Box seats at the Hollywood Bowl went for over one hundred dollars; seats on the grass near the back could sometimes be had for free. Mordichai sat in neither, but he still had the best seat in the house—perched on top of the graceful white arc that rose like an upended teacup out of the Hollywood landscape.

Of course, he couldn’t see the orchestra. For that matter, he couldn’t see the cartoons being projected onto a screen inside the famous amphitheater. It was a pity, really. That wascally wabbit always cracked him up.

Bleep, bleep. The little green blip flashed, underscoring his purpose. He wasn’t there to watch Bugs outwit Elmer Fudd. No, he was on a mission. And from his vantage point, he had a perfect view of his target.

The silly woman had no idea that tonight, when the music stopped, she was going to have an unfortunate encounter with one of those pesky Los Angeles muggers.

Deena clapped and bounced up, applauding like crazy, wishing she could fly out into the night with the music. “Wasn’t that great? Aren’t you glad we came?”

Hoop laughed and squeezed her hand, watching the last of the cartoons race across the screen. “I told you I’d like it. What I don’t get is why the powers that be don’t set all classical music to cartoons.”

“I think it’s the other way around. They scored the cartoons with the classical music.”

Hoop shrugged. “Whatever. Point is, I like it.” He nodded toward the exit as the encore finished. “Ready to battle the crowd?”

“Sure.” She grabbed the hem of her oversize pullover sweater and yanked it up over her head, managing to get herself tangled.

“What on earth are you doing?”

She couldn’t see him with her head in the darn thing. “I’m hot. And I’m stuck. Pull, would you?”

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes and shaking his head, but he grabbed hold and tugged, and the sweater slipped easily over her head and shoulders.

Something cold slid down into her cleavage and she shivered. Hoop shoved the sweater into the top of her tote bag. “Let’s go.” He stepped onto the pathway toward the exit, squeezing in behind a couple with four perky little kids. Deena followed, ignoring the stares as she groped at her chest and then her neck.

They had just about reached the exit when she stopped, realizing. “Oh, hell.”

Hoop looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“It’s gone.”

He shrugged, looking lost.

“The necklace. The chain must have gotten caught in my sweater. It’s probably back in our box.”

“Or smashed under someone’s feet on the path, or someone picked it up, or—”

“I know,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. It was an ugly necklace anyway.”

She recalled the oddly twisted metal holding the green stone. “Well, I liked it. And so did Zoe. And it was hers, too.”

“Right. I forgot.” He shrugged. “We can wait if you want,” he said, not sounding particularly keen about the idea.

“No,” she said with a sigh. A swarm of people still meandered down the path, making it impossible to go back and search. “It’s probably lost for good. And you’re right. It was ugly.” She shrugged. “Well, at least I’ve got the stone.”

“You do?”

“It fell into my bra,” she mumbled.

“What?” he asked, though his grin suggested he’d heard her perfectly well.

“My bra,” she repeated with a smirk. “I guess it came loose from its setting and dropped there.”

He chuckled, then took her hand and gave her a little tug toward the exit. “In that case, what say we head home? I’m thinking I should go on a search for buried treasure.”

The trouble with X-rated was that Zoe didn’t know a damn thing about it. Taylor was right there—right in front of her. Unfortunately he was in professional mode, scoping out the inside of her apartment for bogeymen hiding in the dark. Except for his not-so-subtle hints back at the car, he’d shown absolutely no interest in throwing her on the floor, ripping her clothes off, and ravishing her.

She considered tearing off her own clothes and throwing herself on the floor—just to jump-start the whole thing—but ruled it out as being a tad forward. Bummer.

So how on earth did she get him to move from point A to point bedroom?

For the first time, she wished she’d paid more attention in school. Not the geography, math, and social studies part, but the this-is-how-the-cool-girls-get-guys part. Not only had she pretty much flunked out in that department, she hadn’t even gone to class. Which left her at a decided disadvantage when a gorgeous, sexy man was wandering through her darkened apartment doing the macho protection thing instead of the macho seduction thing.

He came back to the door, flipped on the light, and ushered her inside, the slight pressure of his hand against her waist sending her frantic atoms into meltdown.

“You’re all set,” he said. “The place looks fine.”

