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# Contents

Electromancer

Underground

Redeeming the Night

Shield from the Heart

# ELECTROMANCER

## A Superhero Romance Novel

# Daco

Avon, Massachusetts
_For my superheroes, Isabella and Andrew!_

# Contents

  * Title Page
  * Dedication
  * Chapter 1
  * Chapter 2
  * Chapter 3
  * Chapter 4
  * Chapter 5
  * Chapter 6
  * Chapter 7
  * Chapter 8
  * Chapter 9
  * Chapter 10
  * Chapter 11
  * Chapter 12
  * Chapter 13
  * Chapter 14
  * Chapter 15
  * Chapter 16
  * Chapter 17
  * Chapter 18
  * Chapter 19
  * Chapter 20
  * Chapter 21
  * Chapter 22
  * Chapter 23
  * Chapter 24
  * Chapter 25
  * Chapter 26
  * Chapter 27
  * Chapter 28
  * Acknowledgments
  * About the Author
  * Copyright

# Chapter 1

_With a heart as pure as platinum!_

_Electricity at her fingertips!_

_She soars like a falcon and travels at the speed of light!_

_She's ELECTROMANCER!_

Alexa Manchester grasped the door handle as the car sped around the last curve on the road leading to The Manchester Electric Company. In the distance, she could see the stately spires of Britannia's metropolis, Kensington City, shining in the early twilight. Once the land of Round Table knights, romantic poets, kings and queens, and colonial rule, Britannia was now experiencing trying times. Tonight, Alexa would change all that; she would change the world.

Except she was already ten minutes late.

The company's board of directors, along with influential denizens of Kensington City, were assembling in the central courtyard to watch her power up The Magpie __ generator, to which her father, Mickey, had devoted his life's work. The Manchester Electric Company already provided most of the world's electrical power—for Europa, Asiana, Africana, even the Americanas across the Eastern Sea—through conventional means. Now, the revolutionary new Magpie promised to deliver an astronomical source of green energy and save the distressed planet from the energy crisis that had befallen it as a result of a decade-long drought.

"It's a splendid time for a ceremony, madame," Alexa's chauffeur and butler, Sigfred Sawyer, said. He spoke the words as calmly as if they were out on a Sunday drive.

"Honestly, Sigfred. Will you ever just call me Alexa?"

"Yes, madame, as you wish."

Alexa suppressed a smile. Despite Sigfred's insistence on behaving like a blue-haired attendee at Downton Hotel's high tea, he was still in his thirties. His azure blue eyes and sandy hair, cut in a military flattop, made him look like a Southside street tough turned movie actor. But his hand-tailored Italian suits and the perfect knots in his neckties—a tight double Windsor for button-down collars, an impeccable Eldredge knot for wide collars—revealed the pride he took in his occupation.

They finally turned into the circular driveway of the power plant, known locally as _The Mick_ , in homage to her father. "I only wish my father were here to see this," she said.

"You can rest assured that he is here with you in spirit, madame."

Sigfred parked the car in front of the entrance that housed the executive offices. The complex was modeled after Georgian architecture and carved from Bath stone. Manicured Bermuda grass, sculpted bushes, and trellis after trellis of roses in full bloom made the picturesque grounds into a living landscape painting. An inner courtyard with a triple-tiered marble water fountain was prominently placed at its center—because water was, of course, The Mick's lifeblood. The rear of the building overlooked the dam.

The facility had been strategically located on the northern boundary of Kensington City, where the East and West Kensington Rivers intersected. Those rivers were sourced by underground springs and runoff water that accumulated from the top of the Mullgany Mountains. Because of this confluence of rivers and groundwater, Kensington City had been spared the severe drought that most of the world had suffered.

Sigfred turned off the car's engine and opened Alexa's door. The main plaza was already filled with the patrons and guests. Mayor Bobby Baumgartner, known throughout Britannia as "The Mayor," was up on stage, glad-handing other officials and dignitaries.

"Sigfred, how late am I?"

"Fashionably late, madame."

As soon as Alexa walked onto the stage, Bobby hurried to greet her. "Alexa, you look especially ravishing today," he said, his eyes flashing quickly to her chest. "Your mother's necklace?"

Her fingers lifted the platinum and diamond necklace she wore.

"Simply beautiful, though only the second most beautiful jewel on this stage tonight." He winked and placed a hand on her elbow, the politician's touch, but this one lingered longer than most. Then he regarded her with a devilish smile. An involuntary thrill coursed through her body, causing her to step back and break contact.

"Flatterer," she said. Bobby's dark brown hair and deep green eyes could send the most reserved woman into a giddy, hypnotic trance. She'd had a crush on him, a family friend, when she was a gawky fifteen-year-old and he was a twenty-two-year-old college senior. But he'd never thought of her as anything other than a kid . . . until she filled out during senior year. Handsome as he was, she'd quickly realized he was a player. Even if he hadn't been, she couldn't afford to be romantically interested in Bobby Baumgartner or anyone else. Not with all her responsibilities.

"Bobby, the sun is about to go down," Alexa said. "Why don't we get started?" She took her place at the podium, and after he introduced her, she welcomed both the guests and the employees.

"My father would jokingly say that he was like a magpie," she said. "He was fond of collecting shiny objects. And one of those shiny objects was a meteorite that fell from space and into our own Mullgany Mountains. My father called this silver, crystalline rock _Electromite_ , a new element unknown to our planet. It proved to be more potent than uranium or plutonium, yet in its native form, perfectly harmless. My father would say 'Alexa, if you raise the level of the river, the boat will rise. Well, the rivers of the world have been lowered by drought, but through the heaven-sent gift of Electromite, we've found a way to raise the boat.' Ladies and gentlemen, with the advent of The Magpie, we'll be sailing high."

The crowd quieted and watched as Alexa radioed down to the generator room and directed the engineers to power up The Magpie. When one of the engineers confirmed that he'd flipped the switch, she smiled broadly and made a thumbs-up __ sign to the crowd. A rainbow of lights illuminated the grounds, and the hum of the new generator filled everyone's ears. Balloons were released, and a band began playing. The crowd applauded and cheered.

Bobby wrapped her in a warm embrace, and heat flushed through her body. "I wish Mickey were here to see this, Alexa," he whispered. "He'd be so proud of you. _I'm_ proud of you." Her eyes welled up, and a tear fell down her cheek, which seemed to make the crowd cheer even louder.

When he finally released her, Alexa turned to the audience and raised both arms in triumph, her tears flowing freely now. Then . . .

_Boom!_

A violent explosion rocked the entire power plant, shaking the ground seismically. The cheers turned to murmurs of surprise and then to shrieks and screams. A moment later, Kensington City's entire electrical grid shut down.

Everyone ran for the road. The Mayor's bodyguards spirited him away. Alexa sprinted inside the building, where she found the chief engineer, Dr. Charles Chin, racing out of his office, radio to his ear. She fell into step beside him and asked, "What happened, Charlie?"

"I'm trying to get the generator room," he said frantically. "No one's picking up." He gave up on the radio and punched some numbers into his cell phone, shaking his head a moment later.

"I'm going down there," she said.

"It's too dangerous, Ms. Manchester."

"It's my responsibility."

"Ma'am, you can't—"

"Oh, but I can. It's my company." Though she sounded brave, the truth was that she was terrified. But this was a day to honor her father, and Mickey Manchester would've gone down there. Unlike her father, she wasn't an engineer, but he'd taught her enough science to understand most of the technology behind running a power plant. "You can stay here, Charlie."

"I'm going with you."

Alexa started for the elevator, but Chin led her to the stairs. They descended four levels and opened the two-foot steel door to the generator room that housed The Magpie. No workers were present. Maybe they'd all gotten out without injury.

"Wait here," she told Chin.

"Ma'am, I—"

"You have a family, Charlie. I'm ordering you to stay here." She paused. "This is my responsibility."

When he reluctantly nodded, she entered the cavernous generator room.

The normally ultra-bright lights inside the generator room had dimmed. A long row of generators with turbines that usually hummed and spun had gone silent. As she neared the control room, she heard only the echo of her high-heeled shoes tapping against the concrete floor.

Alexa hurried along to The Magpie. The generator was the size of a small house and resembled a child's toy top sitting on a gigantic snare drum. To her surprise, the outer casing was glowing white hot.

The Magpie unexpectedly shook. She listened for the sound of a spinning turbine. When she heard nothing, she reached out a hand to feel for anything different—a vibration, a change in temperature. The device was radiating heat. Impossible—her father had always said that the energy would never escape the insulated ceramic casing.

A second later, she was cast into the air as though she were bait at the end of a fishing rod. But instead of crashing to the floor, she remained suspended in midair above the top of the generator. Some sort of magnetic force had gripped her in a vise. Her ears filled with a high-pitched sound that was piercing but strangely pleasant. Her body went numb, melted, and she fell into a paralytic state. Paradoxically, she felt nothing and everything all at once. But there was no pain, only tranquility, as if she were in the midst of an improbable, yet wonderful dream. She could no longer see or hear or touch, because she no longer existed in human form. Still, she had a complete awareness of what her body had been. She was indefinable and yet remained conscious.

Suspended above the generator, she sensed something urging her to let go. She resisted, finding herself in a battle of wills to the death with The Magpie. But machines didn't have wills, so how could this be?

A memory of days past came to Alexa. She thought of the many times she'd followed her father along the tributaries of the Kensington. Gentle waves lapped against the smooth silt lining of the placid river. Often, she'd remove her shoes to let the sandy mud squish between her toes. Barefoot, she would walk along the shallows and collect unopened shells that she'd gather from just below the surface, hoping to find a freshwater pearl. Now, she flashed on how she'd never found that perfect pearl, which was an odd thought to have at this final moment.

So, this was how her life would end. She was no longer afraid. Morphing into a plasmatic state, she was pulled through The Magpie's casing, as though she were subatomic particles able to penetrate anything. The deeper inside she traveled, the more at peace she felt. Once inside the inner core of the turbine, her life force was instantly absorbed into a pure-white spinning ball, which sparkled with beams of silver light. She'd finally found her pearl, and if this was heaven, she was home. She was at peace.

"Electromancer," a man whispered.

"What did you say?"

"You must leave here at once."

"Father?"

# Chapter 2

_Three blocks away . . ._

When The Magpie exploded, Sigfred Sawyer had been sitting in a tea room, waiting until it was time to go fetch Alexa. He could've stayed and watched, but he had no use for political speeches, nor slippery politicians like Bobby Baumgartner.

In all honesty, he hadn't been sure that powering up The Magpie was the right thing to do. Mickey Manchester had had his doubts about the generator. But Alexa was young and enthusiastic and wanted to carry on her father's legacy. Sigfred admired her spirit, but she was also naive, and naivety could be dangerous. At thirty-seven, he was only eight years older than Alexa. But sometimes the age difference seemed far greater: he was much more worldly than she was despite her wealth and power. At other times, he felt as if there was no age difference at all.

Suddenly his teacup rattled, the table shook, and a sonic boom roared through the air. As soon as Sigfred heard the blast, he bolted up, sprinted to his car, and headed toward The Mick. The street was filled with vehicles trying to get away from the power plant—drivers honking their horns, flashing their high beams, and swearing at each other. There was no traffic heading in his direction, though he suspected the firefighters and police would arrive soon. At top speed, he rounded the last curve in the road and reached the facility.

In the daytime, the facility had the appearance of a stately manor, but now that the daylight had faded, the structure shone like a gothic house of horrors capable of giving even the bravest man the shivers. Towers, reminiscent of turrets constructed on the ancient castles of Europa, were located at the corners of the manor. Each had cross-barred windows that wound upward. At night, the dim lights shining through the windows appeared to be torches carried by prison guards. Gargoyles, not otherwise noticeable during the day, appeared prominently lit along the roofline, ready to pounce. The design was Mickey Manchester's way of helping to discourage ill-intentioned trespassers.

As soon as Sigfred turned the car into The Mick's front plaza, he found the place deserted. Everyone had fled. What shocked him, however, was there were no security guards in sight. Had they run as well?

For about the twentieth time since he'd heard the blast, Sigfred tried to ring up Alexa on her cell phone. Still no answer.

He killed the headlights, stopped the car, and reached under the glove compartment, where he retrieved his Heckler & Koch USP semiautomatic pistol and his Peerless umbrella (though there wasn't a cloud in the sky). Moving in a crouched position toward a side entrance, he tried the door. It was locked. Using a metal pick that he always carried in his pocket, he unlocked the door in short order. Once inside the building, he headed down a small hallway with only one objective—to protect Alexa Manchester.

As he walked down the hall, two figures materialized before him. Both were dressed in black, and their faces were covered in masks that resembled the building's gargoyles. The first, a short, muscular goon, bore the visage of a hysterically laughing simian with maniacal eyes and razor-sharp fangs. The second intruder looked like an elephant with Satan's horns, especially terrifying because the man seemed almost as large as an elephant.

Sigfred lifted his umbrella and, with a concise _thud_ , bopped the elephant-sized man over the head in precisely the right spot. Simultaneously, he disabled the second thug with a side kick to the knee. When the man reached toward his waist as if to draw a weapon, Sigfred knocked him unconscious with his versatile umbrella. Then he flipped it over and checked the handle, where five bullets were still securely nestled in their hidden chamber.

Sigfred's gaze returned to the men, his fingers itching to unmask them, but questions would have to wait—he needed to find Alexa.

He sprinted to the late Mr. Manchester's office—it was still hard to think of it as _Alexa_ 's office. She wasn't there. He shot out the door and raced down the hallway toward a secure lift in the rear of the building. Unbeknownst to Alexa, he'd helped Mr. Manchester set up security for the building. He removed a panel, revealing a keypad, and punched in some numbers. Good. The code still worked to override the need for an encrypted keycard. As soon as the elevator reached bottom and the door opened, he exited the lift and hurried along until he made it to the stairway that led down to the two-foot thick galvanized steel door—a door that was specifically designed to keep water back in case of a flood. Beyond the door lay the generator room. Though the door was locked, this again provided no impediment. He walked in and almost tripped over an object on the floor, but then realized that it wasn't an object, it was a human being—Dr. Charles Chin, the facility's chief engineer.

Sigfred kneeled down and felt Chin's neck for a pulse. He was alive. But he was bleeding profusely from the scalp—head cuts, the worst. Sigfred patted Chin's cheek. "Wake up, Dr. Chin."

Chin blinked his eyes several times and awoke. "Sigfred Sawyer? Is that you? What happened?"

"That's precisely what I was going to ask you, old chap."

Chin's head flopped back and forth, and Sigfred feared that the man would pass out, but Chin opened his eyes again and struggled to a sitting position. He looked as if he were calculating a physics equation that could solve the mysteries of quantum mechanics. "They attacked me on the way in. Two came this way . . . I think. No, three. Then two more . . . Maybe they were the same men. It was hard to keep track." Chin rubbed the side of his head.

"Where's Ms. Manchester?"

Chin's eyes widened in fear and then cleared. "The Magpie," he rasped.

Sigfred sprung up and sprinted through the generator room toward The Magpie. He was careful to travel along the backside of the goliath-size generators so that he couldn't be seen by anyone lying in wait. Once he passed several generators, he had a direct line of sight inside the control room. No one was there—another sign of trouble. Sigfred crept up the stairs to the room. There was a worker lying on the floor inside. He checked for a pulse. To Sigfred's relief, the man was alive.

He moved on until he reached The Magpie. It had been badly damaged, its surface riddled with cracks. Sigfred circled around to the far end of it, holding his breath, and there she was.

"Ms. Manchester!" he cried.

She lay on the floor, limp and lifeless. But through the horror of it all, he also noticed something very strange—she was naked, and her honey-blond hair had turned white and lengthened, cascading in waves to her waist.

Yet it was unmistakably Alexa Manchester. He gaped at his employer, paralyzed. Then he shook himself out of it—he had to do something to help, if there was anything left to do.

She moaned, so he quickly kneeled down and scooped her into his arms. Alexa opened her eyes and mumbled, "Sigfred?"

"Are you all right, madame?"

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Alexa?" She blinked a few times and gave him a wan smile.

And that's when he really looked at her. His eyes were drawn almost against his will to her breasts. They were full and round, and her waist was so tiny that he could put his large hands around it with a six-pence to spare. Her limbs, especially her shapely legs, were certainly longer and more muscular than any woman's he'd ever seen. Her hair wasn't really white, but platinum blond; he could see that now. And her crystal blue eyes had changed to a pale blue, almost translucent. She was utterly gorgeous. A goddess. Not of this world. She was simultaneously the Alexa he'd known for years and a creature unlike any he'd ever laid eyes upon. Utter confusion threatened to take hold, but he shook his head. He had to focus.

"Can you sit up, madame?" he asked. "We have to get you to a doctor."

She nodded, and as soon as she made a move to sit, her physique began to change right before his eyes. Instead of full protruding breasts with tips like tulips, she now had rose buds more suited to the petite form he'd imagined belonged to the real Alexa Manchester. Her hair color darkened to its natural honey blond. Her eyes were once again blue like the sky. The whole thing was simply astonishing.

Once the transformation was complete, Alexa sat upright, still dazed. "Electromancer?" she asked.

"I beg your pardon, madame?"

She brought her hands to her face, rubbed her eyes, and looked at him. Then she glanced down at her naked body, and her face contorted with surprise and flushed beet red.

Sigfred averted his eyes, removed his jacket, and handed it her. As she covered herself, he asked, "What happened here?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing."

"Did anyone harm you?"

"Not a person. The Magpie was . . . Never mind. What happened to my clothes?"

"I really don't—"

Alexa screamed.

Sigfred turned to see two men in gargoyle masks looming over him. He tried reaching for his umbrella, but one of the thugs kicked it away and slammed his fist into Sigfred's jaw. The other man grabbed him from behind and held a dagger to his throat.

Alexa jumped to her feet. A white mist whirled around her like a mini tornado, covering her from view for only a moment, but in those few seconds, she was transformed back into the platinum goddess. Electricity shot out of her fingertips, undirected and crackling wildly.

The man holding Sigfred lowered his knife, released his grip, and backed away in obvious terror. His accomplice stumbled backward like a skid-row drunk. Sigfred made a dash for his umbrella, careful to avoid the currents of electricity. Seconds later, the platinum warrior seemed to gain some control over these beams shooting from her fingers, because she purposefully zapped the two men, who fell to the floor in convulsions. She continued striking the men with bolts of electricity, and it was clear that if she continued punishing them much longer, there would be nothing left of them except terribly charred flesh.

"Ms. Manchester, stop!" Sigfred shouted. "Don't kill them."

But she didn't seem to hear him, nor did she recognize her name.

"Alexa!"

Still no recognition from her.

"Electromancer!" he shouted, though he had no clue why he thought to use that strange word that she'd uttered a few moments earlier.

She immediately lowered her hands and looked at Sigfred. Her eyes were angry, blazing with electricity. A moment later, her eyes dimmed. The mist of white reappeared, a cyclone around her body. When it fully dissipated, the Alexa whom Sigfred knew once again stood in front of him, unclad. She seemed dazed, unaware of her present state.

"Those men," she said. "They attacked you."

Averting his eyes, he quickly handed her his shirt.

"You saved me, Sigfred."

"In a manner of speaking." He'd saved her from murder charges perhaps, but it was she who'd saved him from those thugs. "I do have a question, Ms. Manchester, if I'm not being impertinent. Does the word _Electromancer_ mean anything to you?"

# Chapter 3

_Later that night . . ._

Mayor Bobby Baumgartner sat in his cook's kitchen, tapping his foot against the floor as he downed his fourth cup of coffee. It was nine o'clock. He probably wouldn't be able to get to sleep later but couldn't stop the coffee binge. In any case, it wasn't the caffeine overdose that was giving him the jitters. It was because he was waiting on Zachary Zero.

Until now, everything had gone according to plan. But where was that buffoon Zero? The Mayor had been reluctant to use Zero for the task, but he'd had no choice. No one else would take on such a dirty job.

Zero, though, owed him and would do his bidding. The man had been Kensington City's comptroller until he was caught embezzling funds that had been earmarked for WEEDS, the city's society of the Women for Education, Edification, and Decoration of Sidewalks. The Mayor convinced District Attorney Stumpy Stellar to reduce the charges to the misdemeanor of negligent defalcation of funds, so Zero avoided serving time as a felon, but nevertheless was forced to resign as comptroller and now had the job of planting and maintaining all of the city's flower beds. The beds lined every single sidewalk in the city and also adorned the parks. Zero had to perform this work at the supervision and direction of the ladies themselves. He had often said that the punishment was far crueler and more unusual than any time he would've spent behind bars. In a short time, the once-adamant teetotaler had been driven to drink. Nowadays, he could be found loitering in back alleys with winos on his days off. But not today, The Mayor prayed.

At last, there was a sharp rap on the servant's entrance. The Mayor sprang from his seat and opened the door. He grabbed Zero by the collar and jerked him inside the kitchen so they wouldn't be seen together—no respectable mayor could afford to be seen associating with an ex-convict.

"Where in the blazes have you been, Zero?" The Mayor asked. "You're two hours late."

When The Mayor let go, Zero brushed the lapels down on his jacket. "Seems we ran into some trouble."

The Mayor's already stern face turned fire-engine red. "Didn't you get it?"

"No need to blow a gasket, Mayor."

He scowled. "Did . . . you . . . get it!?"

"It's right outside the door," Zero said, beaming with pride.

"You left it outside? You fool! Are you drunk again?"

"I beg your pardon, Mayor. Never! Oh, maybe I had a bit of a nip to calm my nerves, but—"

The Major rushed out the back door, practically pulling it off its hinges. Zero staggered after him.

"It's right there, Mayor. Inside the black steel case."

"What about the ceramic casing it was inside of?"

"It was all cracked up. I ditched it down at the city dump to hide the evidence. You said you only wanted the rock."

"Did anyone see you?"

"Nah. Not a chance."

The Mayor grabbed the handle of the metal case and headed back into his kitchen. Zero followed. After The Mayor placed the case on the kitchen table, he opened it, peered inside, and quickly shut the lid. He took a lock from his pocket and secured the case.

"She's a beauty," Zero said.

"What happened tonight? There wasn't supposed to be any trouble."

"After I sent the boys in, they ran into a nosy worker, and then there was trouble in the generator room when they tried to extract the goods."

"Get to the point, Zero. What kind of trouble?"

"One of the boys might've gone too far with the guy in the control room."

"What do you mean, 'too far'? Killed him?"

"A nasty bump on the noggin. He'll be fine when he wakes up."

"I said no one gets hurt, you bumbling boob!"

"What do you expect, Mayor? I'm an accountant, not a soldier."

The Mayor sat down at the table and rested his head in his hands. Earlier that evening, the chief constable of Kensington City, Pete Petaud, had telephoned, but The Mayor had refused to take the call, feigning pressing government business. He'd suspected the phone call meant there was trouble, but he needed to get the lowdown from Zero before speaking with the coppers. He had no inkling that an innocent person would get hurt.

Zero shrugged helplessly. "Apologies, Mayor. I specifically told the men that there was to be no violence. Intimidation but not assault and battery, is what I told them. Those were my words. Evidently, the employee tried to play hero."

"So, you had to knock him on the head? He was one man against what, five? Six?"

"Pardon me, Mayor, but we acquired the Electromite just as you asked. That was no simple feat."

"Did the cops arrive before you got out of there?"

"No, no."

The Mayor shoved Zero toward the back door. The inebriated man lost his balance and landed on his rump. "Get out of here before I have you arrested for burglary and assault," The Mayor said. "I can do it, too. No one will believe I had anything to do with this."

Zero scrambled to get to his feet. "We had a deal, we did, Mayor. I know you're a man of your word."

The Mayor reached inside his smoking jacket, retrieved a sealed envelope, and tossed it to Zero. "One whisper of this and you'll be six feet under."

"Mayor, there's something else," Zero stammered.

"Isn't it enough to have to deal with this mess you've created?"

"It's the Manchester girl."

The Mayor took a menacing step forward. "If you harmed her, I'll break you in two with my own bare hands."

"No, Mayor. She's fine. Fine and dandy. As far as I know. I think so. Maybe."

The Mayor grabbed Zero by his lapels and lifted him off the floor. "Speak English, man."

"Something strange happened at The Magpie. Something real strange. I was hiding, waiting for the right moment to nab the Electromite. When the coast was clear, I headed over to The Magpie, and that's when I saw Ms. Manchester. I don't know how she got there."

The Mayor tightened his grip.

Zero gagged. "Mayor, I don't mean to be rude, but you're strangling me."

The Mayor forced himself to loosen his fingers.

"Honestly, I never touched a hair on her head. I saw her lying on the floor. She was all covered in some shiny stuff. I don't know what it was. Then her butler, that Sawyer fellow, showed up. And suddenly, she was all back to normal, only she wasn't wearing any clothes, except, well, eventually the butler's jacket."

The Mayor felt a surge of jealousy. "Did Sawyer hurt her?"

"No, no. He was trying to protect her, I think. I ducked out of sight. I couldn't afford to be seen, not when I needed to get you your product."

Finally, The Mayor released his grip. Zero gasped for breath. "Where is she now?"

Zero brushed his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. "That butler must have seen her home. She was pretty shaken up."

The Mayor had had enough. "Get out of here."

"But, Mayor, that's not all . . . the boys . . . I don't know what happened, but they were out cold . . . like stiffs . . . like they'd died of fright, a heart attack. I don't know. There was nothing to do. When they woke, they were babbling nonsense. They didn't know who they were or why they were there. It was all I could do to get them out of there."

"Consider yourself lucky, Zero. If your boys would have been caught, you would've taken the rap. Now, get out of here."

As soon as Zero was gone, The Mayor retreated to his office. He set the metal case containing the Electromite on top of his desk and stood staring at it, breathing heavily. It was his—his alone to use to carry out his plans. Mickey Manchester had promised to share the benefits of it with the citizens of the world. He said he'd only use the meteorite for good endeavors. Bobby Baumgartner took Mickey at this word—the Electromite belonged to everyone, which meant having it in his possession wasn't technically stealing.

The Mayor opened the lock and raised the lid on top of the case to have another look at the silver substance. It resembled a large, glistening piece of quartz. He turned on the desk lamp and looked inside again. The Electromite began emitting silver sparks—the reflection of the light against its surface. Or so it seemed. When The Mayor held his hands above the case, a soft heat radiated from the stone. _That's odd_ , he thought. Mickey had claimed that the meteorite's properties were unique, full of unleashed power, but safe—not like plutonium, nor any other element on this planet. But he'd been around Mickey for years. The man was always making grandiose claims about his research. As far as The Mayor was concerned, the Electromite was just a rock. But if people were willing to pay millions for it, that was their problem.

The Mayor reached inside the case and touched the Electromite. It was no longer warm, but now cool to the touch. He lifted the mineral out of the case and held it up to the light. Beams of silver reflected from its surface. He stood transfixed.

The telephone rang. At first, he didn't react, but the fourth ring jarred him back to reality, and he dropped the Electromite. He reached down to pick up the rock and then placed it safely back inside the steel case. Then he set the case on top of his dresser. The ringing phone had now stopped. Reaching for the phone, he dialed Bigelow "Biggie" Bitterman's telephone number.

Bitterman answered on the first ring. In a guttural voice, he asked, "Do you have it?"

"Good evening to you, too, Mr. Bitterman," The Mayor said.

Bitterman made an odd sound, not exactly a grunt.

The Mayor detested dealing with Bitterman. At four foot eleven inches tall, Bitterman was a small man with a big inferiority complex. But again, The Mayor had no choice. No one on the outer circle of The Momaxita organization ever dealt with its elusive kingpin, who went by the moniker _Momo_. The Momaxita was a tightly controlled organization engaged in nefarious activities throughout the world.

Many of the news pundits didn't believe that The Momaxita existed at all, calling it a creation of the Internet tabloids. The authorities never doubted its existence, however. If you were foolish enough to go looking for the organization, you couldn't find it no matter how hard you looked. But it could always find you—sometimes to your everlasting grief. The Momaxita had found Mayor Bobby Baumgartner. This was unusual, because The Momaxita rarely did business in Britannia. But The Momaxita wanted the Electromite and was willing to pay a bloody fortune for it.

After a long pause, Bitterman said, "Good evening to you, too, Mr. Mayor. May I kindly ask whether you have the product?" The words were obviously forced, his voice the sound of metal on concrete.

"I do have the product, Mr. Bitterman. Now, the more important question is whether you have my money?"

"No problem. When do we make the exchange?"

"You'll get it as soon as the banks are open and I have my trunk of gold." The Mayor had made sure that half the proceeds would go to his secured offshore account. The other half would be paid in gold bars.

"Where is it?" Biggie asked.

"You don't need to worry about that. It's all safe and sound. I'll see you in the morning down at the Sugar Express Train Depot. Alone." The Sugar Express Train Depot was an abandoned facility that The Mayor had set his sights on acquiring just as soon as he could convince the Town Council to agree to put it up for sale.

"One slip, Mayor Baumgartner, and you'll be very sorry."

The Mayor kept his voice calm. "You're not really threatening me now, are you, Biggie?"

Bitterman laughed—or was it a snarl? "I'm afraid you don't know who you're dealing with."

"Have a pleasant evening, Mr. Bitterman." The Mayor disconnected the call.

Suddenly dead tired from a long, trying day—despite all the coffee—The Mayor went to his sleeping quarters. He'd meet Bitterman at the crack of dawn to make the exchange. Later in the morning, he would address the Town Council and explain why The Magpie had failed and why it wouldn't have any impact on Kensington City. But first, he'd pay a special visit to Alexa Manchester.

The Mayor pulled open the top drawer of the dresser. He tapped on the emblem at the back of it, revealing a secret compartment. Inside was a small case that held his family's heirlooms. He selected an emerald ring embellished with mounds of diamonds and held it up to the light. It had once belonged to his beloved grandmother. Now it was his, and he intended to present it to the woman he planned to marry.

Mayor Baumgartner smiled to himself. "Alexa Manchester, you're going to make me the richest man in the country. No, in the entire world!" He'd soon have her money, along with his own, including The Momaxita's payoff for the Electromite. He'd rise from mayor to prime minister of Britannia. He'd be the most powerful man in the world, and the beautiful Alexa Manchester would be his loyal, devoted wife, serving him and his career. One day, he might even come to love her, but for now, none of that mattered.

The Mayor placed the ring on top of the container holding the Electromite and retired for the night. He thought about locking the rock and the ring in his safe, but decided to keep them within reach. It was late now, but he'd get whatever rest he could in the few short hours left of darkness. As he'd feared, tranquil sleep was not in store for him. And it wasn't just the aftereffects of the coffee. When The Mayor closed his eyes, his mind began to wander. Soon, he was lost between wakefulness and sleep, tossing and turning, until fatigue sent him into a fitful dream.

• • •

Mayor Bobby Baumgartner's dream was an old memory that tugged at his consciousness.

When Bobby was just a toddler—no more than two and a half—Cindy Cupp, his nanny, was bending over and smelling the newly bloomed roses in the Baumgartner garden. She'd parked the pram in the sun so little Bobby could soak up some rays. He sat contentedly, enjoying the afternoon sun as he drank his milk and snacked on a handful of marshmallows. A big man appeared out of nowhere. He came up behind Miss Cupp, wrapped his arms around her waist, and drew her close against his body. _Too_ close. She looked as though she were about to scream, but he used a hand to cover her mouth and whispered in her ear.

"Hush," he said. "It's only me."

Still enfolded in the man's arms, Miss Cupp glanced back to see Mr. Montgomery Manchester, Mickey's younger brother. Blushing, she said, "Sir, someone might see us." She giggled.

"Who's looking?" he said, flashing a playful smile.

"The gardener is around."

"Not a worry. He's tending to the petunias near the gazebo. That man doesn't notice anything except aphids and tulip bulbs."

Miss Cupp giggled again. Montgomery Manchester bent down and planted little kisses on her neck that made her moan. When she looked up at him again, he kissed her lips. She turned to face him, her body writhing against his, as the kisses became more passionate, even feral. His hands strayed, caressing her body. She returned his touches each time.

Even at his tender age, little Bobby sensed that his nanny and the older neighbor shouldn't be fondling and kissing each other near the rose bushes. As he watched his nanny and Montgomery Manchester, a grasshopper landed on his pram's tray. He jerked back, but his seatbelt kept him trapped. He hated bugs, especially big, ugly, spitting, green grasshoppers. He tried to swat the bug, but the insect didn't move.

"Cupp, Cupp," he whined, but when he looked for his protector, all he saw was the nanny following Mr. Manchester behind the juniper bushes.

The grasshopper still rested on his pram, its evil eyes fixed on him, menacing, ready to attack.

"Cupp, Cupp!" he shrieked.

No response.

Out of nowhere, a dozen more grasshoppers appeared and landed on his pram. They were followed by twenty more and then a hundred more. And then the cloud became too massive to count, if little Bobby had been old enough to count. It was as if one of the ten plagues had descended on him. The hideous green monsters swarmed not only on the pram, but on the child himself. The toddler writhed as the bugs invaded every inch of his little body—crawling and hopping across his exposed skin, over his face, inside his ears, probing at his nostrils, his eyes, becoming entangled in his hair, falling down his shirt, and then worst of all, down the back of his diaper. They spit and scratched, yet despite the child's screams of pain and anguish, Miss Cupp didn't come to him, only moaned loudly from behind the bushes—had the grasshoppers attacked her, too?

The dream always ended there. The Mayor thrashed in his bed, crying out in his sleep. "Get off me! Get off!" He tossed and turned until he involuntarily sprang out of the bed. He bounced incredibly high, fighting to regain his balance, and landed on the floor with bent legs that absorbed the shock and prevented a fractured ankle. He began to stand erect, but his body thrust upward as though he were leaping, and his head struck something hard. He awoke later in his bed when the morning light seeped through the edges of the curtains.

"Another one of those horrible dreams," he said aloud. "They're back!" The nightmares had plagued him on and off over the years since that fateful incident, indistinct and fuzzy at first, but inexplicably growing sharper over time.

It had been years later that Bobby found out what had happened after the bugs descended. Benny Belson, the gardener, had come to his rescue, brushing away the grasshoppers, picking up the hysterical child and comforting him. Ms. Cupp had claimed that she thought she'd heard her mistress, little Bobby's mother, calling her, that she'd turned her back only for a moment, but Belson had seen her emerge from the bushes in a state of dishabille with Montgomery Manchester. Her services were deemed no longer needed, and she was terminated immediately.

Unfortunately, the fear of grasshoppers—green things—never truly left The Mayor. The nightmares finally disappeared when his grandmother left him the emerald ring—the most sacred of their family's heirlooms. But now the nightmare had returned. Why? Could it have been exposure to the Electromite? _Impossible!_ He didn't believe in fairy tales and magic rocks. Still, the timing was suspicious.

A moment later, the clock in the hall downstairs struck six. It was time to make a very important trade. Then he'd soon propose marriage to Alexa Manchester.

# Chapter 4

_The next morning . . ._

Alexa winced when Gladys Gadberry, mistress of Manchester household affairs, threw back the curtains of her bedroom suite and opened the French doors that led to the balcony. Gladys was Alexa's own Mary Poppins without the frumpy dresses and magical incantations. She had an exquisite High-English warble that made one want to accept hot tea and scones whenever offered. But Gladys was more than just her former nanny, chief administrator, and confidante. Ever since Alexa's mother had died, Gladys had served as Alexa's maternal role model.

Margo Mallory-Manchester had been an Americana high-fashion bombshell model and socialite. She'd retired from the fashion show/party scene at the ripe old age of twenty-two and come to Britannia to earn a master's degree in physics from Oxania University. She and Mickey had fallen in love after meeting at a lecture on quantum mechanics.

Margo had died in a boating accident when Alexa was only ten, though her body was never recovered. Like the disappearance of Alexa's father, the circumstances of her mother's death were shrouded in mystery. For this reason, Alexa held out the somewhat childish hope that one day her father and mother would show up at her doorstep, as impossible as that might seem. She'd shared this faint hope only with Gladys.

"The flowers are particularly fragrant today, Alexa," Gladys said, walking back inside from the balcony that overlooked an expansive garden in full bloom.

The view from the veranda was heavenly, utter bliss to awaken to. Gardenias and camellias, lilacs and roses, lilies and violets all scented the air with a perfume more exquisite than an ounce of Baccarat Les Larmes Sacrees de Thebes. A center walkway lined with manicured trees led to a marble water fountain that was sculpted in the shape of young angelic women, reminiscent of a Michelangelo sculpture. The path connected with other walkways that led the casual stroller to more private gardens. One path circled a koi fish pond that was shaded by weeping willows and silver oaks.

Today, though, Alexa wanted to remain in bed. She shielded her eyes from the burning sunlight now spilling into the room.

Gladys walked toward the bed. "Breakfast is ready, dear. Chef Yurdlemon has outdone himself."

Alexa rolled onto her side and once again lifted the covers over her head. "I'm not well, Gladys. Draw the curtains on your way out, will you please?"

Gladys sat down on the side of the bed. "What's wrong, Alexa? You have meetings to attend. You are scheduled to speak with the media. The explosion yesterday has the entire city on edge, and everyone expects you to make a statement."

"I can't."

Gladys felt Alexa's forehead. "Your temperature is normal. Alexa, you cannot hide. You must be strong."

"I'm not hiding. I'm ill."

Alexa was completely exhausted from the events of the night before. She was still struggling to comprehend what exactly had occurred.

_Had it all been a dream?_

The only logical explanation for yesterday's events was that the Electromite must've emitted an anomalous energy surge that caused The Magpie to malfunction. Its internal structure must have failed, perhaps even melted down. Whatever had occurred, an electromagnetic umbrella of energy must've shrouded the generator so that anyone coming near it got zapped. There had to be a logical explanation. Because the Electromite certainly wasn't some magical stone with properties capable of casting spells on human beings or investing people with supernatural powers not of this universe. This nonsensical fantasy that she'd magically turned into some sort of superhero was the product of trauma and little sleep.

"I promised your dear mother that I would always look after you as though you were my own," Gladys said. "And as any good parent would, I want you to carry out your responsibilities. You have many." She crossed her arms. "I also want an explanation about what happened last night. And don't think for a moment that I missed seeing you come home unclad and in the arms of Sigfred Sawyer!"

_That_ Alexa did remember. Oh, how her head hurt.

She also remembered those awful men trying to attack her. _That_ was no dream, either. If it hadn't been for Sigfred, those thugs might've killed her. Her head began pounding all the more.

Sigfred had saved her! He'd also seen her naked. Sigfred of all men. He was like her older brother. Her heart began to pound, and her cheeks burned, no doubt crimson with embarrassment. Yet, she'd felt no embarrassment last night when Sigfred wrapped her in his jacket.

Sigfred _wasn't_ her brother, and now at the naughty notion that he'd seen her body and she hadn't felt ashamed, she felt electric currents of lust coursing down her body, and that current intensified and reached her loins as she pictured herself in Sigfred's muscular arms, his hands on her exposed skin.

Gladys held up Alexa's dressing robe and waited for her to sit up. "The public is waiting, Alexa."

"All right, all right, you win," Alexa said. She struggled to a sitting position and tried to banish these preposterous thoughts about Sigfred, and yet she blurted out, "Have you spoken with Sigfred this morning?"

"I did not. He seems to have taken off early this morning. Why, I don't know. Maybe he feared that his job is at stake based on his poor behavior last night."

"Nonsense. Sigfred was my hero last night."

"What do you mean by _hero_?"

"Last night at The Mick . . . " Alexa caught herself. If she described what happened, she'd sound insane.

"Go on."

Another current of electricity sparked inside of Alexa, racing down to the tips of her toes and back up to the top of her neck. It was almost as if a complete electrical circuit had been formed. Only this wasn't the spark of eroticism, but rather the spark of anger, though Gladys was only trying to protect her.

"I don't owe you an explanation," Alexa said irritably. "I'm a grown woman and your employer to boot."

Gladys flinched at this, but straightened her body. "This behavior isn't like you. You have your reputation in the community to think about. You're a person of stature. You've always been a rational, well-behaved, levelheaded woman. You were quite pragmatic even as a little girl. Now, I see you cavorting around with some man in public, intoxicated."

"I was _not_ drunk, and Sigfred isn't _some man_. Anyway that's not what happened. As for my stature in my community and my following the rules, where has it gotten me? Maybe it's time to start breaking the rules."

"Don't think for a moment the board of directors won't vote you off your own company's board if they believe you're unfit or that your behavior reflects badly on your reputation."

Alexa started toward her dressing room. Now she wasn't just irritated, she was angry at Gladys. Angry at herself. Angry at the world, at everything and everyone. But the odd thing was, she didn't know why she was angry, and that just made her angrier. The electrical current racing around inside of her began pulsing at her fingertips. She was losing control of her body, which was now morphing into—what? Her legs seemed to be lengthening, her waist becoming thinner. The sensation was familiar, the same as she'd experienced last night. Maybe last night hadn't been a dream. Or maybe she was dreaming now.

"Alexa, what's the matter?" Gladys cried in alarm.

Alexa stumbled back and then dropped down to her settee.

"Oh, dear," Gladys said.

Gladys stood with mouth agape. Alexa raised her hands. Sparks of electricity were shooting out of her fingertips. She took a deep breath, and her anger turned to surprise, but more strangely, the shift in her mood seemed to halt the physical transformation. Within seconds, the sparks dissipated along with the electrical current.

One thing was certain—this wasn't a dream. And for some unexplainable reason, it was as if Alexa understood Gladys's thoughts. She realized that Gladys meant her no harm. Gladys cared deeply for Alexa. Of course she did. Alexa had always known this. How could Alexa have doubted her? Suddenly, as if a curtain was closing, all the electrical sensations pulsing through her body had fully dissipated. Alexa lifted her hands toward her face.

"No, don't touch your face!" Gladys said, rushing to grab Alexa's wrist.

"What's wrong with me?"

Gladys examined Alexa's hands and fingers. "You're not burned? You don't feel pain? How could you . . . ?"

"I'm fine."

Gladys collapsed onto the settee. "I don't understand. Impossible."

Alexa shook her head, unable to believe it herself. She raised the sleeves of her robe and looked at her arms. Then she lifted the robe from around her legs. Everything seemed normal.

"This happened last night at The Magpie too." Alexa went on to recount the events of the previous night. The more she spoke, the more lucid her memory became. She'd remembered everything, right down to the transformation of her body's form, how her clothes seemed to dissolve, how her hair turned platinum. She remembered shooting bolts of electricity at the goons who were attacking Sigfred. And then she recalled the strangest events of the night—how she'd been absorbed inside The Magpie and heard her father's voice.

"Father called me _Electromancer_ ," Alexa said.

Gladys looked dubious. "You've had a great shock with the explosion, combined with all the pressure of launching the new generator, trying to run your father's company . . . "

"You don't believe that this happened."

"I believe that you believe it, Alexa. I also believe that you need to see a doctor."

"No. There's nothing a doctor can do for me."

"Just to be sure you're okay," Gladys said. "That's all." Gladys's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry I doubted you when you said you were ill."

When Gladys tried to rise, Alexa pulled her back down.

"How could you not believe me . . . all of this, Gladys? You just saw it with your own eyes—there was electricity shooting from my fingertips, for heaven's sake."

"Yes, dear. Assuredly, something dreadful has happened to you. Perhaps you've suffered some ill effects from radiation." But she didn't meet Alexa's eyes as she spoke. "It might only be temporary, but you need to be examined by a doctor. We can't know everything about that cursed Electromite, what it can do, whether it's harmful. I tried to warn your father, even though it wasn't my place."

"What do you mean? Did he have electricity shooting from his fingertips?"

"No, no, no, nothing like that. Before he died, he'd become obsessed with his work to the point of exhaustion. I worried about his health. You'd already lost your mother, and I couldn't fathom you losing your father, too. And yet, he did die—because of his work."

"But don't you see? Now we know that he's not dead. I can positively tell you that he's alive. I spoke with him last night."

Gladys closed her eyes for a moment. "This is why I'm certain you need to see someone."

"Please don't patronize me, Gladys. It's you who's denying reality, not the other way around."

The women stared at each other, a stalemate.

"Keep an open mind on this, Gladys. For my sake."

Gladys slowly nodded, then reached out and took Alexa's hand. "Alexa, what happened to your mother's jewelry? You weren't wearing it when you came home."

Alexa touched her neck, then her ears. The platinum and diamond necklace and matching earrings were gone. Not once had she thought of them. "I haven't a clue."

The doorbell rang.

"Are we expecting anyone?" Alexa asked.

Someone opened the front door. "Good day, sir," she heard Sigfred say from downstairs. "Won't you come in?"

"I thought you said Sigfred took the day off?" Alexa asked.

"I suppose he chose to come in after all."

Mayor Bobby Baumgartner's politician's voice boomed from the foyer and up through the rafters of the house. "I'd be delighted."

"It's The Mayor," Alexa said. "I don't want to see anybody. Get rid of him."

"I'll see what I can do."

As soon as Gladys left her chambers, Alexa went to the full-length dressing mirror. She studied her face and hair, and then untied her robe, letting it drop to the floor. She looked the same as she always did. She stared into her eyes, as if she could find the truth in her image. When the answer didn't come, she lifted her hands and examined her fingertips more carefully. There was absolutely no sign of burns, exit wounds, or anything else that would've suggested an electrical beam of energy had just arced from them. Alexa thought back to the moment when the transformation had taken place.

_I was angry_ , she thought.

How dreadful it would be if this happened only when she was angry. And what if she couldn't control herself when it did happen? Sigfred had been there the first time, Gladys the second. In their own way, they'd both snapped her out of it before she'd done something too heinous to think about. What if she'd killed those men? What if she'd harmed Gladys?

How would other emotions affect her? She thought about what would happen if she became happy, giddy, and started laughing wildly. Then she realized that any true feelings of happiness might never come to pass, because she hadn't felt happy in a very long time. She'd suffered the loss of her parents, and her success had come at a great cost. Now, there was this disaster at The Mick.

Worst of all, what was an Electromancer?

Alexa put her robe back on and sat down on the settee. She tried to think of something that would make her laugh. "Come on. Come on now," she said to herself, but all she accomplished was waking up Miss Marbletop. The cat stretched her front paws, slowly arched her back, and then jumped off the adjacent chair. She meowed and hopped onto the settee next to Alexa, expecting to be admired and stroked. Alexa smoothed down the cat's fur, while continuing to try to think of something funny.

Miss Marbletop jumped from the settee with her fur standing on end. The cat hissed and raced toward the still-open balcony doors. The cat was ordinarily docile, so Miss Marbletop's behavior startled Alexa. There was something else—Alexa realized she could hear with an acuity she'd never before experienced, her ears so sensitive that she could detect her cat's paws padding softly on the carpeted bedroom floor.

Through the open doors, Alexa heard a child shout. She instantly recognized it to be the voice of the young boy, Luke Lauder, who lived next door. He'd just turned nine. Alexa had spent many happy hours drinking tea and listening to him ramble on about fighting giants to their deaths. In many ways, the child reminded Alexa of herself, growing up under the wings of adults and having few friends her own age. Other children had always believed that she'd led a charmed life because she'd never lacked anything money could buy. Maybe that's why the other children avoided her. But the truth was, she'd so often felt lonely. It seemed to be the same for Luke.

But kids will be kids, and when she or the gardener wasn't around, Luke would often sneak into her backyard with his fishing pole and tackle to fish for koi in the cement pond. It was called a pond, but it was more like an elaborate mountain lake with vines and waterfalls and stepping-stones and lily pads and frogs and exotic koi fish. At one place, the pond was eight feet deep. It was beautiful, but dangerous for a young child. Usually, Gladys or the gardener saw Luke sneaking into the area, and with his nanny never far behind, Alexa never really worried about his safety. But now, she sensed something was wrong.

Alexa bolted upright from her seat and threw open the dressing room doors, knocking them hard against the walls. The vibration caused a vase filled with flowers to fall from a side table, smack against the wall, and spill in every direction. Alexa moved toward the balcony with a speed she'd never before known. Outside, she found herself at the edge of the balcony, searching through the trees for Luke. When she didn't see him standing in his usual fishing spot—a large boulder that rose above the level of the water—she began to panic. She heard a smattering of noises, including birds lighting from branches, and the distinct sound of hands slapping water.

Where was Luke?

Alexa thought of turning back to call for help, but then she heard a gurgling noise. Her spine burned hot, and she saw what looked like a flash of lightning, though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. She raced forward with only the thought of getting to Luke. __ By the time she reached the edge of the balcony, she felt the transformation taking place. Only this time she wasn't shooting bolts of electricity, she was flying!

And then she heard her father's voice again: "Electromancer."

She shot through the air with her arms extended, wending her way through the branches of the silver-oak trees to the pond. There, she descended and landed with her feet firmly planted on the ground. Luke was underwater, thrashing and trying to swim. His legs were caught in an underwater vine.

Electromancer hurried forward, but as soon as her bare feet came into contact with water, she felt an electrical current jolt through her body, and this time, it was painful. Water and electricity do not mix. She hopped back and away from the water.

She had to do something. She couldn't let the child drown, nor could she electrocute him with her electrical powers. She shouted for the gardener and maintenance crew, but then remembered that it was Saturday, and they were off duty. She called for the child's nanny and his parents. Her voice sounded different, crystalline. No one responded. Where was everyone?

Then Alexa Manchester's logical mind seemed to take over for a moment. Electromancer closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She used every ounce of willpower she had to settle her heart. Soon, she felt like Alexa again. She put her big toe into a small puddle of water as a test. When she felt no shock, she dove into the pond. Alexa couldn't see Luke at first, but when she spotted him, she swam as hard as she could, wishing that she had the speed that she possessed only moments ago.

Taking a breath, she dove beneath the water and yanked at the underwater plants until they pulled loose. She secured Luke under an arm and brought him up to the surface. He was semiconscious, gurgling.

Alexa swam to the edge of the pond and lifted the boy onto the bank. Sigfred, Gladys, and The Mayor emerged from around the corner and ran toward them.

"Sigfred, attend to the boy," Gladys said, and he immediately dropped to perform CPR until the boy coughed up the liquid in his chest. She hurried over to assist Alexa.

Just then, Luke's mother appeared from the far side of the pond. "Luke," his mother cried. "I've been searching for you everywhere. Haven't I warned you about this?"

"I didn't think anyone would mind if I went fishing," Luke mumbled, still dazed.

His mother dropped to her knees, threw her arms around him, and burst into tears.

"He'll be all right," Sigfred said.

"Of course he will," Mayor Baumgartner said. "He's a tough, strong young man."

The mother turned to Alexa, who was still in the water, clinging to the edge. "Alexa, words can't express my gratitude. I should've have kept on eye on him. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't saved him." The woman burst into tears again.

"He's just doing what children do," Alexa said. But Alexa had another problem. "If you'll forgive me, I dashed from my bedroom to get to the boy, so I'm not exactly presentable at the moment." What she didn't share was that her transformation into Electromancer had left her nude again.

Sigfred looked at Alexa with a slight smile, but also a look of concern.

Gladys, always a step ahead of everyone else, said, "Mayor, I'm sure Luke would be honored if you went with Sigfred to see him and his mother home. It's not every day that a nine-year-old gets to meet The Mayor of Kensington City."

The Mayor started to respond but obviously realized that, as a politician, this was a possible news story. He and Sigfred did as Gladys had asked. Once they were out of sight, Gladys extended a hand to Alexa.

"What on earth just happened?" Gladys asked.

Alexa smiled. "It seems I can fly."

# Chapter 5

_Previously . . ._

A few hours before Mayor Bobby Baumgartner had witnessed Alexa Manchester save a child from drowning, he'd pulled his metallic gold Lamborghini into the parking lot of the abandoned train depot. Gold was his favorite color and also his favorite medium of exchange. He was one of the few people on earth who believed King Midas had simply been misunderstood. The Mayor thought to himself just how appropriate it was that he was driving such a car on this splendid day.

The Sugar Express Train Depot was named for the vast crops of sugar beets and apples that were grown in the region and also for the many honeymooners who began their life journeys from these tracks. The station sat immediately above the river and had a panoramic view of the Kensington Valley. The mountains loomed in the distance. The structure had been built in the Norwegian national romantic style, an exact replica of the train depot in Bergen, Norway, with its light stone walls and high arching ceiling of glass and steel. Passengers once strolled its platforms, watching the trains roll inside to pick them up and drop others off. Until the end of the twentieth century, the station was a place not only to embark or disembark, but also to gather for coffee, tea, and scones. But in the past decade, it had fallen on hard times. Now, many of its windows were broken out and the tiled portions of the roof were in tatters. The doors barely hung upright on the rusted hinges.

Calling the place an eyesore, The Mayor proposed that the Sugar Express Train Depot be demolished. The building would've been reduced to rubble by now but for the intervention of the Committee Against Baumgartner's Obliteration of Sugar Express—CABOOSE, for short. Made up of a group of people who loved all trains—from electric to high-speed railroads that carried freight and passengers—CABOOSE vehemently objected to the demolition of the depot. They claimed that the station was protected by a Parliamentary law designating old railway stations historical landmarks.

The Mayor disagreed. Through one of his dummy corporations, he intended to acquire the land cheaply and build a high-rise retail-and-luxury condominium complex. The money that he'd received from the Electromite would help realize this objective. Then he'd finally kick those CABOOSE fuddy-duddies in their collective caboose.

The Mayor parked his car next to the front doors of the depot and waited. Fifteen minutes later, Bitterman drove his faded but custom-painted white-and-turquoise sedan into the parking lot, the tires spitting up debris. He brought the car to a stop alongside The Mayor's Lamborghini. The Mayor reached inside the pocket of his jacket and touched the handle of his Smith & Wesson Monster Magnum—a big gun for a big man, The Mayor thought. He didn't anticipate trouble, but he'd learned long ago not to count on anyone.

Bitterman glanced at The Mayor, who nodded for him to come over. When Bitterman emerged from the sedan, he looked disheveled, except for his jet-black hair, which was neatly slicked down from the front of his head to the back. His clothing hung on him as though he'd just come out of an industrial washing machine, wrung dry and wrinkled. When he waved to The Mayor, a ring with a center stone the size of shooter marble caught the sunlight, flashing a brilliant red.

"Nice morning, Mayor," Bitterman said, grimacing as though it pained him to be hospitable.

Once satisfied that Bitterman had come alone, The Mayor released his hand from his weapon and got out of his car. "It'll be a nice morning when we make the exchange."

"You're quite a worrier, Mayor. It's not good for your health."

"Let's get on with it."

Bitterman headed toward the trunk of his car and popped open the lid.

When The Mayor peered inside the compartment, he saw a trunk load of gold—his gold. Bitterman grabbed a brick and handed it to The Mayor.

"To your liking?" Bitterman asked.

The Mayor smelled the brick as though he were judging a fine wine and then knocked it against the side of the trunk.

"Hey, that's my car," Bitterman said.

"This isn't a car," The Mayor said. He inclined his head toward his Lamborghini. " _That's_ a car. Now load it in my trunk."

"What do I look like, your footman?"

The Mayor shrugged.

"Show me the Electromite first."

The Mayor led Bitterman to the trunk of his car. When he opened it, he lifted the lid to the steel case containing the Electromite.

"How do I know it's the real deal?" Bitterman asked.

"I'm not exactly hard to find if you're dissatisfied. And I'm no fool—I'm dealing with The Momaxita."

"It's true, Mayor . . . you're not hard to find. So, point taken."

The Mayor closed the lid on the steel case and lifted it out of the car. "I'll just hold on to this for a bit longer. Until I have confirmation that the wire transfer went through."

"I don't have any control over that, Mayor."

"I do. It's called a simple phone call."

Bitterman shrugged and began loading the gold into the trunk of The Mayor's car. When he finished, he walked over to The Mayor, who was leaning against the side of the Lamborghini. After The Mayor was satisfied that all of the gold had been loaded in the trunk, he made a quick call on his prepaid cell phone to his offshore bank to check on the wire transfer. Everything was in place.

The Mayor handed the steel case containing the Electromite to Bitterman. The moment he turned to open his car door, shots suddenly rang out.

Cursing, The Mayor ducked for cover. Bitterman was so short he had only to bend his knees to be hidden by the vehicle.

"Are these your guys?" The Mayor asked as he drew his gun and aimed it at Bitterman's forehead.

"Whoa," Bitterman said, drawing his own weapon—a big gun for a small man. "I have nothing to do with this."

As Bitterman fired off some random shots, The Mayor got into his car, turned over the ignition, and slammed the car in reverse. Rocks and stones kicked up as he spun the car around, putting it in drive. Shots continued to fly, but none hit his Lamborghini. When The Mayor was leaving the parking lot to enter the main road, he glanced into the rear-view mirror. Through the smoke and airborne particles of crushed gravel, he saw that Bitterman was still shooting. That was a good and bad thing—good because it meant that the powerful Momaxita organization hadn't double-crossed him, but bad because it also meant that persons unknown might be after him.

About a mile down the road, The Mayor spotted Chief Constable Pete Petaud speeding toward him. No doubt the Chief would recognize The Mayor's vehicle. And he sure did when he held a hand out of his window to flag The Mayor down. The Mayor slowed to a stop.

"Morning, Mayor Baumgartner," the Chief said. "You're up early."

"I have an appointment with Alexa Manchester. I want her to brief me before I address the media."

The Chief nodded sympathetically. "Big disaster at The Mick yesterday."

"Have you seen the river today, Pete? I just took a drive alongside it. There must've been rain or snow in the highlands. It seems that the water level is rising."

"The weather report says it rained. Of course, the weather report says it's been raining for a while now."

"The worldwide drought and climate change have created some odd patterns. Let's hope we're through the worst of it. At least we'll have enough water to operate the generators. Won't need . . . The Magpie. Silly name. But it's what Ms. Manchester's father called it, so she does, too."

The Chief tipped his custodian's cap. "You didn't happen to pass the Sugar Express Train Depot on the way?"

"No. I took the intercontinental highway. What's going on?"

"We got a call that some kids were down there shooting out the windows again. What's left of the windows."

"You and I have to get together and figure out what to do with these hooligans. If the problem keeps occurring, neither of us will be reelected."

The Chief shook his head in disbelief. "I'll see you later, Mayor."

The Mayor watched until the Chief's car disappeared, then let out a sigh of relief. Another problem avoided.

The Mayor considered himself a lucky man.

• • •

The Mayor was rethinking that sentiment when he arrived at the Manchester mansion twenty minutes later to find the household in a commotion. He got saddled with the task of escorting home the pesky, foolish neighbor boy who'd nearly drowned in Alexa's pond, throwing his schedule off entirely. The child's mother and father had been major contributors in his last campaign, however, so he put on his politician's face and set about escorting them as quickly as possible.

When he returned to the Manchester mansion after walking the boy home, Gladys had him wait for Alexa for a second time. What made cooling his heels a bit more pleasant was that this time, he was at the dining room table enjoying the delicacies that Chef Yon Yurdlemon had whipped up that morning. The Mayor couldn't have been more pleased. His own chef was like a prison cook compared to Yurdlemon. Once he and Alexa were married, he'd feast on such splendid meals daily.

After The Mayor had devoured the plate of scones, along with most of the blackberry jam, he rang the small bell on the table.

Yurdlemon dutifully appeared and placed a plate of food in front of The Mayor. "Your eggs Benedict, sir. I hope it is to your liking."

The Mayor licked his lips with anticipation. "My favorite," he said.

Yurdlemon then poured the hollandaise sauce over the creation and admired the dish with clasped hands. "Will there be anything else, Mayor Baumgartner?"

"Please tell Ms. Manchester that I must see her."

Yurdlemon knitted his brow in protest—he was clearly unaccustomed to playing errand boy. "I'll so inform Gladys."

Moments later, Alexa came into the dining room. Not a strand of her hair was out of place. Her beautiful honey-blond locks were now dried and perfectly styled. She was dressed in a dazzling white dress that flowed like a dancing lily. She was simply gorgeous and filled the room with her Chanel No. 22 perfume.

"Mayor Baumgartner," she said.

The Mayor rose from his seat and smiled his most debonair smile. "Come, come, my dearest Alexa. We've known each other for years. It's Bobby. You've always called me Bobby."

"Not since you made it clear that you want to become prime minister. You're an important man. Please sit down."

He sat, drawing his chair close. "You needn't worry about what happened at The Mick."

"Oh really? You were there. It was a disaster."

"I've got some good news. The river is running high, brimming at the banks. There was an unexpected snowfall in the highlands. You can increase the capacity of the conventional generators and needn't worry about repairing The Magpie right away. You have time to determine what went wrong. Or to abandon it and develop something else."

"I wouldn't dare throw my father's dream out the window."

"Of course not," he said unctuously. "I wasn't suggesting you do. I just wanted to let you know that you can rest assured that the immediate crisis is over. I thought you should be the first to know. I knew it would ease your mind."

"Well, yes, but it's only a temporary solution." Her brow creased thoughtfully.

Bobby frowned; she was getting distracted. He rose from his chair and went to her side. He gazed deeply into her eyes, striving to present her with a moody, broody, love-stricken gaze. "Please," he said, extending a hand. "There is something that I've been wanting to speak to you about, Alexa." When she stood, he continued, "We've known each for a very long time now. I was a great friend of your father's. He was a role model to me. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be mayor. I like to think that he helped make me the man I am today. And he had great hopes for our future."

Alexa turned away, her face flushing pink. When she tried pulling her hand back, he clasped her other hand so that he now held both. "You see, Alexa, dearest. I would make you a fine husband."

"Bobby, no! We haven't even dated."

"We don't need to date. I've known you almost all your life. Besides, in more innocent times, marriages weren't based upon a random kiss, but upon a good match. We make a perfect match. Besides that, you are truly the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes upon."

"I . . . I don't know what to make of this."

He gave her a polished smile, one that always worked to melt the hearts of the ladies. "Dearest Alexa, please do consider making me the happiest man alive. If you will have me, I will cherish and adore you, make you the happiest woman alive. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Alexa's jaw dropped, though she didn't look entirely displeased. "I hardly know what to say, Mayor . . . Bobby."

He retrieved the ring from his pocket and slipped it onto her finger. "Just promise me that you will think about it." The ring had protected him for years. Now he needed it to work its magic on Alexa.

"I can't accept this," she said. "I haven't agreed to . . . " She began to tug at the ring, but he stopped her.

"Wear it until you say yes."

"I don't know that I will."

"Then wear it until you say no. Take your time, because I know that your heart will find me waiting inside of it."

The front doorbell rang.

"Now who's here?" Alexa asked, pulling her hands away from Bobby's. She tried taking the ring off her finger, but it wouldn't budge. "I'm sorry, it seems to be stuck."

Bobby pulled her close to him and kissed her. Not just kissed her, but made passionate love to her with his kiss. At first she struggled, but soon she melted in his arms like all the women did. When he finally released her, he said, "The ring once belonged to my grandmother. She always hoped you'd be the one."

Alexa opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

Bobby gave her forehead a quick peck, turned, and started off toward the front door, calling back to her. "See you at the town meeting, my dearest. And don't you worry. I'll take care of everything."

# Chapter 6

_In the hallway . . ._

With one ear pressed to the doorway next to the dining room, Sigfred used every bit of willpower he had not to shout out in protest. Sneaking around corners and listening in on other people's conversation weren't normally his modus operandi, but this morning hadn't exactly been normal. In all his years of service, Sigfred had never expected to hear The Mayor proposing to Alexa, the heir to the Manchester fortune, and it added up to nothing short of stink. He'd have to convince Alexa that politicians were the only things worse than snakes: they both bite, but only politicians want something in return for the antivenom.

When the doorbell rang, Sigfred reluctantly pulled himself away to answer it. The courier standing on the landing handed him a package for Ms. Manchester just as the dining room door opened. Without asking for a signature, the courier left and hurried back to his motor scooter. Sigfred thought to stop him and give him a tip, but just then, The Mayor, smiling from ear to ear, entered the foyer and appeared to be making his way toward the door.

"Top of the morning to you, Siggy," The Mayor said before he walked out the door.

"Yes, sir," Sigfred replied. He hated being called Siggy. He and The Mayor were both thirty-seven, and yet The Mayor treated him like a young lackey.

Sigfred turned back to look for the courier, but the man had driven away.

Sigfred entered the dining room, but Alexa was no longer there. Where was she? He would've seen her if she'd gone up the main staircase to her suite, and after the morning they'd had, it was unlikely that she was taking a stroll in the gardens. That left Chef Yurdlemon's kitchen—few but Alexa dared to tread across Yurdlemon's floors. When Sigfred entered the kitchen, there she was, standing at the sink with her hands under the water, ringing them wildly.

Sigfred set the package on the counter. "I wonder if I might be of some service to you, Ms. Manchester."

Alexa stopped to rest her hands on the edge of the sink. "Oh, Sigfred," she said. "It's only you. I thought . . . "

Apparently, she'd been expecting that sleazy politician to come back. "I'm sorry to intrude, madame. I'll go."

"No, stay! It's just been a trying day. First, Luke almost drowning in my pond, and now Mayor Baumgartner has proposed marriage and we've never even dated. And what's crazy, Sigfred, is that as soon as he put this ring on my finger, I considered saying _yes_." She turned back to the sink, pumped the soap dispenser, and thrust her hands under the water again, from which steam was rising steadily.

"Careful," Sigfred warned, but she wasn't listening. She kept her hand under the scalding water, tugging furiously on the ring.

Sigfred couldn't be sure whether The Mayor's proposal pleased or displeased her, but it wasn't his place to ask. He could do one thing—help her get that blasted ring off her finger. He went to the pantry and retrieved a bottle of olive oil—cold pressed extra virgin, of course, because this was Yurdlemon's kitchen.

"Let me help you get that off," he said.

"No, I'll do it myself." She paused suddenly, staring at the big green stone as if transfixed. "Maybe I'm not sure I want it off." She shook her head. "But I do, I do. Oh, I don't know what I want." She sighed. "Wait! Yes, I do. I want to talk about last night."

"Of course, if you wish." He waited for her to speak, but she seemed stumped.

Then she said, "What did you think about last night?"

He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, right. It was quite—"

"Sigfred!" She slapped her hands down on the sink and looked back at him. "It was nothing like _quite_ , it was more like _Oh-My-God_ in the highest order. No offense."

"Yes, quite."

"Don't keep saying _quite_! You could say _yes, shocking_ or even _jiminy crickets_ or _holy_ 'expletive omitted,' __ but there was nothing _quite_ about last night. I mean you were there, you saw everything."

He couldn't think of an appropriate response—at least, not one that he could articulate to his employer.

"Am I right, you did see everything?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "It was unintentional, of course, Ms. Manchester. I found you lying on the floor next to The Magpie."

Her eyes widened, and her eyebrows arched upward in disapproval. "I didn't mean that, Sigfred. I'm talking about my hands shooting those bolts of lightning from my fingertips—pure electricity!"

He cleared his throat again. "Ah, yes. And there was that."

"It's ridiculous. Absurd. People don't emit electricity. Gladys says I should see a doctor. That I must have been exposed to the Electromite. Am I cursed?"

"It doesn't seem to be life-threatening. On the contrary, you've become stronger by it, or so it seems. If I'm not mistaken, you saved the child from drowning because of it. Perhaps it's not a curse, but a gift."

She seemed to consider this, absentmindedly pulling at The Mayor's ring.

"Just a moment," he said. "I think I can assist you with that little problem you're having." He opened the bottle of olive oil and drizzled some over her ring finger. Then, very gently, he began working the ring back and forth. He thrilled when he touched her, but she didn't seem to react.

"I can fly, you know," she said, her tone surprisingly casual.

"Yes, madame. I suspected that's how you saved the boy."

"What happens if I try to fly, and then these magical abilities suddenly vanish?"

"Perhaps they won't ever vanish."

"Yes, perhaps you're right," she said in a quiet, serious voice. "And that would mean I haven't been infected at all. Instead, I've been inalterably changed. It would mean that there's no cure. It means my body and spirit have been transformed into something . . . alien. It means I'm not Alexa anymore."

"You'll always be Alexa," he said, reaching up and tipping her chin toward him with slippery fingers. His eyes locked on hers, and he spoke with hushed solemnity. "Nothing can ever change that." He wanted to call her _lovely_ Alexa, _kind_ Alexa, _beautiful_ Alexa, but of course, that was impossible.

"When I was inside The Magpie, I heard my father's voice. Is that crazy?"

"Not at all, Ms. Manchester."

She studied his face. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"Not at all." And he meant it. Things went silent as they looked into each other's eyes. Sigfred had just swayed imperceptibly closer to her when a sudden dull _thunk_ interrupted them. The ring had finally fallen off, clattering into the sink. The moment was lost. He realized, with some awkwardness, that he was still touching her face and dropped his hand.

She colored and looked away, speaking a bit brusquely. "My father called me _Electromancer_. I get the 'electro' part of it, but what's a 'mancer'? Have you any clue?"

"You've got me there, madame."

"Mancer? It must mean something."

"Almost like _Ro_ mancer."

Her jaw dropped. "Oh, Sigfred. Not you, too."

He stiffened. He wasn't about to explore his feelings with her or to take the liberty of allowing his romantic thoughts about Alexa to go unrestrained. It was his utmost duty to remain her servant and protector, always physically near but emotionally distant. But when she'd transformed into this Electromancer, he had to admit to himself that she was absolutely and without a doubt the sexiest woman alive. Any red-blooded male would be hard pressed to deny that fact.

"What are you going to do about The Mayor's proposal?" he blurted out. So much for knowing his place. "He's not worthy of you."

"Bobby Baumgartner is The Mayor of Kensington City. He might be prime minister one day."

"I don't care if he's prime minister, king, and president of the Americanas combined. He's beneath you."

"And just who are you to talk about rank?"

Her words stung, the pain more intense than the damage those thugs had inflicted the previous night. "Quite right, madame," he said. "My station is lowly. But I'm one thing The Mayor isn't. I'm a man of integrity."

"I saw the way you looked at me last night. I may have been Electromancer, but I know when a man is gawking at me."

"I wasn't gawking. I was appreciating the qualities of . . . You're a beautiful woman, madame."

"You mean, _Electromancer_ is beautiful."

"No, madame. I mean you. Alexa Manchester."

She looked at him in surprise.

"What's the meaning of this?" Chef Yurdlemon bellowed from across the room. "Who is invading my kitchen? You are trespassers." He pointed at Sigfred. "Especially _you_ , Sigfred Sawyer."

Sigfred nodded slowly. He _was_ trespassing, though not in the way Yurdlemon meant.

"This mess with the olive oil is all my fault," Alexa said. "I was using it to try to get this ring off. It was stuck on my finger. Sigfred was just trying to help me."

"You used my cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil to remove a ring?" Yurdlemon cried. "Such olive oil is not for ring removal. Such olive oil is to make a divine dinner as only I can make it. The olives for that oil come from a small orchard in Sicilya that produces only two hundred cases a year! Do you know what that costs? More than a Chateau Latour Bordeaux. More than a fine Sauternes. I need it for my dinner preparations. Oh, everything is ruined now. Each and every minute of preparation is accounted for. There won't be time enough left in the day, not now. Not when I'm forced to return to the market, where I can only get inferior olive oil." Chef Yurdlemon grabbed the sides of his head and looked as if he were about to sob. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"Chef Yurdlemon, we'll make it right," Alexa said. "We'll charter a private jet and order more olive oil from Sicilya. And while they are at it, the pilot can make a stop at Orly Airport and make arrangements to bring you back a pound of your favorite black truffles."

As she'd done many times in the past, Alexa patted Yurdlemon's back. That and the promised private jet seemed to console him.

The telephone rang. Sigfred picked up the receiver. "Manchester residence."

A man spoke to him in a strange voice that seemed to be coming from inside a tunnel. He told Sigfred to turn on the television to any channel.

"To whom am I speaking?" Sigfred asked.

The man hung up.

Sigfred went to the television in the corner and turned it on. A man's face filled the screen. He wore a shiny gold mask as if he were going to some masquerade ball. He wasn't speaking, but rather seemed to be waiting for something. Sigfred flipped through the channels, and the man's face appeared on every one.

"What is it?" Gladys asked, alarmed.

"My name is Momo," the man on the television screen said in a deep voice that sounded digitally altered. "Though you don't know me, I know you very well, Sigfred Sawyer. To answer your question, I've hacked your cable system. This message is for you and you alone, Alexa Manchester. Once you hear what I have to say, I know you and your employees won't reveal this to anyone."

"What is this?" Alexa asked.

Sigfred shook his head.

"Take a moment to collect yourself, Ms. Manchester," Momo said. "I know this must come as a great shock to you."

Sigfred and Gladys walked over and stood at Alexa's side.

"What I have to say is simple, Ms. Manchester," Momo said. "You have one task to perform. You have until Friday, five o'clock, to turn over the keys to The Mick and the Manchester mansion. I mean all software codes, all encryption keys, all forms of access of any kind. You're also going to sign over the entirety of the Manchester holdings to an entity that I've designated in the package that was delivered to you earlier today."

Alexa looked at Sigfred and Gladys. "What package? I didn't get—"

"I'm sorry," Sigfred said, nodding to the package on the counter. "You were with The Mayor, and with all the commotion, I didn't . . . It's my fault." Sigfred wanted to jump through the screen and pummel that Momo clown. Something else that was impossible. He racked his brain, trying to remember what the messenger looked like.

"All bank accounts will be transferred to that entity, all stock holdings, all deeds," Momo said. "Again, look in the package. And then you'll clear out of the residence— _my_ residence. You may not take anything except for your clothes. Leave the jewels in the safe, the artwork on the walls, and the silverware in the drawers."

"This has to be some kind of joke," Alexa said to the others.

"I know you'll need convincing," Momo said. "Here's the incentive for you to comply with my demands."

The image on the television switched to the skyline of The Big Apple, a major metropolis in the Americanas, and zoomed in on the city streets at various locations—the Imperial State Building, the second tallest edifice in the Apple; Cyber Square, usually filled with tourists; Apple Core Park, the oasis of green located in the heart of the city. Then a helicopter camera panned out to show the vast number of skyscrapers that filled the island city. There were no lights on anywhere.

"You'll notice that anything requiring electricity isn't working," Momo said.

It was true. The streetlights, billboards, and shop lights were out. Underground, the subway trains were stopped on their tracks. The city appeared to be at a standstill, and people were beginning to panic. Vehicles were crashing into one another.

Momo reappeared on the screen. "This is just an example of what I can do. If you don't comply, I'll take out other cities, one by one, until you do. The City of Angels will be next. And if that doesn't convince you, after that, I'll strike much closer to home in Britannia. All cities for which the Manchester Electric Company provides the electrical power. You know what's funny? You'll get the blame, not I. Because when the power goes out, the whole world will point a finger at you."

The screen went blank.

# Chapter 7

_Meanwhile, in a hidden fortress . . ._

A satisfied Momo settled his powerful rugby-forward's body back in his office chair at Momaxita's secret hideaway, tucked away in the Mullgany Mountains. The estate was located a mere twenty miles north of Kensington City, but was as isolated and inaccessible as an inner Himalayan valley. He ran The Momaxita from various estates, including Vlad's castle in Eastern Europa and the Nouveau Taj Mal in the Far East. But now that he was getting older, he was inching closer to home. Momo looked up and stared at the painting hanging on the wall. The landscape was the only thing he'd taken with him when he left, a panoramic view of the Kensington Valley painted in the late nineteenth century by the artist Loudon Lucerne. A reminder of his life's goal.

Very soon, he would achieve that goal. By Friday evening, Alexa Manchester would convey the Manchester holdings, and he'd control the world's energy. And then, he'd zap the power grid of every major city on the planet, bringing the governments of the world to their knees. Only _he_ could restore the world's power, which meant that he would control the world. They would have to pay tribute, do his bidding, and let him shape the world as he wanted—and he didn't want to do it the way bleeding-heart Alexa Manchester did, giving away free energy to those who didn't contribute. How delicious it all would be.

Momo turned to Biggie Bitterman, who was sitting in the corner. "Tell the chef to prepare lunch. Roast pheasant and a whole flounder filleted and stuffed with crab and lobster. Make sure he doesn't forget the roasted potatoes and parsnips. While he's at it, have him throw in some asparagus with hollandaise sauce. For dessert, I want a pint of strawberry ice cream over shortcake with berries coated in molasses."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Hmm, I think I'll have a porterhouse. Two, maybe three inches thick, nice and juicy. Mashed potatoes with au jus. Three artichokes. To start with." He shot Bitterman a threatening stare. "You'll remember all this?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'd better. And make sure the steak is center cut, and tell the chef not to trim the fat. Just north of rare, somewhat south of medium rare, but it better not be rare. And every morsel must be fresh and organic." Momo raised his arms and flexed his biceps, admiring himself. He was proud that, despite his voracious appetite, he'd maintained his muscular, power-lifter's physique throughout the years. He credited his high metabolism and all-around brilliance for his Gladiator-like build.

"As always, sir," Bitterman said. The freshness of Momo's food was no small matter. The last chef had suffered an untimely, and very fatal, "accident" for substituting genetically modified brown rice after running out of the organic. Another had died because he'd served Momo leftovers. Leftovers were nothing but a breeding ground for bacteria and so completely unsuitable for Momo's perfectly sculpted body.

"You want all this now?" Bitterman asked.

Momo sprung forward in his chair, pounding his fists on the desk in front of him. "Don't be a fool, Biggie. I'll have the steak for dinner. What do you think I am, a glutton?"

"Will there be anything else with the steak?"

"Just tell cook to surprise me with the rest of the meal and not to skimp. I'm celebrating my impending success. None of that nouvelle cuisine."

"Got it." Bitterman left, returning a few minutes later. "The cook needs a couple hours." He set down a tray of cheeses and cold cuts with a long loaf of bread. "A small snack in the meantime, sir."

Bitterman reached to help himself to a thin, meager slice of cheese, but Momo stabbed the back of his hand with his fork. "Not so fast, Biggie."

Bitterman whimpered but wasn't able to withdraw his hand until Momo raised the fork. Then he rubbed the back of his hand where the impression from the tines was distinctly visible. "Sorry, sir. I didn't have breakfast."

Momo eyed the platter to decide if Bitterman had snuck a bite before delivering the tray. His attention was diverted with a loud _boom_! The explosion rattled the house from the root cellar up to the rafters. It had come from the laboratory downstairs.

Bitterman flinched and looked as if he wanted to duck under a chair for cover, but Momo didn't move a muscle. "Ah. It sounds like the experiments are going just fine." Momo returned to scrutinizing the cheese for any sign that Bitterman had contaminated his plate.

The telephone rang. Momo jerked the handle off the hook. "This better be good. I'm about to eat my snack before lunch. You know how I hate it when my meals are interrupted."

It was The Momaxita's Siberitan operative. "Sorry for the interruption, sir. The keys are in transit as we speak."

"Good." Momo hung up the phone, devoured four slices of salami—from grass fed beef, of course—and said, "Soon we'll control Siberita and the Arctica.

At that moment, Professor Sivley Slipter, a tall, gangly, knocked-kneed man with raggedy red hair, entered the room, shaking as though he'd been beaten with a wooden spoon and hung upside down by his toes with clothespins. His glasses, the lenses of which were half an inch thick, were spotted with some kind of debris.

Bitterman announced Professor Slipter's presence with a cough.

Momo looked up and pushed the tray of food to the side. "What is it, Slipter? It better be good to interrupt my prelunch. You know how much I hate to have my meals interrupted."

Professor Slipter's knees buckled, and he had to grab on to an end table to keep from falling.

"Get your hands off my furniture, Slipter. You know I don't like fingerprints on my antiques."

Professor Slipter removed his hands, bobbled a bit, but stayed upright.

"Now what is it? In thirty words or less."

"We have a problem, sir, and I think I know what's causing it. The Electromite you provided appears unstable. Mickey Manchester's diagrams and journals keep referring to a superconductive ceramic casing that was used to control the Electromite. We don't have the casing." He paused. "I hope this was less than thirty words." Slipter wobbled again. "And I hope that last sentence doesn't count."

"I thought you had that issue figured out," Momo said. "Your brilliant computer models aren't so brilliant?"

"No, sir. I-I mean, Yes, sir!" The man trembled. "I-I've recreated a casing, but it keeps cracking."

"So what do you propose?"

"Well, if it's not too much trouble, if we could get our hands on Manchester's prototype, I could solve the problem. The plans just don't spell out the chemical formulation of the ceramic."

" _Not too much trouble_? Not too much trouble?! To go into a maximum-security facility and find a prototype that is hidden somewhere, of which we don't have any pictures, that might weigh anywhere from a few pounds to a ton? Of course, it's too much trouble! You've failed me, Slipter."

"But, sir, I haven't. Basically, everything is working. We're zapping whomever we want. Taking down power grids. I call that success. We seem to be able to destabilize any energy source we hit, stop generators, down the power stations. But we have not achieved perfection. For perfection, we need the prototype. And I know you want perfection, sir." Professor Slipter ran a hand through the strands of his stringy hair, leaving them standing on end as if he'd been zapped. "Ah, and there's a second problem, sir."

"Spill it. In thirty words or less, this time."

"The Electromite itself."

"What's the problem?"

"It's unstable. The subatomic structure is unlike anything on this planet. It's destabilized—"

"Balls! Mickey Manchester said it wasn't radioactive, nothing like plutonium or uranium."

Professor Slipter stood silently.

"Well, get on with it man," Momo said.

"I've used up my thirty words, sir," Professor Slipter said.

Momo used a large hand to straighten his bib. "Just get on with it!"

Professor Slipter gulped. "It's true that the mineral isn't radioactive, but the stability is different. We're dealing with something science has never before seen. We can't begin to fully understand its internal properties in the short time we've had the substance. It's quite remarkable that we've been able to harness its energy at all."

"Stop talking gibberish, Slipter. And stop patting yourself on the back. You do know how I despise braggarts."

"When we enclose the Electromite inside our ceramic casing, we can only get it to emit its energy in the direction that we want in short spurts. We have no control of the substance outside of the casing. It's acting well, wildly, sir. Moving unpredictably, blasting things we don't want to blast."

"Then keep it enclosed."

"If we keep it enclosed, we can't perform experiments to make a better casing. If you want the perfect weapon of mass destruction, we have to perform our experiments. In all honesty, we need the prototype casing."

Momo shook his head. "You're making me dizzy, Slipter."

"Sorry, sir. I know it's a bit confusing. When we see the elemental particles of a substance behaving oddly, there's usually a reason. It's almost as if the Electromite is trying to get back missing parts." Professor Slipter continued, completely oblivious to the heat rising in Momo. "You see, it all comes down to spin."

"Slipter!" Momo cried. "You're making _my head_ spin."

Professor Slipter was trembling so wildly that his knees knocked several times. "I'm speaking of particle physics and quantum mechanics," he said. "Orbital angular momentum is the quantum-mechanical counterpart to what we call the classical notion of angular momentum. It arises when a particle executes a rotating or twisting trajectory. Think of it as an electron orbiting a nucleus. The carrying force is a boson with spin 1. It includes the photon, which carries the electromagnetic force, the gluon, which is the strong force, and the W and Z boson, which is the weak force. The point is that bosons can occupy the same quantum state. Before we found the Electromite, we could only predict the existence of an elementary boson with a greater spin. The Electromite contains a God particle—the graviton with a spin 2! It's the source, the vehicle, of this incredible power! When it works."

"You're talking gibberish, man," Momo said.

"The God particles are searching for their missing angels," Professor Slipter said. "The only way to control the Electromite with missing bosons is to encase it in the exact superconductive ceramic casing that Manchester created. Unless, of course, we somehow find the missing pieces. Someone might have taken them, or they might not be on this planet. The point is, if we can't fully control the Electromite, it means we can't control your weapon of ultimate destruction—The Big Zapper. Your mega laser."

"So, you mean, when we made the exchange with that crook, Mayor Baumgartner, we didn't get everything we needed?"

"Possibly. We didn't get the original ceramic casing that held the Electromite. Beyond that, we should've gotten the prototype."

"Bitterman!" Momo shouted, rising from his chair and pointing at his underling. "This is on you!"

"Sir, I did just as you asked," Bitterman said. "You wanted the Electromite, and I delivered it. There was no talk of any casing or prototype."

Momo's blood pressure was off the charts. He took a menacing step toward Bitterman and said, "I pay you to be creative, not just to follow orders." Then he turned to Professor Slipter and said, "Show me."

Professor Slipter led the way downstairs to the laboratory. The room, previously pristine, was in a state of disaster. Black debris covered the walls. Test tubes lay broken on benches. Small shards of glass were scattered across the floor. Professor Slipter's assistants were covered from head to toe in black soot.

"Where's the meteorite?" Momo asked.

Professor Slipter pointed to a bench across the room. The Electromite sat enclosed inside a thick glass case, which was encased inside another, and then another. As it vibrated, the mineral glowed silver and emitted sparks of pure white light, striking the casing walls.

"Is that thing moving?" Momo asked. "It wasn't when Bitterman first brought it in."

"Yes, it's become unstable," Professor Slipter said. "That's why we need the prototype."

"Is it dangerous?" Momo asked.

"Hard to say, sir."

Momo glowered at Professor Slipter. "Hard to say! Hard to say?"

"We've taken every precaution. We don't even handle it without using hazmat suits."

"What about The Big Zapper. Was it damaged in the explosion?"

"No, sir, fortunately," Professor Slipter said nervously. "But let me remind you, sir, it will function just fine when we have the prototype, missing Electromite or not."

"Prove it to me," Momo said.

Professor Slipter hurried across the laboratory and flipped a switch on the wall. A heavy metal door opened, revealing a three-story room with a domed-hatched opening at the top. The Big Zapper, a story high, sat mounted in the middle of the room. Like a high-powered telescope in an observatory, the weapon was aimed toward the sky. Only it wasn't meant for stargazing.

Momo stared at his masterpiece. His jaw flapped open. "You said it wasn't damaged. There's a dent."

"That's just a bit of damage to the base that holds the ceramic casing and Electromite. It happened right after we delivered the zap to The Big Apple's electrical grid. The switch jammed, and someone yanked it in the wrong direction. Don't worry, this is only a slight inconvenience."

"Does it affect The Big Zapper's operability?" Momo asked.

"Temporarily, sir," Professor Slipter said, his voice cracking like a frightened adolescent. "We'll only be out of business until we make another casing. We can't use the one that cracked. But not to worry, sir. We should have The Big Zapper back online very soon."

Momo's face burned hot with rage. "Who is to blame?"

Everyone in the room fell silent.

"Who is to blame? Slipter, if I don't get a name, the buck stops with _you_!" He stood glaring down at Professor Slipter.

Professor Slipter shifted his eyes to an assistant, who was cowering behind a lab table across the room. "Porter Popper loaded the casing, sir. It looked fine. Honestly. He only missed an insignificant latch. You can see that The Big Apple no longer has power, so . . . "

"You!" Momo shouted to the unfortunate Porter Popper.

"Sir, please let me explain," Popper said. "There was a sudden, unexpected shift in weather patterns, and that coupled with the rock's instability caused The Big Zapper to shake. I didn't see the latch. The dent was—"

Momo picked up a handheld proton particle beam, a device meant to incinerate toxic debris. He aimed and fired. On the floor where Porter Popper had stood was less ash than could've been generated from a lighted cigar.

Momo turned and aimed the weapon at Professor Slipter. "I want The Big Zapper fixed no later than two o'clock Friday afternoon. Do I make myself clear?"

The professor quivered. "Yes, sir. Perfectly clear."

"Then why are you standing there gawping at me?" Momo asked.

"Because we still need one of two things, sir. The missing piece of Electromite or Mickey Manchester's prototype of the ceramic casing."

"Ah yes, your angels," Momo said. Then he turned and pointed a finger. "Bitterman! I have a job for you."

# Chapter 8

_Back at the mansion . . ._

Only after that hideous Momo disappeared from Alexa's television screen did the anger erupt inside her. She raced from the kitchen and up to her bedroom so that she could be alone. The physical transformation had begun, and though she tried to control it, stop it—at least slow it down—she was soon Electromancer. She stopped in front of the mirror, where she studied her naked image. She did look like a mythical goddess, with her long-flowing platinum hair. Electricity pulsed through her nervous system and filled her with immeasurable energy. She felt light as air, so she bent her legs and gently sprang upward. Her body left the ground, and she rose several feet. With a slight tightening of her thigh muscles, she stopped rising and was able to hover. When she relaxed her muscles, she slowly descended to the floor. My God, not only could she fly, but she could control the experience!

But what about her clothes? She couldn't fight anyone looking like this.

There was a knock at the door. "May I come in, dear?" Gladys asked.

Electromancer opened the door to let Gladys in. The older woman was holding a platinum body suit in one hand and boots and gloves in the other.

