could always turn to. But I also didn’t want to drag him into this mess any more than necessary. “No. I’ll have to report it to Sam, and I daresay he’ll arrange a tighter security net around me. I just wanted to warn you, in case they were also watching the apartment.”

“Get Sam to send his people over there. Vamps can’t cross a threshold uninvited, so if there are people there, they’ll be human or weres.”

“I will. I just wanted to warn you first.”

He grunted. “Be careful, and call me if you need help.”

“I will. Thanks.”

I hung up, then dragged Sam’s card out of my pocket and dialed the number. A mechanical voice answered, telling me to leave a message.

“Sam, it’s Emberly,” I stated, and gave a quick rundown of events. “You might want your people to check both Harriet Chase and Abby to uncover just what other information he might have dragged from their minds. And Lady Harriet has a separate security camera system operating in her offices, so grab those tapes.”

I hung up and jogged the rest of the way to the café. Jackson was talking to a dark-haired waitress at one of the outside tables, so I simply brushed past and continued on to the Magenta. Early morning or not, I needed a drink. A very large, very alcoholic drink.

Jackson slid onto the stool beside me about fifteen minutes later. He ordered himself a beer and another double vodka and orange for me.

“I’m gathering,” he said dryly, “that things did not go well at work.”

“You might say that.” I finished my second vodka in one long gulp that had my head buzzing pleasantly, then got my phone out and found the photo I’d taken. “Do you know this man?”

He studied it for several seconds, then shook his head. “Why?”

“Because he claims to be a Professor Heaton, and he’s just been employed to continue Mark’s work. Only he’s a vampire, and he not only had Harriet Chase and her assistant under full mind control, but he got madder than hell when I made a run for it.”

He took the phone from me and studied the image again. “Definitely not someone I know.” He scrolled back to the main page, hit several buttons, then attached the photo and sent it off somewhere.

“I have a friend who might be able to help us pin down his identity,” he explained, handing me back the phone.

I shoved it away and then smiled at the bartender as he delivered our drinks. “A cop friend?”

“Sort of.”

“A secret source you fear to reveal, huh?”

“Yeah.” He half shrugged and looked slightly embarrassed. “Thing is, your friend Sam and his partner seem ready and willing to roll over everyone and everything to get their answers. I’m not going to waste a valuable source by telling you, and have you willingly—or unwillingly—reveal it to them.”

And I couldn’t fault him for that—even if I’d already said my mind couldn’t be rolled. “The only trouble is, Sam is undoubtedly keeping an eye on everyone I contact, and that will include anyone I contact via phone. He’ll trace your source’s number and probably shut them down.”

Jackson smiled. “Well, no, because I actually forwarded the pic to one of my e-mail addresses. It just happens to be one my source has access to and checks regularly.”

“So your source is a female you’re intimate with?”

He raised an eyebrow. “And why would you think that?”

“Because I can’t imagine a man would be bothered checking for e-mails from you every day. A woman you’re bedding, however, is an entirely different matter.”

He grinned and didn’t bother denying it.

I added, “Did either of the waitresses reveal anything exciting?”

“I’m afraid only Sandy was there, and she none too subtly suggested she was up for being taken in the storeroom.”

I just about choked on my drink. “Really?”

“Truly,” he replied somberly, though his eyes were twinkling. “Sadly, I had to inform her I already had my hands full when it came to catering to the needs of a woman.”

I grinned. “And a Fae can’t cope with more than one woman? I’m shocked!”

He laughed, the sound warm and rich. “Not even the Fae have unlimited stamina. Had it been later in the afternoon, it might have been a different story.”

No doubt. “So did she reveal anything other than a high sexual drive?”

“Yeah. She and Baltimore were fuck buddies.”

For the second time in as many minutes, I just about choked on my drink. Jackson slapped my back, his grin huge. “Your boss was old, not dead.”

Which was exactly what Rory had said a couple of days ago. “But he’s old enough to be her dad!”

“So?”

