“I can’t tell you how Mona died or who killed her. I have no idea. As for anything else that might be going on—” I gave him a smile that was as hard as the one he’d given only moments before. “You lost the right to question me about that a long time ago.”

Again anger surged, but this time it heated the flakes of gold and made his eyes burn like fire. “Do not be so sure of that.”

And with that threat lingering in the air, he turned and stalked out.

I stared after him, my stomach churning as I wondered what in the hell he’d meant. He couldn’t want to resume our relationship—and his actions here certainly hadn’t given any indication that this was his intention—but what else could he have meant?

Maybe he’d meant nothing. Maybe it was just my aching head and overall weariness reading intent into comments where none existed.

It was something I’d have to stop doing, especially if he was back in town for good. Berren might be a big city, but the supernatural community was relatively close knit and our paths would no doubt cross more than either of us might want. But at least I’d gotten through the first face-to-face with emotions relatively intact. Surely it would only get easier from now on.

The ambulance turned up a few minutes later and medics treated the troll before the cops hauled him away. Other than a nasty egg, he hadn’t been seriously harmed. Which was probably a good thing given there would have been a more serious investigation about the circumstances surrounding the break-in if a more critical injury had occurred. And that might have just resulted in information that was better kept confidential—at least for the moment—getting out.

As Kaij had predicted, my head did need stitches. I changed and locked up the house as best I could, given the battered front door, then was hauled away and given a proper check up before being patched up.

It was close to eight by the time I got home. I was damnably hungry, so I grabbed the lasagna still sitting on the counter and munched on that as I headed back to my bed and a few hours sleep.

The phone woke me. I groped for it without opening my eyes and said, “You’d better have a good reason for calling at this ungodly hour.”

“It’s past one, for god’s sake. What are you still doing in bed?”

Lyle’s voice was surprisingly upbeat, and I blinked, wondering if I’d stepped into some weird time warp. This did not sound like the same morose man I’d dumped into a taxi last night. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Why are you so cheerful?”

“I tracked down government car. It was assigned to James Logan.”

“Why? He wasn’t the politician, Frank is.” And government cars were only supposed to be used by government officials. But regardless of that, what the hell was Bramwell doing in it? Frank Logan and my father were not what anyone would call political allies, and James himself had made more than a few disparaging remarks about Gilroy’s political aspirations.

“Frank had apparently called through and organized for James to use it.”

“That still doesn’t explain the rush of happiness.” I pushed into a sitting position, and almost instantly regretted it as a myriad of aches sprang up all over my body.

“Well, the bastard got what he deserved, didn’t he?”

It took me a moment to remember that James had been one of the four killed in the helicopter crash with Keale. And maybe the battle with the troll last night had rattled more than a few brain cells loose, but for the life of me I still couldn’t understand why Logan’s death made Lyle so happy.

“And just how do you figure that?” I tossed the bed sheets off and gingerly climbed out, biting my lip against the various aches that started screaming even more loudly for attention.

Lyle cleared his throat. “Well, he was one of her clients, wasn’t he?”

He was? Christ, what sort of allure did Mona have to catch so many high profile men? It was certainly unusual feat for a mid-level siren. Then I blinked. James Logan and my brother had been seeing the same siren. Talk about an explosion waiting to happen.

In fact, maybe that was who Gilroy had been arguing with the night Val had stepped in and given them both temporary wings. The second picture Val had drawn could easily have fitted either Logan brother without the hair pieces they habitually wore—a fact that had been commented on often enough in the press that it made me wonder why they actually bothered to cover-up their baldness. Maybe it was just vanity.

“How do you know that, Lyle? And what has this got to do with Mona’s murder?”

Lyle was silent for a long moment. I stopped in front of the mirror and contemplated the bruises. There were a lot of them, though many jostled for prominence with the scratches I’d received from the rose bushes. No dresses for me for the next couple of days, I thought—not that I tended to wear a lot of them, anyway. And it wasn’t like I actually went anywhere fancy enough to warrant getting all dressed up.