His purely professional expression would’ve had her worried, except that she saw his eyes. Those eyes told a different story. Taylor’s head might want to protect her from being ravaged by bad guys, but the rest of him wanted to be the one doing the ravaging.

She moved awkwardly into the apartment, making a point of brushing lightly against him as she passed. The slight contact set her body tingling, and she turned to face him, trying to pull herself back together. There was no sense in looking desperate and needy.

“Um . . . well. . . uh . . .” She grappled for an intelligent topic to discuss, and finally landed on coffee. “Want some?” Oh, Zeus, what did I say? “Coffee,” she added, stumbling over herself to clarify. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Coffee would be great,” he said, but his eyes said, And how about getting naked with me in the bedroom?

“Oh, yes.” She blinked, realizing he hadn’t said anything of the sort, then blushed even hotter.

“What?”

“Coffee it is,” she said, while he squinted at her as though she’d lost her mind.

At least coffee was a reason to escape the living room. She hightailed it for her tiny kitchen and pulled a stack of filters out of the cabinet. Now the big decision—decaf or regular. She decided to go with the latter. Sure it would keep her up all night, but right now, being awake—and active—the whole night through sounded pretty darned appealing.

“Leaded? That’ll keep us up all night.”

His voice came from right behind her, and she almost jumped a mile. She whipped around, hoping he hadn’t noticed that she’d jumped so high her hair really had grazed the ceiling.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She had no idea how he’d managed to get so close without her realizing—a testament to how distracted he’d made her—but there he was. Just three little inches of air separated them. Just air between her and those teasing lips and strong, firm hands.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

He moved even closer. The sound of his breath, the beating of his heart, the rustle of his clothes as he moved closer all made up a symphony of erotic sounds designed to drive her crazy. “Of course,” he said, his voice low, “I don’t have any problems with staying up all night.”

He didn’t move, and neither did she. He just looked down at her, his eyes warm and inviting. She waited for him to grab her around the waist, to pull her toward him, to kiss her senseless.

Nothing.

She waited a little longer, their gazes locked, her breath quickening.

Still nothing.

No, not exactly nothing. But certainly nothing good, because now he’d broken eye contact and was staring toward the floor.

Well, heck.

With a sigh, she held her hands out to her sides. In for a penny and all that. “So,” she said, “how about we get started on that seduction?” The second the words left her lips, she cringed. From the tone of her voice, she might as well have asked, So, how about those Dodgers?

Very smooth move.

Then again, maybe there had been a little method in her madness. When he lifted his head, the passion in his eyes was unmistakable. He moved closer, and she felt a surge of power that had nothing to do with her heritage and everything to do with being female.

He really wanted her. And right now, her feminine power put to shame every one of her piddly little superhero skills. Who really cared about flying when a man like this could take her to the stars with one dark and dangerous look?

“Is this a good idea?”

“What do you mean?” Her words came out as a squeak, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t about to let him back out on her now. “It’s a fabulous idea.”

He smiled, but his eyes were concerned. “I don’t want to drag you into this. If those guys really are after me, I should leave.”

“Why?” She shouldn’t argue, not really. After all, he’d be a lot safer away from her. But, Hera help her, she didn’t want him to go. It was selfish, but true.

His hands gripped her shoulders. “I want you, Zoe. Oh, Lord, I want you. But I don’t want to see you in danger.”

His eyes burned into her, and she swallowed, feeling like a heel. He did want her, but he was willing to walk away to keep her safe. She wanted him, and she was ready to damn the consequences and go at it with Taylor like bunnies.

Oh, dear. Maybe Hale was right. Maybe she was in over her head. Maybe she really couldn’t handle all these wild, wanton, spinning, singing, zinging, and zipping feelings storming around inside her. She should just let this man walk away. Concentrate on passing her tests and working up the courage to tell her mother. Forget she was ever even remotely attracted to a mortal.

She tossed the idea around in her head, trying to decide if she was keen on the walk-away plan.

Um . . . nope.

So much for reason over emotion.

The sound of toenails clickety-clacking on tile echoed from across the room, and she saw Elmer’s furry little face poke out from her bathroom. No question about it—that was a scolding expression on his tiny rat face.

