CHAPTER 7

Fear stepped into my heart. I didn’t say anything; I didn’t even question her. I simply wrapped my fingers around the keys and ran for the back of the lot.

“Open the rear cargo,” Jackson said.

I pressed the appropriate button on the remote, then pulled off the backpack containing the laptops and threw it onto the backseat. Jackson dumped the Vespa into the cargo area, then climbed into the passenger seat. I was reversing out of the bay even before he’d closed the door. Makani was still standing where we’d left her, her arms crossed and her expression troubled. She raised a hand as we sped past; I didn’t acknowledge it. I didn’t dare take my hands off the wheel, given the speed at which we were already moving.

“It’ll be okay—”

“Don’t,” I said, my voice sharp, and then took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be snapping at you.”

He reached across the center console and squeezed my leg. “It’s okay, Em. We’re connected, remember? And wouldn’t you feel it if he was dead?”

“Normally, yes. But Rory’s still in a weak state, and that could hinder our connection and my ability to call to his ashes.”

“So there’s a distance restriction when it comes to that sort of thing?”

“Like any signal that has no amplification, it grows weaker the farther you move away from the primary source.”

“So you’d never risk going interstate or overseas without him?”

“No. I couldn’t anyway—we need to reaffirm our connection on a regular basis.”

He grunted. “Fate really has got it in for your lot, hasn’t it?”

“Our life isn’t bad, Jackson. It can just get complicated.”

“To say the least.” He shook his head. “I think I’d rather juggle a hundred women than do what you and Rory do century after century.”

I glanced at him. “Even you can’t juggle a hundred women.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Want to bet on it?”

I laughed. “No, I do not.”

I swung the SUV onto the freeway ramp and hit the accelerator, reaching for every ounce of speed the Range Rover had. As the big engine kicked into gear, he said, “If Makani does come to work with us, she won’t want to be just a secretary. She’ll want to be a full partner.”

He was, I knew, talking to keep my mind off what might be happening with Rory. “I have no problem with that, but I am surprised. She’s an air fae, and they’re even less inclined to remain around cities than your lot.”

“I suspect she’s been sent here by her father.”

I raised an eyebrow and glanced at him. “I didn’t think any of the fae remained in family groups.”

“We don’t, but both parents always remain a part of any child’s life, no matter how young or old that child is.”

Meaning they were a whole lot better than we phoenixes at keeping in contact once their children had flown the nest. “I was under the impression you hadn’t talked to your dad for years.”

“I haven’t, but I’m also much older than Makani. Besides, given how long we live, years are more like months.”

“Just how much older are you?”

He grinned. “When you tell me your true age, I’ll tell you mine.”

“Fair enough.” I concentrated on overtaking a long truck for a minute, and then added, “What makes you think her dad sent her here?”

Because I certainly hadn’t gained that impression by anything she’d said or done in our brief meeting.

“It was something she said when I first contacted her—that she’d been expecting my call.”

I frowned. “She’s air fae. That goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but Makani stepped away from reading the wind after the death of a lover some years back.”

“Meaning she read the wind wrong?”

“Quite the opposite—he wouldn’t listen to her.”

Meaning he was an idiot. “Did he know she was fae?”

A smile touched his lips. “He was fae, and he was also the one who read the wind wrong, not her. He died; she discovered two weeks later that she was carrying his child.”

I swung onto the Hume Freeway ramp, keeping the big vehicle in line as we took the sweeping turn far faster than the sign recommended.

“That would have been hard.”

“Yeah.” Jackson was silent for a moment, and then added, “Makani stepped away from reading the wind the minute she discovered that.”

I frowned. “I would have thought she’d do the opposite to keep her child safe.”

“Reading is not without its risks. There have been instances of fiosaiche losing all sense of self and becoming little more than air.”

Fiosaiche, I knew, was basically the fae term for shaman. If she’d been one, then she was a very gifted reader indeed. “So if she’s once again doing so, it’s because she’s been asked?” When he nodded, I added, “But why would her dad ask her rather than simply do it himself?”

“Because the older air fae get, the more stretched they become, until they are so thin, they appear little more than gossamer. He wouldn’t have the strength to counter whatever events this so-called flux is going to throw at us.”

“I’m seriously doubting he intends Makani to actually fight.”

“No, but she’s a fae in the prime of her life, and she’ll be able to withstand the exchange of forests for the bleakness of the city far longer than he.”

“And her child?”

“Is now in his thirties, and in training to become fiosaiche when his grandfather eventually dies.”

“So it’s a position that’s handed down?”

Jackson nodded. “But generally to the male of the line, not the female.”

“So she was training because there were no sons?”

“Yes. But to become fiosaiche is to forgo children.”

“He obviously didn’t.” Nor did Makani, for that matter.

“Makani was conceived before he stepped into the position. I have no doubt Hava will have done the same now that he is undergoing the training. As for Makani—she also stepped away from training simply because she wanted to spend more time with her son than the position would have allowed.”

“Huh.” I concentrated on the road for a while, and eventually asked, “Do you have any problems with working with her?”

He shook his head. “She’ll be an asset. Not to mention easy on the eyes.”

“Remember the no-touching rule.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m remembering. The swimmers are aching at the mere thought of it.”

I grinned. “They will get relief. Eventually.”

“I’ll probably explode before then.” His expression was gloomy, but amusement teased his lips. “At this rate, I’ll have to take matters into my own hands, and that’s a very depressing thought.”

I chuckled softly. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of such an action, even if it is a very foreign one for you.”

He sniffed, a sound that somehow managed to be disdainful. “The point is I shouldn’t have to.”

My amusement grew, but I resisted the urge to reach across and pat his leg in sympathy; not only would that have been dangerous, given the speed we were going, but also because I knew he really was sexually frustrated. I could feel the heat of it running through the back of my thoughts, a river of desire that could so easily sweep me away if I wasn’t very careful.

And, right now, with everything going on, we really couldn’t afford that happening.

If he heard that particular thought, he didn’t reply to it. Maybe the reality of it simply depressed him too much. I drove on into the night. Luckily there didn’t seem to be any cops about, but even if there had been, I wouldn’t have stopped. The need to get back to Rory, to see what was happening, was beating fast and strong within me, and while I was now close enough to know that he wasn’t dead, that didn’t mean he wasn’t injured or close to that state.

I needed to know. Needed to get there and find out.

As I swung onto the dirt road that led down to the river and our cabin, flashes of red and blue began to cut through the trees—not from flames, but from emergency vehicle lights. My heart began to race a whole lot faster, even though I still had no sense that Rory was dead.

