I warily pushed the door open. Sparks danced across my fingertips, a weapon that was ready to ignite at the slightest hint of danger. The long, thin room that was our office appeared empty, but there was plenty of evidence that someone had been here, because the place was a mess. They’d ransacked our desks and filing cabinets and scattered paper everywhere. It almost looked as if the place had been hit by a snowstorm. The three computers were missing, although the screens and keyboards were still present and looked somewhat forlorn among the mess.

My gaze went to the spiral staircase that sat to one side of the lounge area at the far end of the room, and the tension running through me increased again. Just because I couldn’t immediately see or sense anyone on this level didn’t mean they hadn’t hightailed it to the next. I pressed the door all the way open to ensure no one hid behind it, then quickly stepped to the other side.

Still no sense or sign of anyone.

I placed my bag on the floor¸ then clenched my fist to contain the sparks. The last thing I needed right now was to inadvertently set fire to anything. I cautiously moved forward. Paper crunched under my feet or whispered away in the breeze of my passing, but nothing else stirred. Nor was anyone hiding under the desks, although the drawers, like everything else, had been ransacked. Several had even been smashed, as if to ensure there were no secret compartments. Whoever had done this was either a little paranoid or just very thorough.

I continued on until I reached the staircase. Thankfully, the paper storm hadn’t quite reached this end of the room, although there were a number of plastic cups in a nearby bin that hadn’t been there yesterday evening. The bastards had obviously made use of Jackson’s industrial-sized coffee machine while they’d ransacked the place—and that suggested a well-timed, well-planned raid rather than a spur-of-the-moment event. Just as the fact that they’d left the cups behind suggested they had no fear of being traced through their fingerprints.

I looked up to the next floor. Nothing registered on the sensory radar, but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t be up there. The senses of a phoenix, while far better than a human’s, were nowhere near as sharp as those of a werewolf or vampire.

There was only one way I was going to find out whether the fear twisting through me was justified or simply the product of an overactive imagination, but I just couldn’t force my feet onto the first metal step. Not in this form, anyway.

I glanced at the front door to ensure there were no passersby, then called to the fires within. They surged through me, flinging me from flesh to fire spirit in an instant. No longer constrained by physical limitations, I swept up the staircase and into Jackson’s living area. The light of my flames danced across the room, lending warmth to the shadows and leaving nowhere to hide. Like the floor below, the area up here was one big expanse. The kitchen was centrally located, with the bedroom to the left and the living area on the right. There was no one or nothing up here; nothing beyond the usual dust and unwashed dishes, anyway.

I moved across to check the bathroom—which was the only separate room in this entire area—but again, there was nothing. I reclaimed my flesh form and finally relaxed.

While this area had escaped the paper storm, it had nevertheless been searched. They’d stripped the bed, pulled the mattress away from the base, emptied out cupboards, and upended the couches. It had been a very thorough search and, for that reason alone, I suspected the persons behind it were connected to the sindicati. They had to be, because who else had any reason to snatch the computers? None of Jackson’s other cases—or at least, none of those he’d updated me on—warranted such action. The sindicati, however, didn’t have access to the research notes they’d been promised, and no doubt suspected we had to have backups hidden somewhere.

Only we didn’t—I’d given the only other copy of the notes to Sam Turner, who was not only my ex but also a cop working for the Paranormal Investigations Team, a specialist squad of humans and supernaturals who worked outside the regular police force to solve crimes that involved paranormals.

We’d neither seen nor heard from anyone at PIT since we’d handed over the notes. They even appeared to have pulled the tail they’d had on me. While I’d never been happy about being followed around, it had nevertheless been somewhat reassuring to know there was someone close who could come to my aid if things got ugly. Which they had, of course, and, in the end, the tail hadn’t really been of much use. Maybe that was why it had been pulled.

I studied the room for a moment longer, then headed back downstairs. After calling the cops, I made a pot of green tea, then sat down to watch the security tapes while I waited for them. What the tapes revealed were raiders in dark clothing wearing black masks. Which wasn’t exactly helpful, as the raiders had no doubt intended.