She ignored him. Best not to let one’s life be ruled by ferrets, after all. Especially not meddling, chaperoning ferrets dumped in her apartment by her overbearing, well-meaning big brother.

Switching her gaze back to Taylor—who apparently hadn’t heard the telltale toenail tapping—she sucked in a deep breath and tried to summon some chutzpah. “Look,” she said in her best negotiating-with-eight-year-olds voice, “nobody’s here. And chances are nobody followed us, right?”

His nod was grudging, but affirmative.

“Which means that you’re safe here for now. And so am I.” He smiled, intense and provocative. “So we have a wild night, I leave in the morning, and don’t come calling, lest I lead the bad guys to your doorstep?”

“Well, yeah.” She frowned, realizing that it sounded like all she wanted was a wild night of passion to get the man out of her system. Which was absolutely true—really it was—but that didn’t change the fact that it sounded awful to put it so bluntly. She tried to soften her tone. “What do you want?”

His examination started at her toes, and by the time it reached her eyes, she was on fire. Hera’s hatpins. This man did things to her. Marvelous, erotic, wonderful, terrifying things.

“What do I want?” he repeated. “Let me tell you exactly what I want.” He leaned forward until his mouth was just a breath away from her ear. “I want to throw you to the floor and make love to you until you beg for more.” The words were low, dangerous, and a shudder ripped through her soul.

“Oh.”

With a look that told her he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, he moved in front of her. The heat from his body warmed her, pooling somewhere in her middle. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer and closer until she could tell just how much he’d meant his words.

“Oh,” she repeated stupidly.

“What do you want?” He whispered the words, his breath hot against her ear, wicked and tempting.

She tried to answer, but her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed and tried again. “I. . . uh . . . want you to throw me to the floor and make love to me until I beg for more.”

“Well, there you go. Looks like we’re on the same wavele—Aieeee!” He ended with a howl, jerking away from her and hopping around on one foot while he held on to his other ankle. Below him, Elmer dodged, trying to escape being squashed by Taylor, the human pogo stick.

For such a tiny little ferret, he’d managed to put a pretty big damper on the moment. What had been shaping up like a really sweet Taster’s Choice commercial was rapidly degenerating into a bad Fox Network special—When Good Ferrets Go Bad.

She glared at Elmer as he backed away, his head tilted up, abject innocence plastered all over his furry little face. “Oh, no, you don’t. Hale’s gonna hear about this.”

“The little devil bit me.”

“It was a love bite,” she lied. “He’s fond of you. Just a little overzealous.”

“I’ll say.” Taylor rubbed his ankle.

Elmer hopped back and forth, his fur spiky, very clearly trying to communicate that fond and Taylor did not belong together.

“You just behave,” Zoe said, scooping him up. “I have no idea what you’re saying,” she added in a low whisper, “but when Hale gets here, I’m gonna make sure he gives you a good talking-to.”

She flashed her best hostess smile at Taylor, then shoved Elmer into the spare bedroom and closed the door. She went back into the kitchen wondering if she could salvage the moment.

“Look, Zoe. I’m incredibly attracted to you. I’m not about to deny it. But—”

There it was—the one little word that screamed no salvage potential.

“—considering, well, everything, maybe I should leave.”

“You really want to leave?” Any minute, the world was going to crash down around her ears. She was sure of it. For the first time in her life, she’d met a man with whom she’d decided she could let go, could risk her heart and soul—and he was going to leave.

Well, that only proved Hale’s point—don’t get involved with mortals; they just can’t handle the lifestyle.

Except she hadn’t intended to get involved. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. She was in this for the sex, pure and simple. Yup, there it was. Right there out in the open. She wanted sex with this man. One night of passion that would put her senses through the wringer and leave her breathless and sated. Sure. That’s all. Nothing permanent.

They were lies, of course, but she tried to make herself believe them. After all, he’d never be able to handle a relationship, and she wouldn’t have time for one anyway. Once the council finally processed her application, she’d have obligations, commitments. If she wanted to experience passion—and oh, yes, she knew now that she wanted to experience it—then it was now or never. After tonight she could walk away. Needed to walk away, actually, if she wanted to make sure Taylor stayed out of harm’s way.

But for tonight, she wanted him in her bed.