A police car blocked the road near the first cabin, forcing me to stop. I did so and rolled down the window.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the officer said, “but there’s been a fire, and we’re not—”

“We’re PIT associates.” Jackson leaned past me to give the officer his badge. “And we’ve been called in to investigate.”

The officer frowned as his gaze swept the badge. “I can’t see why PIT would even be here, let alone send associates.”

“Emberly here was staying in one of the cabins,” Jackson said. “What building went up? And have there been any injuries or fatalities?”

“It was the last cabin, and yes, there’ve been injuries. We’re still trying to determine the latter.”

I briefly closed my eyes and fought the urge to run into the area and find Rory. If he were dead, I’d know. I had to cling to that, if nothing else.

“We need to get in there, Officer. Now,” Jackson added when the officer hesitated.

“Wait here while I check with the inspector.” He stepped back and began talking into his two-way. I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, my gaze on the lights up ahead. Smoke swirled through the night, but I couldn’t see any flames, and there was little in the way of heat riding the crisp air.

“Okay,” the officer said, handing Jackson’s ID back. “You’re cleared. But you’ll have to leave the SUV here—just pull it off the road a bit more.”

I did so, then grabbed my coat and climbed out. The farther I got down the road, the stronger the scent of smoke became. One of our neighbors nodded at me as we strode by, and the cabin nearest ours bore scorch marks. That fact alone suggested our cabin hadn’t just caught fire; it had exploded.

I rounded the corner and was met by a scene of utter destruction. There was little left of the cabin but a pile of smoldering wood. Even the old stone chimney hadn’t withstood the explosion—there were only a few bricks left at the base to indicate its existence. We were stopped again as we drew near the cabin, but once we’d both shown our IDs, we were motioned over to a somewhat disheveled-looking gentleman whose short gray hair stuck out in all directions and who seemed to be wearing a striped pajama top under his sweater.

“Inspector James Cobden,” he said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. “What’s PIT’s interest in this case?”

I introduced us both, then added, “I was staying here with a friend—”

“If his name is Rory Jones, he’s currently being checked by the ambulance crew,” the inspector said. “Can you think of any reason why someone might have wanted to harm either of you?”

Relief swept me, and I didn’t bother hiding it. “PIT isn’t well liked, even among our fellow officers. Do you mind if I head over to talk to my companion?”

“I’ll stay here and answer any questions you might have,” Jackson said, even as he gave me a light push toward the ambulance.

I didn’t really need the encouragement and walked away before the inspector could answer.

Rory was sitting on the back of the ambulance, his right arm being bandaged by a paramedic and his hair somewhat singed—both of which suggested he’d been unable to draw in the fire and stop it from affecting him for some reason. He was wearing a pair of old jeans and a shirt that hung like a tent on him, but his feet were bare and blackened with soot.

The paramedic glanced up as I approached. I flashed my badge, then sat beside Rory. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Close call, though.”

He put his free hand between us, and I placed mine on top. Though there was no telltale spark or heat, he instantly began drawing on my strength. He was weaker—far weaker—than when we’d left him, which basically confirmed that he’d been the reason the cabin had exploded. Not that I’d really had much doubt about that; the only other way the cabin could have gone up like that was if the gas bottles had exploded.

“What happened?”

“Break-in of some kind that went wrong.” He shrugged, a casual move that was anything but. Tension and anger rode him, but the paramedic’s presence was preventing him from saying anything. “It’s just lucky I happened to be in the bathroom—it probably saved me from the explosion.”

“Who broke in? Any idea?”

He glanced at me, his amber eyes aglitter, but he said only, “No. That’s a job for the coroner—if he can find anything left of them in the ashes, that is.”

Meaning he’d made damn sure nothing was left.

“And the clothes?”

A smile ghosted his lips. “Donation from the guy two doors up. He told me it wasn’t right to be walking around buck naked when there were kiddies about.”

I raised my eyebrows. “There are kids here? I don’t remember seeing any.”

“That’s because said kiddies are actually teenagers who were very unimpressed by the term.”

“I can imagine.”

“Right,” the paramedic said as he finished bandaging Rory’s arm. “The painkiller I gave you should hold for a couple of hours, but you might need something after that. You should go to the hospital, in my opinion.”

A smile ghosted Rory’s lips. “I’m a firefighter. The boys would give me merry hell if I went to the hospital for a burn as minor as this.”

“Partial second-degree burns are hardly minor.” The paramedic’s expression was disapproving. “Sounds like your work mates are a bunch of idiots.”

“Their teasing is simply a way of relieving tension,” Rory said, his tone a little sharp. “You should know that.”

The paramedic grunted and stepped back. “Given you won’t take my advice, you’re free to go.”

Rory released me and rose, somewhat cautiously, to his feet. I stood with him, one hand near his elbow, ready to catch him should he show any sign of toppling. After a minute, his smile flashed, and he pointed with his chin toward the somewhat blackened trunk of an old river gum to the right of the cabin ruins.

Once there, he sat down and released a somewhat shuddering breath. “Well, that was a fucking interesting night.”

I glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear us. “What actually happened?”

“As I said, I was attacked. But I certainly wasn’t in the bathroom at the time.” The fury I’d glimpsed before was fully evident now. “The bastards came equipped with magic.”

“Fuck—what sort?”

“The sort that restrains our access to fire but not our access to the mother.” The smile that touched his lips was cold. Very cold. “They found that out very fast.”

Which explained why he was so drained. Reaching for the mother when he was still in the recovery stage of rebirth had been a very dangerous thing to do. I twined my fingers around his again, needing the comfort of his touch. I could have so very easily lost him, because there would have been no calling him back. Not from the mother.

“Any idea who they were?”

“Well, they were very definitely vampires. Other than that, no.”

I frowned. “De Luca’s get has come after me and Jackson a few times now, but I can’t see why they’d drive all the way out here to attack you. Besides, how would they even know you exist?”

“I was at Highpoint when Parella shot De Luca, remember? Maybe one of his crew mentioned it to them.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Even if that were true, Parella and his people couldn’t possibly have known about the connection between us.”

“Maybe it’s simply a matter of the den wanting to erase anyone connected to you.”

“Maybe,” I said even as doubt gnawed at me. While it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that De Luca’s get had indeed decided to erase anyone I was close to, I doubted they’d have either the funds or the foresight to go to a witch and purchase a restraining spell. Not now that their creator was dead.

“If they were vampires, they must have driven up here. Did you hear a vehicle of any kind?”