The cops weren’t exactly helpful, either, when they finally arrived. They basically took notes, collected the security tapes, and disappeared. But then, other than write up a report, take a few photos, and dust for prints, what else could they do? If the sindicati were behind the break-in, the nearby neighbors wouldn’t have spotted them. Not when vampires could wrap the night around their bodies and all but disappear to human eyes.

With the police gone, I closed—and locked—the door, then got down to the business of cleaning up. I was only halfway through the mess when the alarm on my phone went off, reminding me it was time to go meet Jackson at the airport.

I headed back upstairs to grab the keys of the car Jackson had rented until PIT released his truck—though why they even had it, I had no idea. The sindicati might have rammed it to snatch me, but I doubted there was a whole lot PIT could glean from the wrecked vehicle beyond the fact that the van that hit me was black—and they knew that from witness reports. And the longer they had it, the more likely it was that they would discover the three USBs I’d hidden under the seats. Given the trouble I went through to get the damn things, I’d be seriously pissed if they were taken before I’d even had a chance to look at them.

I found the car keys under an upended kitchen drawer and went back downstairs to reset the security cameras. Then I grabbed my handbag and headed out.

There was very little traffic on the Tullamarine Freeway, so it didn’t take long to get to the airport. I parked in the short-term area, then walked across the bridge to the terminal. After checking the boards to see where his plane was coming in, I headed through security and walked down to the lounge. It was packed, so I found a pillar to lean against while I waited.

Thankfully, the plane arrived on time and, as people began to disembark, I straightened, my gaze, scanning the crowd of people exiting the air bridge. Not that Jackson was in any way hard to spot. He was a big, lean man who radiated sexuality and heat, and he towered over those nearest him by a couple of inches. If there was one thing literature and movies had gotten wrong when it came to the Fae, it was their stature. They were neither small nor winged, and the only ones who were ethereal in any way were the air Fae.

His grin, when his gaze met mine, was easy and delighted, creasing the corners of his emerald green eyes.

I moved forward to meet him. He dropped his carryall, then caught one hand and pulled me close. His body was not only delightfully muscular but deliciously warm. Fire Fae had core temperatures that ran a lot hotter than most humanoids, which, in many ways, made them almost perfect partners for beings made of fire. But Jackson was also perfect in one other respect: Fire Fae didn’t do commitment, and Jackson was never going to want anything more than a good time from me—which was just as well, given Sam was this lifetime’s heartbreaker.

“You,” Jackson said, his voice gravelly and sounding as if it were coming from the general direction of his boots, “are a sight for sore eyes.”

A smile teased my lips. “Don’t try to tell me there were no seduction opportunities up in Sydney, because I won’t believe you.”

“It’s true, whether you choose to believe it or not.” His expression was woebegone, although the effect was somewhat muted by the amusement creasing the corners of his bright eyes. “The stakeout was in the middle of goddamn nowhere; the nearest I got to any sort of female was watching my target get picked up in the local pub.”

“A chance encounter, or a deliberate one?”

“Oh, the latter most definitely. It was artfully done, but once they were back in her hotel room, it was all business rather than sex.” He shook his head sadly. “Which was a total waste of a good bed and woman, if you ask me.”

I grinned. “I’m gathering you ran a trace on the man she met?”

“Woman,” he corrected. “And she’s a courier for the sindicati. But, for the moment, that is unimportant, because I seriously need to kiss you.”

And with that, he did.

It was a long, slow, and extremely sensual kiss, one that was filled with desire and heat. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my body even closer, enjoying all his luscious heat even as I fought the desire to draw it into my own body.

“Oh, for god’s sake, get a room,” a woman muttered as she brushed past.

Jackson chuckled, the sound vibrating lightly against my lips. “That is a damn good idea,” he murmured. “Shall we race over to the hotel and grab one?”

“You have a perfectly good bed at home.” Or, at least, he would when it was put back into place. “Besides, you might not feel so amorous when you discover what happened last night.”

“It’d have to be a pretty dire event to stop a fire Fae from feeling amorous.” His tone was dry. “But what happened?”

“We got raided.”

His amusement faded. “By whom? PIT or the vamps?”

“I suspect the latter, if only because of the thoroughness of the search and that it happened at night. Besides, if PIT wanted something from us, they’d openly come and take it.”

“And woe betide us if we, in any way, objected.” He thrust a hand through his dark gold hair. “What was taken?”

