Lifemate Connections: Eryn

Chapter Six

"Eryn!"

The voice was distant, but familiar. She murmured in annoyance, turning onto her side, wishing the sharp voice would just go away and let her sleep.

"Damn it, Eryn, wake up!"

"She can't hear you properly," a strange voice stated. "The drug is still in her system."

"Can't you give her something to counteract it?"

"I have, but it'll take a little more time."

"We haven't got time." Footsteps echoed, pacing from one end of her room to the other. To her sensitive ears, those steps sounded as loud as a herd of elephants.

She groaned and flung herself around, grabbing her spare pillow and dragging it over her head. Why wouldn't they just leave her be? She needed to sleep. Needed to forget.

Something stirred through her mind.

Forget?

Forget what?

Fury.

The need to chase, to bring down her quarry and get answers.

She frowned.

Chase who?

The man who'd betrayed her trust.

Grey.

Bastard.

With that word echoing through her mind, she flung the pillow off her head and sat upright.

And, at that point, realized there were men in her room.

Two of them, to be precise—one of whom she didn't know.

"Thank the Lord…" The elephant steps grew closer, and suddenly Jack appeared in her field of vision.

She blinked owlishly at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" he repeated, looking as frazzled as she'd ever seen him. "Don't you realize what's happened?"

She blinked again, remembering, then replied, in a voice low with anger, "Grey drugged me."

"Yeah, and it's now ten after ten. When you didn't report for work, we thought the worst."

"He didn't intend to hurt me." She reached for the glass she always kept on her bedside table, hoping the water would chase away the last cobwebs of sleep.

"We had no way of knowing that." He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the sheet, offering it to her. "So why did he drug you?"

She pulled the sheet up around her. She wasn't bothered by nudity and she didn't think Jack was, but she could hear other people moving about her apartment. Maybe he didn't want them finding excuses to catch a glimpse of the free breast show. "He wanted to stop me from going to the bar tonight."

"Why?"

"He said if I went there tonight, I'd die."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe him?"

"Do I believe that he believes he's telling the truth? Yes. If you're asking if I actually believe I'd die, then no. I can't see how the killer would get me past security and all of you."

"But why does he think you'll meet the killer tonight?"

"The government mob he works for has psychics on the team. They say seven people will die before the killer is caught. They even gave him the victims' names."

"You'd think having all that information he'd be able to stop the damn killer."

She grimaced. "The killer is a face shifter. Grey has the same trouble tracking him down as we did tracking Grey."

"So why didn't they watch the victims' apartments and vet everyone coming in or out?"

"Can you imagine the ruckus that would have caused if they'd stopped and questioned every single person coming in and out of the victims' apartment buildings? Besides, this is a secret government organization he works for. I don't think they'd be too happy with the sort of interest actions like that would raise."

Jack frowned. "You sure he's not just spinning you a line?"

"He's not. He gave me his full name, by the way. You can cross-check it against your search for high-society murders."

He dug an electronic notebook out of his pocket. "We came up with ten possibilities. Tell me his name and I'll cross-check now."

"Grey Harrison James McConnell—the third."

He grinned as he entered the name into the notebook.

"Now that's a moniker you could hang your hat on."

"Ain't it just." She finished her glass of water and put it back on the table. "If you're here, who's running the show at the bar?"

"Bob and Henry are watching the screens. They'll give me a call if they spot anything odd."

But how would they know, given no one had any idea what their killer looked like? Except maybe Grey, and he certainly wasn't telling.

Anger rolled through her. Damn it, he was going to get it when she saw him again. She'd trusted him, and he'd drugged her. The fact that he considered it for her own good was beside the point. She'd trusted him, let him into her sanctuary, and he'd gone and done that.

Disappointing, to say the least. And a sharp reminder that no matter what might be going on between them, he was first and foremost a government man.

"What about the two women I saw at the bar last night?"

"One of them was Genny Jones, as you suspected. We've got a team staking out her apartment building. The other woman we haven't been able to trace."