Rory shook his head. “The police suspect they parked it in the scrub farther up the road and walked in.”

I frowned. “Suspect? Meaning they haven’t found it yet?”

“Not that I’ve heard, but they’re not likely to tell me even if they had.” He paused and reached into the pocket of his borrowed jeans. “I did manage to grab a couple of wallets before I cindered the bastards.”

I took the two of them, then dropped one onto my knees and opened the other. There were a couple of credit cards bearing the name Harry Jones, and a driver’s license that apparently belonged to a Stephen White. I flipped it around so Rory could see the ID picture. “Is that one of the vamps?”

He studied the picture for a moment, then shook his head. “But it’s not really surprising they’d be holding stolen IDs. Most vamps who take a commission don’t carry anything that could accurately identify them.”

“What makes you think the attack was a commission?” I opened the second wallet and discovered another credit card and driver’s license bearing different names, although this time both were female.

Rory shook his head again when I showed it to him. “It’s just a feeling I got. They weren’t moving as a team, but rather separate entities. It was almost as if they were racing each other to get the kill.” He hesitated, then half laughed, although it was a sound that held little in the way of amusement. “That haste was probably the only thing that saved me.”

“You heard them coming?”

“Not initially. But one of them disengaged the safety as he was coming at me rather than doing it outside. It was only a soft click, but it was so out of place that it was enough to wake me.”

I frowned. “If they had guns, why didn’t they just shoot the shit out of the cabin? They would have known your position by the sound of your heartbeat.”

“Aside from the fact it would have woken the entire neighborhood, you mean?”

I half smiled. “Yes.”

He shrugged. “Good question, and one I can’t possibly answer given the state of both the cabin and my five attackers.” He disentangled his fingers from mine. “If I drain any more of your strength, you’re going to be as weak as me.”

In any other circumstance, I would have protested. But he was right; the simple fact was my reserves were already riding too low.

“We need to find somewhere else for you to recover in safety.”

“If they found this place, they’re bound to find any other location we decide on.”

“Not necessarily,” Jackson said as he walked over and then squatted down in front of us. “Tell me, just how the hell did you, of all people, get burned?”

A smile ghosted Rory’s lips. “I forgot about the gas bottles on the side of the cabin when I incinerated the place. Their explosion sent me tumbling, and it tore me from spirit to flesh form.”

“But even then, the fire shouldn’t have affected you,” Jackson said.

“There were witnesses by that stage. I did stop the fire burning too deeply, but I could hardly walk out of a firestorm completely untouched—not without raising all sorts of suspicions.”

Jackson grunted and glanced at me. “The cops told me there’s no unaccounted car in the area. The vamps must have been dropped off.”

“Which means they’ll probably have a pickup arranged.”

He nodded. “I told the cop we’d position ourselves up near the main road and nab anyone who comes down here.”

“Did you now?”

He ignored the sarcasm in my voice. “And I also have a solution to the accommodation issue.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’ve volunteered the home of one of the ladies from your harem.”

“Well, no, because I really don’t want to put any more of them in any sort of danger. I was thinking more along the lines of Adán.”

Adán being the second earth fae who’d helped create the trench around Brooklyn. “Really? Why?”

“Because he not only lives in Thornton, which is only about fifty minutes from here, but his home is something of a fortress.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Fifty minutes adds a whole lot to our traveling time when we’re in the city.”

“But you don’t have to come back to me every night, Em,” Rory said. “I may still be weak, but as long as I’ve got fire, I’ll be all right for a couple of days.”

“I don’t know—”

“The real problem,” Rory said, cutting me off with a gentle squeeze of my arm, “is that if they found this place, they’re more than likely to find others. And I’d hate to put Adán in any sort of danger.”

Jackson snorted. “Adán’s an earth fae. Trust me, those buggers don’t scare easily, and they certainly don’t die easily. He’ll jump at the opportunity for some action.”

I did believe him, because he’d already done just that when we’d called both him and Dmitri to help us in Brooklyn. “Maybe what we need is a little subterfuge.”

“Like what?” Jackson asked.

“Well, there’re only two ways those vamps could have found this place. Either they were tracking us—”

“We checked the cars regularly. We weren’t bugged,” Jackson said.

“There’s more than one way to track,” Rory said. “Winged shifters, for instance.”

“PIT were certainly using hawk shifters to tail us,” Jackson said. “But I was under the impression they’d stopped.”

I snorted. “Just because the inspector implied that doesn’t mean she actually did it.”

I liked the woman, but she was in the middle of a battle she couldn’t afford to lose, and there was no doubt in my mind she’d do whatever she deemed necessary to twist the odds in her favor. If that included following two people who were knee-deep in the same shit, then she’d do so.

“And if we weren’t followed,” I continued, “then the only other way they could have found us is if they were told.”

Rory frowned. “Did you tell anyone we were here?”

“No.”

Jackson held up his hands. “Don’t look at me.”

“Which means they either had psychic help or PIT did indeed track us here, and the squad does indeed have a mole.”

“There’s an easy way to get an answer to one of those questions.” Jackson pulled out his phone and hit the DIAL button, then held the phone between the three of us so we could all hear.

“Chief Inspector,” he said the minute she answered, “I have a rather urgent question for you.”

“Indeed? Please proceed.”

“Have you set a hawk on our tail?”

She paused. “And if I have?”

“You need to call him off.”

“Only if you start carrying your phone so we know your location. It’s imperative that we keep track of all operatives right now—”

“Inspector,” I cut in, “we’re not operatives. We’re associates, and your tracking us almost led to the death of a friend.”

“Would this friend be Rory Jones, the man nobody witnessed coming out of Brooklyn?”

I hesitated. “The same.”

“Care to explain how he got out?”

“No—and that’s not important right now,” I said. “Are you, or are you not, having us tailed?”

“I am.”

“Then you need to call them off. Someone betrayed our position, Inspector.”

“There is no leak or mole in my department, Pearson.” Her tone was frosty. “If your hideout was blown, then it was not due to anything we did.”

“No one knew where we were, Inspector. There were no bugs on our cars, and we dumped Jackson’s phone long before we got to our current location.”

“The sindicati are not averse to using winged shifters to follow targets,” the inspector said.

“Yes, but we would have noticed two birds following us. And undoubtedly your hawk would also have noticed another tag.” I hesitated. “Besides, we have a truce with Parella. He wouldn’t be following us.”

Not by air, at any rate, Jackson said. Not if the past efforts are anything to go by.

“If you believe that,” the inspector said, “then you are both fools.”