“Besides the three computers, I’m not entirely sure. I’m only halfway through the cleanup.”

He picked up his carryall, then tucked a hand under my elbow and guided me forward. “Did the security cams reveal anything?”

“Yeah, men in dark clothes wearing ski masks.”

He grunted. “If it was the sindicati, I’m guessing they were looking for the notes.”

“And once they realize they’re not on any of the computers, they’ll be back.”

“We knew something like this was going to happen.”

“Yeah, but I was hoping we’d have more time.” Even if more time would have only caused more anxiety. But at least now that they’d made their first move, we had a clearer path forward.

His expression was grim. “Well, I can tell you one thing—those bastards are not getting their hands on me again. Not without a major battle.”

An understandable sentiment, considering the last time he’d been taken had resulted in a broken arm and leg. That he was walking now was only due to my having become spirit, allowing him to not only siphon my flames but use them to heal his body. It was something I’d never done before, and I had no idea whether there would be consequences for either of us. So far, it appeared not, but then, it hadn’t been all that long since it had happened.

“We could install a better security system—”

“It wouldn’t be of much use,” he cut in. “We’re talking about a crime syndicate, remember. I doubt there’s a system out there they couldn’t get around if they really wanted to.”

His point was well proven. Not only had they gotten into both the Chase Medical Research Institute, where I’d worked before my boss had been murdered, and Rosen Pharmaceuticals, the company that had hired Jackson, but they had also hacked into their computer systems and erased everything related to the research into the red plague virus.

“Besides,” he added, “I doubt the next attack will involve our building. It’ll be against us directly, and it’ll be someplace dark and secluded.” His gaze met mine, green eyes concerned. “Since dark and secluded are part and parcel of an investigator’s job, we’d better start carrying.”

I grimaced as we stepped onto the escalator and headed down to the bag collection and exit area. “My investigator’s license hasn’t come through yet, so that option is out for me. And my fire is a better weapon than any gun you could give me.” Besides, it wasn’t like a gun was going to stop a vampire attack—not when the bastards could move as fast as the wind.

Jackson must have been thinking along the same lines, because he said, “A gun might be useless against the speed of a vampire, but if you manage to get the drop on them, you can certainly blow their fucking brains out. But I wasn’t actually thinking about that sort of gun.”

I raised my eyebrows as we headed across to the parking lot. “What other sort of gun is there?”

Amusement touched his lips. “A water gun.”

“A water gun?” I stared at him for a second. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Totally.” The amusement so evident on his lips warmed his bright eyes and had my pulse rate skyrocketing again. Not that that was a surprise, given both the desire he was still radiating and the fact my hormones were still physically unsatisfied after the delight of ingesting Hamberly’s fire. “A small plastic gun loaded with holy water can make as big a mess of any vampire as any regular gun—and you have the advantage of being able to hold down the trigger and spray it in a wide arc.”

I dug the parking ticket out of my pocket, paid the fee, and led the way across the lot to the car. “Why hasn’t anyone ever developed this idea commercially? At the very least, the police would find a weapon like that extremely handy.”

Hell, anyone would. Vampires might be more civilized these days—and attacks on humans few and far between—but that didn’t mean they never happened.

“Oh, both the police and the military have developed such a weapon. They just don’t use it during day-to-day operations.” He dumped his bag into the trunk of the car, then climbed into the passenger seat. “Could you imagine what would happen if it became common knowledge it existed? There’s enough trouble on the streets now with the antisupernatural squads without feeding them the knowledge that holy water really is an effective weapon against vamps.”

That was true enough. While humanity had reacted far better than anyone had really expected when vampires and werewolves had revealed their existence during the height of Hollywood’s love affair with all things supernatural, there were still pockets who believed nonhumans were a threat that needed to be eradicated—and who were willing to back this belief with action. Nightly “hunting” parties were becoming a real problem, and while they might be illegal, it didn’t seem to stop anyone. Of course, it didn’t help that some police and politicians who sympathized with the hunters were more than willing to turn a blind eye to their actions.

Which was the main reason why the rest of us hadn’t come out. Heaven only knew how the paranoid would react if they ever actually discovered just how many other nonhuman races were living among them.

