Lifemate Connections: Eryn

Chapter Four

Eryn blinked again, wondering if her imagination was playing tricks.

It wasn't.

That was definitely Grey's walk. And, suddenly, all the other little niggles came flooding back. The ever-changing color of his eyes. The way her hormones had latched onto him after meeting him at the bar the second time. The sudden lack of any scent besides masculinity. The deep connection between them.

She wasn't crazy.

It was Grey.

He was shifter all right—just not the type she'd presumed.

He was a far rarer kind—a face shifter. A man who could assume the identity of any man he touched.

That's why he'd brushed past Harrison. He'd wanted to assume his identity. Which meant Harrison was probably still in the men's room.

She waited until Grey had left the room, then scrambled out of bed to grab her clothes. The footsteps leading away from the room told her Grey was out of earshot.

"Jack, you awake?"

"Like I have any other choice with all the noise you've been making."

"Get security into the men's right now. Before Harrison gets there."

She heard the snap of fingers, then the scramble of movement in the background as Jack said, "Why?"

She grabbed her dress and pulled it on, then hunted around for her shoes. "Because the man I've been with the last few hours wasn't Harrison, but Grey. I'm betting the real Harrison is still in the restroom."

"I think all that sex has blown your circuits."

She grabbed her shoes, dangling them from her fingers as she made her way towards the door. "You ever heard of face shifters?"

"No."

"They're an extremely rare form of shifter who can assume the shape of anyone they touch."

"So why call them face shifters?"

"Because it's their face and hair that changes the most.

Generally, the body just shifts its mass around a little, but doesn't actually change shape." Which explained the amusement in the fake Harrison's eyes when he'd first stripped. She should have recognized his body—or, at the very least, his penis and balls, because she'd certainly spent enough time licking her way around both.

Still, who'd have expected Grey to be a face shifter? And that he'd usurp Harrison's position in her bed?

Damn it, why do that? Why bother?

"You think he took Harrison's place to check you out?" Jack asked.

She stopped at the door and peered around. Grey was nowhere in sight. "I really don't know what's going on. You checking out that name he gave us?"

"Steepan? Sure am. So far, it's proving to be another dead end frighteningly similar to Grey."

She padded barefoot down the carpeted hall. "Meaning they might just work together?"

"Could be." Jack hesitated. "Security's just contacted us.

Seems you were right. The real Harrison is half undressed, hog-tied and unconscious in one of the stalls."

"Where's Grey then?" She stopped at the top of the stairs, but the right-angle bends prevented her from seeing the entire bar.

"Just did an about face and is heading for the front door."

Meaning he must have seen security going in and guessed his cover might be blown. "You going to arrest him?"

"If we arrest him for mugging Harrison, we may never get to the bottom of this murder case."

So Jack—or at least the department—still thought Grey was the probable killer. "Have you got someone ready to follow him?"

"The eye is in the air as we speak. Come back to the van, Eryn."

She bit her lip, wanting to follow Grey, yet knowing it wasn't her job. And even though her alternate form was made for hunting, she had to have a scent to follow. Grey was nothing more than a tantalizing hint of masculinity—nice, but difficult to follow on a clear night, let alone a rain soaked one.

"Okay," she said. "Be there in five."

She slipped on her shoes and headed down the stairs. Her gaze automatically went to the door, and at that moment, Grey, still wearing Harrison's form, looked over his shoulder.

Even across the distance of the pub, his gaze had the power to rock her. He half raised a hand, as if in good-bye, then seemed to regret the gesture. He cut the movement off abruptly and walked out into the night.

She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, then made her way across the room to collect her coat.

The rain hadn't eased, nor had the wind. Holding the flyaway ends of her coat together, she splashed her way towards the van, cursing and shivering as the fat drops of water slithered past the collar and down her neck.

The van door was flung open as she approached, spilling warm light into the gloom. She stepped into the van and squeezed past Henry's rotund figure, hitting the warm, crowded interior with a sigh of relief.

She shucked off the dripping coat, hanging it on a hook near the door, then squeezed past Bob, Jack's other assistant.

He didn't even look at her, his gaze glued to the bank of com-

screens in front of him, watching the man who walked with a predator's ease.

"What's he doing?" she asked, plunking onto a chair and scooting it towards Jack.