Maybe we were. Maybe it was the sindicati behind all this, given it was vampires who attacked Rory. But that little voice inside me, the one that dreamed of death and was very rarely wrong, suggested PIT was somehow connected. It wasn’t behind the actual attack, of that I had no doubt, but the information about our location had certainly come from the organization. Somehow.

“Inspector,” Jackson said, “if you can guarantee, with one hundred percent certainty, that PIT is secure and has no leaks, then I’ll keep my phone and even tell you where we’ll be staying. But call off the hawks, because the next time we spot one following us, we’ll fry it.”

“I would advise against doing that. I really don’t appreciate my people coming under friendly fire.” Her voice was flat. “Where are you staying?”

“I’ll tell you that when we decide where to go next. Thanks, Inspector.” With that, he hung up. “There’s only one way we’re going to prove whether PIT has a leak, and that’s by exposing it.”

“That could get dangerous,” Rory said.

“Not if we’re sneaky about it.”

A smile touched Rory’s lips. “I didn’t think sneaky was in a fire fae’s vocabulary.”

“We generally do prefer to be up-front about things, but hey, needs must, and all that.” Jackson plucked one of the wallets from my hand. “And I’m thinking these could provide access to sneakiness.”

I smiled. “So we book two rooms at a hotel, using the stolen credit cards for the second one, then leave your phone in one and keep watch from the other?”

“It’s almost as if you read my mind.” His grin flashed. “Then we give the inspector the address, and see what happens.”

“And if nothing does, it might at least mean PIT is secure.”

“Exactly. But it may take a few days for someone to bite, so we’ll have to be careful about coming and going.”

“It’s also probably best if I visit Rory alone.”

“Agreed.” Jackson rose. “I’ll go see if Cobden is happy to release Rory, then make calls to both Parella and Adán. Then we can head up to the main road to keep an eye on things while we wait for Adán to arrive.”

“I really doubt anyone will be back to retrieve the vampires. They must know something has gone wrong by now.”

“Oh, I agree, but we’ve got nothing to lose.” Jackson shrugged, then spun around and walked away.

I glanced at Rory. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? You’re still on the wire when it comes to strength.”

“So are you.” He brushed his fingertips down my cheek. “I’ll be okay. Just don’t get yourself killed when there’s such a distance between us, because that might be problematic.”

“Trust me, I’m doing my best to avoid getting dead.”

“Good.” He hesitated. “What happened in Brooklyn?”

I gave him a quick update on everything. Rory frowned. “If he is using magic to hide his location, why haven’t the witches discovered it? Surely using that much power would have caused some ripples in the earth’s energy fields?”

“So I would have thought. But maybe he’s not using much. Maybe the spell is just big enough to conceal Rinaldo’s presence and nothing else.”

“Which would suggest he hasn’t a den of his own. At least not yet.” Rory paused. “It could also mean he’s using the Coalition to hire people. If that’s true, then maybe tonight’s attack came from him.”

The Coalition’s full name was the Coalition of Nonhumans. It was an independent resource center that provided financial and legal help to both vampires and werewolves, and it was mostly funded by member contributions. The CNH tended to be low-key, not only because of the rise of anti-werewolf and -vampire sentiment in recent years but also because it had a smaller, less-known—but very profitable—side department. This department basically handled nonhuman business activities that were not only more than a little illegal, but which required anonymity—things like kidnapping and killing. It had no official phone number and couldn’t be reached via the CNH’s switchboard; if you wanted something done, or if you wanted to contact someone you might have dealt with previously, the only way to do so was via snail mail.

Which was what we’d done a few days ago. We’d sent a letter requesting a meet with Lee Rawlings, the Coalition bagman who’d been sent to collect me the first time I’d been kidnapped. We’d been hoping that he’d be able to tell us more about the state of play between the sindicati factions and maybe even Luke, but we’d since uncovered a lot of that information ourselves. It’d still be handy to talk to him, though, if only because he might have some information about Rinaldo. The bastard might be off radar, but surely someone, somewhere, had to know something about him.

“It’s possible, but I don’t see why Rinaldo would go to such lengths,” I said. Besides, Radcliffe had said the vamps who’d attacked his venues weren’t mercenaries. If they’d come from the Coalition, they would have been.

“Remember, you’re talking about a very old vampire. In his mind, I’m probably nothing more than an incomplete lesson. Until I stay taken out, said lesson would have little impact.”

I could totally see Rinaldo thinking that way—especially given what he’d done to Shona and the wolves. “Which means if he does discover your new location, you and Adán will come under attack.”

“From the little I’ve seen of Adán, I wish them luck trying.” Rory patted my leg. “Stop worrying, and help me up.”

I did so. Thankfully, he was a little more secure on his feet this time, but I still hovered close as we made our way over to where Jackson stood talking to Cobden.

“You’re free to go,” he said. “Just remain reachable, in case we have any further questions.”

“My phone has been destroyed,” Rory said, “but you can get hold of me via either Emberly’s work number or Jackson’s.”

Cobden nodded and stepped away. We walked back to the car, then drove it along the old road and pulled into the trees just off the main road.

“Any success with Parella?” I asked Jackson.

“He denies the use of winged shifters to tag us, and he didn’t order the hit. He didn’t, however, rule out the possibility of that happening in the future if we didn’t start relaying more information.”

“Hard to relay what we haven’t got.” And the stuff we did have we certainly didn’t want in their hands.

“I did say that. He didn’t believe we don’t have the information.”

“And Adán?” I asked.

“Reckons he’ll be here by four,” Jackson said. “I’ll keep an eye on things if you two want to nap.”

I didn’t argue. I just settled more comfortably into the seat and went straight to sleep. The slamming of a car door jerked me awake. I sat upright too quickly and just about strangled myself on the seat belt as it snapped taut. I swore, released the thing, then scrubbed the sleep from my eyes and peered through the somewhat foggy windshield.

Jackson was greeting another man who would have been an almost identical replica of Dmitri if not for the shape of his face and nose, both of which were broader.

“Rory,” I said, “Adán’s here.”

I climbed out of the car without waiting for a response, crossing my arms and shivering a little as the chilly night air hit like a slap across the face.

A grin split Adán’s lips when he spotted me, and his eyes—a warm chocolate color—gleamed with pleasure. And, I suspected, more than a little desire. But then, he was fae.

“It’s a real pleasure to see you again.” He caught my hand, tugged me closer, and kissed both my cheeks. “I do so hope having Rory stay at my place means you will come visit me.”

“If you’re cooking, I’ll be there.”

“Excellent.” His gaze moved past me. “That’s a rather becoming outfit you’re wearing there, Rory.”