She frowned. "She'd have to have credit records, wouldn't she?" And all credit cards had photo ID's on them these days.

He grimaced, though his gaze was still on the notebook.

"You'd think Grey would have a credit ID somewhere, too, but apparently not."

The ice in her stomach stirred again, and her frown grew.

"But that doesn't make sense."

"Nothing in this case is making a lot of sense." He paused.

"Bingo. It appears your mysterious lover was telling the truth about his name."

He handed her the notebook. She quickly scanned the story, taking in the gruesome facts about the murder of his parents by rogue vampires, and the gutsy escape by him and his younger sister. Her gaze fell on the picture of the two of them. Grey was shielding his sister from the cameras, and the careful neutrality was in his eyes even then. Or maybe it was the blankness of shock. It couldn't have been easy to watch vampires tear your parents apart, then have to fight for yours and your sister's lives. Especially when you were barely ten years old.

She handed the notebook back to Jack. "What's the bar owner's name?"

A smile touched his lips. "Elizabeth Jane Magee—formally known as Elizabeth Jane McConnell."

"His sister." At least that explained Grey's certainty that the owner would not throw them out if security caught them doing the sexual tango on the dance floor.

Jack nodded. "She obviously didn't trust our ability to solve this case and called in her brother."

"Well, in some respects she was right, because we're really no closer now than we were at the beginning." They might have a scent, but a scent wasn't much good if you couldn't find the source.

"No—" A beep cut across the rest of his words. Jack stopped and pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

"Senior detective Jack Turner speaking."

He listened, his expression getting darker with every passing second. The ice in Eryn's stomach grew tighter. She knew, without even asking, what had happened.

She closed her eyes as he hung up, and wished she could just block her ears. She didn't want to hear what Jack was about to say. She really didn't.

"The killer has struck again," he said softly. "Genny Jones was just found dead in her apartment."

Even with full shields up, the smell of death and blood and sheer evil was so thick in Genny Jones's apartment that Eryn had to fight the urge to spin around and walk out. She was no stranger to death, had seen it many times—and in many forms—in her years at the coroner's office, but these deaths had the power to get to her. Maybe because the killer was taking away the very things that made the victims women—

and that was something any woman would react to.

She followed Jack into the bedroom. The forensic team was still here, so she stopped at the door, keeping her hands in her coveralls even though she wore gloves. Genny Jones's body had not yet been taken away, and like the previous victims, there was enough evidence in the rumpled state of the bed to indicate lovemaking had occurred. Eryn suspected that the samples being taken from the body would confirm this, and that the DNA would match that found on the previous victims.

Her gaze skated from the shocked expression frozen forever on Genny Jones's face, to the bloody remnants of what had once been breasts down to the gaping hole in her stomach. Though she'd seen this all before, it had been via photos. No photo on Earth could ever really convey the sickening reality. Bile rose, and she swallowed heavily.

Grey had suggested that the killer was going after these women because they had what he could not—love, acceptance. Why, then, did the killer mutilate them like this?

It didn't make any sense. This was the act of someone who hated women—or at the very least, hated the things that made them women.

Jack stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face her. His expression was grim. "The scent the same?"

She nodded. "It's stronger than before. He can't have been gone all that long."

"Time of death was ten thirty-five. My people got here at ten forty." Jack's hand rose, as if to thrust his fingers through his hair before remembering that he wore the coveralls and plastic hood. "Damn it, we were watching all the entrances.

None of the men Genny Jones had been seeing entered or left the building."

"Remember what he is. He could have assumed the shape of anyone living in this building. All he'd have to do was brush past him."

"Problem with that is the fact that the only men who entered were accompanied by women. Those men live here with the women that accompanied them. We've checked.

They're all here, and none of them moved from their apartments."

"Then how did the killer get in without being seen? Or out?" She glanced toward the window.

"Not via them," Jack commented, obviously guessing her thoughts. "They're locked. Besides, we have cams in the building opposite."

"And you didn't see the killer?"

"Blinds were drawn in the bedroom."