“I don’t want to,” he was saying when she tuned back in. “God, Zoe, look at you. What I want is to run my hands all over your body and make you scream.” He ran his hand through his hair instead of all over her body, then took a shaky breath. “But maybe it’s best if I go.”

“No!”

Maybe it wasn’t the sophisticated thing to do—and she certainly wasn’t playing it cool—but she flung herself at him. He caught her, lost his balance, and they both tumbled to the floor. She straddled him, her thighs pressed against his waist, her knees on the floor. Her face was right above his, her lips so close.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he said, but the tone of his voice disagreed.

She brushed her lips over his mouth, slowly, experimentally, relishing the delicious sensation that whipped through her like hot chocolate for her soul, rich and enticing. “On the contrary,” she whispered, “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

“Zoe . . .” With one hand, he stroked her face, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She took off her glasses, tossing them onto the coffee table, then scooted aside to look at him, awed by the raw strength of his mortal body. She ran her hand down his leg as she peeked through his clothing, stopping at the scar on his thigh, just one imperfection among infinite perfection. She kept her eyes away from there, somehow sure that looking now would be cheating. And she didn’t want to cheat. Not with him, not ever.

He pulled her closer and she groaned, the pleasure of his touch nearly driving her mad. “Taylor, please.”

“I guess I win,” he said. His voice was still soft, but it was laced with humor, and she opened her eyes in question. “What?”

His smile broadened. “We’re on the floor. And you’re begging.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed, then tried to swat at his chest as she chastised him with a hearty, “You bum!” It was the swat that made her lose her control, and he flipped her over so that suddenly she was under him, with two hundred and ten pounds of pure, delectable male balanced right on top of her.

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it,” he said.

“Done what?”

“Convinced me to stay.”

“Is that bad?”

He lowered himself over her, his lips brushing against hers with the most infinitesimal of caresses—the tiniest of touches, yet enough to set off a chain reaction of pyrotechnic sensations that exploded through her body with the power of ten thousand bottle rockets. “You tell me,” he whispered. “Is that bad?”

She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think. She could only shake her head and silently beg for his touch, wanting to lose herself in his heat, to be baptized in the living flame of his touch. Her skin tingled, the tiny hairs on her arms humming with electricity, her pulse throbbing against her skin.

“You’re so beautiful.” He was murmuring soft words as his hands skimmed over her body, her skin sizzling in his wake as he skillfully removed her from the clothing she no longer wanted, no longer needed. First his jacket, then—please, soon—the rest.

What was the point of clothing, anyway, if all it did was keep her body away from his? His finger grazed down the side of her neck, dancing over the curve of her collarbone, and she was burning up—sweltering in the thin summer dress. Her skin was flushed—as red as her dress. She felt so hot, so alive, she wasn’t sure she could stand the sweet torment.

He leaned closer, his scent—earthy and primitive—assaulting her, sending her head reeling, urging her to let go and fly, to burn up in some sort of celestial flame.

Part of her wanted to run away, to get free, to calm down before she lost all control. Another part of her wanted to lose control. To lose it with this man. To believe—if only for a moment—that he could know all her secrets and still want her.

“I’m so hot,” she whispered as her blood boiled.

His hand trailed lower still, stopping to cup her breast through the dress. “Do you want me to stop?”

She gasped. “Yes . . . no . . . never stop.”

Sweet torment, yes, but somehow she knew that Taylor was the cure. That she would come near to incinerating before she’d be released from his spell. And—oh, Hera—how she wanted to burn.

An arctic cold rippled against her skin, the sensation surprising her in the wake of such perfect heat. She shivered and realized he’d managed—she had no clue how—to get her wholly out of her dress. Now she lay before him in nothing except her bikini briefs. He had pulled away, taking his heat with him, and now he was kneeling over her, gazing down with something akin to wonder in his eyes.

Suddenly shy, she crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she’d had the time to buy that Wonderbra after all.

“Don’t you dare,” he whispered, gently moving her arms to her sides. “I want to look at you. You’re beautiful,” he said. “You’re a goddess.”

“That’s not important to me.” She needed him to understand, but his hands were on her again, blazing paths down her sides, over her hips, making it difficult to think.

“What’s not?”

“The goddess thing. I just want to be me.”

“Who are you?” he whispered with a smile, surely not understanding what she meant.

