“Do I feel like breaking down in this restaurant, crying for my sister?”

“Do you?”

I opened my mouth to give him an even bigger piece of my mind, but Lisa approached with our drinks, so I nodded gratefully at her instead.

She pulled out her notepad. “Ready to order?”

“Give us a minute, would you?” Costa asked.

“Sure thing.” She gave him a big smile and sauntered off. The man was far too attractive for his own good. Too bad he was so unfriendly.

“So, do you? Feel like breaking down?” Costa asked.

I took a sip of my tea and studied the strangely cold man across from me. He was handsome and sexy in a way that made my succubus side shriek to get his attention, but there was something off about him. “Do you have any family, Agent Costa?”

“Yes.” His voice held no emotion.

“Then you should understand how I feel right now.

You should understand the lengths I will go to, the compartmentalizing I will do, in order to save my sister.

Besides.” I gave him a big smile. “Acting is something I’m very good at.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” Costa leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, and I couldn’t look away from his dark eyes. He opened his mouth, and a small flash of emotion crossed his face—so quickly I couldn’t identify it—then he snapped his lips shut. He shook his head and leaned back in the booth.

“Are you guys ready to order yet?” Lisa rematerialized next to me and I barely covered a little jump by reaching for my teacup.

My stomach rolled at the idea of food, but I forced myself to say, “Salad with chicken, please.”

Costa grimaced at my order. “Southwest burger.

Fries.”

The waitress jotted down our order and slipped her pen into a pocket at the front of her smock.

Silence overtook us for a few brief moments after the waitress left. Costa’s eyes burned into me, far more intensely than they should. I was tempted to meet his stare, if only to pinpoint the exact shade of his eyes. Surely they were just deep brown? They seemed so dark that they verged on black, but that had to be because of the lighting.

I cleared my throat with a light cough and kept my gaze firmly affixed to my tea. “Tell me more about the other cases.”

He inhaled deeply, and then let the air out in a whoosh.

“That could take a long time.”

I gave him a sharp look. “Summarize.”

“Fine. Over the last couple of years, succubi have been disappearing from around the country. A connection between the disappearances wasn’t made until recently.”

“Why did it take so long?”

He shrugged. “They took place in large cities, usually no more than one or two per city. Succubi aren’t rare…as you know. And the women weren’t connected by anything but species—aside from being young and attractive. Of course, that’s hardly a rare trait in succubi. Not much else connects them.”

I tapped my fingers on the table. “So they all just disappeared without a trace. Any sign of any other connected OW disappearances, like Wendy’s?”

“No, and we haven’t connected any other disappearances to those of the succubi.” He grimaced.

“But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened. We should look into other oh-dub disappearances around the same timeframe in the same cities as the succubi who have gone missing.” He pulled out a small notepad and scribbled something on it.

We sat in awkward silence, me pretending to check important e-mails on my cell phone, and Costa going through his notes, until Lisa dropped off our food.

“So none of them have turned up dead. Do you have any evidence that…” I paused. I didn’t really want to know, but I had to. “Do you have any evidence that they are still alive—other than not finding any bodies?”

He hesitated. “A psychic. One of the best in the OWEA. She’s touched several of the victims’ personal items. Some haven’t been in contact with the items for long enough, so she couldn’t get anything clear off of them. But some of the more recent ones she’s gotten images…I don’t know. Whatever they get. She says they’re alive.”

“Touched them, huh? A psychometrist, then?”

Psychometrists were one of the rarer forms of psychics, able to glean information from touching objects. I hadn’t seen many used in cases; Chicago PD didn’t have one on the squad and Vasquez wasn’t too keen on them. They were useless with cases most of the time unless we had a murder weapon. And even then, their visions weren’t always clear. And unclear evidence didn’t make it to court.

“One with a bit of clairvoyance. My partner.”

My mouth dropped and I snapped it shut before Costa could comment on my surprise. Clairvoyants were especially rare. They didn’t just get information about the past and present of objects and their owners, they occasionally got visions of likely events in the future. A psychometrist with a touch of clairvoyance was a stunning combination.