"What about infrared?"

His expression, if anything, grew grimmer. "It shows them making love. It wasn't until the bedroom team made their regular check-in that anyone realized the man making love to her hadn't been seen walking into the building."

"You obviously got people over here quickly."

"But not quick enough." Jack's cell phone beeped, and he paused to answer it.

A prickle of unease skated across her skin as his expression became slightly incredulous. She crossed her arms, waiting as he told whoever was on the other end of the phone to wait where they were and he'd be right there.

"What?" she said, the minute he hung up.

He shook his head in disbelief. "One of my men has just interviewed a women four apartments down who swears a naked and bloody Genny Jones attacked her—two minutes after Genny Jones apparently died."

Eryn blinked. "Impossible."

Jack's smile was wry. "Normally, I'd think so too, but nothing in this case would surprise me any longer. Let's go talk to her."

He waved her forward, and she turned, leading the way out of the apartment, relieved to be leaving the scent of death and blood and evil. A detective stood at the door four apartments down, and he gave them access without saying a word.

Eryn paused, allowing Jack to head in first. But she'd barely crossed the threshold when the smell hit her.

The killer had been in this apartment.

She bit her lip, holding back the information as Jack questioned the old women. He got the same information his detective probably had—Genny Jones had knocked on the apartment, begging to be let in, stating that there was a man in her apartment trying to kill her. The old women had let her in and was promptly attacked and knocked unconscious. By the time she came to, there was police everywhere. Eryn rubbed her arms and met Jack's gaze. "The killer used this apartment to clean himself up."

"Probably. That doesn't explain how he escaped. Or why Genny Jones walked into this apartment a few minutes after she'd apparently died."

"No." She hesitated. "I think we need to look at the tapes."

Because she had a horrible suspicion about what was going on.

And if she was right, then Grey had lied to her.

Again.

Jack studied her for a moment, then nodded and moved past her, leading the way out of the apartment and across to the truck parked discretely in a shadowed alley.

"Which tapes," he said, sliding a chair across to her while he sat in the other spare one.

"Try the entrance tapes, twenty minutes before the bedroom team report in."

Jack raised an eyebrow, but all he said was, "John?"

One of the men manning the com-screens nodded. After a few seconds, images appeared on some of the screens above them. She watched silently. About ten minutes in, she saw what she was looking for. "Freeze it," she said, and rose, pressing a finger against the screen. "Recognize her?"

Jack frowned. "Yeah. It's the woman Genny was talking to at the bar last night."

"The woman who apparently doesn't exist," she said.

"Now, retrieve the tapes of the building for around the murder time, and show them on a different screen."

The young officer did. A few minutes in, she again found what she was looking for. "Freeze it," she said again, and silently pointed to the image on the screen.

"The old women," Jack said, expression incredulous.

"Walking away when she was supposedly knocked out. What the hell is going on?"

"Grey told me that our killer is a freak even among the freaks. He wouldn't explain it, but I think I now know." Her gaze went back to the screen, studying the woman who was neither old nor a woman. "Our killer is a face shifter, all right, but he's something no one thought could exist—a hermaphrodite. A shifter able to take on both male and female form."

"And he's killing these women because he hates his female half," Jack said flatly.

"At a guess, yes. Why else mutilate these women the way he has?"

Jack scrubbed a hand across his face. "This doesn't exactly help us catch him."

She bit her lip, staring at the frozen image of the dark-

haired woman entering the building. "Maybe it does," she said slowly. "Look at her. Doesn't she rather resemble her—his—

victims? What if that's her true form? What if she's only killing women who look like her?"

"Then we may finally have a picture to circulate. John, get us a good, close shot. And keep playing the second tape. Let's see where the old woman goes." Jack glanced at her. "If Grey was telling the truth about the number of victims, this only leaves us one—you."

She crossed her arms and began watching the tape. The fake old woman toddled up the street. "I was 'volunteered' into this to play bait. I still think that's the way to go."

"Not if you're going to end up dead."