She shrugged, trying to focus on his words despite the riptide building in her soul, urging her to break free and drift away. “I don’t know.” It was a lie. She knew perfectly well. She was somebody he could never have, would never really want.

“I do,” he said. He leaned closer, his legs pressing against her hips. His hands grazed over her naked flesh, testing and teasing, drawing circles on her stomach until she wanted to cry out in frustration and demand that he touch her elsewhere . . . everywhere. “I know exactly who you are.”

Those miraculous hands were on her breasts now, stroking and kneading, and through the rough material of his slacks she could feel the hard length of him press against her. A rainbow of colors shot through her—blue mating with yellow, red having its way with green—copulating colors, dancing and spinning like so many fairies, and oh, how she envied each and every one of them.

“Shall I tell you?” he asked, his mouth near her nipple, the caress of his breath softer than an infant’s hair.

She nodded, mute, then gasped, her back arching of its own accord when he closed his mouth over her nipple, his tongue dancing on the sensitive skin. Rockets ignited in her soul—T minus ten and counting. Oh, Hera. She longed for liftoff.

He pulled away, but his hands continued to work miracles on her body. “You’re sweet, and generous, and one of the most amazing women I’ve ever met.”

She smiled at his words. But in the long run he didn’t know her. And when he did—when he learned her secret, if he learned her secret—he’d run far and fast. But for now . . . for now she wanted to lose herself to him. Tomorrow she’d be alone again. After Tuesday he’d be out of her life. For now she wanted to belong to him.

Blinking back tears, she arched her back, raising her lips to meet his. “Kiss me. Make love to me. Make a memory with me that I can hold on to forever, no matter what happens tomorrow.”

His arm swept behind her, pulling her closer. He pressed against her, his chest against hers, their hips rocking together, their lips joined as they shared breath and soul. When he laid her back against the carpet, tucking a throw pillow under her head, she moaned. His fingers played cruel, delightful games, dipping under the band of her panties, the sensation pooling between her thighs, warm and liquid and needy. She squirmed, trying to urge his fingers lower, needing to feel him inside her, on her, everywhere.

He moved to stand up, and she whimpered.

“What do you want?” he asked as he let his slacks and briefs drop to the ground.

She stared up at him. He was stunning. And he wanted her. That was certainly obvious. She fought a little smile, pleased that she hadn’t peeked earlier, hadn’t spoiled this moment.

“I want you,” she said, unable to remember ever speaking truer words.

The corner of his mouth lifted into the slightest of smiles as he lowered himself over her. “Good answer.”

His fingers danced intimately along her skin, teasing her in places she’d only imagined being touched, igniting the fuel of a thousand rockets deep in her soul.

She couldn’t speak, could only murmur soft sounds of pleasure as he stroked her secret places. Her body tightened as a rainbow swallowed her, reds and purples dancing on her skin, oranges and blues shooting from her fingertips, yellows and greens crackling and sparkling in her hair.

The rocket in her soul burned hotter.

T minus two and counting.

“Taylor.” She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him closer, losing herself to the feel of his skin, his musky male scent. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered.

“Never,” he said, rolling her over on top of him. His hands trailed down her back, his kisses covered her face, and she shivered, losing herself to the sweet sensation of his touch.

Lord, he was floating. Buffered by a haze of pure sensual pleasure, he truly felt as if he were floating on air.

Eyes closed, he trailed his hands along her bare back, caressing the sweet curve of her delicious behind. She moaned, the sound soft and satisfying and making him harder than he’d been just moments before. Amazing. Man, oh man. This woman did astounding things to his body. Unbelievable things. Just the way she writhed over him right now, trailing kisses down his chest, inching up to catch his mouth with hers . . .

He kept his eyes closed, unwilling to break the spell. He’d never felt so light before, so charged, so full of passionate energy. Like a live wire, his body tingled and hummed, and the only thing he could feel was the sweet press of Zoe against him, her body melded over his.

He shuddered and opened his mouth wider, hungrily devouring her lips, greedily sweeping his tongue inside her, needing to taste her, to possess her, to take her.

“I want you, Zoe,” he said.

A shudder skimmed through her body, her reaction absurdly satisfying.