“Oversized and ill-fitting are the next new trend.” His tone was dry. “I appreciate your taking me in on short notice like this.”

Adán’s grin widened. “Although Jackson assures me there shouldn’t be any problems, I’m always up for a good fight. You ready?”

Rory nodded, then gave me a wink and followed Adán across to his Land Rover. Once they were gone, I said, “We need to find somewhere to rest, but I doubt there’ll be many hotels open at this hour. Not in this area, anyway.”

“No.” Jackson scrubbed a hand through his hair. For the first time since I’d known him, he actually looked tired. “Why don’t we just head back to the office? We need to make arrangements for Rinaldo to pick up the laptops, and we have to be there to meet Radcliffe at ten, anyway.”

I frowned. “That’s an hour-and-a-half drive—I’m not sure either of us can do it.”

“Well, it’s either that or we sleep in the SUV.”

“Let’s do the drive.” The Range Rover was a comfortable beast, but nothing could beat a real bed.

It was a long drive back to Melbourne, but our wakefulness was boosted by several coffee stops along the way. The office remained as we’d last left it and was as cold as hell, but I didn’t care. I stripped as I headed up the circular staircase, and all but fell onto the mattress. Jackson had stopped downstairs to make the call to Rinaldo, and I have no memory of him joining me in the bed. I was already asleep by that time.

A harsh rapping woke me some hours later. I sat upright, my heart hammering, for an instant confused as to where I was. The sun was shining in through the big window to my right, highlighting the mess that surrounded us—a mess caused by vamps searching both the office and this upper living area.

The rapping echoed again, and I scrubbed a hand across my eyes and glared, somewhat blearily, at the clock. Ten o’clock.

Oh fuck.

“Jackson, get up.” I scrambled out of the bed. “The rats are here.”

“Too early,” he mumbled. “Come back to bed.”

I tossed his jeans at his face. “It’s ten. Is the file still behind the coffee machine?”

“Yes.” He swung out of bed and began climbing into his jeans. “You get the door. I’ll get the file and remove the appropriate bits.”

As we clattered down the stairs, someone leaned on the doorbell and let it ring long and loud. “All right, all right, I’m coming,” I shouted back, doing up my shirt as I walked—albeit slowly—over to the door.

I took my time undoing the bolts but left the chain on as I opened the door a fraction and peered out.

“You were the one who set the time,” Radcliffe said, clearly amused. “If it was inconvenient, you should have said.”

“Sorry, it’s been a long night. Hang on.” I closed the door again and glanced across at Jackson. He nodded and fired up the coffee machine. I undid the chain and opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

Radcliffe stopped several steps in, his gaze sweeping the mess and the remains of the chalky outline of where Rosen’s body had been dumped. “I think you need to change your decorator, because this isn’t a look that would garner any sort of respect from clients.”

He was, it seemed, in a rather jovial mood. Given both he and his goons were wearing expensive-looking suits, it was highly likely he’d come straight from the casino and a rather nice win. Radcliffe might run underground gaming venues, but he certainly didn’t spend his cash there—undoubtedly because he knew just how rigged the games were. Rats weren’t generous souls, and if the rumors I’d heard were true, his gaming venues were profit-generating machines—which was undoubtedly why Rinaldo wanted to take them over.

I waited until his two goons had entered, then closed the door. “You got the tape?”

He glanced at one of his men, who reached into his pocket and produced it. “You got the file?”

Jackson picked it up from the coffee table and walked across. “There’s not a whole lot of information in it, but it does state Rinaldo’s first name is Reginald and that he arrived in Melbourne three years ago.”

“Wonder how Rosen uncovered that when the rest of us can’t get squat against the man.” Radcliffe opened the file and flicked through. “Not much, as you said, but more than we’d previously had. The deal proceeds.”

“Good.” I paused. “How do we make contact if we find anything else?”

Radcliffe produced a card. “It’s a messenger service, but any call you make will be treated as a priority.”

I accepted the card and tucked it into my shirt pocket. “We expect the same sort of courtesy. You can use the office number.”

“Excellent. But I’m not leaving without the tape, as I have no desire for it to land in PIT hands. View it, and tell me what you see.”

I glanced at Jackson, who shrugged minutely. Can’t see the harm.

I tossed it to him. He walked across to the desk, switched on the computer, and then slipped the tape into the attached player. A second later, images began to scroll across the screen. The tape had clearly been edited, because the action started almost immediately. Unsurprisingly, Rinaldo and his men were the poster boys of efficient brutality, and the gaming venue was theirs in a matter of minutes.

“Play it back at half speed.” I pulled a chair closer and sat down.

Jackson did so. “If he’s using a glamor to hide his form, it’s a damn good one.”

“What makes you say that?” Radcliffe said.

He was standing behind us, and his nearness was making my spine itch. We might have a truce, but I still wasn’t trusting it would hold up against his desire to slip a knife into my back.

“A glamor usually can’t withstand any sort of touch. No matter how perfect it is from either a distance or close up, if it brushes against either an object or a person, there is a telltale shimmer.” I pointed at the screen. “But if you watch carefully, when Rinaldo snaps the neck of your security guard, there’s no such shimmer. This is him. It’s not someone else using a glamor.”

“Which means,” Jackson said, “Rinaldo might, in fact, be two people rather than one.”

“Turn up the sound,” I said.

He did so, and we listened to Rinaldo barking orders and threats. “It’s not the same voice. The tone is slightly different.”

Jackson nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

I swore and leaned back in the chair. “Well, this just makes things all the more difficult.”

“Not really,” Jackson said. “The only thing that’s changed is that we’re now hunting two people, not one.”

“It does at least explain how he can be in two places at once,” Radcliffe said. “And surely there can’t be too many identical twin vampires turned in the last few hundred years.”

“Rinaldo’s a very ancient vampire,” I said. “The council isn’t likely to have a record of him.”

“That may be true of the Australian branch,” Radcliffe said, “but I’m betting their European counterparts might be a little more helpful.”

I swung around to look at him. “You have contacts over there?”

His smile flashed. “I have contacts everywhere.”

I resisted the urge to smite the smug look from his face. “Then contact them; we’ll see if PIT can dig up anything.”

They may be able to, Jackson said. Whether they’ll actually tell us anything is a totally different thing.

That could be said about Radcliffe, too. He might be emitting all the right signals when it came to being cooperative, but I doubted it would last if he actually got a worthwhile lead on our vampire. I very much suspected Radcliffe would not, in any way, share his chance of retribution.