"I have no plans to end up dead."

"I'm sure the other women would have said the same thing."

She gave him a grin. "But I have the advantage of knowing trouble might be headed my way. Besides, Grey seemed convinced that it would happen only if I went to the bar tonight."

"Grey obviously doesn't know everything, else he would have caught the killer long before now."

"True." On the screen, the old woman stepped to the curb and began waving. Soon enough, a yellow cab slid to a stop beside her.

"Get that cab's plate number, and see where he took the old woman," Jack ordered. The second of the two men in the van nodded. Jack glanced back to her. "I'm going to put a watch on your apartment. And you're going to wear tracking and audio tags at all times."

"I think that's going to extremes."

"I don't—" He stopped as his cell phone beeped again.

"What is this, peak hour?" he muttered, as he reached to answer it. He was silent for a few seconds, then his silver brows rose as he glanced at her. "It's for you."

"Me?" she said, surprised. She took the phone and said, "Hello?"

"Eryn? It's Grey. Sorry to contact you via your boss, but I couldn't think of any other way to get hold of you."

Just the sound of his warm, rich voice made her heart race

… and yet, there was something in his tone that made her frown. Some lack that wasn't quite right. "What's the problem?"

"We need to meet."

"Why?"

His chuckle was a low sound of desire that should have sent heat rushing across her skin. It didn't, and that only made her frown all the more.

"Why do you think?" he murmured sexily.

"Even you can't be that insatiable."

"When it comes to you, I'm afraid I am."

She bit her lip. Damn it, something was definitely off kilter, but she couldn't pinpoint exactly what.

She glanced at Jack, silently mouthing "trace the call," then said, "I'm actually not sure if I'm even speaking to you after what you did this morning."

He paused, almost for too long, then said, "I was only trying to protect you."

Her heart began to race, but with fear rather than excitement. "Knocking me out like that wasn't nice."

"But what we did beforehand was damned nice."

"Nothing like a sofa tango," she agreed. Jack gave her the thumbs up, so she added, "Where would you like to meet?"

"How about your place?"

No way in hell. "How about you buy me dinner? I think you owe me that, at least."

"It's a little late, don't you think?"

"Not considering I haven't eaten all day."

He blew out a breath. "I'm afraid I don't know this city well."

He didn't? When his sister lived here? Not likely. "How about the diner where we had breakfast, then?"

He paused, and again it was overly lengthy. "Fine. How about we say in an hour?"

She glanced at her watch. It was nearly eleven-thirty.

"How about we say at one? I've still got work to do."

"Fine. And don't bother to dress too fancy," he added, his husky tone sending chills rather than warmth across her skin, "because I don't plan for you to be wearing clothes for all that long."

"Can't wait," she said, and quickly disconnected.

"What was all that about?" Jack asked, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

"That was Grey, wanting to meet me."

He studied her for a moment, his expression a little confused. "You've said all along you trust him and that he's not the killer, so what's the problem?"

"I don't think it was actually Grey calling me. I think it may have been the killer."

"Why?"

"I'm not exactly sure." She hesitated. "This may sound strange, but I think it was more the lack of reaction inside me rather than anything he actually said."

Jack didn't quibble. "Then I was right—he is after you."

She nodded. "Where did the call come from?"

Jack glanced at the second of his men, who said, "Empty warehouse in the Yanga Park district."

She looked at Jack. "I'll bet he's holding Grey hostage in that warehouse. And I bet that's where he plans to take me after we meet at the diner."

"Again, why?"

"To kill me, of course."

He shook his head. "I mean, why hold Grey?"

"Grey said the killer hated him. He didn't say why."

"Then taking you to that warehouse to kill you is a form of torturing Grey?"

She nodded. It also meant that the killer had read Grey's mind and knew how much he cared for her.

It was a thought that sent both warmth and fear rushing through her veins. God, would fate be such a bitch as to let her glimpse possible paradise in Grey's arms, then snatch it away?

Probably.