"I was up all night sewing. I don't know if your father ever told you, but when he refined the Electromite, he discovered a wonderful by-product—he called it Electroweave. It's not Electromite, but a close cousin. He asked me to use it when I made your wedding dress." The woman gave her a knowing look. "I think you need it now. He told me that the fabric is almost indestructible."

Electromancer looked at the suit with wide eyes and then quickly put it on. The outfit was skintight but felt as comfortable as if it were part of her own body. "It's perfect, Gladys. Thank you." Then they went downstairs, where Sigfred and Chef Yurdlemon were waiting.

"I have to go," she said in a crystalline voice. "I must stop this madness. Lives are at stake."

She turned to Sigfred. "There's something I'd like you to do for me. Momo is supposed to be the head of The Momaxita. I never quite believed that the organization existed, but it obviously does. Find the man who delivered the package. He's a Momaxita courier and the key to finding Momo."

As she turned to leave, Sigfred took her hand. To her surprise, he didn't seem to feel an electrical shock when he touched her.

"If only I could accompany you," he said, his eyes conveying both concern and devotion—and not just that, but something more she couldn't define.

His gaze was so intense that she was the one who had to pull her hand away lest she be overcome.

"You've always protected me, Sigfred," she said. "I don't think I've shown enough gratitude for that." Reflexively, she used a hand to touch her heart. "But now, you can't protect me. I have to do this myself."

"Still, I will be with you," Sigfred whispered.

They shared a lingering gaze, and then Electromancer ran toward the front door. Gladys raced after her and grabbed her arm. A spark of electricity shot from Electromancer's arm, and Gladys was thrown back. Thankfully, Sigfred was there to catch her.

Electromancer turned back. "Gladys, I'm so sorry. Are you all right?"

"I shouldn't have touched you," Gladys said. "But I'm afraid for you. What if you should, you know . . . ?"

"Not to fear Gladys. I know how to fly now. I won't fall."

"How can you know that?"

"Because," she paused, flashing them a smile, "I'm Electromancer." With that, she shot through the door and leaped up to the sky, leaving a bolt of electricity in her wake. She'd become one with the electrical force, sailing through the air at the speed of light. Almost instantaneously, she was zipping above the streets of The Big Apple.

She verified that what Momo had said was true. The magical and colorful lights of Cyber Square had gone dark. The traffic lights were out, so cars and buses and trucks had come to a complete standstill, and there were more accidents than she could possibly count. People were panicking, and the panic would only worsen as day turned to night. It was an unusually hot day with the erratic weather patterns, and without refrigeration, food would spoil. Without air conditioning, the elderly and infirm would die. Hospital backup generators wouldn't last forever. Very soon, the city would be mobbed with people leaving their high-rise apartments, row houses, and tenement hovels, desperate to find fresh air. Once night fell, looting was sure to begin. As the streets and parks filled, people would try to flee to the countryside or to the nearest city with electricity, causing more disorder and chaos.

Electromancer flew to the top of the Imperial State Building. There she stood, balancing on one foot. Then she bolted up into the sky and flew toward The Big Apple's electrical grid, which supplied power to eight million people. To run, the grid had to maintain a certain level of voltage. If the voltage dropped below a critical point, the entire system went down. Or if the gates that controlled the flow of energy were damaged, then no energy got out to consumers. So, either the large transformers, which regulated the amount of power that went out to local lines, had gone down, or the generators at the power plant had lost critical voltage. Electromancer flew from one transformer to the next, arcing a bolt of energy into each to test it. They all worked fine. That meant that the problem was with the generators at the power plant. She flew to the plant.

When she entered the generator room, a man cried, "Look. Who's that?"

"More like _what's that_?" a woman replied.

"It's a she-devil," another said.

The workers stopped and gaped up at her. Some raced toward her.

"It's ball lightning!" someone shouted. "Don't go near it. It's deadly. If it explodes, the whole place will collapse and we'll all die."

Electromancer slowly lowered herself to the ground floor, her wake of electricity dissipating. The people hurriedly drew back. She could see fear in the workers' eyes.

"Don't be afraid," Electromancer said in her crystalline voice. "I'm here to help."

A few edged their way closer to her, but most remained back.

"How can you help us?" someone asked.

"She's to blame for this blow out," another person said.

"Why would she be here, then?" a woman said. "Of course she's here to help."

The murmurs in the crowd turned to arguments. One man actually threatened to kill her. Others defended her. A young man threw a hammer at her from five feet away, but Electromancer caught the tool in her hand. Then she raised her arms. "Stop. Listen to me. I truly can help."

"If you want to help us, you can get rid of that Alexa Manchester," a man shouted. "She's to blame. She controls the world's power."

Electromancer shook her head in disbelief. How could they blame Alexa? Blame _her_? Electricity suddenly arced from her fingertips.

Many shrank back in fear, and others turned even more aggressive, throwing tools and other objects at her, all of which she easily deflected with a forearm. She had to do something fast. With the gentlest of springs, she lifted herself off the floor and rose into the air, hovering atop the generator behind her. With a flip of her fingers, she released an arc of electricity, which flowed directly at the generator. The machine's steel casing glowed red and then turned white hot. Just as the casing softened and was about to melt, she dove through the liquid steel and released a burst of energy, igniting the generator's core. Turbine blades began to spin and then purred when the water began flowing through the machine. Moments later, the turbine began to produce electricity, and at last, the electrical grid reached the minimal level of voltage necessary to restore power.

Electromancer emerged unscathed from the top of the machine and slowly lowered herself to the floor. She saw the people in the crowd looking at her in awe. The sound of the generator working again was like a soft melody.

"She's an angel," a woman said.

"A savior," another said.

"No. I'm Electromancer. Now, let's get to work."

Together, she and the workers began restarting the generators. She'd just emerged from another successfully ignited generator when news reporters from the major media conglomerates burst into the room and raced toward her with their cameras and microphones. Shouting a flurry of questions, the reporters spoke over each other, demanding answers. Who was she? Where had she come from? Was she an alien from another world? How was it possible for her to fly? How was she able to restart the generators?

"How do we know you didn't cause the blackout and aren't just doing this for publicity?" a reporter asked.

Electromancer descended to the floor. "I'm here to help The Big Apple, not to answer your questions. I'm sorry, but we have work to do."

A man dressed in a power company uniform emerged from the crowd, scowling. He was carrying a fire hose. He opened the valve and aimed a hard stream of water at Electromancer. Electrical currents sparked from her body. She tried to remain calm, tried to stop the deadly current, but couldn't.

People screamed and fell back. Electromancer tried to regain her composure, but her body was immobilized by the water. The foolish man had turned her source of electricity against her. She wanted to scream, but couldn't. Pain seared through her veins.

"She's a witch," the man with the hose shouted as he continued to spray water on her. "Capture her before she can do any more harm."

Electromancer convulsed, her head involuntarily rolling from side to side. She tried to regain control of her muscles and nervous system, but the water and electricity caused a short circuit. She was dying a slow, painful death. She fought to maintain consciousness, to think of a way to stop this.

"Be Electromancer! It's your duty," a voice said. "That way, you shall overcome."

Was it her father speaking to her?

Her heart trilled with renewed energy. She began to fight to free herself. She would not give in, no matter how much water surrounded or touched her.

Just then, there was a brilliant flash of light, a roar of thunder, and the appearance of a brilliant blue cloud in the shape of an arrow. Yes, a blue . . . no, _the_ Blue Arrow.

Blue Arrow was real, not just a legend!

When Alexa was a teenager, her father, after drinking a bit too much wine one evening, had told her a story about Blue Arrow, a hero with superpowers. Part cloud and part man, he was a talented archer who would use his mythical bow only to ensure justice was served. Of course, she hadn't believed it then.

The lights flickered, and the air molecules crackled loudly. Then the generator room went pitch dark. In another instant, the electricity was back on, but Electromancer was no longer stuck to the metal or fighting against electrocution from her contact with water. She was free. But how?

She inhaled deeply, realizing that she was now enveloped by blue vapor—in the arms of Blue Arrow. He was transporting her across the sky, through the clouds. This was nothing like the electrical energy that enabled _her_ to fly. This was something different entirely. When she exhaled, she felt her body go numb as if she'd been drugged.

"Father?" she asked.

No one answered, but she felt an undulating rhythm, like waves rolling in from the ocean.

"What's . . . happening?" she asked.

A distant voice said, "You're safe now."

Those were the last words that she remembered before awakening back home in her bed.

# Chapter 9

_Over at City Hall . . ._

Mayor Baumgartner could wait no longer. Alexa Manchester should've arrived long ago. The members of the City Council were growing restless, as were the media and citizens in attendance. There had already been some controversial items on the agenda. The old biddies from Women for Education, Edification, and Decoration of Sidewalks—everyone thought of the group as WEEDS, but only their harshest critics used that word—were pushing for an ordinance that would improve the city's sidewalks and were seeking approval of a budget that would rival that allocated for national defense. The activists from CABOOSE were out in force, opposing another resolution to demolish the Sugar Express Train Depot that The Mayor had introduced at the last meeting.

To make matters worse, people were panicked about the explosion at The Mick and the near catastrophe in The Big Apple. Everyone was buzzing on and on about the mysterious Electromancer, which The Mayor believed to be nothing more than a media hoax to divert attention from the government's failure to protect the people. District Attorney Stumpy Stellar and Police Chief Constable Pete Petaud were in attendance to answer the hard questions about those recent events and, The Mayor hoped, to let him remain dispassionate and statesmanlike on the issue.

The Mayor took his place behind the podium, called the meeting to order, and directed the Council's attention to the first item on the agenda.

"I object to that!" a woman said. "We need to discuss the reprehensible state of our city sidewalks before dealing with Alexa Manchester's mess ups." The speaker was chairwoman of WEEDS, Henrietta Hensinger, a stout woman in her early sixties who always wore a hat, but never the same one twice, and who now was dressed in a bright-red chapeau that resembled a combination pretzel and balloon animal, which was undoubtedly selected to match her red high-collar blouse and floral skirt.

"Miss Hensinger, we really must take the agenda in order," The Mayor said. "Protocol, you know." He would like to have called the sergeant at arms to throw her out on her ear, but she controlled a large block of voters.

She rose from her chair and stood on tiptoes to see over the man in front of her. "Mr. Mayor, this is a matter of life and death!"

"With all due respect, ma'am, I hardly think a few cracks in the concrete rise to the level of life and death." He paused. "Not that my administration isn't dedicated to repairing _every_ crack in the sidewalk."

"Oh, but you're utterly mistaken, sir," Miss Hensinger said. "Our organization's flower order has just come in this morning and is waiting to be picked up at the nursery. The poor little plants are dying in the sun as we speak. Their little roots are in desperate need of water. The adorable little things must be put to bed. To refuse to consider the sidewalk budget first would be nothing more than mass murder, Mr. Mayor— _herbicide_ , if you will. In that regard, our very own Mr. Zachary Zero, as troubled as he tends to be, needs to be put to work before he slips off and is nowhere to be found again. Need I say more? Because I will if I have to."

Conroy Corn stood. He would've been Miss Hensinger's husband if only he hadn't left her standing at the altar on their wedding day twenty-five years earlier. He'd always claimed that he'd been traveling in the Americanas the week before and that he forgot to reset his watch to Britannia time, resulting in his alarm going off eight hours late, and that he still, to this day, wanted Miss Hensinger's hand in marriage. The Mayor did not like Conroy Corn because he was also the chairman of CABOOSE, dedicated to saving the Sugar Express Train Depot.

"I second Miss Hensinger's motion, Mayor," Mr. Corn said.

"I don't need your help, Corny," Miss Hensinger said curtly. "I can manage just fine on my own."

"I'm sure you can, Henny," Mr. Corn said. "Nevertheless, I second the motion a second time."

"None of that sweet talk will do you any good, Corny," Miss Hensinger said. "I'm an old maid because of you, but you are _not_ getting into my knickers. You had your chance twenty-five years ago, and you blew it!"

"Oh, you weren't so guarded about your knickers back in the day, Henny," Mr. Corn said. "You were a willing lass. How long must a man pay for one mistake? I still have the marriage license. How about it, love?"

Miss Hensinger pointed a finger at him. "We didn't do what you're implying, but if we had done it, you weren't very good at it. Maybe if you had been, I'd have forgiven you!"

The Mayor had to pound his gavel to end the laughter that broke out through Council Chambers. "Now, now, Miss Hensinger, Mr. Corn. Let's keep this civil. All right. We'll take the sidewalk-budget ordinance out of order." He wondered if Hensinger and Corn had gotten together and planned this just to drive him crazy.

The matter was debated, the vote was taken, and the sidewalk budget, exorbitant though it was, was passed by a vote of three to two. Miss Hensinger and the other women of WEEDS excused themselves. "We have little sprouts to rescue," Miss Hensinger explained.

"Let's move on to item number one on the agenda, the explosion at The Mick," The Mayor said. He nodded to Chief Constable Pete Petaud and to District Attorney Stumpy Stellar.

Just as The Mayor was about to make a brief opening statement, he spotted Biggie Bitterman slip inside the room and take a seat in the back row. This was unexpected. The man was supposed to be long gone and had promised never again to return to Kensington City. His presence could only spell trouble. What did he want?

"I'd hoped that Ms. Manchester would be here today to discuss The Mick," The Mayor said. "I understand that she's been unavoidably detained."

Bitterman stood up and began shouting. "Mayor, haven't you seen the news? Manchester brought down the power grid in The Big Apple."

"That's not true," The Mayor said. Why was Bitterman trying to blame Alexa? To take the heat off The Momaxita? This wasn't good. But The Mayor had to play along. "The Manchesters have been benefactors of this community and the world for—"

"She's also an heiress and in control of the world's energy!" Bitterman responded. "Who else is to blame?"

There were shouts of agreement and calls for Alexa's arrest. How like the rabble to turn against one of their own, The Mayor thought.

"Order, order!" The Mayor shouted over the din. "Chief Petaud, you and your men take anyone into custody who causes any further disruption."

When a phalanx of police officers stepped forward, The Mayor scanned the audience but saw no sign of Bitterman.

"Now as I was trying to inform the council, I took a drive down to the river and am happy to report that the water is flowing at full force again," The Mayor said. "There was unexpected snowfall in the highlands. The good news is that the water shortage is over for Kensington City for the time being."

"What about The Magpie?" someone shouted. "It went crazy, shut down all the electricity on the grid. And what happened in The Big Apple? Those are both Manchester holdings. Who else is to blame if not Alexa?"

Another man stood. "I'm a businessman, and the power problems stopped production at my bottling plant," he said. "We're in danger of losing a contract from our major customer, which means we could be bankrupt. I don't care what you say, Mayor. I blame Manchester."

The door burst open, and Alexa Manchester walked in. The crowd fell silent. She strode confidently down the main aisle. There was something different about her, The Mayor thought—she seemed more radiant than usual. The word _dazzling_ came to mind.

"My apologies to the Council for my tardiness," she said. "I'm here to address the City Council and citizens of Kensington City about recent events."

The Mayor beckoned Alexa to the stage. She climbed the stairs and went to the podium. "Mayor, if I may," she said. "The Mick is running back at full capacity. As to Monday's incident there, I apologize. I know that many of you—perhaps most of you—want to hold me responsible. Well, citizens of Kensington City, I take full responsibility. Just as my father taught me to do. But I assure you that there's no truth to some of the scandalous reports that we intentionally reduced power or shut down the grid because of some ulterior motive—whatever that would be."

"Leverage to get more fees from the government," a woman shouted. "Just like that company Enderon did many years ago."

"You all know that my father and I have never been interested in that," Alexa said. "We've been fortunate to have means. If we were interested in money, we could've gone public with our holdings years ago and lived in The Big Apple or Parisia or TinselTown. That hasn't happened."

"What about The Magpie that was supposed to end the world's energy crisis?" someone hollered.

"We don't know what happened to The Magpie generator," Alexa said. "We've decided to retire it to give the plant engineers time to analyze and repair the problem. I remain confident in my father's work. He had full faith in The Magpie and what it could bring us."

"Then what happened in The Big Apple? You supply the energy to that city, too."

The Mayor wanted to put a stop to these haranguing questions, but he feared that if he tried, he'd have a riot on his hands. Besides, Alexa was acquitting herself quite well.

"My company was sabotaged," Alexa said. "We're investigating. Meanwhile, that was an attack, not only on the citizens of The Big Apple, but on me as well. The problem was solved when a third party intervened."

"You mean Electromancer?" a woman asked. "Another media hoax."

"Electromancer isn't a hoax," Alexa said.

The room fell silent for a moment, and then there were titters. Some had to stifle laughter. With that statement, Alexa seemed to have lost all credibility. For his part, The Mayor thought that she'd gone temporarily mad, to believe in an electrified superhero. The good news was that the laughter seemed to defuse the anger in the room.

"I have a question, Ms. Manchester," Debra Debit, one of the council members, said. The Mayor didn't like Debit. She was angling for his job, always supporting CABOOSE and trying to turn WEEDS against him. But now, he was grateful that she was changing the subject.

Debit continued, "For everyone's safety, wouldn't it be best to end The Magpie experiment and bury the Electromite in a lead coffin so that it can't do any more harm? We cannot allow a public utility, though owned and operated by your family's corporation, to put any citizen's life at risk. I'm not convinced that what happened at The Mick is not related to what happened in The Big Apple. It seems odd to me that two disasters have occurred like this, and if fingers must point—"

"Someone else is behind this," Alexa said. "He goes by the name of Momo and controls a criminal enterprise called The Momaxita."

The Mayor felt his cheeks flush. There were more murmurs in the crowd. He wouldn't have been surprised if some of the good citizens of Kensington City called for Alexa to be committed to the loony bin.

"We can't let progress be stopped by some madman," Alexa said. "My father worked too hard for this. To help you all. The Magpie was sabotaged, and it all leads back to this Momo. As far as burying the Electromite, that doesn't make good sense, Council Member Debit. My father had full faith in the mineral, studied its effects, and determined that it will safely create a limitless source of energy."

A smirking reporter made his way to the front. "So tell us more about Electromancer, Ms. Manchester. Are you and she personal friends? Do you take tea together? Double date?"

Alexa's mouth went slack jawed. For the first time, she seemed to realize that she was being mocked. For a moment, it appeared that she was going to lose her temper—The Mayor could almost see the sparks coming out of her eyes—but then she seemed to make a Herculean effort to calm herself down. This wasn't such a bad development, The Mayor thought. A vulnerable Alexa was a more receptive Alexa. Perhaps that would help with his marriage proposal. And now he could come to her rescue.

"I can vouch for Ms. Manchester's honesty and credibility," The Mayor said. "If she believes there is an Electromancer, so do I. In fact, Alexa and I are engaged to be married."

The Mayor looked down at Alexa's hand. She wasn't wearing the ring he'd given her, but instead held it between her fingers. He took the ring before she could stop him and slid it back onto her finger and then held up her hands for all to see. "Isn't that right, my dearest?" he said, staring into Alexa's eyes.

"Well, I . . . I," Alexa said.

The Mayor faced the audience. "Not only that, we plan to be married before the next election for Prime Minister, as I have every intention of making a very important announcement in the coming days. I'm so happy that I could jump for joy." And indeed, The Mayor did feel an urge to spring up into the sky, to leap from aisle to aisle and share his happiness.

Dani Dowdy, who'd long had designs on The Mayor, promptly fainted into the arms of the man seated to her right, while her twin sister, Della, also hopeful that The Mayor would choose her, warbled a disappointed, "No, it can't be." The two women, glamorous socialites who resembled Marilyn Monroe in double vision, had often publically vied for The Mayor's affections.

The rest of the crowd burst out in a round of applause, many shouting congratulations. The Mayor was beaming, his arm around Alexa's waist. She stood stiffly, with an equally stiff smile on her face. Then she pulled away from him, hurried down the stairs, and rushed out of the building.

Suddenly, Miss Hensinger, who obviously hadn't left to tend to her flowers yet, pushed her way to the front. "Now look who's acting frisky. Gone and turned himself into a fool. Never mind all that, Mayor. It seems Mr. Zachary Zero has slipped away again." She turned to District Attorney Stumpy Stellar. "Sir, if you can't guarantee good work from your felons out on parole, then I suggest that you lock them up. Now, has anyone here seen Zero?"

"There he is," a man shouted, pointing to Zero trying to slip out a side door.

"Catch that rascal!" Miss Hensinger cried.

"I'll get him for you, Henny," Mr. Corn said, and in a mad dash, he started toward the side door.

"Never you mind. I can catch him myself, Corny!" Miss Hensinger said and immediately dashed out in pursuit of the parolee, followed by the ever-persistent Mr. Corn.

When the crowd laughed at the spectacle, The Mayor again pounded his gavel. With Alexa's abrupt departure, he no longer felt springy and giddy. Under the circumstances, he couldn't follow her.

"Ladies and gentleman, order," he said. "Please. Let's come to order. Let's take up the matter of that eyesore, the Sugar Express Train Depot."

The CABOOSE members stood up, raising signs protesting against the destruction of the depot.

Before The Mayor could make his statement, the door to the room burst open. It was Alexa Manchester. The Mayor exhaled in relief, but then saw the look on her face.

"Is there something wrong, Ms. Manchester?" he asked, though it was completely out of order to do so.

"Yes," Alexa said. "I'm here because I want to be completely transparent with the citizens of Kensington City, as I promised I would. I just spoke to Charles Chin, chief engineer at The Mick. It seems that the Electromite is gone."

"What do you mean gone?" The Mayor asked.

"Gone as in stolen!"

# Chapter 10

_Later that afternoon . . ._

Alexa sat in silence as Sigfred drove her back to the mansion. She felt ill, betrayed. She felt like a failure. Her fellow citizens had mocked her, derided her, acted as if she were both crazy and corrupt. Now, someone had stolen the Electromite. Was it Momo? The Mayor had suggested that the mineral hadn't been stolen but disintegrated when The Magpie's internal core went into meltdown. Charles Chin disagreed—if there had been a meltdown, there would've been trace elements found on The Magpie's floor, and there were none. Alexa also tried to tell The Mayor about Momo and his threats, but he clearly didn't believe her, even when Sigfred confirmed it. But Bobby Baumgartner was a decent man. He'd rescued her from the wrath of the angry citizens of Kensington City.

Alexa stared down at the emerald ring on her finger, wondering how long The Mayor had felt this way about her. How could she have been so blind about his affections? He'd always seemed so enamored with the Dowdy twins. Maybe she'd intimidated him, and he'd finally gotten the courage to share his feeling for her. He was handsome, wealthy, and eminently successful, always serving the people. Why couldn't she love a man like that?

Sigfred's cell phone rang, and to her chagrin, he picked it up. She hated it when he drove and talked on the phone at the same time. During the call, he responded with mostly "yes," "no," and "I didn't know that." They didn't speak until they'd almost reached the mansion.

"So, you've accepted Mayor Baumgartner's proposal of marriage," Sigfred said. "How could you lead him on like that?"

"I beg your pardon. I'm not leading him on."

"Oh, really, Ms. Manchester? Have you told him you're _Electromancer_?"

The words came at her like a bolt of lightning. "I don't plan on being Electromancer ever again. You don't seem to realize that I almost got myself killed in The Big Apple. If it hadn't been for—" Alexa thought back to the incident at the power plant and how that awful man had sprayed water on her, trying to electrocute her. No, not _her_. He was trying to kill Electromancer.

"You were so determined to make things right," Sigfred said. "Have you given up already?"

Just how did he expect her to respond?

"What happened to the messenger who delivered the package from Momo?" she asked. "Have you identified him yet? Found him?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the answer is no."

"Well, then you haven't made things right, either. And _you_ didn't have to penetrate the casing of a high-voltage generator. All you had to do was identify a messenger."

He took a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts. "Your powers are needed, Ms. Manchester. This isn't over and will only get worse. The Big Apple may have had its electricity restored, but you can be assured that Momo isn't finished with his war on you."

Alexa felt the anger rise, the tiny prickles of electricity beginning to course through her body. She didn't know if she was angry at Sigfred or herself. But she did know that if she didn't control herself, she'd explode in rage at the thought of Momo. "What are my choices, here, Sigfred?"

"Not easy ones, Ms. Manchester. You can either give in to a terrorist like Momo by transferring control of the Manchester holdings and hope that he'll be satisfied and won't wreak more havoc on the world, or you can fight him."

"What are the odds that he'll be satisfied if I give him the holdings?"

Sigfred shook his head.

She understood. "Then there's only one choice. Electromancer."

"I'm afraid so, and that leaves no room for The Mayor. Whom you don't love anyway."

She wanted to argue, but she suddenly felt exhausted. Why debate it any longer? More than that, Sigfred might be right.

When they reached the mansion, Gladys greeted Alexa at the front door, and Sigfred drove away to the market to pick up some provisions for Chef Yurdlemon. Alexa didn't know if she should laugh or cry. A moment ago, she and Sigfred were talking about saving the world, and now he was speeding down the highway in search of veal chops and fava beans.

"Is it true?" Gladys asked.

Alexa held up her hand. "Mayor Baumgartner, my fiancé, will be announcing his candidacy for the prime ministerial election in the coming months. I suspect late next spring." She hoped Gladys didn't detect the ambivalence in her voice.

An awkward silence passed. Alexa waited for Gladys to utter some words of approval. They never came. What Gladys did say was, "The Mayor's executive assistant called while you were at the power plant this afternoon. It seems that you and The Mayor are hosting an engagement dinner party this Saturday evening. At your residence, I might add. The assistant already provided a guest list. Bobby Baumgartner certainly works fast. I've been tasked to prepare the invitations. We've sent _save-the-date_ e-mails to all the invitees."

All this was happening so quickly, almost at the speed of light—the speed of an electrical current. Alexa felt that this was all wrong, but then she looked at the ring, which sparkled green.

"Yes, an engagement party," she said almost without volition. "Brilliant, Gladys. Help me decide what to wear."

Alexa walked up the staircase to her bedroom suite with Gladys following close behind. Miss Marbletop was perched in her favorite chair soaking up the late afternoon rays. After stroking the cat's head, Alexa went into the dressing room, where she began sorting through dresses.

"Nothing works," she said. "I don't think any of these suit my figure anymore." Her motions became frantic, and she felt a wave of panic.

Gladys put a hand on her shoulder. "Stop, dear."

Alexa closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

"Are you all right, Alexa?"

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just that . . . "

Gladys went to the far end of the closet and found a shimmering silver gown. "This one will be perfect, dear."

Alexa nodded. Silver . . . the color of electrical sparks. She walked over, sat down on the edge of her bed, and patted the space next to her. Gladys sat down beside her.

Alexa held up her left hand. "It _is_ a beautiful ring, isn't it?"

"Yes, dear. Exquisite. I've never seen a more perfect emerald." There was no excitement in Gladys's tone. If anything, she sounded sad.

"Say it, Gladys."

"This dinner you've planned . . . Alexa, it doesn't make any sense. It's the day after Momo's deadline. You're talking about an engagement party while the world's future is at stake. And Bobby Baumgartner isn't someone you . . . Have you told him about Electromancer?"

Alexa shook her head. "First Sigfred and now you. Who says I want to be Electromancer? Who says that the shutdown at The Big Apple was caused by Momo? What if it was merely an accident? Coincidences happen all the time. What if I do transfer all of the holdings to Momo? If I marry Bobby, I'll have plenty of his money."

"Is this about money and security, Alexa? Gold digging? That's not you. When you left here this morning for the City Council meeting, you intended to make it clear to The Mayor that you wouldn't marry him. What's changed?"

Alexa looked at the emerald again. The jewel sparkled brightly as it caught the light, almost as if it were shooting off beams of pure electricity. "I never knew emeralds sparkled like diamonds. I always thought of them as colorful, but not . . . I had a crush on Bobby as a girl. Maybe I'm truly in love with him. It's all so dreamy." Alexa did feel lightheaded, as if she were in the middle of a pleasant dream.

"Alexa, it's impossible. You're Electromancer, there's a madman after you, and your head is suddenly in the clouds. You have to come to your senses!" Gladys grabbed Alexa's hand and rather roughly removed the ring from her finger. She closed her fist, concealing it.

"Give that back!" Alexa shouted, feeling the anger rising.

"I will not. Not even if you transform and shoot electricity at me."

Alexa did feel a slight current of electricity rising, but then looked at Gladys's face, all at once stern, resolute, and loving, and her anger faded.

"I would never harm you," Alexa said.

"I know that, dear. But tell me . . . how do you feel now?"

"I feel . . . a bit like a fog is lifting. Normal."

"How do you feel about Bobby Baumgartner? Do you still feel that love?"

Alexa thought for a moment. Whatever feelings that had caused her to express a desire to marry The Mayor had evaporated. She couldn't even recall the feeling. Abruptly, tears welled up in her eyes. "Gladys, what's happening to me?"

"It's the ring, I believe. Or more precisely the emerald. It's as if the thing has bewitched you. Mesmerized you."

In a flash, it all made sense. She'd gone to the council meeting intending to tell The Mayor that she wasn't going to accept his proposal. During the hubbub that had occurred during the meeting, The Mayor had slipped the ring back on her finger, and in front of the entire world, he made it known that he intended to marry her. Only when that emerald was on her finger did she accept his proposal—the precise opposite of how she'd felt in the morning. The precise opposite of the way she felt now.

"Should I cancel the engagement dinner?" Gladys asked.

"No. I don't want to embarrass Bobby that way. I'll go on with the charade for a while longer and then break it off afterward. I'll be the heavy. He'll do better marrying one of the Dowdy twins anyway. Damn it all, he can marry them both." She gazed out the window and up into the sky. She imagined herself flying through all its vastness. Yes, the answer was in her heart. She would soar—that was her role in life.

"While I've been sitting here talking about banalities, Momo is out there, planning to attack The City of Angels," Alexa said. "Worse, someone stole the Electromite. I suspect it's Momo, which will give him even more power. I . . . Electromancer has to stop this madness. There's no other choice."

"My dear, you have a heart of pure gold."

Alexa tipped her head toward her shoulder. "No, Gladys. More like platinum." At that moment, Alexa realized that her family heirlooms—the diamond and platinum jewels—had not been lost or stolen, but had been absorbed inside of her body when she was pulled inside The Magpie and transformed into Electromancer. Perhaps becoming Electromancer wasn't something that had just happened to her. Perhaps it had been her destiny all along.

Alexa gazed over at the silver gown hanging on the hook. "The gown is perfect. Perhaps by Saturday, we'll be rid of Momo, and the party can be a victory celebration."

The problem was, after what had almost happened to her in The Big Apple, Alexa didn't know whether her "engagement party" would become her memorial service instead.

# Chapter 11

_On that fateful Friday . . ._

At his secluded mountain estate in the Mullgany Mountains, Momo woke from his afternoon nap. The long-awaited day had arrived. If all went as planned, Momo would have control over the Manchester fortune by five o'clock this evening. This meant that tonight would call for a celebration like no other.

He tossed his nightcap onto the bed, rose, and found his maroon-colored lounging robe. Then he slid into his slippers and barreled out of his bedchamber toward the elevator that led down to the secret laboratory. He thought briefly of stopping at the kitchen first for a quick, hearty snack before dinner, but forged on to check on the repair status of The Big Zapper. He had deadlines to meet, cities to destroy. Delay was intolerable. If there was one thing in the world Momo simply could not tolerate, it was a nincompoop, which meant Professor Slipter had better have his weapon ready. Or else. When Momo entered the room, he immediately saw the gangly legs of Professor Slipter hanging out from beneath The Big Zapper. Half a dozen men raced to and fro doing their best to keep up with Professor Slipter's instructions.

"Does this aimless scurrying around mean that my weapon of mass destruction isn't ready yet?" Momo bellowed.

Professor Slipter, who lay prone atop an automotive creeper, rolled out from underneath The Big Zapper. "Sir! I was just about to tighten the last wing nut. We'll be ready to go in five minutes, tops." He grinned up at Momo with pride.

"Don't just lie there smiling like a fool," Momo said. "Tighten the damn wing nut!"

Professor Slipter shuddered visibly and, in a quavering voice, ordered his assistant to hand him a molecular screwdriver.

The assistant shakily stepped forward, all the while looking at Momo. At the same moment, Professor Slipter repositioned the creeper three inches to the right. The assistant tripped over it, and down he went. The impact caused Professor Slipter to roll back under The Big Zapper. The molecular screwdriver flew from the man's hand, struck the floor, and bounced up and into the air. A steady stream of electron particles shot from the nozzle and struck a control board on The Big Zapper. The board sizzled and erupted into hot amber sparks worthy of a Fourth of July fireworks display. The room filled with the acrid odor of flaming circuitry. A burning ember flew at Momo and singed the ends of his hair—what little he had left. Momo stumbled backward, but was caught just in time by another assistant rushing to his aide.

Momo pointed a finger at the assistant. "You nincompoop," he snarled.

"I'm sorry, sir," the assistant said in a frightened, sniveling voice.

Momo pointed to the molecular screwdriver. "Someone hand me that tool. I have some things that _I_ need to repair."

There was an audible gasp. One of the other assistants, a large man, broke out into sobs.

"Please," the clumsy assistant said. "It was a mistake." The man backed away in fear, only to step directly into the stream of supercharged flames spewing out of the damaged control panel on The Big Zapper. The poor man didn't have time to scream before he was disintegrated, leaving not a trace of him behind.

"Hmm," Momo said. "Why was he so panicked?"

Professor Slipter rolled out from under The Big Zapper. "With all due respect, sir, I think he feared that you were going to shoot him with the molecular screwdriver."

"Where would he get that idea?" Momo said. "Everyone makes mistakes. I was only going to take a stab at putting out the electrical fire." He aimed the screwdriver at the control panel, pushed the button, and the flames were immediately extinguished.

Professor Slipter got up and went over to the damaged panel. "Not to worry, we have a replacement." He snapped his fingers. "The backup panel!"

Three assistants hurried into a back room.

Once Momo was satisfied with the Professor's progress, he returned to his study and ordered his chef to bring him a snack consisting of a loaf of rustic bread, a wheel of Camembert, two pounds of prosciutto, and a pint of Kalamata olives. Then he buzzed Biggie Bitterman, who appeared at the door in ten seconds.

"Ring me up those Dowdy twins you've been telling me so much about," Momo said. "It's been too long since I've had the pleasure of the company of the fairer sex."

"What'll I tell them, sir?"

"Tell them that I'm a wealthy industrialist just arrived back in the area from my world travels. If what you've told me about them is true, that'll be enough to get them here. Tell them they're invited to dine with me tonight on the veranda. There will be a string quartet _and_ a rock band. You said they like to dance. I intend on some private sessions with the sisters."

When Bitterman left, Momo settled back into his chair, munched on his snack, and looked at a photograph of the twins.

_Two girls are better than one_ , he thought. He stared at their chests and added, _four melons are better than two!_

A loud knock at the door jolted him out of his erotic fantasies.

"Who is it?" Momo asked.

"It's Professor Slipter, sir."

"It better be good!"

Professor Slipter slowly opened the door and poked his head inside. "I just wanted to let you know The Big Zapper is ready."

Momo rocked forward on his desk chair and sprang to his feet as though performing a vault by an Olympic gymnast, a remarkable feat for a man of his size and brawny build. "Finally." He glanced down at his watch. Twenty minutes and counting. He picked up the telephone and buzzed Bitterman again. "Biggie, what's taking you so long? Inform the Dowdy sisters that I'll send the helicopter. They're to be ready by seven."

Shortly after Momo hung up the phone, Bitterman came barreling into the office and came to a sudden stop.

"Well?" Momo asked. "What are you doing just standing here?"

Bitterman began to stammer. "Aa . . . ah, sir."

"Before you pick up the twins, get to the drop box. I want the keys to the mansion. I can't move in right away, of course. But it will be symbolic." Momo licked his lips as if tasting prime rib, one of his all-time favorites.

"I'm, well, I'm afraid . . . "

"Get to the point, Biggie."

"There's a slight . . . "

"What?"

"Problem. You see, the twins have headaches. It was hard to make out exactly what they were saying. I asked about Saturday instead, but they said they were already committed for the evening."

"Didn't you tell them to take an aspirin? Cancel their Saturday plans?"

"I strongly suggested that they do so, but it seems that the Dowdy twins—or one of them, I don't know—have been jilted. Della said something about having to be at the Manchester mansion on Saturday for a celebration dinner. They're going there to try to break it up."

"Break what up?"

"Seems that Mayor Bobby Baumgartner has gone and got himself engaged to Ms. Alexa Manchester."

"My . . . " Momo caught himself, his mouth agape. He couldn't possibly say what he wanted. There were some things that had to remain private.

"Dani means to get him back," Bitterman said. "And if not Dani, Della."

"I don't care one whit about that idiot mayor's love life," Momo said. "If there's a party at the mansion Saturday night, it must mean that Alexa Manchester doesn't intend to transfer the Manchester holdings as planned." He shook his head. "Foolish girl. She'll just have to be taught a lesson."

Bitterman cleared his throat. "Out of curiosity sir, why the Manchester estate? You could have any mansion in the world. Any palace."

"Because it's mine for the taking, Biggie. Now mind your own business." He turned to Professor Slipter, who looked as if he'd been trying to melt into the walls. "Set your targets on The City of Angels."

Professor Slipter hunched his shoulders and lowered his neck like a frightened turtle. "I hope it won't be too devastating."

"What do you mean?" Momo asked.

"The drought. The terrain is susceptible to deadly brushfires. If we zap the city, we can cause a fire worse than the Chicago and San Francisco fires combined."

Momo nodded. "Exactly, Slipter. Now, what's your point?"

"If you destroy the city, you'll kill thousands of people."

"I'll do what's necessary to convince Alexa Manchester to convey all the Manchester holdings. If she doesn't, then she'll be the one to blame for causing all of the death and destruction. Not us. So don't worry, Slipter. Your conscience can be clear. I know mine is."

# Chapter 12

_Erstwhile . . ._

In the days leading up to the fateful Friday and Momo's deadline, Alexa spent her time learning the secrets of her new powers. The moment she'd embraced her identity as Electromancer, controlling her powers became easier. She could fly, direct electricity, and even transform her body without burning off her clothing. In the nanosecond before her body transformed into Electromancer, she could elongate, slip out of Alexa's clothing, and don her platinum suit—so fast that the naked eye would never see her nude.

There also seemed to be another power lurking, but she didn't understand it. Occasionally, she felt as though she had a kind of telepathic perception, the ability not to read minds, exactly, but to understand the emotions of others. The impressions came only in fragments and were often disjointed. With no real clarity about it, she considered that what she was sensing might only be the by-product of erratic electrical currents that had affected her own thought patterns, which only made it _seem_ like these were the emotions or thoughts of others. The ability to fly and control electricity was enough to keep her busy in the following days.

Finally, Friday arrived. It was ten minutes before five in the afternoon—Momo's deadline. Alexa Manchester didn't welcome the deadline's arrival, but in a strange way, Electromancer did—she would have the opportunity to fight evil. Or better yet, Momo would turn out to be all bluster, and there would be no more evil to fight.

Alexa hurried from one window to the next to see if anything unusual was happening outside of the mansion, and then she would look at the television screen and check the Internet for reports of unusual activity. So far, nothing.

From outside on the back veranda, Miss Marbletop meowed. Alexa opened the door and let the cat inside, then shut the door again, and stayed on the veranda, scanning the grounds of the Manchester estate. Nothing seemed amiss.

All too soon, she heard the clock inside the house chime five times. She stood on the porch and looked out in the distance at nothing, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

Miss Marbletop sprang up on the railing beside her and meowed. It was as if the cat had appeared out of nowhere.

"How did you get out here?" Alexa said to the cat. "I thought I shut the door."

Miss Marbletop began slinking back and forth as though walking a tightrope. Suddenly, the cat arched her back and hissed.

"What is it?" Alexa asked.

The doors of the gardener's storage shed had slammed shut, eerie, because there was no breeze at all. A shiver went up Alexa's spine, the electricity of fear, not heroism. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one was there. She turned to pick up the cat, but Miss Marbletop had disappeared. When the cat didn't respond to her call, Alexa decided it was time to go inside. Just as she'd thought, the door was closed. Oddly enough, Miss Marbletop was now waiting inside.

"There you are, you funny bird," Alexa said, and for the hundredth time in the past few days, she wondered if she was losing her mind.

Gladys entered Alexa's quarters. "You'd better come have a look at the television."

Alexa felt her spine curl with electricity, but she refrained from transforming. They hurried along to the media room, where Sigfred had his eyes fixed on the jumbo screen.

There was Momo, hiding behind that gold mask, his massive, muscular arms folded over his chest.

"You have defied me, Alexa," Momo said in his booming voice. "Behold what your stubbornness and foolishness have wrought on innocent people. Their blood is on your hands." The scene shifted to an aerial view of what was unmistakably The City of Angels.

Alexa studied the screen. So far, nothing untoward appeared to be going on. She left the room, and in a flash, transformed into Electromancer. She shot into the sky, leaving a wake of electricity. Soon she was flying over The City of Angels, taking in the identical panoramic view that she'd seen on Momo's screen.

She raced along the coast, scanning for trouble. Nothing so far. She soared over the foothills and the higher Archangel Mountains, then back over the valleys. Nothing.

Then a huge burst of electricity split the sky, its voltage a thousand times greater than Mother Nature's most powerful lightning bolt. It struck land in the hills above the Angelus Bowl, the world-famous outdoor amphitheater nestled in a highly populated residential area above The City of Angels. A brush fire immediately ignited. Too late for Electromancer to quash.

Then she saw—no, she _sensed_ —an even larger __ bolt about to strike on the other side of town.

She thrust out her arms and shot a beam of electricity directly at the lethal dart of energy. When the two bolts met, they connected and changed course. She flew under the stream of electricity and made contact with it. With all her might, she began fighting to control the force. When she had it in her grasp, she carried the bolt up into the atmosphere and released it inside an enormous thundercloud, where it burst into a gazillion highly charged particles and combined with the energy of the cloud's electrons.

Another bolt appeared on the horizon. Then another. All she could do was to fight one beam after the other. She battled valiantly, but there were too many. Several bolts made it to the ground, igniting more fires.

Soon she was fighting a maelstrom of bolts, clinging to each that she captured with only her fingertips and toes. Before long, she'd run out of fingers and toes.

She had to do something, fast. But what? Then she got the idea of pitting the offending spears of lightning against themselves. Like a top rodeo performer, she used the bolts that she held in her hands as a lasso, encircling the enemy charges of electricity as they came in. The electrical strands whipped erratically around the sky like Medusa's snakes gone wild, which produced a gargantuan electrical storm of a magnitude never before seen. If she lost control of all the bolts, she would destroy the city.

On the horizon, a brilliant blue cloud suddenly appeared. Its color was piercing and seemed to change from indigo to royal blue as it raced toward her and the storm. Electromancer feared that Momo had unleashed a far more destructive weapon, one that she couldn't overcome. But the closer the blue cloud came, the more she realized that there was something strangely familiar about it. Then she realized that it wasn't a cloud at all. It was Blue Arrow—the very Blue Arrow who had appeared in The Big Apple at the power plant when all had seemed lost.

Blue Arrow stopped abruptly before reaching her and the storm. He spoke in a deep masculine voice, and yet he wasn't speaking—perhaps she truly could read thoughts.

"You are the power," Blue Arrow said. "Control it. Make it succumb to you."

Electromancer struggled to understand. How could she do any more than what she was already doing? She was nearly overcome by fatigue and frustration. The ever-growing number of electrical currents crackled and twisted in her hands. She felt as if she were trying to hold on to a slew of F5 cyclones.

"Only you control the electricity," Blue Arrow said.

"I can't," she cried. "Momo's electricity is never ending."

"Then fail," he said. "That way you prevail."

"I don't understand," she said. "Help me!"

"I cannot safely enter the electrical field. My powers are different, weak here. Yours are strong. You are the electricity."

_I'm Electromancer; I can do this_ , she thought to herself. But she was losing the battle. More bolts were escaping her grip. "Can you tell me what to do?"

Blue Arrow elongated his form. From the head of the arrow to his fletching, he formed a circle around Electromancer and the electrical storm, making sure to keep his distance. He flew around and around, his speed increasing. It all seemed meaningless, but suddenly she remembered his words: _then fail._

There was no need to fight the current, not when she could control it. So she submitted to the electricity and became one with the other bolts of energy, until they merged.

"Obey me!" Electromancer cried in her crystalline voice.

The wild electrical currents instantly became tame. She whirled her arms over her head. Without any resistance, the strands began circling in unison above her arms. Electromancer had figured out how to harness the force and was now forming an electrical wheel. Any new incoming bolts of electricity simply changed course and joined the wheel, drawn to it by electrical force.

Before long, there were no more incoming bolts of electricity. Momo must have given up or run out of ammunition. No matter, it was time. Electromancer flew through the center of the electrical wheel and rose high into the atmosphere. There, she whirled the wheel around, and in one giant heave, she released it from her being and sent it sailing into outer space like a quasar taking a one-way road to oblivion.

By the time Electromancer returned to earth, Blue Arrow had gone. There was no trace of him. She felt disappointed—no, she felt like a lovesick puppy set to the road. But she had to put those feelings aside—she had work to do.

She flew to the hills above the Angelus Bowl, where firefighters were busily fighting the blaze. The fire was spreading too quickly for them to contain it. With her fingers and toes, she blasted the earth with electrical sparks, creating controlled perimeters around the wild blaze—literally fighting fire with fire. She moved from one fire to the next until all of the fires in and around the city were extinguished. When the job was complete, she rose above the city and landed on the "L" of the TinselTown sign. From below, she heard the roar of the people of The City of Angels, and what she heard were not cries of anger, but cries of elation. The people of The City of Angels were thanking her.

Electromancer slowly flew to toward the ground and hovered above the television cameras so everyone could see her. "You're safe for now," she said.

"You're Electromancer," a man said.

"Yes. And please, always know that I am here to help."

"Who's behind this madness?" a reporter asked. "Alexa Manchester?"

"She has nothing to do with this. She's a victim. It's some clown who calls himself _Momo_ ," Electromancer said.

"You mean that person who supposedly runs The Momaxita?" a woman reporter asked. "Isn't that an urban myth?"

"The Momaxita is all too real," Electromancer said.

"Why are they attacking our city?" someone else asked.

"I wish I knew," Electromancer said. "But rest assured that I'm going to find out." And with that, she flashed across the sky and was gone.

# Chapter 13

_Back in Kensington City . . ._

The night after Momo had dealt with nincompoops in his laboratory and zapped The City of Angels with billions of volts of electricity, Mayor Bobby Baumgartner was dressing for his Saturday night engagement dinner party. The lightning storm in The City of Angels was all over the news. Not that The Mayor cared about what had happened in a city across the ocean. He didn't believe the nonsense that Momo was behind the attacks. What The Mayor did care about was that the evening's soiree would bring him one step closer to ensnaring Alexa Manchester in marriage and his taking over the Manchester fortune.

Sure, Alexa had played hard to get at first, but a lot of women did that. Like all the other women, she'd quickly surrender to his charm and good looks. What a handsome couple they'd make! She'd help him become prime minister, and after that, there'd be no stopping him. The world would be his—and so would Alexa. No more of her crazy ideas that she could run The Mick or save the world with affordable energy. In exchange, he'd lavish on her the finest things in life (though he'd use her money to do it). He knew he was old fashioned in thinking this way, but so often, the old-fashioned ideas proved to be the best.

As he looked at himself in the mirror and tied the perfect knot in his baby-blue bow tie, Bobby smiled at himself with great satisfaction. There was something in the shape of his smile that suddenly made him light-headed. His hamstrings, quadriceps, and calf muscles cramped all at once, as if they were waging World War III against each other. He was overwhelmed with queasiness, and his mouth flooded with saliva. He had the urge to spit, and so hurried to the bathroom, where he expectorated a foul tasting liquid into the sink. The greenish-black-colored substance swirled around the basin and rushed down the drain. He should have felt disgusted but wasn't. Instead, as soon as he expelled the substance, he felt remarkably refreshed, and his appetite returned. He hoped that Chef Yurdlemon would not disappoint with an exquisite menu tonight.

After brushing his teeth for the second time, The Mayor was now ready to depart for the Manchester estate. He restraightened his bowtie and reexamined his profile in the mirror, smiling at his reflection, noting the brilliant gleam of his teeth. There had never been a more dashing and handsome man, he thought to himself.

Once downstairs, he started toward the back hallway, which led toward the garage that housed his gold Lamborghini. Just as he was retrieving his car key from his pocket, he was startled by loud pounding on the back door. Bobby jumped, springing unnaturally high, bumped his head on a hanging light, and landed on all fours. He shook his head like a stunned fighter trying to clear his mind. Preposterous—this foyer had eighteen-foot ceilings! He couldn't possibly have jumped so high. He had a horrible thought—what if the Electromite _had_ affected him? No, he must've tripped and hit his head against a shelf. The blow must've caused some kind of hallucination that had led him to believe that he'd hit the ceiling lamp. Still, he did feel especially light on his feet.

And why wouldn't he, given what was going to happen tonight?

He regained his composure and went to the back door. Where were his blasted servants? Off for the night already? He opened the door to find Zachary Zero gazing at him with blood-shot eyes.

The Mayor pulled Zero inside so that no one would see him. "You look drunk, as usual. What are you doing here? Don't you have flowers to plant?"

Zero's clothing was stained with dirt, and his fingernails were filthy. He'd clearly had a long day's work planting flowers. "Mayor, you've got to help me. Those WEEDS women are killing me. Don't make me go back there. Please."

"Toughen up, Zero. Count your blessings that you're not locked up behind bars. If you were any kind of man, you wouldn't have stolen their flower money. You would've found something more macho to steal."

Zero shrugged. "I just thought you should know that I overheard Henrietta Hensinger talking."

"Why would I care what that old crone says? I'm late."

"Seems that Miss Henrietta Hensinger was talking with Mr. Corn."

"They hate each other. I don't need to listen to tales of their failed romance and twenty-year flirtation."

"No, it's not that, Boss. Mr. Corn was talking about saving the Sugar Express Train Depot. He said he and his CABOOSE pals found an old ordinance on the books that says the city can't lawfully let any of its property fall into disarray, disorder, or disrepair. That there'd be penalties to pay. Maybe even criminal sanctions if it's malicious or for an ulterior motive. He said that any member of the city's Trust Advisory Board can approve immediate action be taken if the city neglects its obligations and duties and if the property has been in this condition for more than five years."

"That's exactly why the place is going to be demolished. No more disrepair."

"Yeah, but apparently Mr. Corn paid a visit to Alexa Manchester—she's a member of the Advisory Board as you know—and Ms. Manchester signed off on the approval for repairs to begin immediately."

"What?!"

"Don't shoot the messenger, Boss. I just thought you should know."

The Mayor grumbled inarticulately. His face grew hot with rage. He felt that any second, he would explode and go on a maniacal rampage. Then he belched. The sound was so ferocious that he might have been mistaken for a gaseous lion. Zero registered surprise, but not as much surprise as The Mayor was feeling inside.

"What else do you know?" The Mayor asked when his insides had settled down a bit.

"Those amateur engineers from CABOOSE are already down at the Sugar Express working. Wood has been delivered, paint, nails, everything. The stuff is being delivered by the truckload. They didn't waste any time. And those women are down there, too, making their plans for planting flowers, bushes, ornamental trees, you name it."

"Why are you telling me this? What do you want?"

"For you to rescue me from those flower ladies. If I look left, they swat me with switches. I look right, they step in front of me like I'm going to bolt. I tell you, I can't take it. I'm thinking it might just be better to serve my time and get it over with, and I would, but they don't have any juice in the joint."

"You need to stay away from the liquor, Zachary."

Zero looked around the kitchen as though he'd heard quite the opposite of what The Mayor had just said. "I could use a little juice about now."

"Get out of here."

Zero turned toward the door, stopped, and looked back. "Have you heard the news, Mayor?"

The Mayor grimaced. He was growing impatient. "You just told me the news."

"No, the _other_ news, Boss."

"Zero, I said, 'Get out!'"

"There was a deadly thunderstorm or something in The City of Angels, causing fires, and the city was saved by that Electromancer lady. They say she fought electricity."

"I heard about that. It's all a media hoax. TinselTown meets BNN." Britannia National News network was supposed to be legitimate, but The Mayor considered it no better than the International Enquirist. "Now if you'll excuse me." The Mayor started to close the door, but Zero put a hand on his chest to stop him.

"What do you think you're doing?" The Mayor asked.

"You ever heard of someone called Momo?" Zero asked.

"Another hoax. Now, get going." The Mayor pushed on the door to close it, but Zero was stronger than he'd once been. All the lifting and planting must've strengthened him.

"There's been an awful lot of weird happenings going on since we stole that Electromite, Mayor."

"I didn't steal anything," The Mayor said defensively. "You did."

Zero narrowed his eyes. "That isn't the way I see it, Mayor."

The Mayor scowled at Zero. "You'll keep your mouth shut if you know what's good for you."

"If you ask me, I think you gave that rock to Momo."

The Mayor shoved Zero off the stoop. "Ridiculous. I told you, there is no Momo."

"You owe me Mr. Mayor. I don't want to be working for those ladies any longer."

"Do what you're told." The Mayor slammed the door shut, returned to his study, and searched the Internet. When he finished reading about the events that had occurred in The City of Angels, he was sure of one thing: Momo really was behind all the terror and destruction taking place. It wasn't a media hoax after all. And Zero was right—Momo _did_ have the Electromite, courtesy of Bobby Baumgartner, Mayor of Kensington City. When The Mayor realized the enormity of this, he no longer felt so spry.

• • •

Biggie Bitterman drove down through the mountains like a maniac. He was going to The Mick to filch the prototype casing. He didn't like it—the place would be crawling with coppers and private security guards. But like it or not, Momo had ordered him to do the job, so he couldn't say no. Besides, he was good at getting in and out of places without being noticed. It was one of his many talents and had served him well.

One talent that he didn't have was driving. His mind was always racing, thinking about the next score, so that he didn't always focus on what was in the road ahead of him. Another problem was his height—at four eleven in shoes, he could barely see over the steering wheel. Now, as always, he was sitting on a pillow, which made it difficult to reach the foot controls.

As he rounded the curve near the Sugar Express Train Depot, a man staggered into the road. There was no time to stop. Bitterman steered the car toward the shoulder as he tried to stomp his foot on the brake but couldn't reach it, and in his panic, he slid off his pillow and hit the gas pedal instead. He wrestled with the steering wheel, almost had it under control, but then the car unexpectedly hit a pothole—that damn Mayor Baumgartner had left the highway in disrepair—before careening wildly across the road. Bitterman, who, as always, had neglected to put on his seatbelt (he thought they were for wimps) was thrown into the backseat. As the car pogoed along, he was tossed around like a ragdoll. How fitting—with all the danger and violence that he'd experienced, he was going to die because he hit a pothole. The car spun around 180 degrees and ended up on the highway in the opposite direction, heading toward the Sugar Express. While Bitterman rolled around in the backseat trying to get his bearings, the car struck the man who'd caused all this, who was still staggering down the street. There was a sickening thud, and the pedestrian went sailing into the air. Had it not been for a utility pole the car ran into, Bitterman would have ended up in the Kensington River.

Bitterman regained consciousness just as the ambulances arrived to take the men to the hospital. He was relieved to be alive; his broken leg hurt like the dickens. But the pain from his leg was nothing compared to the pain that he'd suffer when Momo found out that the job at The Mick hadn't come off.

• • •

Indeed, Momo almost strangled the man who'd delivered the news about Bitterman's screw up—he'd never bought into that old platitude about not killing the messenger. Why not kill the messenger? They're annoying and only make you unhappy with their downer news. Besides, they choose their profession and so assume the risk of being killed by innocent crime bosses like Momo. He only spared the man's life because his cadre in the mountains was already getting thin, with the demise of two of Professor Slipter's assistants and now with Bitterman's accident.

He would've liked to strangle Bitterman as well—no, to incinerate him with that proton screwdriver—but he needed the man. No one was better at carrying out operations than Bigelow Bitterman. Bitterman wouldn't talk, either. The man might look like a rat, but he wasn't one. Besides, Bitterman knew what The Momaxita did to rats, and it wasn't a quick disappearance by proton screwdriver.

Blast it all! If The Big Zapper had worked properly—with the ceramic casing—the electrical bolts it had unleashed would've been better targeted, stronger, and more powerful than any weapon in the world. Not even Electromancer could've contained the all-powerful zaps.

Momo needed that prototype. He'd been able to attack The Big Apple and The City of Angels, but both operations had failed because of that Electromancer. Who was she? Where had she come from? It didn't matter—whoever she was, she was a problem, a big problem. He'd have to get rid of her and soon.

First, he had to get ahold of the prototype. But how? Then it dawned on Momo—he'd been going about this all wrong.

# Chapter 14

_Saturday evening . . ._

As her guests mingled in the formal living rooms of the Manchester mansion, Alexa was taking no joy in the evening's festivities. True, the party was shaping up to become one of the most memorable in the social history of Kensington City. Chef Yurdlemon had outdone himself. The vintage Veuve Clicquot and Bollinger champagne—Yurdlemon had selected wines for every taste—flowed freely. Servants carried silver trays lined with white doilies on which sat the most superb and decadent hors d'oeuvres imaginable: blue cheese crostini with balsamic-roasted grapes, marinated shrimp artichokes, blackberry-brie pizzettas, sesame salmon croquettes, Russian beluga caviar. Chef Yurdlemon had not skimped on the exotic Spanish paprika, truffle oil, or cold pressed extra virgin olive oil. Such a lavish affair—and yet Alexa wanted no part of it. She was still concerned about the citizens of The City of Angels and with what Momo would do next.

Another problem was that she was wearing Mayor Bobby Baumgartner's ring. Gladys had objected, even shouting at her for the first time since she was a toddler and had almost walked out into the busy superhighway during a shopping excursion. But what could Alexa do? She had to keep the charade going. She'd convinced herself that now that she'd embraced Electromancer, she could overcome whatever powers The Mayor's emerald had. So far, she hadn't felt anything strange.

Mayor Baumgartner was twenty minutes late, unusual for the skilled politician. Alexa hoped he didn't show up at all so she could call off the engagement right away. She deflated when she heard Stumpy Stellar, the district attorney, say, "There you are, Mayor. We were about to send out a search party."

A breathless Mayor walked over and shook Stellar's hand.

"I have to tell you something confidentially," Stellar said, but his voice was so loud that there was nothing confidential about it (Stellar couldn't hold his champagne). "I have it on good authority that Henrietta Hensinger has agreed to allow Conroy Corn to take her to dinner. I hear they've been working together rehabilitating the Sugar Express Train Depot."

"No, I haven't heard that," The Mayor mumbled.

"Cupid didn't just hit the bull's-eye with you and Alexa, I guess." Stellar guffawed. He was the only person laughing.

"Yes, of course."

Stellar glanced over at Alexa, who was standing in the corner. "Alexa. Come join us. The love of your life has arrived."

Alexa forced a smile and joined the group. The Mayor stiffly took her hand. He didn't seem in any better mood than she was. What made her jump was that Stellar, a married man, took her other hand and pressed his shoulder against hers.

"Did I tell you that you're looking radiant, Alexa?" Stellar said. "There's no one sexier than a woman in love." He winked at her and lowered his voice. "A woman in love is dangerous—the notorious femme fatale. Speaking of femmes fatales, have I ever shared with you my latest theory about crimes of passion in which a female commits murder because of a sudden strong impulse . . . " Stellar went on to pontificate about venue and jurisdiction, and malice aforethought, and then _mens rea_ and _actus reus_ , whatever those words meant, and all the while, he was touching Alexa's arm and shoulder and bumping up against her in a manner that was clearly inappropriate. Stellar had never behaved this way before; and she could tell that Mayor Baumgartner wanted to take a punch at the district attorney, but that wouldn't have been a politically astute move.

Finally, Alexa spotted the Dowdy twins. "Oh look, Mr. Stellar," Alexa said. "There are Della and Dani. I'm sure that they're just dying to hear about that juror who fainted last week in court when looking at those dreadful autopsy photographs."

Before Stellar could reply, Alexa took his arm and virtually dragged him over to speak with the twins, who seemed encased in an invisible bubble of expensive but decidedly slutty perfume. The Mayor glanced at Alexa, unable to hide his annoyance, but she ignored him.

"Hello, ladies," Alexa said brightly. "Stumpy here was just telling me the most marvelous stories, and I _know_ you'd like to hear them."

Della said, "Alexa, Dani and I need to speak with you about a small matter."

"I'm so sorry, I can't now. I'm needed in the kitchen. You know Chef Yurdlemon will only talk to me, and he's calling."

"Yes, but about Dani . . . " Della said.

Luckily, there was a loud clatter in the kitchen, followed by a string of expletives in three different languages.

"Oh my, Chef Yurdlemon is on the warpath," Alexa said. "I'm the only one who can calm him down. I have to go." She waved to The Mayor and said, "Have to tend to the chef, dear."

He frowned.

She made her way to the kitchen, only to find Gladys standing at the door.

"Do I need to go in there and talk him down?" Alexa asked.

"No, I managed to do it. A problem with the vichyssoise, which he flung at the sous-chef. It's fixed." She took Alexa's left hand and pointed to the ring. "How are you, dear?"

"No ill effects so far."

"I'll be right by your side," Gladys said. "Now stop your worrying. It could be far worse. You could be engaged to Stumpy Stellar."

"Oh, Gladys, the very thought of it. I have to get back in there," Alexa said, sighing. "Saving The City of Angels wasn't as unpleasant as this."

Alexa returned to the gathering room only to be stopped—not just stopped, _accosted_ —by Professor Tender Todds, a professor of Britannic History at Kensington College. He was a tall, suavely dressed man in his late fifties who always held a meerschaum pipe in his hand and occasionally puffed on it even if it wasn't lit. He took hold of Alexa's hand and wouldn't let go.

"So you're engaged to Bobby Baumgartner," he said. "I remember him when he was just a college sophomore. He failed my World War II seminar. A real slacker. Couldn't trust him then, and you can't trust him now, if you ask me."

She hadn't asked him and was tempted to tell him so, but only replied, "That's a very harsh judgment on The Mayor, Professor Todds."

"Do call me Tender. Not the most felicitous name, I'll admit, but from the lips of a beautiful, educated woman like you, it would sound positively poetic." For one horrifying moment, Alexa thought that he was going to bend over and kiss her on the lips. She wasn't far wrong, because he lowered his head, kissed her hand, and said, "Milady, fair!"

She resisted the temptation to wipe her hand. First Stumpy Stellar and now Professor Todds? Stumpy had drunk too much champagne, but Todds seemed to be stone-cold sober, and he'd been a family friend, more her father's friend than her own.

Professor Todds leaned over and whispered in her ear. "So wise so young, they say, do never live long."

"I don't understand."

"Shakespeare. You see, true love." He drew in air from his unlit pipe and slowly exhaled as if he were blowing the most elegant smoke rings. "You should be marrying me, not that slippery Baumgartner."

Alexa drew back in horror. "I beg your pardon!"

He took another fake draw on his pipe and said, "I do love the taste of pipe tobacco."

"But Professor, your pipe is unlit, and I thank you for that, because I only allow smoking in the side garden."

"'When the smoke clears, love is a fire burning in your lover's eyes.' Romeo and Juliet, and apropos of Tender's tender feelings for you."

Fortunately, Sigfred appeared out of nowhere and came to her rescue. "Mayor Baumgartner is looking for you, Ms. Manchester," he said.

"Tell him I'll be right there. Meanwhile, Professor Todds, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a quick stop in the kitchen to confer with my chef."

She didn't go to the kitchen but instead retreated to a small study off the main corridor and sat down on a fainting couch that her grandmother had brought home from Parisia a half century earlier. She had to gather herself. She realized that it wasn't simply Stellar and Todds who'd acted strangely. A number of men who'd never given her a second thought had virtually leered at her. It was as if she'd unknowingly transformed into Electromancer and had been prancing around naked. For a brief moment, she feared that this had actually happened. But that was preposterous. The ring hadn't bewitched her; it had hypnotized the men around her, particularly those who'd come near her.

She stood up. She really should check on Chef Yurdlemon. The man was a genius, but so fragile that his ego needed constant stroking, especially during a large dinner party. As Alexa neared the kitchen, she heard the distinctive sound of Sigfred's footsteps. Now what?

Sigfred walked up to her and got down on one knee. "You have to end the engagement."

"Don't say another word!" Alexa said.

"Alexa, I . . . "

"So, it's Alexa, now? It's too late, Sigfred. Whether I stay engaged to The Mayor or not is my business, not yours."

He took her hand. "Your welfare, your very life, is my _only_ business."

Her face flushed hot. She'd seen that look of devotion—not just devotion, but _love_ perhaps—once before, but when she stood before him as Electromancer. Now, as Alexa, she understood the full import of his gaze. "What's changed between us, Sigfred?"

"Nothing and everything. I've felt this way about you since I picked you up from college after your freshman year. You were no longer only Mickey Manchester's daughter. You were a beautiful, brilliant young woman. But it wasn't my place, or so I thought. In recent days, the world has changed, and so have we. I can't stand by any longer and act as if I'm just your employee. The world is too fragile not to live life. Besides, only I understand who you really are."

It was true—on the night she'd fallen into The Magpie, she'd revealed herself to Sigfred not only physically, but spiritually. Now, she wanted to fall into his arms again, but it was impossible.

"There's too much happening," she said. "It would be cruel to break off the engagement in front of all these people. It would ruin his standing in society, his career. How could I do that?"

"Whatever your future intentions, you're toying with Baumgartner, leading him to believe that you're in love him. Tonight is nothing but a farce. That's what's cruel. I've never understood the wealthy's sacrifice of the truth for so-called propriety and nicety."

Then Alexa spoke words that almost seemed to come from someone else, words diametrically opposed to her true feelings and what she had intended to do after this party was behind her. "I was attracted to Bobby Baumgartner as a girl of sixteen. Of course, he didn't know I was alive. When he finally noticed me, I had outgrown that crush. I was shocked when he proposed. I intended to break it off with him after tonight. But in the past few days, he's risked his political career—and that means everything to him—just to support me. When I think of what he did, I feel affection for him." The words fell dully, robotically from her lips.

Sigfred placed his hands on her shoulders firmly but, at the same time, gently. He looked at her beseechingly. "You can't possibly mean this. You should follow what's in your heart, not what society expects."

Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she drew away from him. It took all her willpower. "You talk of society and its values," she said. "I know you can't understand it, maybe even abhor the idea, but there is something to be said for alliances of powerful families, especially when they want to do good works for humanity. Bobby wants that and I want that, and as a team, we'd be unstoppable. There aren't very many men you can say that about."

Sigfred's lips tightened. "Funny, I thought I could say that about us." He drew in a deep breath. "You seem to have failed to notice, Alex . . . _madame_. But I can help you in ways that no one else can." He abruptly turned and disappeared into the crowd.

She wanted to call out to him, but for some reason, the words caught in her throat. She looked at her engagement ring. She knew what Gladys would say about what had just happened. But it wasn't the ring. It was the truth. She did have affection for Bobby Baumgartner, and he would make a good alliance. And given his elevated station in life, she could have greater cover when she transformed into Electromancer. Would Bobby understand?

"Alexa, darling," Bobby said, announcing his presence from down the hallway. "There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

She stood, watching him approach. She expected him to take her into his arms, but he only leaned down and gave her a peck on the check. As a girl, she'd fantasized about her fiancé, but had never envisioned this type of kiss from him. She'd have to get used to this because this was the path that she'd chosen for the greater good.

"Come now, Alexa," he said. "The guests are being seated for dinner, and we really shouldn't keep them waiting."

He took her hand and escorted her back to the party. For the first time ever, she understood her role with Bobby Baumgartner.

As they rounded the corner on the way to the main dining hall, they ran into the Dowdy twins. The women shot them identical frowns of disapproval. _Poor girls_ , Alexa thought.

Bobby and Alexa sat at opposite ends of the long dining table. As soon as Alexa took her seat, Bonnie Blalock, one of her closest friends since childhood, walked up and draped an arm on Alexa's shoulder. "Alexa, you've been my best friend for as long as we've been in nappies, and I find you keeping secrets from me. How long has this affair been going on between you and Bobby?"

"For only a few days." She sighed. "Or perhaps for years. It's all very complicated. You know that Bobby and I have known one another for so long."

"When is the wedding?" Bonnie asked, smiling conspiratorially.

Alexa hadn't even considered the wedding. The very idea of bridesmaids and a matron of honor seemed foreign to her. She always thought she'd marry the man she loved. Maybe one day her affection for Bobby would turn to love.

Laughter erupted from across the table. Dani Dowdy had slipped her arm through Bobby's right arm, and Della had done the same to his left. They both snuggled up to him.

"We've made a mayoral sandwich," Della announced gleefully, which resulted in more peals of laughter.

"You'd better watch those two," Bonnie said.

"I intend to," Alexa said, trying to suppress her growing annoyance of the twins' flirtations.

When everyone was seated, Alexa found herself between Bonnie and Professor Todds, who continually quoted more Shakespeare. On the far side of the table, the Dowdy twins were flanking The Mayor. The more flirtatious the twins got, the more jealous Alexa became, until she feared that Electromancer might be an unexpected guest at the party. The only thing that calmed her down was glancing at Sigfred, who was manning his station at the door and directing servants. He appeared more doleful than she'd ever seen him.

"I understand you have a superhero advocate," Bonnie said. "I saw it on the news."

"Yes, yes," Professor Todds said. "Your good name was cleared by this Electromancer person. Brilliant, I must say."

Alexa forced a smile.

From across the room, Della called out, "Alexa, dear, I understand that you signed off on Conroy Corn and Henrietta Hensinger's renovation request for the Sugar Express Train Depot. I wonder if you consulted your fiancé before placing his political career in jeopardy. That old train depot is an eyesore. It should have been torn down years ago."

The room fell silent.

"I know Bobby wants to put the Sugar Express Train Depot up for sale," Alexa said quietly. "He has the city's best interests at heart. Meanwhile, the city is under an obligation not to let it fall into further ruin and infestation. It was my duty to act."

The Mayor's expression hardened.

"I looked up the ordinance myself," District Attorney Stellar said authoritatively. "I could hardly believe that I'd missed a law on the books. Sometimes these old regulations just seem to get lost because of the need to prosecute dangerous criminals."

"I'm sure my lovely fiancée meant well," The Mayor said. "Although, laws can be interpreted in many ways."

"It is a historic landmark," Alexa said. "As primary trustee of the city's Trust Fund, I found myself obligated to grant approval for reparative action. How could I not?"

"Nevertheless," The Mayor said. "It's always best to leave politics to the more capable and experienced hands."

Alexa's jaw dropped. She was a capable businesswoman, not some naive schoolgirl. However, this was no time for an argument, and so she remained silent, forcing a loving smile. Would this really be the lot of a politician's wife?

Just as the main course was about to be served, Sigfred appeared at Alexa's side and handed her a note. He was again all business, stiff, formal, and deferent.

"Are you quite sure, Sigfred?"

"Positive."

Alexa stood up, her legs seemingly unable to support her weight. Sigfred steadied her in his strong arms.

"Ladies and Gentleman, it seems we have an unexpected guest joining us for dinner tonight. My uncle, Mr. Montgomery Manchester, is here."

There was a collective gasp from the more knowledgeable guests—Montgomery Manchester hadn't been seen in decades.

Uncle Montgomery entered the dining room. He was a powerfully built man with mysterious dark eyes—the very opposite of her father's lean and wiry build and transparent blue eyes. But they had the same warm, welcoming smile.

It was a miracle that her uncle Montgomery, who had long been presumed dead, had returned to his home. Alexa had never met him—he'd left home as a young man, long before she was born. Her father, usually a forthright man, spoke little about Montgomery. Gladys said only that Mickey and Montgomery had wanted different things out of life but that Montgomery was charming and charismatic. Alexa had been too young to ask her mother about Montgomery.

"I heard through the grapevine that my dear brother's daughter—my niece—is getting married, and I wouldn't miss this happy occasion for all the money in the world." He threw his bearlike arm around her and embraced her paternally. Then four messengers walked in, carrying a veritable bower of yellow and pink roses that would put Miss Henrietta Hensinger's garden to shame.

"I have so much to tell you, Uncle Monty," Alexa whispered. "So much has happened. I need your help."

"Of course, Alexa," he said. "As soon as we have a moment alone. You may put your mind at ease. You needn't worry about anything because your Uncle Monty has come home. But now, we have much to celebrate."

As the night went on, he charmed everyone with his stories about her father and grandfather and his tales about the Manchester art collection. Only Bobby failed to warm up to Uncle Montgomery for some reason. Before leaving the mansion, Bobby took Alexa aside and said, "I know you're happy to see your uncle, but you don't know him like I do. I'll explain later."

She pressed him for an explanation, but he said that it was too complicated to explain with so many people around.

When the party ended, Uncle Montgomery wanted to return to his room at the Kensington Royal Arms Hotel, but Alexa had insisted that he stay at the mansion as her guest.

"You're an important member of my family," she said as they stood in the foyer. "The only one left. I wouldn't think of your staying in a hotel."

Her uncle embraced her, his eyes glistening. "Earlier, you said you needed to tell me something, Alexa. What is it?"

"You've heard of The Magpie and its failure?"

He nodded.

"When I went down to investigate, something strange happened. I was—" She stopped herself, recalling Bobby's words about how she didn't truly know her uncle. It was too soon to tell her secrets. Even Gladys, who knew her better than anyone, had failed to believe her when she revealed she was Electromancer. Why would her uncle, a stranger, believe her? She decided to keep mum about that and Momo, at least for the time being.

"Something strange?" Her uncle prompted, curiosity alight in those dark eyes.

"Yes. Yes, I was, uh,"— she racked her brain for a cover story, but decided to simply stick with the truth —"quite overwhelmed." Alexa blew out a deep breath and impulsively threw her arms around him. "I'm so glad you're here, Uncle."

As he returned the hug, enfolding her in his solid embrace, Alexa felt a frisson of hope for the first time since her transformation.

# Chapter 15

_At the crack of dawn . . ._

Flushed with newfound joy over her uncle's arrival, Alexa awoke early and set out on her daily run. Gladys had suggested that Electromancer didn't need to work out, but she sensed that it was just the opposite. She should be in peak condition for all that flying and fighting.

It occurred to her again that Uncle Montgomery might have insights into her plight. He seemed so gentle and kindhearted. Throughout the previous night, he'd reminded her of her father again and again—in the way they both became so excited and animated when telling a story, the way Uncle Montgomery spoke as much with his arms as his voice. Yet, Bobby's warning still lingered in the back of her mind. It wouldn't hurt to be cautious.

She rounded the pathway inside the lily garden in a full sprint and crashed into Sigfred. As she was falling to the ground, all she could think was, _my God, this man is solidly built!_ Not only that, but he also had lightning-fast reflexes, because he caught her before she hit the ground.

"I'm sorry, Sigfred," she said stiffly, trying not to relish the feeling of his arms around her. She straightened, moving out of his grasp. "I didn't think anyone would be here. I'm going to continue my run, now." She took a half step forward, but he didn't move off the path. "Is there something I can do for you, Sigfred?"

"I took the liberty of calling upon a colleague for a rather quick favor, and he very graciously accommodated me." He reached into his top pocket and pulled out a jewelry box. "I've had another ring made for you."

She raised her hands as if to fend off his words. "Sigfred, you're not seriously intending to—"

"No, Alexa. The ring is a duplicate of your engagement ring. Gladys kindly provided me with a photo. You shouldn't wear the ring if it is contaminated. Your mind should be clear at all times."

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment at her mistaken assumption, but she opened the box, and what she saw astonished her. The ring was, indeed, an exact replica of her engagement ring. Even the jewel looked authentic.

"Wearing the duplicate is the only rational thing to do," he said.

"You're right. And it's very thoughtful of you." She looked into his blue eyes. Most of the time, his gaze was slightly distant and unreadable. Now, his eyes were lucid and conveyed only one thing—he had her best interests at heart. She pulled The Mayor's ring off and replaced it with the duplicate.

"It's not going to change anything. I'm still going to marry Bobby Baumgartner."

Alexa expected Sigfred to say something harsh or judgmental, but he only nodded and wouldn't meet her eyes when he said, "It's no sin to make sacrifices for the greater good."

"I . . . I'm glad you understand."

Unfortunately, she wasn't sure that _she_ understood.

• • •

When Alexa returned home, she went back to bed and pulled the covers over her head. All she wanted to do was sleep and forget what had befallen her in recent days. Nothing made sense. But then nothing had made sense since the day she'd lost her father. When the clock chimed noon, she woke with a start. She couldn't be late—she had a date with her uncle. After quickly dressing, she met her uncle downstairs in the foyer.

"Let's take a stroll in the garden," Uncle Montgomery said. "We have a lot to talk about."

Arm in arm, they walked down the corridor to the front door, where Sigfred happened to be dusting a Ming Dynasty vase filled with the yellow roses her uncle had brought her. Sigfred stood at attention, all business again. Alexa envied his ability to be so calm and controlled amid such chaos. She'd never been on such bad terms with Sigfred before, and it rattled her more than she'd expected.

"Good man," Uncle Montgomery said to Sigfred. "I admire cleanliness."

Sigfred bowed slightly.

"I also like the shine in your shoes, Sawyer," Uncle Montgomery said. "Few men of your young age take such meticulous care of themselves these days. Hear, hear!"

"Thank you, sir," Sigfred said.

"I'm old fashioned, I'm afraid," Uncle Montgomery said to Alexa. "Servants aren't what they used to be. But you've done a good job with your employees, my dear."

Though Alexa no longer thought of Sigfred as a servant, she enjoyed her uncle's praise. "Sigfred is very loyal and the most efficient of our staff," she said. "There's no one like him. We're not so strict about dress codes in this day and age, but he has very high standards."

When Sigfred snapped stiffly to attention, she realized that she'd wounded his pride in her attempt to please her uncle. She opened her mouth to correct herself and assert that, of course, Sigfred was not _merely_ a servant, but her uncle spoke first.

"You're a true Manchester, Alexa. I hope that as we get to know each other, you'll let me guide you. I was never blessed with children of my own. My dear brother Mickey was the one who was blessed. Now I have an opportunity to be a parent."

Alexa only nodded, but she was thinking that at her age, she wasn't in need of parenting.

At lunch, Uncle Montgomery ordered for them both but then, for himself, ordered another full plate of fish and chips and two more slices of lemon meringue pie.

"Pardon me for asking, Uncle Montgomery, but do you always eat so much at meals? You're in such good shape. How do you do it?"

Her uncle smiled. "Good genetics and clear objectives in life, my dear. They keep the metabolism going at top speed. I hope you have both."

As they ate, they made small talk. Well, _she_ mostly made small talk, going on about The Mick, her goal of providing affordable energy to the world, the disaster with The Magpie. All the while, her uncle munched on his second order of French fries. Only when he was drinking his second double-grande mug of mocha with whipped cream did she ask, "Where have you been over these long years, Uncle Monty?"

"Traveling the world. I've been everywhere—to Europa, Africana, through Russiah and all the way across Siberita, throughout Asiana and the Distant East, to the Americanas, North and South. Really, there's nowhere I haven't been."

"You didn't mention Antarcticia."

"An inadvertent omission. I was there in December of '91. Summer in the Southern Hemisphere, of course."

"What did you do for a living?"

"Anything and everything—merchant marine, soldier, roughneck on an oil rig. But I made my fortune importing and exporting."

"Importing and exporting what?"

"Anything and everything." He said again, then paused. "So long as it was legal."

"My father told me that he had a brother but not much else about you. He said that there was a falling out, that you left the family and never returned. That you disappeared."

"With all due respect to your late father and my dear brother, I don't know if 'falling out' is the right word. I'm sorry to say that your late grandfather—Mickey's and my father—believed in the old feudal concept of primogeniture. Mickey was the first son, and I was the second, so Mickey was to inherit everything. Our father made it very clear that Mickey would get the family business. Even Mickey objected, but it was no use." He smiled wistfully. "Maybe the reason I'm so old fashioned is because I've acquired that trait from my father. In any event, my father said that while Mickey would take over the family holdings, I had a great gift, because the rest of the world was mine for the taking. So I left. And let me tell you, Alexa, the rest of the world turned out to be a precious jewel. It was a far greater gift that my father gave me than to your father, God rest his soul."

Much to Alexa's surprise, her uncle became teary eyed. He dabbed away his tears with a napkin. She felt for him, but she still wasn't satisfied by his response. "You didn't come to my father's funeral."

"I am very, very sorry. The truth is that I've been out of touch for so long. I only learned of his passing months after it happened. I should've reached out to you, but I felt that I had no right, that it wasn't my place. Though I will say, I've been following your progress and have known how wonderfully you've been doing, despite the tragedies that have befallen you. When I read about your recent problems, I had to come back." He reached out and took Alexa's hands and squeezed them affectionately. Just as her father might do.

# Chapter 16

_In the days that followed . . ._

Alexa felt as if she'd been caught in a social whirlwind. She and her Uncle Montgomery became ever closer. He had a vast knowledge of the family's history, regaling her with tales of Manchesters who'd been long forgotten by everyone else. He spent an entire day taking her on a tour of the mansion, uncovering secret panels and hidden closets that she'd never found, even as a child. He devoted another full day to describing the history of the Manchester art collection, educating her about paintings that had hung on the wall all her life but that she'd never truly appreciated. And while many in his position would've pried into her personal life—she sensed that he and Bobby did not like each other—he remained discreet, listening uncritically when she revealed her doubts about the impending marriage.

And her personal life had, indeed, become complicated. Mayor Bobby Baumgartner had planned a number of campaign events in his quest for Prime Minister—he coyly denied to the media that he'd decided to run—and he made sure that Alexa was a large part of it. So, she attended several get-togethers with potential donors and political-party leaders. Bobby particularly used Alexa to target Miss Henrietta Hensinger of WEEDS, who lived modestly but who'd reputedly inherited tens of millions from a maiden aunt and who might give a lift to The Mayor's campaign with a generous donation.

During this time, Alexa played the dutiful fiancée, always at Bobby's side. She had to overlook his preening and flirtation every time a beautiful woman, or even a not-so-beautiful woman with money, came into the room. Worse, he had taken to referring to her as, "My dear little Alexa who runs a very big company." Often, she had to grit her teeth to avoid transforming when he used this line. She tried hard to feel affection for Bobby, tried to remember what about him had sent thrills down her body when she'd been much younger. Bobby Baumgartner was certainly handsome and charming. But he seemed to have no interest in her. The only time he kissed her was when there was a photographer around to post a picture of the loving couple on the Internet.

She'd been right about one thing, though. The Mayor of Kensington City was giving her cover and credibility as she waited for Momo to make his next move, even if The Mayor had no idea that she was Electromancer. So far, she'd used her powers to stun a mugger trying to hold up an elderly couple outside of Hyde Square; to fly a woman in labor to the hospital when the ambulance got caught in gridlock on the Kensington highway; and to prevent a bridge from collapsing by welding the metal footings back together. She'd learned how to move so quickly that those involved could barely detect her. All of this in preparation for Momo's next attack. Yet, the news media only reported on her exploits when she was by The Mayor's side. No one suspected that Alexa Manchester was behind the platinum mane and silver threads of Electromancer.

Meanwhile, things had been strained with Sigfred since the dinner. Oh, he still served her faithfully, rarely uttering anything more than, "Yes, madame," or "No, madame," or "As you wish, madame." But Alexa missed their easy camaraderie. She missed the way he'd gleefully report yesterday's cricket scores while driving her to The Mick even though she had no interest in the sport; the way he'd unconsciously hum the latest hit pop song even though she preferred classical music; and mostly, the way they'd "coincidentally" meet for a late-night snack in Yurdlemon's kitchen when everyone else was asleep. She wanted to take him aside and explain that she'd misspoken, that he was far more than just an employee to her. But she'd barely had a spare moment since Uncle Montgomery moved in. The man was surely making up for the lost time of his absence. He seemed fascinated by Alexa's every move, hot on her heels or lurking in the shadows every time she turned around.

One afternoon, while Alexa and Uncle Montgomery were having high tea, he said, "What do you say we take a ride to The Mick? I'd love to see The Magpie. It would mean a lot to me. Almost as if I was visiting my poor, dear brother's gravesite. In memoriam."

"I'm afraid The Magpie failed, which means I failed my father," Alexa said. "I can't bear to look at the thing."

"Nonsense, Alexa. It was simply a temporary setback. Your father had many such setbacks in his early years, and he never gave up. We won't give up, either. Now, let's go."

She thought for a moment. Uncle Montgomery had shown her so much about the Manchesters' past. She owed it to him to show him the family's present.

"I'll get Sigfred to fetch the car," she said.

"No. Let's take the car ourselves. I enjoy driving."

With Uncle Montgomery at the wheel, they drove out of the mansion and to The Mick. Her uncle seemed happy, almost gleeful. He even hummed what he told her was a Siberitan folk song about living on top of the world.

When they arrived at the facility, they passed through security, which was still heavy. Once inside, Alexa proudly escorted her uncle from one end of The Mick to the other. In the generator room, they stopped in front of The Magpie, which was still cordoned off with yellow crime-scene tape.

"Let's have a look inside The Magpie," Uncle Montgomery said.

"It's off limits. Chief Constable Petaud has designated it a crime scene, and our engineers think it still might be hazardous."

"Nonsense. This is Manchester property, and we may do all the looking we so desire." Without waiting for a response, Uncle Montgomery crouched down and maneuvered his strapping body under the yellow tape.

"Uncle Monty, please. It's too dangerous."

"Balderdash." He went over to The Magpie and started to study it, touching the surface with his fingers like a doctor examining a patient.

She wanted to tell him about her experience, about how this dreadful machine and the Electromite had transformed her into Electromancer, but she stopped herself. He wouldn't believe her. He might even think she was crazy, like so many others in her city had.

She took a deep breath and went under the tape herself. "The Magpie failed," she said. "And the Electromite isn't what it seems. It isn't what my father thought it was. So, he wasn't infallible. The Electromite might even be harmful to the population."

He patted her arm reassuringly. "Your father would never have created something that would threaten the lives of innocent people. Let's have a look."

"Uncle Monty, how will your looking—?"

"I've had many jobs, dear niece, as I said. My first job was as our father's laboratory assistant, along with Mickey. I know machines."

Uncle Montgomery climbed the stairs to the catwalk that allowed him to peer into The Magpie's internal mechanism. Alexa stayed close in case something went awry. Her nerves jangled, and even the thought that the Electromite was no longer in the machine didn't comfort her. This machine created Electromancer, so who was to say that the machine couldn't destroy her even without the rock inside?

"What a mess," he said. "Just look how warped the titanium framework is. What caused this?"

"We're not really sure. Charles Chin, the chief engineer, believes that the casing that held the Electromite suffered damage, causing microscopic cracks that expanded when the mechanism was activated. That's one theory, at least."

"What's another theory?"

"That it was sabotaged."

"Can you show me the casing?"

"It's missing. Again, there are two theories. That it melted in the explosion or that someone stole it. There's also the missing Electromite, so . . . "

"What do you believe, Alexa?"

"Let's just say that my father would never make a casing that would melt."

Uncle Montgomery pondered this. "You do have a dilemma. The only way to prove that there was a defect in the casing is to examine the casing; and yet the casing is gone."

She nodded.

"What about the prototype? Isn't there a prototype that we could examine?"

"The engineers have already looked at it. They found nothing that would've caused a meltdown."

Uncle Montgomery let out a sarcastic laugh. "Well, the engineers don't have my knowhow or my knowledge of how Mickey worked. We'll just have to examine the prototype ourselves. They must've missed something. Show me where it is."

_Why not?_ Alexa thought. They'd tried everything else. "Yes, let's have a look at it."

"Sorry, Ms. Manchester, but you can't be in here," a voice said.

Alexa turned to see Dr. Charles Chin, accompanied by several members of his engineering team and three security guards.

"Ms. Manchester is the owner of this facility," Uncle Montgomery said. "She can do as she pleases." There was something menacing in his voice.

"This is a crime scene," Chin said. "My team and I are the only ones authorized to examine it. Authorized by Chief Constable Pete Petaud himself. Not even Ms. Manchester can breach the crime scene. Now, with apologies, I have to ask you both to come back on this side of the yellow tape."

"Fire the son of a bitch," Uncle Montgomery said.

Alexa felt her face flush. "I'm not going to fire Charlie," she whispered. "He's indispensable. And only doing his job."

"Then I'll fire him," Uncle Montgomery said.

"I'm here because I have a message for Mr. Manchester," Chin said. "That's you, sir, am I right?"

Uncle Montgomery balled up his fists and looked as if he might charge and assault Chin, but Alexa put her hand on his arm and said, "This is my uncle. What's the message?"

"Sigfred Sawyer called looking for you. I don't know how he knew you'd be here, but . . . He said that there's a package for Mr. Manchester, and the person who delivered it said it was urgent."