I studied him for a moment, then shrugged. I’d certainly lived long enough to know that men only ever stopped thinking about or wanting sex when they were dead—and sometimes not even then—but for some reason, Mark’s predilection for much younger women really did surprise me. “Did she say how long it had been going on?”

“Ah,” he said, with a knowing grin. “Therein lies the rub. They became lovers in June last year.”

“That’s the month Mark started his current project,” I said with a frown.

“Coincidence, hey?”

I eyed him for a moment. “You obviously think not—why?”

“Because she was trying to read me.” He tapped his head. “Felt the buzz of her telepathy, but she didn’t have any more luck than that Adam fellow last night. As I said, I tend to rate rather highly when it comes to telepathy resistance.”

“So did she offer the storeroom adventure before or after that?”

“After. I rather suspect I would have gotten a whole lot more than a tasty bit of ass.”

I snorted softly. “So we have lead number two.”

“Maybe. I mean, that cop friend of yours would no doubt be as aware of her connection to Baltimore as us.”

Probably. And he’d no doubt had Adam covertly read her mind and pick out any information. “But if she was working for whoever is behind this, why is she still working there now that Mark is dead?”

“Probably for cover. It’d be too obvious if she quit right away.”

“Yeah, but Adam’s also telepathic, remember, and he—or someone with similar skills—would have interviewed her by now. She wouldn’t be working there if Sam’s people thought she was involved.”

“Not necessarily. It’s not unusual for strong telepaths to be unable to read each other. That might be the case here.”

Meaning, if they’d been unable to read her, they’d undoubtedly have a watch on her. Which also meant Sam would be aware that Jackson had talked to her this morning and that we weren’t letting the case drop as advised. “What about Michelle, the other waitress?”

“Interestingly, she hasn’t come into work since Baltimore died.”

That raised my eyebrows. “Has anyone contacted her?”

“Yeah. She’s sick, not dead.”

“Is she worth talking to?”

He shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

No, I guess it couldn’t. I downed the drink quickly, then rose. “Shall we go, then?”

“What, now?”

Getting up so quickly had my head spinning. I had to grip the bar to steady myself. “You did get her address, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He rose and threw some cash on the counter. “Might be worth waiting to see what we get back from my contact, though.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because if he came after you, they might also be going after anyone else who had any contact with Baltimore.” He rested his hand lightly against my spine, guiding me toward the exit. “And that could be a reason for her disappearing act.”

“You said she was only sick.”

“Doesn’t mean she actually is.”

True. I studied the sunlit street as we walked toward his pickup. For the first time that morning, there was no immediate sensation of being watched and, for some reason, concern stirred. My watcher had been nearby when I’d entered the institute less than an hour ago, so where was he now? And more important, where the hell was Sam? Why wasn’t he answering my phone call? Frowning, I added, “What about Professor Wilson? Did he have similar liaisons?”

“Wilson was married.”

“If a man is inclined to stray, being married certainly won’t stop him,” I said dryly.

“True. And to be honest, it never occurred to me to check. I’ve focused more on Baltimore and you, simply because that’s where all the leads seem to be.”

Not to mention the sex, I thought with amusement. “Meaning you haven’t talked to the wife?”

“I have, but she was in a rather distraught state, and I couldn’t get anything useful out of her. But if Wilson was having an affair, I don’t think she’d know about it. She seemed pretty clueless about what he did for a living.”

“She may have been clueless about his job, but if he was having an affair, or was otherwise in trouble, she would have had some sense of it—even if she didn’t want to confront or admit the situation.”

“Maybe.” His expression suggested he didn’t agree.

I shrugged. “Then we need to talk to his friends. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over my many lifetimes, it’s that men boast.”

He grinned. “Well, when it comes to a tasty bit of ass, can you blame us?”

“When you’re married, yes.”

“I’m not married, and never will be.”

“But if you were, I’d have to punch your lights out.”

His grin grew. “Fae don’t marry. We don’t even do serious commitment.”

“Which is a very good thing for both of us. But I merely meant that I don’t believe in fooling around with a married man.”

“You’re perfectly safe with me, I assure you.”

“Somehow, I’m doubting that.”