Ignoring the chill that ran down her spine, she glanced at her watch. "If we're quick, we might be able to get to that warehouse and rescue Grey before I go to that meet."

Jack didn't move. "You sure you want to do this?"

"You want to catch the killer, don't you?"

"Yeah, but—" "No buts," she said, with a slight smile. "You brought me onto this team to play decoy, and that's exactly what I plan to do. And it might be our one and only chance to stop this person.

Jack stared at her a moment longer, then simply said, "Let's do it."

The wind skated around her bare legs, touching her skin with ice. Eryn shivered and rubbed her arms as she eyed the old building at the bottom of hill. Like most of the buildings around here, it had fallen into disrepair as the council and residents argued over whether this whole area should become park land or more residential space. In the meantime, it was a playground for louts, drug users, and the homeless, as well as being a nice hidey-hole for murderers.

She turned at the sound of footsteps and watched Jack approach.

"The cab let the old women off at The Commodore Hotel," he said, as he stopped.

"Hard to check the register when you have no idea what name she's using."

"True. But there was a Grey Jamison checked in. We showed the concierge Grey's pic, and it was definitely him.

The front desk hasn't seen Jamison since he went up to his room early this afternoon, and he wasn't answering the phone."

Because the killer had him. Question was, how? "I gather your men checked the room?"

He nodded. "He's not there, and there was no evidence of foul play."

Meaning Grey hadn't put up a fight? Why the hell not? She rubbed her arms, her gaze drifting back to the warehouse.

God, she hoped he was okay.

"Everyone's in place here," Jack continued. "Infrared reports three figures inside that warehouse."

"He left guards?"

Jack nodded. "There's one man near the front entrance, two near the back. We're guessing that if Grey is there, he's one of these." He handed her a Taser. "You'll have to get close for this to knock them out, but I'm guessing that with what you're almost wearing, it won't be a problem."

She slipped the Taser into the special pocket sewn into the back of the short leather skirt. Combined with the studded leather bra, the matching dog collar that now included tracking and audio mikes, and six inch stilettos that could certainly double as a weapon, she had on what she liked to describe as her eye-popping outfit. Jack had been surprised that she even had such an outfit in her wardrobe. He obviously thought her as staid as everyone else, but hey, she was a shifter and had her wild side—even if she didn't bring it out to play very often.

She struck a pose. "So you like what you see?"

"Darlin', if those boys don't bone up the minute they see you, I'll dye my hair pink." He handed her a riding crop and several long strips of leather. "Just to complete the look."

"I won't ask where you managed to find one of these at this hour." She looped the soft leather and tucked them into the side of her skirt, then accepted the whip. Her gaze scooted down his body. Talk about boning up…

She grinned. "You're enjoying your job again, I see."

"I'm a man, you're breathtaking, and a reaction is natural." His grin faded, his expression becoming serious. "Be careful in there, and remember, just give the word and we'll be with you in seconds."

She nodded, placed a kiss on his cheek, then stepped back and called to that place deep within, where the hound dog lay waiting. Energy surged in response, running through her, around her, momentarily snatching away sight and sense as it reshaped and changed her body.

In beagle form, she headed towards the warehouse.

She pricked her ears and sniffed the air as she trotted down the hill. Though she knew there were at least a dozen cops scattered around the area, she couldn't hear them, and she certainly couldn't smell them. Jack had said he'd called in the best, and it looked as if he hadn't been exaggerating.

And she knew then that the only reason she was going into that warehouse at all was because she was the only one who had a hope of sorting out friend from foe via smell. Especially if those two men in there also happened to be face shifters.

She slowed as she approached the warehouse, searching the air for the aroma of the man who stood near the entrance. Pine and musk, intermingled with the stale stench of sweat, teased her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and moved a little closer. Damn it, why did villains never seem to bathe? Or was it simply something in their base smell that made them seem so sour to her senses?

She slipped in through the semi-open door and stopped in the shadows. Villain number one was half concealed by a wooden crate, and more than half asleep. She went back outside, shifted shaped, then boldly thrust open the door.