# Chapter 17

_Early the next day . . ._

Traveling incognito in a trench coat and fedora—when you're The Mayor of a large metropolitan city, sometimes the most obvious disguise is the best—Mayor Bobby Baumgartner drove his second car, a broken-down Ford jalopy, albeit with a turbocharged engine, to the Kensington-Manchester Medical Center. He was going to visit Zachary Zero, not because he cared about that larcenous tippler, but to make sure that he'd kept his mouth shut. Montgomery Manchester's sudden return to Kensington City had made The Mayor feel as if he'd been ambushed by a battalion of deadly mercenaries. Montgomery was the man who'd fondled his nanny and shattered his ability to trust anyone. The Mayor had hated the man all his life, and the hatred only became stronger when he saw him. It took all his mental strength not to attack the man who'd so rudely crashed the engagement party.

The Mayor had another problem—Momo. To take on that problem, he needed Zero's help.

He entered the hospital and took the stairs to Zero's floor. When he got to Zero's room, he found the man snoring contentedly.

The Mayor closed the door and jostled Zero's bed with his foot.

"Rise and shine," The Mayor said.

Zero stirred, and his eyes popped open and bugged out. "What? Who? Time for lunch?"

"You won't be here for lunch. They're discharging you today."

Zero rubbed his eyes. "Mayor? Is that you? Why are you dressed like a two-bit private investigator?"

"You let me worry about my wardrobe. Now, get dressed."

"Mayor, I'm a sick man. I suffered multiple injuries to numerous parts of my body. Besides, this is the best food I've had in months. I've finally gotten some rest, and I don't have to work for those slave-driving flower ladies. I'm staying put!"

The Mayor kicked the bed again and pulled the blanket and sheet off Zero. "I've looked at your chart."

"Hey, that's confidential!"

"I'm a high-ranking government official. Nothing is confidential from me even if it's supposed to be confidential. Anyway, it looks like you suffered no more than a few bruises and scrapes. Your big medical problem was your self-induced alcohol poisoning. Get out of the bed, Zero, or I'll have you locked up. And let me remind you that there are no liquor stores in jail," he said pointedly. "I've got a job for you. I need you to find Biggie Bitterman."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mayor. That Bitterman joker injured me badly."

"What do you mean Bitterman injured you? Was Biggie Bitterman the driver of the car that hit you?"

"Yeah. I thought you knew. He's three rooms over. I heard he broke his leg in the crash. But he ran me over, you know. So it's his own fault."

"Get dressed. You're not hurt. Watch the entrance to the hospital, and when Bitterman is discharged, follow him and find out where Momo is hiding out."

"Can I at least have breakfast before I go?"

The Mayor pulled down the brim of his fedora and then drew up the collar of his trench coat. With his face covered, he skulked down the corridor until he found Bitterman's room. Bitterman, too, was asleep.

The Mayor used his foot to jostle the bed.

"Please, Momo. Don't!" Bitterman said in a groggy voice. He blinked a few times and said, "Mayor Baumgartner? What are you doing here? We shouldn't be seen together."

"And you shouldn't be in my city. When I gave you the rock, you said we were done. Now you're back, creeping around corners, showing up at City Council meetings. Momo used the Electromite to attack The City of Angels and The Big Apple."

"You got your money, and what happened after that is not your concern. But now that you're here, I've got a question for you, Mayor. Where's the rest of the Electromite? And the original casing? If you held out on me, Mayor Baumgartner, you'll be sorry. Because as soon as I can walk, you're going to be doing some talking."

"You're out of your mind, Biggie. Where's Momo?"

Bitterman laughed out loud. "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you."

"Oh, I think you know. I'll make you tell me." The Mayor balled up his fist and punched Bitterman's broken leg. Bitterman squealed like a pig going to the slaughterhouse and then tried to press the button that would call for the nurse.

"I wouldn't scream like that," The Mayor said. "And don't call for help. If we're caught here together, we'll all go down. Including Momo. Or maybe only you and Momo will go down, because I'm the beloved Mayor of Kensington City, who's here interrogating you so I can solve a heinous crime." He jabbed Bitterman's leg again. "Start talking, Biggie."

Bitterman stifled a yelp and replied, "The name is Bigelow. May I call you Bobby, or is your proper name Robert?"

The Mayor slapped Bitterman's face and began tampering with Bitterman's IV.

"Do what you want to me, Mayor. I'm not telling you anything. But now you have The Momaxita to deal with—whether I'm alive or not."

The Mayor looked into Bitterman's hard eyes and shuddered. Suddenly, he realized that Bitterman wouldn't give Momo up no matter what The Mayor did to him. The Mayor also knew that no matter how high he rose in politics, he'd never be safe from The Momaxita. With as much bravado as he could muster, The Mayor said, "Next time you see Momo, tell him to stay out of my city. Do you understand?"

The door swung open, and a nurse walked into the room. She was a young, attractive brunette.

"What's going on in here?" the nurse asked. "Mayor Baumgartner?"

The Mayor removed his hat and smiled one of his most seductive smiles. "Nurse, I'm just here to visit the patient. He was harmed in my city, and I wanted to reach out to him."

"But you're dressed like—"

"I go on these missions all the time," The Mayor said. "In disguise, because I don't want the media around, don't want the public to recognize me. If anyone saw me, they'd think I'm doing this for publicity."

"That's right," Bitterman said. "I truly appreciate The Mayor's visit. He's been great. Speeding up the healing process."

The nurse looked at The Mayor, beaming now. He walked over and gave the young nurse a hug, and she hugged him back. She was cute, he thought. Another time, another place . . .

"I have to be going," The Mayor said. "And mum's the word about my visit."

The nurse gazed at him with longing eyes and nodded. "Alexa Manchester is the luckiest woman in the world," she said.

"No," The Mayor replied. "I'm the luckiest man."

The Mayor hurried out of the hospital and drove his turbocharged jalopy at top speed toward his home. He dressed, got into his gold Lamborghini, which was already loaded with what he needed, and sped toward the Manchester mansion. When he arrived, it wasn't Sigfred, but Montgomery Manchester who greeted him.

"It's about time, Bobby," Uncle Montgomery said. "We thought you were bailing out on us. Now where's that niece of mine? She knows how much I hate to be late." Uncle Montgomery called for Sigfred, who came down the front staircase.

"Please tell Ms. Manchester that we need to leave. I hope you've loaded her golf clubs into the car."

"Not yet, sir," Sigfred said.

"Well, get a move on, man." Uncle Montgomery turned to The Mayor. While Sigfred was still in earshot, he said, "Incompetence pervades every part of our society." He paused and, with a smirk, said, "Especially among our politicians. I don't know one worth a damn. Don't you agree, Bobby?"

• • •

Sigfred walked up the stairs to Alexa's room to retrieve her clubs. He didn't know what to make of Montgomery Manchester. In the early days of working with Mickey, Sigfred had asked about Montgomery, but Mickey—usually very willing to confide in Sigfred—had only said that he and his brother had not gotten along. Sigfred sensed that there was more to the story than that.

Before Sigfred arrived at Alexa's room, he encountered her walking down the hall, toting her purple-and-blue houndstooth golf bag filled with one too many clubs. Her outfit matched the carrying bag, right down to her socks and shoelaces. She looked adorable.

Not that he was about to tell her that.

"Let me have your bag, Ms. Manchester."

"I'll carry my own bag."

He shot her a dubious look.

"I've accomplished much more grueling physical tasks recently," she said.

"I don't doubt your ability to carry your own clubs. But so you can avoid your uncle's displeasure, if you wouldn't mind, I'll take those clubs now."

She offered him the clubs, but when he took hold of them, his fingers accidentally brushing hers, she didn't let go. A spark ran through him. Their connection reminded him that he couldn't free himself of this woman, nor did he want to be angry at her any longer. He took the clubs and turned to leave, but she placed her hand on his arm.

"Sigfred, we need to talk," she said.

"Your uncle is waiting, madame."

"Just give me a moment. The other day when I said you were only a servant, I was wrong. I didn't mean that."

"But I am just that."

"No, you're not. You're . . . You're so much a part of my life that I think of you as family. My friend . . . My best friend." Her cheeks flushed pink, and she averted her eyes. "More than that. Sigfred, I'm sorry for what I said. I never meant to hurt you. Please forgive me. I've missed you."

His own cheeks flushed hot. "There's nothing to forgive. I always have your best interests at heart. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you." Finally, he could relax in her presence again.

Uncle Montgomery impatiently called for Alexa from downstairs.

"You do trust me, Alexa?" he whispered.

"Of course. You know that I do."

"Then don't tell your uncle who you really are."

"Bobby says the same thing. But he is my uncle, after all. He seems so kind, and he's the only family I have left. What do you know about him that I don't?"

"Nothing yet. Instinct."

She thought for a moment and then smiled at him wistfully. "I won't say a word for now. Because I do trust you, Sigfred. More than anyone."

These were the only words he needed to hear.

Alexa surrendered the bag to Sigfred and followed him down the stairs.

"It's about time," Uncle Montgomery said. "My father taught your father and me the virtues of promptness. I'm surprised Mickey Manchester didn't have the wherewithal to pass that trait down to his only daughter."

"You needn't fuss, Uncle Monty," Alexa said. "We won't miss our tee time."

"We're Manchesters," Uncle Montgomery said. "We have our reputation to uphold. Tardiness is intolerable."

• • •

At the Kensington City Country Club, Sigfred unloaded the clubs while Alexa, over her uncle's protestations, insisted on walking the course and carrying her own clubs. He kept repeating that it was "unladylike." How, she wondered, had her well-traveled uncle Montgomery, who'd been everywhere, become such a fuddy-duddy?

"Let's compromise, Alexa," The Mayor said. "Share my cart. We can snuggle while I drive. Your uncle is right, for once." The Mayor glanced sidelong and sneered at Montgomery. "Carrying your own clubs does not befit the wife of a mayor." He winked. "Or the wife of a prime minister. What if the media should encounter us playing golf and uses it as a photo opportunity?"

"The media is barred from a private club," she said. Annoyed at these male chauvinists, she shook her head and hoisted the bag onto her shoulder. If they only knew what she could do when she transformed, they wouldn't be worried about a bit of perspiration she might shed while walking the course.

The air suddenly filled with Lady Googoo's _Famed_ perfume. The Dowdy twins walked over. They were dressed more for tennis than for golf. Alexa was sure that the revealing outfits violated club rules.

"We can't stand around here all day," Alexa said, annoyed with the expressions on the faces of both The Mayor and her uncle.

"Alexa, darling," Della said. "How fortuitous that we found you here today. Do you tee off soon?" The twins stopped alongside The Mayor's golf bag. Dani toyed with his clubs in a way that could only be described as salacious.

"We tee off right now. Let's go. Uncle Monty?"

Uncle Montgomery wasn't listening. He was enthralled with the twins, leering at them in their matching miniskirts and skimpy tops, not even trying to hide his fascination with their cleavage and bare legs.

"Are you girls identical everywhere?" he asked.

"Uncle Monty, please!" Alexa said. "Where's your Manchester decorum now? And we're late. Where's that Manchester promptness?"

"We're the group right behind you," Dani said, ignoring Alexa. "Just a sisterly twosome." She leaned over the cart and got closer to The Mayor, revealing even more cleavage.

"Why don't you girls join us?" Uncle Montgomery said.

"That would work fine," The Mayor said.

"We can't play with five," Alexa said. "It's against course rules, and it'll be a six-hour round."

"Nonsense," her uncle said. "The Mayor and I will ride in carts to speed things up. Della, you can ride with me."

Alexa glanced at Sigfred, wishing that the two of them were alone on this beautiful course. But of course, socialites didn't play golf with servants in Kensington City, even if the servant and socialite shared a powerful bond. What was wrong with the world?

"Alexa, will you please give up the idea of walking and ride with me?" The Mayor asked.

Alexa could feel Sigfred's gaze fixed upon her. "I'm determined to walk the course," she said.

"I'll ride with you, Bobby," Dani said, smiling sexily and virtually jumping into The Mayor's cart.

"Fine with me," Alexa said, pleased.

"Alexa's right," Della said. "We don't want to break course etiquette. Dani and I will just ride along. We're hackers anyway. So, you golfers will just have to be a threesome." She giggled. "Dani and I _adore_ threesomes."

Bobby Baumgartner could do what he wanted, Alexa thought. Their marriage was only going to be one of convenience anyway, albeit for the greater good of humanity.

They teed off. The Mayor was a scratch golfer—he'd played in college—and after five holes, he led Alexa by two strokes, a lead that would've been far greater if he hadn't focused so much on Dani. For his part, Uncle Montgomery—who with his bodybuilder's strength could hit the ball three hundred plus yards—paid so much attention to the twins that he was hacking the ball all over the course, making Sigfred walk yards to find his ball. Alexa felt like the odd person out.

On the fifth hole, she placed a perfect wedge shot to the green.

"Nice shot," Sigfred said. "You're putting for birdie. I was worried that you'd fly over the green." He winked at her.

"Aren't you sick and tired of retrieving my uncle's errant shots?" she asked.

"I'd much rather be caddying for you, Alexa."

She flashed a shy smile, and then went to the green and sunk her birdie putt.

On the seventh hole, she intentionally duck-hooked her tee shot, causing her ball to land in the thick-wooded area to the left of the fairway.

"Oh, damn," Alexa said. "Would you look at that? I was doing so well."

"Don't worry," The Mayor said. "We'll take the cart after we hit and help you find your ball."

Uncle Montgomery hit his tee shot down the middle and preened like a peacock in front of Della. The Mayor hadn't missed a fairway all day, but as he was about to hit, Dani bent over to tie a shoelace, and The Mayor took his eyes off his golf ball and onto Dani's beach balls. The result was a wicked slice into the thicket on the right.

_How obvious can he get?_ Alexa thought, but she only said, "Too bad. You must've picked your head up. You'll have to find your own ball. I'm sure Dani would be happy to go looking with you in the bushes. Sigfred, I'll need your help. And if either of you gentlemen are ready to play, don't wait on my account. I'll catch up with you on the next tee."

They separated. Entering the thicketed patch of woods, Alexa led the way, swinging her club back and forth to brush away the tall grass and weeds below the canopy of trees. Sigfred also looked for her ball, but seemed rather tentative.

"What's the matter, Sigfred?"

"I'm watching out for snakes," he said. "So should you."

"You can't possibly be afraid of those wiggly things."

"Deathly afraid, to be honest."

She stopped near a tree where the ground was covered with thick vines. "Sigfred, come here. Is this my ball?"

He poked around the underbrush and, despite his fear of snakes, actually used his hands to separate the underbrush.

"I don't see a ball," he said.

"I guess I was mistaken." She smiled flirtatiously. "The Mayor isn't acting very engaged, is he?" She paused. "But I guess I'm not either." She wasn't sure what she wanted at the moment—except for Sigfred to touch her again.

"I would agree with that. A man should never make his intended feel that way. I never would."

They stared deeply into each other's eyes.

"Why does life have to be so complicated?" she asked.

"It doesn't. Break it off with The Mayor and follow your heart if you're not just playing games like the rest of them."

Despite their earlier reconciliation, his words angered her for some reason, though she knew deep down that he was right. She took a step forward, her face no more than inches from his. "You know I'm not playing games," she said. "Especially since you, of all people, understand what my life has truly become."

"If you're going to honor what you've become, you'd break it off with The Mayor." He stared at her for a moment. "Or maybe you won't break it off with Baumgartner because you really do want him. If that's the case, say it and let me go back to being your servant."

He was standing so close to her that she felt his hot breath on her lips. The heat of it almost made her speechless. "What I want is . . . is . . . " Her heart raced as though she were fending off an attack on an entire city. "Sigfred, you must know what I want. Don't you understand why this is so hard? Please."

Without warning, he took her into his arms and kissed her so passionately that she dropped her seven-iron. She closed her eyes, yielding to the raw sensuality of the kiss, his lips against hers, warm and soft. When she pressed closer, his hands caressed the small of her back and then moved even lower. An uncontrollable electrical current flowed through her body and into his. Then she felt Sigfred's own unique energy, humming between their flesh until it fused and blended them as a single current of pure electricity. For a moment she feared that she'd harm him, but then she realized that this wasn't Electromancer's energy—it was hers, Alexa's, and hers alone.

When his mouth opened and he touched his tongue to hers, a burst of energy surged down to her toes. Their tongues swirled slowly at first, the rhythm building, the desire mounting. He caressed her back, the touch generating even stronger currents of friction, throbbing and tingling.

He drew her closer and held her so tightly that she could feel his arousal—hard and pulsating. She ran her hands along the contours of his sculpted back and down to his narrow hips, and then pulled his loins closer to hers. Together, they undulated like a high-voltage electrical current, charged and dangerous. He lowered his lips to the nape of her neck and brushed his fingers across her shoulders and down her arms. With a firm tug, he pulled her blouse from her skirt and slowly slid his hands underneath her clothing and onto her breasts. She arched her back and sighed. She wanted to soar with him to the heavens.

As he caressed her, she reached up and loosened his tie, still perfectly knotted as always. Then she reached down and began to unbuckle his belt.

He grabbed her hands. As if awakening from a dream, he blinked his eyes and drew away from her. "We can't do this."

"We're in the middle of the woods. No one can see us. I told them to play through. We'll catch up."

They locked eyes, and then he took her into his arms again, his kiss more exhilarating than before. When an errant golf shot from the foursome behind them hit a nearby oak tree, he drew back again, more forcefully this time. "I'm sorry," he said. "The fact remains, you're engaged. Let's go before we're found out." He reached for her hand.

"What about my ball?" she asked, feeling flustered and suddenly embarrassed about the semipublic display.

"You haven't found it yet?" a gruff voice asked. "Just what have you been doing?"

Alexa and Sigfred both startled.

"Just that, Uncle," Alexa said, nervously tugging her shirt down. "Looking for my errant ball, so that I may play it as it lays. Manchester ethics to uphold."

"We need to move on," her uncle said. "Just declare your ball lost and take a penalty stroke."

She was about to object, when Sigfred interrupted.

"I think that would be wise, Ms. Manchester," Sigfred said. "Your ball must've rolled into the barranca. Besides, like I said, there are _snakes_ in here." His eyes hardened and cut to Montgomery before flicking back to hers. "We should move on."

"Sensible advice," Uncle Montgomery said in an icy tone.

Alexa picked up her golf bag before Sigfred could heft it this time, and they started back to the fairway, but before they made it through the rough, Uncle Montgomery said, "Sigfred, I'd like you to ride with me. I need your assistance in choosing a club for my next shot."

Alexa and Sigfred exchanged glances, and then Sigfred joined her uncle. Alexa wondered what her uncle had seen. But what did it matter? She was a grown woman, and Uncle Montgomery was someone who had been in her life for a matter of days. He had no power over her at all. Yet, she suddenly felt an unaccountable fear at what he might try to do about this.

Alexa played the next holes in virtual silence, trying to shut out the feigned erotic giggles of those annoying twin bimbos. Meanwhile, The Mayor and Uncle Montgomery had started to bicker. Apparently, on the last hole, they'd placed a wager on the match, and now every move the other made became a matter of debate. The Mayor argued that a ball he'd hit in a drainage ditch was an unplayable lie, allowing him to take relief without a penalty stroke; Uncle Montgomery vehemently disagreed. Her uncle accused The Mayor of intentionally stepping into his putt line; The Mayor claimed that he'd stepped over it. And on and on, the tension growing so great that the men began ignoring the Dowdy twins, who seemed to be wilting in the afternoon heat.

On the twelfth hole, a par four, The Mayor sliced his second shot to the far right. The ball headed in the direction of Uncle Montgomery, who had—in breach of etiquette—driven ahead before The Mayor had taken his shot.

"Fore," The Mayor shouted but only at the last moment and not very loudly—not at all loudly enough to warn Uncle Montgomery. The ball walloped the side of Uncle Montgomery's cart and ricocheted into the center of the fairway.

Uncle Montgomery punched the gas pedal on his cart and ran over The Mayor's ball.

"Oops," Uncle Montgomery shouted to The Mayor. "Looks like you're in a divot. Golf's an unforgiving game."

However, Alexa, who was standing with The Mayor tracking his shot, knew better. She said quietly for his ears only, "Bobby, you're too good a golfer for a shot like that." She glanced at Dani. "At least when your mind isn't wandering." She paused. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to kill my uncle."

The Mayor got out of his cart and escorted Alexa off the fairway and out of earshot from Dani. "What do you know about your uncle?" he asked.

"First of all, take your hand off my arm. Second of all, what are you talking about, Bobby?"

"Your uncle is a scoundrel. Always has been. And he's a womanizer."

"That's hard to believe. And who are you to talk the way you've been cavorting with Dani?" Although Alexa realized that she was hardly one to talk.

"I know about your uncle firsthand. When I was maybe two years old, your uncle seduced my nanny. She left my side to go into the bushes with the man, and I was almost killed. The gardener saved me. That's one of the reasons that your grandfather threw your uncle out. As for Dani Dowdy, I can't control how she behaves. She flirts with everyone."

Alexa felt her cheeks flush hot. Was this true about her uncle? She didn't want to believe it. Besides, she was beginning to understand that Bobby Baumgartner wasn't as trustworthy as he'd always seemed.

"That's an easy accusation to make," she said. "But it's hearsay."

"I was there."

"You were two years old." She paused, eyebrows rising with surprise. "You _were_ trying to kill my uncle with that golf shot, weren't you?"

He ground his club into the turf in anger. "That's absurd. I'm just trying to finish the round. If that old fool has the bad sense to drive ahead of me, it's his problem."

She shook her head. Whatever the truth, she'd made a decision. "I've had enough. The engagement is off, Bobby."

The Mayor turned several shades of color from red to purple and opened his mouth, looking as if he might bellow, but then his eyes widened and bulged, and he vomited a glob of the vilest black liquid that Alexa had ever seen. She took a step back, horrified, as he bent over coughing, not stopping until Dani ran over and patted his back.

"I'm sorry you're taking this so hard, Bobby, but I'm not going to change my mind," Alexa said, trying to avoid becoming sick to her stomach herself because of what she'd just witnessed. "Are you all right? We should call a doctor."

Bobby sprung to his feet, surprisingly agile for someone who'd just lost his last meal. "I'm fine. Just momentarily stunned." He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his mouth and face. "I hope you'll reconsider, Alexa. In fact, I'm not going to accept your rejection. Take some time to think about this, and you'll realize that I'll make you a fine husband. Meanwhile, if my physical crisis in any way stained your attire, please do send me the cleaning bill. Now, let's finish the round. Mayor Bobby Baumgartner does not let a little glitch interfere with what is truly important in life. Why don't you ride along with me?" He smiled debonairly.

"I'm not going to force Dani to walk. The perspiration will ruin her makeup. I'll see you at the next tee." Alexa wanted desperately to quit playing—heck, all of them probably wanted to quit except the twins—but she soldiered on.

On the eighteenth hole, a par three, Uncle Montgomery stood on the tee. He addressed the ball and took the wildest, most violent swing that Alexa had ever seen. The ball went on a beeline left, almost ninety degrees. It hit The Mayor, who'd been standing too far forward and speaking with Dani, square in the left temple. Alexa gasped. Bobby crumpled to the ground like a doomed, fatally wounded deer in hunting season. Dani screamed, and Sigfred rushed over to The Mayor.

Uncle Montgomery just stood there on the tee, smirking. "Anyone mind if I take a mulligan?" he asked.

Alexa watched her uncle in horror. Perhaps Bobby and Sigfred were right, and her uncle wasn't the man she'd thought he was. She'd always been a trusting person, perhaps too trusting. Ever since the incident at The Magpie, she didn't know whom she could trust now.

While Della was on her cell phone calling the emergency medical team and Sigfred and Dani were tending to The Mayor, Alexa quickly considered transforming into Electromancer and transporting The Mayor to the nearest hospital. But then suddenly, The Mayor groaned, leaped up, and said, "Could someone hand me my nine-iron? I do believe I have the honor."

Alexa gaped at Bobby in confusion. Had the ball really struck him, or was he faking all of this? But she'd seen the ball carom off his skull. Perhaps the heat of the day and the heat of her encounter with Sigfred were causing her mind to play tricks upon her. Or maybe the electrical currents always running under the surface, even when she was Alexa, were interfering with her brainwaves.

Unexpectedly, Alexa's cell phone rang. When she answered it, Dr. Charles Chin said, "Ms. Manchester, you'd better get down to The Mick. There's been a break-in. Your father's laboratory. It's been completely ransacked."

# Chapter 18

_Later that afternoon . . ._

Alexa reclined on a couch in the rose-scented sunroom, trying to make sense of the day. She'd begun it as an engaged woman, bent on compromising her personal life so that she could embrace her life as Electromancer more easily. Then, she'd shared that sublime, transgressive interlude with Sigfred. She'd broken off her engagement with the unreliable Mayor Baumgartner, who was hospitalized with a severe concussion and who, before he'd been taken to the ambulance, was ranting about her Uncle Montgomery, grasshoppers, and Henrietta Hensinger. Meanwhile, it appeared that The Mayor and Uncle Montgomery had tried to kill each other, though both had denied it. Certainly, her uncle Montgomery had gotten the better of that exchange.

Then the day had gotten even worse—the break-in at The Mick. She'd wanted to investigate alone, but her uncle insisted on accompanying her there, said he was worried about her safety. Sigfred had wanted to drive them to The Mick, but Uncle Montgomery had insisted that this was private Manchester business, and Alexa agreed, only because she wanted to gauge her uncle's behavior after what Bobby had claimed about him. When she and Uncle Montgomery arrived at The Mick, Constable Pete Petaud had already marked off the area as a crime scene and had forbidden their entry until after the room was dusted for fingerprints.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much evidence to be found. None of the workers claimed to have seen or heard anything suspicious. _Was it an inside job?_ Alexa wondered. She'd hate to think that her employees had betrayed her. Still, she was learning, yet again, that she apparently shouldn't trust anyone.

Now, Gladys came into the sunroom and set down a service of tea and scones. "Your uncle is on the way in to speak with you, Alexa." Gladys turned, but not before Alexa caught a smile playing on the woman's lips.

"You're fond of Uncle Monty, Gladys, if that twinkle in your eye means anything."

"Don't be absurd," Gladys said, but she was blushing now.

Alexa hesitated, wanting to phrase her question gently. "Are you . . . sure about him?"

"Of course. Why, he reminds me of your late father. The same intelligence, the same sense of humor, the same kind spirit."

"Hmm." Alexa wasn't buying it. There were too many contradictions. Uncle Montgomery was alternately avuncular and dictatorial, calm and temperamental, forthcoming and closemouthed. He was also mysterious—they'd left The Mick a day earlier because an important package had supposedly arrived for him, so important that Gladys had telephoned to ask him to return to the mansion immediately. Yet, when they got home, he merely locked the package in his room and never mentioned it again. Then there was the matter of Uncle Montgomery and The Mayor trying to kill each other.

Before Alexa could convey her doubts to Gladys, Uncle Montgomery announced his presence by clearing his throat. He sat down in a large easy chair. "Alexa, I need you to sign some paperwork." He handed her a stack of papers with various sticker arrows that read, _Sign here_. He offered her a pen, which she refused.

After she read the papers, she stood up, electricity crackling in her ears. "What's the meaning of this, Uncle Monty?"

"What is it?" Gladys asked.

"My uncle wants me to sign over temporary control of the Manchester holdings to him. Except "temporary" means indefinite, as I read in this fine print." She gazed at her uncle in horror. "Is this what was in the package that arrived the other day? Did you have your lawyers draw this up?"

"Sign them, Alexa," he said icily.

"I will not."

"I'm afraid this is exactly what I feared," he said. "You've been behaving erratically even before I got here, as I understand it. Gladys has told me all about your flightiness with The Mayor—the on-again, off-again engagement. Not only that, but you seem to believe in some conspiracy theory that a shadowy criminal warlord is out to get you. Not to mention your childish belief in a superhero that can fly and shoot electricity."

"That is true," she insisted. "It's been all over the news."

"The news can be manipulated," her uncle said. "It's always manipulated."

Alexa glanced over at Gladys, wondering what else the woman had told Uncle Montgomery. Gladys averted her eyes.

"This discussion is over," Alexa said. "In fact, out of respect for you, Uncle Montgomery, I'll pretend that it never began. I'm off to consult with Chef Yurdlemon about dinner."

"I think you should sit down, Alexa," he said, holding up another stack of papers. "I believe you are acquainted with The Manchester Trust?"

"Of course. I control it. No one else can take control of the trust while I'm alive and well."

"You must sign these papers!" Uncle Montgomery said, his face turning red and his voice growing louder. "If not, I'll take your incompetence up with the board of directors. Then I'll get you psychiatric help. Perhaps a conservatorship until your hallucinations subside."

"You're the one who's delusional," Alexa said, starting toward the door.

"Was I delusional when I saw you in the woods with Sigfred Sawyer?" he asked. "From what I saw, it looked like he was holding your . . . hand." A disdainful look crossed his face. "More than that even. Cavorting with servants is unbecoming of a Manchester heiress, to say the least. Further evidence of mental instability."

Alexa felt electrical sparks bite harder at her nerve endings. She couldn't allow herself to become upset. Neither could she stand there and listen to this drivel from this so-called uncle whom she'd only just rediscovered. He didn't know her. He had no right to judge. "Sigfred was helping me through the tall grass and weeds. I call that gentlemanly behavior." He didn't need to know about the rest.

Uncle Montgomery's expression softened so abruptly that Alexa almost startled. "Think of The Mick and your father's legacy," he said. "Your fault, not your fault, it doesn't matter. Now, the public distrusts Alexa Manchester. If we continue to go on this way, your father's legacy will be permanently blemished. The damage will be irreparable." He wiped his brow with a handkerchief. "All I'm trying to do is preserve the family name. My dear brother's name. You were the one who persisted in calling the plant _The Mick_ , and now it's all a shambles."

Her uncle's words struck her at the core. Preserving her father's legacy meant everything to Alexa. Maybe what her uncle was saying made sense. Maybe she was too naive and inexperienced to run the Manchester holdings.

And then she remembered her uncle's errant golf ball and the look of triumph on his face as The Mayor lay unconscious.

"You needn't be worried, Uncle Monty. I can assure you that I am just fine. What happened at The Mick was an accident. Accidents happen. We all do our best to avoid them. Witness your errant golf shot. That was an accident, wasn't it, Uncle Montgomery?" His mouth gaped open, but she wasn't about to wait for an answer. "Now, if you'll excuse me . . . " She turned her back on him and left the room.

As she walked down the hall, she took three deep breaths to calm herself down. She'd spoken firmly to her uncle, had staked out her position, but she was worried. Sometimes she did feel as if she were going crazy, wondered if she'd imagined everything that had happened to her over the past few days. Could he really have her ousted from her company? Worse, have her committed to a mental facility?

She stewed over all of this until dinnertime. She dreaded having to sit across from Uncle Montgomery at the long table and make nice, but he sent word through Gladys that he was dining out—where, he didn't say. Relieved, she ate dinner alone, wondering how she could thwart her uncle's power play. Those thoughts led to worrying about Momo's next power play. The masked scoundrel was undoubtedly already planning his next move.

Worrying was getting Alexa nowhere. She couldn't control what others were going to do. She had to make her own decisions. She retired to the study and placed the engagement ring into a small box, sealing it. The engagement was officially off. It was empowering to take control again. Sigfred was right, she needed to follow her heart. He'd always done what was best for her. Money, status, social position—none of that mattered.

And that kiss! No man had ever kissed her like that before. His touch had imprinted itself upon her very soul. She felt as if a bright light had illuminated a darkness that she hadn't known existed, revealing a truth that should've been obvious all along—she was in love with Sigfred Sawyer. And surprisingly, he had to be in love with her. A man who kisses like that is a man in love. Suddenly, her future didn't seem so frightening.

At about eight-thirty, Alexa summoned Gladys to her study. When Gladys arrived, Alexa handed her a small package.

"It's Mayor Baumgartner's ring," Alexa said. "Please have Sigfred deliver it to The Mayor right away. I believe he's still in hospital, but doing well. Sigfred can deliver the ring there."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Gladys responded.

"Why ever not?"

"Sigfred has gone. Or more accurately, your uncle told him that his services were no longer necessary."

"What?! Uncle Monty sacked him? Without even consulting me?!" Rage curled around Alexa's spine and uncontrollable sparks flew from her fingertips. Gladys ducked, but the electricity singed the antique grandfather clock and bookshelves.

"Alexa! Stop, dear," Gladys warned, but Alexa had already transformed into Electromancer.

In her crystalline voice, Electromancer said, "This is an outrage!"

"Please get control of yourself," Gladys said. "Anger won't solve anything, and there's something I need to discuss with you."

Electromancer forced herself to calm down and transformed back to Alexa. "What is it, Gladys?"

Gladys steadied herself and took a deep breath. "Is it true that Sigfred was groping you at the golf course, dear?" She gave Alexa a knowing look.

But Alexa was still too worked up to respond. "I must go to Sigfred at once."

"Because if it is true," Gladys continued, ignoring Alexa's reply, "then your uncle did the right thing."

"You don't understand Gladys. I . . . I love him."

Gladys's eyebrows rose in surprise, but she remained silent, her face disbelieving.

"Where's Sigfred?" Alexa demanded.

"Gone."

"Gone where?"

"He didn't say, just packed his bags and left. He could be anywhere. He always talked about going to Americana . . . " Gladys shrugged. "I truly think Montgomery did the best thing for you, dear."

Alexa shook her head, seething, on the verge of transforming again. "Oh. So it's Montgomery now. Perhaps I'm not the only woman in this house who's allowed herself to be groped."

"Oh, Alexa. How could you speak to me like that?" Gladys asked, obviously stung by the harsh words.

Alexa felt a pang of guilt, but she also felt so tired of other people thinking they knew best and trying to make important life decisions for her. Sigfred was gone, and he was the only person in her life who didn't try to control her.

"I'm going to go find him," Alexa said.

"It's impossible. He could be anywhere."

"It's not impossible for Electromancer."

Alexa started for the door. When Gladys grabbed her arm, sparks began flying wildly from Alexa's body. When Gladys didn't let go, Alexa, with a Herculean effort, stopped the transformation.

"It's not right," Gladys said. "You shouldn't use your powers to solve your personal problems."

Alexa fixed a stony stare on Gladys. "How soon after my uncle sacked Sigfred did you become aware of it? We were only playing golf a few hours ago, and then my uncle came with me to The Mick."

Gladys dropped her hand and said, "Sigfred told me right after he returned from the golf course."

"But when did my uncle have time to . . . " Then Alexa realized that Uncle Montgomery had been speaking to Sigfred alone when she'd gone to the women's locker room to get her shoes. The sacking must have occurred then. "How could you, Gladys?"

Gladys lowered her eyes. "We were only trying to do what was best for you."

Alexa felt betrayed. After all these years, how could Gladys go behind her back like this? Apparently, the only person she could truly trust was Sigfred, and he was gone. "You did the worst thing you could possibly do to me, Gladys." The tone was in the crystalline voice of Electromancer. "And know this—I can use my powers however I want. Whenever I want. Wherever I want. They're mine." A horrible thought occurred to Alexa. "Gladys, did you tell my uncle that I'm Electromancer?"

"Of course not. I wouldn't."

Alexa reached out and grabbed Gladys's arm hard. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. On my life." She looked down at her arm. "Alexa, you're hurting me."

Alexa looked at her own hand in horror and immediately released Gladys. All anger was gone. There was only remorse.

"Oh, Gladys, I'm sorry. I know you mean well. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine dear. And I'm sorry, too. You're right. Sometimes I still think you're a child, but I know you're not. But whatever my feelings, I should've helped Sigfred, at least until everyone had a say."

Now Alexa's eyes filled with tears. "What I said before is true, you know. Servant or not, I love him, Gladys."

Gladys nodded, and the two women embraced. Then Alexa stepped back and said, "Gladys, will you do me a favor?"

"Of course, dear. Anything."

"When my uncle gets back, please tell him to come and see me here in the study. I don't care how late it is."

"Is that all?"

"That's all, Gladys. Thank you."

• • •

An hour later, there was a knock on the study door, and Uncle Montgomery came in.

"Gladys said you wanted to see me. I'm hoping you've reconsidered and signed the papers. It is only temporary, Alexa. I'm an old man. You'll be able to get your house in order and take control when you're more prepared."

"Oh, we're way past that, Uncle Montgomery. I just want to tell you that I forbid you to terminate the services of my employees. I want Sigfred to return immediately."

"It's too late for that. I've arranged for his employment abroad."

"Well, that's just too bloody bad. He's my butler and will remain so."

"You sound like a petulant child, like a spoiled little rich girl throwing a fit to get her way. You're incapable of making a rational decision." He folded his arms and glared at her.

"Here's a rational decision, Uncle Montgomery." She lifted her chin, hands on her hips. "I've decided that you're to leave this house by noon tomorrow."

"You're throwing me out of the Manchester home? I'm a Manchester."

"As you, yourself told me, Grandfather determined that it would be my father's, not yours. I have a feeling that the reasons go far deeper than primogeniture."

Her uncle's visage darkened, and he clenched his fists. His eyes emitted lethal venom, the glare so violent that she was ready to transform if necessary. When there was a knock at the door, they both stood down.

Gladys entered. "There's a note for you, Alexa. It seems that it was left on the stoop. I didn't see anyone around."

Gladys handed Alexa the note. After Alexa read it, she and Gladys exchanged a look. Gladys walked over and turned on the television. There was Momo on the screen, hiding behind his silly gold mask again.

"Most extraordinary," Uncle Montgomery said. "What—?"

Alexa put her finger to her lips to shush him.

"Alexa Manchester, you had fair warning," Momo said. "Now terror will rain down upon Kensington City. Say goodbye to your river, your Sugar Express Train Depot, your precious Mick. The first strike will be at Big Benny. Tick tock, tick tock. Such a pity. I do love that old clock. And the city wasn't bad either, not barbaric like The Big Apple or The City of Angels, which deserved to go down."

His tone changed from glib to fierce. "You have until midnight tomorrow to give me what I want, and if you don't, then say goodbye to your beloved city. Everyone will believe Alexa Manchester is responsible for the destruction of Kensington City. After that, I will destroy the rest of the world's energy plants one by one until you comply with my demands. If you go to the authorities, I'll take the cities out all at once. You know very well that I can do it!" The screen went blank and then switched to some cheesy sitcom.

Alexa powered down the television monitor.

"Who was that?" Uncle Montgomery said. "What was that?"

Gladys and Alexa explained as quickly as possible, leaving out the fact that Alexa was Electromancer. Her uncle could only shake his head.

"Now you see why it's not so simple to manage my life," Alexa said. "So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to retire for the night."

"And do nothing?" Uncle Montgomery asked. "Not call the authorities?"

"The authorities have been looking for Momo," she said. "They didn't find him after the attack on The Big Apple, and they didn't find him after the attack on The City of Angels. They won't find him now."

"You heard the man's threat, Alexa," he said. "I'm sure your father would not have allowed personal pride to interfere with preventing world disaster. If the authorities can't help, what choice do you have? Give Momo what he wants. You can't just ignore him."

"I don't intend to," Alexa said. "But I'm not giving in to a terrorist." She shook her head. "In light of what you've seen, Uncle Monty, you may stay if you so choose, for the time being."

"You must stay," Gladys said.

"No, I'll abide by my niece's wishes," Uncle Montgomery said. "There were things said that cannot be taken back. As I said, I'm an old-fashioned man who believes that young people should respect their elders. I'll take a suite at the Ritzzy Carl in midtown. I won't wait until tomorrow to go. I'll leave tonight. If there's anything I can do to help, well, you know where to find me."

"There's nothing anyone can do," Alexa said. "I have to handle this on my own. Good-bye, Uncle Montgomery."

"Your response is irrational, narcissistic, even paranoid," Uncle Montgomery said. "It only confirms my belief that you are unstable."

Alexa fled the room. Once she was in the foyer and out of sight, in a flash, she transformed. Nanoseconds later, she was soaring over Kensington City. Big Benny was ticking and intact. Would it be tomorrow?

She zoomed over her city, with its beautiful hills and rivers, and realized what she must do. Alexa finally had a plan—and she'd need some help to complete it.

Decision made, she touched down almost instantaneously on the stoop of Sigfred's flat—or what had been his flat. She was Alexa again. She raised her hand to knock.

# Chapter 19

_On a moonless night . . ._

Sigfred stood on the corner near the stairwell leading down to the subway, concealed in eerie shadows cast by grimy street lamps. His hard stare and deep frown—almost a scowl—made him resemble one of The Momaxita hit men who'd happily accept jobs that no one else would take on. With a dispassion as cold as the night air, he regarded the silhouette of a lone figure standing on his doorstep. He couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. There shouldn't have been anyone standing there. No one knew about this place. Not even his employers. Almost casually, he slid a hand inside his windbreaker and felt the handle of his Heckler & Koch USP semiautomatic—precise, capable of hitting a small target from long range. He drew the gun from his pocket and got ready to fire.

The person began knocking, waited, and knocked again, this time frantically. The street was deserted, so even from a hundred yards away, he could hear the echo of the fist striking against the door. He kept his gun trained in the direction of the person and started forward, while keeping an eye out for other intruders who might be lurking.

The person knocked three more times and then immediately peered into the window. Nothing to see there—Sigfred always kept his shades drawn and the blackout curtains closed when he was away. He had secrets to protect.

There was a screeching, and Sigfred raised his gun, ready to fire. It took him a moment to determine the source of the noise—a sewer rat as big as a Jack Russell terrier scurrying out of a storm drain and heading who knew where. For one brief, irrational moment, Sigfred thought of shooting the rat, actually aimed in its direction and started to squeeze the trigger, but backed off on the pressure before he fired. A chill ran down his spine—what had gotten into him?

He turned back to the interloper, who was still trying to see into the window. Suddenly, there was a burst of light. How could he have failed to recognize Alexa Manchester? She transformed into Electromancer, then into a thin thread of electrical energy, and shot through the keyhole. It all happened so fast that the image of Electromancer imprinted itself on his retinas only after she was already inside. A light went on in the flat, and the silhouette of the person now inside was petite, delicate—Alexa again.

"No!" he shouted aloud, and the word echoed down the street and startled the huge rat, which was devouring what looked like leftover fish and chips that someone had dropped outside a garbage bin. The rat scampered back into the sewer.

Sigfred sprinted back to his flat and onto the stoop, his house keys in hand. But he hesitated before unlocking the door, pondering whether he should go inside. Perhaps he should leave. That would spare them both the pain that was inevitably in store for them.

That choice was taken away from him when the front door opened a crack.

A bewildered Alexa stood gaping at him, her beautiful lips parted in surprise. She was wearing one of his dress shirts, which fell to mid-thigh, and nothing else.

He glanced at her legs. "Were you standing on my front porch without—?"

Though it was dimly lit inside, he could see her cheeks flush scarlet. "I came here as Electromancer, but somehow I felt your presence and transformed back into Alexa. I could've prevented it, but I let it happen. It's dark, and the street is deserted, so I didn't think anyone would see me. I wanted to be Alexa at that moment, clothing or not. But when I heard a noise . . . " She smiled.

He couldn't help but smile back.

"My uncle said you'd left the country," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"That's what he wanted. It's not what I wanted."

She lowered her eyes. "Sigfred, what are you doing with that gun? Please put it away."

He looked at his hand as if it belonged to someone else. "This is a rough neighborhood. And that Momo character . . . " He put the gun back into his windbreaker. "You should've been more careful."

"I can take care of myself," she said. "I'm sure you know that electricity can move faster than a bullet."

"Only if you know that the bullet is coming."

"I'm here to tell you that Uncle Montgomery has left the mansion. At my request. I don't suppose you'll come back to me?"

He was confused. What was she actually offering? A job or a life together. He decided not to make assumptions. "I can't do that. I have another job."

"Sigfred, I didn't mean . . . " She looked flustered but then composed herself.

_Maybe they were both being cautious_ , he thought.

"Now that I've seen the gun you carry, I'm not surprised that you have another job," she continued. She opened the door wider, reached out, and took his hand. "I didn't mean to be rude. Let me invite you into your own flat."

He stepped inside. In her presence, he felt as if his place was shabby and unworthy—the threadbare sofa, the frayed easy chair, the old lumpy Murphy bed, the dirty dishes piled up in the sink. It wasn't because she was rich. It was her physical beauty, her kindness, her willingness to sacrifice everything to save a world that flung unwarranted accusations at her. Royalty like Alexa Manchester shouldn't be subjected to his inferior apartment. He tried to banish these thoughts, tried to stop thinking like a servant. He wanted to be with her forever, but how was that possible? There were so many complications.

She went on to tell him about her uncle's attempt to get her to sign over control of the Manchester holdings, of Montgomery's threat to have her committed, of Gladys's role in allowing Sigfred to be terminated without Alexa's knowledge.

"Gladys was infatuated by your uncle," Sigfred said. "He does have a way with the ladies. I saw him with Della Dowdy, and he's a real charmer. So please forgive Gladys."

"I already have. But there's something else, Sigfred. Another message from Momo came last night. He threatened to attack Kensington City—our city—if I don't comply with his demands by midnight tomorrow. He's going to start with Big Benny, and then, who knows?"

Sigfred moved close and took her hands in his. "Electromancer will stop him. As always."

She shook her head. "I'm not sure of that anymore. I heard it in Momo's voice. Something is different this time."

"I know it's difficult being Electromancer. The responsibility. The loneliness. The fear. The frustration of not being able to go back to the life you had before."

"It's not as hard as being Alexa Manchester." They were still holding hands, and without letting go, she led him to the sofa. When they sat down, she turned to him. "I've been so privileged—wealth, the best education, the best of everything." Her cheeks flushed rosy. "Loyal servants—even when I don't deserve them." She looked coyly at him. "So, who am I to complain? Yet where has it gotten me? Too many people think I've orchestrated all the outages and attacks. Why?"

"Because we live in a cynical, dangerous society. It blinds us. Sometimes we fail to perceive the good that is right there before us."

"I broke it off with Bobby Baumgartner. You were right. People should always follow their hearts. I'm here because I followed mine tonight."

He leaned over and kissed her as he caressed her cheek with his hand. She melted into him. Her body felt electric, and not because she was a superhero, but because she was quintessentially human—quintessentially Alexa.

When she drew back, breathing deeply and her chest heaving, she said, "We've kissed before, and it was wonderful, but that was . . . " She'd been smiling, but now her expression became solemn. "Who are you, Sigfred?"

"Alexa, you know who I am. I was your father's butler and after that _your_ butler—your humble servant."

"That's not the whole truth, is it? I could use a dose of the truth right now." She leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Please, Sigfred."

It was his turn to take a deep breath. What he was about to tell her was a clear violation of his sworn oath. To reveal it would be a crime against the Commonwealth. But looking into her eyes—those sad, plaintive, beautiful eyes—he had no choice but to tell it.

"You recall that before I began working for your father, I was in the employ of Lord Wilkinson Wintersworth?"

"You were his valet."

"He took me in, but I wasn't his valet. I was his recruit. Into the service of MI-8."

Her eyes widened. "Lord Wintersworth was MI-8? You were a spy?"

"I prefer the word _agent_. I was recruited into a special program that the Agency had just begun—open only to the fittest, and I don't say this to be boastful, open only to the brightest. My father was a carpenter in Surreyham, and my mother a bookkeeper. A middle-class, nondescript, comfortable family. I was fortunate. I finished at the top of my class and was a strong athlete. Lord Wintersworth had purchased furniture from my father. He recruited me into what was, at the time, called—and this is top secret, limited eyes only, which means I could go to prison for revealing it, and you could go to jail for knowing it—Project Chiron. We were trained in the martial arts, in all types of weaponry, but also given . . . " He had to stop and take several breaths. He hadn't told this story in years, had forced himself not to think about it. "We were given performance-enhancing drugs."

She recoiled. "You mean steroids and human growth hormone?"

He laughed bitterly. "Similar, but synthetic, and light-years more potent. I was given something, the chemical name of which is too hard to pronounce, but that went by the street name of _Cerulean Halo_."

"Because . . . ?"

"Because the tablets were a cerulean color and because they turned you into an avenging angel. There was an unexpected side effect."

She squeezed his hand. If she hadn't, he wouldn't have been able to go on.

"What side effects?" she asked. "Oh God, Sigfred, are you all right?"

"The side effect was that avenging angels sometimes don't always avenge the right cause. So, I quit the program, and though Lord Wintersworth could've had me banished or worse—agents of MI-8 don't leave so easily—he was generous where I was concerned. That was not always true when others disappointed him. He assigned me to another job. To protect Mickey Manchester, who was experimenting with Electromite. And to protect Mickey's family against those who might seek to harm them. Lord Wintersworth and MI-8 realized the value that Electromite could have."

"My father never breathed a word of this," she said.

"Because to know who I was could compromise you. It was a case of _the less said, the better_."

All at once her eyes filled with tears. "Did I treat you horribly? And all this time you were—"

He held up a hand and then placed it on her cheek. "No, never. You've always been a kind, compassionate person. The fact that you believed I was your employee meant I was doing my job well. There couldn't be a greater compliment for someone in my line of work."

She smiled, her eyes sparkling through the tears. She placed her hand on his upper thigh, causing a current of lust to flow through his body. She leaned in closer. "We're no longer on the golf course," she said. She kissed him, and this time, they parted their lips simultaneously. Her tongue felt like satin. "Make love to me, now, Sigfred."

They stood, kissing again, their bodies pressed together. Moments later, he led her to the bedroom. When he pulled down the creaky Murphy bed from the wall cabinet, he flushed in embarrassment.

"Not very romantic," he said.

"It's perfect." When she lay down on the bed, her shirt rode up, and her sublime honey-blond hair billowed over the sheets.

He stood there for a moment, admiring her flawless legs and studying the soft, erotic curves of her inner thighs. Her delicate breasts rose and fell with every breath. He reached down and unfastened the shirt. He ran a hand up her legs and along the contours of her hips and waist. She moaned, and her entire body writhed in pleasure, as if that simple touch had been orgasmic. When he bent over and touched his tongue to the tip of her breast, crackles of electricity emanated from her body. Soon, they were enveloped in a blanket of lust.

The urge to taste her was irresistible. He kissed her lips lightly, then let his tongue slide down her body. When he circled her navel with his tongue, she sighed in anticipation and opened herself to him. He moved lower, and as soon as he touched her, she moaned in pleasure. He could have stayed there forever, but it was apparent that she wanted more.

"Sigfred, I need you," she said breathlessly.

She rose. Her passion was so intense that she almost ripped off his clothing. Then she pulled him to her. When he took her in his arms and entered her, the entire world was perfect, and her touch, the movement of her body, the subtle rhythms, the way they explored each other, couldn't have been more exalted had they been in her grand bedroom at the Manchester mansion or even in the bedchamber of Britannia's queen.

Afterward, they lay still, absorbing the moment, letting the sparks course and slowly dissipate. "Don't ever leave me again," she said breathlessly. They fell asleep in one another's arms and awoke to the garden songs of the linnet and wren.

Wordlessly, they embraced. After they made love a second time, Sigfred said, "You're beautiful, Ms. Manchester . . . Alexa."

Alexa crooked an arm and rested her head on her hand. "And you're beautiful, too, my man . . . my Sigfred." Her eyes twinkled knowingly. "You _are_ my protector."

"I am at that."

Her look became serious. "No. I mean . . . The pills you took were cerulean—cerulean blue. And the name of the Project. Chiron. I remember from my mythology studies that Chiron was the centaur who tutored Achilles in archery. Chiron was also known as Sagittarius, the archer sign in the horoscope."

A chill ran down Sigfred's spine, and he sat up. "Alexa, I . . . "

"You _are_ my protector," she whispered. "You're Blue Arrow."

# Chapter 20

_Across town . . ._

Mayor Baumgartner had finished his breakfast salad of butter lettuce, bean sprouts, and carrots and had just asked the nurse to bring him a dessert plate of raw celery sticks and spring onions. As the city's mayor and a potential future prime minister, he'd received from the Royal Kensington Memorial Hospital the VIP treatment he'd come to expect. But, enough was enough—he'd had nothing but a little bump on the head, and he was ready to check out of the hospital. He knew just what he was going to do when he got out—track down that Montgomery Manchester, who'd almost ruined his life when it had just begun and who'd again tried to kill him on the golf course.

The Mayor buzzed the nurse and demanded that the doctor release him. Then he found his cell phone and dialed Alexa Manchester's number. As before, the call rolled over to voice mail. For the fifth time, he dialed the Manchester mansion, and for the fifth time, Gladys told him that Alexa was unavailable. But this time, she told him that if he called again, she'd hang up, mayor or not.

His head began to throb, as much as it had when he'd regained consciousness after that golf game the day before. He'd bollixed it all with Alexa—flirting with the Dowdy twins, quarreling with her despicable uncle, treating her like a child. He needed to mend fences with her, to win her back—not because he loved her, but because his political career depended upon it. He needed her money, and he needed a wife to overcome his image as a playboy. Her stature in the public eye had certainly fallen in the past few days, but that was because of that annoying criminal mastermind, Momo, who had become a royal pain in the arse. And that's how The Mayor had decided to get Alexa back—pursue Momo and bring him to justice. It was a risky strategy—after all, it had been The Mayor who'd sold the Electromite to Momo in the first place. Still, The Mayor was willing to take the risk that no voter in his right mind would ever believe that he, a distinguished politician and statesman, would sell a dangerous element to an organized crime leader.

Zachary Zero slithered inside The Mayor's hospital room. "You called, Boss?"

"Don't call me that. You're not the comptroller anymore, which means I'm not officially your boss, and while I'm unofficially your boss, no one can know that, because I can't be associated with an embezzler or a lush. It would only besmirch my good name."

"That's harsh, Mayor Baumgartner."

"Well, get over it, man. What do you have on Momo?"

Zero smiled proudly. "I discovered his hideout."

The throbbing in The Mayor's head let up a bit. "Spill it."

"I followed my assailant, Bigelow Bitterman, just like you told me to do. I'm going to sue that weasel for my personal injuries as a result of his reckless driving. My solicitor says—"

"Focus, Zero! Momo's hideout."

"Yeah, well, Bitterman's a weird guy and not easy to follow. He hangs around with strange goons who look like they survived lethal laboratory explosions. He spends his time down at the East Kensington Lanes rolling balls and chasing skirts. The bowling alley is in a rough area, down at the wharves. Anyway, it was weird. This hulking guy comes into this tough place and gives Bitterman a large bouquet of roses. Adorned with nosegays, too. I mean, I know that in this day and age, a fellow can give another fellow flowers. I have nothing against it as long as it's not me, but it doesn't happen at the East Kensington Lanes. You don't dare order a light beer there, or you'll be harassed by the thugs." He pulled at his necktie as if he were being strangled. "I know firsthand."

"How does Biggie Bitterman's love life factor into this? Get to the point."

Zero held up his hands. "I'm not accusing anybody of anything . . . "

"So, Bitterman gets a bouquet of flowers. How does this lead to Momo's hideout?"

"I'm not telling you anything unless you grant me that pardon, Mr. Mayor."

"A mayor has no power to grant pardons. I already saved you from prison."

"Sure you can, Mayor. You're going to be prime minister, and prime ministers _can_ grant pardons. So if you want to know where Momo's hideout is, I want your signed pardon, now." He pulled some papers and a pen out of his pocket. "I've forward-dated it to the day after your election."

The Mayor signed the papers and handed them back to Zero, who perused them closely before nodding in satisfaction.

"So, it turns out that the flowers aren't for Bitterman after all," Zero said. "Bitterman goes to the men's room, comes out dressed in a Commonwealth Express messenger's uniform—he's even wearing lifts so he looks taller—gets in this fake Commonwealth Express truck, and takes the flowers to the Manchester mansion. Walking with a limp all the while because of that broken leg of his sustained in that accident where he's going to pay me for my injuries."

"Who were the flowers for?"

Zero shrugged. "I'm not sure, but I'm guessing it wasn't for her uncle or Sigfred Sawyer. And I read Chef Yurdlemon won't have flowers in his kitchen."

"They could've been for Gladys, Alexa's head of staff."

"I thought of that, but Gladys answered the door and didn't act like a woman who'd just received flowers. I know. I can tell about those things."

"Are you suggesting that Bitterman and Alexa Manchester are in cahoots?"

"Absolutely not, Mayor Baumgartner. I'm suggesting that Momo and Ms. Manchester might be in cahoots. There have been a lot of strange things going on around this planet of ours."

"Did you see Alexa there?"

"No. No. But I followed the messenger—Bitterman. I followed his truck. He drove out of town and into the Mullgany Mountains, into this hidden ravine that opens up into a canyon. There was this huge structure, hidden away. I would never have known it was there if I hadn't followed Bitterman. You can't even see it from the sky because of the rock formation in the mountains and the thick foliage. A perfect hideout."

"Good work, Zero."

"Why, thank you, Mayor. Maybe along with the pardon, you could testify against Bitterman in my lawsuit?"

"Just give me the directions to Momo's hideout and leave," The Mayor said. "On the way out, ask the nurse where my side plate of vegetables is. While you're at it, ask her to include a glass of wheatgrass juice."

Zero nodded, but before he could leave the room, there was a commotion in the corridor.

"Step aside, sir! I demand my rights!" The speaker was none other than Henrietta Hensinger.

The door burst open, and in walked Miss Hensinger, wearing a white peacock-feather hat with an extra-wide brim. She might've been waiting in line to get into the Kensington City Derby. She was followed by several other women and Conroy Corn.

"We're here to report on the progress at the Sugar Express Train Depot," Miss Hensinger said.

The Mayor's head began pounding. He spat up a vile greenish-black liquid that burned his throat, gagging in his effort to keep it down.

Mr. Corn said, "Maybe we ought to come back another time, Henny. The Mayor isn't feeling well."

"Nonsense," Miss Hensinger said. "Mr. Mayor, we'll have you know that the repairs taking place at the Sugar Express have proceeded apace. Corny here says that the work his boys are doing to refurbish the railway lines is coming along swimmingly."

"That's right, Mayor," Mr. Corn said. "We'll even be able to offer Sunday train rides again in the coming days. What a boon to the psyche of the community in these trying times."

"We're here to present you with a petition of citizens who urge you to withdraw the proposed ordinance to demolish the Sugar Express Train Depot," Miss Hensinger said. "We'd like you to announce within the hour that the Sugar Express is here to stay."

Not only was a sledgehammer now working the insides of The Mayor's skull, but his intestines where hopping up and down. "Miss Hensinger, this will have to wait until next week after I've been released from the hospital and have had more time to recuperate. I'm a sick man and cannot attend to this now." His groan wasn't feigned.

Miss Hensinger came closer, studied his face, and then looked back at her colleagues. "He does look a bit peaked."

"Green at the gills, actually," Mr. Corn said.

"I'll leave you with this, Mr. Mayor," Miss Hensinger said. "The only way you'll get my support in your election for prime minister is if you marry Alexa Manchester. When all you politicians were ruining the environment, Alexa took steps to propagate the city's gardens and to save the Sugar Express Train Depot. I'll vote for you in gratitude to her. Though how a slick politician like you got a sweet girl like her, I'll never know."

"Let's leave The Mayor alone to recover," Mr. Corn said.

The door opened, and an orderly walked in with a tray containing The Mayor's vegetable plate and wheatgrass chaser. The Mayor salivated and wanted to flap his arms with glee.

"Ah, so you do appreciate the benefits of a garden after all," Miss Hensinger said.

The Mayor brightened. "I thought you only grew flowers."

"Oh, no. I've had a vegetable garden for years. I could fix you up a nice plate of collard greens. Fresh picked from my garden. As a matter of fact, if you like fried okra, I'll whip you up a batch of that, too."

"I prefer my okra raw," The Mayor said. "Just the way nature intended it. If you grow Swiss chard, that would be wonderful, too."

"We'd better be going," Mr. Corn said.

A petite woman whom The Mayor didn't recognize stepped forward, holding a bouquet of flowers. "This is a peace offering," she said. "And because you're not feeling well, Mr. Mayor."

The Mayor thanked her, smelled the flowers, and then took a bite of a nasturtium. "Delicious," he said. And it was.

Mrs. Hensinger and the others exited The Mayor's room straight away.

• • •

Only hours earlier, Biggie Bitterman had been given his marching orders from Momo: get over to the Manchester place and kidnap Alexa. Disguised as a Commonwealth Express messenger, Bitterman drove to the Manchester mansion to deliver pink roses supposedly from The Mayor. Only, Alexa wasn't at home.

Bitterman could think of only one other way to get to Alexa Manchester—through Mayor Baumgartner. So, Bitterman drove back to the hideout, ditched the truck and the messenger uniform, then drove to the hospital and hobbled up to The Mayor's room. There were two cops stationed outside The Mayor's door, and they weren't sucking on lollipops and playing jacks. Bitterman could've taken them out, but this wasn't the place to maim Kensington City police officers.

Bitterman slipped into a laundry closet and put on a pair of scrubs, gingerly working his cast through the pant leg. He also found a physician's coat—Dr. Stout, a name he approved of. Then he walked casually by a nurses' station, where he purloined a stethoscope. His pickpocketing days always came in handy. It was no problem getting by those two galoots at the door, who hardly looked up when a four foot eleven inch doctor with a cast on his left leg walked into the room.

The Mayor was in bed, munching on a celery stalk. Bitterman limped over and jostled the bed, at the same time pulling out his gun, which he'd concealed in the waistband of the scrubs.

"Bitterman?" The Mayor said, raising his hands, a half-eaten piece of celery in his left.

"Keep it down, Mayor. I'll do the talking. It is ironic, though. Wasn't it just the other day that I was the one lying in the hospital bed and you were threatening me?"

"What is it that you want?" The Mayor said in a raspy whisper.

"I want you to make a call for me."

"A call to whom?"

"Alexa Manchester."

"I won't do that."

Bitterman raised the gun and put it to The Mayor's head. "I think you will. And don't call for your colleagues out in the hall. If you do, they'll be corpses, and I'll be out of here before anyone knows what happened."

The Mayor nodded. Bitterman could see the fear in the man's eyes. Politicians—all talk and no guts.

"Now call Alexa Manchester," Bitterman said.

"I've been trying her all morning," The Mayor said, his voice quavering. "There's no answer."

"Then you'll leave a message. Tell her you want her to meet you at the Sugar Express Train Depot at one o'clock sharp. By the old ticket office. Tell her that you want to talk to her about the renovations. That you're going to withdraw your campaign to have the place demolished and sold."

"What if she doesn't show up?"

"You let me worry about that."

The Mayor picked up his cell phone, called Alexa Manchester, and left the message.

"There, are you satisfied?" The Mayor asked.

"Not quite yet. Get out of bed and get dressed. You're being discharged."

"Where are we going?"

Bitterman didn't answer, only picked up The Mayor's clothing and tossed the bundle to him. "This hospital room reeks like a farm pasture, Mayor. Didn't they bathe you?"

The Mayor scowled, but began putting on his clothing.

"We're going to walk out nice and slow," Bitterman said. "You're going to tell your sentries that Dr. Stout is releasing you from the hospital after one more test. Just be aware that I'll have my gun trained on you at all times. Understand?"

"I got it, Bitterman," The Mayor said, burping.

# Chapter 21

_Subsequently . . ._

As Mayor Bobby Baumgartner drove his gold Lamborghini through the streets and back alleys of Kensington City, Biggie Bitterman sat in the passenger seat and barked out directions. Bitterman was pleased at how compliant The Mayor was. Of course, Bitterman had his gun trained on The Mayor's head, so why wouldn't The Mayor listen? Still, Bitterman was impressed. The Mayor was by no means brave, but he also wasn't a squirrely driver.

"Do you mind if I ask a question, Biggie?" The Mayor asked.

"Ask away, Mayor. Though I can't promise I'll answer it."

"Back at the Sugar Express Train Depot, when we made the exchange of money for the Electromite, why were your men shooting at me? A double-cross to keep both the rock and the cash?"

"Momo is a man of principle," Bitterman said. "That wasn't us." And it wasn't. Bitterman had wondered about that for a long time. Chief Constable Pete Petaud had told the media that it was just a bunch of kids shooting pellet guns. Maybe it was, though Bitterman wasn't so sure.

Finally, Bitterman ordered The Mayor to pull into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, where more than a few businesses had met their demise in the economic downturn. Bitterman felt a slight twinge of guilt—when Momo took over the Manchester holdings, and hence the world's energy supply, there would be thousands more businesses that failed. Bitterman gave an internal shrug—that's crime business, he thought.

"Why are we stopping here?" The Mayor asked. "I thought we were meeting Alexa."

"No, _I'm_ meeting Alexa. You're renting a room in this convenient hotel. The price is right—you won't have to pay a thing."

When The Mayor hesitated, Biggie jabbed the barrel of his gun into the politician's back. The Mayor swore under his breath but started forward. They walked up a set of stairs attached to a corn silo. When they reached the top, Bitterman opened the door, shoved The Mayor inside, and locked him in. The Mayor began shouting for help, but Bitterman didn't mind. There was no one within a half mile of this place who'd hear him. Maybe The Mayor would make it, maybe he wouldn't. He was no longer Bitterman's concern.

Bitterman got in The Mayor's Lamborghini—he had to use the wadded-up doctor's scrubs to sit on—and headed toward the Sugar Express Train Depot. Once at the Sugar Express, Bitterman parked his car in an obvious space, went inside, and hid behind the old ticket counter, where he waited for Alexa Manchester. He was certain she'd come, as was Momo. Not only did she have an intimate relationship with The Mayor, but she'd saved the Sugar Express Train Depot from demolition. If nothing else, her civic duty would bring her there.

As the appointed time for Alexa's arrival neared, Bitterman began to feel the excitement and the sense of danger that he always felt with a job like this. Would she come alone? If not, would there be fireworks?

But one o'clock came and went, and Alexa didn't arrive. Bitterman obsessively checked his wristwatch and the clock on his cell phone. Had Mayor Baumgartner double-crossed him? Impossible, because he'd heard Alexa's voice mail. Maybe he should've brought The Mayor along after all.

At one forty-five, Bitterman's cell phone rang.

"Do you have her?" Momo asked.

"She didn't show," Bitterman said.

"I'm disappointed in you, Biggie." Momo's voice was like a blowtorch that was about to cut titanium.

"I heard The Mayor leave the message on her voice mail. Everyone said she'd show. Including you, Momo."

There was a venomous silence on the phone. Then Momo said, "I do hope you're not blaming me, Biggie."

"I . . . no, I . . . Of course not, Momo."

"Then go get her."

"No one seems to know where she is. She's been gone since I showed up with the flowers. I've searched all over town and have made contact with all our assets. She's disappeared into thin air."

More silence. Bitterman began to perspire profusely. His broken leg ached, and the skin under his cast itched so badly that he felt as if there were furry worms slithering inside. He was certain that Momo was going to order him to keep looking for Alexa, and he didn't think he could find her, not this time.

"Okay, come back here," Momo said. "We'll use the backup plan. It'll be much more enjoyable, anyway."

When Momo abruptly ended the call, Bitterman crumpled to the ground in fatigue and relief. But his relief was short lived. He had to go back to the hideout, and he recalled how Momo could make novel use of a proton screwdriver.

• • •

Shortly thereafter, Alexa kissed Sigfred and rolled out of bed, checking her cell phone for the first time that day, though it was almost two o'clock in the afternoon. When she checked the screen, she furrowed her brow.

"What is it?" Sigfred asked.

"I've gotten four calls from Gladys and at least a half dozen from Bobby Baumgartner."

"I hope you never speak to that bloke again," Sigfred said.

Alexa phoned Gladys, who said she had been frantic with worry. She told Alexa about The Mayor's many calls and the delivery of roses, also from The Mayor.

"The man is certainly persistent," Alexa said, watching Sigfred as he walked to the shower. "Tell Chef Yurdlemon that I won't be home for dinner."

Gladys let out a sigh of worry. "Ah, yes. Momo and Big Benny. Stay safe, dear girl."

"I will," Alexa said. After she ended the call with Gladys, she listened to The Mayor's voice mails. The first five were smarmy pleas to take him back, but the last gave her pause. He wanted her to meet him at the Sugar Express Train Depot for some political meeting. She checked the clock on the wall. It was already an hour past the time he'd wanted to meet. Too late. Besides, she had other issues to deal with, like saving Kensington City from destruction.

Five minutes later, wrapped only in a towel, Sigfred emerged from the bathroom. He looked as if he were about to take her in his powerful arms, but when he saw her expression, he stopped.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Will you help me tonight? I mean, help Electromancer tonight?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and lowered his eyes. "I'll do what I can. But my powers are different from yours. I'm not equipped to fight something like this."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "I understand." She hesitated. "Will you come back to the mansion? Under the same terms? Posing as my servant?"

He shook his head. "Alexa, it's too difficult."

"We'll be discreet. We're both good actors, as it turns out. It doesn't have to be different from the way it was before. You can simply keep on doing what you were assigned to do—keep me safe. When the hoopla with The Mayor dies down, when we finally get rid of this Momo character, we can be free, have a relationship in the open."

"Between an heiress and a servant?"

"It's not the nineteenth century anymore. Class and wealth distinctions—"

"Are as strong as they've ever been. They're just wrapped up in different packages of bias and narrow-mindedness."

"I don't care about that. I love you."

He embraced her and gently kissed her lips.

"Please," she said. "Come back to the mansion."

He stood. "I will return as your butler on one condition. As long as I serve in that capacity, we put our relationship on hold. I will protect you to the best of my ability, but to do anything else would pose a danger to your reputation and your physical well-being. It would also betray my promise to your father."

She frowned. "My father loved me and would want me to be with my true love."

"These are my terms. Anything else only compromises you."

She was quiet for a long moment, doubt and discomfort written on her face. "If you think this changes the way I feel, it won't. But I'll agree, if it means that I'll have you near me."

They were quiet for a long time. Then she said, "Sigfred, do you know what happened to my father? The real story. I know he didn't just die in an accident. That day when I was absorbed by The Magpie, he spoke to me. Remember? He called me _Electromancer_."

"Alexa, I can't. The knowledge will place you at great risk with people who are very high up in the government. Very ruthless people."

She laughed bitterly. "I'm already at great risk."

He nodded and took a deep breath. "Mickey found the meteorite and, in his studies, discovered the potential of the Electromite. He would've won a Nobel Prize if the government hadn't insisted on keeping his findings top secret. Mickey wanted to use the Electromite for peaceful purposes, and he was aware that the government wanted to weaponize it. As all governments do with great discoveries that can both benefit mankind and destroy it—nuclear energy, chemical and biological research. So, while your father pretended to be working with the more hawkish branches of MI-8, he kept certain aspects of his research to himself. Meanwhile, he built The Magpie hoping that the peaceful uses of Electromite would take hold before the nefarious purposes. In the course of his private research, your father invented the superconductive ceramic casing that could control and contain the Electromite's energy. The Magpie would be the test run. But to ensure that the government couldn't take control of the Magpie and convert it to military use, he withheld a good portion of the Electromite. Literally broke it in half and hid one of the pieces so those with ill intentions couldn't exploit the full powers of the element. It was a mistake."

"How a mistake? He was doing the right thing."

"No, not a moral mistake, a scientific mistake. The Electromite is unstable when split like that. The meteorite doesn't behave like a mineral; it behaves almost like a living being that needs all of its parts to function correctly. Unless the fragments are contained in the ceramic casing, they're unpredictable. During Mickey's last experiment using the Electromite—he was testing it for use as rocket fuel in space exploration—he joined the pieces together. He finished his work that day and split the substance into fragments, and then he went to take one of the fragments to his hiding place. For some unknown reason, the Electromite became temporarily unstable, creating an enormous magnetic field between the two pieces, and Mickey got caught inside and sucked into—someplace else."

"You're telling me my father is somewhere else? Like in a black hole? An alternate universe?"

Sigfred shrugged helplessly. "I only know that he was transported, and his essence is still alive. Shortly after Mickey disappeared, when I got close to the Electromite, I could occasionally hear his voice. But I haven't recently."

"What did he say?"

"Mostly he said that I should watch over you."

Alexa's eyes filled with tears. "We have to get him back. Do the government scientists know anything?"

"I haven't told them. Mickey doesn't want me to. He doesn't trust them to get him back. Or to have both pieces of the Electromite. We need both to get him back."

"Sigfred, if you knew this, why did you let me use only a portion of the Electromite in The Magpie?"

"Because Charles Chin ran all the tests, and you know as well as I that everything checked out perfectly. I would never have endangered you or anyone else. The Magpie was designed to use only a fraction of the element, and we had it enclosed in the ceramic casing."

"Then why did The Magpie fail?"

"I don't know. I wish I knew. The test runs were fine."

"It's not important now."

"We'll get your father back one day. I promise I'll do everything in my power."

Alexa suddenly straightened up. "Momo has the Electromite or at least half of it. That's another reason we have to get the Electromite back. My father . . . " She hesitated. "Is the government looking for Electromancer?"

He nodded.

"If they find me, then what? I become their lab rat? They experiment on me like they did you? I become their weapon?"

He didn't reply, which was all the confirmation she needed.

"Have you told them about me?"

"Certainly not. And I won't."

"Doesn't that mean you've violated your oath? You're putting yourself at risk."

"I have no choice, Alexa. I love the woman who is Electromancer."

She smiled. "Let's go home, Sigfred. We have to get ready for tonight."

• • •

As the midnight hour approached, Momo paced back and forth in the secret laboratory, nervously tossing a proton screwdriver up and down. He was so excited, he'd lost his appetite—he could only consume a dozen double-chocolate chip cookies and three carafes of hot chocolate with whipped cream.

Meanwhile, Professor Slipter was putting the finishing touches on The Big Zapper. Then he tucked the superconductive ceramic prototype casing containing the Electromite inside the energy basin cavity. He closed the hatch and, with a flourish, said, "Voilà." He walked to the control panel and began twisting and punching dials and knobs.

"I cannot wait to unleash this on Big Benny and see Electromancer come running," Momo said. "You'd better not disappoint me, Slipter." He aimed the proton screwdriver in the professor's direction.

"I will not, sir," Professor Slipter said.

Momo smiled. He'd finally get Electromancer out of his hair. It would be about time—he had a world to take over, treasuries to ransack, governments to bring down. He'd suffered enough by letting others get in his way. If all went well, he'd be dining at the Manchester mansion tomorrow tonight with those lovely Dowdy twins.

"The magnetic properties of the Electromite will not fail you, sir," Professor Slipter said. "The new casing makes all the difference." Professor Slipter went to the control panel, but Momo used his big body to nudge him out of the way.

"Move over, Slipter. I'll do it myself," Momo said.

A trembling Professor Slipter gave way.

Momo pulled the lever. The Big Zapper powered up and shot Big Benny a beam that had the power of a supernova. Then Momo turned to the screen and waited, but not for long. "There she is!" he shouted. "We've got her!"

# Chapter 22

_Earlier that day . . ._

Sigfred Sawyer, as he had countless times before, drove through the gates of the Manchester mansion and pulled slowly around the driveway. Just as before, Alexa Manchester, who was sitting in the backseat, waited primly for him to open her car door. But nothing was like before—not her life, not the world, and certainly not her relationship with Sigfred. It wasn't that she'd never had boyfriends for whom she had strong feelings. It was that she'd just never felt _this_ way before about any man. Not even close. It wasn't only his gorgeous face and flawless body, though the thought of these sent a frisson of lust sparking throughout her body. It was the bond they now shared—he'd protected her, and she would protect him.

She'd promised Sigfred that if he came back, she would keep her feelings hidden, submerged under a cloak of respectability and class distinction. She'd only agreed to this painful arrangement because she wanted to keep him close, no matter that he wouldn't agree to anything more. Although she'd try to keep her promise, the thought of not touching him, of not lying in his arms, of not making love to him, made her want to explode.

They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening as they would have spent any normal day at the mansion. When it got dark, Alexa went outside and looked at the stars.

"Where are you, Father?" she whispered.

At eleven forty-five, Gladys flung open the bedroom door and shouted, "Alexa. Come look at this. He's back!"

Alexa hurried to the study, where Sigfred was already waiting. On the television screen, Momo, in that hideous mask, was sitting in large chair and saying, "Too late, tick tock," over and over again.

"This is a recording," Sigfred said. "A loop."

"Too late. Tick tock," Momo said. "Too late. Tick tock."

Alexa's emotions surged so rapidly that she had to fight hard not to transform.

"You'll stop this," Sigfred said. "I believe in you."

"Call the authorities and warn them," Alexa instructed Gladys.

"But Momo's ordered us before not to warn the authorities," Gladys said.

"It doesn't matter what he wants us to do," Alexa said. "We don't take orders from him."

"What if the authorities don't believe us?" Gladys asked. "What if they think we're cranks?"

"Remind them of what happened in The City of Angels," Sigfred said.

Gladys nodded and left the room.

"Go," Sigfred said. "Please be careful."

Alexa wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him good-bye, but she simply nodded to him as if he were a loyal employee and then transformed. In a flash, she was at the town's treasured clock tower, Big Benny. While she'd fought off Momo's attacks in other important cities, this time, it was even more personal. This was her own city. And not only that, Momo had the Electromite that might free her father . . . wherever he was.

Electromancer scanned the city. All was as it should be. No terrifying beams of electricity, no deadly fires, no power outages. She knew it was just the calm before the apocalypse.

It was now almost midnight, so few were on the streets. A lone pedestrian casually walking her dog happened to look up and spot Electromancer. Sensing the danger, the woman began sprinting for her home. Electromancer wondered if the woman would be any safer indoors.

A fleet of police cars drove up, followed by an emergency crew from the fire department. Electromancer recognized Chief Constable Pete Petaud, who was responsible for logistics. So the Chief had believed Gladys.

Electromancer waited, hovering at the top of Big Benny. The clock struck midnight. Electromancer flew into the sky, ascending higher and higher in the atmosphere to see if she could detect anything heading toward town and intercept it before it came near. She saw nothing. She headed back to the tower, but as she neared the clock, she felt a strange pull of energy, as if the fabric of the sky were bending and contorting. She didn't have to see the bolt of energy heading straight at her; she felt it. This was nothing like anything she'd ever experienced.

A highly charged force of energy became visible on the horizon. It was blood red and came, not in a single bolt, but in a large undulating wave that was shaped like a spider's web. _Red Web energy_ —pure electromagnetic energy and the most destructive force in the world! Electromancer shuddered. She'd heard her father speak of Red Web electromagnetic force. He'd said that no one had ever produced this before, that it was only theoretical. Or it had been until Momo had somehow gotten possession of the Electromite. Now, here it was, flying toward her and her city.

"Run!" Electromancer shouted to the police and firefighters in her crystalline voice so that all the town could hear her. But where would they go? Where would anyone in the city go?

There must've been more people on the streets than she thought, more people awake in their homes. Screams and cries for help soon filled the air.

Electromancer bravely started to fly toward Red Web to keep it from reaching town, not knowing what to expect, not knowing how to fight the energy. Nothing had stopped her before. But as she neared the boundary of the web, she felt as if she'd run into a reinforced concrete wall. The force of the collision threw her sideways and sent her tumbling through the sky.

She had to do something, fast. But what? She regained her bearings and flew to Big Benny at the speed of light. With all her might, she heaved a bolt of electrical charge toward Red Web, but it only consumed her electricity. Worse, it seemed to thrive __ on her energy, increasing the web's volume and intensity.

Momo was using her own powers against her!

Red Web continued toward Big Benny like a tidal wave that was gaining strength. There was one saving grace—it didn't move as fast as Electromancer, so at least speed was on her side. Still, Red Web was unstoppable no matter how many bolts of electricity Electromancer threw at it. When Red Web reached Big Benny, it abruptly stopped its forward progress as though it knew its target. The web hovered above Big Benny as though positioning itself, as though it were able to direct its lines of energy with the utmost precision. It was like a huge, hideous blanket. Then it dropped, forming a net around the entire clock tower, glowing and pulsating a deadly crimson as its energy began coiling more tightly. The tower's internal clockwork began to rattle under the overwhelming pressure.

Electromancer thought back to her father's research. How would Mickey have dissipated this energy source? In a flash, Electromancer flew to The Mick and went into the generator room, where she redirected the energy of the town—the entire region—directly toward her body, absorbing voltage and amperes hundreds of thousands of times more powerful than an amount that would've electrocuted any living creature. The energy concentrated within her, and she returned to the clock tower. Below her, the entire city was in the throes of a blackout, the result of her stealing the city's electricity. But she had no choice. Gradually, the lights began to flicker on again.

She hurled an enormous bolt at Red Web, hopeful that the power would interfere with its electromagnetic frequency, but Red Web only gobbled up the electricity like a ravenous adolescent who hadn't eaten lunch. Electromancer noticed a flicker, however, and a slight fading of Red Web's scarlet hue. Why? On instinct, she returned to The Mick and commandeered the replenishing electricity, and from the distance, she hurled bolt after bolt of lightning at Red Web. When she returned to Big Benny, she saw that she'd managed to leach out all of Red Web's color, and it now glowed electric white. Much of its force seemed to have dissipated. She reached for the web, intent on hurling it out into space, but the moment her hands made contact, Red Web glowed bright red again. With all her might, she began fighting, trying to pull Red Web upward, but its outer curtain acted like molecular supersonic glue. She tried to pull herself free of it, but it was no use. She attempted to weaken its grip by shooting out her own bolts of electricity, but this also failed. The electrical particles she released only merged with Red Web's magnetic force, growing and spinning a more massive and inescapable curtain that formed tighter coils. She was losing the battle, had already lost.

"Father," she said weakly. "Sigfred."

Electromancer managed to turn her head toward the horizon, sensing that there was something. Blue Arrow darted across the sky, but she knew that this was her fight, not his, that it was her powers that had to fight Momo, and that Blue Arrow couldn't—Red Web would immediately absorb his vapor, and he would die.

Blue Arrow loaded his bow. He was going to shoot an arrow at Red Web and try to pierce the electromagnetic fabric.

"Don't do it!" Electromancer shouted, her voice carrying across the sky.

Blue Arrow ignored her. He was about to deliver the shot that would be fatal, not to Red Web, but to himself. With the power she had left, Electromancer shot a bolt at Blue Arrow, sending him tumbling toward earth and away from the deadly Red Web. She watched as he fell. To her relief, he righted himself before he reached the ground.

Out of nowhere, another burst of energy shot toward her, even brighter than the web that was holding her prisoner. When this new force of energy was almost upon her, it spread its tentacles like a hideous squid and merged with Red Web, imprisoning Electromancer in a massive cocoon. The last thing that Electromancer saw before the cocoon obscured her vision was Blue Arrow racing toward her, firing a flaming arrow at Red Web, and being struck by a burst of crimson energy that jolted him back. There was an explosion, and then his blue vapor dissipated into thin air as if he'd never existed.

_NO! Was he dead?_

Electromancer crackled with an electric anger more powerful than any she'd ever felt, but her rage only seemed to strengthen Red Web. Her platinum heart felt as if it were melting, as if it would simply liquefy and drip from her being. Would her broken heart nourish this odious web, too?

A new force of energy arrived and compressed Red Web into a small mass. Then, like a rubber band, the compressed mass of energy stretched, recoiled, and boomeranged back through the sky in the direction that it had come, taking her prisoner.

# Chapter 23

_Somewhere outside Kensington City . . ._

Mayor Baumgartner slowly sank to the bottom of the corn silo, almost suffocating in the corn. Thankfully, there was just enough air for him to breathe, at least for now. As he considered his predicament, wondering how he'd gotten into this mess—and whether he'd ever get out—he suddenly realized where he'd gone wrong. He'd failed to appreciate Alexa Manchester for whom she was, had tried to use her beauty and brains and money for his own political gain. The woman had accepted his proposal. Why hadn't he fallen in love with her rather than used her? She was one of a kind. The Mayor was overcome with feelings of guilt and foreboding—Biggie Bitterman was going to kidnap Alexa and deliver her to Momo. All because of his greed and cowardice.

He sank farther down into the corn, his head submerged in the grain. The sweet smell, the consistency of the grain against his skin, was soothing.

The Mayor stuck out his tongue and tasted a kernel. It was delicious, like heaven, better than anything Chef Yon Yurdlemon had ever cooked up. He sucked the corn inside his mouth and began to chew. Then he chewed more kernels, and even more, until he felt a strange sensation come over him. His legs were elongating, and his arms were beginning to grow attachments, or so it seemed. Was he hallucinating? Were these the first signs of death by suffocation? Soon, however, he felt as if he had a new set of limbs—fingerless and toeless, but limbs nonetheless. And another strange thing—he knew how to use them.

The Mayor continued eating until the top of his head emerged from the pile of corn. He had another realization—there were eyes on the top of his head in addition to the eyes he'd always had. He ate more corn, digging his body out until he was able to free his limbs and make his way to the top of the stack of grain. His body felt light as a feather, and he had a new spring in his step. He crouched down. From the eyes on the top of his head, he could see the silo's ceiling. But when he opened the eyes on the front of his head, he saw not only the inside walls of the silo but also his body.

What? Could this be real? The knock on his head must be playing tricks on his mind, because he looked like a grasshopper—a giant green-armored grasshopper, wings and all.

The Mayor let out a yelp and then spit out a vile black substance that smacked into the silo wall and sizzled. My God, what had come over him? He shook his head, trying with all his mental energy to force this horror from his mind. But it wouldn't go away. Every time he opened his eyes and looked at himself, all he saw was grasshopper. A grasshopper dressed in a pair of men's slacks and expensive loafers.

"I'll kill that Montgomery Manchester," he cried, thinking of that fateful day in the garden when the bugs had descended upon him. "He did this! It's all his fault." He began to swear, and then he began to cry, and soon he was crying hysterically and swearing at the same time.

Then he stopped crying and stopped swearing, because this wasn't getting him anywhere. He stood from his crouched position and balanced on all fours. He practiced bending his grasshopper legs. He walked to the edge of the silo, placed a palm on the steel wall, and found that he had suction in his hands. He practiced bending and leaping in small stages, and when he felt ready, he sprang with all his might and spread his arms and wings. Miraculously, he could leap and fly. A few practice tries later, and he'd managed to leap to the ceiling inside of the silo, where he landed upside down, his feet and hands easily sticking to the metallic ceiling. He crawled to the door, opened it, and found himself outside of the silo and resting on top of it. He checked to see if anyone was around. To his relief, no one was present. Night had fallen, and so he had the cover of darkness to spare him from humiliation.

Maybe if he could just get home and tuck himself inside of his bed, all of this would go away. He definitely wasn't going back to the hospital. They'd never let him out.

Mayor Bobby Baumgartner hopped along the meadows until he reached the road that led to the Sugar Express Train Depot. A street light was burning and humming. The noise irritated him. He glanced up at the lamp and released black spit at it. The moment the bile made contact with the light, electrical sparks flew, and the bulb exploded into hundreds of tiny fragments. The Mayor quickly leaped out of the way.

"Stupid thing," The Mayor said, hiccupping. He'd have to see about having the city engineers check all the lights when he got back to work.

The Mayor continued down the road, and though he couldn't see the Sugar Express yet, he seemed to have wind sensors that could detect the delicious smell of gardenias, which were coming from the depot's general direction. The temptation was irresistible. In a flying leap, he crossed the street and was soon inside the gardens where the ladies from WEEDs had just planted their new flowers. After having his fill, his stomach ached, and so he found a corner and lay down to comfort himself. He'd only rest awhile and then continue on home.

When he awoke, it was the next morning.

"Tied one on, did you, Mayor Baumgartner?" Zero said, standing above The Mayor and grinning like the devil himself. "And you're always preaching at me about my drinking habits. Shame on you!"

"What are you doing here, Zero?" The Mayor asked, sitting up. He quickly looked down at his body. He was wearing a pair of slacks, his shoes, and nothing else. Mercifully, he was back to normal. There was no sign that just a short time earlier, he'd been a nasty, foul-smelling insect. Whatever they'd fed him at the hospital must've been laced.

"Those WEEDs women will be here any minute. If I'm not on time, they can be real mean." Zero grinned. "But now that I have the pardon in my pocket, I can stand this for a while longer."

"What time is it?" The Mayor asked.

"About seven thirty in the morning."

"Do you have a car?"

"That's a laugh. What happened to you, Mayor?"

"I was abducted by Biggie Bitterman and dumped here. I've got to go see Chief Constable Pete Petaud."

"You haven't turned Bitterman in yet?"

"No, I haven't turned him in yet. I told you, Bitterman took me at gunpoint from the hospital."

"In front of your men?"

"You ask too many questions, you know that, Zero? Yes. In front of my men. He was disguised as a doctor. I've got to get out of here."

"You could use the tractor over there."

The Mayor stood. What choice did he have? He couldn't afford to be seen like this. He picked up a hat and scrounged around for something to put on to cover has bare torso. Luckily, he found an old checkered red-and-white work shirt that fit. He looked like he was dressed in an old tablecloth from an Italian restaurant, but it was better than the alternative.