The fact that he had proof beyond a lack of bodies settled in, and a weight moved from my chest. She was alive, then. Almost definitely alive. That meant I could save her. I could get her back. I could bring my sister home.

Worry flitted in the back of my mind. What if she wasn’t the same? What if they did something to break her? No. She was strong. She’d been through a lot. And she wasn’t that easy to break. I could still see her face the night she’d killed that boy. She’d stumbled in from the cool night, hair a mess of twigs and leaves and dirt. Mascara ran down her cheeks, carried by long, hopeless tears. And her eyes—they carried a look of haunted horror that broke something in me.

Ever since, I’d struggled to help her get her life back.

It had taken a few years—no wonder, considering the psychic damage on top of the mental and physical—but she’d recovered. She’d regained her confidence. She’d started living her life again.

I was going to get her back.

“Hello. You with me?” Costa waved a hand at my face.

“Just thinking. What else have you learned?”

“Not much. The kidnappers take one or two per city, usually a week or so apart. They move onto the next city after a month or two, same M.O. We’ve found no physical evidence, no unusual circumstances leading to their disappearances. They’ve all just seemed to be heading to work or to school.” He took a drink of his water, and I did my best not to tap my nails on the table. “Like I said, the only thing they’ve had in common other than their species is their age.”

“Look, just get me the summary. And the files. Okay?”

I took a couple of bites of my salad and then grabbed my jacket. “We need to get moving.”

He nodded and took a couple of huge bites of his burger, and half the sandwich disappeared. I tossed some cash on the table while he struggled to chew and keep his mouth closed.

We made it to the front door before he’d swallowed enough of the burger to mumble, “Where are we going?”

“The library.”

Chapter Four

The library, with its imposing dark brick facade, towered over us as we approached the main entrance. Intimidating, it stole my breath and made my stomach clench, and I wondered if it had made Elaine feel the same way.

“You all right?” Costa paused at the entrance.

No, I’m far from all right. “I’m fine.” I pushed past him and went through the door.

Washed-out neutral colors coated the floors and walls, covering the fabrics and hard surfaces of the room.

Students lounged on couches with books, or at tables— leaning across to consult their friends on math problems or their love lives. A few sat in front of library computers.

Several stood in line, waiting for a librarian to check out their books, fidgeting and antsy, probably wishing they were anywhere but the library.

I made my way to the checkout desk, cutting in front of the next girl in line. She made a rude noise and turned to gesture to her friends, who were already checked out and waiting for her near the front entrance.

The librarian gave me a disapproving look when I stepped up to the counter, but her annoyance faded when I flashed my badge.

“I’m Detective Marisol Whitman. This is Agent Costa.” I nodded toward him. He stood behind me, a wall between me and the students. Almost as if he watched my back—protected me. Something inside my chest softened at the thought. “We need to speak with whoever is in charge of security.”

The gray-haired woman nodded and picked up a phone from the counter. She hissed in what was no doubt her library voice, “Yes, there are some police officers here.

Yes. I’ll send them over.”

I tapped my fingernails on the counter as she finished up her conversation and caught Costa watching my nervous twitch. Frowning, I drew my hand back and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Well, then,” the librarian announced, voice losing all semblance of its library tone. “One building over. The head of security is the corner office, last door on the left.”

She gestured toward what I could only guess was the other building and watched us expectantly. I had no doubt she’d be gossiping about us and the disappearance to every student who ventured into her line the moment we were out of earshot.

The head of security’s office proved as easy to find as the librarian promised, and Jonathan Donovan was etched in bold black letters, dark against the light shining behind the glass. I stopped in front of the door and tugged my hair loose from the carefully styled chignon and fluffed it around my face. Then I took off my blazer. With the jacket on, my skirt suit looked perfectly appropriate. But removing the blazer revealed an undershirt that looked positively sinful. Thin sleeves did nothing to cover my shoulders, and the just-shy-of-plunging neckline revealed quite a bit of cleavage. The soft fabric looked thinner than it actually was, and the ensemble clung to my body.

For the purposes of interrogation, the showy blouse was my armor. My disguise.

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