There was a scramble of movement, then a voice said, "Stop right there, and get your hands… Jesus!"

"Mr. Harding?" she said, keeping her voice low, throaty.

"I'm here, as requested."

His gaze scooted down her body, and came back up, filled with heat. "Lady, as much as I hate to admit it, I think you've got the wrong address."

She slapped the whip lightly against her thigh, watching him for several long minutes. The smell of his excitement began to stain the air. "This is one-three-four Jaybel Drive, is it not?"

"Well, yeah, but—" "Then I have the right address." She slid her gaze slowly down his body, then deliberately licked her lips. "I must say, you're in better shape than some of the other clients I've… cared for… here."

He adjusted himself quickly, cast a quick, almost furtive look toward the shadows on his right, then looked back at her. His change of plans was evident in the lustful light in his eyes. "Then maybe I am Mr. Harding. What do you plan to do for me?"

She strode towards him, her stilettos drumming a sharp tattoo on the concrete. The noise wouldn't carry to the other guard, simply because this warehouse was large and divided by lots of rooms.

She stopped when there were still several feet between them, and raised the whip, pressing the tip lightly against his chest. "That depends on how rough you like it." She let her gaze slide down to his hand. "That gun real, or is it a toy you bought along for us to play with?"

He licked his lips. "What do you mean by play?"

She raised her eyebrows, and slid one hand up her thigh, pushing up the skirt and touching herself lightly. "Cold metal inserted in warm places can give a delicious thrill."

He made a strangled sort of sound, and tried to step forward. She pressed the whip harder against his chest.

"Naughty boy. You paid to be spanked and dominated, not the other way around."

His breathing was becoming more and more rapid, and the scent of his desire swirled around her. Despite her utter distaste for the man, she couldn't help being a little aroused by what she was doing. Maybe this was a game she could play with someone she liked.

Grey, for instance.

She smiled at the thought, and in that moment, awareness surged, a firestorm that burned through every nerve ending.

Eryn?

The voice was groggy, the question uncertain, but it was Grey, there was no doubt about that. The surge of desire and relief was evidence enough of that.

Here. She formed the answer in her mind, hoping he could read it. She'd never attempted mind communication before—

hadn't even been aware she was capable of it. She slapped the whip against the guard's hip and added in a stern voice.

"Strip, and do it quickly."

Strip?

Just taking care of guard number one.

By fucking him?

The question had a note of fury that made her smile.

You say that like fucking him would be a bad thing.

You are mine! The words reverberated through her mind so loudly, she couldn't help wincing. Yet they also made her heart race and her feet want to do a cheerful little dance. She was his.

Was it only a day ago those same words had made her furious?

I'm only joking, Grey. I'm merely getting him naked so he thinks he's going to hit the jackpot. When I get close to him, I'll Taser him unconscious.

So what the hell are you wearing that makes him think he's going to get lucky?

Think leather, think dominatrix.

There was a long pause. I don't think thinking about that is a good idea.

She had to restrain her grin. Hang on a moment. Got to take care of the guard.

She slid the tip of the whip down the guard's chest, and lightly flicked it over his cock. He shuddered and swallowed.

"Nice," she said, sliding the whip down his shaft and lightly toying with his balls. "Very nice. Turn around."

He did, his breathing so hard his whole body shook. Yet he was still a little wary—tension rode his shoulders, and he watched her over one shoulder. He still had the gun. She had to be careful.

She stepped closer, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the stale smell of him. Forcing a smile, she met his gaze as she rubbed her studded bra across the width of his back.

"Like that?"

His thick groan was answer enough. She snorted softly.

"I'm not convinced." She stepped back and slapped the whip against his bare butt. "Spread your legs."

He did. Quickly.

"What do you want me to do, little boy?"

He gave another thick groan. "Rub your breasts up and down my back."

She gave him another slap with the whip. "I didn't hear the magic word."

"Please."

She slapped him again. "I don't believe you meant it. And who gave you permission to look at me?"