“It’s hard to believe no one’s ever realized it, though.” I started up the car and headed out of the parking lot. “I mean, holy water is such a literary stable. Vamps might have spent years debunking the myth, but I would have thought someone, somewhere, would have tested it out anyway.”

“They undoubtedly have, but remember, holy water burns rather than kills outright. If you hit a body part other than the face, you’re basically dead meat. The vamp will be on top of you before you can scream.”

“True.” I paused to shove the ticket into the exit gate. “But that’s also a problem that applies to both of us.”

“Well, yes, except that we’re both faster than humans, and we have other weapons at our disposal.”

I glanced at him. “I have, but you need a source of fire before you can shape it.”

“I have you.” He shifted in his seat and gave me a wide grin. “Not only are you the best source of flame I’ve ever encountered, but you come wrapped in a very luscious package.”

I snorted softly. “I’m being serious here—”

“Oh, so am I.” He reached over and placed a big hand on my thigh. “You really are a luscious woman.”

“Concentrate on the sindicati and what we’re going to do to avoid them,” I said, ignoring not only his compliment but the warmth of his touch and the desire it stirred. “Because any plans you have for seduction might just depend on whether we can remain out of their grasp.”

“I know.” He sighed and removed his hand, though the heat of his touch lingered. “But the truth of the matter is, if they want us, they’ll get us. We both know that. We can’t run either the business or our lives around what they might or might not do—not indefinitely, anyway. All we can really do is watch each other’s backs as much as is practical.”

I mulled over his words as we merged into the traffic heading toward the city. While the reason Jackson had offered me the partnership in the first place was simply so that we could protect each other, he was right; it wasn’t going to be enough. The sindicati had to have been watching us to know when to make their raid, and yet we’d had no sense of them. No sense of being watched at all. And as much as I’d promised Rory I would be careful, I’d lived long enough to know that, sometimes, the best defense was offense.

“What if we take the fight up to them?” I said eventually.

“It’s certainly an interesting premise, although I daresay a dangerous one.”

I glanced at him. “And this worries you?”

He grinned. “I’m a fire Fae. We live for danger.”

“And here I was thinking you lived for sex.”

His grin grew. “And you don’t think sex can be dangerous? Darlin’, you obviously haven’t lived long enough.”

“I’m a phoenix. I’ve had more rebirths than you’ve had years.” My tone was dry. “And when it comes to sex, I’ve seen more and probably done more than you could ever imagine.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” His expression was decidedly wicked. “I can imagine a whole lot.”

“Well, just stop doing so right now, and concentrate on the matter at hand.”

“A hard thing to do when my hand is itching to reacquaint itself with all your lovely curves.”

Which was certainly something I wouldn’t have objected to … I mentally swatted away the images that rose with the thought, deciding I’d better take my own advice and concentrate. “We can attack them from two angles; we can go after Henry Morretti—”

“We were warned off the sindicati—and Morretti specifically—by your ex,” Jackson said. “I don’t think he’d take it all that well if we ignored that warning.”

“But they’ve pulled my tail—”

“You only think they’ve pulled the tail,” he cut in again. “Just because you can’t sense them doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Meaning you don’t want to go after Morretti?”

“No, I’m just pointing out the probable consequences. The next time your ex catches us interfering, he might do a whole lot more than merely give us a drug-enforced warning.” He hesitated. “And, just for reference, no air or fire Fae can survive jail time.”

I couldn’t, either, and for similar reasons. I might not need to be immersed in my element regularly, but I certainly needed time with Rory. But jail time was the threat we were currently under if we didn’t give up investigating the death of Mark Baltimore—my former boss at Chase. Somewhat oddly, though, Sam had not offered the same warning when it came to investigating the disappearance of Professor Wilson, the other scientist involved in the research into the red plague virus. His notes, like those of my boss, were missing, and no one had any idea where they’d gone. Except, maybe, Amanda Wilson, who was both the professor’s wife and a telepath for hire. She was also the woman who’d given me the USBs stashed in Jackson’s truck. And if Sam had found them, she might be our only hope of uncovering what had happened to either Wilson or his notes. And Sam wouldn’t stop us going after her—he’d told me she was of little interest to PIT. The trouble was finding her, as she was currently in the hands of one of the warring sindacati factions—but which one, we had no idea.