"You ever drive a tractor, Mayor?"

"As a matter of fact, no. You?"

"You promise not to tell those ladies? I grew up on a farm."

"Let's go. You can drive me home."

On the way back, Zero explained what had occurred yesterday when Red Web attacked.

"Are you sure that there were no casualties?" The Mayor asked.

"That's right, Mayor. Big Benny doesn't even have a scratch on it. But that Electromancer, it got her. I saw it all on the news."

The Mayor shook in fear and anger. If Zero hadn't been there, he would've spat. "This has gone way too far. Momo has to be stopped. My administration will not tolerate terror and destruction. I'll get Chief Constable Pete Petaud on the job. I'll call out the national military if I have to."

Zero hit the gas, and the two of them sailed down the road at top speed, passing the van carrying the WEEDs women. "Only thing is Mayor, I don't think a couple guns are going to defeat that Red Web. You should have seen it. And there's another problem. You were the one who sold Momo the Electromite. So that seems to be tolerating terror and destruction. And it would seem to argue against getting the authorities involved. You and I are both at risk, Mayor. We could go to prison for the rest of our lives, or worse."

The Mayor pondered this. Zero was right. He would have to solve this problem another way. Good. It would give him a chance to prove himself worthy to Alexa Manchester. To win her back.

# Chapter 24

_At Momo's lair . . ._

With arms folded over his chest and a plate of veal saltimbocca and baked ziti on a tray beside him, Momo sat back in his office chair watching the Britannia National News and waiting. Biggie Bitterman stood near the door, his arms also crossed, but in military fashion, as if standing guard. Momo had allowed Bitterman to join him in acknowledgment of the little man's good works. No matter that Bitterman had botched Alexa Manchester's kidnapping. On the day that Alexa Manchester was playing golf with her Uncle Montgomery, The Mayor, and those lovely Dowdy twins, Bitterman had snuck into The Mick and found Mickey Manchester's prototype ceramic casing. Once Professor Slipter had the prototype, he was able to stabilize the Electromite and use it to create Red Web.

Understandably, BNN's coverage had focused ad nauseum __ on the midnight attack of Big Benny in Kensington City. As usual, the reporters and pundits had gotten the facts all wrong. Accounts of the attack were not what interested Momo, though. He was waiting for something else.

At long last, the manikin-faced anchorman made the announcement that Momo had been waiting for. Momo leaned forward in anticipation. Montgomery Manchester appeared on the screen in a prerecorded press conference.

Just as Manchester was greeting the media, Momo's door flew open, and Professor Slipter hurried inside uninvited. Bitterman glared at Professor Slipter and shook his head in warning, but Professor Slipter ignored him.

"Sir, may I have a moment of your time?" Professor Slipter asked.

"Quiet, you fool!" Momo said "Can't you see that I'm busy? With all your blathering, I can't hear a thing."

Momo turned up the volume on the television. When Professor Slipter started to speak again, Bitterman grabbed Professor Slipter's arm and held a finger to his own lips. Professor Slipter's shoulders slumped in frustration. Satisfied that there would be no more interruptions, Momo turned his attention back to the screen.

Montgomery Manchester stood before the cameras, his face full of concern and distress. "Two nights ago, my niece, Alexa Manchester, went missing. We're asking anyone who knows anything about her whereabouts to come forward. We're offering a million in reward money to anyone who can provide information leading to the recovery of my dear niece. The Kensington City police tell me that there is one lead—her former butler, a man named Sigfred Sawyer, who has also gone missing. It might be that this Sawyer character is a disgruntled employee who has tried to harm my niece as revenge for his termination. If anyone has seen either of them, please call this number."

The screen switched to a graphic showing the phone number, along with photographs of Alexa and Sigfred.

When the scene switched back to the news conference, Montgomery Manchester was wiping tears from his eyes with his white handkerchief. "The return of my dear niece is my number one priority. My only priority. That being said, until her safe return, I'm invoking a clause in the Manchester Trust that allows me to assume control of the Manchester holdings. I want to assure the public that this is only temporary, pending my niece's return. I will move into the Manchester mansion posthaste. That way, the energy flow from The Mick will continue unabated.

"This brings me to another important announcement. In light of recent events where Electromancer drained all of the energy holdings while fighting off what the media is calling _Red Web_ , our nation's energy reserves have been depleted. This places us in a precarious position, one that gives us no choice but to triple the price of electricity, immediately. The price increase will ensure that our reserves are restored and that there is no waste of our precious resources. Please rest assured that we are working night and day to resolve the problem and to provide energy to the common man. The Mick is running at full capacity to restore reserves. Again, please help us find my niece."

Momo sat back in his chair and crossed his arms in satisfaction, only to have Professor Slipter approach him and blurt out, "Sir, there is something of vital concern that I must speak to you about."

"This better be good," Momo said. "Because you're interfering with my leisure time, Slipter. I do not like my leisure time interfered with." He took a large bite of veal and, while chewing with his mouth open, glared at Professor Slipter.

Momo turned to Bitterman. "I have my snack, but where's my lunch? Go check on it, and make sure the chef gives me plenty of tartar sauce to go with my tuna steaks. And while I'm thinking about it, tell him to whip me up some of that cherries jubilee to toss over a gallon or so of vanilla ice cream, and none of that artificial junk."

"I'm right on it," Bitterman said.

Momo regarded Professor Slipter with a frown. "Answer me this, Professor."

"Yes, sir," Professor Slipter said. "You see, I've learned that—"

"Why is it so hard to get a decent undisturbed meal? I ask for peace, and all I get is one problem after another. It's like constantly having mud thrown on me. My constitution is very delicate. I can't take this nonsense. Don't I pay you people well enough? You get twenty, thirty times the going rate as your salary. Do I blink an eye? No, I pay it. Now, what is it, Slipter? Get to the point."

"We can't hold Electromancer for long."

"Nonsense. Just keep zapping more Red Web energy on her."

"We'll drain every ounce of Electromite energy if we keep this up."

"You said the Electromite's energy was inexhaustible."

"For producing electricity, yes. But it turns out this isn't true of electromagnetic energy. Our calculations didn't . . . Anyway, creating the super-powerful electromagnetic force field is definitely draining the Electromite. We didn't expect this. But those are the facts."

Momo stood, his eyes blazing with rage. Professor Slipter took a step backward. "How do you propose to take care of this, Professor? And you'd better take care of this."

At that moment, Bitterman returned, carrying Momo's lunch and dessert.

"Ah, good," Momo said. "I do hope the ice cream is frozen solid. You know how I hate my ice cream melted."

"That's it!" Professor Slipter said. "We'll freeze her."

"What are you taking about, man?" Momo said. "You can't freeze electricity."

"Very true, sir. But you _can_ slow down the actual flow of its current by getting it—or more pointedly, getting _her_ —very, very cold. You decrease the temperature, which decreases resistance, which slows down the flow of her electrical charge. So it's quite simple: we subject her to exceedingly cold temperatures to decrease conductivity so that electricity can no longer flow. All you have to do is put an insulator in the way of the flow of the electricity. It's like freezing electricity. We freeze Electromancer, and we disable her electrical flow of energy. She can't zap us or anyone else. She's powerless. We're rid of her. Done. But we've got to get her cold enough to stop her electricity from flowing."

"Will it kill her?" Momo asked, with a hint of concern in his voice.

"It won't kill her," Professor Slipter said. "She'll be in a state of cryo-suspended animation. If you want to revive her, it might take some time to get her to come around. But she'll live."

Momo nodded. "Let's do it. Prepare the lab."

Professor Slipter's shoulders slumped. "There's a problem with that, sir. We don't have the capabilities currently. And by the time we construct a deep freeze capable of freezing nitrogen, it will be too late. We need to find some sort of refrigeration facility where we can encapsulate her in a bubble, freeze it, and then put the bubble at the bottom of a frozen lake. Or better yet, a frozen portion of the Arctican Ocean near the North Pole. We zap the ocean ice with The Big Zapper, create a hole, dump the bubble in it, and let the hole freeze over again. No one will ever know where we put her, and she'll never be able to get out unless and until we want her to. And we save our Electromite."

"But you can't do that without a refrigeration facility?" Momo asked.

"That's right, sir," Professor Slipter said.

"Then what good are you, Slipter?" Momo bellowed. "You have this bright idea that is completely unfeasible. We can't just walk into the Kensington Creamery factory and tell them we need to use their equipment because we want to make an Electromancer Popsicle!"

Bitterman cleared his throat.

"What is it, Biggie?" Momo said. "Are you contagious? You know how fragile I am. If you're infectious, get out!"

"No, sir," Bitterman said. "I think I have a solution to your problem. The old Sugar Express Train Depot has an abandoned ice cream factory. Some of the equipment is still there. Rusted, but who knows? Should still work. And there's an old holding tank for dry ice shipments—there you have your _bubble._ "

Momo pondered this for a moment. Bitterman didn't look smart, but he was. "What about people?" Momo asked. "We can't afford to be seen, obviously."

"The place is mostly deserted. There's no one around but those flower ladies and those train engineers trying to remodel the place. But they're just planting a bunch of flowers and laying railroad ties. They're clueless. If they ask, we just tell them that we're looking to buy the old place or invest in its refurbishment, and they won't be the wiser."

"How do you know all this?" Momo asked.

"It's my job to know what's going on in this town," Bitterman said. "Besides, I've been prowling around the place lately, remember?"

Momo turned to the professor. "Can you get the old ice cream facility up and running in time?"

Professor Slipter stood tall and smiled. "Not a problem, sir. We'll get on it right away. It won't take long at all. Then we'll transport Electromancer inside Red Web to the facility and put her in the deep freeze there. As soon as we can commandeer a train with a refrigeration car, we'll be able ship her on up. I'll shoot a beam to the Arctica right now to prepare the hole before we head to the depot. We ought to be done by no later than tomorrow."

• • •

Electromancer was barely awake. The fight against Red Web had depleted her energy, and she was exhausted. She'd never lost her store of energy before, never understood that she could run out of energy. If she stayed quiet and waited for the fatigue to lift, she'd replenish her powers—or so she hoped. She had no idea how much time had passed and how much damage Momo had cast upon the world. But she had to get free as soon as possible.

She looked at the web that was holding her prisoner, pulsing red like some enormous strobe light at a garish dance club. She forced herself to relax and did what she always did in times of tribulation—imagined how her father, Mickey, would have solved the problem. Then, she thought, he couldn't solve every problem, either—he'd become lost in another dimension. It was childish to think that anyone, even her beloved father, could fix everything. She wasn't a child anymore. It was up to her to solve this problem. This realization somehow gave her strength, because now she'd rely on both Mickey _and_ herself.

But a solution seemed impossible. The threads of the electromagnetic field were knit together so tightly that there was no getting through its imprisoning blanket. Luckily, it had expanded some, and there was now enough room to move around a few feet and even to lie down. She could also see through the slivered openings, but only enough to detect that she was inside a dank, dark room, likely a basement prison at Momo's hideout. Where else would she be? It occurred to Alexa suddenly that perhaps she wasn't the only one being held prisoner.

"Father, are you there?" she whispered. He didn't answer, though she sensed a definite presence nearby. It was like he was there, but in that different dimension—close, but unreachable. She wondered if Sigfred was here too, trapped somewhere else in Red Web. Then the vision of Blue Arrow tumbling to earth insinuated itself, and her very human heart ached. She had to force herself not to transform back into Alexa Manchester. She couldn't think of that other life at the moment.

Electromancer thrashed again. The web's fibers stretched but showed no signs of weakening. She recalled something that Sigfred had said about his martial arts study, when she asked him whether a physically weaker person—a woman—could truly learn to vanquish a much stronger attacker.

"It's very possible," Sigfred said. "You learn with martial arts to use the attacker's own strength against him."

_That's it_ , __ she thought. If she could turn Red Web in on itself, she might be able to slice a hole in the fabric of the universe. She'd create a miniature black hole by causing electrons to collide at quantum speed. But where would that lead? Perhaps to nowhere. She might even be destroyed atom by atom, electron by electron, as the black hole spaghettified her. But if it worked . . . Maybe, just maybe, she could escape to find her father and then Sigfred and get them all out of there.

A door in the concrete wall opened. Blue light spilled into the room. Electromancer saw a glimmer of hope. But it soon flickered out when an odd-looking man entered the room. His bright red hair was in complete disarray, which made him look like a terrifying circus clown.

"Hello Electromancer. I'm Professor Slipter," he said. "Chief scientist for The Momaxita. The man who harnessed Electromite."

" _My father_ was the man who harnessed Electromite," she said, glaring at him. "And he used it for beneficial purposes."

"But _I_ created The Big Zapper and Red Web. They will have a much greater impact on mankind than anything your father did."

"If you're truly a man of science, you wouldn't be working for someone like Momo. You'd be serving the world's interests, using your talents for something that mattered."

He wasn't listening to a word she was saying.

"You're probably not aware of this—it was long before you were born—but I took graduate courses from your father at Kensington College. It was decades ago. I was one of his best students, he said. Then I was expelled for that cheating incident. Your father did nothing to support me. Completely disloyal was Mickey Manchester."

Professor Slipter walked closer and said, "Your voice is extraordinary, like liquid magic." He scrutinized her as if examining a newly discovered specimen for the first time. "How do you achieve the vocal pitch? Are you constricting your airways somehow? And how do you fly with your body mass?"

"You make me want to vomit," Electromancer said.

Professor Slipter flinched at the insult. "When it happens, you won't feel a thing. Pity. You deserve to feel pain with your attitude."

Electromancer groped at Red Web, tried to strike Professor Slipter with electricity, but the web absorbed it easily. Professor Slipter laughed maniacally, his deranged cackle hurting her ears.

Someone banged on the door with what sounded like an iron pipe. An assistant poked his head inside the door. "Are you ready, sir?"

Professor Slipter nodded.

Other lab assistants entered, carrying electronic devices that Electromancer didn't recognize. One container looked as if it was filled with a viscous gelatin. The substance was clear and reflected a rainbow of colors. A second contraption looked like a child's giant beach ball with an interior cavity. The lab worker attached a hose to the ball-like device and filled the exterior portion with the gel. When the bubble was filled to capacity, Professor Slipter nodded. His assistant started another machine, and this, Electromancer did recognize—liquid nitrogen, cold and deadly. Though she wanted to scream, she refused to give them the satisfaction.

• • •

Electromancer awoke to a bright light streaming inside of her concrete prison. The room was freezing. When she'd fallen asleep from the cold, Professor Slipter and his assistants must've moved her inside the bubble, sealed it off, and turned on the refrigeration unit.

She shook her head groggily, and felt her limbs becoming warmer. Someone must've turned up the heat so that she'd regain consciousness. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious. Now what?

Momo walked inside the room, as always hidden behind the gold mask. In his heavy fur coat and Mukluk boots, he looked like a clown. He and Professor Slipter—two clowns in a despicable circus.

"Wake up, princess," Momo said brightly.

For one sickening moment, she thought of her father—Mickey had called her princess.

"I tried to warn you, Alexa," Momo said.

"It's Electromancer," she rasped.

"Oh, let's stop the charade." He pulled off the gold mask, and in an instant, she was wide awake—staring at the face of her Uncle Montgomery. And it was his voice as well. He'd disguised it on those broadcasts. But Uncle Montgomery had been with her that time when . . . how foolish of her. He'd prerecorded that message about Big Benny.

"I would have thought better of a Manchester," he said.

"I could say the same," she replied.

"Didn't you know that I was watching you cavort with that servant, Sawyer, at the golf course? And what should I see? Electrical sparks shooting from your hands! The sparks of lust—but also the sparks of Electromancer. How indiscreet of you." He shook his head. "You're as stubborn as your father. More stubborn. He never would've let things go this far. He would've given me exactly what I demanded. He would've saved those cities from my attacks. Now, those deaths are on your hands."

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"You disappoint me in so many ways, Alexa. Dallying with the hired help. Getting engaged to a two-bit, snake-oil politician. But don't worry, I'll take care of everything. I'll see to it that the Manchester name will once again be respectable, that it will be revered, feared.

"You'll never get away with it. People like you never do."

"People like me always do. I have for years."

Electromancer placed her hands against the walls of her prison. "Why don't you just kill me and get this over with?"

"I thought of that. But after all, you are my niece. Blood is thicker than water—even thicker than ice. Besides, I might need you some day. Meanwhile, perhaps I'll court Della Dowdy and I'll give you a cousin. Someone more worthy of being the Manchester heir than you."

She clawed at the edges of the frozen bubble, tried to shoot electricity from her hands, but the severe cold had robbed her of her powers.

"Good-bye, Alexa."

# Chapter 25

_A short while later . . ._

Zachary Zero headed down the stairs to stash his case of Kensington-Jack Rye Whiskey in his secret hiding spot in the Sugar Express Train Depot. When he got there, the door was locked. He tugged and pulled on the door, but it wouldn't open.

"Those women! They discovered my hiding spot," he whined. He began scrounging around, looking for something to break off the lock. Around the corner, he found a metal pipe, which he used to hack away at the lock. The lock didn't break, but the concrete surrounding it gave way, and he was able to jimmy the lock casing from the wall so that it hung from the door. He maneuvered the pipe inside the crack and pried until the foot-thick door opened. A rush of ice-cold air smacked him in the face, the shock sending him stumbling back. When he regained his balance, he used a foot to push the door open the rest of the way. The room was filled with steam, the way dry ice fogs up when exposed to water. But that was impossible—this room hadn't stored dry ice for decades.

No way these WEEDs ladies or those CABOOSE engineers would be storing dry ice. He waited for the gas to settle and then braved his way inside the room, only to encounter a large frozen bubble of ice. There seemed to be some kind of object inside. What, he couldn't make out, because there was too much condensation on the bubble to see inside clearly.

It struck him that if there was something untoward going on down here, and he was the one who reported it, the town would think him a hero. If that happened, maybe he'd be able to get his criminal record expunged. Maybe he'd even get his old job back. There was no guarantee that Mayor Baumgartner was going to become prime minister. But only The Mayor could help him now. He left the room and placed the call.

"I told you never to call here unless it was a dire emergency," The Mayor said.

"It is, Boss. Something's going on down here at the Sugar Express Train Depot."

"What, you have a flower-planting crisis? Is the bloom off the rose?"

"I'm serious, Mayor. You better get down here right away."

"What's going on?"

"I found this giant frozen bubble in the old dry-ice holding tank, and I think something, maybe someone, is inside of it."

"What were you doing down there? Never mind, I don't want to hear anything you have to say. I can figure it out myself. I told you to get off the bottle, Zero."

"No, Boss. I'm stone-cold sober."

Suddenly, The Mayor began to stammer. "You said there's something inside a what?"

"A frozen bubble."

"Are you sure? Can you make anything out? You know that Alexa Manchester has gone missing. Could it be her?"

"I don't know, Boss. I can't make it out. But who knows?"

"Turn off the refrigeration system. Now! And don't tell anyone anything. Stay right there. Guard the door. I'll be down there as soon as I can."

"What about the police? Should we call Chief Constable Pete Petaud?"

"No, you fool. It's just like you said—we're in this up to our necks. We can't involve the cops. We have to fix this ourselves."

• • •

The Mayor came racing into the parking lot of the Sugar Express Train Depot, gravel and rock spitting into the air. He practically leaped from the car—maybe he did leap. The women from WEEDS and the men from CABOOSE hadn't yet arrived, but they would very soon. He hurried to the old ice cream factory and raced down the stairs, where he found Zero standing at the entrance, shivering.

"In there?" The Mayor asked.

Zero nodded.

"Wait here." The Mayor entered the room and approached the bubble. The thing was alien, not of this world. He cupped his hands together and tried peering into it. He was certain that something was inside. Then the something moved. He reached out to try to feel for a door or other opening, but the bubble was so cold that he couldn't touch it.

"Alexa!" he shouted.

More movement. And then there was pounding against the inside wall. It was her! It had to be. Thank God. She wasn't dead.

"Bring me that metal pipe, Zero," The Mayor shouted.

Zero complied.

The Mayor banged the metal pipe against the frozen bubble, but the structure held firm. The sound waves from the clatter reverberated against his eardrums.

"What's that thing made of?" Zero asked.

"It's certainly not glass," The Mayor said. "We've got to get her out of there, fast."

"You sure it's Alexa Manchester?"

"Who else could it be, you moose head?"

"What's going on here?" Henrietta Hensinger asked. She was decked out in pink and green polka-dot overalls, along with a work hat that featured an arrangement of dried oak leaf hydrangeas spilling from the peak and brim and an assortment of silk butterflies mounted a foot high on the crown and tip. She and her group of WEEDs ladies filed into the room.

The Mayor turned. He hadn't wanted those meddling ladies to find them, but now that they were here, he could use their help. "Someone is trapped inside of this contraption. I think it's Alexa Manchester."

"I found her first," Zero said, stepping in front of The Mayor. "I did. I phoned The Mayor right away."

The Mayor continued pounding against the bubble, but it didn't even splinter. He stepped back and took a giant swing, and when he did so, he unintentionally burped, spewing out tiny flecks of viscous black liquid. Some of it landed on the surface of the bubble, which sizzled like water on a blazing-hot cast-iron skillet. _Corrosion_ —that was it!

The Mayor turned to everyone and held his hands up in warning. "I want everyone out of this room in case this contraption explodes. We don't know what we're dealing with. I can't allow any of you to be endangered."

"Out, out," Miss Hensinger said. "You, too, Zachary. You heard The Mayor. Out!"

When they were safely outside the holding unit, Miss Hensinger turned back. "Mayor, are you sure? You'll be injured if it explodes. You shouldn't put your own life at risk. Let me call the fire department and the police."

"There's no time, Henrietta. We can't let her die. I'm going to keep working. I'm closing the door. You keep everyone out, Henrietta. Call the authorities. I'm counting on you to keep everyone safe."

"You can count on me, Mayor," Zero said. "I found her first."

The Mayor pushed the door shut and moved a heavy drum against it so no one could come in. Then he focused his attention back on the frozen bubble. He had to do this. He knew he could do it. It wasn't a dream. He wasn't delusional. He was— _The Grasshopper_. In a flash, The Mayor transformed into The Grasshopper by grunting and forcing himself to begin to regurgitate large wads of Black Tobacco juice. As much as he wanted to deny what had happened to him, he couldn't. He also couldn't let the citizens of Kensington City learn of his transformation.

The more Black Tobacco that he spat at the bubble, the more the substance corroded. Before long, the integrity of the structure had been fully compromised, and large cracks began to develop. There was a loud clatter, the sound of shattering china magnified by orders of magnitude, and then an explosion. The force of the blast threw him against the wall. He lost consciousness for a brief moment. When he awoke, to his great relief, he'd been transformed back into his human form. His shirt was in tatters, but the rest of him was intact.

He glanced up to find Alexa Manchester and the WEEDs ladies standing over him, looking deeply concerned.

Chief Constable Pete Petaud rushed inside the room, "Where is she?"

"I'm here, Constable Petaud," Alexa said. "The Mayor saved me."

"And I found her," Zero said. "It was me. I found her."

"Yes, and Zachary Zero found her," Miss Hensinger said.

"What happened in here?" Mr. Corn asked, coming through the door with his league of CABOOSE engineers.

"I was captured by a man named Bigelow Bitterman," Alexa said. "Momo, the head of The Momaxita, was behind it. They sealed me inside this frozen bubble. They wanted to kill me or hold me for ransom . . . I don't know. I thought I was going to die."

"Why did they leave you here, I wonder?" Chief Petaud asked.

"It was only until they could move me. They must've thought that no one would think to look in an old abandoned dry-ice storage room. They were going to dump me in a hole under a frozen lake." Alexa's eyes brimmed with tears. "It was awful. You can't imagine."

The Mayor got to his feet, somewhat wobbly. "You're okay now, Alexa."

"Thanks to you, Bobby," she said.

Alexa turned to Chief Petaud. "We have to keep this quiet so we have a chance to catch Momo without him knowing I've escaped. He'll find out soon enough, when they come looking for me."

"And we'll be ready and waiting for them," Chief Petaud said.

"Mayor Baumgartner, you need to get to the hospital," Chief Petaud said. "You, too, Ms. Manchester."

"No, not me. I'll be fine," The Mayor said. "I've had enough of that hospital."

• • •

After checking out of the hospital emergency room—she had to play the helpless victim to the hilt to do what she needed to—Alexa agreed to let The Mayor drive her home. All the while, she planned her next move. She had the element of surprise going for her.

"Alexa, will you ever forgive me?" The Mayor asked. "I had no idea what Bitterman was up to. He forced me at gunpoint to call you and lure you to the Sugar Express Train Depot. I had no choice. Then he forced me into a corn silo. I thought I was done for. When I got out, I did everything I could to find you. Zachary Zero, of all people, came through for once."

"I forgive you, Bobby. Everything has been so crazy. You were very brave."

"About our engagement," The Mayor said. "I was wondering if you could give me another chance."

"I'm so sorry, Bobby. I don't love you. My heart belongs to another." She paused. "But you saved my life. I'll be eternally grateful. And thank heavens for Zero. Now, the only thing I want to do is go home." But in truth, the only thing she wanted to do now was to find Momo's hideout. Perhaps he'd already taken up residence in the Manchester mansion, playacting as the kind, concerned Uncle Montgomery. She hoped so. That would make her job easier.

"Just think about it some more," The Mayor said. "I truly would make you a fine husband. I'd do everything to make you happy. No more flirting with other women, no more chauvinist thinking. Before, I didn't see who you were. I just saw you as the perfect woman to advance my political career. None of that matters anymore. I see you now. I would love and cherish you. And if you need time, I'm a patient man."

"Oh, Bobby . . . "

"Just let me prove it to you."

"Right now, my only focus is on finding Momo."

"The police will do it. You don't have to worry about that."

"The police are powerless against him."

"And you can fight him?"

"I know people who can."

He glanced over at her with a puzzled expression. Just as he was about to pull into the driveway of the mansion, she cried, "Wait!"

"What is it?"

"After all that's happened, I can't go in the front door. I don't know what to expect. I'll go in the back door. Surprise anyone who might be waiting."

"I'll go with you."

"No, but thank you. Trust me, I'll be fine."

He frowned. "What can I do to win you back, Alexa?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you. But you'll be fine. There's plenty of time before the election to find a suitable bride. Women flock at your feet. Dani Dowdy would marry you today."

"I don't want her. I want you."

Alexa felt a twinge of guilt, but it was impossible. "I have to go, Bobby."

Before she could get out of the car, The Mayor blurted out, "I know where Momo is hiding out."

"What? How? I . . . " A shiver went down her spine. Was he making this up just to be a hero, just to win her back?

"Zero followed Bitterman, Momo's henchman. I just learned that fact moments before Bitterman held me at gunpoint. Biggie is a dangerous man. He doesn't look it—heck, the guy's barely five feet tall—but he is."

"Why would Zachary Zero follow Biggie Bitterman?"

"Oh, something about a lawsuit that Zero wants to bring because of a car accident. Bitterman was driving."

Alexa studied The Mayor's face. She'd seen some odd occurrences as he was freeing her from the inside the old dry-ice holding tank. Though everything had been blurry and her mind had been fuzzy, his body seemed to have changed shape. It looked as if he'd grown taller, had even sprouted wings. She suspected that he wasn't telling her everything. She'd worry about that later. At the moment, all she cared about was finding Momo's headquarters.

"Who else knows?" Alexa asked.

"Only Zero and me."

"Where is Momo, Bobby?"

He pulled a crumpled-up piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. When she saw that it had the location of Momo's hideout, she kissed his cheek in gratitude.

Alexa got out of the car and waited for the Lamborghini to drive away. Then she transformed into Electromancer and flew over the grounds and through the mansion. There was no sign of Uncle Montgomery's henchmen. Too bad. She would've liked to confront them on her home turf.

She transformed back and entered Gladys's workroom. Gladys was sitting on a chair, staring at nothing. When she saw Alexa, she startled and then burst into tears. After they embraced, Gladys asked, "What happened to you, my dear?"

"It was Momo. I have no time to explain. But my uncle and Momo—they're one and the same."

Gladys put a hand over her heart and fell back into the chair.

"Have you seen him?" Alexa asked.

She shook her head. "Not since that news conference he gave. He came and he went. He seemed so concerned about you. I can't believe . . . And I helped him . . . "

"It's all right," Alexa said. "He fooled all of us." She inhaled deeply. "Sigfred?"

"No sign of him."

The words chilled her to the core more than the frozen nitrogen had.

"Nothing has been right since you left, dear," Gladys said. "I'm so sorry."

"What else?"

"Miss Marbletop disappeared. I'm sorry, I let her out the door. I never expected her to disappear. She's never run away before."

Alexa drew in a labored breath, but there was nothing to say about another loss. "I have to go. If Uncle Montgomery shows up, get out. Don't talk to him, don't call the police, just get out. I have to go. Good-bye, Gladys."

"Come back safely, dear."

Alexa nodded, though she couldn't possibly guarantee that she would return. In fact, the odds were against it, unless she found a way to vanquish Red Web. She'd be able to do that much more effectively if Sigfred—if Blue Arrow—were with her. Where had he gone? Was he all right?

# Chapter 26

_Straightaway . . ._

In less time than it takes for a hummingbird to flap its wings, Electromancer traveled to her father's laboratory at The Mick, transformed back to Alexa, and put on a lab coat and boots. She was about to sneak into an official crime scene, but as her Uncle Montgomery so aptly put it, this was Manchester property. She had a right to be there. It was about the only useful thing that Momo had to say.

She knew with absolute certainty that if there was a way to fight Red Web—nothing more than electromagnetic energy gone tsunamic—she'd discover it in her father's research journals. He'd known more about generators of electricity than any person on the planet, and that meant he must've researched methods of reducing electromagnetic energy, which, if left unchecked, posed a health hazard to humans.

As Alexa was unlocking the lab door, she heard footsteps behind her.

"You can't go in there, Ms. Manchester," Dr. Charles Chin said. "You know the rules."

She turned the key in the lock and opened the door. "It's my company, Charlie."

"Constable Petaud said no one goes in—especially you. I agree. You're already implicated in all this. Unfairly, I know. Still, it's for your own good."

"I have to get to my father's journals. To stop all this. To stop Momo."

"I know nothing about that, ma'am." He shook his head and looked at her as if she were delusional. "How would you manage something like that, Ms. Manchester?"

For a moment Alexa considered answering that question by transforming into Electromancer, but she stopped herself. Charles Chin didn't need to know who she was. And there was something about him that she had to confirm.

"How would Lord Wintersworth have managed it, Charlie? Or MI-8? You were involved in their research along with my father, were you not?"

He didn't even blink, just stared at her. Because of that, she had her answer—only a trained agent could've conveyed such icy indifference. "I don't know what you're taking about, Ms. Manchester," he said.

"I'm talking about Project Chiron, among other things, Dr. Chin. Or should I say Agent __ Chin?"

He went slack jawed, the spy's composure gone. "It hasn't been the latter for a long time. But how did you know? Your father would never have revealed this."

"It doesn't matter how I know. What you should realize is that neither __ of us is who the other thinks we are. I do believe that we're on the same side, that we want to stop Momo and find a way to neutralize his Red Web. Are we truly on the same side, Charlie?" Her voice was the closest it had ever been to the way she spoke as Electromancer.

Chin gave her a hard stare, clearly appraising her. Then he nodded. "I think I understand, Ms. Manchester. Life is, indeed, full of surprises. Follow me." He led her down several corridors to a vault on the other side of the plant. Inside, she found row upon row of secured filing cabinets. Chin took her to the cabinet marked _E through G_ and pulled out several files.

Alexa began poring through the documents, and at first she had to look away, because the sight of her father's distinctive handwriting—flamboyant, yet eminently readable—was too painful. Then she focused on the substance, trying to make sense of her father's work. Mickey had trained her in math and engineering, but what he'd done here was far beyond her ken—too many numbers, too many indecipherable equations, too many unknown chemical symbols. She handed the file back to Chin.

"Help me, Charlie. Or is this beyond you, too?"

"Your father hired me for a reason. So did Lord Wintersworth." He quickly thumbed through the file. "To defuse Red Web's magnetic energy, you've got to realign the electron orbit. You need a diamagnetic material to disrupt the normal effect of the field. From what I've seen and heard, there's nothing normal about Red Wed's electromagnetic field. I've never seen such a force, ever." He took a deep breath. "Not even Electromancer can generate power enough to disrupt Red Web. As we've witnessed."

"How would you do it if we were only talking about a nominal field of energy?"

He thought for a moment. "I'd create a magnetic shield using something like gold, silver, or copper."

"I don't understand."

"Here's an example. When we construct electric power transformers here at the plant, we use mu-metal—it's a soft magnetic alloy that's highly permeable—in the shell to prevent nearby circuitry from being affected by the electromagnetic waves."

"So why can't we do something similar with Red Web?"

Chin shook his head. "Its energy is probably too strong by orders of magnitude."

"Probably?"

"Ms. Manchester, I wasn't just your father's employee, I was his close friend. If anything happened to you, I could never live with myself."

"What could happen to me, Charlie? I'm just a businesswoman and a socialite. Hypothetically, if one were going to make such a shield, what would be the best material?"

He shut his eyes for a moment. "Gold. If you combine it with the mu-metal, perhaps you could create some kind of shield. Though it may not be strong enough." He shrugged hopelessly, suddenly seeming very tired.

She moved close and hugged him. "Thank you, Dr. Chin." She turned and sprinted to the warehouse, where she found rolls of the mu-metal. It was thinner than paper, a substance that she could bend effortlessly. She had her shield, but she was missing two things: the gold and a way to lure Red Web out into the open so that she could destroy it.

She transformed into Electromancer and carried the massive shield out of the warehouse. Then, using the directions that Bobby had provided, she flew to Momo's hideout to conduct surveillance. In the distance, she spotted the dome of the complex that must've housed Momo's weapon of mass destruction. But as she came closer, she hit a force field, throwing her back. She hadn't expected anything like this. She tried getting through at many different places, but there were no openings. If she couldn't pass through this barrier, how would she ever reach Momo? But she couldn't stay there any longer. She wasn't ready for battle and couldn't afford to be spotted beforehand. Now that she knew about this force field, she had to formulate a plan to penetrate it.

Still carrying the mu-metal, she flew to Sigfred's apartment, praying that, somehow, he'd be there. He was nowhere to be found, and from the state of the rooms, he hadn't been there for days. Flitting through the atmosphere at nearly the speed of light, she searched all of Kensington City and its suburbs, looking for him everywhere. If she could only find him, they could accomplish this together. He was nowhere to be found. Her eyes misted up. Each time a tear rolled down her cheek, it sparked.

Like a child looking for comfort, she returned to The Mick, perhaps more her home now than the huge Manchester estate. Making sure that none of the workers saw her, she made her way to The Magpie and dove into its core—the very location where the Electromite had once resided. It was like returning to the womb, a place where she might find answers. And she needed answers. She waited for a voice but heard nothing. If only her father would talk to her, guide her, as he'd done that first time.

Floating in an ineffable current, she thought of nothing and everything, and then focused on her loss. First her mother, then her father, and now Sigfred. Everyone she loved had died—or had they all deserted her?

With a burst of angry energy, she heated the core of the generator and began spinning the damaged turbines. Before long, The Magpie's metal burned molten hot, the glow as bright as a star. Sparks flew all around Electromancer, who sunk ever deeper into The Magpie's core. She felt herself becoming incorporeal, pure energy, which formed a vortex and turned in on itself. She was being absorbed into what—a black hole? She hovered at the edge of the event horizon, certain that if she let herself go, she'd fall to the point of the singularity and vanish into oblivion. Like a Siren's song, the void beckoned.

When she saw the smirking visage of Montgomery Manchester—Momo—she perceived his evil and held firm. In that brief moment, the pitch darkness turned into a transcendent white. She knew with certainty that she wasn't a coward, that her destiny wasn't oblivion. She had to save her life—not only hers, but the lives of her fellow citizens.

So, Electromancer fought, trying to escape The Magpie. But she was trapped in the very vortex of anger and electricity that she'd created. She frantically used her arms and legs to grope at the formless white ether, searching for a boundary or anything else she could find to claw her way out. She tried to fly, but there was no sky. She tried shooting electricity but had none. She wanted to cry, but no tears fell. She felt for her arms, but now they were substanceless—her entire body was substanceless. She was imprisoned in a finite yet boundless white.

"Father, help!"

No answer.

"Sigfred," she whispered. She wanted his name to be the last word she uttered, an emblem of love and loss. How had she been so blind? Sigfred— _his love_ —had been in her presence all the time.

Though she had no eyes to see, she perceived a slight breach forming in the white shroud. A pinpoint at first, expanding and elongating, and she had the crazy thought that it was a wormhole into another dimension.

"This way," a faint voice said.

Could it be an escape route? Or was this the pathway to her tomb?

"Hurry! Before it closes!" the voice said.

Electromancer thought of fighting the force, but instinctively understood that to resist would be a mistake, so she yielded, and a comforting warmth spread over her body. She felt herself being rapidly pulled through the opening and transported to someplace else. A rainbow of soothing light embraced her. Time condensed. Her body regenerated, as if she were going backward in time, but she knew that was impossible. A moment later, she fell with a thud onto something hard—the concrete floor near The Magpie.

"Give me your hand," the voice said.

She opened her eyes and looked up, and what she saw astonished her—Blue Arrow, not in the guise of a majestic blue cloud, but in the form of a beautiful, muscular man. Strong, powerful, handsome—distinctively Sigfred but, at the same time, someone else entirely—Blue Arrow. Just as she was Alexa at her core, she was now also something more—a stronger, more powerful Electromancer.

"You saved me," she said.

"No. You saved me."

She shook her head, her mind still a bit foggy. "I don't understand."

He kneeled down over her prone body and looked deeply into her eyes. "When Red Web attacked me, my energy didn't dissipate. It instead turned in on itself. The mass was so great that I was transported to another dimension. I can't explain it. I was a prisoner. I was able to see through the bars but unable to escape. Then you came along and rescued me."

Before she could protest, he took her in his arms and kissed her. The touch of his lips against hers gave her all the reassurance she needed. Together, they could do this.

"I think we rescued each other," she whispered.

They lost all sense of time as they lost themselves in each other. When their bodies separated, she quickly explained recent events.

"What's the first thing we have to do?" he asked.

"We need to get gold to combine with the mu-metal."

"Where can we get it?"

"Charlie Chin says it will take a lot. We're not talking about a gold coin or a few trinkets. No jewelry store or a gold exchange will have enough. And we can't just fly to the Americanas and rob Fortress Knox. There's another problem. Even if we acquire enough gold, I don't know how we would transport the shield made of gold and mu-metal. When I was carrying the mu-metal, my energy began to melt it. I had to fly slowly and at low altitude to preserve it."

"I can carry your shield," he said. "I might not travel at the speed of light, but I can modulate temperatures. If we can find your gold, I will carry you and your shield wherever you need to go."

"You are my true Blue Arrow."

He kissed her forehead. "And you have a heart of gold."

She laughed softly. "In truth, I think it's platinum."

And then it came to her. She knew exactly where she could get enough gold.

• • •

A few minutes later, Alexa and Sigfred were standing on Mayor Baumgartner's front porch. When The Mayor opened the door and noticed Sigfred, his mouth dropped open.

"Sawyer, I thought you left." He shook his head slightly and turned to Alexa. "Alexa feared you might be done for, man." He turned to her. "And weren't you going to try to find . . . ?"

If matters weren't so serious, Alexa might've given him some plausible explanation, but there was no time for that.

"Aren't you going to invite us in, Mayor Baumgartner?" Sigfred asked.

"Yes, of course. This way." He led them back to this private office.

"How can I help you, Alexa?" The Mayor asked, ignoring Sigfred.

"I'm afraid you'll have to give us your gold," she said. "A good part of it. It's in the interest of world stability."

Again, The Mayor went slack jawed. "Alexa, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have gold lying around. Oh, I might have invested in some gold futures over the past several years, but with market conditions the way they are, I took a big loss, and my broker—"

"Bobby, stop," Alexa said. "You drive a gold Lamborghini with a twenty-four carat hood ornament. You wear a solid gold watch. You have gold crowns on your teeth even though Gladys says that you've never had a cavity in your life. All your cufflinks are gold. Your pinky ring is gold. The door knocker at the main entrance to your home is gold. Look around—all your furniture is gold. I saw the paperweights in your mayor's chambers, and those are solid gold. Heavens, at your last dinner party, you served gold tea leaf."

"Fine, Alexa, I admit it. I have a fondness for gold. But where is this all leading?"

"Where do you keep the bullion?" she asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"If anyone has gold bullion in his basement, it's you."

He crossed his arms. "I most certainly do not."

She drew herself up to her full height, crossing her arms. "You said you wanted a chance to prove that you're a decent man. Now is the time."

"If I do this for you, will you marry me?"

"Oh, Bobby, we're long past that. You want a chance to prove you're a good man, and good men do the right thing because it's right, not because they can get someone or something for it. Well, giving us your gold is the right thing to do. Electromancer needs to make a shield to fight Red Web. She needs the gold to line a mu-metal shield."

"How do you know that?" The Mayor asked, now appearing thoroughly befuddled.

Sigfred cleared his throat. "Electromancer came to the mansion seeking Ms. Manchester's help. Ms. Manchester has provided the mu-metal from The Mick, but only you have the necessary gold to make the alloy."

"When did you get back again, Mr. Sawyer?" The Mayor asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Only today, sir," he said. "I'm the one who has contacts with Electromancer."

The Mayor looked at Alexa. "Are you certain that this fellow isn't working with Momo?"

"Quite sure. Now listen to me, Bobby, there's no time to waste. If you'll give us your bullion, I think there's a chance to defeat Momo and get back the Electromite that he stole. That he robbed from us all."

"Would this be a gift or a loan, Alexa?" The Mayor asked.

"It's going to be used to make an alloy, Bobby. It will no longer be gold. I'm afraid there will be no returning it."

"Look at it this way, Mayor Baumgartner," Sigfred said. "Gold will be worthless if the world falls into darkness."

The Mayor closed his eyes, looking as if he were about to burst into tears, but said, "Come with me."

• • •

Earlier that morning, on Momo's orders, Biggie Bitterman had entered the Sugar Express Train Depot. Bitterman didn't like it—he took the old adage that _the culprit always returns to the scene of the crime_ literally, and so didn't want to return to the crime scene at all. But Momo had insisted that he check to make sure that the package—meaning Electromancer On Ice—was secure. They'd planned to ship her out no later than the week's end, when the refrigeration car was due to arrive. Thanks to those train engineers and their refurbishment project, the depot's tracks were almost ready.

Fortunately, those do-gooders from WEEDS and CABOOSE hadn't yet arrived. Bitterman walked through the entire depot, carefully checking every nook and cranny, making sure that no derelicts like that drunk Zero were crashing in the shadows. When he was certain that the place was deserted, he made his way to the abandoned ice cream factory. To his shock, he saw that Professor Slipter's makeshift jail had been breached and that Electromancer had escaped.

He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and, with trembling fingers, began to call Momo. The boss would not be happy, might even zap Professor Slipter with one of those deadly screwdrivers.

"Drop it, Bitterman!"

Bitterman knew the voice—Chief Constable Pete Petaud. He turned to find Chief Petaud and a posse of twenty of Kensington City's finest, aiming their weapons directly at him. Standing next to the Chief was that worm, Zachary Zero. Bitterman dropped his cell phone.

"Keep your hands where I can see them," Chief Petaud said. "You're going to prison for a very long time for what you did to Alexa Manchester."

"Yeah, and I'm going to sue your behind for injuring me in that car wreck," Zero said gleefully.

• • •

When Blue Arrow and Electromancer arrived at the boundary of Momo's force field, Blue Arrow remained tucked away behind the gold-and-mu-metal shield, while Electromancer flew high in the air, generating brilliant bolts of electricity that could be seen from miles away.

"It's over, Momo," she cried in her crystalline voice, so powerful that she could sense it penetrating the force field. "Give yourself up now to avoid any more bloodshed."

She glanced over at Blue Arrow, who said, "Get ready. They're scrambling around in panic. I can sense it by the change in atmospheric pressure."

Seconds later, the hatch to the dome opened, and a massive bolt of lightning flashed in her direction, somehow exiting the force field. She intercepted the bolt by catching it in her right hand and flung it into space. She tried flying through the force field again but was thrown back. Another bolt of lightning flew at her, and the moment it crossed the force field, she tried diving through the spot it had exited, but again she failed. The force field was only a one-way street. Electromancer shook her head—Professor Slipter was, indeed, a brilliant scientist, though thoroughly mad.

Then, in the distance, she saw the hideous scarlet curtain form and advance. As Red Web rumbled toward the edge of the force field, gaining mass, she joined Blue Arrow.

"It's time," he said, for a moment hovering in his humanlike form.

"You don't have to do this, Blue Arrow."

"Yes, I do. We both do."

She nodded, and together they donned the deflective shield with the gold/mu-metal alloy.

Wearing the deflective shield, Blue Arrow transformed into a blue cloud and encircled Electromancer. He rose into the air and met Red Web head on as it exited the force field. Red Web unfolded its deadly webbed wings. Electromancer emerged from the cloud and shot her strongest bolts of electricity at the lethal curtain. In the past, the electricity hadn't even made the curtain flutter, but now a single thread in the fabric of evil frayed. The curtain emitted a burst of electromagnetic energy unparalleled in the struggle so far, but the protective shield held. Alexa sent multiple streams of electricity from her fingers and toes, and the fabric shredded in places like over-bleached linen. Red Web began fluttering to the ground, but then rose again, as if somehow the insulting injury had restored the web's power.

"Get back!" Blue Arrow shouted.

Electromancer complied, taking refuge back inside the blue cloud and behind the protective shield. Then Blue Arrow ascended and once again charged Red Web. As soon as he got within a hundred yards of the curtain, Red Web's magnetic energy split and spilled from its web, casting its threads in all directions. Electromancer once again shot bolts of electricity at Red Web, managing to diminish its energy.

"It's losing power!" Electromancer cried. "If only we could penetrate the force field."

"We need to weaken Red Web further to be sure it's gone," Blue Arrow said.

"No, just go."

Blue Arrow continued forward. Electromancer shot massive bolts at the force field but was unable to breach it. Red Web was back, closing in on them again, trying to entangle them in its deadly web. A moment later, the shield surrounding Blue Arrow vanished. Red Web had absorbed it in a flash, draining the gold and the mu-metal and then spitting it out in an explosion of gold and metal-alloy fragments. Now, Electromancer and Blue Arrow were left completely exposed.

"Get out of here," Electromancer shouted to Blue Arrow. "I'll hold it at bay while you escape."

Electromancer shot ever-increasing voltages at Red Web. She saw the curtain fraying again, but Red Web hadn't used up its bag of tricks. It shot out a spray of smaller webs as though it had birthed its own evil offspring. The threads pelted and shocked Electromancer and Blue Arrow like giant hail from a massive lightning storm.

Electromancer began to weaken, as did Blue Arrow.

Lightning split the sky, and it wasn't coming from either her or Red Web. A huge thundercloud was visible on the horizon.

"Go!" she shouted to Blue Arrow, who didn't argue this time, but descended to the ground. The impending storm would only help Red Web by providing it with additional fuel. Then, in the distance, she saw something else, something that could make this a fair fight.

Electromancer retreated from Red Web and used her one remaining advantage. At warp speed, she flew high into the snowcapped Kensington Mountains and hovered above the highest, most snow-covered peak. With all her might, she began using her electrical force to break away huge shards of snow and ice, which she directed at Red Web. At first, the barrage made little impact, but the more she struck Red Web with frozen missiles, the colder the atmosphere became. Then all at once, Red Web was frozen inside a giant ball of ice.

With a bolt of lightning stronger than any she'd unleashed before, she sent the atmospheric molecules beneath the ball spinning upward. But it wasn't enough. Soon, Red Web began to descend, and the ice surrounding it began to melt.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Blue Arrow miraculously rose and expanded into a vast blue cloud. He enveloped the frozen mass and carried it upward, setting it down on the frozen tundra of Great Kensington Peak.

"Now who's the Popsicle?" Electromancer shouted at Momo's hideaway.

Blue Arrow shifted shape into his humanlike form and hovered next to Electromancer. They both looked down at Momo's fortress. They'd neutralized his major weapon, true. But there was no way to get through his defenses, the powerful force field.

"Any ideas?" Blue Arrow asked.

"Not a one."

• • •

While Electromancer and Blue Arrow waited helplessly outside his fortress, Montgomery "Momo" Manchester, with the help of Professor Slipter and The Momaxita henchmen and technicians, was sending out spikes of crippling electricity to every major power station in the world. One by one, the facilities were shutting down.

"Hurry, you fool!" Momo shouted maniacally. "We need to finish this before my blasted niece figures out a way to breach our defenses."

"Impossible!" Professor Slipter said. "The force field is invulnerable."

"Oh is it, now? You claimed that Electromancer would be imprisoned for eternity in frozen nitrogen and that Red Web was indestructible. Now look where we are, you bumbler."

"Don't panic, Momo," Professor Slipter said.

Momo slapped Professor Slipter across the head and then wiped his hand on his handkerchief. "I never panic, you fool."

Professor Slipter backed away in fear but continued sending out the high voltage weapons of terror.

In truth, though, Momo had panicked. He'd underestimated his niece badly. His brother Mickey had been stubborn and smart like her, but he'd never been quite as resourceful. How had she escaped? How had she overpowered Red Web? What else was she capable of?

"Faster, Slipter," Momo said.

Professor Slipter worked frantically, loading and reloading, calibrating and recalibrating. City by city, the world was falling into complete darkness. Before long, the entire planet would be devoid of electricity. Next, Momo would begin building his capital city, Momaxitopia, where all the world's leaders would pay him tribute and homage. Endless riches, endless gourmet meals, endless parties with beautiful women, all coming from every corner of the globe. Anyone who wanted to survive would have to bow down to him, and to him alone.

• • •

Now on the ground at the border of Momo's force field, Blue Arrow and Electromancer watched helplessly as Momo fired off bolts of electricity. He'd threatened to destroy the power grids across the globe, and now he was evidently carrying out his threat. They made several attempts to breach the force field, all to no avail. There was no way in.

Out of nowhere, something flew toward them. The sky was dark, so all they saw was a fuzzy white object with two glowing green orbs at its center.

"What is that?" Blue Arrow asked.

Electromancer sat up. "I have no idea."

A moment later, the winged object landed and meowed loudly.

"Miss Marbletop?" Electromancer asked. "It can't be."

The cat meowed again.

Electromancer reached a hand to stroke the cat.

"She must've come in contact with Electromite," Blue Arrow said. "How?"

Suddenly, the cat half leaped and half flew toward the force field.

"No!" Electromancer shrieked, certain that the electrified boundary would send the poor animal to its death.

But Miss Marbletop stopped, hovered above the ground, and used a paw to scratch at the impenetrable boundary. To Electromancer's relief, the cat seemed fine.

"Come on," Electromancer said to Blue Arrow. "I've got an idea."

# Chapter 27

_In half a shake . . ._

Miss Marbletop had already landed and was digging at the force field's boundary when Electromancer and Blue Arrow reached her.

"My thoughts exactly," Electromancer said to Miss Marbletop. She looked at Blue Arrow. "Is digging a tunnel among your powers?"

The Blue Arrow nodded. "Sometimes the old-fashioned approach is the best one."

Electromancer shot bolts of electricity through the small holes that Miss Marbletop had dug, expanding the tunnel. Blue Arrow shot his vapor, which melded with the rocks and created a roof and floor. Before long, the three of them had crawled through the tunnel and under the force field. Now inside the force field, Electromancer walked to the inner boundary. She raised a hand and slowly reached out.

"Just as I thought," she said, sliding a hand through the force field. "A one-way street. But now we can get out, because we're going in the direction of traffic."

She and Blue Arrow covered the tunnel, just in case.

"Let's go," Blue Arrow said, beginning his transformation into a cloud.

Electromancer took his arm while she still could and said, "On foot. We can't afford to be seen."

He nodded.

When they reached Momo's hideout, she said, "We go through the dome and retrieve the Electromite. And hopefully slip out before anyone knows the better." She stroked Miss Marbletop's fur. "You go home," she said to the cat. "I don't want you to get hurt. You understand me?"

"She doesn't speak; she flies," Blue Arrow said.

The cat only purred and flew back toward the mansion.

Electromancer and Blue Arrow searched the perimeter, expecting to find The Momaxita thugs guarding the fortress. They encountered no one. Her uncle's arrogance, Electromancer thought—he didn't believe that anything or anyone could penetrate the force field. Besides, he probably had all his people working inside to destroy the world.

They located a small sliver of space where the dome opened and closed. Electromancer slipped through as a spark of electricity, and Blue Arrow went in as a wisp of smoke. They changed back into human form and descended to the laboratory floor. The lab was dimly lit and humming with low-level mechanical noise. There was no one in sight.

"Where do you think they keep the Electromite?" Blue Arrow asked.

She pointed at The Big Zapper. "My guess is inside this monstrosity. In fact, I know it because I feel the Electromite drawing me to it, like a magnet."

She walked to The Big Zapper and opened a compartment.

"Bingo," she said.

Blue Arrow reached inside and pulled out the superconductive ceramic casing that held the Electromite. Electromancer took the Electromite and secured it on her back, letting it meld with her body.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

"What about Momo?"

"We have to secure the Electromite."

She nodded. "I have to open the dome so I can get the Electromite through."

Electromancer hurried to the control panel, and just as she reached for the switch to open the hatch, the overhead lights turned on, almost blinding them. Momo and his henchmen were standing at the door.

"You really thought you could slip in here and get away that easily?" Momo said. "Oh no, Niece. We were waiting for you."

"How'd you know that I'd even get through the force field?" Electromancer asked.

"You're a resourceful girl. I couldn't leave anything to chance."

"Come on, Blue Arrow," she cried and then bolted to the top of the dome. She'd melt it to get through if she had to. But when she reached the top, she only encountered another force field. And then Professor Slipter turned on a magnetic ray gun, trapping her. Electromancer struggled to free herself but couldn't.

"Get him," Momo shouted, pointing at Blue Arrow, who was now a cloud.

Another assistant turned on the supersonic vacuum attached to a glasslike canister and sucked up the blue cloud in a snap, trapping Blue Arrow inside of it. He corked the top.

"Open the door," Momo cried to another assistant.

The assistant raced to a door, which led into a room lined with metal walls that were highly charged with magnetic energy. Electromancer could feel the inexorable forces inside the room pulling at her. Soon, she was inside the room, where she immediately stuck to the wall. The assistant flipped another switch, and the door slammed shut.

"No!" she cried.

When she was sure she was alone, Electromancer smiled. With all her strength, she freed a hand from the magnetic wall, pulled the Electromite from behind her platinum suit, held the mineral at her shoulders, and sent a surge of electricity through it, causing the Electromite to melt over her body and form a protective covering. Although the liquefied rock might kill any other living creature, it didn't kill her—after all, she was, in part, made of Electromite. The new suit of armor increased her power and energy exponentially. She easily pulled her body away from the magnetic walls, broke through the galvanized steel walls, and landed inside the laboratory just in time to see Momo zapping one of his assistants in his mad search for his missing Electromite. Only it wasn't _his_ Electromite. It belonged to the world, to be used for the good of all mankind, just as Mickey had promised.

Electromancer kicked the jar that entrapped Blue Arrow and watched it shatter against the wall. Blue Arrow expanded a bit but was only a wisp of vapor. Then he mutated to his human form but lay on the floor, unconscious.

Professor Slipter pointed the electron deactivator at Electromancer. What Professor Slipter didn't understand was that her energy could not be destroyed. Electromancer sent a bolt of electricity at him. Professor Slipter tried to use the weapon as a shield, but she sent a more powerful bolt that incinerated the device. Professor Slipter screamed, the flesh on his hands smoking. Electromancer looked at Momo, who now had terror in his eyes. He sent a ray from his proton screwdriver at her, but she deflected it toward the ceiling with ease.

"I could've just killed you, Uncle," she said. "But I'm not like you. You're going to face justice."

There was a groan in the corner. Electromancer glanced at Blue Arrow. He still wasn't moving, and now he had turned part humanoid, part cloud. And the cloud was rapidly dissipating, as if Blue Arrow's soul were leaving his body. He looked at her with sad eyes.

Professor Slipter hurried across the room, weapon in hand, and pressed a button on the wall. Another door opened, an escape hatch. Inside was a vehicle that must've come from some unknown world. Momo and Professor Slipter made for the vehicle. Electromancer was about to send a powerful bolt their way, but it would kill them, and she'd vowed that there would be no more death. To kill would only make her like her uncle. She started to go after them, but she couldn't. It was capture Momo or save Blue Arrow.

Electromancer hurried to Blue Arrow.

"Tell me what to do," she said.

Momo's supersonic rocket engines fired up, and the craft soon launched into orbit without so much as a puff of smoke.

"There's nothing," he said in Sigfred's voice. "I love you, my dearest Alexa."

Tears streamed down Alexa's face. "You can't leave me, Sigfred. Not after we've come so far."

She bent down to give him a last kiss, the ultimate goodbye, but it was too late. Blue Arrow had dissipated into a blue wisp of fog.

In those final moments, she could almost hear him singing the words, "With a heart as pure as platinum, electricity at her fingertips, she soars like a falcon and travels at the speed of light. She's Electromancer." Then, his voice fading, "The only woman I've ever loved."

"Don't leave me, don't go," she sobbed. But it was too late.

There was no response.

Oh no! She had to do something, she couldn't lose him! Alexa had to stop this somehow.

No, not Alexa—Electromancer.

Instantaneously, she zipped over to the supersonic vacuum that had captured Blue Arrow and quickly reversed its polarization. Instead of sucking in particles, it began emitting them. Only these were more than particles, these were Blue Arrow's intoxicating vapor, his life force. Before long, the vacuum was empty, and the expelled vapor had recombined with the azure cloud, restoring all the life back to Blue Arrow. He soon stood before her in his human form, dazed but smiling.

"I thought I was done for," he said. "How did . . . ?" He shook his head as if to clear the fog in his brain.

"I rescued you this time, love. You see, I will always be _your_ protector, as you are mine."

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, and she could feel that his life force was stronger than it had ever been before.

He suddenly pulled away. "Momo? Slipter?"

"We'll get them next time. I had something more important to do." She flashed a wry smile. "Good servants are hard to find."

"It's time to go home, Ms. Manchester," he said, grinning back. "May I get your car?"

"Who needs a car?" Electromancer said. "And besides, we have unfinished business to take care of." She embraced Blue Arrow, and together they ascended into the pristine night sky, where they made love at the speed of light as they circled the globe, reigniting energy around the world.

# Chapter 28

_One week later . . ._

Chef Yurdlemon stood at the head of the table situated outside on the veranda and revealed his pièce de résistance, Kobe beef tenderloin with fennel, radishes, and parsnips in an Almas caviar and balsamic reduction. Alexa was holding a Saturday night dinner party alfresco for her newest and dearest friends: Mayor Baumgartner, Chief Constable Pete Petaud, Henrietta Hensinger (wearing her finest black evening hat bedecked with rhinestones, ostrich feathers, and a tassel of grosgrain ribbons), Conroy Corn, Dr. Charles Chin, and Zachary Zero. And of course, Gladys and Sigfred, her family.

They had their glasses raised in the fourth toast of the night, all of them drinking a superb St. Emilion that Chef Yurdlemon had been saving in the Manchester wine cellar—all except Zachary Zero, who was drinking sparkling water from a hidden source far up in the Mullgany Mountains.

"To Zachary," Mayor Baumgartner said. "To his pardon and his reinstatement as Kensington City's Comptroller based on his heroism in saving Alexa Manchester, who, despite her continued refusal to reaccept my hand in marriage, will always be my heart's desire." The Mayor smiled at Alexa, who smiled back. In the past week, she'd refused The Mayor's hand in marriage at least thirty-five times and had insisted that he send no more flowers lest she tell Henrietta Hensinger that he was defoliating the entire region. When she'd broken the news that his gold had been irretrievably lost in the battle against Momo and Momaxita, he'd only shrugged. He did make one quite puzzling request, though—as compensation for the loss of the gold, he asked that Alexa send him a daily supply of vegetables from Chef Yurdlemon's garden, raw and unseasoned. Even blades of grass would do, he'd said.

After they'd raised their glasses to Zachary Zero, Mr. Corn hollered, "Speech! Speech!"

Zero blushed.

"Speech, speech!" Mr. Corn repeated.

"Oh, hush up, Corny," Miss Hensinger said. "And take your hand off my knee this instant." She smiled at Zero. "But we would like to hear you speak, Zachary."

Perhaps out of habit, Zero said, "Yes, Miss Hensinger, right away." He stood up. "Thanks to you all. It's a great feeling to get out of the Sugar Express Train Depot and back on the wagon." He turned to Mayor Baumgartner. "I want to thank you, Boss, for—"

The Mayor shook his head in disapproval.

Zero flinched, and said, "I want to thank The Mayor for asking the Prime Minister to pardon me, and Miss Hensinger for allowing me to get my old job back by encouraging my successor and predecessor, Nathan Nil, to step aside. I'm also happy to say that the city funding for rehabilitation of the Sugar Express Train Depot will be sufficient to restore the landmark and make it the showcase of Kensington City and all of Britannia."

Everyone applauded.

"On a more serious note," Zero continued, "I want to take this opportunity to apologize to Mayor Baumgartner for taking a few pot shots at him while he was talking to persons who shall remain nameless outside the Sugar Express Train Depot a number of days ago when I thought that vandals were trying to uproot Miss Hensinger's secret stash of daisy and geranium seeds."

Mayor Baumgartner stood, his eyes bugging out. "That was _you_ , Zero? You could've killed me!"

"Oh, come on, Boss," Zero said. "I was snockered to the gills. I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn."

"Constable, arrest this man!" The Mayor said to Chief Petaud.

Alexa wanted to laugh, but in a serious tone, said, "Oh, Bobby, we're past that. No one's going to arrest anyone."

"They certainly are not," Miss Hensinger said. "Zachary was protecting my investment. And you, Mayor, deserved a bit of buckshot in your hind quarters for what you were going to do."

The Mayor gave Alexa a sheepish look and sat down.

Just then, there was shouting from the kitchen, and the Dowdy twins walked out onto the veranda, adorned in identical short, low-cut little black cocktail dresses. Chef Yurdlemon came in and said, "Ms. Manchester, I could not stop them!"

"Sorry we're late, dear," Della Dowdy said to Alexa.

"Not at all," Alexa said, though the Dowdy twins hadn't been invited. These women clearly had radar.

"May we get seats on either side of The Mayor?" Dani Dowdy said, already fawning over a surprisingly receptive Bobby Baumgartner.

"Of course," Alexa said. "I'm sure he'd be delighted."

And he certainly seemed to be.

They conversed throughout the night about the future of their city and themselves. Only Alexa and Sigfred kept silent about their plans. Alexa knew that the world was safe only for a little while, because Momo and others like him were unrelenting in their quest for power. There were always new, impossible problems to solve—like how to span dimensions and find her father, whom, she was sure, continued to watch over her from wherever he was.

When the clock struck midnight, Sigfred, who'd been sitting at her side the entire evening, discreetly reached under the tablecloth and squeezed her hand. She never wanted him to let go.

She put her lips to his ear and whispered, "We belong together. We always have."

He looked deeply into her eyes. "The future is ours. But it won't be easy. There's all too much evil in this world, and it's our responsibility to fight it."

"There's nothing we can't overcome together. That's how powerful our love is."

She knew that he would love her and protect her forever, and she would do the same for him. As Alexa Manchester and Sigfred Sawyer. As Electromancer and Blue Arrow.

# Acknowledgments

When Tara Gelsomino, my executive editor, asked me to write a superhero romance novel, I was absolutely thrilled to have the chance to cross genres and create a romantic yet comic-book-like world. The superheroes of my time were the fun, save-the-world types like Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and Spiderman, who fought evil but comic villains like Lex Luther, The Joker, Dr. Doom, and the slinky, mysterious Cat Woman. And so, when I wrote Electromancer, I strove to create an over-the-top, zany world that is nevertheless fraught with danger and full of romance. Thank you, Tara, for giving me this wonderful opportunity. You've opened up new avenues in my life, and that is truly a gift.

I'd also like to thank those who contributed their talents in creating the world of Electromancer. First, I must thank Robert Rotstein for all his insights. Having a fellow writer love your project as much as you do is priceless; I don't know which of us laughed more as the story unfolded. Thank you, Robert: "I love everything about you." I also want to thank my sweetest, most brilliant daughter, Isabella, for sharing her thoughts and expert wisdom about superheroes. And my gallant son, Andrew, who marveled at the characters and sometimes seemed to know them better than I did. I also very much appreciate the cover design and illustration work of Fred Machuca of FMThree, and Rickey Ostendi. Fred and Rickey are amazing. Thanks also to the gracious, talented Olivia Elery for her beautiful artistic contributions.

I'm so happy to be a part of the Crimson Romance family and am grateful for the hard work and dedication of Julie Sturgeon, Jess Verdi, and Brianne Bardusch.

And last, but not least, a heartfelt thank you to all of my readers!

# About the Author

Daco is an award-winning author of the espionage thriller series featuring CIA operative Jordan Jakes. Her debut novel, _The Libra Affair_ , was a 2013 #1 best seller. Of _The Libra Affair_ , _Publishers Weekly_ said, "The keenly sharp intelligent female characters soar in this edge-of-your-seat adventure . . . "

Her short story _The Pisces Affair_ was a 2015 Global Ebook Awards double gold medalist (Best Thriller Fiction and Best Science Fiction), a 2015 Shelf Unbound Notable 100, a 2015 Royal Palm Literary Award winner, and a _Publishers Weekly_ "PW Pick." In its review of _The Pisces Affair_ , _Publishers Weekly_ wrote, "Jakes is a lively and witty narrator with the wits and skills of James Bond, and readers will savor her fresh perspective on being a woman in the male-dominated spy world."

Daco's story "The Virgo Affair" is part of _Killer Nashville Noir: Cold-Blooded_ (October 2015), an anthology that includes numerous New York Times best-selling authors.

Upcoming works include _The Scorpio Affair_ , a Jordan Jakes novel, and _The Ophiuchus Affair_ , another Jordan Jakes short story.

_Electromancer_ is Daco's first superhero novel.

Daco holds a B.A. and M.A.S. from The University of Alabama in Huntsville and a J.D. from the Cumberland School of Law. She is a member of the International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, Authors Guild, Alabama Writers Forum, Florida Writers, and Alabama State Bar.

Feel free to connect with Daco on her Facebook page "Daco" or Twitter @AuthorDaco. Her website is www.authordaco.com.
Copyright © 2016 by Daco Auffenorde.

All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

Published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

57 Littlefield Street

Avon, MA 02322

www.crimsonromance.com

ISBN 10: 1-4405-9687-5

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9687-2

eISBN 10: 1-4405-9688-3

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9688-9

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Fred Machuca, illustration by Ricky Ostendi

# UNDERGROUND

# Cecilia Johanna

Avon, Massachusetts

# Contents

  * Title Page
  * Chapter One
  * Chapter Two
  * Chapter Three
  * Chapter Four
  * Chapter Five
  * Chapter Six
  * Chapter Seven
  * Chapter Eight
  * Chapter Nine
  * Chapter Ten
  * Chapter Eleven
  * Chapter Twelve
  * Chapter Thirteen
  * Chapter Fourteen
  * Chapter Fifteen
  * Chapter Sixteen
  * Chapter Seventeen
  * Chapter Eighteen
  * Chapter Nineteen
  * Chapter Twenty
  * Chapter Twenty-One
  * Chapter Twenty-Two
  * Chapter Twenty-Three
  * Chapter Twenty-Four
  * Epilogue
  * Acknowledgments
  * Copyright

# Chapter One

The emergency room at Chrystal Valley Hospital was a chaotic, overcrowded mess. Dr. Andrew Alexander sighed as he checked the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight, and his shift had ended several hours ago. Working overtime was a part of the job description for a first-year resident, but at some point, he had to call it a night.

He paused in front of the glass doors separating the waiting room from the rest of the ER, looking over the patients one last time. Coughing elders, a man cradling his wrist, a woman with a rash—nothing out of the ordinary. He was just about to head home when he noticed two red-haired women on a couch in the corner of the room. One of them was crying but looked perfectly healthy. His gaze moved over to the other woman, and then he froze.

Her face was covered in bruises. Some of them were fresh, while others were turning green and yellow. Her eyes were closed, but he could see that her left one was nearly swollen shut. He'd seen injuries like these before, and he knew exactly what caused them.

He caught a nurse as she rushed by and pointed at the woman. "Why is she waiting outside? We need to get her a room."

The nurse glanced at the clock and then back to him. "She's low priority. Fever. Uninsured. She can wait."

Andrew clenched his jaw. "What about her face? Someone has obviously beaten her up."

"The bruises are several days old. Not an emergency. Besides, she's here for the fever. We don't have time to treat a fever right now."

No, they didn't, but Andrew still couldn't let it go. "Where are the attendings?"

She checked the clock again. "They're still working on that cardiac arrest. I'm sorry, but I really have to leave. If the guy with the second-degree burn doesn't get his morphine he's going to start yelling again."

She picked up a tray with a syringe from the medical cart and half walked, half jogged down the corridor. Andrew turned his gaze back to the red-haired woman. Her skin was pale, but her cheeks were flushed. Pearls of sweat trickled down her temples. She had a fever, all right—a bad one.

He entered the waiting room and approached the women on the couch. The healthy-looking one grabbed his white coat in a desperate grip.

"You have to help me," she said, her voice trembling. "Robyn is sick. Really sick. She's my sister—I _know_ it's not just a fever. Please, you have to help us."

"I'm fine," Robyn mumbled. "Lucy worries too much. I'm fine."

_I'm fine._ The words echoed in Andrew's head. He'd heard that lie way too many times.

A discoloration on her wrist caught his eye. He carefully took her hand in his and raised it from her lap. His eyes widened as he rolled up her sleeve. A badly healed cut went from the bend of her arm down to her wrist, stitched together with something that looked like ordinary sewing thread. He'd never seen a wound so inflamed before.

"What the hell happened here?" he asked, staring at the arm. "These stitches . . . Who did this to her?"

Lucy sobbed. "She did."

Robyn opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, she collapsed against her sister. Andrew didn't think—he just acted. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the glass doors.

"I need a gurney over here," he yelled to whoever might be listening. The nurse he'd just spoken to stuck her head out from one of the examination rooms.

"Dr. Alexander?" She stared at him, then at the woman in his arms, and then at him again. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Sepsis," he said, ignoring her question. "Most likely going into shock."

Understanding dawned in the nurse's eyes. "I'll get the gurney."

• • •

Andrew watched as two nurses rolled Robyn's bed away from the ER toward the ICU. He'd saved her life, but something still gnawed at him. According to her medical records, she was only twenty-two. Most of her bruises were fresh, but some of her scars had to be several years old. There was no record of her ever visiting the ER before. Someone was hurting this woman, and she was handling it all by herself.

Robyn Monroe's life was no longer in Andrew's hands, but he still couldn't get the image of her bruised face out of his head.

• • •

When Robyn opened her eyes, all she knew was that something had gone terribly wrong.

She was lying on a hard bed in a room she didn't recognize. The stench of disinfectant stung her nose, and the bright light from the ceiling lamp made her eyes water. Her body felt strangely heavy, and the pain in her arm was gone. _What the hell happened?_ She remembered Lucy dragging her to the ER—which she would never have succeeded with if Robyn hadn't been in too much pain to protest—but after that, everything was a blur.

She turned her head to the side. Lucy was sleeping in a chair next to the bed, her head resting on the mattress. Her mascara had left smudges on her cheeks, and several locks of her long, red hair had come loose from her braid. She looked much older than her eighteen years.

"Lucy?" Robyn croaked.

Lucy jerked back from the bed. "Robyn? Oh, thank God you're awake." Tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank God."

Robyn didn't know how long Lucy had been watching over her, but judging by the bags under her eyes, it had to have been a while. She swallowed hard. Things weren't supposed to be like this. Robyn was the oldest. She was supposed to take care of her sister, not the other way around.

She thought about saying so but was distracted by a strange feeling in her nose. There was something on her face. She wanted it gone. When she tried to lift her arm to remove it, she found that there was a needle and a tube attached to her hand. Dumbfounded, she let her arm fall back onto the mattress.

"What happened?" she finally asked.

"Your stitches got infected. You almost died." Lucy took a deep breath and wiped away her tears. "This is it, you hear me? I can't go through this again. You have to stop fighting."

Robyn looked away. "I will. Soon."

Lucy shook her head. "That's what you always say."

They both fell silent when the door opened. A tall, slender man in a white coat entered the room.

"Oh, she's awake?" He flashed a smile that could only be described as perfect. "That's great. Am I interrupting?"

"Of course not." Lucy smiled back at him. "Robyn, this is Dr. Alexander. He's the man who saved your life."

"Oh."

"He's been checking up on you ever since," Lucy continued. "He's really dedicated."

"Oh." Robyn didn't know what else to say. She had a faint memory of a man picking her up and carrying her in his arms, but she'd thought it was a dream. She'd _hoped_ it was a dream. _Oh God._

Dr. Alexander approached the bed. He had a strong jaw and well-defined cheekbones, and his sky-blue eyes formed an interesting contrast against his black hair. Robyn fixed her eyes on the ceiling, her cheeks heating up. _And he had to be hot, too._

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

He sighed. "Of course you are."

"Just stop it, Robyn," Lucy said. "You're allowed to feel like crap when you've been out for two days."

The words hit her like a punch in the gut. Two days. She'd been at the hospital for two days. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to calculate the cost of a two-day hospital stay. All she could come up with was _way too much._ Her breathing quickened. _This can't be happening._

"Lucy, we need to leave," she said. "Right now."

Dr. Alexander looked at her as if she was crazy. "You're still being treated for your sepsis. You'll have to stay for at least a couple more days."

"We can't afford it!" Robyn sat up. Her head spun, but she forced herself to remain upright.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Dr. Alexander said. "Robyn . . . "

"Fuck off," she hissed. Before anyone could stop her, she'd pulled the weird plastic thing from her nose and the needle out of her hand. She put her feet on the floor, stood up—and then the world turned sideways. Her knees buckled, but Dr. Alexander caught her before she hit the floor. When he helped her back up on the bed, she was too embarrassed to protest.

"Okay. That was a little unexpected." He pressed a compress against her bleeding hand. "People don't usually do that."

Lucy let out a dejected sigh. "No, they don't." She glared at Robyn. "You're staying here until the doctors say you can leave, okay? I don't care about the cost. Your health is more important."

_No, it's not._ Robyn closed her eyes. She didn't even want to think about what she was going to have to do to pay for this hospital stay. It was going to hurt, that was for sure.

"You've never been to the hospital before, is that right?" Dr. Alexander said.

Robyn nodded.

"Because you can't afford it?"

She sent him a dirty look. "Because I haven't needed it."

"I've seen your scars. You've been badly injured many, many times before, and if I'm not mistaken, it's only a matter of time until you're injured again. Am I wrong?"

Robyn blinked. _Shit._ She hadn't expected a doctor to be that perceptive.

"No," she said. "I'll be fine."

He raised his eyebrows. "How did you get that cut?"

"Accident in the kitchen."

"And the bruises?"

"Fell down the stairs."

They stared at each other. Dr. Alexander's piercing eyes seemed to see right through her. He knew she was lying, and he wasn't going to let it go.

"I want to make a deal," he said. "The next time you get hurt, you call me. I'll help you for free."

Robyn narrowed her eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"Because someone has to make sure your injuries don't kill you." He gave her a strained smile. "It would make me sleep easier at night."

His offer was too good to be true. Way too good. He had to have some ulterior motive. No one was nice to someone like her without expecting something in return.

"I don't need your pity," she said. "I'm—"

"Enough, Robyn." Lucy's eyes were filled with tears again, but her voice was steady and unwavering. "You're not fine. You haven't been fine for a very long time. I'm tired of being worried all the time. The next time you get injured, you're going to call Dr. Alexander. Understand?"

Robyn didn't know what to say, so she just nodded. She might be the older of the two, but she was definitely not the one calling the shots in their little family.

"It's a deal, then." Dr. Alexander flashed another flawless smile, turned around, and left.

Lucy sat by the bed again. Her eyes didn't look quite as weary anymore, and her posture had lost some of its stiffness. Robyn closed her eyes. The deal with the handsome doctor didn't sit right with her, but if it made Lucy happy, she could live with it. And besides, having access to free health care could be of use someday. She was a street fighter, after all. Sooner or later, street fighters always got hurt.

• • •

Andrew had known Robyn got hurt a lot, but he hadn't expected her to be back at the hospital less than two weeks after she left it. He told his colleagues some convenient lies before sneaking away at the end of his shift, taking great care not to run into any attendings.

_You're going to lose your job,_ his inner critic whispered. _This is going to ruin your career._

Andrew ignored the intruding thoughts. Everything would be fine—as long as he didn't get caught. He had to do this. He would never be able to live with himself if he didn't. The last time he'd seen injuries like that, he'd been too much of a coward to help. He'd regretted it ever since.

He headed down to the floor below the ER. There was an old examination room there that hadn't been used for years. He'd told Lucy he'd meet them there.

When he entered the room, he only found one person in it. Robyn was sitting on a gurney, pressing a bloodstained towel against her forehead. She looked up at him and then fixed her eyes on the wall.

"Lucy has an exam tomorrow morning," she muttered. "Let's just get this over with."

There were new bruises on her face, and her lip was swollen. His gaze fell on the hand holding the towel. There were scrapes all over her knuckles.

Andrew carefully approached her. "What happened?"

"Walked into a door."

He clenched his jaw. She was a terrible liar.

"Let me see your forehead," he said.

"It's nothing. Lucy overreacted." She slowly removed the towel. "It just won't stop bleeding."

A deep cut ran from her eyebrow to her hairline. The moment she stopped pressing the towel against it, blood began to trickle down her face. Andrew grabbed the soaked piece of cloth and pressed it against the wound again.

"Okay. That's going to need some stitches."

Robyn rolled her eyes but didn't say anything.

When he injected her with the local anesthesia, she didn't even flinch. The way Robyn reacted to pain—or the way she _didn't_ react to it—was concerning. She sat perfectly still as he stitched up the cut.

"I wish you'd tell me what's happening to you," he said without really expecting an answer.

To his surprise, she glanced up at him. "Why?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Why do you care?"

She was looking at him expectantly, and her curiosity made her face look less intimidating than usual. Sweeter. Auburn locks that tumbled down her back in wavy curls framed her heart-shaped face. Faint scars crisscrossed over her face and body, creating intricate patterns on her pale skin. Her big, brown eyes looked like dark wells.

"I'm a doctor," he finally said. "It's my job to care."

He tore his eyes away from hers, fearing those dark wells would swallow him whole if he looked into them any longer. Her face was bruised and swollen, but it didn't make her any less beautiful.

She fixed her eyes on the wall again. "Right."

"Wrong answer?"

She didn't answer. Her silence saddened him more than it should have.

He finished stitching up her forehead and put a bandage over the wound. When Robyn stood up from the gurney, the movement caused her to flinch.

Andrew raised his eyebrows. "I saw that."

She let out an annoyed groan. "I hit my rib, okay? It's nothing."

"I'll be the judge of that. Let me see."

She glared at him. At first, he thought she'd protest, but then she removed her bulky hoodie and the tank top beneath it. She was thin. Way too thin. As she stood there in her sports bra, Andrew couldn't stop himself from looking at her scars. She was so young, yet there were so many of them.

Robyn crossed her arms, covering up some of the more gruesome marks. "Just get on with it."

He placed the clock of his stethoscope on her chest. Clear, even breathing sounds. He put the stethoscope back in his pocket and placed his hands below her armpits, letting them wander down her sides. When he reached her seventh rib, a sharp gasp escaped her lips.

"That's most likely a fracture," he said. "I'd need an x-ray to know for sure, though."

"No." Robyn shook off his hands and pulled on her clothes again.

"Robyn, please—"

"I said no."

She rushed past him, heading toward the door. Without thinking, Andrew reached out and grabbed her arm. Her reaction was instantaneous. Before he could even blink, she'd spun around, pushed him up against the wall, and pressed her forearm against his throat. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He just stood there, frozen in place, staring at her in shock. This was not the poor, abused woman he'd thought he'd been helping. This was someone completely different.

Robyn's eyes widened. She removed her arm and scrambled away from him, almost tripping over her own feet.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking frailer and more insecure than he'd ever seen her before. "I didn't mean to . . . I'm so sorry."

Andrew coughed and cleared his throat. "It's okay. I shouldn't have done that. It's okay." His words seemed to calm her, and he found himself wanting to wrap her in a blanket, give her a cup of tea, and tell her everything would be okay. He also realized that she would probably kick his ass if he tried, so instead he took a deep breath and asked her the question he'd wanted to ask her from the moment he first saw her.

"Robyn, is someone hurting you?"

"No." Her lips twitched. "Well, not in the way you think."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Interpret it however you like." There was a tone of amusement in her voice, as if the whole thing was part of a joke he didn't quite get. "Thanks for the stitches, Dr. Alexander. I appreciate it."

Andrew didn't know what to say. Instead of trying to find an eloquent response, he went with a simple, "Please, call me Andrew."

Robyn nodded. "Andrew. Sure."

When she walked toward the door again, he was too perplexed to stop her. She cast him a quick glance over her shoulder, and this time, he was certain—the twitch of her lips was the beginning of a smirk.

"You think _my_ injuries are bad? You should see the other guy."

With those words, she walked through the door, leaving a speechless Andrew behind her in the examination room.

He ran his fingers through his hair, staring at the closed door. He'd been so sure about his theory on what was happening to Robyn Monroe that he hadn't noticed the things that didn't match up. Some of her injuries didn't fit the abuse-case stereotype. Some of them, like the scrapes on her knuckles, indicated that _she_ was the one dealing the blows.

He pulled out his cell phone. A friend of his knew everything there was to know about Chrystal Valley's underworld, and Andrew was going to need his expertise.

"Hey, Jason, it's Andrew Alexander. This is a strange question, but . . .you don't happen to know anything about street fighting, do you?"

# Chapter Two

Never before in his twenty-seven years of living had Andrew been so far out of his comfort zone.

The underground parking garage was filled with people, most of them men in their early thirties. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the two men beating the crap out of each other in the middle of the crowd. The fight was held inside an octagon-shaped cage: a rickety construction consisting of chicken wire wrapped around eight iron poles. The stench of sweat and stale beer, the nonexistent personal space, the grunts and low-pitched groans coming from the cage—Andrew just couldn't fathom why people _paid_ to take part in it.

The crowd cheered as one of the fighters received a savage kick to his stomach and crashed into the fence. For a moment, he looked like he was going to pass out, but he somehow kept himself on his feet. He staggered back into the middle of the cage, just to get punched in the face by his opponent. Blood gushed from his nose. Andrew's stomach lurched. The brutality of the fight horrified him, but he still couldn't bring himself to look away.

"This is insane!" he said to Jason. "A kick like that could cause internal bleeding! And what about his spleen? That kick could definitely have damaged his spleen."

"Stop it." Jason scowled at him. "I'm risking a lot by bringing you here, so could you at least _try_ to fit in?"

Sometimes, Andrew wondered if Jason really was an undercover cop pretending to be a gang member, or if he was in fact a gang member pretending to be a cop. Jason didn't seem to be completely certain about that either. His nose was crooked from a fracture that had never healed right, and his eyes were gray and hardened. With his leather jacket and steel-toe boots, he looked like the kind of guy no one would like to run into in a dark alley late at night.

A couple of months ago, Andrew had helped Jason after a particularly violent gang fight. By doing so, he'd made an unexpected friend. Jason was living his undercover gang life to the fullest, and Andrew had patched him up more times than he could remember. Andrew wasn't overly fond of daredevils in general, but he did like Jason. He was one of the few policemen in Chrystal Valley who cared about protecting _all_ of the city's inhabitants—not just the ones who happened to be sponsoring the police station.

"And he's down! Is it a knockout? I believe it's a knockout!" the commentator yelled into his microphone, bouncing around outside the cage like an overexcited toddler. Fighter number one let out a guttural roar, standing triumphant over fighter number two's motionless body.

"He needs a doctor." Andrew started to move toward the cage.

Jason grabbed his arm. "If you keep this up, I'm never bringing you to a fight again. If you want to find this Robyn chick, you're going to have to let this go. Endgame, Alexander. Focus on the endgame."

Andrew knew Jason was right, but he still had a hard time holding himself back.

"Do you think she'll be here tonight?" he asked, trying to take his mind off the fighter and his most likely severe injuries.

"Maybe. The Valkyrie usually shows up about twice a month, and it's been two weeks since I last saw her. There's definitely a chance she'll be fighting tonight."

_The Valkyrie._ Andrew had no idea why Robyn had chosen to fight under that name, but somehow, it fit. "Are you sure it's her?"

"Skinny girl with red hair, it does sound like our Valkyrie. Tough little lady, never taps out." Jason grinned. "Pretty damn hot, too. I get why you're interested in her."

Before Andrew could answer, the commentator once again picked up his microphone.

"Next fight will begin in just a moment!" he shouted. "I hope you've placed your bets wisely, ladies and gentlemen, because this is gonna be a tight one."

Another pair of muscular men entered the cage, and soon, the fight was on again. Still no sign of Robyn.

Andrew suffered through almost a dozen more fights that night, but the fighter called the Valkyrie never showed up.

• • •

A couple of blocks away, Robyn finally finished cleaning the last booth at the café. Sandy's was widely known as the café with the latest closing hours in Chrystal Valley, and Robyn often took the night shift. At half past one in the morning, a group of hungry, intoxicated college students had decided they needed some sandwiches, and they'd managed to make a total mess of their booth. Extra work late at night always sucked, but she appreciated the tips. She was falling behind on bills, and she needed all the money she could get.

It was almost half past two when Robyn took off her apron and locked up the café. She took a deep breath before opening the back door. Several days had passed since she last spoke with her manager, and Swanson usually made his visits late at night.

Because of the gambling debts she'd inherited from her mother, she'd ended up owing money to at least half the bookies in Chrystal Valley. Swanson had taken care of that. Now, there was only one bookie left to pay—Swanson himself. The deal they'd made wasn't too bad. She fought for him to repay her debt, and he helped her out every now and then. Most of the money she earned from her fights went straight to him, but she got to keep some of it.

There had been times when she'd wanted nothing more than to stop fighting, but as long as the debt remained, quitting wasn't an option. Swanson had always been civil to her, but she knew what happened to those who crossed him. He was the most powerful bookmaker in Chrystal Valley. Ruining her and Lucy's lives would be simple for a man like him.

She stepped out onto the parking lot outside the café. A thin old man in a pinstriped suit waited for her under a streetlight. He slowly approached her, leaning heavily on his cane.

"Good evening, Ms. Monroe." Swanson smiled. "How is the rib?"

His eyes, gunmetal-gray like his bushy eyebrows and sharply parted hair, were cold and calculating. Robyn had never seen them express any kind of emotion.

"It's fine, thank you," she lied. Her rib still hurt every time she took a deep breath, but she knew Swanson's concern was as false as his smile.

"Good, good. I took care of that medical bill for you. I thought you'd appreciate that."

"I do." A knot of worry grew in her stomach. Swanson's gifts always came with a price.

"I've set up a game for you," he said. "Tomorrow at 6 p.m. in the Circle."

Robyn felt the blood drain from her face. "I thought I was supposed to fight at the Octagon on Thursday."

"That was the original plan, yes," Swanson said, "but plans change. The tournament is coming up, and your odds . . .well, let's say they're looking a bit _too_ good right now. You've had an impressive winning streak lately, and people are starting to notice it. Two-to-one odds don't make any real money, dear."

"I guess not . . . " _Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it._

Swanson's lips smiled, but his eyes remained emotionless. "I want you to lose."

• • •

The following day went by in a haze. When Robyn sat down on the couch in the lunchroom during her break, she could barely remember anything from the morning. All she could think about was the upcoming fight.

The arena called the Circle could barely be called an arena—it was just a bunch of cars parked in a circle around a patch of grass. In the Circle, it wasn't just the opponent you had to watch out for. Most of the cars had shards of glass and rusty pieces of metal sticking up all over the place, and some fighters liked to use arena perks like that to their advantage. The still healing cut on her forearm was a constant reminder of how dangerous a broken rearview mirror could be.

In the beginning of her fighting career, Robyn had often wondered how the owners of the Circle could run a fighting arena out in the open without getting caught by the police. Then she'd found one of the local police officers in the audience after one of her fights. She'd realized that the police were all very well aware of the many fighting locations in Chrystal Valley. They just didn't care.