"Pretty please," he repeated, his words a shudder of excitement as he turned his head away.

She smiled grimly and reached back, wrapping her fingers around the Taser.

"Get ready," she whispered, slipping the whip between his spread legs, caressing him even as she pressed the Taser against his back. He didn't make a sound, simply collapsed.

She caught the gun from his nerveless fingers, then stepped back so he could fall.

"Guard number one down and out," she said softly, more for Jack's benefit than Grey's.

She took one strip of leather from her waist and quickly hog-tied the guard. Then she shifted shape, and began weaving her way through the many rooms that separated her from Grey.

Well done, Grey said. But I doubt the second guard will be as dense as the first.

What can you tell me about him?

He's big. And a horse shifter.

Yum. I've never had a horse shifter before. I'm told they rather live up to a stallion's reputation.

Damn it, Eryn, enough.

His voice held that note of fury again, and she felt like laughing. If he was reacting so readily to her teasing, he did indeed care.

So, does this sudden sense of propriety mean you intend to explore our relationship further?

Not if you continue to talk about fucking other men.

I'm a mutt. Mutts have sex on the brain.

I'd rather this mutt concentrate on the business at hand—

me.

I'm here because of you. And I'll do whatever it takes to get you free. But could she have sex with another man while Grey was watching? Deep down, she knew the answer was no. Grey was the only man she wanted inside her.

What else can you tell me about the guard?

His name is Leon Harvey. He's ex-military, and hired help.

So he has no loyalty to our killer?

No. And the killer's name is Marcy Jones. Though he prefers Marshall.

So he is officially a she?

Officially, yes.

Mentally?

A male who hates his feminine side.

So does he really want acceptance? Love? Or was that just a line you were spinning to get me off the track.

No line. And don't forget babies.

She frowned. So why is he slicing these women up the way he is if he wants babies? Surely, as a male, he could find a woman to impregnate?

His male side is sterile.

So if he wants kids, he has to rely on the very part of him he hates?

Yes. And the anger he feels is taken out on women who are similar in looks.

Which also explained how he was getting into the bars. He was going there as a fertile woman, not a sterile man.

She trotted through yet another doorway and entered a long corridor. The tang of cigarette smoke began to taint the air, along with the faint stench of burnt flesh.

Silver, she thought. They'd chained Grey with silver. Which would explain why he hadn't escaped. It would also stop her from freeing him. Silver burned, and stopped, shifters of any race. She swallowed the rising sense of sick fury and asked, Your guard a smoker?

Yes.

Then I must be getting close. She hesitated, sniffing the air. The scent of man was coming from the left of the doorway ahead. The scent of desire and raw masculinity from the right. Did Ms. Marshall and Leon say anything to each other before Marshall left that would help me get close to this man?

I was out of it a lot of the time. Grey hesitated. He was going on about a special form of torture he had planned for me before he kills me, but that's really it.

I think he was planning to drag me back here, torture me, then kill me, while you watched.

He phoned you, didn't he?

Said he was you.

You weren't fooled. He sounded oddly proud.

My hormones weren't fooled. She shifted shape. I'm about to enter. Don't react.

If you look as good as I think you do, that's going to be a little hard.

Oh, I expect you're going to be more than a little hard by the time I've finished with you.

Damn it, woman, what have you got—

You'll soon find out, she cut in, then cleared her voice and added loudly, "Leon? Leon Harvey? I'm about to enter the room, and I do not wish to be shot."

The sound of a safety being clicked off was unmistakable in the sharp silence. "Do it. With your hands up."

She raised her hands and entered the room, glancing immediately to the right.

And there she saw Grey.

Beaten and bloody.

Bruised and naked.

Tied spread-eagled to the wall behind him by silver chains that had burned deep welts into his wrists and ankles.

Fury rushed through her, but she swallowed it down and carefully schooled her face to blankness. Looking to her left, she raised an eyebrow at the man holding the gun aimed at her head and said calmly, "That the man Marshall wants me to give the full treatment to?"