“Deal,” Radcliffe said. “Talk to you soon.”

With that, he collected his tape and strode to the door, one goon in front, the other behind. The latter did not shut the door after him.

“Pricks,” I muttered as I pushed up and walked across to lock up again.

Jackson’s arms slid around my waist as I slammed the dead bolt home. “I’m thinking we finally have a few moments to ourselves,” he murmured, his warm breath teasing my left ear. “Care to spend them relieving a mild ache or two?”

I spun around and draped my arms around his neck. “Mild tension? Does that mean you actually took care of business while I was asleep?”

He laughed. “No, it most certainly does not. But stating the obvious—that I’m going to explode if I don’t get inside you soon—sounded a little crude.”

“Since when has that stopped you?”

“I do occasionally like to surprise people, you know.”

“What time did you tell Rinaldo to drop by and pick up the laptops?”

“This afternoon, when we’re not here.”

“Shame you didn’t say ten. It would have given Radcliffe his chance at killing the bastard.”

“Rinaldo is hardly likely to come here himself, given he’s well aware we have a deal going with the sindicati.” He pressed me tighter against his groin. “And can we change the topic? Talking about those two is seriously deflating.”

I smiled. If anything was deflating, I sure as hell wasn’t feeling it. “Well, that can’t be allowed to happen. What can I do to fix it?”

“Kiss me.”

Even as he said it, his lips came down upon mine. Hard. As kisses went, it was glorious—all passion and need and urgency. It drew me in and swept me away, until I couldn’t think of anything more than him and me, and the desire that threatened to burn out of control between us.

Eventually he pulled away, his breathing harsh and unsteady. He didn’t say anything; he simply grabbed the ends of my shirt and ripped it open. As buttons went flying, his mouth came down on my right breast, and he began to alternately suck and lick my nipple. As a gasp escaped my lips, I threw my head back against the door and arched my spine to give him greater access. He moved from one breast to the other, continuing to tease, until my body was quivering under the delicious assault of teeth and tongue. I slipped my hands down his muscular stomach and quickly undid his jeans, pushing them down his hips. His cock was thick and hard and oh so ready for action, but Jackson jerked away from my touch, his laugh vibrating against my chest.

“Do that, and this all will be over far too soon.”

“I thought that was the point.”

“Oh, it is, but a little foreplay never goes astray. Slip off your jeans.”

I did so, kicking them to one side. His jeans swiftly joined mine; then he claimed my nipple again and lightly nipped. A shudder ran through me even as his tongue replaced his teeth, gently soothing. Then his free hand found my clit, and he began to stroke and tease me, bringing me close to the edge, then pulling me back, until my whole body was shuddering with the need for release.

“Oh god, don’t,” I somehow managed as he pulled his touch away yet again.

“Don’t what?” he murmured. “Do this?”

His fingers brushed my clit and slipped inside. A shuddering gasp escaped.

“Or this?” he added, and removed his caress.

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t reply. I just tightened my grip around his neck, wrapped my legs around his waist, and thrust him deep inside. His groan was every bit as deep and needy as mine had been only moments before; then his hands cupped my butt and he began to thrust, his movements so violent, the door rattled in rhythm. I didn’t care. All I wanted, all I needed, was him—deep, hard, and fast. Then the dam of pleasure he’d built so masterfully finally broke and, just for an instant, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel. And lord, it was glorious.

He came a heartbeat later. As the last shudders of pleasure left his body, he leaned his forehead against mine and closed his eyes. Neither of us moved. The only sound was the harsh rasp of our breathing and the light ticking of the wall clock. It really hadn’t taken all that long, foreplay or not.

“Well,” he said, pulling back enough to look me in the eyes, “I think we both needed that.”

I brushed sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead and then dropped a kiss on his nose. “So, back to work?”

“Hell no.”

He shifted his grip on my butt, then swung around and walked toward the stairs. “I have a bed upstairs, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“If you can get me up those stairs without either separation or breaking something, I’ll give you two hours.”

He raised an eyebrow, amusement touching his lips. “And if I don’t?”

“Half an hour.”

“Challenge accepted.”

And, needless to say, overcome.

•   •   •

Jackson slowed the Range Rover and turned left into Scott Grove. “What number are we looking for again?”

I opened the file sitting on my knee and scanned the somewhat scant information on Janice Green, Rosen Senior’s secretary. We were vaguely hoping that she might be able to cast some light on Professor Wilson’s habits, which in turn might help us find the lock that matched the second key we’d found in his shed.

“Thirty-eight,” I said.

“Keep an eye on the numbers. I’ll concentrate on getting this tank through the cars.”

“Wonder how many of them belong to residents, and how many belong to students trying to avoid the university’s parking fees?”

“Probably most.” He paused to squeeze the big SUV between two similar-sized vehicles. It was a tight fit. “I know when I was a uni kid, I’d do anything and everything to avoid paying parking fees—including walking a fair distance to get to the place.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” I checked the street numbers and added, “Have you heard anything about Rosen’s replacement?”

We certainly hadn’t heard anything from the company itself, and were currently working on the presumption they still wanted us to find Professor Wilson’s missing research notes. But that didn’t mean Jackson hadn’t heard other rumors about the company. He had more contacts than I had years behind me.

“I seriously doubt that,” he said with a half laugh, replying to my thought rather than my actual question. “And I haven’t got a contact who’d actually know anything about Rosen Pharmaceuticals.”

“Then how did you find out all this stuff about Janice? Via your police contact?”

“No, taxation. There’s no better source for basic information.”

That was true given just how much information the Taxation Department wanted from people these days. “Janice’s place is on the right—the one with the high picket fence.”

He drove past and pulled into a driveway two houses down. I twisted around. Thirty-eight was a small, white-painted weatherboard home with a weatherworn tile roof and a small green carport on one side. There were two cars in the driveway—one a Hyundai, the other a small Honda.

I looked at Jackson’s notes again. “Janice drives the Honda.”

“Wonder who the other one belongs to. Because if I remember right, she isn’t married and had no lovers.”

“It might be a friend rather than a lover.”

He glanced at me, amusement evident. “At lunchtime? On a workday?”

“People have been known to go home for lunch.”

“They’ve also been known to go home for a bit of afternoon delight.”

“Did she seem like the type for a little lunchtime rendezvous to you?”

“Well, no, but never judge a book by its cover and all that.”

I snorted and glanced back at the house—just in time to see the front door open and Amanda Wilson—the professor’s less-than-loving wife, and a woman who’d been bleeding him of information for the sindicati from the very first time they’d slept together—step out. “Duck,” I said, and slid down behind the headrest.