She wasn't sure how a small city like Chrystal Valley had become so corrupt. It always had been, and most likely, it always would be. It didn't matter that NYC was only a fifty-minute train ride away—Chrystal Valley played by its own rules and unwritten laws.

"Are you okay?" Her oldest friend and coworker, Suzanna, bounced down on the couch and tilted her head to the side, playing with her curly, rainbow-colored hair. "You shouldn't take the morning shift right after a night shift. Your aura looks sad."

"My aura is fine." Robyn gave Suzanna a halfhearted smile. "I'm just tired."

Suzanna blinked, fluttering her long, feathery false lashes. "No, it definitely looks sad. Sad and worried."

"Turn off your inner eye and eat your sandwich," Robyn scoffed. She didn't believe in auras, but she had to admit that Suzanna's ability to read emotions was freakishly on point. It always had been.

Robyn could still remember the nights when Suzanna had curled up in Lucy's bed, making herself as small as possible as the three of them waited for their mothers' two-man party in the living room to end. Robyn's mother had made crappy life choices when she was drunk. Suzanna's mother had been the violent type.

Suzanna gave Robyn a bright, carefree smile as she picked up a sandwich from her lunch box and divided it in two. "I'll eat it if you agree to share it with me. Your aura looks sad, worried, and hungry."

Robyn rolled her eyes but gratefully accepted the sandwich. She needed all the energy she could get before the fight.

Suzanna looked at her, and for a moment, the cheerful façade faltered a little. "When?"

Robyn didn't have to ask her what she meant. "Tonight."

"Where?"

"The Circle."

Suzanna nodded slowly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I don't think so." Robyn faked a smile. "Thanks anyway."

Suzanna was right—Robyn was worried. Terrified, even. She'd lost fights on purpose before, but never in the Circle. This time, she would get hurt. Badly.

"Please be careful," Suzanna said.

Robyn swallowed hard. "I'll try."

• • •

Robyn took off her apron and left the café a little after five. She knew she probably should have grabbed something to eat before the fight, but she didn't have the time or the money to spare. Ignoring her growling stomach, she put her hair up in a ponytail and began to jog.

She ran south, passing the community college on the way. The well-lit area around campus soon turned into an industrial district cloaked in darkness. The sound of her steps echoed against the concrete walls, uncomfortably loud on the empty street. She didn't like spending time in this neighborhood, and most people seemed to share her opinion.

When she reached the outdoor arena, Swanson was already waiting for her, wearing the gray wool coat he always wore before fights. The coat made his back look more hunched and thereby made him look older, tricking people into underestimating him.

"You're late, dear." Swanson's faked smile was just a notch colder than the night before.

"I warmed up. I was—"

"You need to last at least two minutes," he interrupted. "Two minutes, then a knockout. No tap-out. Knockout. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "How much do I get?"

"Enough to cover your monthly fee. If you handle this nicely, I'll even add a little extra pocket money. Wouldn't that be nice?"

She nodded again.

"Good girl." Swanson raised a wrinkly hand and patted her on the cheek. "Two minutes, then knockout."

Robyn had already stopped listening. She pointed at a man already standing in the Circle. "Is that him?"

"Yes. His name is Tyler, also known as the Griffin, and he's been a first-class fighter for years. He's surprisingly fast for his size, so if you're going to last two minutes, you'll have to be even faster. Good luck, dear."

Swanson patted her on the shoulder and then went to join the rapidly increasing audience. She pulled the hood of her sweater over her head and followed him into the crowd.

Tyler was huge. He was at least a hundred pounds heavier than her, and he had to be almost a foot taller. His dark skin glistened with sweat, bringing out his oversized muscles. She recognized the distended stomach and disproportionate upper body muscles. _A steroid user._ Fantastic. This was really going to hurt.

Robyn was just about to enter the ring when she bumped into a thin young woman with waist-length white hair. The city's own betting clairvoyant Cassandra was wearing a thick, marine-blue coat even though it was just October, and her crimson-colored lipstick made her skin look even paler than usual.

"Hello, Valkyrie," she said. "Would you like some advice about tonight's fight?"

"Not tonight. I . . . " Robyn paused, unsure how to put it without giving too much away. "I just won't need it."

"I see." Cassandra nodded slowly. "I wish you luck anyway, Valkyrie. You're competing in the tournament this year, right? First class?"

Robyn shuddered. "Yes."

The tournament was the event of the year in Chrystal Valley's underworld. Out of the three classes, the first class was without a doubt the most violent. Robyn was not looking forward to it.

Cassandra smiled. "Good."

The woman disappeared into the crowd again. Robyn shrugged. Her conversations with Cassandra always tended to be a bit strange.

About a year ago, Cassandra had showed up in Chrystal Valley out of nowhere, and she'd soon become famous for her ability to accurately predict the outcomes of fights. Rumor had it that many of Chrystal Valley's bookies paid Cassandra so they could base their odds on her predictions. As far as Robyn knew, she was the only one who received information for free. It freaked her out a little.

She walked into the circle of parked cars and dropped her backpack on the ground. Ignoring the audience's usual comments about her substandard size, she rummaged through the bag and fished out a roll of gauze. She wound the gauze around her wrists and hands, and then secured the wraps with tape.

"Christ, you're a tiny one," Tyler said. "And you're a girl, aren't you? Jesus. What the hell were they thinking?"

She ignored him. After putting everything back in the bag and throwing it outside the ring, she finally took a closer look at her opponent. He was even bigger up close, but her earlier fear was already dying down. The fight was closing in and her other self was taking over. She smirked and watched as a hint of hesitation flashed in Tyler's eyes. Then, she performed her final magic trick—she pulled off her sweater.

The audience gasped as she threw the sweater out of the ring. She stood tall in her sports bra and sweatpants, proudly showing off all her bruises and scars. In her ordinary life, she was ashamed of her body and its many imperfections. In the ring, those imperfections were merit points—marks showing exactly how dangerous she could be. In her ordinary life, she was Robyn: small, shy, and forgettable. In the ring, she was the Valkyrie: everything Robyn was not.

She'd picked her stage name from one of her favorite books—an encyclopedia of Norse mythology. Valkyries were angels of death who reigned over the battlefields, choosing whether a soldier would live or die. They were merciless and brutal, just like Robyn had to be every time she stepped inside a fighting ring. The name fit her like a glove.

"What the hell is this? He's going to crush her!" someone yelled from the audience.

"She's so tiny! I thought this was supposed to be an even fight," yelled another.

Robyn didn't mind the spectators' comments. It was the reaction she usually got from the audience, even after several wins in a row. When they looked at her, all they could see was a five-foot-seven girl who weighed a lot less than she probably should. They had no idea what she was capable of.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Tyler asked.

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you?"

He shook his head, grinning. "All right. Show me what you've got."

The referee didn't bother giving any instructions or setting any rules—it was the Circle, after all. Instead, he initiated the fight with a simple, "Go."

A few seconds passed in which Robyn and Tyler just observed each other. Tyler's fists were raised, and the heel of his rear foot was lifted slightly off the ground. Judging by his stance, he seemed to be a boxer of some sort—and hell, he was big. Each of his fists was about the same size as her face. _Two minutes, then knockout,_ she thought. _One hundred and twenty seconds._

After ten of those one hundred and twenty seconds had passed, Tyler made his move. He ran toward her and threw his fist toward her face—only her face was no longer there. He was fast, but she was faster. She quickly found her rhythm, blocking and dodging his increasingly aggressive punches. He was good, but as long as she focused on her defense, he was going to have a hard time getting close enough to harm her. She spun around and gave him a quick kick in the face. The audience gasped in surprise. Tyler flinched and took a step back, looking more confused than hurt. She used his moment of distraction to jab him in the jaw. He flinched again but immediately retaliated by aiming a punch toward her stomach. His fist missed her by less than an inch. She was faster than him, yes, but not by much.

Thirty seconds into the round, Tyler managed to hit her shoulder before she could move out of the way. She lost her balance for a moment and braced herself against the hood of a car. Pain pulsated from her shoulder down her upper arm. Tyler was even stronger than she'd predicted. She tuned out the pain and bounced back up again. Even if she ultimately had to lose, she still had to make the fight look believable. Before he could follow up his punch, she lunged forward and hit him hard in the gut. The spectators had been promised an even fight, and she was going to give it to them.

When the first minute came to an end, both Robyn and Tyler were sweaty and breathing heavily.

"Just punch his fucking face in!" someone yelled from the audience. "End him, Valkyrie!"

She grinned. The hateful comments had turned into cheers of excitement. _Everybody loves the underdog._

Her heart was pounding in her chest. For a moment, she actually felt excited. She hadn't had the opportunity to fight someone this good in a long time, and a part of her couldn't help but enjoy it.

One hundred seconds in, she made her first real mistake. She blocked a punch she should have dodged, and the power behind Tyler's fist made her lose her balance again. She took a step back to steady herself. Her heels touched the ground. She tried to bounce back into the fight, but her rhythm was broken. Tyler centered his blows, making them impossible to avoid. She blocked the first punch, a right hook that would most likely have broken her nose, but the second punch hit her fractured rib. She heard a loud crunch, followed by an odd, wheezing sound. It hurt like hell, but she could handle the pain. Her sudden shortness of breath was worse.

She did a quick twirl and delivered a hard kick to his face. His nose broke under the sole of her foot. He let out a low-pitched groan and took a step backward before throwing himself at her again. Robyn's inner timer finally reached one hundred and twenty, so when Tyler once again aimed for her face, she only turned away enough for him to hit her cheek instead of her nose. The punch sent her flying through the air, and the world started to fade away the moment she hit the ground. The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was Swanson's triumphant grin.

# Chapter Three

After the knockout, Robyn drifted in and out of consciousness. She was almost awake when Mark Schmidt, Swanson's right-hand man, carelessly threw her over his shoulder to carry her away from the Circle. Her broken rib slammed into his suit-clad back, causing a surge of pain so intense she passed right out again. The next time she came to, she was in the backseat of Swanson's car. Someone, presumably Mark, had covered the seats in a sheet of tarpaulin before placing her there. _I'm supposed to do his dirty work, but God forbid I bring dirt into his car,_ she thought, feeling both amused and somewhat insulted.

She wasn't aware she'd blacked out again until she once again found herself hanging upside down over Mark's shoulder. Her rib bumped into his back over and over as he climbed the stairs to her apartment, sending small explosions of pain through her chest.

He put her down on the floor right outside her front door and rang the doorbell.

"You're excused from Swanson's assignments until the tournament," he said in his usual, monotone voice. He wiped small pearls of sweat off his bald head before dropping her backpack next to her. "The money is in the bag."

She nodded without really listening. Mark hadn't bothered helping her into her hoodie so she should have been freezing, but instead she felt like she was burning up from the inside. Her chest hurt, and the pain only got worse every time she tried to breathe.

"I'm coming!" Lucy finally shouted from inside the apartment. Mark spun around. Now that he'd transferred the responsibility of taking care of Robyn to Lucy, his mission was over. He always did what Swanson told him to do—nothing more, nothing less. Robyn sometimes wondered if he could think for himself at all.

"Get out while you still can, Valkyrie," he said over his shoulder. "You don't have what it takes to survive in a world like this."

When Lucy opened the door in her pale-blue pajamas, Mark had already left the building. Lucy looked around in confusion. She was just about to close the door again when Robyn grabbed her ankle.

"Robyn? Oh my God, Robyn, what happened?" Lucy kneeled next to her. "Did you fight again? How bad is it?"

"Can't breathe."

"Oh God . . . What do I do, Robyn? What the hell do I do?" Lucy's eyes filled with tears. "Oh God, oh God, oh God—"

"Hand," Robyn said, interrupting the panicked chanting. Lucy took a deep breath, calming herself, and reached out her hand. Robyn grabbed it and slowly pulled herself up. Together, they stumbled inside the apartment. Robyn collapsed on the black leather couch in the combined hallway-living room.

The next time she opened her eyes, someone else was in the room. Someone who wasn't Lucy. Robyn panicked and tried to sit up, but a firm hand on her shoulder held her down.

"Don't move," Lucy said, using her authoritative teaching voice. Robyn glanced up at her. Lucy's eyes were rimmed with red, but she was no longer crying. Her fear seemed to have given way to anger.

Robyn shuddered. Even though Lucy had only just begun her pre-teacher education at the community college, her teaching voice was already powerful enough to strike fear into anyone exposed to it—Robyn included.

The somewhat familiar figure kneeled next to the couch. "Hi, Robyn."

She blinked. Why the hell was Dr. Andrew Alexander in her living room? He was wearing a blue shirt and slacks. For a moment, she hadn't even recognized him without his white coat.

"Lucy called me," he continued. "She said it was an emergency, so I drove here as fast as I could." He turned to Lucy. "When did the breathing problem start?"

"I don't know," Lucy said. "I found her like this. She's been . . . She . . . "

"I know about the fighting."

"Oh."

_Oh._ Robyn cringed. There were only a handful of people in her life who knew about her being a fighter—she wasn't sure how to feel about Andrew being one of them.

Andrew gave Lucy a small smile and then turned back to Robyn. "Did you hurt the fractured rib?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I told you your rib was fractured. Why did you go out fighting again?"

She shrugged and then winced at the pain the movement caused. Andrew placed the clock of his stethoscope on her chest and listened carefully.

"That's definitely a tension pneumothorax." He pulled a smartphone from his pants pocket. "Damn it. I should have called an ambulance before I left the hospital."

The word "ambulance" hit Robyn like an electrical shock.

"No!" she gasped, snatching Andrew's phone from his hand. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, she scrambled off the couch and onto her feet. She grabbed the floor lamp next to the coffee table and raised it like a baseball bat. "No ambulance," she said, waving the makeshift weapon.

"Robyn, please listen to me." There was a hint of panic in his voice. "Your broken rib has pierced your lung, causing it to collapse. You're going into cardiogenic shock, and I can't help you without the proper equipment. __ You have to let me call an ambulance."

He reached out for the phone but had to take a step back as Robyn swung the lamp through the air.

"No. Ambulance." She was swaying, but her grip on the lamp was firm. Her decision was made, and nothing he said could make her change her mind. She'd finally earned enough money to pay the bills, and she would _not_ be spending it on an ambulance ride. If she kept relying on Swanson's favors, she would never be free. _I'll be fine,_ she thought. _I'm always fine._

"Can't you drive her to the hospital?" Lucy asked Andrew.

"It's too far away. An ambulance could probably be here in ten, but getting to the hospital in my car would take at least twenty with all those traffic lights. We're running out of time. Shit . . . " Andrew ran his fingers through his hair, furrowing his brow in concentration.

Robyn could tell the exact moment the idea hit him. His eyes widened, and his lips formed a triumphant grin. "I've got a chest tube kit at home! I knew it would be of use one day."

"A what?" Lucy stared at him.

"Just a thing that can save your sister's life. I live five minutes from here. I can fix this. I can fix you, Robyn. Please, let me fix you."

"No ambulance?" Robyn's head spun, and the pain in her chest was only getting worse.

"No ambulance."

She didn't know why, but Andrew was actually worried about her. He seemed to genuinely _care._ She just couldn't wrap her head around it. What did he gain from helping her?

Something that almost looked like anger flared in Andrew's eyes. "We don't have time for this."

He tore the floor lamp out of her hands and dropped it on the floor. Before she could object, he'd already scooped her up in his arms. Her body tensed from the unexpected intimacy.

"I'm sorry." He eased his grip around her back and legs before rushing out of the apartment. "Just hold on, and try not to gasp or cough."

Robyn nodded. She burrowed her fingers in Andrew's shirt but then remembered her hands were still wrapped in dirty, bloodstained gauze. She quickly let go of the fabric, but her hands had already left stains.

"It's okay," Andrew said, hurrying down the stairs. Robyn reluctantly held on to the shirt again, realizing that she herself was probably just as dirty, bloodstained, and disgusting as the gauze. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about how horrible she must smell. She was ashamed and embarrassed, just like she always seemed to be around Andrew Alexander. There was something about his altruism and picture-perfection that made everything about her seem so _dirty._

Lucy opened the door to the backseat of Andrew's car. Robyn didn't know much about cars, but she could tell it was an expensive one. She tried to object when he carefully put her down on the leather seat, knowing she'd ruin the luxurious upholstery, but all she got out was a pitiful whimpering sound.

"Don't worry about it." He turned to Lucy. "Make sure she stays in an upright position."

Lucy nodded, scooting closer to Robyn in the backseat. "You're such an idiot," she said with an exhausted sigh. "Why didn't you tell Swanson you were injured? I'm sure he would have understood."

_No, he wouldn't have._ Lucy knew about the debt, but there were many details Robyn had never shared with her. The part about Swanson being the most dangerous man in Chrystal Valley was one of them.

Four minutes later, Andrew parked the car on the driveway outside a large two-story house.

"You live here? All by yourself?" Lucy asked.

"Yes." Andrew's answer was short, and he clearly didn't want any follow-up questions. He opened the door to the backseat and picked Robyn up again.

"You need to eat more," he said as he jogged toward the front door.

Robyn gave him the finger.

"Stop it!" Lucy exclaimed. "He's saving your life, so could you for once in your life _try_ to behave?"

"At least she's not completely out of it." Andrew looked at Robyn with curious amusement. "Lucy, there's a set of spare keys in the flowerpot over there. Open the door."

Lucy hurried to the flowerpot, found the keys, and opened the front door. _He never asks for things,_ Robyn noted. _He's used to ordering people around._

She had to use all the mental strength she could gather to stop herself from hyperventilating. Her body needed oxygen, and breathing didn't seem to do the trick anymore. She was getting tired, and her body was going numb. All she wanted was to sleep.

Andrew carried her inside. Her vision was getting blurry, but she could tell he had a beautiful home. The hallway was spacious, with a high ceiling and an expensive-looking parquet floor. Every piece of furniture seemed to have been carefully picked out to create the image of a perfect home. But it wasn't perfect. It didn't even look like anyone lived there.

Andrew gently put her down in an armchair in the hallway, which was—of course—white. Robyn felt like she probably would have left stains just looking at it. He disappeared into the kitchen, and she could hear him rummage through some drawers. When he returned, he was carrying a cardboard box. He made her put her arm over the armchair's backrest and tore the box open.

"Normally, the patient's given local anesthesia before a chest tube insertion, but we're running out of time." He wiped the skin on her chest with a damp tissue. The stench of alcohol prickled her nose. "This is a bad idea of epic proportions, you know that, right?"

She nodded.

"All right. All right." Andrew put on a pair of surgical gloves and picked up the scalpel from the box. He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he almost looked nervous.

"This is really going to hurt," he said, and made the first incision.

Robyn had always had a high pain threshold, but when the scalpel cut through her skin and muscle she couldn't help but gasp. The cut itself turned out to be nothing compared to when he had to plunge his finger into her chest to create a passage for the chest tube. The white-hot pain seared through her. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't make a sound. She threw her head back in a silent cry, burrowing her nails deep in the armchair's upholstery.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Andrew whispered, and then forced the tube into her chest.

She felt the pain for about one tenth of a second before her consciousness decided to give up completely. _Finally,_ she thought, welcoming the painless oblivion.

• • •

The next time Robyn opened her eyes, she was once again in the arms of Andrew Alexander. He held her close to his chest, and she could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt. Her heart started to race.

"Please don't hit me," he said. "I'm just moving you to the guest room. There hasn't been any air leakage from the chest tube for a while now, so you don't have to be in an upright position anymore. I'll keep the tube in for a couple of more hours, though. I want to make sure the lung re-expands properly."

Robyn nodded. Her chest still hurt, but she could breathe. She took a deep breath, savoring the feeling of being fully oxygenated again. She'd missed breathing.

Someone, presumably Andrew, had wrapped her in a soft fleece blanket. She stared up at him. He'd saved her life. She was a street fighter, an absolute nobody, yet he'd still saved her life.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. Andrew just smiled.

He carried her to the guest room, where Lucy was already sleeping in the double bed.

"Everything will be okay," he said, tucking Robyn in next to her sister. "I promise."

_No, it won't,_ she thought when Andrew had left the room. _The world doesn't work that way._

She knew all too well that Andrew's words weren't true—she'd seen firsthand how awful the world could be, after all—but she still liked hearing him say it. When Andrew said it, he sounded like he truly believed it. He was special that way. A nice kind of special.

Even though there were things in her life that would never be okay, she still fell asleep with a small smile playing on her lips.

• • •

When the sun rose the next morning, Andrew was still awake. He paced back and forth on the balcony, trying to make sense out of what had just happened.

He had never been an impulsive person. Even as a child, he'd always thought before he acted. He was the kind of person who planned things ahead, calculating every possible outcome before proceeding when faced with a problem. He hated uncertainty and surprises, and he always wanted to be in control. So how the hell had the Monroe sisters ended up in his guest room?

The at-home chest-tube insertion had been a terrible idea. If he'd had more time he would have come up with something better, but he'd panicked. Robyn had been dying, and he'd panicked. He was glad his slightly unhealthy habit of hoarding medical equipment had finally been of use for something, but he still couldn't stop thinking about all the ways he could have messed up.

He took a deep drag from the cigarette in his hand. The soothing warmth of the nicotine spread through his body. It was a nasty habit, especially for a doctor, but in moments like this, smoking was the only thing that could calm him down.

"Pulmonary edema, hemothorax, empyema," he muttered to himself as he wandered back and forth on the balcony. "Hematoma, seroma, subcutaneous emphysema . . .infection. Infection, infection, infection."

"Is there a point to whatever it is you're doing, or are you just blurting out fancy medical terms for fun?" someone behind his back asked. He quickly dropped the cigarette in the ashtray before turning around. Lucy was leaning against the doorframe, looking at him curiously. His mouth went dry, and he felt the blood drain from his face. There was nothing more hypocritical than a smoking doctor.

"Possible complications after a chest-tube insertion," he finally said. _I need to stop smoking._

"My sister is the strongest person I know. She'll be fine." Lucy fiddled with her braid. "You saved her life yesterday. I can never thank you enough for that."

"I'm glad I could help." He was already sinking back into his thoughts. Would that shot of prophylactic antibiotics he gave her be enough, or should he prescribe her a weeklong treatment? Was it even possible to convince someone as stubborn as Robyn to go on medication for an entire week?

"I'll be going soon," Lucy continued. "I wish I could stay until she wakes up, but I have to get home and change. I have a mandatory seminar today, and there's a bus I need to catch. You'll take care of her, right?"

"Of course. I'll watch over her."

"Thank you. And, uh . . . " Lucy looked down at the floor, staying silent for a moment. When she looked up again, she had a new, fiery glow in her eyes. "I'm not a fighter like Robyn, but if you do something to her when she's helpless like this, I _will_ come up with a way to ruin your life. That's a promise."

Andrew took an involuntary step back. The petite eighteen-year-old's death glare sent shivers down his spine.

"I would never take advantage of Robyn," he said. "Never."

"Good." Lucy's murderous aura disappeared instantly. She gave him a bright smile, as if nothing had happened.

"Why on earth would you even think that?" He stared at her in shock. "I would never do anything to hurt her. I thought you knew that."

"I'm just making sure we're on the same page." She shrugged. "People tend to be a lot shittier than they appear, especially to people like me and Robyn. I'm just taking precautions. She'll wake up in . . . " She paused to check her watch. "Four minutes. I have to go now, so I guess I'll see you later."

Andrew raised his eyebrows. _That was oddly specific._

Lucy gave him a little wave and went back inside the house, the high heels of her pumps clicking against the parquet floor. Andrew cringed at the sound but chose not to say anything. He'd always assumed Robyn was the scarier of the Monroe sisters, but now he wasn't so sure.

He felt an unexpected sting of envy. Lucy would do anything for Robyn, just like Robyn would do anything for her. They had each other, no matter what. Andrew couldn't remember ever having a bond like that with anyone.

There had been Julie, though.

He and Julie had interned at the same ER back in New York. They hadn't been all that close, but he'd considered her a friend—probably the first real friend he'd had for years. With her calm confidence and never-ending optimism, she'd been pretty much his polar opposite, but he'd really enjoyed being around her. Then he'd failed her. He'd failed her hard.

A couple of months into their internship, Julie had started showing up to work with bruises on her face. When he asked her about them, she only gave him bad excuses and endless amounts of "I'm fine." He never pushed her any farther than that, despite his suspicions of what her boyfriend was doing to her. He didn't have the guts.

It went on like that until the night Julie was rolled into the ER on a gurney, half beaten to death. Andrew never saw her again after she went into witness protection, but the image of her bruised, battered face would stay with him forever. Andrew hadn't really seen the point in trying to befriend someone after that. Most of the time, the solitude didn't bother him at all. He enjoyed being on his own. Seeing the Monroe sisters' unconditional love for each other just made him wonder what it was like to have a person you'd do anything for. Most of all, it made him wonder if it was worth the trouble.

He quietly opened the door to the guest room. Robyn was curled up in the fetal position, wrapped in the pale-blue blanket he'd covered her with the night before. Her auburn locks were spread around her head like a fiery halo. Her lips were slightly parted, looking impossibly soft. She was beautiful. And in his guest bed. And not to mention really, really beautiful. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _She's a patient. Keep it professional._

He took a seat on the edge of the bed. "Hey, Robyn?"

She pulled her knees up even closer to her chest but otherwise remained unresponsive.

"Robyn?" After making sure the chest tube and the portable pump were still properly attached to her body, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her lightly. "You need to wake up now, Robyn. You're making me nervous, here."

She continued her calm snoring.

He shook her harder. "Robyn!"

Andrew's brain scanned through all of his medical knowledge regarding post-surgery complications, trying to find a reason she wouldn't wake up. He felt the panic creeping up on him. What had he done wrong? Had the lack of oxygen damaged her brain? Should he have put a cannula in her intercostal space instead of going with the chest tube?

A piercing alarm blasted through the room. Andrew's body jerked in shock, causing him to fall off the bed.

Robyn gracefully rolled out of the bed and crossed the room. She picked up her backpack from the floor and pulled out an alarm clock, the unmistakable source of the horrible noise. When she finally turned it off, Andrew wondered if his ears—or his heart, for that matter—would ever be the same.

Robyn turned around. "You're on the floor," she stated, tilting her head to the side.

"Yeah." He slowly got to his feet, his knees creaking audibly. "I tried to wake you up."

"Oh." Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "I'm a heavy sleeper. That alarm clock is basically the only thing in the world that can wake me up."

"'Heavy sleeper' is an understatement." He answered her almost-smile with a grin. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she mumbled, distracted by the buzzing apparatus strapped to her side. She raised her arm and looked at it quizzically.

"It's a Thopaz pump. It removes the leaked air from your chest."

Robyn nodded. She looked even paler than usual, and she'd started to sway a little. She blinked a couple of times, as if trying to force her eyes to focus.

"Go back to bed. You need to rest." He hurried to her side and reached out an arm for her to lean on, which she—of course—ignored.

"I'm fine," she muttered. "I should go home." She took a step toward the bedroom door, and her knees immediately buckled. Andrew caught her and helped her back up onto the bed, once again surprised by how light she was.

"See?" he said. "You're exhausted. You need to rest."

"But—"

"No buts. Doctor's orders."

They stared at each other. Robyn seemed to be aiming for a death glare, but not even she could look threatening while wrapped up in a fluffy, pale-blue blanket cocoon.

"Fine," she finally said. "Five minutes. After that, I'm definitely leaving."

There was no possible way she'd be up again in five minutes, but neither of them commented on it.

"So, now that you know about me and my . . .you know . . .the fighting . . .are you going to stop treating me?" she mumbled. "You doctors have to hate fighters like me. We injure people, and we get injured ourselves."

"I still want to help you," Andrew replied without hesitation. "I hate street fights, and I hate how most people in this city seem to think street fighting is an acceptable source of entertainment. I don't hate the fighters, though—and I definitely don't hate you. As long as you and Lucy need me, I'll be there for you. I promise."

A look of relief swept over her face. She nodded and closed her eyes, and a few seconds later, she was asleep. Andrew sat down next to her and gently stroked some wavy red locks from her eyes. He had a lot of paperwork to do, but he couldn't bring himself to stop looking at her.

He'd been too close to losing her this time. _Way_ too close. The night he'd treated her inflamed forearm had been a close call too, but not like this. If he hadn't answered that call from Lucy, Robyn would have been dead right now.

Every time she stepped inside one of those disgusting fighting cages, there was a risk of her not walking out of it again. According to Jason, this happened at least twice a month. The thought made him nauseous.

Robyn wasn't being abused by a boyfriend. For every punch she received, she gave one in return. She wasn't Julie—but the image of Julie's battered face still flashed before his eyes every time he looked at her. He had to help her, or he'd never be able to live with himself.

He stared down at Robyn, watching her breathe. She was alive. This time, his skills had been enough. She was still breathing.

When he finally went to get his laptop from his briefcase, Robyn was already snoring again. He thought about setting up the computer on the kitchen table as usual but decided to use the desk in the guest room instead. _Something might happen_ , he thought. _She might need me._

His inner critic laughed. _You're the one who needs her._

• • •

When Robyn woke up a couple of hours later, she was a lot more alert.

"I have to get going," she said. "I'm working tonight."

"You can't be serious—you're fighting again? Tonight?" Andrew's panic returned in an instant. Her lung could collapse again. If she fought tonight, it might actually kill her. He had to stop her. He had to . . .

His panic faded again when Robyn shook her head. "No, I . . .I won't be doing that for a while. Fighting, I mean. I work at Sandy's. It's a café close to the community college. You should go there sometime." She gave him one of her rare almost-smiles. "Could you please remove the tube thing now?"

Removing a chest tube without taking an x-ray first was another bad idea of epic proportions, but Robyn still refused to go to the hospital.

"If you don't take it out I'll just do it myself. Can't be that bad," she said with a shrug.

"You're impossible," Andrew muttered, but in the end he did as she said and removed the tube. The procedure went surprisingly well, and had it not been such a terrible idea to begin with, he would have put it on his résumé.

"You've got sutures from the insertion, so you'll have to visit me sometime next week so I can remove them," he said, watching Robyn get ready to leave.

She nodded. She'd abandoned the borrowed blanket and was now wearing her usual black hoodie. Her skin was covered in bruises, and she favored her right arm. It drove him crazy to think about how someone had purposely inflicted all those injuries on her.

"If I told you to stop fighting, would you listen?" he asked. She turned her back on him, remaining silent. Then she picked up her backpack and walked through the hallway to the door.

"What if I begged you?"

Robyn stopped, her hand already on the doorknob. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"You're my patient. I care about your well-being."

She snorted. "That's such a lame answer."

"What did you want me to say?" Andrew wished he could see her face, but she was still facing the door. Her back didn't give him much to go on.

"Something that wasn't a lie." She finally turned around. He couldn't fully read her expression, but there was definitely disappointment in her eyes. "You don't get it, do you? No one does things for selfless reasons like that. No one. Especially not for people like me." She raised her chin, her eyes unrelenting. "Tell me. Why are you doing all this?"

He hesitated. The emotions she triggered in him were too complicated to be put into words. A feeling of responsibility, a need to protect her, a desperate craving for redemption—and guilt. An endless amount of guilt.

"It would be irresponsible of me to let someone handle a situation like yours on their own," he said. "You're just twenty-two years old. I don't know how you ended up having sole responsibility for your sister, but the way you've handled it . . . It isn't optimal, to say the least. I'm worried about you—both of you. How are you supposed to take care of Lucy if you can't take care of yourself? If you're doing this for financial reasons, I'm sure I could . . . "

He stopped talking when he saw the look in her eyes. Her hands curled into fists, and for a moment, he thought she would attack him again.

"I've been taking care of Lucy since I was seventeen," she said in a low voice. "You don't know me. You don't know _us._ I've worked my ass off to support Lucy and me since my mother died, and you know what? I've done one hell of a job. She studies at the community college now. She's becoming a teacher. I don't care what you think about me, but don't you dare look down on how I raised Lucy." The fury in her eyes gradually turned into weary resignation. "Wow. Lucy's upbringing is probably the only thing I've ever been proud of, and you made me feel ashamed of that too."

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, desperately trying to get the conversation back on safe ground. "I really didn't."

"Yeah, you did. If you didn't, it wouldn't hurt like this." She sighed. "It's not just your fault. I'm the one who, for some reason, began to give a damn about your opinion of me. I shouldn't have let that happen." She turned away from him again, but not before Andrew caught sight of the tears in her eyes. He'd never seen her so emotional before, and he despised himself for being the cause of it. Before he could think of anything to say, she'd already opened the door.

"I'll come up with a way to repay you for this. For everything," she said. "If you're going to be one of those people who looks down on me and Lucy, then I don't want your pity." She bounced down the stairs and began to jog, seemingly paying no mind at all to the fact that only a few hours ago, she'd still had a plastic tube in her chest.

"At least let me drive you home!" he shouted after her.

"Fuck off," she yelled back, and then she was gone.

Andrew went back inside and closed the door behind him. _I really messed up this time._ He'd made Robyn—stone-cold, unapproachable street fighter Robyn— _cry._ Oh yes, he'd messed up. He'd messed up badly.

His spacious house seemed to be even quieter than usual, and the rooms were emptier than ever. He sighed. He liked being on his own, but he wasn't particularly fond of being lonely.

# Chapter Four

Running had always been Robyn's main method of getting from point A to point B. It was a cheap and effective way to move around in a small city like Chrystal Valley, and somewhere along the way, it had turned into her main method of handling stress, sadness, and anger, too. Usually, she could run for hours without stopping. Being forced to take a break after just a couple of minutes was not a part of her usual routine. Her lungs didn't seem to work the way they should, and the sharp, throbbing pain in her chest had gone from bothersome to somewhat alarming. She leaned against a wall, trying to catch her breath. She almost regretted turning down Andrew's offer to drive her home. Almost.

_Did I overreact?_ Her chest hurt, but not as much as her pride. Andrew's pity had been more painful than any slap or punch ever could have been. Yes, she might have overreacted, but she'd still meant every word she said. Even if he was . . . _special,_ she knew she could never be around someone who looked down on her and Lucy. She would come up with a way to pay him back for all his help, and then she would get by on her own again—even if it meant going back to doing her own stitches. _And the tournament starts in three weeks,_ she thought. _Brilliant timing, Robyn. Brilliant._

She slowly staggered home. Autumn leaves rustled under the soles of her sneakers. The air was chilly but not uncomfortably cold. If her lungs had been working properly, it would have been a nice afternoon for a run.

She passed the border between Andrew's neighborhood and hers. The big two-story houses turned into worn-out apartment complexes, and the perfectly manicured lawns turned into cracked concrete driveways. The distance between their houses was less than a mile, but the neighborhoods were like two different worlds.

About fifteen minutes later, she stepped through a wide hole in the hedge surrounding the apartment complex. She stopped outside one of the timeworn brick buildings and crouched on the ground.

"Tiny? Are you there?" she called.

Something moved in the bushes, and a small, black cat strolled out of the shrubbery.

"Hi, Tiny." She scratched the cat behind its ear. "Still homeless, I presume?"

The cat purred. Tiny—or Tiny Little Fucker, as she'd originally called him—had only been a kitten when he'd first showed up outside her building. Five months had passed since then, and Robyn still hadn't found Tiny's owner, despite all the notes she'd put up around the city. Robyn's landlord didn't allow pets in the apartments, so Robyn had made Tiny a temporary home in the bushes instead. Tiny's lair was just a rickety construction consisting of an umbrella and a blanket, but he seemed to like it.

"We need to find you a home before winter comes, you know," she said.

Tiny meowed.

"I know. I wish you could live with me too, but you can't. My landlord's a bitch."

Tiny meowed again.

"Yes, you should totally leave dead rats on her doormat. You know where she lives."

Robyn gave the cat a final pat on the head before entering the building. Tiny howled miserably when she closed the door in his face. The guilt nagged at her, but until she found him a proper home, there was nothing more she could do.

When she'd climbed the stairs to the apartment, she found a ridiculously tall man in a threadbare trench coat waiting by the door. She groaned. Lucy's boyfriend, Mike, was a political science student who seemed to spend more time starting brawls than studying. His messy brown hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a while, and the stubble on his chin was about a day or two from turning into a beard. Robyn had no idea what Lucy saw in him.

"Hey, Robyn." Mike grinned. "What's up?"

She glared at him. "What do you want?"

"Lucy asked me to pick up some stuff. We're having a street protest against the cops' habit of turning a blind eye to organized crime as soon as certain bookmakers are involved. Wanna come?"

"No. And stop dragging Lucy into this bullshit." She clenched her fists. This was what she hated the most about this guy.

Mike was the leader of a political organization known as FTS, short for "Fuck The System"—a ridiculous name for a ridiculous group. Unsurprisingly, their demonstrations against Chrystal Valley's corruption weren't popular with the either the underground world or the police. Nearly all of their demonstrations ended in total mayhem.

"Don't you get it?" she said. "Lucy's not a fighter. She could get seriously hurt."

"I'm not dragging her into anything," he replied. "She's the one who wants to go."

"Why the hell would she want that?"

He peered down at her with something that almost looked like pity in his eyes. "She has a sister who's stuck right in the middle of the corruption, and she feels that this is the only thing she can do to help."

His words hit her like a slap in the face. She pulled out her keys and opened the door to the apartment.

"Can I come in?" Mike asked.

"No," she snapped before slamming the door in his face.

She leaned against the door, trying hard to ignore the pang of guilt in her stomach. Mike was the one ruining Lucy's life. Not her.

Her skin was still covered in layers of sweat, blood, and dirt from the fight the night before, so the first thing she did was take a shower. The soap made her wounds burn, but she didn't care. She just wanted to be clean. Before she could stop herself, she'd begun to think about the white bed sheets in Andrew's guest room, and how she'd probably ruined them permanently. That white armchair was most likely beyond salvation, too. And his shirt . . .

She shook her head. _Stop thinking about Andrew._

When Robyn stepped out of the shower, she glanced at her bandaged chest in the bathroom mirror. She didn't doubt Andrew's suturing skills, but a wound like that would still leave a scar. She frowned at her reflection. She often tried to convince herself that she didn't care about her scars, but it still bothered her every time she got a new one.

She made an attempt to comb out the tangles in her hair, but in the end she just gave up. Her chest hurt every time she raised her arm, and her hair would look like a mess when it dried anyway. At times like this, she questioned her decision to keep it long. It was impractical, both at work and during fights, but she still couldn't bring herself to cut it off. It was like the scars—she didn't know why she cared, she just did.

Her vanity was most likely a remnant of a different life, originating in a childhood dream she should have given up on ages ago. Just thinking about it was a waste of time. She still missed it, though. The spotlights, the stage, the feeling of her body moving in perfect synchronization with the music . . . She missed it a lot.

When she got out of the bathroom, she found that she was no longer alone in the apartment. A heavily tattooed woman lounged on the living room couch with her feet on the coffee table. Her muscular arms were crossed, and the look she gave Robyn made her feel like _she_ was the one intruding. Robyn could never decide whether Ananya Patel was the greatest best friend in the world or the worst.

"Well, well, well," Ana said, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Look who finally decided to show up."

Robyn sighed. "Nice to see you too. How did you get in here?"

"You forgot to lock the balcony door again. It's a bad habit, you know. Anyone could waltz in here." Ana shook her head, running her fingers through her short, black hair. "Enough about that. What have you been up to? Been fighting again, huh?"

She got up from the couch and stood to her full height: an awe-inspiring six feet and then some in her black high-heeled boots. Her face softened when her gaze fell on the big bruise on Robyn's cheek. "I heard about what happened from Lucy. Is it true you almost died yesterday?"

Robyn didn't know what to say, so she remained quiet. Her silence was answer enough.

"You have to stop fighting!" Ana exclaimed. "I don't care about your manager. If you don't stop, this shit is seriously going to kill you. You're lucky you have that doctor guy . . . "

Robyn flinched. Ana's dark eyes hardened.

"What did he do? Did he do something to you? I'll—"

"It's nothing like that," Robyn said quickly. "He just won't be helping me anymore."

"Do you want me to go kick his ass? Say the word, and I'll beat the shit out of him."

Robyn didn't doubt it for a second. Their classmates in elementary school had been terrified of Ana, and there was a good reason for it.

"It's fine." She gave Ana a small smile. "Don't worry. And if someone in my life needed a beating, I'd beat them up myself, thank you very much."

Ana sighed. "Call me if you need me, all right? You're not alone in this shit, you know. I always have your back."

Before Robyn could tell her to use the front door like a normal person, Ana had already disappeared into Lucy's bedroom to use the balcony door instead. The fact that the apartment was on the third floor didn't seem to bother Ana at all. It never had.

Robyn and Ana had been classmates since they were kids. They'd both been outcasts, but they'd barely known each other until the day in seventh grade when Ana was kicked out of her home. Robyn had found her out on the balcony, cradling a gym bag against her chest. Ana had just come out to her parents, and it had not gone well. Her eyes had been rimmed with red, and her wrists and neck had been covered in bruises. Robyn had let her in without a word. That night, Ana cut off her waist-length hair and started a new life. It was the first and the last time Robyn ever saw her cry.

Ana hid in the Monroe sisters' bedroom for several weeks before Social Services found her. Robyn's mother never even noticed the extra houseguest. By then, she had already stopped caring about anything going on in her daughters' lives.

Images flashed before Robyn's eyes the moment she started thinking about her mother. The silent apartment, the empty wine bottle, the closed bathroom door . . .

_Stop it._ She pushed the uninvited memories out of her mind. After gathering her damp, messy hair into a ponytail, she put on her hoodie and went to work.

• • •

Ten days after the fight in the Circle, Robyn decided to remove her stitches with a pair of scissors. She'd managed to give herself stitches once. Pulling them out should be a lot easier. Right?

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, raising the scissors. _Okay. I can do this._ She cut off the first stitch and carefully pulled out the hardened thread. Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Her hands shook. Was it supposed to hurt like this? If Andrew had been there to help her, he would have—

_Stop it._ She scowled at her reflection. Missing him was not acceptable.

She removed all the stitches by herself. The puncture wounds bled a little, but considering her lack of medical knowledge, she thought she'd done a decent job. She didn't need him. She could do just fine without him.

For the rest of the day, Robyn felt pretty good about herself. Even though it was a Saturday and the café would be overcrowded all evening, she was still in a decent mood.

"Your aura looks happy," Suzanna commented. She tilted her head to the side, making the big silver hoops in her ears clink. "Happy and hungry."

"Shut up." Robyn flicked Suzanna on the forehead. "You make it sound like I'm always hungry."

"Your aura is always hungry." Suzanna grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl behind the counter and tossed it to Robyn, who caught it with a sigh.

"Someday, you're gonna get us busted for doing things like this."

Suzanna shrugged. They both knew that if she did get caught one day, she'd only smile her way out of trouble. She'd always been like that, even when she was younger. There were no blood ties between them, but Robyn still thought of Suzanna as family. It was impossible not to, considering the things they'd gone through together.

Ana was a part of their little family too. It was a strange family, considering the fact that Suzanna and Ana were now dating, but a family nonetheless.

Robyn turned to greet her next customer and almost dropped her apple.

"Andrew?"

She hated how seeing him made her heart race.

"I'm sorry for showing up like this. Can we talk?"

Andrew wore a black coat over a white shirt and light-gray slacks, and his jet-black hair looked perfect as usual. His casual flawlessness annoyed her. She felt the urge to run her fingers through that perfect damn hair, just to mess it up a little.

"I'm working," she said.

"When do you get off?"

"Two a.m."

Andrew pulled up his sleeve and checked his watch. Robyn could see the conflict in his eyes when he realized he'd have to wait almost four hours.

"I knew Sandy's had late closing times, but this is just ridiculous," he muttered.

She gave him an expressionless look, hiding the fact that she was actually a bit curious about what his next move would be.

He sighed. "I'll just have to wait, then. One cup of tea, please."

She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Listen, Robyn, I want to apologize for—"

"Earl Grey?" she interrupted. She wasn't ready for an apology. Frankly, she wasn't ready for any interaction with Andrew at all.

He nodded and smiled. "How did you know?"

"The smell. Your house smells like Earl Grey." She quickly looked away and started typing on the cash register. It wasn't just his house that smelled like Earl Grey—Andrew himself smelled like it too, and the fact that she knew that was weird on so many levels.

After getting his tea, Andrew took a seat in a booth close to the register. To say he looked out of place would be an understatement. Robyn liked the café's wooden floor and flowery wallpaper, and she thought the worn-out, pale-pink seats in the booths gave the place a vintage kind of charm—but she also knew that some people thought Sandy's just looked cheap and old. Andrew, with his air of elegance, didn't fit in at all.

A group of students entered the café then, and Robyn was busy for the next hour or so.

"Who's that?" Suzanna whispered, nodding toward Andrew, when they finally got a customer-free moment.

"He's just my doctor," Robyn said.

"Oh, really? Because Dr. Handsome has been sitting there for a while now, and let's face it, our tea is not that spectacular."

Suzanna tilted her head to the side, observing the man in the booth. Andrew had pulled a laptop from his briefcase and was now squinting at the display, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Damn." Suzanna giggled. "He's really into you, isn't he?"

Andrew looked up from his computer and gave them a little wave. Robyn immediately looked away, while Suzanna happily waved back.

"You should keep him," Suzanna said with a wink right before a group of new customers arrived at the counter. Robyn gave Suzanna an indiscreet glare and went back to work.

• • •

Andrew couldn't remember if he'd ever been at a café for four hours straight before. Sure, the tea was nice, but it was still a pretty desperate thing to do just to talk to a girl.

He watched Robyn as she worked. She was wearing a white apron over her usual tank top and sweatpants. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, but some of the unruly red locks refused to stay in the hairdo. She automatically tucked the stray pieces of hair behind her ears every time they fell into her eyes. He wasn't sure why, but the action made him smile.

When it was finally time for Robyn to close the café, Andrew still wasn't sure what he was going to say. He watched as she shooed the last group of intoxicated teenagers out the door and began to clean the tables. Her coworker with the crazy hair had left half an hour earlier, saying something about catching a bus.

"Can we talk outside? I need to lock this place up," Robyn said when she was finished. She took off her apron, put on her oversized hoodie, and then grabbed her backpack from behind the counter. After locking the front door from the inside, she motioned for him to follow her through the door next to the cash register.

He put the laptop back in his briefcase and followed her through a small kitchen and then out the back door. The parking lot was empty, his own car being the exception. Robyn locked the door behind them.

"So." She turned around to face him. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to apologize."

"For what? Having an opinion?"

"For making it sound like I don't respect you and all the sacrifices you've made to take care of your sister."

Robyn blinked. Whatever she'd expected him to say, that clearly hadn't been it.

Andrew took a deep breath. "I was an inconsiderate jerk. You're right, I don't know you, and I don't know what you and your sister have gone through. All I know is that I want to help you." He hesitated. "I . . . I knew a person like you once."

She cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, not exactly like you, but she got hurt a lot too." He swallowed hard. "I was too much of a coward to do something back then, and that person almost died because of it. I can't let that happen again. I'm not going to stand idly by and wait for you to get beaten to death. You wanted a selfish reason for why I've been helping you. There it is."

Robyn stared at him. Her face was impossible to read.

"I care about you, Robyn." He gave her a tentative smile. "You may be good at taking care of Lucy, but you're terrible at taking care of yourself. That's why I feel the need to look after you. It doesn't mean I don't respect you. It only means I care." He tilted his head to the side. "Are you going to question that too, or is that selfish enough for you to believe it?"

He tried to meet Robyn's eyes, but she avoided his gaze. Her cheeks had gained a faint tint of pink. A smile tugged at his lips. Apparently, this was how you flustered a person like Robyn Monroe.

"I believe you," she finally said. "I'm sorry too. I overreacted."

Andrew sighed in relief. "Does this mean you'll let me help you again? I need to look at those sutu—"

"Shut it." Robyn held up her hand in a silencing gesture, staring into the darkness on the other side of the parking lot. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

He looked at her in confusion. "Who are you talking—"

"I said shut it!" She bit her lip and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Please, just do as I say, okay?"

A tall man stepped out of the shadows. "Are you the Valkyrie?"

She pulled her hood over her head. "No."

"Oh, really?" the man said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He came to a stop a couple of steps away, still half concealed in the darkness.

"Really." Robyn stepped forward, covering Andrew with her body. Andrew stood frozen in place, paralyzed by the conflict of two equally strong instincts: one to protect Robyn and the other to get the hell away from there.

Something moved behind the dumpsters beside them. Three men stormed out, one of them significantly larger than the others.

"Sorry about this." The large man grabbed Robyn's shoulders and slammed her back into the wall. He pulled the hood off her head, took a firm hold of her hair, and tugged her head back. The light of a nearby streetlight lit up her face.

"It's her," the giant confirmed. "Am I done here?"

"You're done." The first man frowned. "Mind your tone. You may be new to this organization, but you should still be aware of Mr. Swanson's opinion on disrespect toward your superiors."

The giant rolled his eyes before letting go of Robyn's hair. Andrew ran to her side, steadying her as she slumped against the wall.

"Listen, I'm genuinely sorry about this," the giant said, his voice too low for the others to hear him. "Swanson can force me to identify you, but that's it. I'm not taking part in this." He glanced at the men behind him before turning back to Robyn. "I know our fight was staged. Next time, I want a real fight, all right?"

Her lips twitched as she gave him a short nod.

He smirked. "Give them hell."

Robyn turned to the first man, who was now joined by his two companions. The giant disappeared into the shadows again.

"Was that the guy you fought last week?" Andrew stared at her in shock. He couldn't even imagine her fighting someone of that size. "Robyn, please tell me what's happening."

"It's . . .complicated. My manager doubles as a bookie. My odds were going in the wrong direction, so he told me to lose my last fight on purpose. These guys . . . They're his men. I guess losing a fight wasn't enough." She snorted. "'The Valkyrie, beaten up by random strangers in a parking lot.' A rumor like that would definitely work in his favor."

"Are you serious?" He continued to stare at her. "Your own manager would order people to beat you up?"

She nodded. "Andrew, you need to leave. Run to your car and go. They won't follow you—I'm the one they're after."

"I can't just . . . I can't . . . "

The fear was overwhelming. He tried to come up with a way out, something that could save them both, but his brain seemed to work in slow motion. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. All he could do was stand there and stare.

"You see, Valkyrie, we're having a bit of a betting problem," the first man said. He stood closer to the streetlight now. It was hard to tell, but he seemed young—probably younger than Robyn. "It was a beautiful performance you did last week, but your odds are still a little bit too good. Nothing personal. We just have to . . . _incapacitate_ you a little."

_This can't be happening,_ Andrew thought. _This can't actually be happening._

Robyn pulled off her hoodie and raised her fists. "Andrew. If you're not gonna run, then stay the hell out of my way." And with those words, Robyn attacked.

She ran toward them. The first man and one of his companions took a step back while the third man moved forward. He aimed a punch at her face and missed by several inches. Robyn spun around and delivered a merciless roundhouse kick to the man's chin. He went out like a light. The first man and his companion lunged for her, but she dodged them both.

Andrew felt like he should do something _,_ but he still couldn't move. Robyn's movements were hypnotizing. She almost looked like she was dancing. In one of her spins, Andrew could see her face for a moment, and the sight made him drop his briefcase on the ground. She was _smiling._

It wasn't one of the few almost-smiles she'd given him from time to time, but a real, mischievous grin. It wasn't just her facial expression that was different—her whole body language had changed. This wasn't Robyn. This was the Valkyrie.

Robyn elbowed the companion hard in the nose, making him fall to the ground with a guttural groan. She followed up the attack with a hard kick to his groin, all while grinning triumphantly. Andrew shuddered.

The first man was now the last man standing. They circled each other, both out of breath, waiting for the other to make a move. From the corner of his eye, Andrew saw something move in the shadows again.

"Robyn, watch out!" he yelled, forcing himself to move toward the fight. "He's got backup!"

Robyn turned around just in time to see a fourth man join the fight. The man hit her hard in the stomach, causing her to lose her balance. She rolled on the asphalt and was up again in less than a second, but Andrew could tell by the look on her face that she was in pain.

Using all the mental strength he could gather, Andrew finally made his body obey him. He didn't know how to help Robyn, but he would come up with something. _I can do this,_ he thought, forcing his legs to run. _I can do this. I can do this._

He quickly came to a stop as he ran face-first into man number five. Man number five was bigger than the others—almost as big as the giant who'd identified Robyn.

"Bro, stay out of this," the man said, blocking Andrew from the fight. Andrew tried to move past him, but the man only moved with him. "Seriously, bro. This doesn't concern you."

"Of course it concerns me!" Andrew growled. He tried to duck under the man's arm but was blocked a third time. The man was almost as wide as he was tall and didn't leave any windows at all.

"Ah, she's your girl. Sorry 'bout that, bro." The pity in the man's eyes only made Andrew more furious.

"Could someone just fucking knock her out?" the first man yelled. Andrew could hear a body hit the ground, but he had no idea who the body belonged to since there was still an oversized dudebro blocking his way. He had to see her. He had to know she was okay.

_I can do this._ He curled his right hand into a fist. _I can do this._ He took a deep breath, raised his fist, and then, for the first time in his entire life, he threw a punch. The world slowed down, and he watched in tense anticipation as his fist connected with man number five's cheek.

Man number five stared at him. "Dude, what the fuck?"

Andrew took a step back. He wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected, but this scenario had _not_ been part of the plan. Now what? __ He stared at his aching fist. No, this wasn't going according to plan at all.

Something hit man number five from behind, making him stumble forward. A pair of legs wrapped themselves around his neck, and he was suddenly being pulled backward. Robyn somehow made him flip over and land on his face, while she landed gracefully on top of him. When she was sure the man wasn't getting up again, she stood and jogged over to Andrew.

"That's the last one. I got them all." Her eyes burned hot with adrenaline. "Are you okay?"

He stared at his fist. "I hit him."

"Yes, you did." She chewed on her lip with a strange look on her face.

"Did you see that? I hit him."

"I saw it." The look on her face only got more intense until she finally burst out laughing. "Hell, that was the worst punch I've ever seen."

"Was it really that bad?" He frowned, feeling a little insulted.

"Yes. It definitely was." Robyn's laugh wasn't pretty, but it was contagious. Andrew's frown soon turned into a grin. As his state of shock died down, he realized he had no idea how the real fight had ended. His eyes widened as he took in the scene. The parking lot could no longer be called "empty." The five men lay scattered all over the lot, and even in the dim light from the streetlight, Andrew could clearly distinguish stains of blood on the asphalt. Two of the men were moaning quietly, and the other three weren't moving at all.

"Wow. You're good at this," he said. _Way too good._

Robyn shrugged. "They were pretty bad."

She wiped some blood off her lips. She had bruises and abrasions everywhere, and she'd started to sway a little.

"Robyn, are _you_ okay? Are you hurt?"

She yawned. "I'm fine. Adrenaline backlash."

She walked over to the first man and turned him onto his back with her foot. "Don't ever come here again," she said in a low, monotone voice, placing her foot on the man's throat. "You'll never touch me again, and you'll never touch him either _._ " She put more pressure on his throat, and the man started to make strangled noises. He tried to move away from her, but she only put more weight on the foot. "If you touch me, him, or anyone I know, I will kill you. That's not a threat—it's a promise."

Andrew shuddered again, staring at Robyn in awe. He didn't doubt her words for a second, and neither did the man on the ground. She yawned again and removed her foot from the man's throat.

"I'm gonna head home," she said, picking up her hoodie from the ground.

"Can I give you a ride?" Andrew asked tentatively.

"I'd just ruin the seats."

"Doesn't matter. Come on." He carefully put his arm around her shoulders and held his breath, waiting for possible death threats, but Robyn seemed too tired to care. She remained silent as he led her to the car, zigzagging between the bodies on the ground.

"Can we really just leave them like that?" he asked, glancing back at the parking lot through the rearview mirror. Leaving injured people unattended bothered him, but not enough to make him stay and take care of them. They'd tried to hurt Robyn, and she'd defended herself. Treating their injuries was not his problem.

_Sure, go on, convince yourself that what you just did wasn't a violation of your medical oath,_ his inner critic mocked.

"Don't worry about them. My manager always cleans up his messes," Robyn said bitterly. "I'm sorry for putting you through all this. You should probably avoid me for a while. I'm not a good person to be around right now."

"I still want to help you."

"And I still want to pay you back for everything you've done for me and Lucy. I don't know how yet, but I will come up with something. Relying on your generosity doesn't sit right with me. I don't have it in me to keep being your little charity case like this. It's just not who I am."

Andrew stayed silent for a few moments. Over the past couple of weeks, it had become all too clear to him that sooner or later, Robyn would get so injured he wouldn't be able to fix her. The only way to stop that from happening was to make sure she didn't get injured in the first place. To do so, he was going to have to get closer to the street fighting world—closer to _her._ He'd had an idea growing in the back of his mind the whole week, but he wasn't sure how Robyn would react to it. He was never sure how Robyn would react to _anything_. He took a deep breath and then decided to at least give it a try.

"You could teach me how to fight."

"What?" She stared at him.

"I give you medical treatment, and you teach me how to fight."

Robyn kept staring.

"It doesn't have to be much. Just a bit of self-defense, and maybe how to throw a punch without spraining my fingers." He raised his right hand from the wheel and showed her his swollen thumb.

"You kept your thumb inside your fist when you hit him, didn't you?" she asked with a sigh. " _Never_ keep your thumb inside the fist. You could have broken it."

"Oh." Andrew couldn't remember if his thumb had been inside or outside his fist when he threw the punch, but she was probably right.

"I don't know what I could teach you," she continued. "I never had a teacher myself. But yeah, sure, I guess I could try."

"That's great!" He grinned widely. "So it's a deal, then?"

"I guess it is," she said, giving him her classic almost-smile.

By the time Andrew parked outside Robyn's apartment, they'd spent several minutes in comfortable silence. Andrew usually felt like he had to keep a conversation going at all times, but with Robyn, he could somehow relax.

"I really need to remove those sutures soon," he said as Robyn climbed out of the car.

"I've already removed them."

"Wait, what? How?"

She shrugged. "Scissors and a mirror."

Andrew groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're impossible."

"A little." A glimmer of mischievousness flashed in her eyes.

He shook his head. "If you need help—"

"I'll call. I promise."

"Really?"

"Really."

He glanced at her. Even if she said she'd call, he knew she still didn't fully trust him. Two times, Robyn had nearly died in his hands, and both of those times could have been avoided if she hadn't been so hell-bent on telling everyone she was fine all the time.

"Just one more thing," he said. "No more lying. No more bad excuses. I get it if you don't trust me, but please . . .don't lie to me again."

She considered it for a moment, hesitating, and then nodded. "No more lies. It's just that . . .the truth isn't always pretty, you know. My life isn't always pretty, either. Are you sure you're up for it?"

"I am." If it increased the odds of keeping her alive, he was up for anything.

"Good. We have an agreement, then." She tilted her head to the side. "I guess that makes us partners, or something."

Andrew smiled. "Partners, or something. I can live with that."

# Chapter Five

"So, Andrew . . .I'm competing in this tournament in a couple of days. I don't know the details yet, because Swanson—you know, my manager—is the one who sets up fights for me. Anyway, my first fight is next Saturday, and I thought you'd probably like to know— Tiny, where the fuck are you going?"

Tiny, who'd just made a weak attempt to escape from Robyn's lap, gave her an angry glare before settling down on her thighs again. She sighed, stroking his black fur. She'd been sitting on the bench outside the apartment building for several minutes, waiting for Andrew to catch up with her. He was a man of many skills, but running wasn't one of them.

"You're not being very helpful," she told the cat. "It isn't really your fault—I mean, you're a cat and all—but you do suck at pretending to be Andrew."

A week had passed since she and Andrew had become partners. This was the second time they jogged together, and she still hadn't figured out a good way to tell him about the tournament. She'd considered "accidentally" forgetting about it, but she couldn't bring herself to do that either. She'd promised him she wouldn't lie to him. Even if this was more of a "leaving out important information" situation than a straight-out lie, it still wasn't the truthfulness Andrew expected of her. He deserved better.

Seconds later, the sound of heavy footsteps and loud, strained breaths came from the other side of the hedge. Tiny jumped down from Robyn's lap and hurried into the bushes, seeking shelter from the slowly approaching stranger.

"How's it going?" Robyn shouted.

When Andrew staggered through the gap in the hedge, he looked like he was about to throw up. His face was flushed, his black tank top was drenched in sweat, and his legs were trembling.

"Time?" he panted, collapsing next to her on the bench.

She checked her watch. "Thirty-five minutes."

"Seriously?" He threw his head back and groaned. "One minute faster than last time. Just one shitty little minute."

"How fast did you think you'd improve?" Robyn cocked an eyebrow, trying hard to hide her amusement.

"I don't know." He sighed. "I don't think I'll ever get it down to twenty-five minutes. Is this really necessary?"

"Three miles in twenty-five minutes. That's the deal. I've always been smaller and weaker than the other fighters around here, but I've learned to compensate for it. I win fights by being faster than my opponents and by tiring them out. Right now, I don't think you're that much stronger than me, so my way of fighting should work for you, too. To use my fighting style, you need good endurance. That's just how it is."

"All right, all right." He scowled at her. "I know I'm weak. You don't have to rub it in."

She snorted. "I just admitted you _might_ be physically stronger than me, and that's how you react. Asshole."

"Yeah, but you're a . . . " He froze, and Robyn could see the exact moment he realized that there was no possible way to end the sentence without fucking up.

"I'm a . . . ?" She concealed her amusement by sounding insulted, which made him look even more flustered.

"Small," he finally finished.

"A small." Robyn could no longer stop the smile from reaching her lips.

"You're teasing me."

"You make it so easy." She shook her head. "How the hell did you ever get through high school?"

He shrugged. "I went to Eden High. People were pretty nice there."

_Eden,_ she thought. _Of course._

Eden was a private school located right outside the city, with tuition higher than Robyn's yearly income. She had attended Chrystal Valley's public school, where everyone despised the spoilt Eden kids. _I'm hanging out with an Eden kid,_ she thought in disbelief. Her fifteen-year-old self would never have forgiven her.

"I have to get going now," Andrew the Eden Kid said, groaning as he forced his body up from the bench. "I'm in desperate need of a shower. See you on Monday?"

Robyn nodded. Andrew smiled and began to walk toward his car.

"Andrew, wait," she yelled after him. "I . . . "

"Yeah?"

When he turned back and gave her that wide, trusting smile of his, all of her courage disappeared at once. "Don't forget to stretch."

"I won't," he answered, and then he was gone.

"Damn it," she muttered. She'd tried to tell him about the tournament several times now, but the words just wouldn't come out. She wasn't sure why she was having such a hard time telling him, but it probably had something to do with the way he acted around her now.

Ever since the night they became partners, he'd stopped giving her his condescending doctor smiles. The smiles he gave her now were casual and carefree, and he no longer had that infuriating look of pity in his eyes. She wanted things to stay that way. She didn't want to remind him of how messed up her life truly was.

She buried her face in her hands and sighed. "I'm the worst partner ever."

• • •

Andrew was sitting in his favorite armchair with a cup of tea when someone rang the doorbell. At first, he remained where he was, waiting for the unexpected visitor to go away. His whole body hurt, and his legs still wobbled a little when he walked. He was not in the mood for company.

A few seconds later, the doorbell rang again. And again. And again. Andrew groaned, his body protesting wildly as he got up from the chair. He had no idea why anyone would visit him at half past eight on a Saturday night, and he wasn't too keen on finding out either.

"What?" he said sourly when he opened the door. He stared at his visitor in confusion. "Jason?"

"'Sup." Jason gave him a short nod.

"Hi?"

Jason grinned. "Wanna go watch a fight? There's a really good one starting in about an hour. It's just outside the city. What do you say?"

"I don't know . . . " Andrew looked over Jason's shoulder, feeling like something was missing. "Hey, where's your motorcycle?"

"At the mechanic. Something's up with the carburetor, and when I tried to fix it I just fucked it up even more."

"So, the real reason you're here is because you want a ride." Things were finally making sense again.

Jason tried to keep his poker face up for a few moments, but then he gave in. "I really, _really_ want to see this fight, okay? The tournament starts tonight. I can't miss it."

"The tournament?" Andrew could have sworn he'd heard about some kind of tournament before, but he couldn't put his finger on where or when.

"Yeah. It's a yearly event for mixed martial arts, and it's bigger than ever this year. They've built a whole new arena for it and everything. It's huge. We've already missed the fights from the lower classes, but we could make it in time for the first-class fight. Trust me, you don't want to miss this. Are you in?"

Andrew didn't hesitate. "I'm in."

He grabbed his thick, black coat from its hanger on the wall and followed Jason outside. If he was going to be Robyn's partner, he needed to know more about Chrystal Valley's underground world. He refused to admit that the sudden thrill in his gut could have anything to do with him longing for action again.

"Is this kind of thing even legal?" he asked Jason as they walked toward his car.

Jason's grin widened. "Not by a long shot."

• • •

The arena was located right outside the city, just like Jason said. On the outside, the place looked like a normal pizzeria. On the inside, the place looked like a pizzeria too. It seemed to be a busy night, and almost all the booths were taken. Waiters and waitresses were half walking, half running between the kitchen and the customers, serving food and beverages left and right.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Andrew whispered to Jason.

"Yes." Jason glared at him. "Now shut up."

They were waiting in line to get to the counter, which looked exactly like a normal restaurant counter.

"Two specials," Jason said to the cashier, handing him some wrinkled ten-dollar bills from his back pocket. The cashier accepted the money and pointed at a door right next to them.

"Really? That's the code word?" Andrew asked, raising his eyebrows. He followed Jason through the door and down the stairs hidden behind it.

Jason scowled. "Shut. Up."

Andrew could already hear the music coming from the basement. The deep bass pounded on his eardrums. The farther down the stairs they got, the more the smell of garlic and oregano changed into the smell of sweat and hard liquor. Judging by the length of the stairs, the basement had to be at least two stories high. Jason had been right—the arena was huge.

"Who paid for all this?" Andrew asked.

"This guy named Mr. Quinn." Jason snorted. "Apparently, he's got more money than he can spend. Hands out donations left and right. Honestly, I think he built this building just to mess with the power structure in this city."

"Why?"

Jason shrugged. "Maybe he felt someone has to."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, there was no longer any doubt that the pizzeria was in fact a gateway to an underground fighting arena. The basement was big—a lot bigger than the parking garage arena. A thick, highly intoxicated crowd had gathered around the octagon-shaped ring in the middle of the room. The size of the audience was mind-boggling. For a moment, Andrew almost felt betrayed by the city he'd grown up in. He'd had no idea Chrystal Valley's underground world was this extensive.

Jason turned to him and grinned. "Welcome to Chrystal Arena."

The fighting ring was placed on an elevated platform in the middle of the room. Above it hung a digital sign with a reset timer, the zeroes glowing bright red in the dimly lit room. Three elevated passages were connected to the platform, leading from the ring to three flights of stairs. Spotlights lighted two of the passages up, but the third was cloaked in darkness. The ring with its padded iron poles and netted walls looked like an actual cage.

"The rounds are five minutes long, then the fighters get a one-minute break, and then it's on again," Jason yelled in Andrew's ear. "They rarely last that long, though." The noise around them was deafening, even though the fight hadn't started yet. Jason grinned. "This is going to be awesome. Come on, I need a beer."

The bar was located in the corner of the basement. Jason had just received his drink when a petite woman with waist-length white hair stumbled into him. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her.

"Jason," she greeted him with a smile.

"Cassandra, hi." Jason smiled back at her. His face had softened the moment he laid eyes on her, and his hand was still resting on her hip.

"If you're going to bet, bet on the Morrigan," Cassandra told him.

"No bets today. I'm here with a friend." Jason nodded at Andrew.

"I see." Cassandra looked at Andrew and reached out her hand. "I'm Cassandra. Nice to meet you."

"I'm Andrew. Likewise." He carefully shook her hand. He couldn't help but notice how dangerously thin her wrists were, and neither could he ignore the needle marks on the back of her right hand. Up close, it was obvious her white hair was a wig. His heart sank. _Cancer._

"I need to get back to Drake," she said. "Hey, Jason, what are you doing after the fight?"

Jason's eyes lit up. "I don't have anything planned."

"Good. Meet me outside when the fight is over. I want to talk to you."

"Okay," Jason said, smiling like a fool. "I'll see you then."

Cassandra turned around and staggered through the crowd. She stumbled again, but this time a tall man in a suit caught her before Jason could get to her. His black hair hung over his shoulder in a long braid. He had an aquiline nose and sharp cheekbones, and his dark eyes looked hard and unforgiving. He glared at Jason as he led Cassandra to a chair placed next to the bar, keeping a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Fucking Drake," Jason muttered.

"Who are they?" Andrew asked.

"That's Cassandra, our local clairvoyant," Jason said. "Always knows how to bet. That chick's as smart as she's cute. That guy next to her is Drake Locklear. I'm not sure why she's always hanging out with him, but I think he's her guardian or something." He sent a glare in Drake's direction. "He's a pretentious asshole."

Jason was just about to say something else when the music stopped. "It's time," he yelled instead, cheering with the rest of the crowd. A bald, muscular man and an even more muscular black-haired woman were now standing in opposite corners of the ring. Between them stood the referee, a small man in a black-and-white shirt.

While the referee talked to the fighters, the commentator turned on his microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's finally time for the first-class fight you've all been waiting for!" he yelled, his voice blasting from the speakers on the walls. "We've all gathered here today to witness the battle between the brutal Bonecrusher and the merciless Morrigan. I hope you're ready, because this fight begins . . . " The commentator paused dramatically. "Now!"

The bell rang, and the referee swiftly jumped out of the way as the fighters lunged for each other. They were a lot more skilled than the fighters Andrew had watched at the Octagon. He was still too inexperienced with fighting to pick out all the details, but he could tell they were faster, more persevering, and a lot better at dodging blows than the Octagon fighters. After two and a half rounds, the woman managed to get a good grip around the man's neck. They both ended up on the mat, the Bonecrusher flailing helplessly as the Morrigan choked him with her thighs. After a while, he stopped moving, and the referee forced the winner away from her unconscious opponent.

"Let's all greet tonight's first-class champion—the Morrigan!" the commentator shouted into his microphone. The audience hollered with him. Andrew felt the adrenaline pulse through him, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. His thoughts about the fighters' potential injuries were drowned out by the audience's contagious excitement. He now understood why people paid to take part in this. He could feel the excitement too.

"And who will the Morrigan meet in the quarterfinals?" the commentator continued. "Next week's first-class fight is something you _really_ don't want to miss: the Bear—stronger, larger, more vicious than his namesake—versus the strong, the fierce, the beautiful . . .the Valkyrie!"

_What?_

The audience continued to cheer, but Andrew just stood there, staring into thin air. He knew he hadn't misheard the commentator, but he still couldn't process it. Robyn was in the tournament. She was in the damn tournament, and she hadn't even mentioned it to him.

_Technically, it wasn't a lie,_ his inner critic reminded him. _She never said she'd tell you everything._

But they'd had an agreement, a partnership, that had helped him sleep at night. He'd convinced himself he'd never have to get a phone call from a hysterical Lucy again—that he'd no longer have to worry about Robyn being beaten half to death without him knowing it. Obviously, he'd been wrong. So very wrong.

"Partners," he muttered, pushing people out of his way as he strode toward the exit. "I can't believe I fell for that one."

With panic and adrenaline pumping through his veins, Andrew made a decision—he was going to pay Robyn a visit, and he was going to get some answers.

# Chapter Six

Robyn slammed the door shut behind her as she entered the apartment after her training session with Andrew. She'd once again failed to tell him about the tournament, and it was now only a week until her first fight. _I'm the worst partner ever,_ she thought, furious with herself.

She was so busy pondering her failure, she almost missed the note on the kitchen table.

Out on a demonstration with Mike and the FTS gang. Don't wait up.

\- Lucy

Robyn groaned, crumpling the piece of paper in her hand. She felt like punching something—preferably Mike's face.

"'Don't wait up,'" she muttered, tossing the wrinkled note in the garbage can. "Like I could possibly sleep when you're hanging out with _them._ "

She spent the rest of the evening cleaning the apartment. She and Lucy had made a deal after their mother died—Lucy cooked, Robyn cleaned. The division worked well, since Lucy had always been the better cook, and Robyn didn't mind cleaning. It was like running—a methodical activity she could do without thinking.

The radio in the living room, tuned to WQXR, kept her company as she cleaned. Every time a piece she recognized came on, she couldn't stop herself from following its rhythm. Step, step, tiptoes, quick spin—the movements were as natural as breathing. This was a part of her she could never get rid of. No matter how hard she tried.

At half past eleven, keys rattled in the lock on the door. Moments later, Lucy rushed into the apartment, dropping her handbag on the floor. Her blue coat had new stains, her hair was disheveled, and her mascara had become dark smudges under her eyes—all signs of another demonstration gone wild. Robyn really, _really_ felt like punching Mike in the face.

"Robyn!" Lucy shouted, practically bouncing with excitement. "I have something I need to tell you—something great!"

"Okay . . . ?" Even though she liked seeing her sister happy, she was always skeptical when the happiness had something to do with Mike. _Please don't be pregnant._

"You should probably sit down first." Lucy fiddled a little with her braid.

"I'm not an old lady. I think my nerves can take it."

Lucy nodded and took a deep breath. "Don't overreact, okay?"

Robyn crossed her arms. "I'm not promising anything. Just tell me already." _Please, please, please don't be pregnant._

Lucy smiled, lifting her left hand. "Mike just proposed to me. You should have seen it—this guy was just about to shove me or something, and Mike just punched him in the face and carried me out of there. Then he went down on one knee and everything. It was amazing. Can you believe it? I'm getting married!"

Robyn stood frozen in place, staring at the ring on Lucy's finger. "You're . . .you're what?"

"Getting married. I love him, Robyn. I want to spend the rest of my life with him."

Robyn kept staring at the ring. It was made of silvery material, presumably white gold or platinum, with one larger diamond-like gem surrounded by two smaller ones on the sides. It looked expensive and was definitely not a last-minute purchase.

"You're not pregnant, are you?" she asked anyway. She simply couldn't fathom why her intelligent, ambitious sister would want to spend the rest of her life with someone like Mike.

"No, of course not." Lucy frowned. "Why would I be pregnant?"

"I don't know, I . . . Lucy, are you sure about this? You've only been dating for six months—"

"He's _the one_. I've never been more sure about anything in my whole life."

"How could you possibly know that?" Robyn exclaimed. "You're eighteen! You've got your whole life ahead of you. Why would you want to waste it on someone like him?"

She regretted the harsh words the moment they left her mouth. Lucy looked like she'd been slapped in the face.

"I'm sorry, Lucy, I didn't mean it like that—"

"Yes, you did. You've never even given him a chance." Lucy's eyes filled with tears. "I know you want to protect me, but I'm an adult now. You have to let me live my own life." With trembling hands, she picked up her handbag from the floor. "And by the way, you have no right to look down on Mike. At least he's trying to take down the people corrupting this city instead of working for them."

Lucy turned around and ran out the door, slamming it shut behind her. Robyn smashed her fist into the wall. The anger and frustration still burned hot within her, but she knew Lucy was right. As long as she kept working for Swanson, she had no right to judge anyone. She stared at the closed door for a few moments, deliberating whether or not to follow her. Lucy's words had hurt her deeply, but the guilt bothered her more. _Fuck it_.

"Lucy, wait!" she shouted, sprinting down the stairs. She'd just reached the ground floor when she almost ran into someone.

"Sorry." She tried to move past the person blocking her way.

"Robyn, I need to talk to you."

She looked up. "Andrew?"

For a moment, she hadn't even recognized him. Instead of his usual calm, professional aura, he was now giving off an almost dangerous vibe. He was clenching his jaw, and his eyes were hard and cold. Even his smell was different—instead of the usual Earl Grey aroma, he now reeked of sweat, smoke, and booze.

"Not now." She pushed past him. Lucy had just disappeared around a corner outside the building. It wasn't too late yet. Robyn could still catch up with her and apologize.

"Yes, now," Andrew growled, grabbing her wrist. Robyn's body moved on instinct, just like it had when he'd tried to grab her in the examination room—but this time, he seemed to see it coming. When she spun around to give him a shove, he dodged her and reversed their positions. Before she could regain her balance, her back had already hit the wall. He kept his manacle-like grip on her wrist and placed his other hand next to her head, caging her in.

"This is not a good time," she said. She tried to push him away with her free hand, but he wouldn't budge.

"The tournament, Robyn. Were you ever going to tell me about it?"

Her eyes widened. "Who told you?"

"'Partners,' huh?" he continued. "I thought we had an agreement. You could have died in this damn tournament, and I wouldn't even have known about it before it was too late. I wouldn't have known a thing, and you would have been . . . " His grip around her wrist tightened. "I _trusted_ you. Were you ever planning on telling me the truth? Or was that yet another lie?"

"Andrew, I . . . "

He was too close. She couldn't think. His face was mere inches away from hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. His gaze fell to her lips. The intensity in his eyes changed from anger into something different. Something hotter. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her—but then they both heard the rumbling of Mike's motorcycle.

"Damn it." She'd lost her only shot of catching up with Lucy. She sagged against the wall and stopped struggling. Lucy was gone, and so was Robyn's chance to apologize. She was now a lousy partner _and_ a lousy sister. In that moment, she truly hated herself.

"I wanted to tell you," she said, her body trembling almost as much as her voice. "I just . . . I just couldn't. I fucked up. That's what I do. I fuck things up. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean, 'couldn't'? How hard could it . . . " He paused, his expression softening. "Are you crying?"

"No," she lied, although the truth was embarrassingly obvious. She removed her free hand from his chest and covered her eyes. "Don't look at me."

He sighed and let go of her wrist. Robyn tried to move away from him, but Andrew had other plans. Instead of backing off, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

She stiffened against his chest. "What the hell?"

"You're crying, so I'm holding you," he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I don't do hugs."

"Just humor me."

Robyn nodded, burrowing her face into his coat. She really wasn't the hugging type, but it was better than the alternative. If she stayed in his arms, she could at least hide the tears.

"It's okay," he said, stroking her back. "Everything will be okay."

Robyn snorted. "For someone your age, you're really damn naïve."

The hand on her back abruptly stopped its soothing movement. "Someone my age? How old do you think I am?"

"Thirty-five, maybe?"

"Thirty-five?" He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away from him. "I'm twenty-seven!"

She wiped away the last traces of her tears and smiled. "I know, you idiot."

"Then why would you . . . You're teasing me again." He frowned and let go of her.

She shrugged. Though she'd never admit it out loud, the hug had actually helped a little. Her argument with Lucy still felt like a slowly rotating knife in her chest, but she was calmer now. She would talk to Lucy later, when they'd both cooled down. They'd had arguments before, and they always made up sooner or later.

Robyn shuddered. _Mike is going to be my brother-in-law._ The thought still nauseated her.

"Are you all right?" Andrew asked.

She shrugged again. She wasn't too happy with Andrew for stopping her like that, but she couldn't blame him for being mad at her. After all, she was pretty mad at herself, too.

"I'm sorry for not telling you about the tournament," she said, looking down. "I'm not good at trusting people. I'm pretty bad at talking to people I trust, too. I . . .I push people away. I try not to, but I still end up doing it. I'm sorry." She met his gaze, hoping her eyes would portray her honesty better than her words. _Please believe me._

Andrew nodded and sighed. "It's okay. I'm sorry too. I don't know what got into me. I didn't hurt you, did I? Give me your wrist." There was a commanding tone in his voice, and Robyn would have objected on principle if she hadn't noticed the panic in his eyes.

"You're not that strong," she muttered.

He rolled up the sleeve of her hoodie and looked at the wrist in his usual meticulous manner, checking it for any sort of injury. When he'd made sure the wrist was fine, he let out a relieved sigh. His fingers lingered on the scar on her forearm that had brought them both together, tracing the still visible pattern of her homemade stitches on her skin.

"I wish I knew why," he said, holding her wrist gently in his hands. "Why you do this to yourself. Why you let them hurt you like this."

Robyn tensed. She'd always known she was going to have to answer those questions one day, but she still wasn't ready for it. She'd probably never be.

"You don't have to answer me," he added quickly. "Not now, at least. Someday."

She bit her lip, making a decision. "I . . .I could try. Like, right now." _Before I change my mind._

"Really?"

She nodded. "Would you like some tea?"

• • •

People always assumed Andrew was a naturally calm person. He could see why—he'd gotten really good at faking it over the years.

When he was a kid, his mother had died in a train crash. He'd spent years being mad at his father for not being on the train with them, at himself for surviving the crash instead of his mother, and at the world for simply being shitty. He still carried that anger deep within him, but he'd gotten good at hiding it. At work, he was admired for his way of solving even the trickiest problems with calm rationality, and he was known for never raising his voice. He'd become a master of turning his inner anger into a power of motivation, and he had no idea why all of this seemed to go straight out the window when he was with Robyn.

When he'd left Chrystal Arena, he hadn't really had any plans on how to confront Robyn. His fear of losing her had taken over him completely. Subconsciously, he'd probably expected receiving a punch or two. Holding her while she cried and then ending up on a chair in her kitchen had been an unexpected turn of events.

He watched as she boiled water in a saucepan on the stove, pleasantly surprised that she didn't make tea in the microwave like many of his acquaintances.

"Where's Lucy?" he asked, and immediately regretted the question. He'd almost run into Lucy outside the building. Robyn had probably been trying to catch up with her. _Before I stopped her, that is._ He felt like a total douche bag.

"She's with her boyfriend . . .no, _fiancé._ Apparently, she's getting married." Robyn's voice was calm and even, but the way she slammed the pantry door spoke louder than words. "She's just eighteen. He's twenty-one, doesn't have a job, and thinks he's some sort of hero for starting fights at demonstrations. I don't know what she sees in him. Milk, no sugar, right?"

Andrew nodded. "Was that what you were fighting about?"

"Yeah. I didn't handle the news very well." She gave him a faint smile. "You know me. I'm good at hurting people."

The sadness in her eyes made him want to get up from the chair and hug her again. Before he could act on the urge, she'd placed the cups on the kitchen table and taken a seat.

She curled up on the chair, pressing her knees to her chest. "So. What do you want to know?"

_Everything._ He didn't even know where to start.

"Why you fight, maybe?" he finally said. "How it all began?"

"Of course." She didn't seem at all surprised by his choice of questions. Her hands trembled when she raised her cup of tea to her lips.

"It's okay if you don't—"

"No, it's fine. I can do this." She took a deep breath. "How it all began, huh? I guess you could say it all began when my dad left us. Nothing special about it. One day, he just packed a suitcase and left. My mother . . . She wasn't ready to become a single parent. She tried to take care of Lucy and me, I know she did, but she really struggled. She . . . "

She bit her lip, trying to get the words out. It was painful to watch, but Andrew knew that if he stopped her now, he would never get to hear her story. He remained silent, watching her take another deep breath before continuing.

"She started drinking. At first, I didn't really think about it, but then it kind of took over everything. I don't know exactly when it happened, but she started gambling. I think one of her friends introduced her to the fighting scene—you know how easy it is to find a bookie in this damn city. She lost control. Her boss fired her, and everything went downhill from there. Five years ago, I found her lying on the floor in the bathroom. She'd mixed something with alcohol, some sleeping pills, and her heart just stopped. I still don't know if it was an accident, or if she just . . .if she just wanted a way out."

"I'm sorry," Andrew said, trying to take it all in. "I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. It was rough. She left us with a lot of debts—debts I couldn't possibly repay with a minimum-wage job. Since people with alcoholic mothers aren't exactly popular in high school, I've always been good at fighting. Swanson, my mom's bookie, found out about this. He told me he'd get his money back one way or another and gave me a choice—I could either give him everything I owned, including the apartment, or I could start fighting for him. I chose to fight. I did it to make sure Lucy would never have to worry about money like I did when I was her age. I gave her a chance to have a normal life. If I had to do it all again, I would. I have no regrets."

Robyn held her head high, speaking with pride and dignity. She looked at Andrew with fire in her eyes, as if daring him to pity her or question her decision.

"You were just seventeen," he said, truly perplexed. "I was nothing but a spoiled brat at that age. I don't think I could have brought myself to do something like that, especially not on my own."

"There were never any alternatives. It was the only way I could protect her. My best friend, Ana, got stuck in the foster-care system, and I saw what it did to her. I swore I would never let Social Services take Lucy away from me. As a part of our deal, Swanson convinced them to let me keep custody of her. Life wasn't always easy, no, but it wasn't always bad either. We had each other, Lucy and I."

She took a sip of her tea, her posture still portraying a sense of calm self-confidence. Andrew stared, unable to say a word. The strength hidden in the depths of her dark eyes was breathtakingly beautiful.

As he took her in, he realized he no longer saw Julie's face when he looked at her. For quite some time now, the only face he'd seen was Robyn's.

"So, yeah . . . I guess that's it," Robyn said. "I fight whenever and wherever Swanson wants me to fight. Once a year, I compete in the tournament. I've worked my way up through the classes, and this year, I'm fighting in the first-class category for the first time. Since there's a pretty big cash prize on the line, those fights tend to be a lot more brutal than the ones in the lower classes. It's not uncommon for first-class fighters to end up in the hospital. But I don't really care about that. I haven't even thought that much about it." She shrugged with unconvincing nonchalance. Andrew shook his head. She was a terrible liar.

"I'll be there," he said. "When you fight. Before, during, and after. I don't like this tournament thing at all, but I know I can't stop you. I'll be your personal physician."

She looked at him skeptically. "Why? What's in it for you?"

"Why do you always have to question everything?" he countered.

Robyn opened her mouth and then closed it again. She furrowed her brow, glaring at him.

"I don't know," she finally admitted.

Andrew grinned. Then he remembered one of the questions he'd planned to ask her. The most important one.

"When will all of this be over?" he asked. "How long do you have to fight for this guy?"

"Until those debts are repaid."

"And when is that?"

She fixed her gaze on the floor, hesitating. "I don't know. I've never asked him."

"You've never asked him?" His anger flared up again. "Do you seriously care that little about your own well-being? Sooner or later, you're going to get so injured I won't be able to fix you. Doesn't that scare you? It scares the hell out of _me._ " He ran his fingers through his hair, forcing himself to calm down. "Is this really how you want to spend your life? Fighting for that guy? Wouldn't you prefer to live a normal life instead?"

"Of course I would," she snapped. "Why do you think I'm doing this? I want to finish high school one day. I had dreams of my own, once. I want a normal life, and that's why I need to keep fighting. I'm going to win this tournament and give Swanson my share of the cash prize. If I'm lucky, it might be enough to pay off those debts once and for all."

"Do you even know how much you owe this guy?" he asked. "You've been fighting for him for what, five years? Don't you think the debts would have been repaid by now?"

"If they were, he would have told me," she muttered.

"Would he, really? Are you sure about that? What if—"

A loud _ping_ came from his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the display. _Oh shit_.

U LEFT WITHOUT ME U DICKHEAD

"Damn it," he groaned, knocking back the last of his tea. "I have to go. I was at Chrystal Arena with a friend, and I forgot to drive him home."

She nodded. Her relief was obvious.

"This conversation is not over."

She nodded again.

Before hurrying out the door, Andrew stopped and gave her a smile. "I appreciate you telling me all this, Robyn. It means a lot to me. Thank you."

"That's a weird thing to thank someone for." Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "But you're welcome, I guess."

Andrew nodded, reluctantly leaving the apartment. Somehow, he seemed to feel more at home in the Monroe sisters' small apartment than in his own house. He would have liked to stay a bit longer, but he knew he couldn't just leave Jason like that. He was selfish, but not _that_ selfish.

"Good night," he said, turning away from her and heading toward the stairs.

"Good night," she answered before closing the door behind him.

Andrew smiled. He still had a long way to go before Robyn Monroe would truly let him into her life, but their relationship had finally taken a step in the right direction.

• • •

"Where the hell did you go?" Jason asked as he climbed into the car. "I was just about to call a cab. Did you seriously just forget about me?"

"I had to go see a patient," Andrew mumbled. He pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive home.

"A patient? In the middle of the night?" Jason shook his head. "Damn. And here I thought you were one of the good guys."

"It's not like that," Andrew quickly said. "It's that pro bono patient I'm treating off the books. I . . .I just needed to talk to her."

"You mean the Valkyrie?" Jason grinned. "Shit, I wouldn't mind talking to her in the middle of the night. That chick is really damn hot."

"I thought you were into Cassandra."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make me blind." He raised his eyebrows. "Does that bother you?"

"Of course not," Andrew lied. "She's just a patient."

Jason laughed. "That's bullshit, and you know it. Seriously, just ask her out already."

"I can't. She's a patient. I could lose my license."

"But is she really a patient, though? I mean, everything you do for her is off the books. Technically, she's just a person you've been spending time with who tends to get hurt a lot."