He glanced at her, a sexy smile touching his lips. "He's walking far too well for a man who's just had several hours of amazing sex."

She raised an eyebrow. "If several hours are all it takes to make you legless, you seriously have to get out of this van and start working on your sexual fitness."

"Ain't that a fact." He glanced back at the com-screen.

"He's heading down seventh."

"No detours? No car?"

"Not so far."

She raised her gaze to the image on the screen. "He knows he's being watched."

Jack frowned. "How? We're using a hawk shifter. In this weather, he shouldn't be able to see him, let alone scent him."

"Grey's not that kind a shifter."

"Then how could he know he's being followed?"

"I don't know." She raised a hand, tapping the screen with a finger. "But if he didn't know, why hasn't he changed back to his true form?"

"Maybe he can't. Don't some shifters have time restrictions?"

"Only because the sheer mass of their alternate shapes can overtax their hearts. Elephants, for instance."

Jack raised a silvery eyebrow. "Never seen an elephant shifter."

"They're rare."

"As rare as face shifters?"

"No."

Jack crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair.

"Seems to me a face shifter might be right at home in the CIA or military."

She nodded. "Even as a cop, they'd be useful. Undercover work would certainly be a whole lot safer if you could just disappear into another identity."

His expression became thoughtful. "You know, we hadn't actually thought to check the files of other departments."

"You think he could be a cop?"

Jack shrugged. "You've been with the man, not me. What does your gut instinct tell you about him?"

She hesitated. She'd worked with cops for nearly nine years now, and Grey just didn't fit the profile. Then again, neither did Jack. But look past the twinkle in Jack's eyes, and you saw the calculation, the distance, that came with being a cop for any length of time. Beyond the occasion flare of lust, Grey's eyes very rarely showed anything. And when they did, it was something altogether darker and more dangerous. He was a killer, but was he a killer of innocents? Somehow, she suspected not.

"If I had to take a guess, I'd say he was a trained operative of some kind."

"Which leads us right back to the military or CIA."

"Or FBI. They have several new paranormal units, don't they?"

"Yeah, but even the new Preternatural Units have to announce their presence to local law enforcement."

"What if Grey is here unofficially?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You think he's here to hunt down the killer?"

"Yes."

Jack studied her for a moment. "Then why bed all the victims?"

"How should I know? Maybe he was feeling horny."

Jack snorted. "Somehow, I think you're making excuses for a man you're rather attracted to."

"Could be." She glanced up at the com-screen. Grey had disappeared. "Where'd he go?"

"Not sure." He leaned the chair back, looking past her.

"Bob?"

"Went into the supermarket."

"Is there only one exit?"

"Yep. Though there's an employees exit around the back."

"There any way to keep an eye on that?"

"Henry's checking the traffic and security cameras around the area now."

"Henry, hurry."

"I am, boss, believe me."

Eryn kept her eye on the screen, watching the people come and go. Grey wasn't among them—or was he? As a face shifter, he could assume the shape of any male he touched.

He could be the smart-looking black dude moseying out the store right now with his hands filled with grocery bags. Or he could be the gray-haired old man trying to hide the bottle of whisky from his quick-stepping wife.

Her gaze went to the shabby-looking man currently walking though the doors. He carried several bottles of beer, and his thin lips were pursed, as if whistling. Like the others, the body shape was about right, though he looked nothing like Grey. Didn't even walk like him.

Yet she knew, without a doubt, that it was him. How, she couldn't really explain, except to say that something deep inside twitched in recognition.

"There he is," she said, pointing at the fast disappearing figure. "You'd better get someone into the store and check the men's room. I bet he's knocked someone out and taken their clothes."

Jack didn't waste any time refuting her certainty. "Henry, get the cameras on him. Bob, contact our eye and advise him of Grey's change of appearance. And get someone to check the store out." Jack glanced at her. "You want to stick around in case we lose him again?"

She nodded. Going home while it was pouring rain held no appeal. She didn't have a car and would have to hike several blocks to the subway. And while Jack would undoubtedly arrange a car for her, home didn't have the appeal of sitting here and watching Grey.

Leaning back in her chair, she kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on the corner of the table. "I bet you twenty bucks he'll attempt another changeover in the next ten minutes."