With a low groan, he rolled over until her back was against the floor again and he was straddling her. The back of his mind registered that his knees were pressed against the carpet, and he realized that they must have been on the floor the whole time. But—oh, man—this woman had him floating, and the feeling of being weightless in her arms was exquisite.

With something akin to reverence, he kissed her breast, kissed her belly button, and lower still, wanting to taste all of her. Wanting to know all of her secrets.

And he would, too. Zoe Smith would be his. Of that he was absolutely certain.

Zoe moaned as he kissed her intimately, his mouth moving lower and lower as her temperature spiked higher and higher. She was frantic, needy, writhing with desire. Silently urging him on. Silently begging him to touch her, caress her, take her.

The lightbulb in the kitchen blew out, and the television turned on, an old episode of Love, American Style playing softly in the background.

He was tasting her, and she shivered, burying her fingers in his hair, trying not to scream, but unable to stand it any longer. She urged him back to her and kissed him hard on the lips, running her hands over the strong muscles of his back.

“Now.” His whisper caressed her, gentle but intense.

“Oh, yes.” Oh, yes, please.

T minus zero and counting.

She spread her legs in a silent invitation, which he accepted with a low moan. A sharp burst of red exploded through her as he entered her, and she bit back a cry. She moved with him, slow and languid, trying to quell the pain of being filled by him.

“Zoe?”

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. The red was fading, the colors cooling, dancing on her skin. And then there was a different kind of red. Not pain, but heat and need. She arched against him, and he pulled her close as they moved together, more frenetic, more needy, and—oh, dear Zeus—how she needed him.

Now. Needed him . . . needed something . . . now.

And then, when she wanted it the most, he thrust again and found release. Their bodies melded together, her soul bursting as a thousand bits of her exploded in a fiery mass.

Liftoff. She heard herself scream. A shudder ripped through her as the overhead light flickered on, then burned out with an explosive pop.

They drifted back to the floor and she sighed, thoroughly sated, thoroughly satisfied.

Zoe smiled.

Houston, we don’t have a single problem.

Blip, blip. Bleep, bleep.

Mordi scowled at the tracker. He’d fixed it properly. He was sure of it.

And yet here he was in the park, and there was absolutely no sign of the mortal female. Irritated, he settled himself on a bench, then started drumming his fingers on its green metal. He stopped immediately, realizing what he was doing. The last thing in the world he wanted was to acquire one of his father’s irritating habits.

He scowled at the sky, wondering if Hieronymous was watching him right now. Considering the council’s intricate network of satellites, it was certainly possible. He glanced at his watch. And as far as he could tell, the major world markets were currently closed.

If Hieronymous wasn’t watching the financial reports, he was probably watching his son.

Damn.

It was just past midnight on Monday morning. Only seventy-two hours before the eclipse, and still Mordi had failed to acquire the stone. A stone he didn’t even want, all for a legacy of power that was his father’s dream—not his own.

He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. This was his golden chance. All his life he’d wanted his father to want him. To see him as a son, not a halfling. The legend had given him the chance to prove himself, and he intended to do just that. All that followed—the uprising of the Outcasts, the downfall of the mortals, the throne upon which he would sit next to Hieronymous—none of that mattered. Not really.

But if he could get the stone to Hieronymous in time for the eclipse, then surely he would feel worthy.

He sat up straighter, his resolve renewed.

He’d find the damn stone. No matter what he had to do, he would find it.

Frustrated, he lurched to his feet, the tracker held in front of him. Its green light blinked eerily in the dark. Where the hell was the female? According to the damn tracker, she should be right here. Right under his nose.

A mangy mutt padded by, stopped to sniff Mordi’s shoes, then continued on. Mordi scowled, wondering at first if the dog was one of his father’s little pets. But the dog was only a dog and it stopped in one of the landscaped areas and began digging, its paws churning with purpose into the soft earth beneath the birds-of-paradise.

Driven by a mixture of curiosity and boredom, Mordi approached the mutt, then glanced into the hole. Beneath a well-chewed bone, a glint of gold caught his attention. Surely not. . .

He dropped to his knees, digging with as much vigor as the dog until he could pull the chain free.

It was the necklace, all right, along with the intricate mounting to which his father had aimed the tracking device. The stone, however, was nowhere to be found.