That there were two factions was something I hadn’t even known when Mark Baltimore had been murdered and all hell had broken loose in my life. I still had no idea which faction we’d been snatched by, because we had only one name—Morretti. Whether he was the current power or the would-be power, I didn’t know, and I certainly had no clue as to who his opposition was. Though I very much suspected the cool-voiced, ultrapolite vampire who’d been in charge when I’d exchanged Jackson for the laptop containing the research notes might have been it. And if that was true, it also meant I’d managed to annoy both factions. Because not only did I plant a virus on the laptop that would have destroyed the notes the minute he tried to access them, but we’d also foiled his plans to kill us. Although whether the kill plot had been his idea or that of the man in charge of the red cloaks—the nickname given to those infected by the red plague virus—was anyone’s guess.

After merging into some more traffic, I said, “What if we don’t go after him directly?”

I might fear Sam’s threat, and had no desire to anger him any more than he already was, but there was a part of me—the very same part that had gotten me into more trouble than I could remember over the centuries—that couldn’t walk away completely. Not only had my boss been murdered, but I’d been kidnapped, threatened, and drugged—and not just by the bad guys. I was pissed off, and I wanted answers.

Jackson half smiled. “I suspect your ex still wouldn’t be pleased by a sideways approach, but I do so love your thinking. Who do we hit first—Amanda Wilson, Denny Rosen, or Lee Rawlings?”

Rosen was the man behind Rosen Pharmaceuticals, and Lee Rawlings was the vamp Morretti had hired to pick me up the first time I’d been snatched. Unfortunately for Morretti, things had not gone according to plan—I’d not only escaped and interrogated Sherman Jones, the initial bagman, but we’d intercepted and paid out Rawlings in exchange for information.

“Given the sindicati have Amanda, and it might take a bit of time to find Rawlings, why don’t we tackle Rosen? You’re due to report to him anyway, aren’t you?”

Jackson grimaced. “I very much doubt he’ll be able to tell us much about the sindicati.”

“It’s still worth a shot.”

“Maybe. And he did call when I was in Sydney, enraged that I haven’t handed in an update for several days.” A smile flirted briefly with his kissable lips. “His bluster died somewhat when I told him PIT had become involved in the investigation.”

I frowned. “Surely he had to be aware of that? I mean, they would have spoken to him when Wilson and his research went missing.”

“They may not have identified themselves as PIT.” His gaze met mine. “Or they may have simply read his mind from a distance. PIT aren’t afraid of bending the rules or stepping on civil liberties, remember.”

“But not everyone can be mind read—you said that yourself.”

Certainly neither Jackson nor I could be, but then, neither of us was human. And while that rule didn’t apply to all supernaturals, it had certainly saved our butts whenever we’d landed in PIT’s grasp.

“And yet,” he said, “according to Amanda Wilson, Rosen is something of an open book.”

“Remember who made that statement,” I said drily. “It’s possible she was lying through her teeth.”

“It’s also possible she wasn’t.”

I acknowledged the point with a shrug. “But if she wasn’t, then it might also mean anything he could tell us will have been investigated and/or dismissed by Sam and his people.”

“True, but if she was, then PIT would have had to read him with specific parameters in mind. Few telepaths have open access to anyone’s mind, remember.”

And thank god for that. “It’s highly unlikely that PIT would ask the same questions we would.”

“This is PIT we’re talking about. They were probably aware that Rosen was selling company secrets to pay off his gambling debts well before we ever knew.”

I frowned. “But if they know that, surely they would have taken steps to have him removed from his position?”

“Why would they, when he’s perfect bait to catch everyone else in the chain?”

“One of which is Radcliffe.” Or, more precisely, Marcus Radcliffe III. He not only owned a string of secondhand stores that were little more than a front for a roaring trade in black market goods and information, but he also happened to be the man who owned Rosen’s gambling debts.

“Precisely,” Jackson said. “But who is he selling them to? He’s not the end user—he’s not that clever.”

“He’s clever enough to avoid the damn police.” Or, at least, he was until I’d lured him into a hotel bedroom, and Sam had promptly stormed in and snatched away our prize. “I don’t suppose you know if PIT ever released him?”