Jack handed her a full coffee mug that had seen better days. "No bet. Henry, make sure you don't lose him."

"We won't."

But after ten minutes of watching, they did. Only Grey didn't go into another store and change form. He simply cut through a tree-filled park, moving beyond the range of the security cameras and their eye in the sky for all of one minute. But one minute was all it took.

Jack swore, and threw down his ear mike in disgust.

"There goes our only chance to discover where he lived."

"He'll be back tomorrow night."

Jack glanced at her. "If he knew he was being followed, he might just cut his losses and run."

"He's not your killer. And he'll be back."

"You seem awfully certain of that."

"I am. He's after the killer, same as we are." Only she suspected Grey had no intention of arresting the killer and seeing him brought to trial. No, Grey had something far more permanent in mind.

She sipped her coffee and tried to ignore the chill running down her spine. It was a chill that had nothing to do with the fact that she was lusting after a man who was, by training, a killer, but rather the fact that she kept getting these strange little insights and certainties about a man she only knew sexually.

"So," she added, lifting her feet off the table, "we here again tonight?"

Jack nodded. "Approval's been given. Hopefully Gantry will make an appearance tonight."

"It's not Gantry."

"And you know this because…?"

"I smelled that smell in the club tonight. It couldn't have been Gantry because he wasn't there."

He gave her a long look. "And you were intending to mention this when?"

"When I remembered it, which I just did." She shrugged an apology. "Trouble is, it was coming from a booth two women were sitting in."

"Which could mean one of those two women has already met the killer."

Especially since both women looked like the type the killer went after. "Might be worth putting a trace on them."

"Which booth were they in?"

"The same one Grey was sitting in earlier. Both women had dark hair. One was in green, the other red."

Jack grunted as he wrote down the information. "We'll grab their pics from the security cams. You want a ride home?"

She hesitated, listening. The rain no longer pounded the van's roof, though the vehicle still trembled under the assault of the wind. She shook her head. "No, I like walking through predawn hours like this. Everything smells so fresh, so new."

"Only a shifter would say something inane like that. The rest of us would be happy to catch a lift so we could get home to the warmth of our beds."

She would have been happy to catch a lift, too, if there'd been someone home to warm her bed. But after too many nights of going to bed alone, and too many mornings of waking alone, she had to catch her pleasures where she could. And there was something delicious about walking through the wet hours just before dawn, especially when the rest of the city had yet to stir.

She finished her coffee and placed the cup on the table.

"Same bat time?"

Jack nodded and held out a hand. "Ear pieces."

She undid them both and dropped them into his palm.

"You and the boys planning to stick around here?"

He glanced at his watch, then nodded. "Changeover is at six."

"Do you really think watching the bar's security cams day and night is going to magically catch the killer?"

He shrugged. "Right now, we've got nothing else. Not unless your nose picks up something, anyway."

"Even a hound has to have a scent to follow. And my nose certainly didn't prove much of a help tonight."

"If you caught the scent once, you'll catch it again. Give it time, Eryn."

Time was the one thing they didn't have much of, because the countdown had begun. The killer was killing a woman every four days. The four-day deadline was up tomorrow… today, she silently amended. But everyone in the van was more than aware of that fact.

"See you tonight."

He nodded and turned back to the screen. She grabbed her coat, pulling it on as she opened the door and stepped into the crisp morning. She took a moment to breathe deep, enjoying the sensation of air so fresh that it was filled with nothing more than the sharp aroma of the passing storm and the warm tang of wet concrete. It wouldn't stay that way for long—even now, the city was stirring. Soon the fumes of cars and factories and life would belch into the air, and this brief moment of revival would be lost for another day.

God, how sad was her life that reveling in a wet dawn was getting to be a high point?

She smiled wryly and shoved her hands into her pockets.

Truth was, until this assignment, she hadn't exactly realized how stale her life had become. Yeah, she loved her job, and hell, she loved sunrises, but there was more to life than that.

And it was about time she started exploring other avenues of enjoyment.

Like Grey.

She bit her lip and stepped out from the van's cover. The wind blew her hair in a hundred different directions, and her ears, which were oversensitive at the best of times, became chilled. She reached back, snagging the jacket's hood, tugging it over her head and tightening the draw strings.