My voice was wry, and he chuckled softly as I got into the car. “You could be right in that.”

Once I was seated, he jogged around to the driver’s side and got in. As he pulled out into the flow of traffic, I flipped down the sun visor and adjusted the vanity mirror to look behind us.

“Looking for anything in particular?” he asked.

“Just wondering where my official follower is. I’ve never really spotted him, but I’ve generally sensed his presence. I didn’t when we left the bar, and it just strikes me as odd.”

“Maybe they’ve been pulled off your tail since events at the Crown.”

“Surely they’d only do that if they’d solved the case, and the vampire at the institute suggests this case is far from solved.”

“True.” He contemplated the rearview mirror for several seconds, then shrugged. “The only way to know for sure is to ring the cop.”

“Tried that. No immediate response.” I grimaced, then thrust the worry from my mind. There was nothing I could do about it, after all. “Where are we headed?”

“Braybrook. Michelle apparently rents a small house not far from the Braybrook Plaza.”

Which didn’t mean a whole lot to me as I really didn’t know the area. We cruised on in comfortable silence, and it wasn’t long before he was slowing in front of a small double-fronted house whose facade had been “beautified” by a wash of white concrete that made it stand apart from its orange-bricked neighbors. Two green rubbish bins stood on the lawn next to the concrete path that led up to the front veranda, and a white station wagon sat in the shared driveway.

“All the curtains are drawn,” I commented, peering past him. “But the wire screen door is open.”

“And the front door is slightly ajar.” He studied the house a bit longer, then parked several doors up. “She might be getting ready to leave.”

“Could be.”

We climbed out of the car and walked back. But as we neared the front gate, something shattered inside the house; then the screaming started. It was a woman.

“Back door,” Jackson said as he bolted for the front door. I ran down the driveway, my sneakered feet making little sound on the concrete. A large metal gate divided the front yard from the back, but I leapt up, gripped the top, and hauled myself over.

Behind me came the sound of a door crashing back against a wall. Jackson, inside the house already. The screaming stopped abruptly but not the noise. Whoever was inside was on the move—toward me.

I bent and ran past a window, then stopped just to the side of the back door. The footsteps came closer—two men, not one.

I flexed my fingers, and fireflies danced across my fingertips. Timing was everything.

The door was flung open. I stuck a foot out as the first man appeared, tripping him and sending him stumbling; then I lunged around the doorway, grabbed the second man before he could realize what had happened, and sent him flying into the first man. They went down in a tangle of arms and legs, their heads smashing against each other, knocking each other out cold. They fell in a heap, one pinned beneath the other.

More steps approached. I tensed, the fireflies becoming flames inches high, then caught the warm, sunshiny scent and relaxed.

Jackson appeared a heartbeat later, his gaze sweeping me, then moving to the two men. “Good work,” he said, then nodded back toward the house. “Call the cops and an ambulance. I’m afraid they made a bit of a mess of the woman.”

“Then don’t be gentle with them,” I said as I stepped inside the house.

“Oh, I won’t be.”

His voice was grim, and I realized why a moment later. A dark-haired woman lay sprawled unconscious across the sofa in the living room. Her lip was split, her face bruised and bloody, and her dress was shucked up around her armpits. I doubted they’d had the time to rape her, but that had certainly been their intention.

I resisted the urge to march outside and punch the shit out of the two men and moved closer to the woman, carefully checking her pulse. It was fast but strong, and she didn’t seem to be having any trouble breathing.

I stepped back and called the cops, telling them what we’d found and requesting medical assistance. Then I spun around and went looking for a blanket. I couldn’t move her or tidy her clothes without the risk of disturbing any DNA evidence that might be present, but I couldn’t bear to see her sprawled out like that, either.

I found a closet in the small hallway and opened it up. Blankets, sheets, and towels sat in neat little stacks inside. I reached for one of the blankets, but as I did, something stung the side of my neck.

I swiped at it irritably, but a hand caught mine and something cool and sharp pressed against the side of my head.

“Make a sound,” a soft voice whispered, “and you die.”