“I’d really prefer just to grab the bitch.”

“Do that, and we might just lose our one chance of uncovering who her controller is.”

Jackson grunted and lifted up enough to look at the side mirror. “She’s in the car.”

“You follow her. I’ll go inside and see if Janice survived the encounter with our black widow.”

He frowned at me. “Do you really think it’s a wise move to split up?”

“Given Amanda’s history, yeah, I do.”

“But she has a history of seducing men for information, not women—”

“Which doesn’t mean anything if her mind has been seized.” I watched the Hyundai reverse out of the driveway. “Wish we had a damn tracker.”

“We do. It’s in the little bag of tricks I threw onto the backseat.”

I gave him the look—the one that said, Don’t be daft. “I meant on the car.”

“Something that can still be achieved if you get your lovely ass out of the car so I can go stalk our quarry. I’ll call once I know anything.”

“Ditto.” I stripped off my sweater and wrapped it around my head to conceal my hair. Amanda was far enough away now that she’d probably think the sweater was a scarf of some sort, which was infinitely better than her spotting the blaze of coppery red that was my hair.

I climbed out and waited until Jackson had reversed out of the driveway, then ran across the road to Janice’s. The Honda’s hood was still warm, suggesting she hadn’t been home all that long.

The front door was locked, but a quick spurt of fire soon fixed that. I pushed it open with my fingertips. “Janice? It’s Emberly Pearson—I’m with Hellfire Investigations. We need to ask you a couple of questions.”

There was no answer. Aside from the soft ticking of an unseen clock, the house was silent. I frowned and took a wary step inside. “Janice?”

Still nothing. There were four doorways along the somewhat narrow hallway, but only one of those was open. Instinct was annoyingly silent when it came to suggesting which one to investigate first.

I took another step forward, then stopped. Heat teased my senses, but its flame was little more than a soft caress. It was coming from the room to my right, from what was most likely a bedroom, given most houses of this age tended to have their bathrooms either in the middle of the house or off the kitchen at the rear.

I moved toward it, only to stop as I realized the air smelled . . . odd. I took a deeper breath.

Fuck, gas.

I bolted into the room that held that flickering heat source. Janice lay in among the tangled blankets; her eyes were closed and her face slack. On the bedside tables there were at least half a dozen lit candles.

I waved a hand to snuff them out, then quickly felt Janice’s neck for a pulse. Not only was it there, but it was strong and steady. Relief surged, but we weren’t out of the woods just yet.

I spun and ran for the kitchen, opening the doors to check each room as I went past. There were at least another dozen lit candles split between the various rooms. I erased every tiny flame, then slid into the combined kitchen and living area, found the oven, and quickly turned off all the jets. The stink of gas in this area was particularly strong, and it wouldn’t have taken all that much longer for the buildup to reach the other rooms. Amanda had obviously intended to be well away from the place before it blew. I opened the back door and as many windows as I could, then went back into the bedroom.

“Janice, wake up.” I sat on the edge of the bed and roughly shook her shoulder.

She didn’t open her eyes, just waved a hand at me somewhat airily. “Need sleep. Go away.”

“Who was the woman who just left? What is her name?”

“Felicity.” Her slow smile basically confirmed what the state of the bed suggested. “It was the oh-so-lovely Felicity.”

“And she’s your lover?”

“Yes.” Her smile grew. “So lovely.”

And she seemed to be answering my questions altogether too readily—especially given she probably had no idea who I was. There should have at least been some sort of reaction to my presence in her bedroom—something other than this happy compliancy, anyway.

“Does Felicity have a last name?”

I couldn’t smell any alcohol on her breath, so I gently opened one eyelid. Her pupils were heavily dilated, suggesting she’d been drugged. But why, when Amanda was a powerful telepath who’d made a fortune stealing secrets from the minds of her lovers during intercourse?

And while it was obvious Amanda had intended to blow the house apart—taking Janice and any evidence she might hold with it—it was also possible that whatever drug she’d given the older woman to make her talk might be lethal. I dragged out my phone, called an ambulance, and then repeated my question.

“Hocking,” Janice said, after a moment. “Felicity Hocking.”

“And how long have you and Felicity been lovers?”

“A few weeks.” She shrugged and finally opened her eyes. The faintest hint of alarm crossed her expression. “Who are you? Do I know you?”

If Amanda had been her lover for a few weeks, it meant she’d been so before the sindicati had kidnapped us both and her mind had been taken over.

“I’m Emberly Pearson—I’m one of the private investigators your boss employed to investigate the theft of research notes.”

“He’s dead.” She closed her eyes again. “Can’t be sad about that.”

Which wasn’t a surprising comment. Rosen Senior certainly hadn’t endeared himself to me in the brief time I’d known him, and I couldn’t help but think he’d have been a difficult man to work with.

“Don’t go to sleep, Janice. You need to stay with me.”

“I need to sleep. Go away.”

“Felicity has drugged you with god only knows what. You sleep, you might die.”

“She wouldn’t do that. She cares for me.”

“Trust me, the woman you know as Felicity only cares about herself.” And she not only could kill, but had, and multiple times. “Do you know where she lives? Have you ever been to her place?”

“No, but she has an apartment in Docklands.”

The Docklands area was currently very trendy—and therefore very expensive—so it wouldn’t be surprising if Amanda did live there. But there was a hell of a lot of apartment buildings in that area, so we needed a little more information than that to track her down. “She never gave you an address?”

“No.”

Again, that wasn’t really surprising, but it was frustrating. “Did you at least get her phone number?”

“Yes.” She waved her hand airily, almost smacking me in the face. “But you can’t have it. She has a jealous husband who doesn’t understand her.”

I snorted. Amanda had certainly had plenty of husbands over the years, but most of the poor buggers were well and truly dead.

“I saw him the other day,” Janice continued. “I don’t think I was supposed to. Cold-looking fellow.”

Instinct stirred. “Can you describe him?”

“Tall, gray haired, regal sort of nose.” She sniffed. “Drove a big black SUV. I took a picture.”

I blinked. “Of him? Or the car?” Because while that description might be on the vague side, it could easily fit Rinaldo. If it was him, we might have just gotten our first break.

“Both.”

“Can I look at it?”

“Will you leave me alone?”

“I told you, I can’t. You need an ambulance.”

“I need sleep.”

She was drifting off again. I let her go for a moment and rose. Looking around the bedroom didn’t reveal a handbag, so I walked down to the kitchen and found it sitting on the dining table, along with an empty wine bottle and two glasses.