What good did it do her lusting after Grey? While she couldn't guess at his reasons for bedding the victims, she was positive about one thing. He was here for one reason only—to hunt down a killer. A relationship of any kind was not on his agenda.

Which was a damn shame, because the connection that had formed between them in such a brief amount of time suggested even a casual relationship could be a mind-blowing experience.

Still, she at least had the promise of tonight to look forward to.

She splashed across the road, leapt the pool of water gathering around the drain, then continued on towards the subway. Another good thing about traveling at this hour was the lack of people on the trains. Though few people didn't necessarily equate to no aromas. She screwed up her nose, trying to ignore the stale scent of sweat and humanity and old perfume as she traveled the three stops to the station closest to her apartment.

By the time she'd made it out of the subway, it had begun to rain again. A car drove past, splashing a huge wave of water across the pavement, drenching her legs and making her toes even colder than they already were. Strappy high heels and winter weather were not a good combination. Note to self, she thought. Tonight bring warm pants and comfy boots to change back into.

She hurried down the street. People were beginning to crowd the pavement, all of them seeming to be in as much a hurry as her to get out of the weather. Her apartment block loomed through a silvery curtain of rain—a dour, ten-story brick building that had absolutely nothing going for it except for the size of the apartments. This close to the city center, space was still a premium and large apartments were rare and costly. But she paid the price willingly, simply because the apartment was not only close to work but at least three parks. Even when space had been at a premium and land prices high, those who had run the city previously had kept the precious parks intact. The outer suburban areas had not fared so well, and there were now few places a shifter could run unless they were willing to drive miles into the countryside. And the cost of gas made that a rare event.

She crossed the street and headed for the building's front steps.

Suddenly, awareness tingled across her skin, a touch as warm as flame. She stopped abruptly, looking up. Shadows haunted the entrance of the building, and though there was little to be seen through the rain and the gloom, she knew someone stood there. Not because she could smell him, but because she could feel him.

A figure detached itself from the blackness and moved into the light. Her heart did an uneven little dance, and suddenly air seemed a precious commodity.

Grey.

Here.

Waiting for her.

Eryn took a step back, then stopped. From the moment she'd met him, she'd believed deep down that he meant her no harm. She believed that still.

But why was he here, and how did he even know where she lived?

His beautiful face was carefully blank, and the storm clad eyes were just as neutral. Yet his emotions swam around her, touching her senses as surely as the crisp air chilled her skin.

His determination was something she could almost taste; his desire a wall of heat that made her heart sing. Yet it was the slight edge of hesitancy that hit her the hardest.

He wasn't here by choice. Given the choice, he'd rather be anywhere else.

"That's true, but not for the reasons you suspect," he said, his voice a soft, deep growl that made her knees feel weak.

She ignored the sensation, and said flatly, "You're reading my mind." Which was an obvious statement, but right then, she couldn't think of anything to say but the obvious.

He nodded. Slivers of sunshine seemed to dance in his rain-darkened hair. "We've formed a connection."

Something in his low voice suggested he wasn't all that happy about it, and she felt invisible hackles rise. "Some

connection—you may know my thoughts, but I sure as hell don't know yours."

"That's because you're not trained to do so."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you are?"

He hesitated, then nodded again. "Look, we need to talk."

"I agree, but there's no way in hell I'm taking you up to my apartment." She wasn't that much of a fool.

Annoyance flashed through his eyes. "You're hardly dressed to keep standing here in the rain and cold."

She shrugged and crossed her arms. "I have an alternate shape that doesn't mind this sort of weather."

"I'm not standing here talking to a beagle." He looked to the right. "There's a small diner open just up the road. Why don't we go there for breakfast?"

"Fine." The owner of the diner was a fierce looking ex-

boxer whom she knew rather well, since she went there for breakfast most mornings. If she needed help, he'd be there.

She stepped back and waved Grey forward. "After you."

Annoyance flashed through his eyes again. He paused briefly, as if he wanted to say something, then moved down the steps. She waited until he was several feet in front of her, then followed. She might be fast, and she might be strong, thanks to her shifter heritage, but he was a big man and moved in a way that suggested speed as well grace. If his intentions were dark, at least the slight distance between them gave her enough of a head start to turn and run.