“I went up and talked to Mona the day after I saw the car,” Lyle said, almost reluctantly, “She was very upset—said she’d been threatened.”

I wondered what else he wasn’t telling me. Because there was more, I was sure. “By whoever was in the car, or someone else?”

I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been Bramwell who’d threatened her, although he generally believed such actions somewhat unbecoming when it came to dealing with those he considered beneath him—and sirens were certainly that. Maybe that was why he’d been sitting in the car that day—maybe he was leaving the dirty work to James.

Although James was human, and I couldn’t imagine Bramwell allowing any human—even one with a brother as powerful as Frank—an insight into Phillecky family dealings.

Lyle said, “I’m presuming it was James.”

Never presume anything, Lyle had once told me. Besides, both Bramwell and James had been in that car, so either of them could have been the culprit. Just because my father had been photographed inside the car didn’t mean he’d stayed there the entire time. “She wouldn’t tell you who?”

“No. She was scared, though. I could tell that.”

I hesitated, then asked, “Why didn’t you talk to her the day before? You were curious enough about the car to take the photos—why didn’t you go up and ask her about it once they’d left?”

“I couldn’t, because she might have been working.” He sighed. “I know she was a siren and all, but that didn’t mean I like seeing who she did.”

And he didn’t like the fact he had to share her with others, if the catch of anger evident in his voice was anything to go by. It had to have torn him apart, knowing that the one thing he hated was the one thing she couldn’t give up.

Yet the dwarf had mentioned her retiring. Maybe Mona really had loved Lyle enough to at least try.

“Did you ask who was threatening her?”

“Yeah, but she refused to tell me. The only thing I could get out of her was that he was a fairly high ranking politician.”

“Which James Logan is not.” Neither was Bramwell. But Frank Logan was. Had he been protecting his brother, as Bramwell had been protecting his son? While everything I knew about the Logans suggested that wasn’t likely, sometimes the bond of blood made you do strange things. “Did you talk to the driver?”

“No. He’s gone on leave for a couple of weeks.”

“Might be worth checking when he actually applied for leave, because that seems a little convenient to me.”

Lyle was silent for a moment. “What aren’t you telling me?”

That there’s more to this than meets the eye. I hesitated, then said, “It wasn’t James Logan in that car.”

“Why do you think that? Logan did hire it.”

Because it was my fucking father. His brother. Somehow, I bit the words back and I thrust a hand through my tangled hair. I hit something solid and pulled it out—a rose-twig.

“He might have hired it, but he wasn’t the only one using it. I managed to pull an image of the passenger through the back window. It’s not James Logan.”

“Then who the hell is it? And why didn’t you mention it before now?”

“Because it isn’t clear enough to provide proper ID, but trust me, the profile doesn’t belong to James Logan.”

I swung away from the mirror and walked over to the window. Yesterday’s rain had cleared, but the skies still looked wintery—which pretty much summed up my life at the moment.

“Are you positive it’s not Logan?”

“Yes.” And I was just as sure that it was Bramwell. Hell, his reaction to the news that I’d seen the photo provided certainty if nothing else.

“Then who is it?”

“Lyle-”

“Don’t mess with me, Harriet. You know I can tell when you’re hiding shit. Just spit it out.”

If I spat it out, he’d be over there in a shot, all temper and flying fists. And while I wouldn’t have minded my arrogant parent getting knocked down a peg or two, it would be Lyle who’d come out of it worse for wear. My father was too well protected.

I sighed. “Look, I’m going over there later today-”

“I’m coming,” he cut in, voice cold. Determined.

“Lyle, I really don’t think-”

“Put yourself in my shoes, Harriet. Think about someone you love being killed—how would you react?”

I didn’t have to think all that hard, because I had lost someone I’d loved—and all my hopes and dreams had gone with them. And while the death I’d suffered through wasn’t murder but rather fate and my body dealing a harsh blow, it was still an ending, and everyone coped with those in their own way. Lyle’s was with anger and the need for revenge. Mine had been tears, and an almost total withdrawal from everyone who’d cared.

I really did understand. I just didn’t think it wise. Especially once he realized who I was going to see.