I opened the bag, then rummaged through until I found her cell. It wasn’t locked, so I went straight into her contacts list and looked for Felicity’s name. Unsurprisingly, it had been erased. I hit the ALBUM button, not expecting to find much, but the very first picture that came up was Rinaldo himself. His face was cool and controlled, but there was something in the way he was standing, watching Amanda approach, that made me want to reach into the photo and wrench her out of harm’s way. Amanda was as far from innocent as you could get, but that look very much suggested he was using her in every way possible. And I couldn’t imagine Rinaldo would be either a gentle or generous lover.

I zoomed in on the rear of the SUV and almost cheered—the number plate was crisp and clear. We finally had something that might help us track the bastard down.

I shoved her phone into my back pocket and returned to the bedroom. Janice was asleep, so I shook her roughly. Her response was sleepy and somewhat colorful.

I grinned and glanced at my watch. I probably had another five minutes or so before the ambulance arrived, so I decided to use that time to see what other information I could uncover.

“Janice, what can you tell me about the inverter device the company was developing?”

“I’ve already answered that question,” she said, her voice holding a hint of annoyance.

Not to me, she hadn’t. And if that was one of the questions Amanda had been asking, then it meant Rinaldo hadn’t yet gotten his hands on the device. “I know, but tell me again anyway.”

She yawned hugely. “We had prototypes up and running, but some official government department came in a few weeks ago and secured the whole project. It was all very dramatic.”

A few weeks ago meant it had happened before Rosen had been murdered. Which meant—hopefully—that they were government officials rather than sindicati goons or rats in disguise. As the wail of an approaching siren got louder, I said, “What can you tell me about the project Professor Wilson was working on?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. It was all very hush-hush.”

“And Wilson himself? Do you know much about him?”

“Not really. Rosen called him into the office a couple of times, but I can’t tell you why.”

She couldn’t really tell me much about anything, it seemed, and it made me wonder why Amanda—and therefore Rinaldo—had made the attempt to kill her. Unless, of course, he was simply making sure no one else could pull any information out of her.

The sound of the approaching siren was so close now, the ambulance could only be a street or so away. I pulled Janice’s cell from my pocket, then dug out my phone to grab the inspector’s number and called her.

“Chief Inspector Henrietta Richmond speaking.” Her tone was cool and somewhat reserved—no doubt because I was calling her from an unknown number. And undoubtedly it was already being traced. “How may I assist you?”

“Inspector, it’s Emberly. Amanda Wilson just made an attempt on Janice Green’s life after apparently pumping her for information over the last couple of weeks.”

There was a slight pause. “Interesting. I take it Janice is still alive?”

“Yes, but she’s been drugged with who knows what. I’ve called an ambulance.”

“Yes, I can hear it. What happened to Amanda?”

“Jackson’s following her. We’re hoping she might lead us to Rinaldo’s location.”

“We weren’t aware Amanda was working for him.”

“Nor were we.” Though we had suspected it. “Janice apparently saw them together. She has a pic of them beside an SUV, and the number plate is crystal clear.”

I read it out to her.

“I’ll get it traced immediately,” the inspector said. “Stay with the secretary. I’ll get someone over to check out her house. If they attempted to erase her, she must know something. Keep me informed on her condition.”

“Will do, Inspector.” I hesitated. “Were you aware that some government officials took the inverters and all the information relating to them from Rosen Pharmaceuticals a few weeks ago?”

“Yes, I am.”

“So they were actual government officers, and not fakes?” I persisted.

“Yes.” Amusement touched her tone. “You are not one for giving up until you get what you want, are you?”

“It depends on what it is I want,” I replied. “Did you discover what that chemical formula was?”

“It’s vinegar, apparently. We’re searching the buildings under the Skipping Girl Vinegar sign, as that’s the most obvious place to start.”

Luke was unlikely to have done anything obvious, but I guess the search had to start somewhere. “What about the original premises on Burnley Street?”

“Those buildings were demolished, but we’ve nevertheless sent the military to the area, as well as several other, smaller factories that are actively producing vinegar.”

“I doubt they’ll find anything at such a place,” I said.

“I agree, but they must still be checked.”

The wail of the siren stopped, and the silence was almost eerie. I walked down to the front door. Two men climbed out of the ambulance and were walking toward me, the first of them holding a medical kit.

“The patient is inside.” I stepped to one side to let them both in.

But as I did, I realized the second man was wearing jeans and sneakers rather than the usual black or blue pants and black boots. Government funding might be tight right now, but I doubted the use of casual clothing as part of their everyday uniform had been approved.

“The first bedroom?” he said, his gaze cold and altogether too watchful.

Tension crawled through me, but I forced a smile. “Yes. I think she’s taken something.”

“Emberly?” the inspector said. “Everything okay? You didn’t answer my question.”

I didn’t even hear her question. I forced a smile, then said, “No, sorry, it’s not.”

“We’ll get people there ASAP. Leave the line open.”

“Fine. See you soon.” I shoved the phone into my back pocket, but, as ordered, didn’t hang up.

“She conscious? Talking?” the first ambulance officer continued.

“No.” I stepped back again, giving him plenty of room to pass. The second man didn’t follow him; instead, he stopped and placed a hand on the door frame, effectively stopping me from leaving. And though I didn’t feel the wash of any sort of power, the charm at my neck sprang to life, its heat a warning that magic was being aimed my way.

“You related to the victim?” he asked, the faintest hint of a smile touching his thin lips.

Overconfidence had been the downfall of many a thug.

“No, I’m not.”

I threw a ball of fire sideways to catch his gaze, then took a step forward and kicked him hard in the nuts. As he gasped and doubled over, I swung a fist at his chin and smashed him sideways. He hit the wall hard enough to dent it, then collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Though I heard no footsteps, the warm rush of air past the back of my neck was warning enough that the other thug was closing in. I swung round but wasn’t quite fast enough. The blow hit me low in the stomach and sent me tumbling backward. I landed on my spine and slid backward for a yard or so, gathering splinters from the porch’s old boards. I swore and struggled to my feet, fire flickering across my fingertips, ready to defend or attack. Something hit my arm, and I glanced down to see a silvery dart sticking out of it.

Fuck.

I wrenched it out and reached for my fires, then heard a shout from the street and swung around to see two women watching me.

“You all right?” one asked.

No, I wasn’t, because they were there and that meant I dared not take on fire form and reveal what I truly was.

“Fine,” I muttered, and ran for the gate.

The thug didn’t chase me.

He didn’t need to.

I was out before I got anywhere near the front gate.