"You know I mean you no harm." His voice was still flat, yet the air seemed to vibrate with his anger. He didn't like her distrust, and given distrust was totally natural at this point, she had to wonder why.

"No sensible person would trust a man who refuses to answer simple questions."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Yet you had no problem with having sex with me."

She shrugged. "That was in a safe environment."

"Where you were being monitored by the club and your police cohorts."

So he knew. No surprise, really, if he could read her thoughts. "If you know that much, you know precisely why I was there."

"Yeah, I do, and that's what I want to talk to you about."

"Really?" She couldn't help the sliver of disappointment, and perhaps it showed in her voice, because he flashed her a dangerous smile that made her knees go all wobbly again.

"You're a fool if you think that's all I want to discuss with you." He hesitated, his gaze sweeping her, leaving her hot and tingly. "And you do not look like a fool."

"Thanks. I think."

He gave her another pulse-racing smile, then pushed open the diner's door. She followed him inside, and wasn't surprised when he chose a booth in the dimmest corner, as far away from the counter and the few windows as possible.

After sliding in opposite him, she tucked her legs underneath the seat. She had a suspicion that if she so much as brushed her legs with his, things might get more than a little heated.

And while Dan, the owner, certainly wouldn't mind a free floor show, she didn't want to go down that road until she'd discovered why Grey was really here.

Dan followed them over and handed Grey a tattered menu as he glanced at her. "The usual?"

She nodded. Grey ordered bacon, eggs, and toast, then handed the menu back. She waited until Dan had left, then said, "So, tell me, do you have a real name?"

He hesitated. "Grey."

She raised an eyebrow. "No last name?"

"None that matters anymore."

Or at least, not one that he was willing to trust her with.

That annoyed her, though given they were only bed buddies, it shouldn't have. If not for the connection between them, it probably wouldn't have.

"Who do you work for?"

Again he hesitated. "I can't tell you that."

"Then what the hell can you tell me?"

He crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. The heat of him washed over her, along with the wet, raw scent of masculinity. Her pulse skipped and raced harder.

"The person you seek will never be found by you or the police."

She raised an eyebrow at the certainty in his voice.

"Because he is too well trained, or because he's a face shifter like you?"

A smile touched his luscious lips. Suddenly, it was all she could do not to lean across the table and claim his mouth with her own.

As if sensing this, desire flared deeper in his eyes until the stormy gray was almost lost to the black. "When did you realize what I was?"

"When I was catching some butt action as you walked out the bedroom door. It wasn't Harrison's walk."

Amusement creased the corners of his eyes, somehow making his almost too perfect features more human. Yet more unforgettable. "Very observant of you. And careless of me."

"Hey, the boys were impressed you could even walk."

His smile grew, and her heart did a strange flutter. This man was dangerous, all right, and not just to her health.

"Which is why I could not retrieve my sweater," he said, his gaze drifting from her face to her breasts and back again.

Suddenly too warm, she peeled off her coat and dropped it on the seat next to her. "How did you lose the cops in the park?"

"How did they find me after the supermarket?"

"I saw you."

He studied her for a moment. "It would seem you are not as oblivious to this link between us as you would have me believe."

That much was certainly true, but she wasn't about to admit it. Giving this man the knowledge of how deeply he affected her would be a bad move on so many levels. Not the least of which was the fact that he was a stranger who refused to impart information about himself.

But would that stop her from having sex with him again?

Hell, no!

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"You sensed who I was, didn't you, even though I gave no clues via appearance or walk?"

"Maybe."

A smile tugged his lips again. "I can understand your hesitancy. Believe me, this was not on my agenda, either."

"Then what is?"

His smile faded into something cold and hard. "Catching a killer."

The sudden change was a chilling reminder that she knew nothing about this man other than the fact that he gave good sex. She didn't even know if she could trust him, despite what her instincts said.

She crossed her arms, and leaned back. "Are you government?"

He paused, his expression assessing. After a moment, he said, "Yes."

"U.S. government, I mean."

"Yes."

"CIA?"

"No."

"FBI?"

"No."

"Who then?"

"It doesn't matter."

It did matter, if only because of what was happening between them. She needed to know more about him. Needed to explore the possibilities that lay before them.

But that required two willing participants, and she had a suspicion willing wasn't in his repertoire at the moment. So why was he here? Really?