"I guess that's one way of seeing it. I don't think the medical board would agree. Besides, I'm not interested in her. Not in that way."

Jason gave him a skeptical look.

"Okay, so maybe I care about her a bit more than I should, but that doesn't mean I'm going to start hitting on her. She doesn't need a boyfriend right now—she needs a doctor. Someone she can trust. I'm going to be that person for her."

"You think you can do that? Keep your hands off her?"

"Of course I can. I'm not an animal." At least he hoped he could. He'd been dangerously close to losing all control back there in the staircase. He didn't even want to think about what would have happened if that motorcycle hadn't interrupted them.

"What about you, then?" he asked, glancing at Jason. "How did it go with Cassandra?"

"She gave me some new information about the case I've been working on. That woman knows _everything._ " He leaned back against the seat and sighed. "I think I'm going to need your help with this."

"With what?"

"My case. I've been working on the corruption in Chrystal Valley for a while, and it runs so much deeper than I first thought. There's a man who runs the whole underworld of this city like a damn mafia boss. He's the one who arranges almost all the independent fights around here, and he's an important name in the tournament. It all just keeps getting uglier. People who mess with his bets get beaten up or disappear. Fighters who try to get out of the fighting world end up severely injured or _dead_.

"The worst thing is that he never does his dirty work himself—he convinces kids to do it for him. He takes them in, gives them shelter, and then manipulates them into doing all sorts of despicable things for him. I need to take him down, and I could really use your help. You have a personal stake in this, now. The Valkyrie . . . _Robyn_ will always be in danger as long as this guy runs free."

Andrew swallowed hard, remembering the night he and Robyn had been ambushed outside the café.

Jason clenched his jaw. "He's already made a move on her, hasn't he? When?"

"She was attacked by a handful of men a while ago. They said her odds were too good or something like that. She took all of them down." Andrew felt strangely proud of his little fighter.

_Your little fighter?_ commented an unwelcome voice in his head. He ignored it.

"I'm not surprised," Jason said. "She's vicious, that woman. She can hold her own. Others don't have that luxury, though, and that's why I need your help. I need you to keep an eye out at the hospital for possible gang-related injuries. This guy is powerful, and I need all the evidence I can get. Are you in?"

"Of course I'm in," Andrew said with a determined nod.

A look of relief swept over Jason's face. "Thanks. I knew I could count on you."

"What's his name?" Andrew asked. "The guy we're bringing down?"

Jason's eyes hardened. "Swanson. His name is Richard Swanson."

# Chapter Seven

One week later, someone rang Andrew's doorbell. He closed his laptop, muttering to himself as he went to open the door.

"Robyn? What's up?" He stared at his unexpected visitor. She was standing on his doorstep with two big plastic bags in her hands.

It was the day of her first tournament fight, and he wasn't supposed to pick her up until later. He had no idea why she was there, but judging by her flushed cheeks and the deep wrinkle between her eyebrows, it had to be important.

"I need a favor," she mumbled, her eyes fixed on the snow-covered ground. The first snowfall of the season had just arrived, turning Chrystal Valley into a picturesque winter wonderland.

"Sure. Anything." He hoped he wouldn't regret his words. He had no idea what could possibly make Robyn so desperate she'd actually ask for help.

"Are you allergic to cats?"

"Not that I know of."

Robyn put the bags down and pulled the hood of her sweater off her head. On her shoulder, pressed snugly against her neck, was a small black cat.

"His name is Tiny. At least that's what I call him. He kind of moved into my backyard a couple of months ago. I can't keep him in the apartment because my landlord's a bitch, and now it's getting way too cold for him to live outside. I can't find his owner, and now it's snowing and I don't know what to do." She bit her lip, scratching the cat's ear. "Could he stay here for a while? It would only be temporary, and I'd take care of everything, I promise. I just don't want him to freeze to death." She swallowed hard and finally met his eyes. "Please?"

"I have no idea how to take care of a cat. I've never had a pet." He tentatively reached out his hand, but the cat ducked into Robyn's red locks.

"You won't even notice he's there. All I need is a warm place for him to stay." She dragged the cat out of its hiding place, pulling out a few strands of her hair in the process.

He thought about it for a few moments. "All right. I rarely use the guest bathroom, so I guess you could set him up in there."

"Thank you." She gave him one of her rare smiles before placing the cat in his arms. Andrew and Tiny stared at each other, the cat looking just as surprised as he felt.

Robyn picked up her bags and pushed past him, kicking off her shoes on the way in. She headed straight to the guest room and into the bathroom, where she began to unpack the bags.

Andrew watched as she redecorated the bathroom, still holding the slightly unwilling cat in his arms. "Did you buy the whole pet store?"

"Just the necessities. I had some money left over from my last fight. No big deal."

_Just the necessities my ass_. He could see why the cat would need a litter box and bowls for food and water, but he failed to see the absolute necessity of all the cat toys that were now spread out over the bathroom floor. Robyn refused to spend money on an ambulance ride to save her own life, but she didn't seem to have a problem with buying expensive toys for a stray cat. He shook his head. Every time he thought he'd figured her out, she did something even more unexpected.

Robyn took the cat from him and put it on a pillow next to the bathtub. Tiny kneaded the pillow with his claws, purring loudly.

"I told you I'd find you a home." She gave Tiny a warm smile.

Andrew watched the two interact and couldn't help but smile, too. He rarely got to see that expression on her. Compared to the Valkyrie's savage grin, her real smile was much gentler and more serene. He definitely preferred the real one.

"I need to get some work done on my computer, but you can stay if you want," he said.

Robyn glanced at her watch. "Sure. You were supposed to pick me up in an hour anyway. I still have to get some preparations done before the fight, though." She gave Tiny a final pat on the head and got up from the floor. "Thanks again for doing this."

"As long as you're the one taking care of him, it shouldn't be a problem at all."

She gave him a short smile and left the guest room.

The cat jumped up on the bed and began to lick its paws. Andrew carefully sat down next to it.

"So I guess we're roomies, now," he said. The cat only glared at him.

Andrew wasn't sure how he felt about suddenly having a pet, but if it meant Robyn would come over to his house more often, it was definitely worth it.

_You_ _really are a manipulative asshole_ , his inner critic commented. Andrew had nothing to say in his defense.

He left the guest room and found Robyn standing in the other bathroom with a pair of scissors in her hand. She combed through her wavy locks with her fingers and raised the scissors.

"What are you doing?" He hurried to her side. "You're not going to cut it off, are you?"

"I have to do something about it." She stared at her reflection in the mirror over the sink with a sad look in her eyes. "It's too easy to grab like this."

"You don't have to cut it off. Do you have a hair tie?"

She nodded and handed him a hair tie from her wrist. He took it and gently turned her around.

"Remember when you asked me how I got through high school?" he asked, combing through her hair with his fingers before gathering it in a ponytail. He divided it into two sections and twisted them, creating a simple twist braid. "I used to only hang out with girls. I think they all thought I was gay."

"Are you?" She leaned into his touch, humming softly.

"No." He wrapped the braid around the ponytail and secured it with the hair tie. The whole procedure took him less than a minute. His hands still remembered the movements, even though he hadn't done a girl's hair in years.

He let his hands wander from her hair down to her shoulders. His eyes lingered on her slender neck, no longer covered by her messy red locks. What would it feel like to press his lips against that pale skin? He really wanted to know.

_Stop it._ He tore his hands away from her. _You're not an animal._

"Wow, thanks." Robyn twirled in front of the mirror, seemingly clueless to his reaction. "Mom used to put my hair up like this. I never learned how to do it myself."

"No problem," he said. _She has no idea what she does to me._

She pushed past him and returned to the hallway. He watched as she rummaged through her backpack, making sure she had everything she needed for the fight. He swallowed hard. In only a couple of hours, he was going to have to watch her take a beating on stage. Judging by the times he'd had to patch her up before, it didn't matter if she won or lost—somehow, she always got injured anyway. _That's where I come in_ , he thought, trying to calm himself. _If she gets hurt, I'll fix her._

His rational thoughts didn't help him at all. He knew all too well there were things even he couldn't fix.

• • •

They arrived at Chrystal Arena a little after eight. The first-class fight didn't start until nine, but Robyn wanted to be there earlier to warm up. They got past the pizzeria façade, went down the stairs, and joined the people who had already gathered around the ring. If Andrew remembered correctly, the third-class fight was currently taking place in the cage. The fighters in the ring were clearly not as skilled as the first-class fighters he'd seen last week, and the fight wasn't quite as brutal, either. He sighed. Why did Robyn have to be a first-class fighter?

"There's a door next to the bar leading backstage," Robyn yelled in his ear. She grabbed his arm and made her way through the crowd, pulling him with her. Andrew tried not to bump into people, but his larger frame made it hard for him to follow in Robyn's footsteps. He automatically muttered "sorry" every time he walked into someone, but no one seemed to notice it. They were all focused on the fight and whatever alcoholic beverage they were drinking.

Robyn came to a stop next to the bar. The music was quieter there, and Andrew could almost hear his own thoughts again. This was the third time he'd visited a fighting arena, but he still didn't feel comfortable in the environment. He recognized some of the people from the last fight, and he knew Jason had to be somewhere nearby. The thin, white-haired woman was sitting in the same spot as last week, and her guardian was leaning against the wall beside her. Robyn walked over and tapped Cassandra on the shoulder.

"How do the odds look today?" she asked.

Cassandra took a few moments to consider, eyeing Robyn from head to toe. "If he doesn't get a good grip on you, you'll win."

Robyn nodded and turned back to Andrew. "See? I've got this."

Andrew wasn't convinced. He glanced at Cassandra. Something was different about her tonight. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but she seemed . . . _colder._

Cassandra's guardian took a step forward. "Valkyrie."

"Drake?"

_Wait, what?_ Andrew turned to Robyn in confusion. _She knows him?_

Drake tried to grab her arm, but she quickly took a step back.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "You've been gone for three years! Why did you . . . " She hesitated. "What happened to you?"

Drake ignored her questions, a smirk playing on his lips. "You're still looking good, Valkyrie."

He looked at Robyn from head to toe just like Cassandra had, but he had a completely different expression in his eyes—an I-know-what-you-look-like-naked kind of look.

Andrew instinctively took a step closer to Robyn and put his arm around her waist. "We should go."

She nodded. After giving Drake a final glare, she allowed Andrew to lead her away from the bar. They joined the thick crowd again, heading toward the big door on the other side of the bar.

"How do you two know each other? You and that guy?" he asked, his hand still resting on her hip. He had no right to keep it there, he knew that—but he still didn't remove it.

"We used to be together," she replied. "Long ago. _Very_ long ago."

" _Together_ together?"

"Yeah."

"He has to be a lot older than you." Andrew didn't like this new revelation at all. _He_ has _seen her naked._ "Isn't he nearly thirty?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "So are you."

"I'm twenty-seven!" he exclaimed, even though she was right.

When they reached the door leading to the backstage area, a chubby, thin-haired man who seemed to be acting as some sort of doorman stopped them.

"The Valkyrie," Robyn said. "Plus one."

"This ain't a fucking VIP event. You can't just bring a plus one," the man barked.

"Call it whatever you like—he comes too." She gave the doorman one of her trademark death glares.

"It's all right, I can wait outside," Andrew reluctantly said. "It's not like I'm of any help until after the fight anyway. Or is it that you don't want to be alone . . . ?"

He heard his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. This was the absolute worst possible occasion to insult her pride. She spun around, giving _him_ the death glare instead.

"I don't need anyone to hold my hand, if that's what you're implying," she snapped and hurried through the door without him.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" Andrew yelled after her. The door closed behind her and remained shut.

He dejectedly joined the crowd again. Even though he understood why she acted the way she did, her knee-jerk reaction of shutting people out could still be pretty damn frustrating.

His eyes scanned the audience. Jason was already standing with Cassandra and Drake by the bar. Cassandra looked warmer again with Jason by her side. Andrew considered joining them but decided he wasn't in the mood to be around Robyn's ex-lover. Instead, he leaned against the wall and waited for the clock to strike nine.

Ten minutes before the fight was supposed to begin, a person with red hair hurried past him holding a man's hand. At first he thought it was Robyn, but then he realized the woman in front of him was several inches too short, despite her high heels.

"Lucy?" he called out.

The girl turned around. "Andrew? What are you doing here?"

"The same as you, I presume," he said with a humorless grin.

Lucy tried to smile, but it never reached her eyes. Hand in hand with her was a giant in a beige trench coat. _This has to be Mike, the reckless fiancé_. Andrew had always considered himself relatively tall at six-foot-one, but Lucy's fiancé made him feel small.

"Does she have a chance of winning this?" Lucy asked, fiddling nervously with her braid.

"I don't know," Andrew said. "I hope so."

Together, they moved closer to the ring to get a better view. The reckless fiancé turned out to be pretty handy in a crowd—he had to be almost six and a half feet tall. When he walked, people moved out of the way. They came to a stop near the fence that separated the elevated platform from the rest of the arena.

Lucy took Andrew's hand in hers. "You're just as nervous as I am, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

There was nothing more he could do to help Robyn now, and he hated it. He hated being useless like this.

The doors at the ends of the illuminated passageways opened. The fighters stepped through the doors and began to walk down the stairs toward the ring. Andrew knew he should be focusing on the opponent, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Robyn. She was wearing a sports bra and sweatpants, and her hands were wrapped in white gauze. Her nervousness seemed to be gone. She walked confidently down the runway, the spotlights lighting up every scar and imperfection marring her skin. Her hair shined brightly in the strong light, looking almost like it was on fire. Andrew swallowed hard. She was stunning.

"Please don't get hurt, please don't get hurt, please don't get hurt," Lucy chanted, squeezing his hand.

"She'll be fine." Andrew faked a smile. "She's good at this, right?"

Lucy nodded. "She's just really good at getting injured, too."

# Chapter Eight

When the door to the backstage area slammed shut behind her, Robyn already regretted her outburst. Why did she always have to do things like this? Andrew had made a comment—a well-intentioned comment—and she'd overreacted. Again. It was just a matter of time before he gave up on her. She was a difficult person to be around, and sooner or later, everyone always gave up on her.

She shuddered. Seeing Drake after all these years had caught her completely off guard. Their relationship hadn't been perfect, but it hadn't been all that bad, either. She still had no idea why he'd left her. One day, he'd just disappeared. He hadn't even had the decency to break up with her first. If he thought she'd take him back after three years of complete silence, he was dead wrong.

The corridor was empty of people, the only exception being a familiar man in a long, gray coat. Swanson slowly approached her, leaning heavily on his cane.

"There you are." He gave her a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Good evening, dear. Lovely night for a game, isn't it?"

Robyn nodded. His emotionless eyes made Andrew's words repeat themselves in the back of her mind. Would Swanson really tell her if she'd repaid her debts? A small seed of doubt had taken root in her mind, and it just wouldn't leave her alone. She'd always thought fighting for him was her only way of getting a normal life one day. What if that wasn't true? There was only one way to find out.

"I need to ask you something," she finally said. "I . . . "

He gave her a disapproving look, and her courage disappeared in an instant. She couldn't ask him something like that. It was too disrespectful. He'd helped her get custody of Lucy. For that, she owed him more than just money. She owed him everything.

"Is there anything I should know about my opponent?" she asked instead. "Strengths? Weaknesses?"

"The odds are in your favor." He patted her on the shoulder. "You don't have to worry. Just do your thing."

_How helpful._ She sighed. Swanson rarely gave her any important information when he thought she'd win. To keep her underdog status, he wanted her fights to be as even as possible. She was glad she'd taken the time to talk to Cassandra, who'd at least had something constructive to say.

"I need to get changed so I can warm up," she told him. "Is there a locker room somewhere?"

"Right around the corner. I need to make a few . . .arrangements _,_ but I believe I can trust you to meet me here five minutes before the game starts. Right, dear?"

"Of course."

Swanson smiled, patted her on the shoulder again, and disappeared through the door. Robyn continued deeper into the backstage area. Compared to the pizzeria front and the actual arena, the backstage area with its cement floor, plywood walls, and total lack of furniture looked only half finished. The locker room was in the same unfinished state.

She dumped her backpack, hoodie, and tank top in one of the lockers and returned to the corridor outside. According to her watch, she had thirty minutes until Swanson returned. She didn't need that much time to warm up, but a long run would help calm her nerves.

She picked a slow pace and began to run through the narrow corridor, following its many twists and turns. When she reached a dead end, she turned around and ran back the way she came. It was a short track, but it would have to do.

Twenty-five minutes and dozens of laps later, Robyn stepped inside the locker room to make her final preparations. She stretched, removed her watch and shoes, wrapped her hands in gauze, and tried not to think about how much nicer everything would have been if Andrew had been there with her.

She put her things back in the locker and slammed the door shut. If Andrew were there, he would probably just have been whining about how dangerous fighting was. Or about her weight. Again. She absentmindedly touched her hair, still firmly pinned to the top of her head. She remembered the way Andrew's gentle hands had worked with it, and the way they'd lingered on her shoulders afterward. The warmth of his fingertips had made her heart pound in a way it definitely shouldn't have.

"I do _not_ want him here," she muttered to herself, hoping that saying it out loud would make it sound more convincing. It didn't.

She met up with Swanson outside the locker room right on time. They climbed a flight of stairs and came to a stop in front of one of the many doors in the corridor.

"Good luck, dear," Swanson said. "Do your best, and don't tap out."

Robyn nodded and gave him a polite smile. She could hear pounding music coming from the other side of the door. Her stage fright hit her in the gut like a sledgehammer.

"I have to admit I'm a little disappointed in you, Ms. Monroe."

She turned back to Swanson, her heart sinking. "Why?"

"I thought you were better at following orders."

_Shit._ The parking lot fight. He'd found out.

"I don't take orders from kids," she said in a low voice.

"But you do take orders from me."

She bit her lip. "So I should have just let them beat me up?"

"Yes."

She glanced up at him. His eyes were colder than ever. She would always respect him because of what he'd done for Lucy, but that didn't make her less terrified of him.

"I only want what's best for you," he continued. "You're an investment. I always have your best interest in mind. You can trust me. You know that, right?"

_Like hell I can_. She nodded anyway.

The door opened, and Swanson gave her an encouraging shove. By placing one foot in front of the other, she managed to walk down the stairs leading to the ring. People in the audience were probably already making remarks about her size and gender, but she refused to let it get to her. Valkyries didn't care about audiences. Valkyries didn't get stage fright. She was the Valkyrie, and she wasn't afraid of anything.

She stepped inside the octagon-shaped ring and finally got a first look at her opponent. He was about her height but had to be at least twice as heavy. His body was more stocky than athletic, with a lot of muscle hidden beneath the fat. He had short black hair, a black beard, and his naked torso was covered in body hair thick enough to qualify as fur. It was obvious why people called him the Bear.

"You've gotta be kidding me." The Bear looked at her from head to toe, raising his eyebrows. "Don't blame me if I break you in half."

Robyn smirked. She liked when they underestimated her. It only made things easier.

The referee entered the ring. "Okay, let's get this thing started. No eye clawing. No hits below the belt. A clean fight, all right? Obey my commands at all times. Defend yourselves at all times. Let's do this."

The referee backed away from the fighters. Robyn and the Bear stared at each other, waiting for the bell to ring. He was definitely stronger than her, but she had to be faster. No one that heavy could keep up with her. She tried to figure out his main fighting technique from his stance but didn't see any obvious trademarks. According to Cassandra, the Bear had dangerous grips. Wrestler, maybe?

The bell rang. The Bear lunged for her, but she easily dodged his arms. She grinned. Oh yes, she was definitely faster. All she had to do was get him tired and then knock him out. No problem.

For three full minutes, she did nothing offensive whatsoever. She still hadn't figured out what technique her opponent was using, but she wasn't worried. The audience was on her side, cheering with excitement every time she dodged the Bear's attacks. Her rhythm was flawless, and the Bear never even touched her.

It didn't take long before the Bear was gasping for air. The parts of his face that weren't covered by his beard were flushed red, and his movements were getting sloppy. Her plan was working. It was time to make a move.

She waited until the Bear lunged for her again, then dodged the attack and spun around to kick him in the chin. It was a textbook-perfect kick, and it _should_ have knocked him off his feet. It didn't. Instead of plummeting to the ground, the Bear stubbornly remained standing. Robyn, on the other hand, felt a sharp, pulsating pain spread through her foot. Her eyes widened. Were his bones made of cement or something?

The Bear grabbed her ankle and dragged her closer. She stumbled toward him. This was bad. Really, really bad. Before she could pull back, he'd wrapped his left arm around her neck, locking her in a chokehold.

She struggled against his arm, trying to free herself. This was exactly what was _not_ supposed to happen. __ She burrowed her nails deep in the Bear's arm. The pain was already taking over her mind and clouding her vision. She couldn't think. Her brain was too focused on getting air.

"Just tap out, you crazy bitch," the Bear grunted.

His words cleared her mind for a moment. _The Valkyrie never taps out._ She jutted her hip out and bent over, pulling the Bear over her shoulder in one final act of strength. He lost his grip on her neck and landed hard on his back. She followed him down and wrapped her legs around his neck in a triangle choke. The Bear flailed wildly with his arms and legs, trying to free himself by hitting her wherever he could reach. His punches hurt like hell, but she refused to let go. She only had to hold out for a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds.

Eight seconds later, the Bear slammed his hand down on the mat twice to admit his defeat. It was over. She'd won. She released him and stood up, clearing her throat. Chokeholds always hurt. She glanced at the referee, who nodded and gave a sign to the commentator.

"The Bear is out," the commentator yelled to the audience. "I repeat, the Bear is out! Let's greet tonight's first-class champion: the Valkyrie!"

Robyn left the ring as the Bear's manager entered with a medical team. Swanson was waiting for her right outside the cage.

"Well done, dear," he said and patted her on the cheek. "I knew you could do it."

She gave him a quick smile and made her way toward one of the passageways. Her stage fright was kicking in again. She quickly hurried up the stairs and back through the backstage area to get to the locker room. The silence was a blessing to her nerves. She put on her hoodie and tried to put on her shoes, but the foot she'd used to kick the Bear was too swollen to fit in her sneaker.

"Great," she muttered, putting the shoes back in her backpack. "Andrew is going to freak out."

• • •

Andrew was on her the moment she left the backstage area.

"Are you having difficulty breathing?" He tilted her chin up to check her throat. "Are you coughing? Are there any changes in your voice? Say something."

"Hi?" Robyn said hesitantly, a little worried about the wild look in his eyes.

"Good. Your voice is fine. That's good. Did you black out?" His hands wandered from her chin to her neck, where he continued to examine her spine.

"No. It was just a simple chokehold. Shit, Andrew, calm down."

"He _strangled_ you! Do you know how sensitive the human throat is?"

Robyn flicked him on the forehead. "I'm fine. You have to calm down."

Andrew took a deep breath, and the panic in his eyes faded a little. Then his gaze fell on her shoeless feet. "You're not walking on that foot before I've checked it out." He reached out his arms with the obvious intent to pick her up.

"You're _not_ carrying me," she snapped, taking a step back. "My future opponents are somewhere in here. I can't show any signs of weakness. I have to walk out of here on my own."

Before Andrew could protest, she'd already hurried past him into the crowd. She pulled the hood of her sweater over her head again, but considering the highly intoxicated state of the audience, they probably wouldn't have recognized her without it either. Their night had only just begun, and most of them were now focusing on getting as drunk as possible as fast as possible.

She had to stop for a short break once they entered the staircase leading up to the pizzeria. Her rush of adrenaline was coming to an end, and the pain in her foot kept getting worse.

Andrew looked at her with both worry and annoyance in his eyes. "Robyn—"

"I'm fine." She slowly began to walk up the stairs.

"Robyn. As your physician, I am now ordering you not to walk on that foot. No one's here but us. Drop the act, okay? I know you're in pain. You don't have to pretend when you're with me."

She turned around, glaring at him. "I said I'm—"

"No, you're not fine," he interrupted. "You can either jump onto my back, or I'm throwing you over my shoulder. You pick one. Either way, you're not taking another step with that damn foot."

They glared at each other. Robyn got the sudden impulse to take a step just to piss him off, but the look on his face made her reconsider.

"Fine," she finally muttered when he moved toward her. "On the back, you blackmailing piece of shit."

Andrew turned around to let her climb onto his back, but not until she'd caught the triumphant grin playing on his lips.

"Why do we always end up like this?" She reluctantly wrapped her arms around his neck. "I think this is the third, maybe fourth time you've carried me."

"You're the one who keeps getting hurt," he said sourly. "I'm just doing what I can to help you. I can't carry your responsibilities, but I can carry you."

"Really?" She couldn't stop herself from laughing. "You're dropping _Lord of the Rings_ quotes in the middle of a serious conversation?"

His earlobes flushed red. "It's a good quote."

"Yes, but you're still a dork."

Robyn leaned down to rest her head in the crook of his neck. Beneath the lingering smell of sweat and booze, she could still sense Andrew's usual scent of Earl Grey. She took a deep breath, feeling calmer already.

He carried her through the pizzeria and the parking lot, refusing to let her down until they'd reached his car.

"Sit. I've got a first-aid kit in the trunk." He opened the door to the backseat. Robyn rolled her eyes but did as he said.

"It's just a little sprain." She said it even though she knew it wouldn't make a difference. Andrew had gone straight into doctor mode and would continue to take care of her until he was sure she was okay. It was kind of sweet and kind of infuriating at the same time. She sighed. The only way to make him stop pestering her was to let him do his thing.

He kneeled on the ground next to the car and gently grabbed her foot. "You're right," he said after carefully examining it. "It's just a sprain. I still need to put a compression on it to stop the swelling, though. I'm a bit worried about post-strangulation injuries . . . Could you stay over at my place tonight?"

The blood rushed to her face. "What?"

"Just so I can keep an eye on your injuries. You'd stay in the guest room, of course." He scratched the back of his head, looking a bit flustered. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I see." Her cheeks grew even hotter. _Get your mind out of the gutter, Robyn._ "I guess that's okay. I don't like to be in the apartment when Lucy isn't there anyway."

Andrew began to wrap her foot and ankle in an elastic bandage. "Is she moving out?"

"I don't know. I haven't spoken with her since our fight last week." She fixed her eyes on the ground. "I get why she's angry with me, and I don't blame her if she hates me right now. I just wish she'd pick up the phone so I'd know she's okay."

"I talked to her today in the arena," he said. "She seemed to be doing all right."

"What? Lucy's here?" Her body tensed up so suddenly she almost kicked him in the face. She tried to get out of the car, but he blocked her way.

"Be still," he grunted.

"I have to see her. Move, damn it!" She pulled her foot out of his grip.

"She's not here anymore! She left with her fiancé right after the fight ended. Sit down and let me do my job!"

She bit her lip, forcing her body to relax. Lucy had been there. Lucy had actually been there. "Did she say something? About the fight we had? About anything?"

"Not really. She didn't seem angry, though, and she definitely didn't seem to hate you. She was worried, just like me."

Robyn nodded. "That's . . .that's good. Maybe she'll come home soon." She was glad Andrew was concentrating on her foot, because she really didn't want anyone to see the tears of relief in her eyes. Not even him.

_"You don't have to pretend when you're with me."_ Easier said than done. __ She'd had to be strong for Lucy all her life, and that strength had become a part of her identity. She wasn't sure if she had it in her to show weakness anymore.

But then again, she had let him carry her. That had to count for something.

Andrew was still kneeling on the snow-covered ground, probably ruining his gray slacks permanently. He didn't even seem to notice the snow. Robyn smiled. She wasn't sure if she would ever be able to tear down the impenetrable walls she'd built around herself, but for his sake, she was willing to try. She owed him at least that much.

_Please don't give up on me._

# Chapter Nine

"I'm fine. I really am," Robyn said, yawning widely.

"Of course you are." Andrew focused on the road, fighting to keep his emotions under control.

"Technically, he didn't strangle me. He choked me. There's a difference," she said, as if she could sense his anger.

The image of the Bear's hairy, sweaty arm wrapped around Robyn's neck flashed before Andrew's eyes again. "Not from a medical point of view." He clenched his jaw. He'd given an oath to never harm another person, but for that man, he'd been willing to make an exception.

"Are you mad at me?"

He glanced at her, surprised by the insecurity in her voice. She chewed on her lip, her eyes fixed on her hands in her lap.

"No, of course not," he lied. It wasn't fair, but he _was_ mad at her. She kept putting herself in situations like this, where he had to watch her get injured by men twice her size without being able to help her. A part of him was constantly angry with her because of that.

"Does this happen after all your fights?" he asked, changing the topic. "Do you always get this tired?"

"Yeah." She yawned again. "It's embarrassing."

He shook his head. _It's adorable._ She closed her eyes again, and he felt his anger fade away. Robyn had strange ways of showing trust, and her falling asleep right next to him was one of them. He found it oddly flattering.

When they reached his house, Robyn was fast asleep. Andrew gently scooped her up and carried her inside. Once again, he marveled over how light she was. Being able to carry her around like this was convenient and weirdly satisfying, but from a medical point of view, she could definitely use some extra pounds.

"I should shower. I'm sweaty and disgusting," she mumbled when he placed her on the guest-room bed. Tiny jumped up next to her and rubbed his head against her shoulder.

"It's okay. You can shower in the morning." Andrew smiled. "There are clean towels in the bathroom. I'll hang one of my shirts in there, in case you want something clean to wear tomorrow. Go to sleep."

She nodded. When he returned with the shirt, she was already snoring. The cat had curled up next to her, purring contentedly. They looked completely at home.

"Good night." He stroked her messy bangs away from her eyes. She'd let her hair out again, and her red locks were all over the place as usual. She sighed in her sleep, her lips almost forming a smile. Moments like this, he had a hard time understanding how she could be so incredibly dangerous in her waking state.

The relief hit him all at once. She was fine. She was actually fine. He'd watched her go up against a man twice her size, and she was _fine._

Before he could stop himself, he'd leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. His eyes lingered on her face—her long eyelashes, that cute little nose, her lips . . .

Andrew quickly backed away from the bed.

_She's a patient, you unprofessional disgrace of a doctor_.

"Shut up," he muttered, but his inner critic was right. Though the relationship between him and Robyn had evolved into something . . . _different,_ it had started out as a relationship between a doctor and a patient. What he was doing—whatever that may be—was wrong on so many levels. He hung the shirt on the bathroom door and left the room without looking back.

• • •

_When Robyn opened the door to the apartment, she knew something was wrong. She wasn't sure how she knew it—she just knew._

_"Mom?" She dropped her backpack on the floor. "You haven't forgotten about Lucy's parent-teacher conference tonight, right? You promised her you'd go."_

_The apartment remained silent._

_"Mom?"_

_The living room was empty, and so were both of the bedrooms. An empty glass sat on the coffee table, and next to it was an empty bottle of wine. Nothing out of the ordinary—yet Robyn's heart was pounding in her chest. Something was wrong. Terribly, irrevocably wrong._

_With shaking hands, she touched the handle of the bathroom door. "Mom?"_

Robyn woke up screaming. She quickly clamped her hands over her mouth, muffling her voice. It wasn't the first time she had that nightmare, and she knew it wouldn't be the last. Every time she slept for longer than six hours straight she seemed to end up in that dream, revisiting the death of her mother. How could she have forgotten to set her alarm? She crossed her arms, trying to make her body stop trembling.

"Robyn? Robyn, what's wrong?"

_Fuck._ Andrew entered the room with a wild look in his eyes, wearing a long, blue bathrobe and glasses with thick, black frames.

"Nothing." She hid her shaking hands under the blanket. "Just a nightmare."

Andrew's gaze followed the motion, the worry turning into pity. He took a step forward.

"If you try to hug me again, I swear I'll break that perfect face of yours."

He stopped in his tracks, furrowing his brow. Then he grinned. "Perfect face?"

Her eyes widened as she realized her slip. Her cheeks burned. "Shut up. I just woke up. I can't be held accountable for anything I say."

He shrugged, looking annoyingly smug. "Whatever you say. Would you like some Chinese leftovers for breakfast?"

Her stomach growled at the mere thought of food. When was the last time she ate? She couldn't remember. "That sounds great, actually."

Andrew nodded, smiled, and left the room.

She burrowed her face in her hands and groaned. _Perfect face._ She had to get her shit together.

After a quick shower, she put on Andrew's shirt and headed toward the kitchen. The smell of deep-fried whatever-it-was made her mouth water, and the growling in her stomach got even louder.

Robyn knew she should be eating more, especially with the tournament going on. Every time she got stressed out about something, she forgot to eat at regular times. Lucy was still staying at her fiancé's, and Robyn was beginning to worry she'd never come back home. Lucy being away had caused Robyn's already lousy eating habits—she was a horrible cook—to become even worse. She'd survived on sandwiches and scrambled eggs all week.

When she entered the kitchen, Andrew looked up from his cup of tea—and froze. He got a strange look in his eyes as he took her in, especially when his gaze reached her bare legs. She fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. The shirt was way too big for her and reached halfway down her thighs. She'd thought it was covering enough to be worn without pants, but judging by the look in Andrew's eyes, she'd been wrong.

Her cheeks burned, but she refused to give in to the urge to go and put on a pair of sweatpants. A part of her really, _really_ enjoyed seeing Andrew react like this.

"Shit." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, the weird look was gone. "Sit. I want to check your injuries."

She rolled her eyes but did as he said, taking a seat in one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm fine."

"You say those words so often they're starting to lose their meaning." He tenderly moved her still wet hair away from her neck. His eyes darkened when he looked at the bruises, but his hands remained gentle. After he'd checked her neck, he kneeled on the floor to take a look at her foot. It hurt a little when he removed the bandage, but most of the swelling had already gone down.

He gave her a relieved smile. "You're going to be fine."

"Told you so."

"Well, you're not exactly trustworthy when it comes to this." He scanned her from head to toe. It was nothing like the look he'd given her when she'd entered the kitchen—this time, it was Dr. Alexander who was observing her, not Andrew. Robyn couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.

"You've lost weight."

_Oh, crap._ "No, I haven't," she lied.

Andrew cocked an eyebrow. She crossed her arms, her cheeks heating up again.

"It's rude to comment on other people's weight," she finally said. "It's none of your business."

He stood up and crossed his arms, matching her pose. "I'm your doctor. That makes it my business."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

They glared at each other for a moment. Robyn tried to make her stare as menacing as possible, but it didn't seem to affect Andrew at all.

"Were you always this annoying?" she said with a sigh.

He grinned. "You bring out the worst in me."

Andrew took the cartons of leftovers from the microwave and placed them on the table. She eyed them curiously. Fried shrimp and spring rolls. Perfect.

Before they could start eating, a loud howl came from the guest room.

"Tiny?" Robyn got up from her chair and ran to the guest room. Tiny was sitting on the windowsill, staring out the window with longing in his eyes. He scratched on the glass and let out another heartrending whine.

"I'm sorry," she said and picked him up in her arms. "You're going to have to be an indoor cat for a while, okay?"

Tiny howled again.

"I know, it sucks, but that's how it is. Calm down, Tiny. Just calm down." She hummed softly to the cat, slowly stroking his fur. She'd always comforted Lucy like this back when they were kids, and somehow, it seemed to work on the cat too. After a while, Tiny stopped struggling and began to purr. She smiled.

"See? That wasn't too bad, was it?" She carefully put the cat down on the bed. When she turned around, she noticed Andrew standing in the doorway. Surprisingly enough, he didn't seem to think she was silly. In fact, he actually looked kind of impressed.

"You weren't supposed to see that," she muttered.

"I'm glad I did." He gave her a warm smile. "You're amazing, you know that?"

She blushed. "I just wanted him to stop howling."

Something beeped in her backpack. When she pulled out her cell, she found a new text from Lucy.

"Lucy's back!" she exclaimed. "I have to go. I have to get home." She put on her sweatpants, grabbed her backpack, and ran to the hallway.

"Hey, be careful," he yelled after her. "You'll make your foot worse."

"It's just a sprain," she yelled back. "I'll wash the shirt. Thanks for letting me stay here."

"Slow down." He followed her into the hallway. "At least let me drive you home."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'll see you later."

Before Andrew could say anything else, she'd already closed the door behind her.

• • •

Andrew found himself all alone in his house again. Had it always been this empty? __ For a moment, he almost regretted calling Lucy. He wouldn't have minded having Robyn stay a little bit longer.

"Shit," he muttered. He'd told Jason he'd keep his hands off Robyn, but when he'd seen her in his shirt, he'd had a hard time keeping his word. The shirt had been way too big on her, especially over her shoulders. He'd never seen her look so small and delicate before. And then there were her legs. She had the most amazing legs he'd ever seen.

He groaned. She was a patient. He shouldn't want her like this. He couldn't.

A loud howl echoed through the house, reminding Andrew that he was no longer living alone.

"Please don't," he groaned, heading toward the guest room. The cat was sitting on the bed, wailing at the top of his lungs.

"Hi, Tiny," Andrew said, using his best calming doctor voice. "What's the matter this time?"

The cat paused for a moment to give him an angry glare. Then he started howling again.

Andrew sat on the bed next to the cat. "Robyn's not here right now. Let's . . .let's not do this, okay?"

No reaction. He looked over at Tiny's food and water bowls. They were both half full, so the cat probably wasn't hungry or thirsty. His next attempt was to pat Tiny on the head, but the cat shied away from his hand.

"What do you want?" He sighed as he lay down on the bed. "Robyn isn't here. I wish she was, but she isn't. What the hell do you want from me?" He recalled the way Robyn had calmed him down earlier and groaned. "You're really going to make me do this, aren't you?"

He tried to remember what Robyn had hummed to the cat. He'd recognized the melody, but he hadn't been able to name it.

"This would be a lot easier if you would quiet down a little." He covered his ears with his hands, digging deep into his memories. The song was in there, somewhere.

"Come on," he said, trying to think through the cat's loud wailing. "Come on, come o—"

Then it hit him.

His mom had brought him to the ballet once, and they'd watched Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake._ Ballet hadn't exactly been his thing, but he still remembered how impressed he'd been of the dancers' graceful movements. Why Robyn had been humming classical, non-vocal music to a cat, he had no idea, but it didn't matter. All he cared about was making the cat calm down.

He began to softly hum the main theme of the ballet. _Please work._

Tiny's ears twitched. He blinked at Andrew, looking slightly confused. Then, he finally shut up. _Thank you_. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._

Tiny stood up on the bed, stretched, and then climbed up onto Andrew's chest.

"Hello, there."

Tiny sent him another glare before settling down, rolling up in a furry little circle.

"Fine, I'll continue," Andrew said with a short laugh. The warm weight on his chest was strangely comforting. Though he'd never really understood the point of pets before, he had to admit that this was pretty nice. He still had to come up with a way to make Robyn stop fighting, but with the cat on his chest, his worry seemed a bit more distant.

"I'm sorry for lashing out like that," he said. "You were just feeling lonely, weren't you?"

Tiny blinked. Andrew carefully reached out his hand. When the cat showed no sign of hostility, he slowly stroked its fur.

"I know that feeling," he mumbled. "She's addictive, isn't she? It's like she fills a craving you didn't even know you had."

He wasn't sure how it had happened, but Robyn was gradually filling the void in his life—and he was getting addicted to it. He was getting addicted to _her._

"I'll keep her safe," he said, making a promise to both himself and the cat. He'd lost people he cared about before, and he wasn't going to let that happen again. No matter what happened—no matter what he had to do—he wouldn't lose her.

• • •

When Robyn opened the door to her apartment, she was hit by the welcoming smell of pancakes.

"I'm home," she shouted, dumping her backpack on the floor.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Lucy yelled back from the kitchen.

"Nope." Warmth filled her chest. All she wanted was for things to be normal again, and having breakfast with Lucy was a great start.

She went to the kitchen and sat down at the table. Her sister was standing at the stove, humming a little to herself. Lucy placed the final pancake on a plate and turned around.

"I missed you," she said and put the plate down on the table.

"I missed you, too," Robyn said. "I'm sorry. For everything."

"It's okay." Lucy gave her a genuine smile. "I get it. You don't know Mike, so this is all very sudden for you. But nothing's going to change between us, okay? I'm not moving out yet, and I won't marry him until I'm done studying."

"I don't want to tie you down. If you want to move, I won't stop you." Robyn forced the words out of her mouth. She didn't want to live alone. She wanted to have breakfast with her sister in the morning, and she wanted to fall asleep at night knowing Lucy was only a thin wall away—but not as much as she wanted her sister to be happy.

"Don't be silly. I'm not going anywhere." Lucy's voice took on its authoritative teacher tone, making counterarguments impossible. "Now eat your pancakes. I bet you haven't eaten properly all week."

Robyn rolled her eyes and tried to frown, but her relief wouldn't let her. Everything would go back to normal, after all. _Thank God._

"What made you decide to come back?" she asked carefully.

"It's your birthday soon. I couldn't miss that, could I?" Lucy smiled. "And besides, Andrew called me this morning. That man can be really convincing when he wants to be."

Robyn smiled back. "Tell me about it."

Turning twenty-three wasn't that big of a deal, but Robyn still looked forward to it. Every year, Lucy gave her the exact same gift, and every year, it was the best gift in the world.

Lucy tilted her head to the side, eyeing her curiously. "I'm not used to seeing you this happy. It's nice." A glimmer of mischievousness flashed in her eyes. "I wonder what caused that change."

"I'm just happy you're home again." It was the truth—or at least a big part of it. She wasn't sure how, but Andrew had managed to bring the person she loved the most back into her life. For the first time in over a week, she could finally relax.

# Chapter Ten

"Wait, let me get this straight—you have a crush on a damn Eden kid?" Ana asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not a crush," Robyn muttered. "It's . . . Well, I'm not sure what it is, but it's not a crush."

Robyn leaned back on the couch in Ana's tattoo parlor. She'd just filled Ana in on the whole Andrew situation, including the part about him being a former Eden student. The only thing she'd left out was the tournament and her promotion to first class. She knew it wasn't right to hide it from Ana, but she simply didn't want to disappoint her best friend. Or make her angry.

Ana threw her head back and burst out laughing. "Oh, sweetie," she wheezed. "An Eden kid? Your fifteen-year-old self would never have forgiven you for this."

Robyn frowned as Ana lost it again, nearly crying with laughter.

"I didn't plan for this to happen, okay?" She glared at her best friend.

"You and your choice in men. First it's that idiotic fighter guy, and now this." Ana shook her head. "I'm so glad I'm not straight."

"That 'fighter guy' wasn't just a fighter, you know. Drake's actually pretty smart. He used to study law and criminology and stuff." _And then he just disappeared for three years without saying a word._

Ana rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. He was a dickhead, and you know it. Otherwise, he wouldn't have taken off like that. Now shut up and let me give you your birthday present."

She grinned widely and grabbed Robyn's wrist. Before Robyn could object, she'd been dragged inside the room with the tattoo equipment.

"You're giving me a tattoo?" Robyn asked, both excited and worried.

"No. Well, yeah, someday I will, but not today. I've got something else for you. Take off your sweater, sit down, and close your eyes."

Robyn did as she was told, even though Ana's mischievous grin freaked her out a little.

"What are you doing?" she asked as Ana rolled up her tank top, baring her stomach. The tattoo chair was tilted back, making her lie flat on her back. She kept her eyes closed, listening carefully to Ana's every move. She could easily keep track of Ana's position in the room thanks to the clicking of her high-heeled boots.

"You'll see," Ana answered. "This is gonna feel a bit cold."

Robyn flinched as Ana wiped her stomach with a damp cloth. "What the hell?" she yelped. She tried to sit up, but Ana pushed her back down again.

"Just trust me, all right? You'll love it, I promise."

"I don't trust anyone," Robyn muttered before closing her eyes again. "Especially not you. You're insane."

Ana laughed. "Fair enough."

Robyn felt her draw something on her stomach, and then something pinched her right above her belly button. _What the hell is she doing?_ She forced herself to keep her eyes closed.

"Would you look at that," Ana said a few seconds later. "Damn, I'm good."

Robyn opened her eyes and looked down at her stomach. She blinked, barely believing her eyes. "You can't be serious. Is that real? Is this . . . Did you just . . . What the hell, Ana?"

Ana took a step back to admire her work. "I'm expanding the business. I do piercings now, too, and you're my first client. What do you think?"

"You can't just pierce someone without telling them first!" Robyn stared at the silver barbell in her belly button. "What if it gets infected? What if I get stuck in something during a fight?"

"Calm down, would you? It's super easy to take care of, and you can just put some tape over it before the fights." Ana handed Robyn a small brochure from a stack of papers on her desk. "You have the flattest stomach in Chrystal Valley. It would be a crime not to put some bling in it. You have no idea how jealous all the hipsters are gonna be."

Robyn rolled her eyes. She got up from the chair and took a look at herself in the full-length mirror on the wall. The scars were still as ugly as ever, but the silver barbell seemed to move the attention away from them. Well . . .she didn't hate it. In fact, the piercing made her feel kind of hot.

"Well, look at that—that was definitely a smile." Ana threw her arm around Robyn's shoulders. "I told you you'd like it."

"You were right," Robyn admitted. "You're still insane, though."

"I know." Ana grinned. "And as your only insane friend, I had to make sure you did something insane on your birthday. It would have been easier to give you a bottle of vodka and a night out, but I thought you'd prefer a piercing."

"True." Robyn smiled. "Thanks, Ana."

"You're welcome. Hey, have you opened Lucy's gift yet?"

Robyn nodded.

"Same gift as every year?"

Robyn nodded again, her smile widening.

Ana shook her head. "You're the only person I know who'd get this happy over a pair of shoes. Now get going. I know you want to get home to try them out." She gave Robyn a shove toward the exit. "And hey, maybe you'll get a gift from that Eden kid, too. Maybe he'll even give you a ki—"

"Don't even start." Robyn gave Ana a playful punch in the shoulder. "I'll see you later."

"Hey." Ana grabbed her wrist. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, she looked uncharacteristically serious. "Do you have anything you want to tell me?"

Robyn's eyes widened. _She knows about the tournament. I'm dead._ "No, no, I don't think so, no."

"If you say so." Ana grinned again, but her eyes didn't have their usual glimmer of humor in them. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

"Right." Robyn felt a wave of guilt wash over her, but she still couldn't bring herself to tell Ana about the tournament. She left the tattoo parlor with a bad feeling in her gut. _I'm a horrible friend,_ she thought as she jogged home. _I don't deserve a friend like Ana._ Thankfully, her brand-new shoes were waiting for her at home. She would definitely need them to calm down.

• • •

Andrew placed the plastic bag containing Robyn's neatly wrapped birthday gift next to him in the front seat before starting the car. He glanced at it nervously as he drove. Was he crossing a line with this? Maybe. Was he going to give her the damn birthday present anyway? Absolutely.

He'd been at work every time she'd come over to the house to take care of Tiny, and they'd only jogged together once since the tournament fight. The guest room still held her scent, but it wasn't enough. He missed her. Even though he didn't want to admit it to himself, the main reason he'd gotten her a birthday present in the first place had been to have a reason to go and see her.

When he rang the doorbell to the Monroe sisters' apartment, Lucy opened the door.

"Andrew? What are you doing here?" She glanced at the plastic bag in his hand and smiled. "Is that a birthday present for Robyn?"

"Yeah." He scratched the back of his head. "Do you know where she is?"

"She's in the garage." Lucy's smile turned slightly mischievous. "You should go down there. If you're quiet enough, you'll get to see something amazing. She's leaving for work soon, so you have to hurry."

"Yeah, sure." Andrew gave her a quizzical look before heading downstairs. Lucy giggled behind his back.

He hurried down the stairs and carefully opened the door to the underground garage. He could hear music coming from the other side of the room. At first, he didn't recognize the song because of the strange echoes bouncing off the cement walls, but then it hit him. _Swan Lake?_ He went around a corner and then stopped, almost dropping his plastic bag on the ground.

The secluded corner of the garage was empty of cars. Instead, there were dumbbells and weights spread out all over the place. An old CD player stood on the ground among the gym equipment, playing one of the pieces from the _Swan Lake_ ballet. None of these things caught Andrew's eye for longer than a millisecond. All he could focus on was Robyn.

She was wearing a tank top and sweatpants as usual. On her feet was a pair of pale-pink ballet slippers. She stood on her tiptoes, her body bent in a pose Andrew would have considered impossible if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. Then, she was off, soaring through the air in a graceful jump. She spun around, landed, and struck another impossible pose on one leg. Every movement was in perfect synchronization with the music, and her messy hair flowed around her head like a fiery halo.

The scene was magical. For a moment, Andrew completely forgot they were in an abandoned garage. It was like he was eleven again, watching a ballet with his mother. He didn't know much about dancing, but to him, Robyn was just as good as those professional dancers he'd seen back then. His eyes followed her every move. It all made sense now. Her dance-like fighting style, her insane cardio, her singing—it was all because of the wonder taking place in front of him. Because she was a ballerina.

Andrew had no idea how long he watched Robyn dance. Time seemed to lose all meaning when her body followed the music so perfectly. He recognized the dance as one of Odette's solo numbers. Robyn's face expressed the emotions portrayed in the music, showing the angst of the heartbroken white swan. She was gorgeous.

The piece's final notes faded into silence, and Robyn came to a stop. She took a deep, shivering breath. Pearls of sweat covered her skin. Her cheeks were flushed red, and she wore a proud smile on her lips. She lowered her heels to the ground. Then she noticed Andrew.

"Shit," she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "I didn't know you were there."

"That was amazing," he said. "Absolutely amazing. I . . . Words can't express how amazing that was, okay?"

"I'm pretty rusty." Her blush deepened in color. "Lucy always gives me a pair of pointe shoes on my birthday. I usually wear them out in less than a year, and pieces like this are impossible without proper shoes. I haven't done _Swan Lake_ in almost three months."

Andrew tried to come up with something to say, but he was practically speechless.

"You didn't look rusty to me," he finally blurted out. "You were great. Really, really great."

"Thanks." She gave him a quick smile and crouched on the ground, untying the pink slippers. "What are you even doing here? How did you find me?"

"Lucy told me to come down here," he said. "I came over to give you a birthday present."

Robyn pulled the shoes off her feet and stood up. "You shouldn't have."

"But I did. Happy birthday, Robyn." He smiled and handed her the wrapped box from the bag. She took it in her hands, eyeing it skeptically.

"Fancy," she mumbled, untying the white bow and unwrapping the turquoise paper.

Inside the box was a knife. She picked it up and unfolded the blade from the handle. Andrew eyed her carefully, waiting for her reaction.

"It's beautiful," she said, unfolding and folding the blade again.

"I know it's just a pocketknife, but I would feel a lot better if you brought it to your tournament fights," he said. "There are a lot of dangerous people over there. I know you're a great fighter, but I still think you should have a weapon of some sort."

She gave him a warm, genuine smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome." He cleared his throat. His heart still skipped a beat every time she smiled like that. "I don't want to be an enabler, so don't think this means I approve of the fighting, all right? I just want you to take care of yourself."

"I know, I know." She rolled her eyes. "What's your deal about street fighting anyway? I don't want to be a fighter forever, no, but I'm okay with it for now. It's my job, and I'm good at it. What's wrong with that?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He reached out and gently touched her neck, where her skin was still blue and purple from the Bear's chokehold. He felt her swallow hard, but she didn't move away from him. "I care about you. A lot. Every time you step into the ring, I have to watch you get hurt by men twice your size. It doesn't even matter if you win or lose—somehow, you always end up getting hurt anyway. How would you feel if you had to watch someone you care about get injured over and over without being able to protect them?"

She disappeared into her own thoughts, most likely thinking about Lucy. A wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "Oh."

"Yeah. Is it really that strange that I hate street fighting?"

"I guess not. I've never looked at it that way before." She fixed her gaze on the ground. "I . . .I didn't know you cared about me that much. But that's how you treat all your patients, right?"

"No, it's not." He tucked a ringlet of her messy hair behind her ear and smiled. "You're special."

"Oh," she said again. Her blush deepened in color, and she clearly didn't know what to say or do. He grinned. _She's so cute when she's flustered._

"I have to go to work," she finally said. "Thank you for the birthday present. And for, you know, caring about me and stuff." She stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing out of the garage.

For the second time that night, he was speechless. He touched his cheek, barely believing Robyn's lips had been there just moments ago.

Andrew left the garage and walked back to his car. He sank down into the driver's seat with a satisfied sigh. Even if this was as far as he'd ever go with Robyn Monroe, he knew he would always remember how her lips had felt against his skin. _Perfect,_ he thought, absentmindedly touching his cheek again. _They felt perfect._

# Chapter Eleven

_I can't believe he saw me dance._ Robyn pinched the bridge of her nose. _I can't believe I kissed him._

It was an early Saturday morning, the day after her birthday. Robyn was sitting on the ground outside her apartment, waiting for Andrew to finish his three-mile lap. She'd finished the lap before him as usual, so she'd already started stretching without him. The asphalt was free from snow, but the ground was still cold enough to give her goose bumps through the thin fabric of her sweatpants. She kept an eye on the opening in the hedge. Andrew hadn't been too far behind her this time, and she suspected this might be the day he reached the twenty-five-minute goal.

When they'd first started training together, she'd dreaded having actual fighting lessons with him. The mere thought of doing something as intimate as sparring with Andrew had made her nervous and uncomfortable. Something had changed since then. She wasn't sure how it had happened, but she'd begun to trust him. Andrew was changing her, and she was pretty sure it was for the better. She was happier and more confident nowadays. _It's still weird, though._ She changed her pose to stretch the back of her left thigh. _I'm going soft._

The knife Andrew had given her fell out of her pants pocket as she changed position. She picked it up and unfolded the blade from the handle. The knife wasn't big, but the blade was sharp, and she liked how light it was. She folded the blade against the handle again, admiring the smoothness of the mechanism. It was a beautiful and very considerate gift. She folded the blade again and put the knife back in her pocket. It wasn't a toy, but she still couldn't help playing with it from time to time.

Robyn could hear Andrew's panting long before he staggered through the opening in the hedge.

"Time?" he wheezed as he collapsed on the ground next to her.

She checked her watch and smiled. "Twenty-four minutes, forty-five seconds. Congrats."

He lay down flat on his back and let out a relieved sigh. "Finally."

"Ready to begin your real training?"

"Soon," he groaned. "Just . . .not right now. Soon. When I can breathe again." He rolled demonstratively onto his side, looking as limbless as a rag doll.

Robyn rolled her eyes. "Stop being so overdramatic." She changed position again, leaning her upper body over her right leg to stretch out her other thigh.

"You're one of those flexible people who can pull off a full split, aren't you?" he commented, eyeing her outstretched leg.

"I used to be." Robyn didn't think of herself as flexible, not compared to how flexible she'd been when she'd had a teacher to help her stretch. She'd had to stop taking ballet lessons when her mother died, and even though she'd tried to keep herself in shape, she knew her body wasn't what it used to be.

"You should do something with your dancing," he continued. "You're amazing. I'm sure any dancing group would want you."

She snorted. "I haven't been to a ballet lesson in six years. Trust me, I'm not good enough to join a proper ballet company. Not anymore."

Andrew nodded before disappearing into his thoughts. She shook her head, focusing on her stretching again. She knew he would return to the real world sooner or later.

"Don't you miss it?" he asked after a minute or two of silence. "The ballet, I mean?"

She cast him a quick glance. He was looking at her intently, with genuine curiosity in his eyes. She swallowed hard. His questions were reaching very personal territory. Had it been any other person, she already would have tried to change the subject. She didn't like talking about ballet. Talking about ballet _hurt._ It was a dream that would never come true, and most of the time, she wished she could just forget about it. But she never did. It was always there.

"Yeah . . .I miss it a lot," she finally answered, fixing her eyes on the ground. "I always thought I'd start taking lessons again when I got my mom's shit sorted out, but then life kind of got in the way. It's okay, though. Becoming a ballerina was just a silly childhood dream. I'm over it."

She tried to sound nonchalant, but she probably wasn't very convincing. The dream was always there in the back of her mind. It was why she kept practicing in the garage, even though she didn't even have a teacher. Holding on to such a juvenile dream was stupid, but she still couldn't bring herself to let go of it. The dancing was a part of her. Letting go of it would be like cutting out a piece of her soul.

"You won't be in debt forever, you know," Andrew said. "When Lucy's done studying and you stop fighting, you could start taking lessons again. I think you'd make a great ballerina."

"Maybe I will." Robyn gave him another small, unconvincing smile. _And maybe hell will freeze over._ "Thank you," she added anyway. Andrew didn't know anything about the elitism of the ballet scene, but his confidence still made her feel a bit better.

Andrew got back up on his feet with a loud groan. "All right. Let's start the real training."

She nodded. "Follow me."

She walked toward the garage with Andrew following right behind her. She wasn't exactly sure what she was going to teach him, but any change in Andrew's fighting style would be an improvement. A smile tugged at her lips again as she thought of the punch he'd given one of Swanson's men. She hadn't exaggerated when she'd said it was the worst punch she'd ever seen.

They went to the corner of the garage Robyn had made her own. Andrew had been there before, but she still felt a bit nervous. The garage was her oasis, her _place_. She'd never thought she'd ever willingly bring another person here _._ Things really were different now.

She rolled out a mat on the dirty asphalt floor. She'd found the mat in the dumpsters outside the local high school and had brought it home on her back. It had been in a poor state, but after she'd cleaned it and repaired some of the holes in the fabric it almost looked like new—at least if you squinted. It was ugly but fairly functional.

"I think I'm going to teach you to avoid getting punched first," she said. "Go and stand on the mat."

Andrew looked a little disappointed but nodded anyway. He walked over to her on the mat and struck a pose, holding his fists in front of his face like an amateur boxer.

"Don't do that," she said. "That's an invitation to start a fight. Even if the person threatening you never planned to hit you, a pose like that might make him change his mind."

"Or her," Andrew added, lowering his fists. "I know some girls who could probably kick my ass."

She raised her eyebrows. "Probably?"

He grinned. "Definitely, then."

"That's better."

She took off her hoodie and threw it on the ground. Since her black tank top didn't cover her midriff, she had to get some tape from her backpack to put over the piercing. She could feel Andrew's eyes following her every movement.

"That's . . .new," he said when she'd finished, still staring at her covered belly button. He had a strange look in his eyes, and it reminded her of when she'd entered his kitchen wearing his shirt. Her cheeks heated up, and her heart began to race. She tried to stay calm, but his gaze seemed to set her skin on fire.

"Yeah." She bit her lip. "It was a birthday present from a friend."

"Shit." Andrew ran his fingers through his hair. He took a deep breath and shook his head. The weird look faded away. Robyn tried her hardest not to acknowledge the sudden twist of disappointment in her stomach.

"It looks good on you," he said. "Don't forget to clean it. Piercings like that can cause nasty infections."

"I know. My friend gave me a brochure." She rolled her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Are you ready to begin?"

He nodded. "What do I do?"

"Just stand like you always stand, hands hanging freely. Pay attention to your opponent." She took a quick step toward him and threw a punch, stopping her hand an inch away from his nose. He barely even flinched.

She frowned. "You were supposed to react. Seriously, when a fist comes flying toward your face, most people would at least take a step back."

"I guess I didn't think you'd hurt me," he said with a shrug.

"Really? Think again," she said before flicking him hard on the forehead.

"Ow! What the hell?" He finally took a step back.

"I told you to pay attention. Now try to hit me."

Andrew frowned. "What if I hurt you?"

"You won't."

He took a step toward her and hesitantly raised his fist. She followed his movements, raising her hands as he raised his. When the punch came, she deflected it with the back of her hand and spun around on the outside of his arm. Because of the momentum, Andrew continued forward, almost losing his balance.

"See? It's easy when you pay attention," she said with a smile. "Now it's my turn. If I'm less than three feet away, you have to start moving. Otherwise, you won't have time to stop me. Pay attention and follow my movements."

Andrew turned out to be a quick learner, which didn't surprise Robyn at all. It only took him a few tries to learn how to deflect a punch and move out of the way. After that, it didn't take long before he got cocky, which didn't surprise her either.

"This is pretty easy," he said, grinning proudly as he deflected her punch.

Robyn shook her head. "It's easy when the opponent is predictable. You still have to pay attention, though. You never know if the opponent's gonna do something unpredictable."

When Andrew tried to move past her like she'd taught him, she simply held out her leg. He realized her move way too late and stumbled, and then she only had to give his back a soft shove to send him straight to the mat. He managed to land on his hands and knees, but still let out a grunt of pain.

"Are you okay?" She watched as he turned around and lay down on his back.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I get it. Pay attention. Lesson learned."

"Good." She held out her hand to help him up. When he grabbed it, he suddenly got a mischievous look in his eyes. Before she could pull him up from the floor, he grabbed her forearm with his other hand and began to drag her down. She tried to pull her hand back, but she didn't have much to offer against Andrew's superior weight. She lost her balance and landed right on top of him.

They stared at each other. Andrew looked as surprised as she felt about the fact that his move had actually worked.

"That was pretty smart," she muttered, her cheeks burning. "Using your weight against me, I mean. Rude, but smart." She tried to get up, but Andrew quickly wrapped his arms around her waist. She knew she could probably get away if she wanted to, but a part of her—a frighteningly big part of her—wanted to stay.

She stared down at him. He was gorgeous, as always. Annoyingly, frustratingly gorgeous. The heat between them from before returned in an instant. Her heart began to race, and her impulse control seemed to just fade away. His face was way too close to hers. She reached out her hand and ran her fingers through that perfect hair of his that always annoyed her so much. It was soft and thick, and she loved the way it felt between her fingers. Her gaze fell to his lips, which were just as perfect as his hair. She'd spent way too much time thinking about those perfect damn lips, wondering whether or not they were as soft as they looked. She leaned down, and before she could stop herself, she'd pressed her lips against his.

Her eyes widened when she realized what she had just done. She met his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. He flipped them over, and she found herself lying on her back with him hovering over her. His hand gently stroked some strands of her hair out of her face before settling on the nape of her neck.

He gave her one of those perfect, toe-curling grins of his and tilted her head back. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."

When he finally kissed her, his lips were hard and demanding. She gasped in surprise, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. His hands wandered down her body, igniting fires within her wherever they went. She moaned quietly into his mouth, which only made him kiss her even harder. Her head was spinning. Why hadn't they done this before?

Andrew pulled back for a moment. "Are you okay with this?"

"I don't know," she answered breathlessly. "Do it again."

He smiled at her and was just about to do as she said when a loud beeping sound echoed through the garage. He sat up and pulled his pager from his pants pocket. His eyes went from the pager back to her, then back to the pager, then back to her.

"Damn it." He sighed. "I really have to go. I'm needed at the hospital."

"Oh." Robyn tried her best to hide her disappointment, but she probably wasn't succeeding. She cleared her throat and got up from the ground. "Come on. You have lives to save, right?"

"Right. I guess I'll see you later?"

She nodded. He gave her hand a final squeeze before turning around, heading toward the exit. He only got a couple of steps before he turned back to her.

"Just one more," he said and pressed his lips to hers again. He gave her a quick smile before hurrying out of the garage, leaving a dumbfounded Robyn behind him.

"What the hell just happened?" she mumbled. Her emotions were all over the place. She'd thought Andrew only saw her as a patient and a friend, but that clearly wasn't true. He'd implied that he'd wanted to kiss her for a long time. What was she supposed to do with a statement like that? Just thinking about it made her feel nauseous in a strangely positive way.

She went back inside to take a shower before heading over to Andrew's house to take care of Tiny. At first, she'd felt weird about entering his home without him being there, but using the spare key to let herself in was starting to feel strangely natural. Even after what had just happened in the garage, the thought of being in his home still made her feel safe _._ Feeling safe wasn't something she was used to, but she'd found that she really enjoyed it.

She smiled. She was changing, and it was all because of him.

# Chapter Twelve

Andrew's heart was still racing when he parked his car outside the hospital. He'd promised himself he wouldn't touch her, but that ship had definitely sailed. _I kissed a patient,_ he thought. _I actually kissed a patient._ It was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. __ As a doctor, he was outraged by his behavior. As a man, though? Ecstatic.

He couldn't stop himself from smiling. She'd kissed him first. Even if he'd taken over the situation after that, she'd still kissed him first.

_You're using her,_ commented his inner critic. _She's a patient, and you're using her._

A wave of guilt washed over him, but it wasn't strong enough to take away his excitement. He should be regretting the kiss, but he wasn't. He couldn't. It was his first kiss with Robyn Monroe. How could he possibly regret something like that?

He checked his pager again. The page hadn't told him much, but it seemed like one of the nurses needed him in the ICU.

People wrinkled their noses as he walked by them in the long hospital corridors. He'd thrown a white coat over his reeking training clothes, but he knew it didn't cover the smell completely. _This better be good,_ he thought, entering room 153. The room only had one patient, and next to the patient stood one of the ICU nurses.

"Dr. Alexander!" the nurse said. "I'm so glad you're here."

"You paged me." Andrew approached the bed. "What am I looking at?"

The patient was a white male, but Andrew couldn't even guess his age. The man's face was a swollen, bruised mess, and his body didn't look any better.

"John Doe, early thirties," the nurse said. "He's awake and talking, but he hasn't told us his name yet. Someone found him unconscious in a ditch last night and called an ambulance. He's got several broken bones, bruises, and abrasions. We had to take him to the OR early in the morning for a hemorrhagic stroke. You told us to keep an eye out for possible gang-related injuries, and someone definitely beat this guy up. He's refusing to talk to the police. He says he must have been hit by a car or something—even though his injuries don't match a car crash at all."

"I see," Andrew said. "Thank you for contacting me. Could you give me some time alone with the patient?"

"Of course. Page me if you need me."

When the nurse had closed the door behind her, Andrew turned back to his patient. Most of the man's injuries were located on his head and torso. He'd been beaten to within an inch of his life, and judging by the lack of defense wounds, he hadn't been able to fight back. Andrew swallowed hard. This man hadn't received his injuries in a one-on-one street fight—several opponents had assaulted him at once.

"John Doe, huh?" Andrew asked. "Any chance you'd give me a name?"

"John Doe is fine," the patient answered in a low, raspy voice.

"All right, then. What happened to you, John?"

"I was hit by a car," John Doe deadpanned.

"Of course you were." Andrew picked up the file attached to the bedframe. He felt nauseous as he read about all the times John Doe had flatlined on the operating table. His heart raced. _This could have been Robyn_.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to conceal his inner turmoil. This was a wake-up call. How could he have been so blind? By infiltrating Robyn's life, he'd slowly fallen for the delusion that his presence would somehow be enough to keep her safe. It wouldn't be. If Swanson decided to take her out, it wouldn't matter whether he was by her side or not—she still wouldn't stand a chance.

"Just one more question, okay?" Andrew said, making eye contact with the patient. "Do you work for a man named Richard Swanson?"

John Doe's eyes widened in surprise. He opened his mouth and then closed it again, the shock rendering him speechless.

The man's silence was the only answer Andrew needed. "That's what I thought."

When he turned around to leave, a weak hand grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

"Please, don't call the cops," the man whispered. "I have a kid, okay? A little girl. She's staying with her mother right now, but if you call the cops . . . She's my baby girl. I'm begging you, please don't call the cops on me." Tears fell from his eyes, rolling down his battered face. "I hurt my back a while ago, and I've lost a couple of fights because of it. I'm not as good or as young as I used to be. I knew Swanson wasn't happy with my performance, but I never thought he'd send his thugs after me. I never thought he'd do something like this."

Andrew placed his hand on top of John Doe's. "I won't call the police, but I will bring Swanson down. I swear to you I'll bring him down."

John Doe nodded, retracting his hand from Andrew's sleeve. It was hard to tell, but Andrew thought the man looked relieved.

When Andrew left the hospital, he was still overwhelmed with anger and fear. _It could have been Robyn._ It was all too easy to picture her in the hospital bed instead of this nameless patient. The images flashed before his eyes—Robyn being dumped in a ditch, Robyn's brain bleeding, Robyn flat-lining during surgery, Robyn being transported in a body bag down to the morgue with a name tag saying "Jane Doe" . . .

He clenched his fists. He didn't care what he had to do—he was not going to lose her.

He slid into his car and leaned back against the seat. His heart was pounding in his chest. He needed to smoke. All the promises he'd made to himself about quitting went straight out the window. What difference did a single cigarette make anyway? He _needed_ it. After rolling down the car window, he pulled out a pack of Marlboros from the glove compartment. He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Oh, yes. Much better.

After parking his car in the driveway outside his house, he picked up his cell phone and called Jason.

"You've reached Jason Stevenson's phone," Jason's voice mail answered after a couple of rings. "Please leave a message after the beep."

"Hey, it's Andrew. I've got some new information about your case." He got out of the car and went inside the house while leaving the message. "I have a patient in the ICU who was almost beaten to death by Swanson's men. I've gained Robyn's trust, and I hope I'll be able to convince her to stop fighting soon. We need to bring this guy down. Fast. Please, call me back."

Andrew walked through the hallway, heading toward the shower. His body still ached from the run, and he was getting tired of reeking of sweat. He was just about to enter the bathroom when he caught a familiar glimmer of red out of the corner of his eye.

"Could you repeat that?" Robyn stepped out of the guest room with her arms crossed. "The part about you gaining my trust?"

Andrew blinked in surprise. "I . . .I didn't know you were here." Had she heard all of that?

"Is that why you've been nice to me?" she asked. "Have you been planning this whole thing? Just to make me stop fighting?"

"Well, yes, but . . . "

Andrew didn't know how to continue. She was right, yet still so far away from the whole truth. He could deny her claim, but if he lied to her now, he knew she would never forgive him. Looking at her made him question if she'd ever forgive him anyway. It wasn't like the last time he'd accidentally hurt her, when he'd insulted her way of taking care of Lucy. That time, she'd been more angry than sad. This time was different. She didn't have that fiery spark of anger burning in her eyes, and she looked more dejected than mad. The worst part was the way she looked at him—like she'd just been betrayed by a loved one and wasn't even surprised by it.

"I should have seen it coming," she muttered, shaking her head. "I should have known someone like you would never kiss someone like me without an ulterior motive." She pushed past him, hurrying toward the door.

"Robyn, I can explain," he said, following her. "I—"

"You're right—I trusted you, Andrew," she interrupted, her voice trembling. She turned around to look at him, her dark eyes filled with tears. "I barely trust anyone, but I trusted you. I let you in. Congratulations. Your mission succeeded." She opened the door, but Andrew grabbed her arm before she could leave.

"Would you please let me explain?" he said. "You're an adult, Robyn. You can't just run away every time you're having an argument with someone."

Robyn snorted. "Watch me." She pulled free from his grip and started running, just like she'd done the last time they'd been in the same situation. The last time, he'd let her be, letting her work out the misunderstanding on her own. This time was different. She'd taught him how to run, and this time, he would catch her.

• • •

Robyn's chest hurt. She tried to keep her thoughts from racing and just focus on the running, but Andrew's words kept replaying in the back of her mind. _I should have seen it coming._ He'd told her at the start about the person she reminded him of, the one he hadn't been able to save. Now she understood what that meant. He hadn't been nice to her because he'd actually enjoyed being with her. He'd been nice to her to make her stop fighting—to _save_ her. It had nothing to do with her as a person. He'd just used her to ease his guilt.

This was why she didn't trust people, why she'd learned to only depend on herself. People were never nice without a reason. Not to someone like her. She'd known this, but she'd still started to take Andrew's kindness for granted.

She'd let him nestle his way into her life—and she'd enjoyed it. After having taken care of others for such a long time, she'd enjoyed having someone taking care of her. How pathetic was that?

He'd changed her. Before she met him, she'd been smarter. Stronger. More independent. _And lonelier,_ a voice added from the back of her mind. _So much lonelier._

She ignored the voice and kept running. Everything hurt, but she knew she could shake it off. She'd done it before, and she'd do it again. So what if it hurt like hell? A girl like her couldn't afford to let a guy affect her like this. She didn't have the time or energy to spare for a broken heart.

"Robyn! Robyn, wait!" someone shouted from behind her. Robyn cast a quick glance over her shoulder. An all too familiar black-haired man was following her, and it looked like he was gaining on her.

"Leave me alone," she yelled back, increasing the pace of her jog. She wasn't a sprinter, but she should be able to outrun Andrew.

"Robyn, please! Just let me explain."

A part of her wanted to stop and listen to his explanation. A part of her—a stupid, naïve part of her—still believed in him. She thought back on everything he'd done for her. Could he really have faked all that worry in his eyes? Was he that good at acting?

She shook her head. This had to stop. It was thoughts like that that had brought her into this situation to begin with.

"Robyn!"

The source of the voice was surprisingly close this time. Before she could glance over her shoulder again, her run came to an abrupt stop as something—or some _one,_ more likely—grabbed her forearm. She automatically clenched her fists but managed to stop herself from hitting him.

"Let go of me," she growled.

"Please, listen to me. Look at me." He gently tugged at her arm, turning her around. "Please don't shut me out. I get how it all sounded."

"Do you really?" she snapped. "Because it sounded as if you've been fooling me this whole time. Is it because of that person you lost? Is that why you've been nice to me?"

"No, it's not," he said. "I offered my help at the ER because of that person, but everything after that, I did for _you._ I couldn't live with the thought of losing you, so I knew I had to do something. Do you understand how many times you've been close to dying lately? Do you realize that it's only a matter of time before it happens again? Right now, there's a man at the hospital who was nearly killed by Swanson and his men. The beating they gave him caused bleeding in his brain." Andrew reached out his free hand and tucked some strands of Robyn's hair behind her ear. A part of her wanted to slap the hand away while another part wanted to lean into his touch. In the end, all she did was stand there, her eyes fixed on the ground.

"It could have been you." His thumb caressed her cheek. "It could have been you lying there with a bleeding brain. You have to stop fighting, Robyn."

Robyn flinched, and the grip on her forearm tightened.

"Yes," he continued, "when we first met, I wanted to gain your trust so you'd let me in and start listening to me, but that changed when I got to know you. You're not just one of my patients anymore. I can't lose you. I _won't_."

"So that's why you felt the need to go behind my back?" she sneered. "To try and bring Swanson down and take away my main source of income?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" he exclaimed. "I couldn't convince you to stop fighting, so I had to try a different way. I teamed up with a cop, and we're going to make sure Swanson gets what he deserves. I'll do whatever it takes to make you stop fighting, even if it means going behind your back."

The pain in Robyn's chest returned at full force. "Then how could I possibly trust you again?"

"Maybe you can't." He placed his hand under her chin and tilted her head back, coercing her to look at him. She reluctantly met his gaze. "It's gotten to the point where I care more about your well-being than your opinion of me," he said. The intensity in his eyes sent shivers down her spine. "You can hate me all you like—I'm still going to do whatever I can to protect you. I'm not going to lose you."

Robyn took a step back, shaking off Andrew's hands. "It's my life. What I do with it is my decision. As long as I've got debts to pay off, I will keep fighting."

He looked at her with calm, calculating eyes. "I know. And I'll keep trying to make you stop. That's just how it is."

"That's so selfish!" she yelled, losing her patience. She'd seen glimpses of this side of Andrew before, like that night when he'd found out about the tournament, but she'd never fully understood just how intimidating he could be. She didn't doubt his words for a second—he would do pretty much anything to keep her safe, and not in a Prince Charming kind of way. _He's not as perfect as he pretends to be_.

"I'm not going to deny that," Andrew said. "I'm not a nice person. I'm selfish and manipulative—and even though I'm aware of this, I still want to be a part of your life. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve _you._ I know this, but I'm still going to beg you not to shut me out. Please, Robyn, don't . . .don't leave me."

There was desperation in his voice, a kind of neediness Robyn didn't think could be faked. Her emotions were going all over the place. He'd said that things had changed when he'd gotten to know her, but when, exactly, had that been? Out of all his acts of kindness, how could she possibly separate the real ones from the ones that had been carefully fabricated to gain her trust?

Had he kissed her because he wanted her, or because it would make her open up to him?

She wanted to hate him—everything would have been so much easier if she'd hated him—but she couldn't. The worst part was that she couldn't forgive him either.

"You can stay in my life as my doctor," she finally said. "You can even stay in my life as my friend. But that's all. Forget about what happened in the garage. I can't . . .I can't be with someone I can't trust."

Saying the words was painful, but not as painful as seeing the look in Andrew's eyes. He looked about as heartbroken as she felt.

"I understand," he said in a hoarse voice.

"I'm glad we're on the same page." With tears burning in her eyes, she turned around and began to jog home. This time, Andrew didn't follow her.

# Chapter Thirteen

Robyn avoided Andrew for as long as she could. It took her several days to gather the courage to ask him for a ride to Chrystal Arena for her fight. She was a good runner, but running all the way to the arena would take hours. She didn't need Andrew—she _absolutely_ didn't need Andrew—but she did need his car.

The silence hung heavily between them as she climbed into his black Volvo on the night of her fight. The awkwardness was close to unbearable.

"It's Christmas soon," Andrew finally said.

"Yeah," she replied. "Time flies."

He glanced at her and then quickly looked away. His jaw clenched as he fixed his eyes on the road. Robyn leaned back in the seat and sighed, wondering if their relationship would ever go back to what it used to be.

The awkward silence hung over them the whole way to the arena. Robyn hated it. A part of her wished she'd never kissed him in the first place. Another part of her wanted nothing more than to climb into his lap and kiss him again.

They left the car and walked across the parking lot toward the arena.

"Do you want me to fix your hair again?" Andrew asked.

They came to a stop outside the pizzeria. Robyn nodded and turned around.

He tied her hair up in a bun again, his hands as gentle as the last time. Before she could stop herself, she'd thought back on the way he'd run his hand through her hair in the garage, how it had settled on the nape of her neck, holding her still as he leaned down and . . .

_Stop it_. Her cheeks turned red. Ever since the incident in the garage, she'd been bothered by intruding thoughts like that. She'd told herself she didn't want a relationship like that with Andrew, but there were clearly parts of her that weren't fully convinced.

The moment they stepped into the arena, Robyn knew the upcoming fight would have a much bigger audience than her last one. They'd arrived early so she'd have time to warm up, but the arena was already crowded enough to make it difficult to get to the bar. She glanced at the ring. The third-class fight had just come to an end, and soon, the second-class fight would begin.

_Weird._ Back when the tournament was held at the Octagon, a second-class fight would never have generated an audience like this. The underground world in Chrystal Valley was changing, turning darker and more violent every passing day. She didn't want to admit it, but it scared her a little.

She glanced at the backstage door. There was something she needed to do in there today—something she'd postponed for way too long. She was not looking forward to it.

Cassandra was sitting on her usual chair, her long, white hair tied up in a ponytail. Next to her stood Drake, leaning casually against the wall while keeping an eye on the crowd. Their eyes met, and he gave her one of his trademark smirks. Robyn rolled her eyes. Ana was right—Drake was a bit of a dickhead.

After pushing through the thick mass of people crowding the bar, Robyn finally reached Cassandra.

"Any comments on tonight's fight?" she asked.

Cassandra studied her calmly. "You'll win tonight. The Morrigan usually relies on speed, but you're faster than her. She's going to have to change her strategy for tonight if she wants to last a single round. She usually waits for the opponent to make the first move, but she has to know that method is not going to work against you. Don't let her provoke you. Your fighting style makes you the worst possible opponent for her."

"I see," Robyn replied, feeling a little bit calmer. Cassandra was rarely wrong in her predictions. "Thank you."

"Make sure you win, Valkyrie," Drake said, joining the conversation. "I want to fight you in the final."

She rolled her eyes again. "Don't get cocky. You still have to get past the quarter- and semifinal."

"I'll be in the final," he said confidently. "The only question is whether you will."

"Whatever." Robyn turned around and left them both, pushing through the crowd again. She stopped outside the backstage door.

"I want to follow you backstage this time," Andrew said.

She hesitated.

"I'm your physician. I need to be able to get to you if something happens during the fight."

Well, he wasn't wrong, she supposed. "I guess I could try and talk to the guard again."

She turned to the man guarding the door. This doorman was younger than the one who'd stopped Andrew the last time, and he didn't look quite as cynical. She wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

"I'm the Valkyrie," she said, "and this is Dr. Alexander. He's my medic. Is it all right if I bring him backstage?"

"I'm sorry," said the doorman. "Authorized personnel only. We already have a medical team in there."

Robyn nodded before turning back to Andrew. "I'll be fine, I promise. I'll come out as soon as the fight is over."

He frowned but nodded anyway. "Please, be careful out there."

"I will." She gave him a small smile. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Robyn couldn't help but feel a bit guilty as she hurried through the door. She could have pushed the guard a lot further, but she'd chosen not to. If Andrew had followed her backstage, she would most likely have postponed her mission once again. She couldn't let herself do that. It was time for her to ask Swanson about her debts, and this time, she wouldn't back down.

Swanson was waiting for her outside the locker room. Mark was leaning against the wall a couple of steps away, glaring at Robyn as she approached them.

"Good evening, dear," Swanson said. "I hope you're well."

She nodded. "I wanted to—"

"I would like you to last two rounds," he interrupted. "And please, try to hold back a little. You are still an underdog in this competition, and I'd prefer if you kept it that way."

She nodded again. "I . . .I wanted to ask you something."

For a short moment, Robyn could distinguish a look of annoyance in Swanson's eyes. It quickly disappeared, giving way to his usual polite smile. "Go ahead, dear."

She took a deep breath, gathering strength. "I've been fighting for you for five years now. I just . . . I've been wondering for a while now about my . . .you know, how much I have left to pay off on the, uh, debts . . . " She was stuttering, and her cheeks were turning red. Everything she'd planned to say disappeared from her mind.

"You shouldn't worry about that, dear," Swanson said. "I'm taking care of it. All you have to do is keep working for me."

"That's kind of the point. I want to know when all of this, uh, stops." She swallowed hard. "I want to know when I can stop fighting."

Swanson narrowed his eyes. "You will fight until I say you're done fighting."

"Yes, but you can't expect me to just go on with this indefinitely. I—"

A gloved hand grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall.

"You do not tell Mr. Swanson what he can and can't do, you ungrateful little bitch," Mark growled. Robyn grabbed his arm, her short nails clawing at the jacket of his suit. He only tightened his grip on her throat, shoving her higher up on the wall until her toes barely reached the ground. "Where would you be if Mr. Swanson hadn't taken you in? How would you have cared for your precious little sister? He _saved_ you, and you come here making demands. You're _nothing._ Everything you have in life is thanks to him. You should be ashamed."

Robyn continued to struggle, growing weaker by the second. Mark was looking at her in total disgust. _I really am nothing._ She already regretted her words. She'd been too disrespectful. Too demanding. Swanson didn't owe her an answer. He didn't owe her anything.

Swanson tapped Mark on the shoulder. "Please, let her down. She has a game tonight."

Mark immediately removed his hand from her throat. Robyn tried to remain standing, but her knees wouldn't carry her. She landed on the floor hard, her whole body trembling. She took a deep, wheezing breath.

"I'm sorry," she croaked. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm really sorry."

"Apology accepted." Swanson gave her an almost fatherly smile. "Go and warm up, dear. I'm expecting a splendid performance from you tonight." He held out his hand, and Robyn allowed him to help her up. She couldn't bring herself to even look at him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again before heading toward the locker room.

_I'm nothing._

• • •

_Well, shit,_ Andrew thought, looking at the door leading to the backstage area. _Now what?_ The door was closed, and the guard was beginning to look a bit suspicious. Andrew ran his fingers through his hair. He had to get in there. As her doctor and as her friend, he had to protect her from Swanson.

_Like you could possibly see her as just a friend,_ commented his inner critic.

The voice was right. Andrew's chest still ached every time he thought back on their argument. Robyn seemed to be fine with pretending that they were nothing more than friends, but he didn't have that kind of self-control. He couldn't forget about the kiss. He couldn't forget about the way her body had felt beneath his. His need to touch her flared up every time he looked at her, and it was driving him insane.

A few minutes after Robyn had walked into the backstage area, Jason arrived at the arena. Andrew watched as the young officer pushed through the crowd to get to Cassandra. He waited a little while longer before he approached them, allowing Jason to have some time alone with Cassandra first.

"Alexander!" Jason shouted, grinning widely. "The Valkyrie's going to kick some serious ass tonight. Is this awesome or what?"

"Yeah. Awesome." Andrew couldn't even pretend to share his excitement. "How's everything going? With, you know . . . ?"

"Nothing new." Jason took a step away from Cassandra and her guardian. "I got your voice mail. How's that John Doe doing?"

"Still breathing," he replied. "Barely. Can't you arrest Swanson for this?"

Jason shook his head. "To nail Swanson, we need something more concrete. Right now, it's just your patient's word against Swanson's. It's not enough."

"I understand." Andrew glanced at the backstage door. __ "Hey, could you distract that doorman for a while? He won't let me in."

"Why do you want to go backstage?"

"Swanson's in there. If I'm lucky, I might find some proof for you in there."

"Wouldn't it be better if I went, then?" Jason raised an eyebrow. "You're just a civilian."

"I'm not just a civilian. I'm a doctor." Andrew faked a smile. "People rarely question doctors. Besides, I could pretend I'm on the medical team if I get caught."

Jason looked skeptical.

Andrew sighed, his façade faltering. "I need to get in there, okay? I can't stand the thought of her being in there alone, especially not when Swanson's around here somewhere. I have to get in there."

Jason considered it for a moment and then nodded. "Go to the door. I'll create a distraction. But be careful, all right? Don't be a hero. If something goes wrong, just get out of there."

"I will. I promise." Andrew sighed with relief. "Thank you."

The doorman looked even more suspicious when Andrew approached him for the second time. "You're still not getting inside."

Andrew smiled politely. "I know. I'm just . . .waiting for a friend."

The guard scowled, clearly not believing him. Andrew looked back at Jason, who had returned to Cassandra and Drake's little corner by the bar. Jason glanced over his shoulder and gave Andrew an indiscreet wink. Then he punched Drake in the face.

Drake stared at Jason in shock for a moment before raising his fists. When he tried to return the punch, Jason quickly dodged it, making Drake's hand connect with a stranger's shoulder instead. The stranger turned around in surprise, spilling beer on yet another stranger. A few seconds later, the bar had turned into a battlefield.

The guard cursed and pulled a walkie-talkie from his chest pocket. He gave Andrew one last glare before heading toward the brawl, calling into his transceiver for backup. _Thanks, Jason,_ Andrew thought as he sneaked through the backstage door.

Entering the backstage area was like stepping into a new world. He could still hear the pounding music and the sound of men screaming from outside the door, but it was all muffled and distant. The air outside had been hot and damp, while the backstage area was close to chilly. Where was everybody? The lack of people would make things easier for him, but it also spooked him a little.

The first door he tried was locked, but the second brought him to an empty locker room. In one of the corners, he found Robyn's hoodie. On a bench on the opposite side of the room, he found a big gym bag he didn't recognize. He looked inside it but didn't find anything out of the ordinary. He'd told Jason he would try to look for evidence against Swanson, but he had no idea what he was looking for.

The door opened, and a big, bearded man dressed in a black suit entered the room.

"What the fuck are you doing with that bag?" the man yelled, his voice echoing against the tile walls.

"Nothing," Andrew said quickly. "I'm just . . .uh . . . " He couldn't come up with a single good excuse. The man took a step closer, and Andrew automatically took a step back.

"You're trying to steal from my fighter, is that it?" the man roared. "You think you're gonna get away with that?" He raised his fists. Andrew tried to remember his lessons with Robyn, but his mind had gone completely blank. He watched as the man's hand flew toward his face.

Not until then did he fully realize how far in over his head he was.

# Chapter Fourteen

Andrew closed his eyes, waiting for the man's fist to connect with his face. He wasn't even scared—most of all, he was frustrated with his useless, motionless body.

"Don't touch him!" a female voice yelled, and Andrew was suddenly shoved out of the way. Then he heard a loud thud. He assumed the punch had finally reached its destination, but strangely enough, he didn't feel any pain. He opened his eyes and noticed an all too familiar red-haired woman standing in front of him.

"Robyn?"

She was standing with her back toward him, acting as a human shield between him and the man. His eyes widened when he realized what she had just done. _No._

Robyn looked over her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

On her left cheek were three parallel red lines, showing exactly where the man's rings had connected with her skin. Small drops of blood were already rolling down her face, but she didn't seem to notice it.

"I'm fine," Andrew said, feeling sick to his stomach. He'd caused that. She was injured because of him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" said the man in the suit. "That guy was trying to steal from my fighter!" He tried to move past Robyn, but she continued to block him.

"I said don't touch him!" she growled, raising her fists.

_Snap out of it,_ Andrew's inner critic hissed. _You're supposed to be good in stressful situations. Time to show it._

Andrew took a deep breath, forcing himself out of his state of shock. "I'm very sorry, sir," he said, using the calm and confident tone he always used with his patients. "I'm Dr. Andrew Alexander, and I'm with the medical team. I just went into the wrong room, that's all."