“No, and it’s not a question I can ask my source, either.” He shrugged again. “I guess the only way we’ll find out is by asking at the casino if he’s been back.”

“It’s worth a shot.” If Radcliffe was the high roller we’d been led to believe, then he either had to risk illegal games or venture back to Crown, as it was Melbourne’s only casino. And it wasn’t like I could ask Sam what Radcliffe was doing. Aside from the fact he wouldn’t tell me, the only number I had for him was a central number that collected the message and passed it on. “Speaking of your police source—”

“I never said she was police,” he interrupted, his tone mild.

“You never denied it.”

“No, and I won’t ever confirm or deny it. It’s too risky, especially now with your ex and PIT on the scene.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“I know,” he cut in again. “I trust you, or I wouldn’t even have mentioned her, but this is her decision, not mine, and I have to respect that.”

“Which is fair enough.” Especially if she was a cop. She was risking her career by feeding Jackson any sort of information. “Do you think either she or someone she knows might be able to get a DNA analysis done on a black hair I found?”

“Possibly.” He studied me for a minute. “Did you find it at the office? Because, honestly, it could belong to any of at least a half-dozen recent clients.”

“It’s not from the office.” I paused, still reluctant to tell him about my dreams, even if I knew deep down that Rory was right. Jackson needed to be prepared in case it happened when he was with me. “I found it in the house of a dead man last night.”

“Which begs the question, what the hell were you doing in the house of a dead man? It wasn’t one of our clients, was it?”

I half smiled. “No, fortunately. A dream sent me there.” I gave him a brief explanation of the dreams, the problems they’d caused over the centuries, and what this particular dream had led me to find.

“So this hair may or may not belong to the creature,” he said, “and it might be the only way of tracing it?”

“Unless I have another dream, yes.”

“It’s a hell of a long shot,” he said. “You may get DNA from the hair, but you’re not going to get a name or location.”

“I know, but DNA will at least give me some idea of what I’m dealing with, and that, in turn, might give me some idea of a location.”

Because just as different human nationalities tended to gather in certain areas, so too did supernaturals.

“There is no me in this equation,” he commented. “And I’ll pass the request on to my source. It really is a long shot, though.”

“I know.” I shrugged. “So, back to the office, or shall we go visit Rosen?”

“As much as I’d love to drag you up to my bedroom and prove just how dangerous sex can be, I’ve got a feeling we’d better go interrogate Rosen.” Though amusement touched the corners of his lips, little of it reached his emerald eyes. “The sooner we can uncover who has Wilson’s research, the more chance we have of getting everyone off our backs.”

“Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”

He shrugged. “It’s a start.”

And it wasn’t like we had many other options right now, anyway. “So which is the easiest way to get to Rosen Pharmaceuticals from here?”

“Continue down CityLink and get off at Barkley Street.”

I did so. Rosen Pharmaceuticals, it turned out, was situated in busy Power Street in a rather plain-looking four-story building with a café dominating one side of the ground floor and a lawyer’s office on the other. It was very different from the dedicated building inhabited by their opposition—the Chase Medical Research Institute, which just happened to be owned and run by the ex whom Rosen hated.

“You might want to turn right onto Lynch Street,” he said, “because there’s no parking in front of the building.”

“Oh yeah?” I slowed down and flicked on the blinker. “Obviously no one told the dipstick in front of us.”

He grinned. “Maybe I should have said there’s no legal—” He paused and leaned forward suddenly. “That’s Rosen.”

I glanced toward the building’s entrance. A tall, somewhat weedy-looking but impeccably dressed man was exiting the building, accompanied by two other men. All three were heading toward the illegally parked sedan.

“Well, I guess he figures it’s okay because he owns the joint.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he owns the car,” Jackson growled. “And I certainly don’t think he’s going willingly.”

“What?” Instead of pulling out, I moved closer to the curb and stopped—and then saw what Jackson had already seen.

One of the two men accompanying Rosen was a werewolf we’d met once before—when we’d rescued Amanda Wilson from his not-so-tender ministrations. His companion was even bigger, with thick hairy arms and thighs so large, he walked like an ape. We knew the first wolf worked as a thug for hire, and I was betting the second man did, too.

I had no idea where they were taking him or what they intended, but one thing was very obvious—Denny Rosen was in serious trouble.