"Do you know the killer?"

"Yes."

"He works with you?"

He hesitated, his gaze sliding past her for a moment, then coming back full of warning. Not that she really needed one when the sound of footsteps, as well as the tantalizing aroma of bacon, pancakes and coffee, was evidence enough that Dan was approaching.

She waited until he'd deposited the food and the coffee, then picked up the small pot of maple syrup and poured it all over her pancakes.

"If you eat a stack like that every morning, piled high with butter and maple syrup, how the hell do you remain so slim?"

Grey asked, amusement glinting briefly in his eyes.

"Luck of the draw when it comes to the gene pool. Beagles are naturally slender." She picked up her knife and fork. "You were saying?"

He began to tuck into his bacon and eggs. "You need to keep away from the bar tonight."

She blinked. "That's not what you were saying."

"No. But it's what I needed to say."

"Why?"

"Because the killer will strike tonight, and I don't want you in the firing line."

His words made her heart do an odd little jig. "Better me than someone who can't defend themselves."

"There is no defense against the likes of this person. Not for you, anyway."

"I'm a shifter. I'm fast. Strong."

His smile held a condescending edge. "Not against this person. Not even against me."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're just a face shifter—no disrespect intended. Granted, you're a male, and therefore stronger than me by nature, but I still should have the edge when it comes to speed."

"You think?"

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

He studied her for a moment, his gaze so intent she had to quell the urge to squirm. Then, with a half smile, he put down his knife and fork.

"Care to test that?"

She hesitated. "How?"

"On the count of three, you try to pull your right hand away from the pancakes before I can grab it."

She put down her cutlery. It seemed too easy, which made her suspect it would be the opposite. "Who counts."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"Okay. One."

He raised an eyebrow, amusement touching his lips again.

He crossed his arms, and rested them lightly on the table. It was a pose that suggested this was no contest.

"Two."

Tension ran through her. He still looked relaxed.

Unconcerned. Like he had all the time in the world to lunge across the table and grab her hand.

"Three."

As fast as she could, she ripped her hand back, out of the way. His hand blurred as it shot out. She got as far as the edge of the table before his fingers wrapped around hers and stopped her dead.

"Damn, that's fast," she muttered, trying to ignore the press of his callused palm against her knuckles. Yet it was impossible to ignore the warm response that spread from her hand to the rest of her body.

"It almost wasn't fast enough." He shifted his grip and, with his thumb, began to lightly caress the inside of her wrist.

Her pulse jumped into high gear again, and her throat felt suddenly dry.

"What do you mean?" It came out little more than a husky whisper, and the heat in his gaze went up several notches.

Even the air seemed to vibrate with the lust flaring between them.

"You got your hand to the edge of the table. Most people wouldn't have."

"Most people aren't shifters."

"Most shifters aren't that fast." His gaze rose to hers. "Or this beautiful."

For several seconds she lost herself in the ethereal beauty of his eyes, drinking in the heat, the sincerity, the desire, that were all too evident in those ghostly depths.

It would be all too easy to fall for this man.

This stranger.

She blinked and tried to free her hand from his. He held it fast, then with his free hand, pushed the food aside and leaned across the table. She watched his approach, her gaze skating between his lips and his eyes, torn between watching the desire so evident in his gaze, and the advance of the luscious mouth she just wanted to kiss forever. She closed her eyes at the last moment, welcoming his kiss, opening her mouth, drawing him deeper. God, he tasted good. She kissed him long and hard, exploring his mouth with her tongue, tasting him as thoroughly as he tasted her.

By the time he pulled back, her breathing was ragged and tiny beads of perspiration dotted her overheated skin.

"I want you," he whispered, his breath so warm and fast against her lips. He raised a hand, cupping her cheek, his fingers seeming to burn where they touch. "Now."

Oh God… she so wanted the same. Yet she couldn't. Not here, not when she knew so little about him. Not when she didn't even know what he really wanted.

He began to drop feather light kisses on her lips, her nose, her cheeks. "Trust your instincts," he said. "They rarely lie."

"It's the rarely bit I'm worried about."

"I'm not lying, Eryn. I want you."

His mouth moved down her neck. She closed her eyes again, enjoying the sensation, feeling warmth flooding all the right places. "That I don't doubt. It's the rest of your story I'm worried about."