The man narrowed his eyes. "And if I talk to the rest of the team, they'll confirm this?"

Andrew faked a polite smile. "Probably not, no. It's my first day. I haven't even met them yet."

"Well, isn't that convenient?" the man said. "I think I'm going to call security now." He reached for something in his chest pocket, but Robyn quickly grabbed his arm.

"I want you to leave," she said in a low voice. "Right now. Or else I'll inform Swanson that his most successful fighter was just punched by the Morrigan's manager."

The man blinked and gave Robyn a closer look. His face turned pale. "You're the Valkyrie?"

"Yes." Robyn's voice was full of unspoken threats. "Leave."

The man glanced at Andrew as he slowly backed away. "If you really are a doctor, please take a look at her cheek."

"I will."

The man closed the door behind him. Robyn immediately turned around.

"You idiot!" she yelled, her eyes shooting daggers. "Are you insane? You said you wouldn't do anything stupid!"

"I'm sorry." Another wave of guilt washed over him. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. I never wanted you to get hurt."

She punched the wall hard enough to leave a dent. "The world doesn't care about what you want! Don't you get it? You seem to think you're living in some fairy-tale world where you can just waltz around and make some kind of difference, but this is the real world. Actions have consequences! You're not a superhero. You're just a damn doctor. You can't keep doing shit like this! I don't have time to worry about you, too." She wiped some blood away from her face and then stared at her stained hand. The anger slowly faded away as a look of sadness swept over her face. She sighed. "Great. More scars."

"He was aiming for me," Andrew said. "You should have let him hit me."

"I didn't want him to ruin your face. I mean, you're still . . .untouched. My friends refer to you as Dr. Handsome, for fuck's sake." She let out a short, humorless laugh. "You've seen me and all my scars. I'm already disgusting. One more scar won't change anything."

Andrew was speechless. Was that how she saw herself? He could barely comprehend it. _She has no idea how beautiful she is._

"I should go." She wiped her bloody hand on her sweatpants. "I wasn't done warming up." She turned to leave, but Andrew quickly grabbed her wrist.

"Please, wait," he said. "At least let me clean the wounds. It's the least I can do."

Robyn thought about it for a moment and then nodded. "But after that, I want you to leave. You're not safe in here."

Andrew smiled but chose not to answer. It probably wasn't any safer for him out in the arena, considering the mayhem Jason had caused.

He made her sit down on the locker room bench while he kneeled on the floor in front of her. When he cleaned and bandaged the wounds on her cheek, he found that they weren't as deep as he'd feared.

"I don't think you'll get any scars from this," he said. The overwhelming guilt still reawakened every time he looked at her, but knowing he hadn't caused permanent damage was a great relief.

"Oh." Robyn tried her best to hide it, but Andrew could tell the news relieved her, too.

"Your scars aren't disgusting, you know," he said. "They're like your war paint. They tell a story." He smiled. "They tell the world you're a survivor. In a way, they're actually kind of beautiful."

Robyn blinked, her cheeks flushing red. "Thanks, I guess," she muttered, looking down at the floor. Andrew grinned. _She's so cute when she's flustered._

He put a final piece of tape on the bandage and leaned back, surveying his work. As long as the cuts didn't get infected, they would heal just fine. He was just about to stand up again when he noticed a weird coloring on her neck.

He gave the marks a closer look. "What's that?"

"It's nothing." She tried to stand up, but Andrew grabbed her shoulders and pushed her down on the bench again.

"Those are bruises." He frowned. " _New_ bruises. What happened?"

Robyn continued to stare at the floor. "I don't know. I must have tripped or something."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Robyn," he groaned. "Are we seriously going back to that? Just tell me what happened."

"I talked to Swanson, okay? I said some stupid things. It was my fault." She pulled her knees up to her chest, making herself look smaller. She still refused to look at him.

Andrew's anger flared up. He'd never hated anyone like he hated Swanson right then.

"Robyn. Robyn, look at me." He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head back. She reluctantly raised her gaze. "It's never __ your fault when they hurt you," he said. " _Never._ "

She smiled unconvincingly. "You know I punch people for a living, right?"

"You didn't choose any of this. It's never your fault when they hurt you."

Robyn's lower lip trembled. It was obvious that no one had ever told her that before. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. She stiffened a little at first, but then she relaxed.

He wished he could hold her like that forever, shielding her from everything dangerous in the world—but he couldn't. As long as she was fighting for Swanson, he could never keep her safe. He hugged her even harder, breathing in the scent of her hair. He felt helpless again. Useless.

The door to the locker room opened. Andrew quickly let go of Robyn and stood up.

"Excuse me, are you the new guy on the medical team?" asked a pale, freckly young woman in a bright orange jacket. Her long, strawberry-blond ponytail was a little lopsided, and pearls of sweat trickled down her temples. "You're needed out there. They finally managed to stop the fighting. It's a mess."

"Fighting? What fighting?" Robyn asked.

"I asked Jason to create a distraction so I could get past the guard," Andrew said, speaking in a low voice so the newcomer wouldn't hear him. "He punched Drake in the face and started a brawl."

The information made Robyn smile. "I wish I could have seen that."

"It was pretty great." He turned to the woman standing in the doorway, who was looking at them curiously. "I'm finished here. How can I help you?"

The woman tossed him a bundle of orange fabric. "My colleague and I have set up shop in the bar. We could definitely use your expertise."

"I'll be right there." He turned back to Robyn. "Will you be okay?"

"Of course I will," she answered. "Go."

Andrew nodded, reluctantly turning away from her again. He didn't want to leave her on her own, not when Swanson was still around somewhere, but he didn't think he had a choice. Actions had consequences. He'd lied about being on the medical team, and this was the result. He put on the orange jacket, accepting his new job.

"Nice to meet you, by the way." The woman reached out her hand. "I'm Lily. Nurse."

Andrew shook her hand. "I'm Dr. Andrew Alexander. Nice to meet you too."

"Wow, you really are a doctor? We've never had an actual doctor on our team before. This is awesome."

Andrew followed her through the door, giving Robyn one last look. She gave him a little wave and an encouraging smile, probably happy to get him out of the backstage area.

"So, do you work at Chrystal Valley Hospital?" he asked Lily. "I've never seen you before."

"That's probably because I'm not working as a nurse. Yet." Lily fidgeted a little with her ponytail. "I still have two semesters left in school."

Andrew sighed. He'd thought she looked a bit too young to be a fully educated nurse.

They left the backstage area, heading out to the crowd. A long line of injured people led up to the bar. Andrew spotted Jason, Cassandra, and Drake already sitting on chairs behind the bar, being tended to by a tan man with platinum-blond hair. He looked almost as young as Lily.

"Is that your partner?" Andrew asked, trying not to sound too skeptical.

"Yeah, that's Jonas. He's an EMT. Fully educated."

_They're just kids._ He ran his fingers through his hair. This was going to be a long night.

"Hey, Alexander!" Jason shouted when he noticed him. "Nice outfit."

He was holding some ice against his swollen lip, and the skin beneath his right eye was turning blue. Drake sat on a chair not far away, sending vicious glares at anyone who tried to approach him. He had a cut on his cheek that looked a bit like the ones Robyn had received earlier.

"Please, sir, let me at least tape it up for you," Jonas said. Drake only glared.

"Just let him do his job, Drake." Cassandra sighed. She'd strategically placed herself between Jason and Drake, presumably to stop any further conflicts from happening. "You're supposed to be adults. Adults! Act like it."

Drake muttered something under his breath before turning his head, allowing Jonas to see to his wound. Jason gave Cassandra a smug look. "He started it."

"No, I didn't," Drake immediately countered.

"Stop it," Cassandra said in a surprisingly dangerous tone, making both men shut up.

"Hey, Joe!" Lily yelled. "The doctor's here."

"So he really is a doctor? Awesome," Jonas exclaimed. He looked at Andrew and gave him a smile. "I'm Jonas. It's going to be great to have an actual doctor around."

"I'm Andrew. I'm glad to help."

Jonas nodded and then returned his focus to helping Drake. Andrew headed over to Jason's side.

"Thanks for the distraction," he said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. I've wanted to punch Drake for a long time now." Jason grinned. "How did it go backstage? I thought you said you'd use the medical team as an excuse—I didn't think you'd join it for real."

"Yeah, I didn't see that one coming either. I don't think I'm getting out of this."

Jason shrugged. "Just go with it. You'll have more chances of finding evidence against Swanson this way. You're still in, right?"

"Of course." Now more than ever. The image of Robyn defending Swanson's abuse was forever burnt into his memory. She'd truly believed she deserved it—she'd even looked guilty. _I will end him,_ Andrew thought, his fury still burning hot within him. _He'll never touch her again._

Andrew wasn't sure how long it took to aid all the people in the line, but eventually, they reached the final victim. By then, Andrew had taken charge of the medical team completely, running the bar like he would have run a smaller emergency room at the hospital. He'd recommended some of the brawlers seek professional help at the hospital later, but most of them would heal just fine on their own.

When he'd put all his medical equipment back in his bag, he tried to join the crowd again, only to be stopped by Lily.

"The medical team has special seats in the gallery," she said. "You've already missed the lower-class fights. You're not skipping the first-class fight too, right?"

"No, of course not." He'd originally planned to watch the fight with Jason, but he'd be closer to Robyn if he sat with the rest of the medical team.

"Good. We couldn't have done this without you, you know." Lily smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Alexander."

"I'm glad I could help." He followed her toward the backstage area. "And please, call me Andrew."

The gallery turned out to be a handful of chairs in a room upstairs, placed close to a large wall-to-wall window facing the arena. Two chairs were placed to the side of the room, close to a narrow door.

"The door leads straight to one of the passageways," Lily said, pulling an extra chair over to the two on the side. "You know, the ones that lead to the ring. Two of them are for the fighters, but the third one is ours. We'll be down there in seconds if something happens."

Andrew nodded. Thanks to the chairs' placement, the medical team could easily observe the arena through the window while still being close to the door. He appreciated the practicality.

They sat down, waiting for the fight to begin. The gallery slowly filled up with people. Andrew observed the newcomers as they took their seats. With their immaculate suits and solemn looks, they would have looked bizarrely out of place in the crowd downstairs. These people were clearly not here for entertainment. They were here to make money.

Andrew's eyes swept over the gallery. Swanson had to be somewhere in the room, and though Andrew had no idea what Swanson looked like, it still made him shudder.

"So how did you get into all this?" Lily asked. "I mean, you're a real doctor. The paycheck must look ridiculous to you."

"I like helping people." He shrugged, hoping she wouldn't push the subject any further. "What about you two?"

"A friend of ours is into this whole underground street-fighting thing," Jonas said. "He said the tournament lacked medically educated staff, so I thought, hell, why not?"

"And I needed the extra cash," Lily added. "Ridiculous paycheck or not, it's still better than nothing. We've been working for Mr. Quinn for quite some time now."

"If that's what we're doing," Jonas muttered under his breath.

She frowned. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on. We both know Swanson's the one calling the shots now."

She sniffed. "Well, I'm _not_ working for that Swanson guy. I'm working for Mr. Quinn. I . . . " She paused, looking through the window. "Hey, guys, I think it's starting."

The doors at the ends of the elevated pathways opened. Through the door on the left came a tall, muscular woman with black hair pinned to her head in some kind of braid-crown arrangement. Through the other door came Robyn. She was barefoot as usual, and her hands were wrapped in white gauze.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's event here at Chrystal Arena!" a man yelled into a microphone. There weren't any speakers in the gallery, but the ones in the arena were loud enough to get the sound through the walls. "Tonight, we have something extra special to offer—a first-class fight between two legendary women! Tonight, we'll get to see the clash between the fast and ferocious Valkyrie, and the magnificently aggressive Morrigan! Who's the superior fighter? Who will move on to the semifinals? Let's find out!"

Robyn and her opponent walked toward the ring. The Morrigan wasn't as large as the Bear, but she was still a lot bigger than Robyn.

"This could get ugly," Jonas commented. "She's really small."

"You shouldn't underestimate the Valkyrie," Lily said. "Remember that grip she pulled off in her last fight?"

"Yeah, but the Morrigan does that provoking thing. It makes people do stupid moves."

"I don't think the Valkyrie is that easily provoked," Andrew said. "She's pretty calm in the ring."

The referee backed away from the fighters, and then the bell rang. Robyn and the Morrigan stared at each other, neither of them moving a muscle. The Morrigan opened her mouth, saying something inaudible, and Andrew could have sworn he saw Robyn rolling her eyes.

"She's trying to make the Valkyrie attack first," Jonas said.

Andrew smiled. "I don't think she's going to succeed."

The fighters stood motionless for almost half a minute before the Morrigan finally attacked. She was faster than Robyn's last opponent, but Robyn still dodged her with confident ease.

"Holy shit, she's fast," Lily commented. "She almost looks like she's dancing."

Lily was right. He watched Robyn dodge the Morrigan's kicks and punches in an almost playful manner. Every movement was calculated and full of grace, and it reminded him of when he'd seen her dance in the garage. How had he not seen it before? Now that he knew about her ballerina background, he could easily see how the dancing had influenced her fighting style.

When the bell rang again, the Morrigan was breathing heavily. Robyn had gotten some hits in, but mostly she'd just kept avoiding her opponent. The audience screamed its disappointment.

Two men got up from their seats in the gallery. One of them was the man who'd caught Andrew in the locker room. The other was an old man in a gray coat. Was that Swanson?

Andrew watched carefully as the men went through the door and approached the ring. The man in the black suit headed to the Morrigan's corner, while the man in the gray coat went over to the other. Robyn seemed to shrink as she talked to him, holding her head low. Yes, that was definitely Swanson.

After a while, the two men left the ring, returning to the gallery. Andrew's heart pounded in his chest when Swanson passed him. In his mind, Swanson had become some sort of abstract, nightmarish terror, but up close, he was just an ordinary man. He leaned heavily on his cane as he walked, and his presence wasn't nearly as frightening as Andrew had expected. _But I know what he's capable of,_ he thought. _I'm not going to underestimate him._

The bell rang, signaling the start of the second round.

"Look, the Morrigan is trying to provoke the Valkyrie again," Jonas said. "I've heard she researches her opponents to figure out what will piss them off the most."

"I don't think it's going to work against the Valkyrie," Andrew said confidently. "She's . . . "

He stopped in the middle of the sentence, mouth ajar. Without warning, Robyn jumped her opponent with more power than should have been physically possible. The Morrigan flew backward with Robyn right on top of her. She hit the mat hard, unable to catch herself since her hands were too busy trying to deflect Robyn's fists. The first punch broke her nose. The second broke her lip. The third, fourth, and fifth crushed her cheekbones.

"How did she even do that?" Lily stared at the ring in awe. "I mean, what does she weigh? One hundred and twenty pounds? The Morrigan has to be a lot heavier."

_One hundred and fourteen,_ Andrew silently corrected, sharing Lily's shock. Robyn punched the Morrigan's face over and over, turning her facial structure into a pulp-like mass. At first, the Morrigan tried to get Robyn off her body and even got in a few punches herself, but her hands soon fell limply to the mat.

"She's not moving." Jonas got up from his chair. "She's out. Someone has to stop the Valkyrie."

The referee made a sign with his hands, causing the bell to ring. Two men wearing orange jackets immediately hurried inside the ring. They each grabbed one of Robyn's arms and pulled her away from the unconscious woman. She squirmed in their grip, her legs kicking wildly. Andrew had never seen her like that before. There was pure fury in her eyes—fury and panic.

"I think that's our cue," Lily said, heading out the door. Andrew and Jonas followed.

When they entered the cage, the Morrigan lay motionless on the floor. Robyn was still fighting to get away from the guards.

"You two need to make sure she's breathing," Andrew said. "Tell someone to call an ambulance. I'll take care of Robyn."

"What? The Valkyrie, you mean?" Lily asked. "Why? She's barely hurt. You're the doctor, you should take care of the Morrigan. She needs you more."

"Do not question me!" he snarled, loud enough to make the young woman flinch. He ran to Robyn's side, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Robyn? You need to calm down. It's over."

She glanced at him, then back at the Morrigan.

"Robyn. You have to stop. She's unconscious. You won."

Her attempts to free herself slowly came to a stop. She dangled helplessly between the two men, the panic fading from her eyes.

"I'll take it from here," Andrew told the guards. "I'm with the medical team."

The men looked at each other before hesitantly backing away. Robyn sank to her knees. Andrew pulled her up and wrapped an arm around her waist, half leading, half carrying her out of the arena.

"Is she . . . Is she going to be okay?" she asked.

"The medical team is taking care of her," he said, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. "She'll be fine."

It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the truth either. The Morrigan would most likely live, yes, but her face would never be the same again.

"She said things about Lucy. Things she'd do to her. She knew our address, Andrew." Robyn looked down at her bloodstained hands, her body trembling. "I could have killed her. I _would_ have killed her if they hadn't stopped me. Oh my God."

"It's okay." He draped his jacket over her shoulders. "She won't touch Lucy. She was just trying to make you angry. It's okay. Everything will be okay."

He led her to the sink in the locker room. With gentle movements, he removed the gauze and washed the blood off her hands. Most of it was the Morrigan's, but some of it came from abrasions on her knuckles. He cleaned the wounds and bandaged them, all while continuously reassuring Robyn that everything would be okay. He wasn't sure if she was listening, but he still felt the need to say it.

When her hands were clean, he made her sit down on the bench. He quickly examined her, checking out the places where the Morrigan had hit her. "Your chin will be swollen for a while," he said, grazing the bruise with his thumb, "but otherwise you're fine." _Thank God._

She nodded. "You should go check on her. Her wounds are way worse than mine."

Andrew knew she was right, but he didn't want to leave her alone. She'd pulled her knees up to her chest again, and she was still staring at her hands. She looked small and fragile, so different from the way she'd looked back in the ring. Her eyes were full of fear and guilt. He wanted nothing more than to drive her as far away from the arena as possible, ignoring all other responsibilities. But he'd sworn an oath. The Morrigan needed him more than Robyn did.

"I'll be right back, okay?" he said. "Don't go anywhere."

He reluctantly left her there, hurrying back to the arena. Jonas and Lily had managed to get the Morrigan up on a stretcher, and the men who'd restrained Robyn were now carrying the unconscious woman away. Lily sent Andrew an angry glare before following them, leaving Andrew and Jonas standing alone in the ring.

"How bad was it?" Andrew asked.

"Her face will never be the same again, that's for sure," Jonas answered. "But she'll live."

Andrew nodded. "Good. I'll set her up with a plastic surgeon."

"The board won't like this, you know," Jonas continued. "Especially not Swanson. We're not supposed to send for ambulances unless it's a life-or-death situation."

Andrew shrugged. "I don't care what the board thinks."

"Yeah, I noticed." He paused, remaining silent for a while. "I think I've figured out why you're doing this."

"Oh, really?" Andrew raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah. I think you're the same as me." Jonas sighed. "I fell in love with a street fighter."

Andrew stared at him for a moment and then finally admitted the truth.

"Me too."

# Chapter Fifteen

_I could have killed her,_ Robyn thought. _I could have killed her with my bare hands._

The Morrigan's words kept ringing in her ears. At first, the fighter had tried to provoke her by insulting her. Robyn had listened to the Morrigan's comments on her body and her scars, but she hadn't really cared. She'd heard it all before. Then, the Morrigan had said things about Lucy and the things she would do to her—and Robyn had snapped. She didn't know how else to explain it. One second, she'd been calm and in control, and the next she'd turned into a mindless murder machine. If the guards hadn't stopped her, that woman would have been dead now.

She shuddered, pulling her knees closer to her chest. She'd always known she was messed up, but she hadn't thought she was messed up enough to end another person's life.

She kept glancing at the door, waiting for Andrew to return. She knew the Morrigan needed his expertise, but a childish, selfish part of her wished he could have stayed with her instead. Things made more sense when he was around. She might not believe in his silly everything-will-be-okay mantra, but she still liked hearing him say it. Most of all, she didn't want to be alone. She didn't want to think about the fight and the crime she'd almost committed.

When the door finally opened, it wasn't Andrew who entered the locker room. Instead, she saw Mark standing in the doorway.

"She's in here," Mark said, holding the door open for Swanson. The old man walked in without using his cane. Panic rushed through her. Swanson was not in a good mood.

"I'm sorry." She lowered her gaze. "I really was planning to hold back. I'm sorry."

"It was quite the performance, but I don't think you altered your underdog status. You did fine, dear." Swanson looked around the room, frowning. "Have you seen that new doctor on the medical team? I need to have a word with him."

Robyn's eyes widened. This was exactly what she'd been trying to avoid.

"I think he followed the ambulance to the hospital," she lied. "Why do you ask?"

"He doesn't seem to share our view on the importance of discretion. Don't worry about it, dear. Focus on the semifinal. We'll take care of this little problem."

She nodded. _That's exactly what I'm worried about._

Swanson left the room. Mark followed him to the door but then came to a stop, turning around to face her again. His eyes were cold and full of resentment. Swanson may have forgiven her outburst in the ring, but Mark definitely hadn't.

"Swanson might believe your lies about that new doctor, but I don't," he said in a low voice. "I saw how he looked at you. This was not the first time you two met. I don't know why everyone seems to accept that there's a new guy on the medical team no one remembers hiring, but I'm not buying it. If he's up to something, there will be consequences for both of you. Trust me on that. I'll be watching you."

Robyn swallowed hard. "I'm sure he's just an ordinary doctor. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy who'd be up to something—not that I know him or anything. We might have met at the ER once or twice. That's all."

Mark wrinkled his nose. "I have no idea what Mr. Swanson sees in you. He keeps talking about your potential, but you can't even lie properly." He shook his head and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Shit." Robyn groaned, banging the back of her head against the wall. Andrew was getting tangled up in things he didn't fully understand, and it could only end badly. The incident in the locker room before the fight had been a close call—way too close. If she hadn't arrived in time, that manager would have beaten the shit out of Andrew. What if it happened again? What if she didn't make it in time to protect him next time? She might be stuck in Chrystal Valley's underground world, but he wasn't. She had to get him out before it was too late.

She'd already cut him out of her romantic life. For his own sake, it was time to get him out of her fighting life, too.

• • •

When Andrew returned to the locker room, Robyn's adrenaline rush was long gone. She had to force herself to keep her eyes open. He approached her with easy steps, clearly clueless to the danger he'd put himself in by simply being in there.

"You have to be more careful," she told him. "This is the last time you're coming into the backstage area, okay? Next time, you're watching from the audience."

He shook his head. "That's not going to happen."

"Swanson is looking for you because you called for that ambulance, and his assistant is fully convinced you're up to something." She clenched her fists, trying to remain calm. "Just do as I say, okay?"

"No." Andrew stared her down, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not afraid of them."

"You should be. Aren't you the one who's been trying to convince me that Swanson is dangerous? You're right, he is dangerous. He wouldn't hurt me, not until this tournament is over, but he would definitely hurt you. You've pissed him off, Andrew, and he's not a man you should piss off."

At first, Andrew looked like he wanted to argue with her, but then he hesitated. "And when I endanger myself, I endanger you," he said softly, more to himself than to her. "I'm sorry, I should have listened to you. About many things." His eyes roamed over her face, pausing at her bandaged cheek. "Did my actions put you in danger? Me joining the medical team, I mean?"

Mark's words echoed in her ears. _"If he's up to something, there will be consequences for both of you. Trust me on that."_ She glanced up at Andrew. He looked worried and ashamed, his eyes full of guilt and regret.

"No," she finally said. "I'll be fine."

Andrew sighed with relief. "Good, because I think I'm going to keep working here. The medical team really needs a doctor."

Robyn felt the urge to smash her face against the wall.

"Are you suicidal?" she groaned. "That's the literal opposite of what I said! Why do you always have to do shit like this? I try to keep you out of danger, and you just keep throwing yourself back in."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's how I feel every time you enter the ring."

"I know what I'm doing in the ring."

"And I, believe it or not, am pretty good at being a doctor."

She glared at him, already regretting her lie. She didn't have any leverage in the conversation, and judging from Andrew's cocky grin, he was well aware of it.

"I guess we'll both have to be careful, then," she muttered. "To protect each other."

"I like the sound of that."

She rolled her eyes. "Let's get out of here."

She opened the locker room door and took a quick look around. The corridor outside was empty, but she didn't doubt that Swanson and Mark were still in the building.

She turned back to Andrew. "Follow me."

They got out of Chrystal Arena without running into anyone who recognized them.

"Do you want me to drop you off at your place, or do you want to use my guest room?" Andrew asked when they reached his car.

She considered it for a moment. "I'd rather stay at your place tonight. Lucy always stays at Mike's place on the weekends nowadays." It was pathetic, but she really didn't want to be alone. She was still too upset about the fight and her encounter with Swanson. Friends slept over at friends' houses, right?

"My place it is, then," Andrew said with a smile. She smiled back. Their relationship wasn't back to what it used to be yet, but it seemed to be going in the right direction.

She leaned back against the passenger's seat, closing her eyes. The sleepiness had returned the moment she sat down, and the warmth from the seat heater was making her tense muscles relax. _I should set my alarm,_ she thought, but before she could do anything about it she was fast asleep.

• • •

The next morning, Andrew was awakened by a scream. He jumped out of bed, grabbed his blue bathrobe from a hook on the wall, and ran to the guest room.

"Robyn? Are you okay?" he yelled as he rushed through the door.

Robyn was sitting up in the bed, breathing heavily. Though it was hard to tell in the dim light, he thought he could see traces of tears on her cheeks. Tiny had placed himself on the bedside table, watching her with suspicious curiosity.

Andrew carefully approached the bed. "Another nightmare?"

"Yeah," she panted. "I'm fine."

Her whole body was trembling. He raised his arms and then lowered them again. He wanted nothing more than to hug her, but he wasn't sure she wanted to be touched.

"Hold me," she said.

"What?"

"Hold me," she repeated. "I know you want to."

Andrew was too much of an opportunist to turn down an offer like that. He sat down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. "I thought you didn't do hugs."

"I don't, but you do." She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, burrowing her fingers in the fabric of his bathrobe. "It calms you down when I let you hold me, and when you calm down, I calm down."

She was right—he did get calmer when he got to hold her. He smiled. He hadn't known his own mood had such an effect on her.

"What was the nightmare about?" he asked, drawing circles on her back with his thumb.

She tensed up, and for a moment, he was certain she would pull herself away from him. Then he felt her relax again.

"I dream about the day my mother died," she said softly. "I'm seventeen again, and I've just gotten home from school. I always know there's something wrong, so I look around the apartment. The dream ends when I find her in the bathroom, and then I scream. I'm sorry for waking you up."

"It's okay." He kissed the top of her head in a way he hoped could qualify as platonic. "I have nightmares about the day my mother died too, sometimes."

"What happened to her?" she asked. "I've never heard you speak about your family."

"I don't have any family left. I lost my mom in a train crash when I was twelve. She got me out of the train, but then she went back inside to help others. She was always like that. Stubborn. Self-sacrificing. Brave." He glanced down at Robyn. "She was a bit like you, actually. I still don't know what happened inside that train, but when she came back out she was pale and feeling dizzy. 'It's nothing,' she said. 'I'm just going to rest for a while.'" He swallowed hard. The memory still hurt to think about, and he hadn't talked about it in a very long time. "She had internal bleeding in her abdomen. She bled out before anyone even understood how serious the injury was."

"That's horrible." Robyn's grip on his bathrobe tightened. "I'm so sorry, Andrew. Your nightmares must be terrifying."

"They are. Thankfully, I don't have them as often nowadays. They weren't all bad, either. Those nightmares gave me the motivation I needed to become a doctor. I hated how helpless I'd been when my mother died, so I swore to myself to never be helpless again." He smiled humorlessly. "I was twenty-five when my father had a heart attack. I did everything I could, but I lost him anyway. That's when I realized doctors are pretty helpless too. It was a while before I could even bring myself to set foot in this place again. I grew up here, but it didn't feel right to move back in here without my parents. I hated the house and everything it reminded me of, but I still couldn't bring myself to sell it. I'd originally planned to stay in New York and do my residency there, but in the end, I chose to move back here anyway. I don't exactly hate the house anymore, but sometimes, it still reminds me of how useless I am."

"You're way too hard on yourself, you know," Robyn said. "You weren't useless when my lung broke. You saved me." She was starting to sound a bit sleepy, and her body was getting heavier against his.

"Your lung didn't break. It just collapsed."

"Whatever." She shrugged. "You still saved me."

He smiled. "I did."

A few minutes later, Robyn started to snore.

_Now what?_ He looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms. She looked calm and peaceful, her hands still holding on to his bathrobe. He knew he should simply pull her away from him and go back to his own room, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to wake her.

_You couldn't wake her even if you tried,_ said his inner critic.

He ignored the voice and lay back on the bed. Robyn made a sound in the back of her throat but remained asleep, burrowing her face in the crook of his neck. Her hair tickled his skin, but he didn't mind it. Her body was soft and warm against his. This was how things were supposed to be. This was where he belonged.

Tiny jumped back up on the bed, curling up next to them. Andrew scratched the cat behind his ear until a soft purr joined the sound of Robyn's snoring. He closed his eyes and smiled. For the first time in many, many years, the house felt like a home.

# Chapter Sixteen

_Well, this is new._ Robyn slowly opened her eyes. She wasn't exactly sure how she and Andrew had ended up in the position they were in. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was him telling her about his family, and she was certain they'd still been sitting upright then. Now, her body was pretty much draped over his, and she was still clutching the fabric of his bathrobe in her hands. His right arm was wrapped around her, his hand resting on her hip. Tiny had gone back to sleep right next to them, claiming Andrew's left arm as a pillow. The scene was unexpectedly domestic, and Robyn had no idea how she'd ended up right in the middle of it.

She pushed herself up on her elbow, glancing at her watch. It was already half past eleven. She frowned, trying to calculate how long she'd been sleeping. When the nightmare had woken her up, the sun hadn't risen yet. Weird. She couldn't recall ever before managing to get several hours of sleep after having the nightmare. _He really does calm me down,_ she thought, glancing down at Andrew again.

"Hi," said a fully awake Andrew.

She flinched in surprise, scrambled backward, and rolled off the bed. Her body hit the floor with a very ungracious thud.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Andrew peered down at her from the edge of the bed. He bit his lip, as if trying to force back a smile. "Are you okay?"

She sat up, her cheeks turning red. "I'm fine." She glared up at him. "No thanks to you."

"I'm sorry." He looked like he was about to start laughing at her any second. "Hey, this reminds me of the first time you slept here. I was the one on the floor back then, though. I guess this is karma."

She didn't know what to say, so she continued to glare.

This time, Andrew couldn't hold back the laughter. "I know you're trying to look menacing, but it's really not working. Not with that hair."

Robyn's hands immediately went up to her hair. She'd forgotten to let it down before falling asleep. The bun had turned into a tangled mess during the night, located right above her ear. With an annoyed grunt she pulled at the hair tie.

"You're never going to get it out like that," Andrew said, grinning. "Come on, let me help you."

She gave the hair tie a final tug before giving up, turning her head so he could help her.

"I should cut it off," she muttered. "Things like this would never happen if I had short hair."

"Why don't you?" he asked as he worked with her hair. "You don't seem to like having long hair. Why don't you cut it off?"

"It's a ballerina thing." She chewed on her lip. "I know it's silly, but if I ever take up dancing again I want to have long hair. I want to be able to put it up in a bun like the soloists always did in my old ballet company." She sighed. "It's not very likely I'll ever dance on stage again, but I still can't bring myself to cut off my hair."

"I don't think it's silly," Andrew said, "and I'm not just saying that because I like your hair. No one knows how the future will turn out. You're still young. I'm sure you'll be up on a stage again one day. You've got a talent, and that talent is too extraordinary to be hidden away in a garage."

"I'm not that good," she mumbled, blushing.

"In my eyes, you are. I don't know much about ballet so my opinion doesn't really count, but I enjoyed watching you dance." He gently pulled the last strand of hair free from the elastic and combed through her locks with his fingers. "I would love to see you dance on stage one day."

She smiled. "I'll keep that in mind."

Andrew obviously had no idea what he was talking about, but his words still made her chest feel warm and tingly. The conviction in his voice almost made her believe there was a chance she would go back to dancing one day.

She got up from the floor and stretched. "I should get going. Lucy will be home soon."

"Let me check your injuries first."

She rolled her eyes but sat down next to him on the bed. "The Morrigan barely touched me."

"No, but her manager did."

He carefully removed the bandage on her cheek. His eyes narrowed as he went from being Andrew to being Dr. Alexander. "It's a bit swollen, but I can't tell if it's because of the cuts or the punch itself. I'm going to give you an antibiotic ointment to make sure the cuts don't get infected. You need to keep the wounds covered for about a week, and you have to change the dressing at least once a day. A normal Band-Aid should be fine."

She nodded, zoning out a little. She'd had cuts before, and the only time she'd gotten an infection was when she'd tried to do her own stitches. The cuts on her cheek were nothing. She'd definitely had worse.

"Hey." Andrew flicked her on the forehead, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Pay attention."

"I am." She frowned. "And that's my move."

"I know. Annoying, isn't it?" He grinned smugly and flicked her again in the same spot.

"Stop it," she snapped, grabbing his wrist. When he raised his left hand she tried to grab that one too, but he dodged her and managed to get a hold of her wrist instead.

They stared at each other. She suddenly noticed how close they were, and Andrew seemed to have had the same realization. Her heart began to race. She forced herself to look anywhere but at his lips. One part of her brain told her to remember the way he'd tricked her and all the other reasons why she should stay away, while another part told her to forget what she'd said and just give in to the need burning within her. Her reasons for shutting him out were strong, but as she sat there with her face close to his, she came to realize that her stupid, irrational need for him might actually be even stronger.

He let go of her wrist and instead took her hand in his. "It's important that you take care of the cuts," he said. "We're trying to avoid scarring, remember?"

She lowered her eyes. "Right."

He squeezed her hand. "I know you hate your scars, and I don't think I could ever forgive myself if my actions left permanent marks on you. Please, Robyn, you have to take better care of yourself."

"Wait, let me get this straight—if I get more scars, you'll be upset?"

"That's one way of seeing it, yes."

She sighed. "Just give me the damn ointment."

He smiled. "That's the spirit." He let go of her hand, and Robyn quickly let go of his wrist. The moment ended. "I'll prepare a bag for you with everything you might need. Why don't you put on a pot of coffee?"

She nodded. "But after that, I really have to leave."

• • •

Robyn ended up staying for several hours, simply hanging out with Andrew. The concept of _hanging_ _out_ wasn't exactly new to her, but she wasn't used to it either. Andrew was surprisingly easy to talk to, even though they'd had such different pasts. She wasn't sure why, but she liked spending time with him. It felt normal. She liked normal.

They ordered pizza for lunch, confirming Robyn's suspicion that Andrew was about as good at cooking as she was.

"Do you ever eat homemade food?" she asked.

"Not really, no. I know all this junk food is bad for me, but it's better than starving." He shrugged. "I do order salads sometimes."

"You should come over to our place sometime," she said. "Lucy always cooks for us. She's really good at it, too."

He gave her a surprised smile. "I might take you up on that offer."

Robyn chewed on her lip, making a decision. "Maybe . . .uh . . . " She flushed. Andrew tilted his head to the side, waiting patiently for her to continue. She took a deep breath. "I just thought . . .maybe you would like to celebrate Christmas with us? I'd have to ask Lucy first, but since she's probably already invited Mike, she should be fine with me inviting an extra person, too."

Andrew's eyes lit up, but his excitement faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I'd love to. I don't know if I can, though. I'm supposed to be working on Christmas Day."

"I see." She tried to conceal her disappointment but wasn't sure if she succeeded. "It's okay. I should have asked you earlier."

"I'll try my best to get out of it. I can't promise anything, but I'll really try." He smiled. "Thank you for the invitation. It means a lot to me."

"I still need to talk to Lucy," she reminded him. "I hope you can make it. If you don't, I'll probably end up punching Mike before the day is over."

He grinned. "And wouldn't that be tragic."

• • •

When Robyn finally returned to the apartment, Lucy was already home.

"Where have you been?" Lucy asked, stepping out from the kitchen. She was wearing her white, frilly apron, and something was cooking in the oven.

"I slept at Andrew's place last night," Robyn said. "I was planning on leaving right after I woke up, but then . . .I changed my mind. Sorry, I should have texted you."

"You were with Andrew?" Lucy made no attempt whatsoever to hide her excitement. "That's great! You should have invited him over for dinner."

"I did, actually. He's not coming over tonight, though." Robyn dumped her backpack and Andrew's bag with medical supplies on the floor before heading to the kitchen. "Hey . . . It's Christmas soon."

"I know. Time flies."

"Yeah . . . " Robyn leaned against doorframe, trying to find the words. "I know you've always wanted to celebrate Christmas with more people. Other people than just you and me."

Lucy turned around, her skirt twirling around her. "That's not true. I'm perfectly fine with just you and me. I—"

"I know you've always wanted it, and I know you've never said anything because you know how I feel about other people," Robyn interrupted. "But I . . .I've changed this past year. I think I'm ready for the Christmas gathering you've always wanted. Mike should be here, and Ana and Suzanna, and . . .and Andrew." She smiled nervously. "What do you say?"

Lucy stared at her sister in shock. "Are you sure? Do you really want to do this?"

"Yes."

Lucy's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you." She threw her arms around Robyn's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

• • •

Andrew yawned as he parked the car outside Chrystal Arena. He hadn't slept much before Robyn's scream woke him up, and after she'd fallen asleep in his arms, he'd forced himself to stay awake for as long as possible. The moment had been too perfect to waste on sleep. He'd ended up sleeping for an hour or two anyway, but most of the time he'd just lain there, savoring it all. Her body had fit perfectly against his, and her hands had held on to his bathrobe the whole time. How the hell was he supposed to sleep alone after this?

When he'd visited Chrystal Arena before, he'd always felt uncomfortable. Now, wearing the orange medical team jacket, he felt more at ease. He was acting as a doctor, and that was something he knew he was good at. The jacket seemed to make people believe he was part of the staff, and he received several polite nods and waves from other jacket-wearing personnel as he walked through the long corridors in the backstage area.

He found Jonas and Lily in the gallery, sitting on the same chairs as the previous night.

"You're right on time," Jonas said when Andrew took a seat next to them. "The first-class fight starts soon."

"How did the other fights go? Any serious injuries?"

When Jonas had told him they'd only need him for the first-class fights, he'd been skeptical. Now, he was grateful for it. Fitting the first-class fights into his already busy schedule was tricky enough—attending the other fights too would have been impossible.

"Just some scratches and bruises," Jonas said. "The fights in the lower classes tend to be pretty chill."

"The Morrigan is still in the ICU, though." Lily sent Andrew a chilly glare. She clearly hadn't forgiven him for making Robyn his main priority the night before.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I was unprofessional. Robyn . . .the Valkyrie, she's special to me. I let my feelings rule my actions. I'm sorry."

Lily's eyes softened a little. "I get why you did it, but if you're going to continue working here, you have to get those feelings under control. People get hurt in here. If you're going to be the arena's only doctor, you have to stay rational."

"I know. I can't promise it won't happen again, but I'll definitely do my best."

"Don't be so hard on him, Lil," Jonas said. "We would never have managed to take care of all those brawlers last night if it wasn't for him. He freaked out a little. Shit happens."

Andrew turned to the young man and gave him an appreciative smile, but Jonas didn't seem to notice it. His eyes were fixed on one of the doors leading to the ring, and there was a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows.

"Hey, are you all right?" Andrew asked.

"I'm fine," Jonas answered, still staring at the door.

"Don't mind him," Lily said. "He always gets like that when Tyler fights."

"Oh." Andrew finally realized what was going on. "He's your . . . ?"

"My _friend_ ," Jonas filled in, a sad expression sweeping over his face. "My very heterosexual friend."

"Oh," Andrew said again, unsure how to react.

Jonas didn't say anything more, but the sadness remained in his eyes. Andrew felt like he should say something, but he had no idea what. He had never been in a situation even remotely similar to Jonas's, but he could imagine how painful it must be to love someone who could never see you as anything more than a friend.

Before the heavy silence could turn even more awkward, the doors opened. Through the left door came a pale, slender blond wearing a pair of black swimming trunks. He was young—a teenager, most likely. Andrew really hoped he was over eighteen.

He glanced at Lily, who shook her head. Not Tyler, then.

A dark-skinned man with fiery red hair entered the arena through the door to the right. After staring at him for a while, Andrew recognized him. The last time he'd seen that man, he had confirmed Robyn's identity in the parking lot outside Sandy's. Andrew shuddered. The thought of her going up against that giant again didn't appeal to him at all.

"So," he said, "the winner of this fight gets to fight the Valkyrie in the semifinals, right?"

"That's right," Lily confirmed. "We're pretty certain Tyler will win this. That kid relies on speed and agility, and Tyler's technique works really well against opponents like that."

Lily's answer didn't calm Andrew at all. Robyn's technique relied on speed and agility, too.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to yet another first-class fight here at Chrystal Arena!" the commentator yelled into his microphone. "In tonight's fight, we'll get to see the quick and vicious Weasel take on the powerful Griffin!"

Andrew didn't have to ask which moniker belonged to which fighter. Standing next to Tyler, the Weasel looked even skinnier than before.

"Tyler will be fine," Lily said, squeezing Jonas's hand. "That rodent doesn't stand a chance."

Andrew swallowed hard. For Robyn's safety, he hoped she was wrong.

• • •

Lily's words turned out to be true. After less than a round, the Weasel lay unconscious on the mat. Jonas sighed in relief, and Lily jumped up from her chair with a happy cheer.

Andrew grabbed his medical bag and opened the door leading to the arena. He turned around in the doorway, facing his teammates. "Lily, you and I will check on the kid first. Jonas, you can check on Tyler. Are you guys fine with that?"

Jonas nodded, and Lily smiled. "That's more like it, Dr. Alexander," she said with a wink. "Let's go and do our job."

Together, they jogged toward the ring. The Weasel had already woken up from his unconsciousness, and Tyler was pulling him back up to his feet.

"You did well, kiddo." Tyler grinned widely. "You almost had me a couple of times. Better luck next time."

The blond nodded, still looking a little dizzy. Tyler gave him a hard pat on the back, almost making him fall over again.

"Hey." Andrew hurried to the Weasel's side. "I'm a doctor. I'm here to help you."

He did a quick examination to estimate the Weasel's injuries. The young man was a little disoriented from the knockout, but other than that, he seemed to be more or less unharmed.

"You'll have a black eye for a while," Andrew told his patient, "but you'll be fine."

The Weasel grinned. "That's all right. I'll probably have two black eyes after my manager's done with me."

Andrew frowned. "Does he hit you? That's abuse, you know. You don't have to put up with that kind of treatment."

"Jeez, calm down." The Weasel lowered his eyes. "It was a joke."

Andrew was not convinced, so he opened his bag and grabbed his notebook and a pencil. "Here, take my number. Call me if you need a doctor but can't go to the hospital."

The Weasel quickly looked around before taking the note, hiding it in one of the pockets in his shorts. "Thank you."

The boy walked away from the ring, presumably to meet with his manager. Andrew sighed. Were all the managers abusive douche bags?

He cast a quick glance at Tyler, who was still being cared for by Jonas. _He'll be fine,_ Andrew decided and escaped the scene. He went back up to the gallery and was just about to head out into the backstage corridor when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"You must be the new doctor," a voice said from behind his back. "I don't think we've met."

Andrew slowly turned around, finally coming face to face with Swanson.

"I am," he said, faking a polite smile. "My name is Andrew Alexander. Nice to meet you." He reached out his hand, and Swanson shook it. Swanson's handshake was surprisingly firm for his age, and the way he leaned on his cane seemed a bit off. If Swanson thought he could make Andrew underestimate him, he was definitely wrong.

"My name is Richard Swanson, and this is my assistant Mark Schmidt." Swanson nodded at the bald man standing right behind him. "We've heard a lot about you, young man."

"Mostly good things, I hope," Andrew said, knowing Swanson's opinion of him was without a doubt negative.

"Absolutely." Swanson smiled. "You seem to be an extraordinarily caring person, Dr. Alexander. It's fairly unusual for the medical team to call an ambulance just because a contestant obtained some injuries."

"I was only doing my job." Andrew tried to remain calm, but he felt the panic creeping up on him. Swanson was incredibly difficult to read. His words said one thing, his tone another—and his cold, gray eyes said absolutely nothing at all.

"Meticulous, too," Swanson continued. "Our dear Ms. Monroe was barely touched, yet you still went to great lengths to make sure she was unharmed. Impressive work, Dr. Alexander." He patted Andrew on the shoulder again before leaving the gallery. Mark followed him out the door without a word.

Andrew waited in the gallery for several minutes to make sure he wouldn't run into the two again. He was sweating, and his pulse was still racing. He understood why Robyn was so afraid of Swanson now.

When he finally reached the back door, he had to fight the urge to sprint to his car. He quickly crossed the parking lot, forcing himself not to run. Not until he closed the car door behind him did his heart rate slow down to a normal pace.

He'd passed the point of no return. Swanson knew who he was now. If Jason didn't succeed in bringing Swanson down, it wasn't just Robyn's life that would be in danger—Andrew's life would be in danger, too.

# Chapter Seventeen

Robyn was awakened by a loud ringing noise. She ran her hand over the bedside table in search of her alarm clock, but for some reason, she couldn't find it. She opened her eyes and found Lucy standing in her room with the alarm clock in her hand.

"Merry Christmas!" she said, her voice uncomfortably loud. She had already changed out of her pajamas and was wearing her favorite cocktail dress.

"What time is it?" Robyn groaned, rubbing her eyes.

"It's already eight." Lucy was practically vibrating with excitement. "We're gonna have to do things a bit earlier than usual if we're gonna be ready for our guests in time. I know how you feel about cooking, but I could really use some help in the kitchen today."

"Yeah, sure." Robyn sat up in her bed, forcing herself to stay awake.

Lucy smiled and left the room. Robyn opened her closet and got dressed, putting on a brown tank top and her usual black sweatpants. When she joined Lucy in the kitchen, her sister had already begun to prepare the food. She glanced at Robyn and sighed.

"No. You're not wearing sweatpants at my Christmas party."

"Isn't it _our_ Christmas party?"

Lucy shrugged. "Call it whatever you like. You're still wearing a dress."

Robyn frowned. "I don't even have a dress."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't." Robyn furrowed her brow, mentally going through her closet. "I can't wear _that_ dress at a Christmas party. It's my . . .you know . . . "

"It used to be your funeral dress," Lucy filled in. "It doesn't look like a funeral dress anymore, that's for sure." She winked and continued to prepare the food.

_What the hell did she do?_ Robyn returned to her room, opened the door to her closet, and pulled out the only dress she owned. The last time she'd worn it had been at her mother's funeral. Back then, it had been a plain, full-length gown. Now, it was a lot shorter, and the neckline looked different, too. She undressed again and put it on. The hemline now stopped halfway down her thighs, and Lucy had turned the modest boatneck into a plunging V-neck. Lucy had also given the dress sleeves made of intricate black lace, long enough to cover the ugly scar on Robyn's forearm.

She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the closet door and tentatively did a pirouette, watching the skirt flare out around her legs. _This isn't too bad,_ she thought, smiling a little to herself. She actually felt kind of pretty.

"Are you done yet?" Lucy yelled from the kitchen. "I could use some help in here."

"I'm coming." Robyn made a final twirl in front of the mirror before closing the closet door. It felt weird to be wearing a dress for the first time in six years—especially _that_ dress—but she supposed she could endure it for a couple of hours for Lucy's sake.

"When did you do all this?" she asked as she entered the kitchen. Lucy was standing with her back toward her, stirring a pot on the stove.

Lucy shrugged. "I pulled a couple of all-nighters. I thought that if I was going to force you into a dress, it should at least be a nice-looking one." She turned around to face Robyn, smiling. "What do you think?"

"It's . . .it's okay, I guess. It looks a lot better than before."

Lucy snorted. "Which means you like it, but you think you're too cool to admit you actually like a dress."

"Something like that."

Lucy shook her head. "You're ridiculous."

" _You're_ ridiculous." The comeback came automatically, and they both snickered. It had been a long time since they were both relaxed enough to act like sisters with each other.

"Come on," Lucy said. "Put on an apron and help me cook. Our guests will be here in four hours, and we have a lot to do."

• • •

Andrew took a final look in the rearview mirror, straightening his pale-blue tie. He smiled. It was the first time he was celebrating Christmas in years, and he was really looking forward to it.

He opened the glove compartment and picked up a small, wrapped box. There was definitely a risk that Robyn would freak out about his gift, but he hoped she would accept it.

After getting the bouquet of flowers from the backseat, he locked the car and hurried toward the Monroe sisters' apartment. A quick glance at his watch told him he was almost thirty minutes late. Though he'd tried to get out of his Christmas shift completely, he'd only managed to split it up. He'd still had to work all morning and would have to work all night, but at least he had five free hours between the shifts.

He climbed the stairs to the apartment and rang the doorbell. Music and the sound of people talking and laughing came from the other side of the door.

The door opened. "Hi, Andrew," Lucy said, smiling widely. "Perfect timing. Dinner's almost ready."

"Hi, Lucy. Merry Christmas." He smiled back and handed her the bouquet. "Thanks for the invitation."

"Wow, thanks!" she said, giving the flowers a quick sniff. "I need to put these in water. Please, come in."

He stepped inside the apartment and took off his coat, leaving it on a coatrack next to the door.

"I'll be damned," said a deep female voice with a faint Indian accent. "You were right."

"I know, right?" said a different, somewhat familiar voice. Andrew turned around and noticed two women staring at him. The first voice belonged to a tall, black-haired woman with shoulders broader and way more muscular than his, and the other belonged to the girl with rainbow-colored hair who worked with Robyn at Sandy's.

"Hi. I'm Ananya, Robyn's better half," the tall woman said, holding out her hand. "Nice to finally meet you."

"I'm Andrew." He shook her hand. "Likewise."

"And I'm Suzanna," said Robyn's coworker. "We've met before."

Andrew tried to shake Suzanna's hand, but she went in for a hug instead. He awkwardly hugged her back.

"Andrew! You made it!"

Robyn entered the living room from the kitchen. She hurried to his side, smiling shyly. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he answered, barely believing his own eyes. _Merry Christmas indeed._ Robyn was wearing a dress, and she looked gorgeous in it. It was strange to see her in something other than her usual sweatpants, but it was definitely a good kind of strange. The black dress accentuated her thin waist and delicate curves, and her legs looked absolutely magnificent.

"You look great," he said, which had to be the greatest understatement of the century.

Her cheeks turned pink. "Thank you."

His eyes roamed over her face, pausing at her bandaged cheek. "Have you taken care of your wounds like I told you to?"

She nodded. "They itch a little, but I think they're healing."

"Good." He was relieved. He hadn't been sure if Robyn would take his words seriously or not.

"Dinner's ready!" Lucy yelled from the kitchen. "Robyn, help me get the food to the table."

Robyn sighed. "She's been doing that all day. I've even had to help her _cook._ " She shuddered. "I'd almost forgotten how much I hate cooking."

She returned to the kitchen, and the rest of the gang sat down at the table. Even though the dining table had been moved from the kitchen to the living room, it was still a tight fit.

When they had gotten all the food to the table, Robyn took a seat next to Andrew, and Lucy sat down next to Mike.

"I'm so glad you're all here," Lucy said, smiling warmly at her guests. "I hope this is the beginning of a new tradition."

"Christmas with the Monroes," Suzanna said. "I wouldn't mind making this a yearly thing."

"Me neither," Ananya added. "We misfits have to stick together."

Andrew wasn't sure if he qualified as a misfit, but he didn't say anything. He didn't want to ruin the feeling of actually belonging somewhere.

The meal Lucy and Robyn had prepared for their guests was fantastic. Andrew wasn't sure if it was because every course was home-cooked or because of the great company, but it turned out to be the best dinner he'd had in ages. Together, they made a strange group of people, but somehow they all managed to get along anyway. Andrew guessed that this was how families worked. _I have a family again,_ he realized. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but he wasn't all alone anymore.

The hours went by way faster than Andrew would have preferred. When the clock struck eight, he stood up and reluctantly left the table. Robyn followed him to the door.

"Do you really have to leave already?" she asked, frowning a little.

"Yeah," he replied. "I'm sorry."

He was just about to open the front door when he remembered the small box in his pocket. "I can't believe I almost forgot to give you this," he said, handing the box to Robyn.

She blinked. "Is this for me?"

"It's your Christmas present. Open it."

Robyn untied the bow and ripped off the paper, revealing a small jewelry box. She tilted her head to the side, looking at it curiously.

"Open it," he repeated. _Please don't freak out._

She wrinkled her forehead in confusion as she opened the box. "A key?"

Andrew nodded. "It's a key to my house. I had one copied." He swallowed hard. "You're there about as often as I am. You shouldn't have to use the spare key all the time."

She continued to stare at the key. "It's mine? My own key?"

He smiled. "Yes. My home is your home."

Robyn closed her hand around the key and held it against her chest. "Thank you."

"So you like it?"

"I love it," she said, smiling warmly. Then, her eyes widened. "Shit. I didn't get you anything. I didn't think . . . Damn it. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Just being invited to this dinner is good enough for me. This is the best Christmas I've had in years."

She didn't look fully convinced, but she nodded anyway. "Thank you for being here today. And thank you for the gift."

They stood in the doorway in silence, looking at each other. Andrew knew he had to leave if he wanted to get back to work on time, but he couldn't bring himself to walk through the door. Not yet _._

She tilted her head to the side. "You want to hug me again, don't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted. He always wanted to hug her.

Robyn rolled her eyes before wrapping her arms around his neck. Andrew's arms instantly went around her waist.

She leaned her head against the crook of his neck. "I wish you didn't have to leave."

"Me too." He held her tighter, cursing himself for not trying harder to push his shift onto someone else. In that moment, he wouldn't have minded ruining someone else's Christmas plans if it meant he could stay like that with Robyn for a little while longer.

Someone at the table loudly cleared their throat. Andrew suddenly remembered that the Monroe sisters' hallway was also their living room and that the rest of the guests were still watching them. He reluctantly let go of her, feeling his earlobes turn red.

"I guess I'll see you later," he said to Robyn, who'd backed away several steps.

"Yeah," she said, clearly embarrassed. "I'll come over to your place soon to make sure the key works."

After exchanging goodbyes and thank-yous with Lucy and the rest of the gang, Andrew left. He went down the stairs with heavy steps, already wishing he was back in the Monroe sisters' warm, friendly home. He left the building and was about to head to his car when someone shouted at him.

"Hey, Dr. Handsome!" Andrew followed the sound and found Robyn's friend Ananya on one of the balconies. "Wait up!"

She climbed over the balcony railing and hanged from it for a moment. Then, she simply let go. Before Andrew could react, she'd grabbed the drainpipe and stopped her fall. She climbed down the drainpipe with ease and was standing safely on the ground a few seconds later. Andrew was speechless.

Ananya pulled a lighter and pack of cigarettes from her bra. "Want one?" she asked, holding out the packet.

"No, of course not," he lied. "I'm a doctor."

Ananya rolled her eyes, the expression eerily similar to Robyn's. "Your loss." She lit one for herself and took a deep drag.

"How did you do that?" he asked when he'd fully regained his ability to speak.

"What?"

"How did you get down from the balcony like that?"

Ananya snorted. "I've been doing that since I was thirteen. Getting down is easy. Getting back up is the hard part." She took another drag of her cigarette. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Robyn."

"Okay . . . ?" Andrew had no idea what to expect. Though he didn't want to admit it, the woman scared him a little. She was about as tall as him, and almost every inch of her skin was covered in tattoos. Her eyes were hard and merciless.

"Yeah," she continued. "I guess you could say it's a warning. It's simple: do not hurt that girl. Robyn is special. She has no idea how to handle emotions, and she's bad at letting people into her life. You've somehow managed to make her trust you, which is something I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. If you hurt her now, you'll destroy her." She sighed. "What I'm trying to say is, if you're just looking for a fling, choose someone else. Robyn thinks everyone she loves will leave her sooner or later. If you wanna be with her, you have to be in it for the long run."

"I am," Andrew said. "I really am. I know how hard it is for her to trust people, and it only makes me more grateful for how much she actually trusts me. I . . .I love her. She doesn't feel the same way about me, but that's okay. I'll stay in her life for as long as she'll have me, even if it's just as a friend."

Ananya considered his words for a moment, and then she smirked. "Good answer. I suppose I'll see you around, Andrew." After putting out her cigarette with her boot, she turned around and walked toward the drainpipe. She stopped after a couple of steps, glancing at him over her shoulder. "You better make sure she doesn't get hurt in that damn tournament. At this point, you're the only one who can protect her in that corrupted mess. I'm putting my trust in you, so you better keep her safe."

"I will," he answered. "I promise."

Ananya gave him a short nod and continued back toward the apartment. Andrew stared as she climbed back up to the balcony, performing acrobatics insane enough to make his jaw drop. When she was finally standing safely on the balcony, she gave him a final wave before going back inside.

Andrew smiled. This was the second time he'd admitted out loud that he was in love with Robyn. He liked saying it.

He was definitely in it for the long run. Even if Robyn would never look at him the way he looked at her, he'd still be there for her. Meeting her had changed his entire existence—and even though his life was now more dangerous than before, he still thought it was a change for the better. He had a family now. Going back to his old, lonely life was unimaginable.

_Falling in love with her is the best thing that's ever happened to me._

# Chapter Eighteen

"Promise me you won't go inside until the fight starts," Robyn said. "I don't want you to be in there any longer than you have to."

"I'll do what I always do," Andrew replied. "I usually go inside ten minutes before the fight starts. I've been doing this a lot lately, you know."

Robyn knew he was right. As the medical team's doctor, he'd attended all the first-class quarterfinals—including the three fights Robyn hadn't been involved in—and he'd watched the first semifinal as well. Andrew had been spending a lot of time at the arena lately, and that meant he'd also been spending a lot of time around Swanson and his men. Robyn didn't like that at all.

The plan was for Andrew to drop her off at Chrystal Arena one and a half hours before the fight started, and then he'd stay away until later. That way, Swanson hopefully wouldn't find out about their friendship. If Swanson found out they knew each other, he would definitely get more suspicious about Andrew's sudden involvement in the medical team, which was something Robyn wanted to avoid for as long as possible. She didn't even want to think about what would happen if Swanson found out about Andrew and his police friend's ridiculous plans.

Swanson finding out about her and Andrew's relationship wasn't the only reason Robyn was worried that night. She was going to fight Tyler, and she honestly wasn't sure if she could beat him. She'd had to hold back in their staged fight at the Circle, but she'd still gotten a taste of what it would be like to have a proper fight with him. He was incredibly strong, but his muscular body didn't slow him down. He was also freakishly good at reading body language and predicting his opponent's actions. Robyn's speed and agility meant nothing if Tyler already knew her future moves.

The thought of losing didn't bother her as much as she'd thought it would, though. The tournament prize could probably buy her the normal life she'd always dreamed about, but she was no longer sure if it was worth it. It wasn't just her life at stake anymore. As long as she was in the tournament, Andrew was in danger too. She'd managed to convince him not to spend more time than necessary in the arena, but he was still adamant about staying on the medical team. She hated it. Risking her own life, she was used to. Risking others? Not so much. She didn't like the feeling of it at all.

"Do you think you can take him?" Andrew asked, parking the car outside Chrystal Arena.

"I don't know."

He clenched his jaw. "You're going to get hurt tonight, aren't you?"

"Probably." She gave him a sad smile. "Maybe it's for the best. If I lose tonight, I'll finally be free from this tournament mess."

"Even if that's true, I still don't want you to get hurt." He sighed. "I can't wait for this thing to be over."

"Me too." She removed the seat belt and opened the door. "I'll see you later."

"Please, be careful."

"I will." She closed the door behind her and began to walk toward the arena's pizzeria front. It was a cold winter night, and it had just started to snow. When she reached the door, she was already shivering.

The line to the register was surprisingly long. It was December 28, only three days after Christmas. Robyn had thought the audience would be smaller than usual because of that, but people seemed to think watching the tournament's semifinal was more important than spending time with their loved ones.

She made her way down the stairs and to the bar. Cassandra was sitting in the corner as usual, with Drake leaning against the wall right next to her.

"Hey," Robyn said. "Do you have any advice for me about tonight's fight?"

Cassandra tilted her head to the side, looking at her from head to toe. "This will be a tough fight for you, but you will be the one who moves on to the final."

Robyn waited for her to continue, but Cassandra didn't seem to want to add anything else to her statement. Robyn turned to leave but then changed her mind, turning back to Cassandra. "Why do you always help me like this?" she asked. "I've never paid you or anything. Why are you so nice to me?"

"Because this city is corrupt and chaotic," Cassandra answered calmly. "The violence is reaching its final crescendo. A change is coming—and you will be the cause of it. You, Jason, and Dr. Alexander will change the underground world of Chrystal Valley forever." She gave Robyn a cryptic smile. "I'm only making sure everything plays out the way it's supposed to."

Robyn frowned. "How do you know all this? You can't really see the future, can you?"

"I'm good at what I do." Cassandra turned away from her and fixed her gaze on the ring, ending the conversation.

Robyn shuddered. It wouldn't surprise her if Cassandra did have some sort of supernatural ability. Cassandra had given her a lot of tips over the past months, and she had never been wrong before—but Robyn still had a hard time seeing how a simple fighter like her could change an entire city.

She gave Drake one last glance. He'd won his semifinal, just like he'd told her he would. It surprised her a little. Back when they'd been together, she'd always been the better fighter. Now, she wasn't so sure.

She pushed through the crowd again, heading toward the backstage area. The doorman glared at her but didn't say anything. She entered the locker room and dumped her hoodie, tank top, and shoes in one of the lockers. The most difficult thing to leave behind turned out to be the key to Andrew's house. She'd attached it to an old shoelace and had been wearing it around her neck like a necklace every day since Christmas. Warmth still filled her chest every time she thought about it. The gift represented Andrew's trust in her, and she really cherished it.

In the end she decided to leave it on, hiding the key in her sports bra. The shoelace was old and would snap if Tyler tried to pull on it, and he didn't seem like the type who would try to strangle her. She locked the door to her locker and went back to the backstage corridor to warm up.

She jogged back and forth until her breathing was completely under her control and she felt like her legs could carry her anywhere. Fifteen minutes before the fight, she ran into Swanson and Mark.

"Good evening, dear," Swanson said. "I hope you're ready for tonight's game."

She nodded.

"Good. You don't have to drag it out tonight. Aim for a simple first-round knockout."

She tilted her head slightly to the side. Swanson never encouraged quick finishes. As far as she knew, he only showed this kind of disinterest when he thought a fight was already lost. She glanced at Mark, searching for more clues. Mark was back to his usual state, keeping a neutral face while pretending she didn't exist. If he had any opinions about the upcoming fight's possible outcomes, he didn't show it.

Swanson patted her on the shoulder. "Just be a good girl and do your best."

Robyn frowned as she watched them leave. If Swanson thought she would lose the fight, he was acting surprisingly calm. Was she supposed to lose? She knew Swanson was Tyler's manager too, but she'd thought she was his primary fighter. After all, she'd been fighting for Swanson for years while Tyler had only done it for a couple of months. Was Tyler her successor? Was she about to get fired?

She finished her warm-up and stopped in front of the door leading to the arena.

"Ten minutes left, everybody!" a man in an orange jacket yelled. "The audience is bigger than ever, so no screw-ups tonight, all right?"

"Man, this tournament is getting way too big," a male voice said from behind her back. She turned around and found Tyler leaning against the wall.

"Yeah," she said. "I kind of miss the fights in the Octagon."

"Me too. Things have gotten so damn serious ever since I let that old man hire me. At least one of us will be free from all of this after tonight. You're not gonna hold back, right?"

"No holding back this time," Robyn said with a small smile. "I promise."

Tyler grinned. "Let's give that audience a show they'll never forget. See you soon, Valkyrie."

When Tyler left to go to his own door, Robyn felt a little better than before. Even if he did end up kicking her ass, he would do it in a fair fight. She smirked. She would not make this an easy win for him.

The door to the arena opened. After taking a deep, strengthening breath, she stepped out on the catwalk-like aisle leading to the ring. She walked down the stairs with her head held high, emitting an aura of faked confidence. _I'm the Valkyrie,_ she thought, pushing away her nervousness. _Valkyries don't fear anything._

She glanced through the gallery's wide window on her way down. She didn't see Andrew, but she knew he was in there somewhere. It calmed her to know he was looking out for her.

She reached the ring at the same time as Tyler. He flexed his muscles, already glistening with sweat.

"Are you ready?" he asked with an unconcerned grin.

"Absolutely."

The referee entered the ring. He gave the two fighters strange looks, most likely wondering what they were smiling about. "I know it's the semifinal and the stakes are high, but please, give us a clean fight. We don't want a repetition of the incident two weeks ago." He gave Robyn an indiscreet glare. "You've been given your instructions. Obey my commands at all times. Defend yourselves at all times. Let's get this over with."

The referee backed away from them, and the bell rang. Robyn and Tyler circled each other, analyzing each other's movements. They'd fought each other before, and they both knew the other's strengths and weaknesses. Even if Robyn preferred to let her opponent make the first move, she was going to have to change her strategy if she wanted to surprise him.

She approached him with three quick steps and threw a punch, aiming for his face. Tyler dodged it, but her movement had been unexpected enough for him to take a step back. Robyn continued with a kick to his side and an elbow to his temple. The hits weren't perfect, but she could tell they hurt. She was close to him now—dangerously close. She quickly backed away, but not before Tyler's fist connected with her cheek. Stars danced before her eyes for a moment. She shook her head. Her vision returned to normal.

"Not bad," Tyler said, still grinning. "I didn't see that one coming." Robyn's elbow had caused a small cut in his eyebrow, and drops of blood were already trickling down his cheek.

"I know." She smirked. "Your turn."

The fight continued for several rounds. Tyler was stronger but Robyn was faster. Even though Tyler was good at reading her movements, she still managed to get in some good hits. It was a fair and even fight, and the audience loved it. It wasn't long before Robyn stopped caring about the tournament completely. She hadn't been pushed to the limit like this for a long time. The adrenaline pumped through her veins as she gave and received hit after hit. Power surged through her, washing away all her fears. This was the one thing in the world she was truly good at.

In the final seconds of the third round, Tyler threw a punch Robyn just couldn't block. His fist connected with her chin. Black spots clouded her vision, and her ears rang. She lost her balance and took a step back. Tyler followed up with a kick to her stomach, sending her flying through the air. She tried to hold on to her consciousness, but it was hopeless. _Cassandra was wrong,_ was the last thing she thought before her body hit the floor.

• • •

When Robyn opened her eyes, the fight was over. She looked up and found Tyler looming over her, holding a white towel against his bleeding eyebrow.

"You all right?" he asked, holding out his free hand.

"I'll be fine." She let him pull her up from the floor. "My chin hurts a little, though. That was one hell of a punch."

"You got in some good ones too," he admitted with a grin. "We have to do this again sometime."

Robyn smiled. "Rematch one day?"

"Hell yeah." Tyler punched her playfully in the shoulder.

Before Robyn could say anything else, someone wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her away from Tyler.

"Don't touch her," Andrew said, his voice uncharacteristically cold.

Tyler blinked in surprise. "I only helped her up."

"Don't you think you've done enough?" Andrew turned to Robyn and quickly scanned her from head to toe, estimating her injuries. "Are you all right?" he asked in a softer voice.

"I'm fine." She frowned at him. "Don't be rude. He didn't do anything wrong."

"He knocked you unconscious!"

"It was a fight! If I'd had the opportunity, I would have done the same to him." She put her hand on Andrew's arm, squeezing it gently. "Please, calm down. I lost. It's finally over."

Andrew looked conflicted for a moment, but then he nodded. "You're right." He wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulling her closer. "I just hate watching you get hurt."

Robyn smiled. "I know. I really am fine, though."

He buried his face in her hair. "I'm so damn glad this is all over."

She felt his lips against her ear. His body was hot and firm against hers. In that moment, she didn't give a damn about the promises she'd made to herself. She was high on adrenaline, and she wanted him. She pulled back a little so she could look at his face. Her gaze fell to his lips.

"Ms. Monroe. Dr. Alexander," a voice said, ruining the moment. "I don't think this is the appropriate time or place to show affection like that."

Robyn's eyes widened when she recognized the voice. Swanson had arrived at the scene. She immediately stepped away from Andrew.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Just adrenaline and hormones and stuff. I'm sorry."

Swanson clearly didn't buy her weak excuse. He eyed them both with calm disapproval, his expression showing no surprise at all. "What you do in your spare time is none of my concern, dear, as long as you remain professional at events like this."

"Of course," she said quickly. "It won't happen again. I promise." She looked down at the ground, chewing on her lip. "I'm sorry for losing the fight."

"You gave it your best," Swanson said. "You did well. There will be more games in the future. I'm sure things will turn out for the best."

Robyn blinked. Swanson didn't seem to be upset at all about the loss, and for some reason, he was talking to her instead of Tyler. What the hell was going on?

"We should leave," Andrew said. Robyn nodded, sending Tyler a final glance. He was still being checked out by one of Andrew's coworkers, looking about as confused as Robyn felt. She gave him a wave before following Andrew through the gallery and the backstage corridor.

They walked the rest of the way to the locker room in silence. Robyn fetched her backpack and clothes from her locker and let down her hair. After unwinding the gauze from her hands and removing the piece of tape covering her piercing, she reached out for her hoodie.

Andrew stopped her by placing his hand on her shoulder. "I would like to check your stomach before you get dressed. He gave you a really nasty kick."

She nodded. The kick hadn't felt that bad, but she'd learned to trust Andrew's instincts when it came to injuries.

He made her lie down on the bench. "You don't have any bruising, and nothing seems swollen," he said, slowly moving his hands over her stomach. "I don't think you have any bleeding, but I'd prefer if you slept at my place tonight. You could still have a concussion."

She couldn't tell if he meant the part about the concussion, or if he was just pulling something out of his ass to make her stay over at his place as usual. After some consideration, she found that it didn't actually matter.

"Sure. Lucy won't be home tonight any—"

A gasp escaped her lips when his hand grazed her piercing. Their eyes met, and Robyn felt a surge of electricity pass through her body. Andrew had that look in his eyes again, and his hands were still moving lower and lower down her stomach, igniting fires under her skin. When they reached the hem of her pants, a big and surprisingly convincing part of her wanted him to continue even lower. She couldn't move or even think—her mind was fully concentrated on his hands and those beautiful sky-blue eyes.

Andrew abruptly removed his hands, turning away from her. "I'm sorry," he said in a strained voice. "That was unprofessional. I'll wait outside."

Robyn watched him leave the room, her cheeks burning. _Shit._ She clearly had no self-control today. What would have happened if he hadn't stopped himself? She shook her head, pushing away the intruding thoughts. She was the one who'd said they couldn't be together. Why was she the one who couldn't keep herself in check around him?

She picked up her backpack and left the locker room. Andrew was waiting right outside.

"I'm sorry," he said again. He couldn't even look her in the eye.

"It's okay," she said. "Let's just . . . Let's just forget about it."

They walked through the backstage corridor in silence. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about Andrew's hands. And his lips. She wanted to kiss him again so badly, but she couldn't.

The fight they'd had should have been long forgotten by then, but it wasn't. They were friends—good friends, even—but Robyn still refused to let things go any further than that. He'd betrayed her trust. How could she possibly let him in again after something like that?

According to her rebellious emotions, the answer was simple. All she had to do was kiss him again.

She pushed away the intruding thoughts. No, she would not kiss him. No, she would not let herself become even more attached to him than she already was. Sooner or later, his fascination with her would end, and then he would leave. That's what people like him did. If she allowed herself to like him any more than she already did, the inevitable separation would be too painful to handle.

They made their way back up to the parking lot. Their original plan had been to let Andrew leave first and then for him to come back and pick Robyn up later, but since Swanson now knew about their friendship there wasn't really any point to it. They had just reached Andrew's car when Robyn noticed someone lying on the ground in the corner of the parking lot.

"Excuse me, are you okay?" she shouted, approaching the motionless body. "Hello?"

When she got closer, she recognized the fiery red hair. She ran the final yards and knelt down next to him. "Tyler?"

Tyler wasn't moving. His eyes were open, but he didn't seem to see anything. A thin layer of snow covered his dark skin. She grabbed his shoulder and shook him. His skin was cold—colder than any human's skin should ever be.

"Andrew!" she yelled, glancing over her shoulder. "He's not waking up. You have to do something. Fix him!"

"Call an ambulance," Andrew said, running to her side. He grabbed Tyler's forearm and placed two fingers against his wrist.

Robyn nodded and pulled her cell phone from her backpack. The display of her old Nokia showed an out-of-service message. She moved closer to the arena until a single bar popped up on the screen. She called 911, and the operator promised he'd send an ambulance. When she'd ended the call, she hurried back to Andrew's side. To her surprise, Andrew was standing up again.

"Aren't you supposed to give him CPR?" she asked, her heart pounding in her chest. "He doesn't have a pulse, so you have to do that compressing shit. I don't know how to do it, so you have to help him."

Andrew remained silent. He looked at her with sadness in his eyes. He still wasn't moving.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" she yelled before giving him a hard shove. "You have to fix him! You always fix me. Why aren't you fixing him?" She shoved him again. "Help him!"

Before she could shove him again, Andrew pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "He's gone, Robyn," he said softly. "There's nothing I can do."

"What the hell are you talking about?" She struggled against him. "That can't be true. He's supposed to be in the final. He promised me a rematch. He's not . . . He can't be . . . " She tried to finish the sentence, but the words wouldn't come out. She was hyperventilating, but her lungs didn't seem to be getting enough air. Everything seemed unreal. _Maybe it's all just a nightmare,_ she thought, but deep inside, she knew it wasn't. This was the reality, and Tyler was dead.

"I'm sorry, Robyn," Andrew mumbled as he held her. "I'm so sorry."

"Tyler?" a male voice yelled from the other side of the parking lot. Andrew's platinum-blond teammate ran toward them. He rushed to Tyler's side and began to shake him.

"Tyler? You have to wake up. You have to wake up!" He stared at Andrew, his eyes open wide. "Why aren't you giving him CPR? He's not breathing!"

"It won't help, Jonas," Andrew said. "He's gone."

Jonas didn't listen. He straddled Tyler's body and pushed on his chest.

"When you elbowed him in the head, did you feel something give in?" Jonas yelled to Robyn before pressing his lips against Tyler's, forcing air into his lungs.

"No. Maybe. I . . .I don't know. I can't remember."

"How the hell can you not remember whether or not you crushed his fucking skull?" Jonas screamed, pushing harder and harder on Tyler's chest.

"I don't know!" Robyn tried to think back on the fight, but it was all a blur. She looked up at Andrew, her body trembling. "Did I kill him? Did I kill Tyler?"

Andrew hesitated for a moment, closing his eyes. "I honestly don't know."

"Please don't leave me, please don't leave me, please don't leave me," Jonas whispered as he continued to give the dead man CPR. The way he gently cradled Tyler's face in his hands before blowing air into his lungs made her heart ache.

She stared at Tyler's dead body in shock. Had she caused this?

The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. The EMTs had to tear Jonas away from Tyler's body before they could examine it, and he didn't stop struggling until a paramedic declared Tyler dead after a quick consultation with Andrew. Jonas sank to his knees with a loud sob. Robyn tried to put her hand on his shoulder, but he slapped it away.

"I don't even want to look at you," he said, tears falling freely from his eyes. She backed away. She didn't blame him in the slightest for hating her.

Andrew stayed close to her, as if he was waiting for a breakdown to happen. Robyn knew a breakdown would probably be a more normal reaction, but she couldn't even cry. She felt nothing. Her entire being had gone numb.

"You're an MD, right?" a paramedic asked Andrew. "Do you have any comments on possible COD?"

"Blunt force trauma to the skull, most likely," he replied, glancing nervously at Robyn. "That's all I could figure out. A coroner needs to take a look."

_I may have just killed a man._ Her eyes widened. _Not just a man—a friend._

She ran over to the bushes surrounding the parking lot and threw up. Her knees buckled, and she crashed to the ground. When gentle hands held her hair back, she knew Andrew had followed her. She emptied her stomach, heaving until she had nothing left to throw up.

"It's okay," Andrew murmured, stroking her hair. "I don't think you caused it. The swelling was in the back of his head, and you never hit him there. Something else must have happened after the fight."

Robyn wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and unsteadily got back to her feet. "But you can't be sure."

"I can't. Not yet. They will have to do an autopsy to confirm cause of death." He ran his fingers through his hair. "We should leave. The police will arrive any minute now. They'll turn this whole parking lot into a crime scene, and then we'll be stuck here for hours."

She nodded. She was tired, and her body wouldn't stop trembling.

"Cassandra was right," she whispered. "I am going to the final."

He wrapped an arm around her and led her toward the car. "We'll figure it out later. Everything will be okay."

Robyn leaned her head against his shoulder. She felt empty inside. Numb. Tyler was dead, gone forever. She would never get the rematch he'd promised her.

"No," she said, her eyes finally filling up with tears. "Some things will never be okay."

Neither of them said a word as they walked to the car. She knew she was right, and judging by his silence, Andrew knew it too.

# Chapter Nineteen

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I think Swanson did this," Andrew said. "He seemed way too calm after the fight."

Robyn continued to silently stare out the window. She had already come to that conclusion herself, even if she didn't want to admit it. Swanson had been acting strangely both before and after the fight, and if he still wanted her to fight in the final, he definitely had motive—which meant Tyler's death was still her fault, even if she hadn't dealt the fatal blow. Another tear rolled down her cheek. She hadn't known Tyler for long, but she'd already come to like him. He'd probably been a much better person than she'd ever be.

"I guess the police will have us come in and give a statement later," Andrew continued. "Hopefully, Jason can cover for us if they start asking questions about the tournament."

Robyn didn't answer. She didn't really care.

She was still awake when they reached Andrew's house. The adrenaline had left her system long ago, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Tyler's dead body.

Tiny met them in the hallway when they got inside. She picked him up, cradling the somewhat unwilling cat against her chest.

"I'm going to bed," she said to Andrew. "I really need to get some sleep."

"It's okay. I need to get some sleep, too."

They stared at each other for a moment. Somehow, Robyn knew Andrew was thinking about the last time she'd slept in the guest room too. She didn't know how he'd felt about them falling asleep next to each other like that, but she'd slept unexpectedly well in his arms.

"Good night, then," she finally said. She couldn't bring herself to ask him to share a bed with her. The request was just too weird.

Andrew looked like he was going to say something, but then he just sighed.

"Good night," he said before disappearing into his own bedroom. Robyn wasn't sure, but she thought he'd almost looked disappointed.

"At least I've got you, Tiny," she whispered to the cat in her arms. Tiny answered by licking her chin.

After setting the alarm on her clock, she collapsed on the guest-room bed. Andrew had left a neatly folded button-down shirt on the pillow, but she was too tired to even undress. She put the shirt on the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers. Tiny demonstratively curled up on top of the shirt, purring contentedly.

Robyn closed her eyes. She was exhausted, both from the fight and the shock afterward. _He's dead because of me._ The image of Tyler's dead body flashed before her eyes again. She could still feel the coldness of his skin in her fingertips. _He's dead because of me._

When the sun rose and the birds began to sing, Robyn was forced to accept that she wouldn't get any sleep that night. She got out of the bed and went to the bathroom to splash some water on her face. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she barely recognized the woman staring back at her. Her face was puffy, her eyes were bloodshot, and the dark circles under her eyes looked like bruises. She needed to take a run. She always felt better after a run.

She left a note for Andrew on the kitchen table before heading out. It was a cold December morning, and her breaths turned to steam as soon as they left her mouth. She knew she should take a few minutes to warm up before running in that kind of weather, but she wasn't in the mood for a slow jog. If she didn't run fast enough, she wouldn't get the distraction she so badly needed.

She ran for hours. When she finally came to a stop outside her apartment, her whole body hurt. She had run until she simply couldn't run anymore, and it still wasn't distracting enough.

After taking a quick shower, she decided to try out her second method of distraction: cleaning. She vacuumed and dusted every single nook of the apartment, including the small space behind the oven and under the bathtub. The cleaning was somewhat distracting, but the guilt was still there, a constant ache in the pit of her stomach. _He's dead because of me._

When there was nothing left to clean, she sat down on the floor in the living room. Now what? Her home was clean, but her guilt was still there. Tyler's blood would always be on her hands. She tried to motivate herself into going down to the garage and dance for a while, but it didn't feel right. Tyler was dead. She couldn't just dance that pain away.

Robyn sighed and pulled her cell phone out of her backpack. There was one more option she could try, something she'd promised herself she'd never even go near. She punched in the numbers to Ana's tattoo parlor, knowing she'd just hit rock bottom.

"Ananya's Ink," Ana said. "If you wanna disappoint your parents, you've come to the right place."

"Hey, Ana, it's me. I need you to get me really, really drunk."

• • •

Andrew paced back and forth on the balcony. The last time he'd seen Robyn, she had not been in a good place. Her being gone in the morning had not made him any less worried, even though she'd left a note. " _Went for a run—R_ " didn't exactly say anything about what state she was in.

He took a deep drag from his cigarette. What if she was injured? What if he'd missed an internal bleeding? What if she had a concussion?

The doorbell rang. Andrew put the cigarette in the ashtray and rushed to the door. For one blissful moment, he thought Robyn had returned to him—but then he found an exhausted cop on his doorstep.

"'Sup," Jason said as he entered the house. "I need you to give me a statement about last night."

"Sure." Andrew tried his best to hide his disappointment. Robyn was fine. She had to be. "Does this mean I don't have to give a statement at the police station?"

"Well, you might have to give a more official statement when this is all over, but right now we're trying to keep a low profile on all of this." Jason took a seat in one of the chairs in the kitchen. "Please, tell me what you saw."

Andrew described everything he'd seen that night, from Swanson's strangely calm behavior to Tyler's dead body in the parking lot. Jason recorded it all on his Dictaphone, listening carefully to every word.

"I couldn't tell the exact cause of death from my quick examination, but I know it was some sort of trauma to the skull," Andrew finished. "When will the autopsy be done?"

"It's already finished. Someone hit him in the head, just like you said. The culprit used some kind of object, and the coroner thinks it was a baton or a really thin baseball bat."

"Or a cane," Andrew filled in.

"Or a cane." Jason sighed. "This is the first time I've seen Swanson doing his dirty work himself. He's getting overconfident, and it's making him sloppy. We're so close to nailing him now, but no one at the station dares to even mention his name. If I only had one final piece of evidence, I'm sure I could put out an arrest warrant." Jason paused for a moment and yawned. He closed his eyes, leaning back on the chair. "Just one more, tiny little thing . . . "

Andrew could only stare as Jason began to fall asleep in the middle of their conversation. He put his hand on Jason's shoulder, shaking him gently.

"Hey, why don't you crash on my couch? It's a lot more comfortable than the chair, I promise."

Jason nodded and got up from the chair, barely opening his eyes. Andrew had to lead him to the living room to make sure he didn't walk into any furniture. Jason collapsed on the couch, falling asleep in seconds. Andrew sighed. No one in this city seemed to know how to take care of themselves.

Hours passed. Jason continued to sleep on the couch, Robyn continued to be missing, and Andrew continued to pace back and forth on the balcony. _She probably just went home,_ he thought. _She doesn't live here, after all._ His weak attempt to calm himself had no effect whatsoever.

A little after six, Andrew's phone rang. He checked the display before answering. The name of the caller sent him straight into panic mode.

"Andrew Alexander," he answered, his heart racing.

"Hi, it's Lucy," she said. "Andrew, I need your help. It's Robyn."

_No. No, no, no._ "Is she hurt? What happened? Where is she?" He rushed to the hallway to put on his coat.

"No," Lucy said quickly, "she's not hurt. I just got a call from Ana, asking me to pick Robyn up from that bar next to Ananya's Ink. Apparently, they decided it was perfectly normal to get shit-faced on a Sunday afternoon, and now Ana's asking for backup." Lucy paused. "Someone has to pick her up, and I . . .I really don't want to be around drunk people. Even if it's my sister. I hate myself for putting this on you, but I . . .I can't. I just can't."

Andrew could hear the disappointment in Lucy's voice. Considering their background, it didn't surprise him. "I understand. I'll go get her."

"Really?" Lucy asked, her voice thick with unshed tears. "Thank you. I'm sorry for bothering you about something like this."

"It's all right. No problem at all."

After leaving a note on the coffee table for Jason, he went to his car to go get Robyn. He was relieved she wasn't hurt, but her behavior still worried him. As far as he knew, Robyn didn't drink. At all. Ever. Tyler's death must have hit her even harder than he'd thought.

The bar next to Ananya's Ink was not a place Andrew would ever have visited of his own accord. The floor was dirty, the light was dim, and a strange smell permeated the air. The pounding music drowned out all his thoughts, and he had never been a fan of R & B to begin with.

He scanned the room, but before he could locate Robyn, he saw Ananya waving at him from the bar.

"Looks like the cavalry finally arrived," she said as Andrew approached her.

"Hi." He took a seat next to her. "What's going on?"

"Robyn's drinking me under the table, that's what's going on," she replied bitterly. "She asked me to get her drunk, and I thought, 'Hey, let's get the missy drunk, it could be fun.' You know what? This is _not_ fun. You know what she said when we got here? 'Give me one of everything,' she said. That was three hours ago. I don't know why she hasn't crashed yet. She's small! She should be puking her guts out right now, but no, she's still going at it. Just look at this!" Ananya gesticulated wildly at the glass in front of her. "I don't even know who's paying for these anymore. They just keep coming!" She tried to lean her head against her hand but missed, ending up with her forehead leaning against the counter. "Please, make her stop."

"Where is she?"

Ananya pointed to the corner of the room. "She's dancing on the table."

Robyn was indeed dancing on a table. A crowd had gathered around her, staring at her as she danced. Her hips swayed from side to side in perfect synchronization with the music. She was smiling to herself with her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed. She was probably even drunker than Ananya.

Andrew approached her carefully. He had never seen her move like that before. There was a raw sensuality in her movements, like she knew exactly how to control every single part of her body. Her cropped tank top left her whole midriff visible, and Andrew had to force his eyes away from her gyrating hips and the glimmering piercing in her belly button. He'd wanted to put his lips on that damn thing from the moment he first saw it, and her dancing only made it harder for him to look away.

"Hey," he said, trying to catch her attention. "Lucy called me."

"Uh-huh," she said, keeping her eyes closed as she continued to dance.

"Don't you think it's time to get down from the table?"

"Nah."

He sighed. "Robyn. This isn't you. I get that you don't want to think about Tyler, but this is not—"

"Don't say his name." She opened her eyes to give him a glare. "Not now. Not in here. This is a happy place. A happy, drunk place."

"I can see that. Please get down from the table."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why?"

"You're drunk. You could get hurt."

She laughed humorlessly, almost losing her balance in the process. "I really don't care."

"Well, I care," he said, his frustration turning into anger. "Get down."

She rolled her eyes but finally did as he said. She jumped from the table, almost falling over when her feet hit the ground.

"A lot of people get hurt in this city," she mumbled, more to herself than to him. "At least I'd deserve it."

Andrew frowned. "That's bullshit. Why would you say something like that?"

"Because someone died because of me!" she exclaimed. The crowd that had been watching her took a step back, surprised by her sudden outburst. "You don't get it. I'm nothing— _nothing—_ and Tyler still died because of me. I keep dreaming about a normal life, but who am I kidding? All I'm good for is hurting others. It should have been me in that parking lot, not him. I'm not needed. Lucy has Mike now. She doesn't need me anymore. No one does." She clenched her fists, looking at the floor. "It should have been me. I'd rather die myself than see someone else get hurt because of me."

Andrew tried to hold it all back. He really did. For about half a second, he just stood there, staring at her as he tried to contain his anger. Then he exploded.

"How can you be so blind?" He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her closer. "You think you're not needed? _I_ need you! I need you more than anything. I . . . "

He didn't know what to say to make her understand exactly how wrong she was, so instead he kissed her, hard, on the lips. He pulled away before she could even react, looking her deep in the eye. "I won't let you die. I won't accept it."

Robyn's lower lip trembled. "Why?"

"Because I love you."

Her reaction was instantaneous. She closed the distance between them and then her lips were on his. Andrew's heart nearly stopped, and every reason they shouldn't be doing this left his mind in an instant. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as he kissed her back. The details he'd tried so hard to forget returned to him all at once. Her smell, her touch, her taste—everything was as addictive as he remembered it from their moment in the garage. Ever since that day, he'd dreamt about kissing her again, and now that it was finally happening he couldn't get enough of her.