"I've told you no lies here."

His tongue skimmed the moisture around the base of her neck. A tremor ran through her. "It's the truths you haven't told that concern me."

"The only truth that matters right now is what's happening between us."

His breath was a warm caress of air against her neck. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to leap across the table and take what he was offering.

"Tell me your name."

He pulled back a little, his gaze searching hers. "It matters that much?"

"Yes."

An oddly pleased smile momentarily tugged his lips. "Grey Harrison James McConnell—the third—at your service."

A laugh bubbled through her. "That's some moniker. No wonder you're reluctant to announce it."

"It's the first time I've told anyone in what seems like ages." He touched her face again, his fingers gentle as he traced a line from her cheek to her lips. "In all honesty, I shouldn't have even told you."

"Then why did you?"

"Because a drowning man should never forsake a life buoy." His words were little more than a whisper against her lips as his mouth claimed hers again. This time, the kiss was a long and sensuous exploration that made her ache for far more than sex. Because this time his kiss held more than just passion.

This time, for the first time, she sensed that he was a kindred spirit in loneliness.

Or was she reading far more into the kiss, and his actions, than she ever should?

Forget doubt. Make love to me, Eryn.

The words were a sensual plea that invaded every corner of her mind. One that made her feel all weak and gooey. She pulled back and took a shuddery breath. Fought to gather the shattered wisps of control.

But where this man was concerned there was no control.

And certainly no backing away from the forest fire they'd started last night.

"On one condition," she somehow managed to say.

"What condition?"

"You answer some questions."

He outlined her lips with a gentle finger, his gaze distracted. "You may not like the answers."

"That doesn't matter. I just need answers."

His finger paused, his gaze suddenly sharpening. "And if I don't give them?"

"Then I walk out the door right now, and you and I are finished."

"That's akin to sexual blackmail."

"No, that's honesty. I may want you, Grey, but I want answers more."

He released a breath that was full of frustration, then sat back and picked up his knife and fork. "Okay. But I could get into deep trouble for it."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then why agree to answer?"

He half smiled. "I'd rather be in trouble with my superiors than have you walk out that door."

His words warmed her in a way his touch hadn't. "How would they even know you've talked to me?"

"They know you've been assigned the case. They will know I've bedded you. It's not hard to put two and two together—

unless, of course, you intend to keep what I tell you to yourself."

"You know I can't."

He nodded. "Then it's yet another black blot on my record."

"Sounds like you've got more than one."

"Trouble and I are familiar friends."

"So, who do you work for?"

"That I can't tell you. Not yet. Not until they give clearance."

"So you're some sort of spy? Part of a secret government service?"

"Spy? No. That's CIA territory."

She stared at him, remembering her earlier feelings, remembering her certainty that he was here to find, and kill, their killer.

"You're a hitman. A government hitman."

He grimaced. "Enforcer is a nicer term, but yeah, that's basically what I am."

Her eyes widened at his confirmation. "The government has its own hitmen?"

"There are many evils in this world that the court and the justice system are incapable of dealing with. Evils that the penitentiary system would never be able to hold."

"That doesn't give the government the right to be judge, jury and executioner."

"Would you rather evil be allowed to roam free, creating havoc as it wishes?"

"That depends on what you term evil. And who decides."

"There are rules and checks in place."

She snorted softly. "Like rules ever stopped a government from taking advantage of the system or doing the wrong thing."

"No system is ever one hundred percent accurate. Even the court system." He paused for a moment, eating some of his meal. "Look, I'd rather not get into this any deeper right now. What questions about the case do you have?"

She wolfed down some of her pancakes, barely tasting them, then asked, "If you know for certain the killer will strike tonight, do you also have an inkling of who the victim is?"

He considered her for a moment, expression flat. "Yes."

"How?"

"Our clairvoyants saw their images. There are seven altogether."

"So even though you know the victims, history can't be changed?"

"History can, but it always takes time. Five have died, but there is always the hope we can save the other two."

"Why not tell me so I can tell the police the identities of the other two?"

"Because I'm taking care of it."

She raised an eyebrow. "No, you're not. You're here with—

" She cut off her words, and stared at him.

He smiled grimly. "Yes," he said softly. "You're one of the remaining two slated to die."