Her lips parted, and Andrew could have sworn he felt a surge of electricity pass between them when their tongues met. He made a sound in the back of his throat, holding her even tighter. The circumstances weren't optimal, but he didn't care. He never wanted to let her go. Ever.

_Too bad she's drunk,_ his inner critic commented. _She's in a vulnerable state, and you're taking advantage of her._

Using all the mental strength he could gather, he tore himself away from her lips. He grabbed her shoulders again, keeping her at arm's length.

"Don't stop," Robyn ordered. She was breathing heavily, and her already flushed cheeks had turned even redder.

Andrew closed his eyes. She was drunk. Really, really drunk. He was a better person than this.

"Let's get you home." He bent down, grabbed her, and threw her over his shoulder.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she yelled. "Let me down! We're not done here!"

"Yes, we are." He went over to the bar and paid the surprisingly cheap bill. He glared at the men who had watched Robyn dance, who were most likely the source of the free alcohol. The men confirmed his suspicion by taking great care not to look at him.

He turned away from them and walked up to the main culprit behind Robyn's intoxication. Ananya was still sitting at the bar with her face pressed against the counter.

"Why did you let it go this far?" he asked her. "You must have known something was up. Why the hell did you take her out drinking?"

"Because she asked me to," Ananya said. "You know how rarely she asks for stuff. I promised myself long ago that if she ever asked me for anything, I would make it happen. Even if she asked me for something incredibly stupid."

"Don't blame her," Robyn said, still trying to wriggle herself free from his grip. "I'm an adult. Getting drunk was my decision. Kissing you was my decision. I'm an adult! Let me down!"

"Yeah, you're really acting like an adult right now." Andrew rolled his eyes. He turned to Ananya again, unable to stay angry with her after a confession like that. Even though her love for Robyn was very different from his, he knew she loved her just as much. "Do you need a ride?"

"Suzie's picking me up any minute," Ananya replied. "I'm gonna have to sleep on the couch for weeks, but I'll be fine. Just get her home. And hey, congrats on the kiss and everything. I gagged for a moment."

"I'll take her home." Andrew's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Thanks."

Robyn gave Andrew the silent treatment the whole ride back. He didn't even ask her whether or not to drop her off at her apartment—he couldn't possibly leave her alone when she was like this. He hadn't realized how much she blamed herself for Tyler's death, and at the bar she'd almost seemed suicidal. If she didn't care about her life, he was going to have to do it for her. He would protect her from anyone who might try to harm her—even if that person was Robyn herself.

When they reached Andrew's house, Robyn had sobered up enough to walk on her own. He kept a wary eye on her as she staggered up the stairs to the front door. Her metabolism was impressive.

Jason met them in the doorway, looking at them curiously. "What the hell happened to her?"

Robyn shrugged. "I got drunk."

"No shit." He shook his head. "I guess that's my cue. Thanks for letting me crash here." He looked at Robyn and grinned. "Big fan, by the way."

He patted Andrew on the shoulder before heading out, leaving Robyn and Andrew alone in the house.

Their eyes met. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"What does this all mean?" she asked. "You know, what happened in the bar. We're not just friends anymore, are we?"

Andrew sighed. "We'll talk about this when you're sober. Go and sleep it off."

For a moment, she looked like she was going to protest, but then she nodded. "We'll talk about this later." She lowered her eyes, chewing on her lip. "Thanks for coming to get me. I . . .I just wanted to think about something else for a while."

"Tyler's death wasn't your fault," he said, fighting the urge to give her a hug. If he held her now, he wouldn't be able to let go. "All of this is because of Swanson, okay? Jason already has the autopsy report. Someone hit Tyler in the head with a cane, and that's what killed him. Swanson killed him, not you. You're not responsible for Swanson's actions."

Robyn smiled dejectedly. "I work for him. As long as he's my manager, I will always feel responsible for his actions."

"Well, you know what I think," he said.

"Yeah . . . Maybe you're right. I'm not sure if I want to be a part of that world anymore. Not after what happened to Tyler." She paused. "I think it might be time for me to stop fighting."

She gave him another tired smile before entering the guest room. Andrew blinked. Was his wishful thinking now giving him hallucinations, or was she actually considering quitting fighting?

He stared at the closed guest-room door. If she stopped fighting, he wouldn't have to go behind her back to protect her ever again. He could finally regain her trust. She would be safe. She would finally be safe.

If she stopped getting injured all the time, she wouldn't be his patient anymore either. There would no longer be an ethical dilemma keeping them apart. He smiled as the realization fully sank in. If she stopped fighting, they could finally be together.

• • •

A little after midnight, Robyn woke up from her sleep-it-off nap. Her head was pounding, and she was painfully sober. At first, she wondered how the hell she'd ended up in Andrew's guest room again, but then it all came back to her.

"Shit." She'd kissed Andrew. After all her "we're just friends" and "I can't be with someone I don't trust" statements, she'd still kissed Andrew.

Despite what she'd told him, there was a part of her that had never stopped trusting him—that trusted him more than anyone else on the planet. He was special. To her, he would always be special.

She made a decision and got out of the bed. Andrew had put a stop to the kiss back then because of her drunkenness, but she wasn't drunk now. She wasn't sure if she believed a man like him could _love_ someone like her, but he had definitely wanted her. Life was short and volatile. She refused to hold herself back anymore.

Dressed in nothing but panties and Andrew's white button-down shirt, she silently left the guest room. When she reached Andrew's bedroom door, she almost wished she was drunk again. When she had been drunk, things had been a lot less scary. _But this is something I have to do sober,_ she thought and opened the bedroom door.

"Andrew?" she whispered.

He sat up in his bed and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. He stared at her in confusion. "Yeah?"

She took a deep breath. "I don't want to sleep in the guest room anymore."

She let Andrew's shirt slide off her shoulders and down to the floor.

Andrew was out of the bed and up on his feet in less than a second. He was wearing a pair of black boxers and nothing else, and his hair didn't look quite as perfect as it usually did. Robyn hadn't thought it was possible, but he somehow looked even hotter like this than in his white coat.

"You don't have to do this," he said in a low voice, looking anywhere but at her naked torso.

"I know." She took a step closer. "I want you, Andrew. I want—"

Andrew's lips crashing into hers cut her off. He entangled his fingers in her hair, tilting her head back to give the kiss a better angle. Robyn answered it with desperate, burning need. Her hands roamed freely over his naked skin. She couldn't get enough of him. She needed more.

Andrew turned them around and began to slowly move them toward the bed, his lips never leaving hers. When Robyn lay down on the mattress, he paused for a moment.

"Are you sure?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Yes."

Andrew stared at her, finally taking in her half-naked body. If all her scars and imperfections revolted him, he didn't show it.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed.

"You don't have to say that." She fought the urge to cross her arms to cover herself. "I'm way too thin, and then there's all the scars. You don't . . . You don't have to pretend I'm something I'm not."

Andrew finally got up on the bed with her. "You're perfect. Everything about you is perfect." He hovered over her, drinking her in. He had that look in his eyes again, now more intense than ever. Robyn finally realized the meaning of that look—it was need. Pure, unadulterated need. In that moment, she no longer doubted that he needed her just as much as she needed him.

After giving her lips another hungry kiss, Andrew began to move downward. "Since I love your scars," he murmured, kissing her neck, "I've decided to kiss all of them." His lips traced a pale scar on her collarbone. "Every"—he kissed her chest—"single"—he kissed her stomach—"one." His teeth grazed her skin when he kissed her hipbone, sending an involuntary shudder through her body.

"That would take all night," she gasped, stifling a moan as he tugged on her piercing with his teeth.

She could feel him grin as his lips traveled lower and lower down her body. "I know."

# Chapter Twenty

Robyn woke up the following morning when a soft paw slapped her nose.

"Tiny, what the hell?" she groaned. When she opened her eyes, she found the cat standing on the bed right beside her head. He lifted his paw again, preparing another slap.

"I am awake, you little shit," she muttered. "Why can't you bother Andrew instead?"

Tiny continued to stare at her expectantly. Robyn sighed. She knew she had to get up and prepare the cat's breakfast sooner or later—preferably sooner, according to Tiny—but she didn't like the thought of leaving the bed. Andrew's arms were still wrapped around her, and she could feel his calm breaths against her neck. She felt safe in his arms. Protected.

Andrew muttered something incoherent in his sleep and pulled her closer. Robyn smiled, entwining her fingers with his. Maybe he wouldn't leave her, after all. Maybe he would be the one who actually stayed.

Tiny meowed and slapped her nose again. Robyn grunted, fighting the urge to push the cat off the bed.

"I'm coming," she muttered. "You don't have to act like you haven't been fed in days."

She lifted Andrew's arm and got out of the bed. When she glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table, she could barely believe her eyes. It was already after noon, and though she wasn't sure when exactly she'd fallen asleep last night, she had definitely slept for more than six hours—without the nightmare. She glanced at Andrew, who was still snoring peacefully. Thanks to him, she'd felt safe when she'd fallen asleep. Apparently, that was all it took to scare the nightmare away.

"I guess that explains why you're so hungry," she said to the cat as she picked up Andrew's white shirt from the floor and put it on. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't exactly plan this."

She walked toward the guest room with Tiny trotting after her, meowing happily.

"Could you at least try to be quiet?" She scratched the cat on the head before getting his pellets from the guest bathroom. "I have errands I need to run before Andrew wakes up."

She'd made a decision the previous night, a promise to herself to stop letting fear rule her life. Step one had been to accept her feelings for Andrew. Step two would be to get out of the fighting world for good. She'd been afraid of what Swanson would do if she quit, but right now, fighting for him seemed to be more dangerous than not doing it. For Lucy's safety—and Andrew's—she had to get out.

She'd let Swanson control her life for way too long. If she wanted a normal life, she was going to have to get it herself.

Tyler's death had showed her exactly how volatile life could be, and in a way, she felt like she had to live her life for the both of them. The guilt wasn't as overpowering now as it had been the day before, but she still felt nauseous every time she thought about Tyler's dead body. Swanson had killed Tyler to get her to the final. Nothing could ever erase that guilt.

If Andrew found out about her plans, he would insist on coming along with her, no matter what she said. In some situations, she appreciated that confident, determined side of him, but in Swanson's headquarters he would be a liability. She had to do this before he woke up.

After filling Tiny's food bowl, she left the room, heading toward the kitchen. She had a long run ahead of her and would need some food before taking off. She searched the fridge and pantry for breakfast, but both turned out to be as good as empty. _How does he even survive in here?_ she wondered as she picked up an apple from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. One of them was going to have to learn how to cook, or they'd both starve to death.

She left the house and began to jog, eating the apple as she ran. Swanson's mansion was about five miles away from Andrew's house. She'd only been there once before, but she still remembered the way.

The last time she'd been at the headquarters, she'd been seventeen years old. Signing a contract to become Swanson's employee hadn't seemed like a big deal back then. He'd promised to help her get emancipated so she could become Lucy's legal guardian, and that promise had been enough for her to sign up for pretty much anything. She'd had so many nightmares back then, dreams where social workers took Lucy from her and placed her in foster care. Robyn would have done anything to keep her small family together, and Swanson had been well aware of it. But Lucy was eighteen, now. The only thing he had on her now was the debt.

The closer she got to the headquarters, the more nervous she got. She was already beginning to regret her decision. In Andrew's arms, she'd felt like a person again. When she was with him, she felt like someone who mattered, but the feeling was already being washed away by overwhelming waves of powerlessness. Swanson had a way of making her feel small, even when he wasn't near her.

_I can do this,_ she thought as she entered Swanson's mansion through the main entrance. The guards at the door glanced at her but let her pass. Most people in Swanson's organization recognized the Valkyrie.

The hallway was furnished in a Victorian fashion, and Robyn suspected the room was bigger than her whole apartment. A gigantic crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, illuminating the room. Everything looked exactly like she remembered it.

She carefully walked up to the reception desk in the middle of the room, her sneakers leaving dirty footprints on the red carpet.

The receptionist looked at her curiously. "How can I help you?"

Her blond hair was tied up in a strict-looking bun, and she was wearing glasses with thick, black frames. She was obviously trying to look older than she really was, but Robyn could easily see through it. The receptionist couldn't be older than twenty or twenty-one.

"I need to talk to Swanson," Robyn said.

The receptionist blinked. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but I need to see him."

"I'm sorry, I can't let you in without an appointment."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Robyn muttered. "Listen, Blondie, I'm going to talk to Swanson today whether you like it or not. You should probably call him and tell him Robyn Monroe is here to see him. I'm going to his office now. Have a nice day."

She gave the receptionist a chilly smile before heading farther into the mansion. The last time she'd been to the headquarters, Swanson's office had been in the west wing on the ground floor. If his office had been moved since then, she was going to have a problem.

Behind her, she heard the receptionist call out to the guards. Robyn quickened her steps as she entered the corridor that would hopefully lead her to Swanson's office.

She had no idea how Swanson would react to the ultimatum she'd prepared for him. Even though she knew he was behind Tyler's death, she still didn't think he would physically hurt her. At least not this close to the final.

She came to a stop outside the office door. The sign on the door still said " _Richard Swanson_ ," which solved her first problem. There were men speaking inside the room, and she thought she recognized Swanson's voice.

_I can do this._ She'd never get her normal life if she backed out now. She had to do this—for herself and for Tyler.

She opened the door without knocking, stepping inside with her head held high. The office looked just like she remembered it, with the same kind of Victorian furniture as the hallway. Swanson was seated behind a big wooden desk in the middle of the room, holding a phone to his ear. The ever-present Mark leaned against the wall right behind him, his arms crossed. They both glared at her as she entered, neither of them looking even remotely surprised.

"Yes, she's here now," Swanson told the person on the phone. "It's fine, dear. There was nothing you could have done. Goodbye, then." He hung up the phone with a sigh. "Ms. Monroe, was it really necessary to scare our dear Victoria?"

"She wasn't going to let me in," Robyn said, trying her best to hold on to the little bit of confidence that still remained within her. "I needed to talk to you."

"I see." Swanson tilted his head to the side in an eerily bird-like way. "What's on your mind, dear?"

He stared at her with his cold, gray eyes, and for a moment she felt like he could see right through her. She clenched her fists. _I'm not nothing._

"I want to make a deal," she said. "A deal about the tournament final."

"Oh?" Swanson raised his eyebrows, looking genuinely curious. "So you heard about the Griffin's disqualification?"

_His death, you mean._ She forced herself to remain calm, even though she wanted nothing more than to punch Swanson in the face to wipe that cold smile off his lips. That, or maybe run away and never look back. Both alternatives were just as alluring.

"If I win the fight, I don't want my share of the cash prize," she said. "Instead, I want it to be cut from whatever I still owe you. I want to have the sum on paper, so I know exactly how big my debt is. The fight against Drake will be my final fight. After that, I'm quitting. I'll come up with another way to pay you back. I'm not going to fight for you anymore."

She crossed her arms and took a deep breath before continuing. This was the difficult part. This was the part where things could go really, really wrong.

"You've bet a lot of money on me winning the whole tournament, right? That's why you got rid of Tyler? Well, if you don't agree to rip up the old contract between us and release me from your services, I'll lose on purpose on Saturday."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Mark growled. He took a step toward her, but Swanson stopped him by holding out his hand.

"Please, Mark, leave us," Swanson said. "Ms. Monroe and I need to have a private chat."

A look of betrayal swept over Mark's face. "I'll wait outside." He pushed past Robyn, slamming the door shut behind him.

Swanson continued to calmly stare at Robyn. He didn't seem angry at all.

"So? Do you accept my terms?" she asked. Strangely enough, she was even more nervous now that Mark had left the room. Swanson may be an old man, but being alone with him still scared her.

Swanson smiled. "Actually, I have a counteroffer for you. Robyn—can I call you Robyn?"

She found herself nodding. Swanson's smile seemed to reach his eyes this time, and the expression scared her more than any of his frowns ever had.

"Robyn," he continued, "you have so much potential. The fighting, the tournament, it's just the beginning of what I've got planned for you. I thought you would need more time to mature, but this little scheme of yours has convinced me of your abilities. I want you to be my new right-hand man."

She blinked. "What?"

"Well, I suppose you would be my right-hand woman." Swanson smiled again. "You're smart and independent, and up until now, you've been very loyal. I considered giving the position to the Griffin, but he turned out to be far from as resourceful as you. Such a disappointment. It doesn't matter now, though. I believe you would suit the position perfectly."

"Isn't Mark your right-hand man?" she asked. The situation was not going according to plan at all.

"Mark is faithful, but he doesn't have an ounce of independence in him. He would never do anything on his own initiative. I took him in when he was just eleven years old, you see, and I'm afraid he never learned to think on his own. He's nothing like you." Swanson stood up, slowly approaching her. "You would have to participate in the occasional game, of course, but most of the time you'd simply be accompanying me wherever I go. What do you say, Robyn? Are you ready to take the next step?"

For a moment, Robyn wanted to accept his offer. No one had ever called her smart before. She was a high-school dropout, a waitress without education. She was nothing, a misfit only good for fighting. She should've felt proud of getting an offer like that.

_No._ She shook her head to interrupt the poisonous chain of self-degradation _._ She wasn't that person anymore. __ She wasn't nothing.

"I'm sorry, but I have to decline your offer," she finally replied. "Please contact me when you're ready to sign a contract that releases me from your service."

She turned around and left the room, walking with calm steps even though her instincts screamed at her to run. She was sweating, and her heart was pounding in her chest. _I did it,_ she thought. _I confronted Swanson._ A smile graced her lips. She'd been terrified the whole time, but she'd gone through with it. Even if the meeting had taken an unexpected turn, she was still proud of herself.

Mark was waiting right outside the office, refusing to look at her.

"Well?" he said, crossing his arms. "Am I unemployed now?"

She shook her head. "I turned him down. I won't take your position."

His expression softened. He looked a lot younger when he wasn't scowling, and she realized that she'd been overestimating his age all along. He wasn't that much older than her—probably younger than Andrew.

"You wouldn't have lasted a day as his right-hand man," Mark commented halfheartedly. There was no longer any burning hatred in his voice, and his eyes looked friendlier, too. This explained his weak attempts to scare Robyn away from the fighting world. He'd been afraid she'd steal his job from him.

She smiled. "I guess we'll never know."

After giving the receptionist a quick apology, Robyn left the mansion and began her jog back to Andrew's house. Though the meeting hadn't turned out the way she'd planned it, she'd still given Swanson her ultimatum. She would get out of the fighting world. It was her life, and she was taking it back.

• • •

When Andrew woke up, he was alone in the bed. He placed his hand on the sheet where Robyn had been lying when they'd fallen asleep. The sheet was already cold. His heart sank. _She changed her mind_. He knew Robyn was afraid of letting people into her life, but after the night they'd shared, he'd gotten the impression she was on the same page as him. He must have been wrong.

The night they'd spent together had probably been the best night of his life, and the thought of Robyn regretting it all hurt like hell. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that she would leave before he woke up, but it still did. It still hurt.

He got out of the bed and got dressed before heading toward the kitchen. After carefully searching the kitchen table and the counters, he had to accept that Robyn had left without even leaving a note.

He sat in a kitchen chair and buried his face in his hands. Had he ruined their friendship forever? Would she ever want to see him again?

Suddenly, he heard someone unlock the front door. He rushed into the hallway and found Robyn standing in the doorway.

"What's up?" A worried wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "You look upset."

He approached her in three quick steps and wrapped his arms around her. "You were gone when I woke up. I thought . . . I thought you changed your mind." He held her tightly, inhaling her scent. She was there. She was actually there.

"Shit, I forgot to leave a note. I'm sorry." Her hands tentatively stroked his back. "It's the opposite, actually. I want to be with you, and I knew I could never offer you anything long-term as long as I was stuck in the fighting world. I've come to realize that there are a lot of things I want to do in life, things I could never do if I kept fighting. So, I went over to Swanson's place and told him I'm quitting. The fight against Drake will be my final fight."

"Really?" He pulled back a little so he could see her face. "What did he say? Is he really going to let you quit just like that?"

"I think so. I told him I'd lose on purpose on Saturday if he doesn't provide me with a written contract that frees me from his services. I think I'm really getting out this time." She smiled shyly. "I'm getting my life back."

He took a deep breath as a knot of worry settled in his stomach. The thought of her getting out of the fighting world should have been an enormous relief, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Robyn's plan was not as bulletproof as she thought. Swanson was not a man to piss off.

"You should have told me," he said. "I could have been your backup."

"I knew you'd say that. That's why I left before you woke up." She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "This was something I had to do on my own."

He cupped her face in his hand. "You're too brave for your own good sometimes, you know that?"

She shrugged. "You're the one who gave me the courage to do it. I used to be so scared all the time, but I'm not that person anymore. You made me braver." The calm confidence in her eyes shined brighter than ever. "I take back what I said before. I trust you, Andrew."

Andrew didn't know what to say, so instead he tilted her head back and kissed her. He could feel her trust in him with every fiber of his being. It was intoxicating. He'd been hers for a very long time, and now, for the first time ever, he felt like she was _his_.

He pushed her up against the wall, kissing her harder. _Mine._ She wrapped her arms around his neck. Her body fit perfectly against his. Everything about her was perfect. _Mine._ He placed his hands on the back of her thighs, hoisting her up. Her lightness amazed him. She always amazed him. _Mine._ He trailed kisses down her slender neck and nearly lost all control when she threw her head back and moaned. _Mine, mine, mine._

"Don't leave me," she gasped, burying her nails in his back. "Promise me you won't leave me."

He looked her straight in the eye. "I won't leave you. Not now. Not ever. I love you, Robyn. I'm not leaving you."

She wrapped her legs around his waist and ran her fingers through his hair in a way that always drove him crazy. In her eyes, he could see a possessiveness matching his. When she kissed him hard on the lips, Andrew knew she'd believed him.

• • •

"I should call Lucy," Robyn said. "She's probably wondering where I am."

"Do you really have to?" Andrew asked. "Do you really, _really_ have to?"

She was lying in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. It reminded him of that time she'd fallen asleep in his arms in the guest room. He'd thought that night was perfect, but he had to admit that the current situation was even better. He loved feeling her naked skin against his.

"Yeah, I really have to. I don't want her to worry about me." She sighed, making no effort whatsoever to move away from him.

He grinned. "You have to leave the bed to reach the phone, you know."

"I'm working on it, okay?" she groaned. "I'm just really, really comfortable here."

"Me, too." He kissed the top of her head. "What do you think Lucy will say about us?"

He asked the question in a light tone, but on the inside, he was pretty worried. He knew how protective the Monroe sisters were of each other, and he wasn't sure what Lucy would think about their relationship.

"She'll be ecstatic," Robyn said. "She's been trying to pair us up for months."

He blinked. "Really?"

"She's discreet. Remember my birthday? She was the one who sent you down to the garage, right?"

"She wanted me to see you dance," he concluded. "Wow. She's sneaky."

"I know." Robyn stretched before getting out of bed. She sent him a glare as she put on her underwear. "Stop staring."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said innocently as he continued to stare.

She shook her head, smiling. She left the bedroom and returned a few seconds later with her backpack in her hands. After rummaging through it for a while, she pulled out her old Nokia.

"Five missed calls." She frowned. "And a voice mail, too." She dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.

"Hey, Robyn, it's me," Lucy's voice said. "I'm guessing you're with Andrew, but please, call me back as soon as you hear this. Swanson just entered the building, and that bald guy is with him. I don't know why, but I'm getting a really bad feeling about this. Please, call me back."

Robyn stared at Andrew in shock. "No, he wouldn't . . . Would he?"

Andrew got out of the bed and reached for his clothes. "Try to call her back. We'll take the car."

"I fucked up, didn't I?" she whispered. "I really fucked up this time."

They rushed to the car as soon as they'd gotten dressed. Robyn tried to call Lucy over and over, reaching her voice mail every time.

"I fucked up," she said again, her hands trembling. "I didn't think he'd go after her. I thought he'd only go after me. Oh my God, I fucked up."

She jumped out of the car as soon as they reached the parking lot outside the building, not even bothering to wait for Andrew to stop the car. She rolled onto the asphalt and was back up on her feet in less than a second.

"Dammit _,_ " __ Andrew hissed. He parked the car diagonally over two spots and rushed after her.

"Robyn, wait!" he yelled. "They could still be in there!"

Robyn didn't listen. He could only watch as she entered the building and climbed the stairs. When he entered the staircase several seconds later, all he could hear was Robyn's panicked breaths. He ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

He found her sitting on the floor outside her apartment, holding a shoebox in her hands. The door to the apartment was open, and he only had to glance inside to see that someone had completely wrecked the place.

"I'll kill him for this," Robyn said in a low voice, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'll kill him, and Mark, and every single person in that fucking mansion."

He kneeled next to her, finally looking inside the box.

"Oh my God."

Inside was a copper red braid, the thick bundle of hair still tied together by a bejeweled hair tie. Someone had placed a note on top of it, leaving Robyn a short message.

I hope you change your mind.

# Chapter Twenty-One

_He will pay for this,_ Robyn thought as she put the lid back on the box. She stood, forcing her trembling legs to carry her. Judging from the state of the apartment, Lucy had fought back with all her might. Had they knocked her unconscious? Had they hurt her? The thoughts made her nauseous, so she quickly pushed them away. She took a step toward the stairs, but Andrew stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

"You're planning to confront Swanson again, aren't you?" he said. "Just head straight back to his place and try to get Lucy back with brute force?"

Robyn saw no point in denying it, so she nodded.

"It won't work. You'll never get Lucy back that way."

"There aren't that many people in his headquarters. I could take them. Let go of me." She tried to pull her arm free, but he only tightened his grip.

"Robyn, listen to me. If you go there, you would only be doing exactly what he expects you to do. Don't you think he's planned for this? Called in extra backup?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" she yelled. "He has my sister! I have to do _something._ " Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her whole body trembled. How could she have let this happen?

Andrew pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. "I'll call Jason. He said he only needed one final piece of evidence to nail Swanson once and for all. Your apartment should be evidence enough. The police can save Lucy and make sure Swanson gets arrested. You don't have to handle this on your own."

It took a few seconds for her to process what he was saying, but when the message finally sank in, some of the blind rage seemed to fade away. He was right—Swanson was definitely expecting her to confront him on her own again. The old Robyn would have been too scared to ask anyone for help—but she wasn't that person anymore. She didn't like the thought of handing the responsibility over to someone else, but she could see that involving the police was the only way she could save Lucy.

She leaned against Andrew, closing her eyes. "I'm so stupid. I should have realized he'd hurt her instead of hurting me. I'm so fucking stupid."

"You're not stupid," he murmured. "You're just too kind to understand someone like Swanson."

She frowned, unsure whether to take his comment as a compliment or an insult. "What's that supposed to mean? I'm a fighter. I'm not kind."

"Yes, you are," he said. "You're honest and straightforward. You would never manipulate someone. You're a genuinely good person, and men like Swanson know how to use that against you. That's why he took Lucy. He knew you would react like this—that you would try to storm his place on your own. By threatening Lucy, he could force you back into the fighting world. I don't even think he'd release her afterwards. I think he'd keep her somewhere close to him, allowing you to see her when it suited him. She would be the perfect tool to make sure you don't rebel against him ever again."

Andrew was right. That sounded exactly like something Swanson would do.

"How do you know all that?" she asked him. "You barely know him—how come you can see through his plans, but I can't?"

"You can't see through his plans because you're a good person. Doing what he did is completely unthinkable for someone like you. I'm . . .not as good as you. I should have acted before he could do something like this." He took a step back, releasing her from his embrace. "I'm going to call Jason now."

Leaning against the wall, Robyn slid to the floor. It didn't matter what he said. This was still her fault.

Andrew sat next to her as soon as he'd ended the call. "Jason will be here in ten. The apartment and the box should be evidence enough to put Swanson in jail. They're taking down his whole organization tonight."

"And Lucy?"

"They'll get her out before they storm the place. Jason said he had a plan. I'm sure he's prioritizing her safety."

Robyn nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Could you . . . Could you say it? You know, your 'everything will be okay' thing?"

He kissed the top of her head and took her hand in his. "Everything will be okay."

She smiled faintly. "You're being too hard on yourself again. You really are a good person."

"Am I, really? I keep failing people."

"You never failed me. My life changed that night in the ER. I wouldn't have survived without you. You may have had your own reasons for helping me all this time, but that doesn't make the action any less _good._ You're a good person, Andrew. I have no doubt whatsoever that the people you think you failed would've said the exact same thing."

Andrew remained silent for a while and then squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

His voice was hoarse, and even though Robyn couldn't see his face, she was pretty certain there were tears in his eyes. _No one's ever told him that before,_ she realized. _No one's ever told him how good he is._ She made a mental note to remind him of it as often as possible.

Jason arrived ten minutes later, just like he'd promised. Robyn blinked as she took him in, uniform and all. She would never have guessed the guy she'd met in Andrew's hallway was a cop.

"Wow, what a mess," Jason said after taking a quick look inside the apartment. "She really fought back, huh?"

"I tried to teach her some self-defense once," Robyn said. "I guess it wasn't enough."

She hugged her knees to her chest, overwhelmed by guilt. She should have been here. She should have protected Lucy.

Jason kneeled next to her. "We'll get her back, I promise. Don't worry." He smiled confidently. "Most of the guys from the station will be there, and we've requested help from all the other stations in the district. We're not as many as I hoped we'd be, but it doesn't matter. Swanson's going down tonight. Are you sure he's keeping her in the mansion?"

"I'm pretty sure, yeah. You'll get her out before you invade the place, right? You have to get her out."

Jason nodded. "I don't like using civilians like this, but we kind of need your help for that."

"Of course," she immediately replied. "I'll do anything."

"We want to get your sister out of the building before we go in at full strength. We need to find out where Swanson's keeping her, and you're the only one who can talk to him without raising suspicion. If you go inside his headquarters and accept his terms, you could probably get him to tell you where he's keeping her. You would have a microphone hidden on you, of course, and you would get out as soon as you got the information. It's dangerous, and no one will blame you if you don't want to do it. We think this plan has the highest probability of success, but we'll come up with something different if you're not okay with it."

"Are you insane?" Andrew exclaimed. "You want to send her straight into the lion's den all on her own? Anything could happen in there!"

Robyn squeezed his hand. "It will be fine. Swanson would never expect me to turn against him. I'll do it."

"Andrew is right," Jason said. "Anything could happen in there. We'll be ready to storm the place if something happens, but I can't promise we'll reach you in time if Swanson figures out that you're setting him up. Are you sure you want to do this?"

She nodded. "I'm sure."

"All right, then." Jason got up from the floor. "Let's go."

• • •

"I don't like this," Andrew said as he watched a short teenager with spiky brown hair hide a wireless microphone in Robyn's hoodie. "Jason said they could come up with another plan. Please don't do this."

They were standing on the sidewalk one block away from Swanson's mansion. The policemen were making their final preparations, waiting for the mission to start. There were only about a dozen of them, but their eyes shone with determination.

"He also said this was the plan most likely to succeed," Robyn said. "I have to do this."

Her voice was calm and steady, but Andrew could tell she was nervous. Her hands were trembling a little, and she refused to look him in the eye.

"But what if he figures out you're working against him? What if he makes you take off your sweater, and he finds the microphone? What if—"

"Please, stop," she interrupted, her eyes fixed on the ground. "You know I won't change my mind. All you're doing is making me more terrified."

_You're freaking out, and you're taking it out on her,_ his inner critic commented. _Keep it together._

"I'm sorry." He forced himself to at least pretend to be calm. "I just wish you didn't have to do this alone."

"I'm not alone. This place is crawling with cops."

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. But I'll be in there for like five minutes, tops. I'll be fine."

"Excuse me, miss?" Jason's technician said. "You need to wear this earbud so we can stay in contact with you. Your hair covers your ears at almost every angle, and the bud is pretty small. I don't think anyone will notice it."

Robyn accepted the small device and put it in her ear. Her messy red locks covered it perfectly.

"All right," the boy said, grinning proudly. "The microphone is in place, and the transmitter is in your pocket. It has a sensitivity range of minus thirty to plus forty decibel, so you don't have to think about speaking louder than usual. It will pick up everything anyway. The alkaline manganese battery lasts for at least five and a half hours, and—"

"Calm down, Luke," Jason said, joining the conversation. "I don't think she's interested in the specs. All that matters is that it works."

Jason was now wearing a bulletproof vest over his uniform. He seemed to be tenser than before, but the look he gave the kid was still warm and brotherly.

"If you wanted something that just _works_ , you wouldn't have called me," Luke said, pouting a little. "You wanted me to make it extraordinary, and I did. You could at least give me some cred for it."

Jason ruffled his hair. "You did great, you cocky little brat. Don't let it go to your head."

"Are you sure the transmitter has enough power to reach us all the way over here?" Andrew asked. "We have to be nearly a hundred yards away from the mansion."

"I'm absolutely sure," Luke said. "My transmitter can reach at least three hundred meters."

"But what if something goes wrong?" Andrew continued. "Shouldn't Robyn's backup be closer to the mansion?"

"If we go any closer, the surveillance will notice us," Jason said. "This is as close as we can get."

"I still don't like this."

Robyn squeezed his hand. "I'll be fine. If something goes wrong, you know I can defend myself."

"Try to avoid violence if you can," Jason said. "If something seems off, _anything_ , just get out. We don't want to end up with two hostages in there."

She nodded. "Get in, get Lucy's location, and get out. I've got this."

"I guess everything's in place, then." Jason patted her on the back. "Good luck."

"I'll be back as soon as I can." Robyn gave Andrew a quick kiss before beginning her jog toward the mansion.

Luke connected the receiver to a pair of speakers. Andrew closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Robyn's calm breaths. For a moment, the sound allowed him to pretend she was still by his side. The thought of her being on her way to infiltrate the headquarters of the most corrupt organization in Chrystal Valley was too terrifying to process.

When he opened his eyes again, Jason was gathering his teammates. "These are the mansion's blueprints," he said, unfolding several large sheets of paper on the ground. "As soon as we get Lucy's location, we'll come up with the fastest way to get there. We have to be flexible, and we have to work fast."

"What if she's not in the mansion?" one of the men asked.

"Then we'll have to rethink our plan. Fast. Like I said, we have to be flexible."

"Guys," Luke butted in. "I think she's inside the building now."

The group fell silent, listening carefully to the speakers. The sound of Robyn's steps was softer now, and her breaths were a little less regular. Andrew wished he could see what was happening instead of just guessing what was going on. His mind was already coming up with horrible mental images of possible catastrophes. He could tell the policemen were worried too—especially Jason.

"Robyn," a male voice said. "What a pleasant surprise. I hope you don't mind the audience."

Andrew clenched his jaw. It seemed Swanson had called for backup, just like he'd suspected.

"Cut the bullshit," Robyn replied bitterly. "You knew I'd come here as soon as I got your message."

"I hope she doesn't punch him," Jason commented.

"She won't," Andrew said. "She knows what's at stake."

"Fair enough," Swanson said. "Have you changed your mind?"

"I don't think I'm ready for that promotion yet, but I'll continue to fight for you. Please, let my sister go. I promise I'll give my all on Saturday."

"I'm glad you're cooperating, but I think Lucy will have to stay here for a little while longer, just to make sure you keep your motivation for the fight. No harm will come to her. She's perfectly safe here. I hope you understand."

"You bastard," Robyn said in a low, dangerous tone, and for a moment, Andrew wasn't sure if she would really be able to keep herself from attacking Swanson.

"Come on, Robyn, keep it together," Jason muttered, staring at the speakers in deep concentration.

After a few moments of silence, Robyn spoke again. "Can I . . . Can I at least see her? I need to know she's okay."

"Mark, please bring me the laptop," Swanson ordered.

"He probably has a surveillance camera in the room he's keeping Lucy in," Jason said. "He must be showing Robyn a live stream or something on the computer. Shit. Maybe we should have put a camera on her, after all."

"If we'd put a camera on her, the risk of her getting caught would have been much higher," Luke said. "You know that."

"Yeah, I know." Jason paced back and forth on the sidewalk. "We have to come up with a new plan. I—"

He was interrupted when Robyn spoke again. "Those numbers on the screen, they refer to her location, right? B-W-W-R seventeen, that means she's in the west wing basement, room seventeen, right?"

"All right, people, we've got a location!" Jason grinned triumphantly. "Your girl is good at improvising, Alexander."

"Yeah," Andrew said absentmindedly, still listening carefully to the transmission as Jason's team prepared to leave.

"Yes," Swanson answered Robyn. "Why do you ask?"

"I just . . . She gets cold easily and has a weak immune system," Robyn said. "I don't think the basement is a good place for her."

Andrew cringed. Robyn was a lousy liar. There was no way in hell Swanson would buy that.

"Her room is warm. She'll be fine in there. If she feels sick, I'll send down a doctor. No harm will come to her, dear. You can trust me on that."

"Okay, Robyn," Jason said into his own microphone. "You can get out now. Great job." He turned to his fellow officers, pointing at the map on the ground. "That's where he's keeping her. We can go in through that window, and then we can take the stairs over there to reach the basement. Come on, hurry!"

Jason took off, running toward the mansion with three of his coworkers. Andrew took his eyes off the speakers for a moment to look around. The rest of the officers and Luke were still waiting on the sidewalk, listening to the transmission.

"I hope they get that Swanson guy," Luke said in a low voice. "Tyler was one of my best friends."

"I'm sorry," Andrew said. "I never knew him, but Robyn was very fond of him, too."

"I should leave," Robyn's voice said through the speakers.

"Are you in a hurry?" a different male voice asked. Andrew was pretty sure the voice belonged to Swanson's assistant, Mark.

"I only came here to make sure Lucy's okay," Robyn replied. "If you're not planning to let her go, I have nothing left to do here."

"That's it? You're giving up just like that? Not even a single death threat? Mr. Swanson, something's up. She's acting way too calm."

Andrew's heart began to race. The cops tensed up.

"This is not going to end well, is it?" Luke said, his face turning pale.

Robyn swallowed hard, the sound loud enough to get picked up by the microphone. "Swanson promised me he'd keep her safe. I trust him."

Her voice trembled. If her previous lie had been bad, this one was catastrophic.

"Victoria? How is the scan going?" Mark asked.

"The detector picked up some unknown RF signals," a female voice said. "There's a transmitter in the room."

"That's it, we're going in," one of the cops said. He gave Luke and Andrew a nod before rushing toward the mansion, his crew following in his tracks.

"What do we do?" Andrew asked Luke, fighting the urge to run after them.

"We stay here. We're civilians. We'll only fuck things up if we try to help."

A loud noise blasted from the speakers, and Andrew could hear Robyn gasp.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, her voice almost drowned out by the crackling noise.

"Who sent you?" Mark growled. "I found the microphone. Who are you spying for? The police? Answer me, you lying little bitch!"

Robyn cried out in pain, and Andrew ran.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

Robyn sank to her knees, blood trickling from her lip. Mark had pushed her hard against the wall before he began to search for the microphone. The punch he gave her after he found the device caused her to black out for a few milliseconds. She collapsed on the floor, spitting blood on the red carpet.

"Whom are you spying for?" Mark grabbed the hood of her sweater and pulled her back up to her feet. "Answer me!"

His voice was all anger, but his eyes were full of terror. Robyn swallowed hard and took a leap of faith.

"You don't have to do this," she said. "You don't have to be his slave."

"What?"

"The police are waiting outside. They're here to arrest Swanson. They've got all the proof they need. After tonight, we'll finally be free. All of us."

They stared at each other. The words hung heavy between them, and the world seemed to slow down.

His eyes widened when her words finally sank in. "What have you done?"

Robyn met his eyes and saw something break inside him. Her heart sank. Swanson had manipulated Mark for too long. He would always be on Swanson's side.

"Code black, everybody!" Mark shouted. "Shred all the files and clean all the hard drives. Destroy everything!"

Swanson's backup scattered, running in every direction. They all looked terrified, and Robyn suspected most of them were just teenagers. For a brief moment, she wondered what would happen to them after this. Prison? Foster care?

Mark glanced over his shoulder, meeting Swanson's eyes. "Mr. Swanson, get out of here. I'll stall them."

Swanson nodded. He walked up to a corner of the room and removed a painting from the wall. Behind it were a keypad and a big red button. Swanson punched in a code and pressed the button, making a nearby bookshelf move a couple feet to the left and reveal a narrow door behind it. Mark watched carefully as Swanson made his escape through the secret emergency exit. Robyn slowly backed away from him.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Mark snapped, turning back to her. "If we're all going down, you're going down with us."

She raised her fists. "Do you think you can take me?"

He smirked. "I could if I wanted to. It's too bad I don't have time to fight you." He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket. When the hand emerged, it was holding gun. He raised it and aimed at her head. She took a step back, staring at the weapon in shock. She'd never even considered the possibility that he could have a gun. _What do I do?_ If they'd battled it out in an ordinary fight, she could have taken him, but the gun changed everything. She couldn't exactly punch a bullet.

"End of the line, Ms. Monroe." He slowly walked toward her. "Did you really think someone like you could bring down someone like Swanson?"

He placed the muzzle of the gun against her forehead. "I never liked you. I knew you would betray us. Swanson never saw that side of you, but I always knew you were a selfish liar."

Robyn stood frozen in place. The sound of her pounding heartbeats drowned out all her thoughts. The gun was cold against her skin. What was he waiting for? Why hadn't he pulled the trigger yet? At first, she thought he was dragging it out to make her suffer, but then her eyes met his. He was still furious with her, but he was also terrified.

"You've never killed anyone before, have you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Shut up," he said in a low voice, cocking the gun. "You're nothing. No one would miss you if you disappeared from this world. You're nothing!"

Robyn took a deep, shivering breath. She was walking on thin ice now. A single misstep would most likely lead to her death.

"Whom are you trying to convince?" she asked. "Me or yourself?"

Mark hesitated, and in that very same moment, the cops arrived. The front door was kicked in with enough force to make it come loose from its hinges. Mark took a step back as the armed policemen entered the room. Robyn used his moment of distraction to pull out the knife from her pants pocket. When Mark put the gun against her forehead again, she put the blade of her knife against his throat.

"Do you think you can pull the trigger before I cut your throat?" she asked. "Do you really wanna take that chance?"

Her voice was trembling, but her grip on the knife was steady. Mark swallowed hard. Robyn couldn't see what the cops were doing, but they seemed to have come to a stop behind her back.

"Drop your weapon!" one of them yelled. "You're surrounded. Drop the gun."

Mark's gaze fixed on a single point behind Robyn's back. She could immediately sense that something had changed in their power dynamic.

He smirked. "I see you brought your doctor."

Her eyes widened. He had to be bluffing. Andrew wouldn't do anything that stupid. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, and her heart nearly stopped when she saw Andrew standing right behind the cops.

Mark moved the gun away from her head and pointed it at Andrew instead. "Do you think you can cut my throat before I pull the trigger?" he asked, returning her question. "Give me the knife."

Robyn was pretty sure she was faster than Mark, but with Andrew's life on the line, she couldn't take the risk. She slowly lowered the knife from his neck. Mark snatched it with his free hand, keeping his gun pointed at Andrew.

"You!" he shouted. "Dr. Alexander, step forward!"

She glanced over her shoulder again. "Don't do it. Get out of here!"

Mark quickly turned her around with the hand holding the knife and pulled her closer before pressing the blade against her throat. She wanted to struggle, but his gun was still pointing at Andrew.

"Dr. Alexander, step forward," Mark repeated, letting the knife's edge pierce her skin. She flinched and tried to get away from it, but her back was already pressed against Mark's body with no room for maneuvers.

"Don't," Andrew exclaimed, pushing past the policemen. "I'm coming, all right? Please, don't hurt her."

"Andrew, no!" she yelled. "Stay away!"

Mark snorted. "You actually like the guy, don't you? Pathetic."

"Please, don't hurt her," Andrew said again. He was now in front of the cops, slowly approaching Mark and Robyn. "I'm here now. Don't hurt her."

"If anyone moves, I'll cut her throat." Mark backed away from the policemen. "Dr. Alexander, follow me."

The knife against Robyn's throat forced her to move with him. Andrew followed them, never further than a few feet away from her. His eyes burned hot with fury as he observed Mark's every move. The expression frightened her—not because of its harshness, but because of the meaning behind it. Andrew would do anything to protect her. _Anything._

"You should have run, you idiot," she said softly.

"I couldn't. I made a promise, remember?" He looked at her without a single trace of regret in his eyes. "I'm not leaving you, Robyn."

Mark stopped next to the secret exit. The bookshelf had moved back to its original place, covering the door.

"One, three, two, two, then the red button," Mark told Andrew. He let the blade cut Robyn's throat again. The cut was deeper this time, and she could feel blood trickle down her neck.

Andrew hurried to the keypad on the wall and followed Mark's instructions, his face turning pale. As soon as the shelf had moved out of the way, Mark lunged for the door, still pulling Robyn with him. He dropped the knife and aimed the gun at her head again, grabbing the doorknob with his free hand.

The door wouldn't open.

"Mr. Swanson?" Mark yelled. "I think you locked the door from the inside. Mr. Swanson!"

"Did you really think he would wait for you?" she asked. "He left without you to save his own skin. Are you really surprised?"

"Shut up!" he roared. "He needs me. I'm not like you. He needs me!"

"Just accept it," she said, trying her best to keep him focused on her. If she made him angry, there was a chance he might forget about Andrew. __ "You're nothing, just like me. You—"

Mark wrapped his arm around her neck. "I told you to shut up," he growled, still pressing his gun against her temple. His chokehold was perfectly executed, and Robyn knew she didn't have much time before she would pass out. She struggled against him, burrowing her nails into his suit jacket. Mark didn't even react.

He moved back to the middle of the room, dragging her with him. "Nobody moves!" he yelled, pointing the gun in every direction. He was running out of options, and Robyn could tell the desperation was clogging his mind. She flailed helplessly in his grip as her lungs and brain screamed for oxygen.

Black spots were clouding her vision, but in the corner of her eye she could see Andrew approaching them. _No,_ she thought, _please don't do this. Please stay away._

"Back off!" Mark yelled, pointing the gun at Andrew.

"No."

Robyn shuddered. The hatred in his voice was terrifying.

Andrew charged forward. He grabbed the gun and aimed it upward, and when the shot went off he'd already spun around on the outside of Mark's arm. Her technique.

Andrew's hand moved from the gun to Mark's wrist, giving it a squeeze. Mark's hand opened and the gun fell to the floor. His grip around her neck loosened, allowing her to take a shallow breath. It wasn't much, but in combination with the adrenaline pumping through her veins it gave her enough strength to throw Mark over her shoulder and down to the floor. Andrew grabbed her arm and pulled her close. She leaned against him, her body trembling. Every breath she took made her throat hurt.

When the cops saw that Robyn and Andrew were out of danger, they could finally act. The leader made a gesture with his hand. His team immediately split up, running after the kids Mark had sent to destroy all the evidence. Two of the officers stayed in the hallway, their guns pointed at Mark's head.

"Well, that went unexpectedly well," Andrew said, his eyes wide. "Did you see that? I can't believe I did that."

"You idiot!" Robyn hissed. "He could have shot you! You could have died! What are you even doing in here? You could have died, you idiot!"

He grinned. "I love you too."

She tried to scowl at him, but she was too relieved to stay angry. "Don't ever do anything like that again," she muttered before giving him a quick kiss on the lips.

"Hey, don't move," one of the policemen said. Robyn glanced at Mark. He was reaching for his gun, which was still lying on the floor about a yard away from him.

"Stop moving immediately, or I'll shoot!" the policeman shouted.

"What the hell is he doing?" Andrew asked.

"He's not trying to reach the gun." The realization hit her like a punch in the gut. "Don't do it! He's—"

The policeman pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Mark right in the forehead, killing him instantly. She sank to her knees, feeling strangely empty inside.

"He wasn't trying to reach the gun," she said. "He just wanted you to think he was. He was committing suicide."

"Why the hell did you do that?" Andrew yelled at the policeman.

"He was reaching for his gun."

"A gun he couldn't possibly reach. Don't you value human life at all?"

"He warned him," the shooter's partner butted in. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Andrew took a deep breath, clenching his fists. Robyn could tell he was forcing himself not to go on a total rampage.

She turned her gaze away from Andrew, her eyes drawn to the small red dot on Mark's forehead. Even though he'd been a constant threat to her for several years, his death didn't give her any relief. In the end, he was just another victim.

Andrew returned to her side. "He really thought Swanson would wait for him, didn't he?"

"Yeah. I want to hate him, but I can't. He wasn't a bad guy. Not really. He was loyal to a fault, and Swanson used that against him."

She coughed, her airways still a bit battered from Mark's grip. Blood trickled from the small cuts on her neck. Andrew instantly switched into doctor mode.

"I need to take a look at that." He placed a finger under her chin to tilt her head back. "I need to stop the bleeding. Wait here."

He crossed the room to pick up the dropped knife. After cutting off a piece of his shirt, he returned to Robyn.

"Hold this," he said after pressing the cloth against her cuts. "I'll put on a proper bandage when we get out of here."

She nodded, placing her hand on top of the makeshift compression. "I wonder how Jason's doing."

"I'm sure he and Lucy are already waiting for us outside." Andrew smiled. "Let's get out of here."

She glanced at Mark's dead body again. He hadn't been a good man, but he'd still deserved a better ending than this. She knelt next to him and closed his eyes. _I'm sorry,_ she thought. _I wish I could have saved you, too._

She stood and took Andrew's hand in hers. "Let's go."

• • •

"Remind me to never, _ever_ involve you two in police work again." Jason scowled at them both. "The paperwork for this is going to be an absolute mess."

Andrew smiled. He didn't really care. He'd gotten both him and Robyn out of that nightmarish mansion, and for once, he'd been the one who protected _her._ Though he suspected some of his calm came from him being in shock, he was still pretty pleased with the outcome of the situation.

Robyn's eyes scanned the area. "Where's Lucy?"

"She's over there." Jason pointed at one of the cars. "She's unharmed."

Robyn rushed toward the car, Andrew jogging after her. Lucy was sitting on the edge of the trunk, wrapped up in a thick blanket. Her hair was almost a foot shorter than it used to be, but otherwise she seemed okay.

Her face lit up when she saw Robyn. "I'm so happy to see you."

Robyn wrapped her arms around her sister. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? I saw the apartment. Did they hurt you?"

"It's okay. They barely touched me. I started throwing stuff when they broke in, but then they injected me with some drug or something. When I woke up, I was already in that room. It was a nice bed, and the food was pretty decent. Really, I'm fine. I promise."

"I'm so glad you're okay. You have no idea how worried I was."

Andrew was watching them from a couple of steps away when Jason touched his shoulder.

"So. What, exactly, were you thinking when you rushed straight into a hostage situation?" Jason's tone was teasing, but Andrew could tell how pissed he was.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he said. "She screamed, and I panicked."

Jason sighed. "I get it. I should have seen it coming and left someone to guard you. I heard you pulled some pretty neat moves in there, by the way. How did you make him drop the gun?"

"Pressure points. There are two pressure points near the radial bone in the wrist. If you press them, the hand opens."

Jason blinked. "Huh. I had no idea."

Out of the corner of his eye, Andrew saw Lucy get up from her seat on the trunk.

"I can't believe no one called Mike!" the younger sister exclaimed. "Seriously, I get kidnapped, and no one thinks about calling my fiancé? Robyn, give me your phone."

Robyn handed it over without question, taking a step back. Andrew grinned. It amused him how petite little Lucy could make Robyn cower in fear just by glaring at her.

As if she could hear his thoughts, Lucy turned her gaze to him, giving him the same angry glare. He immediately stopped smiling.

"Damn," Jason said. "She's scarier than Robyn."

"Definitely. If you and your team hadn't rescued her, she probably would have gotten herself out in a day or two anyway. The Monroe sisters are resourceful."

Jason grinned. "I don't doubt that at all. She almost knocked one of my teammates out with a chair."

Hours later, the raid was finally over. The sun had set, and the air was getting colder by the minute. The policemen had arrested countless teenagers, though they didn't really know what to do with them. Swanson was gone without a trace. Robyn and Lucy were sharing a thick shock blanket, huddled together in the open car trunk. Andrew and Jason stood a couple yards away, watching as the policemen returned from the mansion with the final group of handcuffed adolescents.

"We took down his organization, but this won't be over until we get him, too," Jason said bitterly. "At least it's out in the open now. His kids destroyed a lot of data, but we still have enough to put out an official arrest order."

"Will Robyn be safe?" Andrew glanced at the sisters. "Do you think Swanson will go after her?"

"I think Swanson will keep a low profile for a long, long time." Jason sighed. "Finding him again won't be easy, but I won't give up. Sooner or later, he'll start something new, and when he does, I'll be ready for him."

A policeman walked up to them, holding a stack of papers. "I think I found that file you were looking for."

Jason accepted the papers and quickly looked through them. "Yeah, this is the right one. Thanks."

"What's that?" Andrew asked.

Jason smiled. "Robyn's file."

As they walked toward the Monroe sisters, Andrew's curiosity grew. The debt didn't matter now that Swanson was gone, but he would still like to know whether or not Swanson had been lying to Robyn for all this time.

She stood up as the men approached the car, automatically putting herself between them and Lucy. Andrew didn't take it personally. She probably wasn't even aware of doing it.

"Have you found out anything more about Swanson?" she asked Jason. "Any clues to where he went?"

"No, he's still lost without a trace. They did find this, though." He handed her the papers.

She eyed the file. "I didn't even know he had one of these on me."

"What's that?" Lucy asked.

"It's my file." Robyn knit her brow. "It says . . . It says all of mom's debts have been paid off. We've been debt free for three years."

"Gimme that." Lucy snatched the stack of papers from Robyn's hands. She narrowed her eyes, reading through it carefully. "I can't believe this. That bastard made you fight for him while making you think he was doing you a favor. For three years! I hate him. I hate him so much."

"Who cares? We're debt free, Lucy. Debt free!" Robyn laughed out loud, radiating happiness and relief. "We're free!"

Andrew's heart filled with joy. He still despised Swanson for using Robyn, but seeing her happy made his anger seem irrelevant. It was like a physical weight had been lifted from her shoulders, making her stand a little bit taller. Her hair was a mess and her face was covered in bruises, but to him, she'd never been more beautiful. He swore to himself that he would do anything to protect that smile. He would protect it for the rest of his life.

Robyn walked up to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her body relax.

"I'm still going to fight in the final," she said.

Her words hit him like a punch in the gut. "Why? Swanson's organization is gone. You're free to do whatever you want now."

She nodded. "I know. And I want to fight Drake."

"Why?" Andrew repeated. "You're out. You're finally _out._ Why on earth would you throw yourself back in again?"

"I don't expect you to understand this, but . . . " She hesitated. "I've been fighting for so many years now, and most of the time, I've enjoyed it. I think I need my final fight. It's my way of saying goodbye to my old life."

Andrew let out a deep sigh. He hated it—absolutely _hated_ it—but he could understand it. The thought of going back to Chrystal Arena made his stomach lurch, but he'd do it. He'd do it for her.

He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. Once, he'd thought of love as a nuisance, but he'd been proven wrong. He'd found a person he'd do anything for, and now, he knew for sure.

_It's worth it,_ he thought. _She's worth it._

# Chapter Twenty-Three

When the day of Robyn's last fight finally arrived, Andrew almost missed being lonely. He was hiding out on his balcony, holding a cigarette in his hand. Somehow, he'd ended up with three temporary housemates, and the lack of alone time was starting to stress him out.

When the Monroe sisters' apartment had turned out to be too trashed to live in for a while, Andrew had immediately offered for Robyn to sleep at his place. Robyn had, of course, refused to go anywhere without Lucy, so Andrew had offered Lucy the guest room. Then Mike had arrived at the scene. After a big fight with Robyn, he had come to the decision that he wouldn't let Lucy out of his sight until he knew she was safe. Robyn had been absolutely furious, and to stop the conflict from turning into a fistfight, Andrew had invited Mike to stay in the guest room, too.

In theory, his spacious house should have been big enough to fit four people and a cat. Andrew had even felt happy about the arrangement in the beginning, since it meant he'd get to spend more time with Robyn. Though he still enjoyed sharing a bed with her every night, the crowdedness of the house was slowly driving him insane.

"I thought I'd find you here."

He spun around and found Robyn standing in the doorway. He felt the blood drain from his face.

"This . . . This isn't what it looks like." He quickly dropped the cigarette in the ashtray.

She snorted. "Oh, come on. Did you seriously think I hadn't noticed you're a smoker?"

"You knew? How? For how long?"

"Since I first met you. I've been friends with Ana for like a decade. I'd recognize the smell of Marlboro Lights anywhere." She walked over to his side, placing her hands on the railing. "It's not that big of a deal, you know. We all have our vices."

"Yeah, but I'm a _doctor._ "

"So what? You're still a human being. Stop being so hard on yourself. No one's perfect. Not even you." She crossed her arms, trembling a little in the cold winter air. He wrapped his arms around her, burrowing his nose in her hair. The soothing warmth that spread through his body as he inhaled her scent was even more calming than nicotine. She made him feel like he wasn't the worst person on the planet after all. She made him feel like he was good enough.

_You really are addicted to her,_ commented his inner critic. _Losing her now would destroy you._

He held her tighter. Jason seemed to think the whole thing with Swanson was over, but Andrew knew he'd never be fully calm again as long as that man was running free. He could tell Robyn was worried about it too, even though she didn't say anything out loud.

And then there was the fight. Drake had to be almost a foot taller than Robyn and twice as heavy, and judging by his body language, his muscularity didn't seem to slow him down. Even if she did win, she'd definitely get hurt. She always got hurt.

"Hey, don't worry about tonight," Robyn said. "I've fought Drake before. It's going to be okay. I promise."

He wished he could believe her, but it was impossible. He knew all too well how her fights usually ended.

"How did you know what I was thinking about?" he asked, changing the subject.

"You're always freaking out about something." She shrugged. "You're not that hard to read."

"Oh." When had she learned to read him so well? Strangely enough, he didn't mind it. "What about you? Are you nervous about tonight?"

"A little. Drake is good, but I'm not that worried about the fight itself. I don't really care if I win or lose. It's the audience __ that makes me nervous." She shuddered. "There are always so many of them, and they all stare at me. It makes me uncomfortable. I don't belong on a stage."

"I thought you wanted to be a ballerina," he commented. "Don't you have to be on a stage for that?"

She tilted her head slightly to the side. "Yeah, I suppose. I never really thought about that. I just wanted to dance."

"Well, I've seen you dance, and I've seen you fight in the arena. You have this . . . _thing_ going on when you move. It doesn't matter if you're dancing or fighting—no one can look away when you're performing. They're not staring because they're judging you. They're staring because they can't tear their eyes away from you."

Robyn turned around in his arms, hiding her face in his shirt. "You're embarrassing me."

"Am I?" he asked innocently. "So I shouldn't add that they're also staring at you because you're breathtakingly beautiful?"

The visible parts of her face turned even redder. "Shut up."

He grinned but didn't say anything else. If he pushed her any further, she would most likely leave. He loved teasing her, but not as much as he loved having her in his arms.

"I've been thinking," she said. "I really like being here. In your house. With you. Lucy will be done with her pre-teacher program in a year and a half, and after that, she's probably moving out of the apartment. If she moves out, I'll have to sell the apartment, and . . .you know . . . "

"You want to move in with me?"

She nodded. "If it's okay with you. Like I said, it's more than a year until then, so you have a lot of time to think about it if—"

Andrew cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. "I don't have to think about it. Of course it's okay with me. Nothing would make me happier."

"Good." A shy smile lit up her face. "I'm sorry for taking this long to say it back, but . . .I love you, Andrew."

This time, she was the one to initiate the kiss. He ran his fingers through her hair as he answered it, knowing that he was without a doubt the luckiest man in the world.

"I didn't mind the wait," he murmured against her lips. "You're not that hard to read, either."

• • •

A couple hours later, Andrew and Robyn arrived at the arena. There was more than an hour left until the first-class fight would start, but the parking lot was already almost full.

"You'll be okay," Andrew said when her face went pale. "Just pretend everyone in the audience is in their underwear."

She frowned. "How the hell would that help?"

"I don't know. In the movies, they always tell people with stage fright to do that."

"It's stupid," she grumbled. "And I don't have stage fright. I just don't like when people look at me."

Andrew shook his head. He was too nervous to start an argument. Robyn didn't seem to be worried about the fight itself, but he certainly was.

They got out of the car and began to walk toward the main entrance.

"I want to talk to Cassandra before warming up," she said.

"Do you really think she'll give you any advice tonight? Won't she be rooting for Drake?"

"Probably. I still want to talk to her, though. She said some pretty creepy stuff the last time I saw her. In a way, she predicted Tyler's death."

He raised his eyebrows. "That's impossible."

"I thought so too, but then her prediction came true. She said that Jason, you, and I would change the fighting world in Chrystal Valley forever, and I guess we kind of did."

"It's a coincidence. There's no such thing as a psychic."

She shrugged. "She makes predictions about the future, and those predictions always turn out to be true. That makes her a psychic in my eyes."

"There has to be a logical reason behind it. Like, I don't know, math."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever makes you sleep at night."

They entered the pizzeria and descended the stairs to the arena. It was more crowded than ever, and people seemed to have started drinking even earlier than usual.

The crowd around the bar was almost impossible to push through. When they reached Cassandra's chair, Andrew was already sweating in his orange medical team jacket.

The local clairvoyant was sitting alone this time. The wall behind her looked strangely empty without her guardian leaning against it.

"Hi, Cassandra," Robyn said. "Has Drake gone backstage already?"

Cassandra nodded. "Are you here to ask me how to beat him?"

Robyn shook her head. "I have a different question this time. How did you know about everything that happened with Swanson? How did you know Andrew and I would take part in Jason's plan to take him down?"

Cassandra smiled cryptically. "I have my ways."

"Did you know Tyler was going to die?"

She lowered her eyes. "No. I knew Swanson would make sure you ended up in the final, but I didn't think he'd take it that far. I miscalculated."

"You _miscalculated_?" Robyn exclaimed. "He died! Do you seriously not care about that?"

Cassandra didn't answer.

Robyn glared at her, clenching her jaw. "Forget it."

She turned to leave, but Cassandra grabbed her arm. "Aim for his left knee. He hurt it in the quarterfinals, and it hasn't healed yet."

"What?" Robyn turned back to her, staring at her in surprise. "Why would you tell me that?"

"Because you have to win. It's not over yet."

"She's not a psychic, damn it," Andrew said, unable to stay silent any longer. "She can't predict the future. No one can."

Cassandra narrowed her eyes. "You should watch your back, Dr. Alexander."

"And what's that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me?"

Cassandra didn't answer. She fixed her gaze on the ring again, ending the conversation.

"Let's go," Robyn said, linking her arm with Andrew's. "We won't get anything more from her."

Andrew glanced back at Cassandra as he and Robyn headed toward the backstage door. Cassandra's cold, calculating eyes sent shivers down his spine. Over the past weeks, he'd seen her guide Robyn through the tournament, making sure she ended up in the final. Somehow, he got the feeling Robyn wasn't the only one who'd been manipulated into being in this exact place at this exact time. He shuddered. How much of what had just transpired in Chrystal Valley was this woman's doing?

He didn't think Cassandra was completely carefree about Tyler's death, but she seemed to think that her goal—whatever that was—was worth it. The attitude scared him.

_Don't be a hypocrite,_ said his inner critic. _Where would you draw the line if Robyn's life was in danger? What would you have done if the situation with Mark had taken a different turn?_

Andrew shuddered again, thankful he'd never know the answer to that question.

• • •

Cassandra's words kept ringing in Robyn's ears as she made her preparations in the locker room. _"You have to win. It's not over yet."_ Before their chat, Robyn hadn't really cared about the outcome of the fight. Her debts were gone. One way or another, she'd get that normal life she'd always dreamed of. The only reason she hadn't backed out already was because of the fight itself. She really did want an official ending to her fighting years, just like she'd told Andrew.

The words echoed through her head again. __ She had no idea _why_ she had to win, but if Cassandra said so, it had to be important.

"Do you want me to do your hair?" Andrew asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"Yes, please." She closed the door to her locker and sat down on the bench with her back against him. He combed through her hair with his fingers a couple of times before twisting the locks up in a bun.

"You're getting good at this," she murmured, enjoying the way his calm, confident hands worked with her hair. "You're a lot faster nowadays."

Robyn felt him fix the bun with a hair tie. She stood up, believing he was finished, but Andrew pulled her back down onto the bench.

"I'm not done yet." He pulled a sky-blue piece of fabric from his pocket.

"A tie?" She eyed it skeptically.

"Yeah. I couldn't find a ribbon, so this will have to do." He wrapped the tie around the bun and finished the hairdo with a bow. "It's the final. I thought I'd add something extra."

"Oh, come on, I can't wear this. I'm a fighter. Fighters don't have bows in their hair."

"Right. You're just a heartless, violent street fighter who punches people for a living."

She frowned at the sarcasm in his voice. "Well, it's true."

"No, it's not. You're a street fighter, yes, but that doesn't define you as a person. You're so much more than that. You're kind and compassionate, and you genuinely care about everyone around you. You're stubborn. Strong. Beautiful. You're one hell of a ballerina, too—and ballerinas have bows in their hair. Do you still want me to remove it?"

Flustered beyond belief, she found herself shaking her head.

He kissed the nape of her neck. "That's what I thought."

When she left the locker room to warm up, her cheeks were still burning. _He's impossible,_ she thought, hoping she didn't look as disheveled as she felt. __ She was beginning to suspect that Andrew enjoyed making her flustered—and he was way too good at it.

At the end of her usual jogging lap, she ran into Drake. He was sitting on a chair close to his stage door, wrapping gauze around his left knee. He was wearing a black tank top and shorts, and he'd tied up his long hair in a braid as usual. He looked a lot more like his old self without his suit.

"Valkyrie," he greeted her with a smirk.

Robyn rolled her eyes. "I have a real name, you know." She glanced at his knee as discreetly as possible, but Drake still noticed.

"Cass told you," he stated, his smirk turning into a frown.

"Yeah. She said I had to win."

"She told me I had to lose." His eyes narrowed. "Don't think I'll hold back because of that, though. Or because you're _you._ I want to win this tournament."

"Good." She smiled. "This is my final fight. It wouldn't feel right if it wasn't an honest one."

Drake raised his eyebrows. "You're quitting?"

She nodded. "I've paid back all my debts. There's nothing keeping me in the underground world anymore."

"Congratulations. I wish you all the best."

"Thanks," she said, slightly taken aback by his friendliness. "I appreciate it."

They both fell silent. This was the first civil conversation they'd had in years. Robyn felt good about being on somewhat good terms with him now that her fighting days were ending. He was a part of her old life—one of the many people she'd leave behind when she left the fighting world.

"What happened to you?" she finally asked. "You just disappear without a word, and then you show up again three years later in a freaking suit. What happened? Why . . . " She swallowed hard. "Why did you leave me?"

"I got a job offer I couldn't refuse. Everything about it was classified, so I couldn't tell anyone about it." He knit his brow. "I'm sorry, really. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Oh." She felt strangely relieved. Yeah, he'd picked a job over her, but at least she wasn't the one who'd driven him away. He hadn't given up on her, after all. "So, what have you been up to all these years?"

Drake smirked. "It's classified."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. I can't tell you much, but the people I work for are really, really high up in this country's chain of command. Cass has . . . _abilities._ She can see patterns others can't see. She's dedicated her life to bringing people like Swanson down, and to do so, she needs someone like me. According to her, my education in combination with my fighting experience makes me uniquely qualified to assist her."

"Wow." Robyn tried to process the new information. "So you're some kind of agent now?"

"Something like that."

"Is that why you're in the tournament? To get inside info?"

"That's one of the reasons, yes, but I'm mostly here for my own entertainment." Drake grinned. "I didn't want to miss the chance to fight the notorious Valkyrie one final time."

She snorted. "You're going to regret that decision when I kick your ass."

His grin widened. "Bring it on."

• • •

When Robyn returned to the locker room after her warm-up, Andrew was waiting for her right outside. His face lit up with a smile the moment he saw her. He always seemed genuinely happy to see her, and his happiness never failed to brighten Robyn's mood.

"Are you ready?" he asked as she came to a stop in front of him.

She smiled. "As ready as I'll ever be."

They walked together through the corridor until they reached the gallery.

"Please, be careful tonight," he said. "It's your last fight. It's not worth getting permanent injuries for."

"I'll be careful. I promise." She stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss. "I'll see you after the fight."

They parted ways. Andrew went through the door to the gallery, and Robyn continued forward toward the door that would lead her to the ring. People in orange jackets ran back and forth in the corridor, trying to finish all their tasks in time for the fight. She focused on the door in front of her, shutting out the chaotic environment around her. She was the Valkyrie. Tomorrow, she'd be an ordinary woman again, but tonight, she was the Valkyrie.

The door opened.

_Showtime._

# Chapter Twenty-Four

Andrew went over to his usual seat in the gallery. Lily greeted him with a polite nod. She had dark rings under her eyes, and she looked like she'd aged a decade since the last time he saw her. Tyler's death seemed to have hit her hard.

He glanced at Jonas's empty chair. He didn't blame the guy for not showing up. It was frighteningly easy for Andrew to imagine their roles reversed. If anything were to happen to Robyn, he didn't think he'd be able to go back to Chrystal Arena again either.

After tonight, he'd never have to set foot in this place again—and, more importantly, neither would she.

A man in an orange jacket entered the gallery, holding a walkie-talkie in his hand. "Hey, do any of you guys know what music I'm supposed to play when the Valkyrie enters? I've tried to contact her manager, but he hasn't called me back. Which isn't that surprising, since, you know . . . " He scratched the back of his head.

"Since when do you play background music when the fighters enter?" Lily asked.

"It's the final." The man shrugged. "Mr. Quinn said it would be cool to have some entrance music."

"The main theme of _Swan Lake_ ," Andrew said. "You know, the Tchaikovsky piece. That's the music the Valkyrie would want to enter to."

"Seriously?" the man asked. "The other guy has some generic industrial music. Are you sure she wants some classical shit?"

"I'm sure."

"I guess I could try to find it on Spotify," the man said, shaking his head. He left the room, muttering something about hipsters having gone full circle.

"Mr. Quinn and his ideas," Lily sighed. "Entrance music? That's so cliché."

"I've heard a lot about this Mr. Quinn," Andrew said. "What's he like?"

"You've never met Mr. Quinn?"

He shook his head.

"He's about as strange as the rumors say. Very unpredictable. Really, though—you've never met our boss?" She tilted her head to the side, looking at him curiously. "So the rumor's true, then. No one hired you—you just showed up out of nowhere."

_Busted_.

"I wanted to be closer to Robyn during the fights, but the security guard at the backstage door refused to let me in. I improvised, and everything got out of hand after that." He smiled apologetically. "Are you mad at me?"

Lily considered it for a few moments. "Nah. I can tell you're a real doctor, which means you're more than qualified to be here. I don't like that you lied to me, but I'm not angry." She lowered her eyes. "Life's too short to be mad at people on principle."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry about Tyler. I wish there was something I could have done."

"Yeah. Me too."

They both fell silent when a drum machine accompanied by an eerie-sounding synthesizer boomed through the arena. One of the doors opened, and Drake stepped out on the passageway. His eyes were fixed on the ring, as if he didn't even notice the massive audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the finale of this dramatic tournament is finally here!" the commentator yelled into his microphone. "First, I bring you . . .the man with the strength of an unworldly beast—the Leviathan!"

The crowd cheered loudly as Drake walked down the stairs toward the ring. He walked with long, confident strides. His limp was barely visible at all.

The industrial music faded away as Drake reached the ring. As soon as the final dissonant chord rang out, a soft murmuring of strings took its place. When the melodious oboe started playing, Andrew knew the technician had found the right piece.

The second door opened. Robyn strode down the passageway, her Valkyrie persona radiating power and confidence. She looked exactly like the cold, merciless street fighter she always pretended to be—until she heard the music. Her face softened, and he could see her mouth his name. She continued her walk toward the ring with a small smile playing on her lips.

The crowd fell silent for a moment. Everyone was staring at Robyn. She walked with her head held high, but her expression remained soft. Together with the classical music, the scene was almost magical.

"And here we have our second contestant!" the commentator continued. "I give you the fierce, the beautiful, the surprisingly resilient—the Valkyrie!"

The commentator's words broke the spell of enchantment, and the crowd immediately began to cheer.

"How strange," Lily said. "I thought it would be weird to see her enter with a classical piece, but it fits her, somehow. It's in the way she moves, you know?"

"I know." Pride bloomed in his chest. "You should see her dance to it."

The music stopped when Robyn stepped inside the ring. She nodded at Drake, who nodded back at her. The referee spoke with them both for a few seconds before backing away. The bell rang, and the fight began.

Drake threw a punch, immediately going for an offensive approach. Robyn dodged it by taking a quick step back. Before Drake could retract his arm, she spun around and kicked him, aiming for his abdomen. The kick was perfectly executed and would have caused Drake to bend over—if he hadn't been expecting it. He twisted his torso, causing Robyn's foot to only graze his side. When Drake tried to grab her ankle, she danced out of the way, almost making a pirouette to get her leg away from him. They both took a moment to breathe, staring at each other from opposite sides of the ring. Then they were at it again, throwing kicks and punches in perfect synchronization.

Even to Andrew's untrained eye, it was obvious Robyn and Drake had fought each other before. They read each other's movements perfectly and always knew exactly how to respond. Their complete synchronization made the fight look almost choreographed.

Minutes passed. To Andrew's surprise, Robyn didn't aim for Drake's injured knee at all. _What's her plan?_ he wondered, flinching every time she received a hit.

When the bell rang and ended the first round, the fighters were both sporting minor injuries. Robyn was holding a towel to a wound in her lip and Drake's right eye was swelling up, but neither of them was seriously harmed.

"Why isn't she aiming for his knee?" Andrew asked Lily. "Is that part of some kind of street-fighting code? Are you supposed to avoid your opponent's injuries?"

"Not really. I guess it depends on what kind of person you are. Tyler never aimed for injuries. He thought it made the fights less fair."

"I see."

When Andrew had heard about Drake's injury, he'd taken for granted that Robyn would use it to her advantage. If he himself had been a fighter, he would have used it. But she wasn't like him. She was a genuinely good person.

He sighed. This was going to be a long night.

The bell rang again, signaling the start of the second round. Drake and Robyn were soon exchanging blows again, neither of them showing any signs of slowing down. Andrew glanced at Lily and noticed she had her eyes fixed on the audience instead of the ring.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"There are cops in the crowd." Her eyes narrowed. "Lots of them."

Andrew searched the crowd. He could see Lucy and Mike standing near the ring, and Jason and Cassandra were standing close to the bar. He couldn't find any cops.

"I can't see any," he finally admitted.

"They're dressed as civilians." Lily shrugged, lowering her eyes. "It's kind of my thing. I look out for cops when FTS is out protesting."

"You're an FTS member?"

She nodded. "Luke says hi."

"Oh." It finally made sense how Jonas, Lily, Tyler, and Luke knew each other—they were all members of Mike's group of violent protesters.

"Are the cops here to do a raid?" Lily asked, fidgeting with her ponytail. "Like they did on that Swanson guy's organization? If that's the case, I'm getting out of here. Right now."

"I don't think that's what they're here for," he said. "I think they're here to see if Swanson is going to show up."

Jason obviously hadn't been honest with him. If Jason had truly thought things were over, he wouldn't have brought half the police station to the arena.

Andrew turned back to the ring, just in time to see Robyn execute a beautiful roundhouse kick. Drake took a step to the side to dodge it. He raised his hand to deliver a punch but seemed to put too much weight on his left leg. He stumbled, and the motion took them both by surprise. Robyn's kick hit Drake's neck, and his fist connected with her chin. They both fell to the floor, Drake landing flat on his stomach and Robyn on her side. When they both hit the ground, neither of them was moving.

"Oh my God, was that a double KO?" Lily exclaimed, getting up from her chair. "Who won?"

"I don't know." Andrew didn't really care. He rushed through the door and out to the ring. _Concussion, neuronal injuries, intracranial hemorrhage._ He could go on all day about the endless list of complications after a head trauma like that.

The referee was just about to call the fight off when Robyn began to move. She pushed herself up on one elbow, shaking her head.

"I'm conscious," she said. "I'm not knocked out. I'm still conscious."

The referee nodded and gave the commentator a sign.

"It seems we have our winner!" the commentator shouted into his microphone. "Raise your glasses and cheer for the tournament's champion—the Valkyrie!"

The crowd roared with excitement. Andrew entered the ring and kneeled next to Robyn. He put his arm behind her back, helping her sit upright.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I think so." She smiled. "I did it. I beat him."

Andrew pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You did."

"The Leviathan is coming to," Lily said from behind his back. "No signs of anything serious."

Andrew sent her a quick smile over his shoulder. He turned back to Robyn and began to assess her injuries. Her eyes were still a little unfocused, but otherwise she seemed fine.

"Excuse me," a black-haired man in a white suit said, entering the ring. "I'm here to greet the winner."

"That would be me," Robyn said, getting back to her feet with a little help from Andrew.

The newcomer shook her hand. "My name is Simon Quinn, owner of Chrystal Arena. I wanted to personally congratulate you." He pulled an envelope from an inside pocket in his suit jacket and gave it to her. "I was supposed to give this to your manager, but I decided I'd rather give it straight to you."

Robyn carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a pale-blue piece of paper. "Oh my God," she said, her eyes widening. "Are you serious? Is this . . . Is this mine?"

Mr. Quinn nodded, smiling. "I've heard about your situation. I'm sure you need this a lot more than Mr. Swanson."

"What is it?" Andrew asked, looking over her shoulder. In her hands was a check with a _lot_ of zeros on it. " _Oh_."

"I have to show this to Lucy," she said before taking off. She ran to the fence separating the ring from the crowd and began to climb.

"Excuse me, miss?" one of the security guards said. "Could you like, not do that? Please, get down."

Robyn ignored him and gracefully jumped over the top of the fence. She landed on the other side right next to Lucy and Mike.

"Robyn!" Lucy shouted, hugging her tightly. "You were absolutely amazing in there. I'm so proud of you."

"Lucy, look," Robyn said, holding up the check. "With this kind of money, you could study at any university you want. Hell, you could even study at Columbia if you wanted to. We'd still have to take a loan, but it's possible."

When Robyn tried to hand Lucy the check, Lucy grabbed her hands and gently closed them over the piece of paper.

"No."

Robyn frowned. "What?"

"This is your money," Lucy said determinedly. "I'll find my own way to pay for my education. You put your life on hold when Mom died to make sure I would get the childhood you never had. I'm an adult now, and it's time for you to start living your own life." She smiled. "I want you to use this to take up ballet again. You haven't been yourself since you stopped dancing. I remember how good you were. Your teacher always talked about you with Mom, saying you'd be a professional one day. With that check, you could go to college. You could finally make your dream come true."

Robyn stared at her sister, her eyes tearing up. "I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll start dancing again."

Tears of happiness rolled down her cheeks. "I will. I promise."

Andrew watched them from the other side of the fence. Though he really wanted to take a closer look at Robyn's injuries, he couldn't bring himself to interrupt the sisters' moment. He left the ring and returned to the backstage area, heading toward the locker room. Since Robyn would probably stay with Lucy for a while, he thought he'd pick up the things she'd left in her locker. He didn't know if he was going to have to drive her to the hospital or not, but if she did turn out to be concussed, he wanted to leave the arena as soon as possible.

When he entered the locker room, he saw something moving out of the corner of his eye. Before he could turn around, he felt something hard hit his head—something suspiciously cane-like. His body went limp, and he fell to the floor. The last thing he saw before passing out was the hem of a long, gray coat.

• • •

After speaking with Lucy for a while, Robyn began to wonder where Andrew had gone. The last time she'd seen him he'd been in the ring, but the ring was now empty.

"I'll be right back," she told Lucy before heading toward the fence. Before she could begin to climb back, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and found Ana leaning against the fence. She fit in surprisingly well with the crowd, which was probably why Robyn hadn't seen her earlier. Robyn's eyes widened. _I'm screwed. She's going to kill me. I'm screwed._

Ana snorted. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm not going to punch you, you idiot."

"What are you doing here?" Robyn asked, still in shock. "You knew about the tournament? How did you find out? _When_ did you find out?"

Ana rolled her eyes. "I knew about it from the start. This damn tournament is all my clients have been talking about for months."

_Shit,_ Robyn thought. _Shit, shit, shit._

"Calm down," Ana said. "I'm not going to punch you, okay?"

Robyn glanced up at her. She looked surprisingly calm, and she didn't seem to be angry either.

"Are you mad at me?" Robyn asked anyway. "I'm sorry for not telling you. I just . . .you know . . . "

"You're a self-deprecating moron, and you suck at relying on anyone but yourself. I know." Ana put her hand on her hip. "You knew how I felt about your fighting habits, and you didn't want to worry me. I get it. I was pretty pissed when I found out, but now I'm just glad it's over. You did great up there. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you." Robyn smiled. "I'm glad it's over, too." She'd felt guilty about lying to Ana for months, and the relief of finally coming clear almost made her cry again. "This was my final fight. I'm quitting street fighting for good."

Ana blinked in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Like, for good as in permanently? No more fights? Ever?"

"Yeah."

Ana threw her arms around Robyn's shoulders. "Thank God," she said in a thick voice. "Thank God, thank God, thank God."

Robyn awkwardly hugged her back. She wasn't a hugger, and neither was Ana. She was just about to ask her what the hell she was doing when she felt something wet against her neck. Ana was crying.

She hugged Robyn tighter. "If you ever tell anyone about this, I'll kill you. You know that, right?"

Robyn smiled. "I know."

• • •

A few minutes later, Robyn was climbing back over the fence. It was a lot harder this time since her wrist had started to seriously hurt. She'd landed on it after Drake's punch, and she was beginning to suspect it was sprained or even fractured. She sighed. Andrew was going to freak out about it when she found him.

He wasn't in the gallery or in the corridor outside. Confused and a little worried, she decided to check the locker room.

The first thing she noticed was Andrew lying motionless on the tiled floor. The second thing she noticed was the sound of someone cocking a gun.

"Hello, Robyn," Swanson said calmly. He leaned back on the bench, his gun aimed at Robyn's head.

"What did you do to him?" She stared at Andrew, her heart racing. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. She felt like she was about to throw up. _He wouldn't leave me. He said he wouldn't leave me._

"Don't worry, dear. He's only unconscious." Swanson didn't have to add "for now." The threat was obvious enough as it was.

He slowly stood up. His movements were stiff, and the way he leaned on his cane didn't look like acting.

"What do you want?" she asked with a trembling voice. "Why are you here?"

Her body was frozen in place, paralyzed by terror. She'd been scared when Mark had pointed a gun at her, but not like this. On some level, she'd known Mark hadn't had it in him to pull the trigger. With Swanson, it was different. If he felt like it, he would kill her—and Andrew—in a heartbeat.

"Did you win?" he asked, ignoring her questions.

She nodded.

Swanson made an expression that was probably supposed to be a smile. "That's my girl. Now, all we have to do is get out of here. Let's go."

Robyn didn't know what to think. For some reason, Swanson didn't seem to be mad at her. How was that even possible?

Swanson pointed at the door with the gun. "What are you waiting for?"

"Please, let me make sure he's okay first," she said. "I need to know he's okay."

Swanson's eyes narrowed as he considered her request. "Make it quick. We don't have much time."

She kneeled next to Andrew. He was still breathing. Thank God. She placed her hand on his shoulder and shook him lightly. "Andrew?"

He didn't open his eyes.

She shook him harder. "Andrew, please wake up." _Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me . . ._

"We have to go," Swanson said.

She glanced up at him. "I can't just leave him, I . . . " She silenced herself as Swanson aimed the gun at Andrew's head instead of hers. The threat was crystal clear.

"I'm ready now," she said quickly. "Don't hurt him. Please don't hurt him." She reluctantly got back to her feet. "I'm sorry about what happened at the mansion."

"I accept your apology," Swanson said. "It must have been a frightening situation for you. I'm sure you didn't mean to cause this mishap. Did they threaten you?"

"Y-yeah," she lied. "When I got to the apartment, the police were already there. They said I'd never see Lucy again if I didn't cooperate with them. I didn't know all of this would happen. I'm so sorry."

She glanced up at him to see if he'd bought it. Her eyes were tearing up, and she wasn't sure if she was faking that part. In a way, she was glad she didn't have to fake being terrified. She'd never been a good actor, but her fear was genuine.

"It's fine, dear." He smiled. "You're one of my kids. I know you'd never try to harm me. Get dressed. We have to leave immediately."

After Robyn had put her tank top, hoodie, and shoes back on, Swanson walked toward the door. She quickly went to hold it open for him, just like she'd seen Mark do countless times. She could barely believe he'd bought her story. _It's not me he believes in,_ she realized. _It's his ability to manipulate that he truly trusts._

Swanson thought she was like the other kids he'd taken in over the years, brainwashed to worship him without ever questioning him. One year ago, that would have been true, but she wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't nothing. She was a person, with a family who loved her and a future full of promises. Swanson would never have that kind of power over her ever again.

They walked through the backstage area and left through a back door hidden at the end of the corridor. Swanson led her out to the parking lot and unlocked a rusty Volvo parked in a dimly lit corner. She immediately stopped. If she stepped into the car, there was no going back. No one would ever find her again.

"Well? Let's go," Swanson said. He licked his lips, his eyes darting between her and the arena.

"Did you hear about Mark?" she asked in an attempt to buy more time. "He died for you."

"Yes, yes, very tragic," Swanson said without a trace of sorrow in his voice. "That boy always showed tendencies toward the melodramatic. But that's all in the past, now. Come on. We need to get away from this rotten place."

"Where are we going?" Her voice was trembling, and her eyes kept returning to his gun.

"Anywhere we want. With my intelligence and your skills, we could start a new organization. I'm sure you brought that check you won. It's more than enough to set up shop in another city, somewhere the police are a bit more . . .approachable. We could take in some new kids—kids with nowhere else to go. We could save them, just like I saved you and your sister. What do you say, Robyn?" He smiled and reached out his hand. "Are you ready to take the next step?"

Robyn was speechless. She stared at his hand, unsure how to react. If she said yes, she would have to get in the car with him, but if she said no . . . She didn't even want to think about that.

"What will it be, dear? I need your answer." He took a step toward her, and she unwittingly took a step back.

"I don't know, I-I need more time," she stuttered.

"Time is a luxury we cannot afford right now." Swanson slowly raised his gun. "Are you coming with me or not?"

That's when she knew for sure he was going to kill her. She could see it in his eyes. Even if she said yes, he would eventually find someone new to take her place, just like he'd found her to replace Mark. It didn't matter what she said. She was screwed either way.

She clenched her fists. It wasn't fair. She'd been so close to finally getting the normal life she'd always dreamed of, and now, Swanson was going to take that away from her. He never stopped taking things away from her.

The anger that had been building up within her for almost six years finally erupted.

"Fuck you, and fuck your organization!" she yelled. Swanson's eyes widened, and this time, he was the one who took a step back. He clearly hadn't been predicting an outburst like that. She used his moment of distraction to spin around and kick the hand holding the gun.

Swanson swore loudly and pulled back his hand. The gun fell to the ground. She threw herself after it, and before he'd even moved a muscle, she already had the gun in her hands. She slowly stood up, pointing it at him.

Swanson licked his lips. "Don't be stupid, Robyn. Give me the gun."

"No."

"You're being overdramatic. Just give me the gun."

"No."

His gaze darted between her face and the gun. "Come on. You don't want to do this. I took you in, remember? You're one of my kids. I saved you. I saved your sister. You don't want to do this."

Her hands trembled. No, she didn't want to kill him. She didn't want to take a life. But she couldn't let him go, either. If she didn't end him for good, she would live the rest of her life in fear. He'd hurt her sister. He'd hurt Andrew. She was not going to let him hurt anyone she loved ever again.

Blinding lights suddenly lighted up the parking lot.

"Freeze!" a male voice yelled. "You're surrounded!"

Robyn squinted against the lights. There were men and women in bulletproof vests all around her, their guns pointing at Swanson.

"You can drop the gun now, Robyn," Jason said, taking a step forward. "We've got it from here."

She fixed her gaze on Swanson again. She had to end him. She _had_ to.

"Robyn? Can you hear me? Shit, she's freaking out. Alexander, I need some help here."

Someone approached her from behind. She recognized the sound of his steps.

"Robyn. You don't have to do this." Two arms encircled her waist, and she was awash with the calming scent of Earl Grey. "Jason's going to arrest him. Everything will be okay."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. The words echoed in her head. _End him, end him, end him . . ._

Andrew pulled her closer. "Just let go of the gun, okay? You don't have to kill him."

The anger and the fear slowly faded away from her body. She looked at Swanson again. He no longer looked like the nightmarish threat her mind had made him out to be. He looked like a scared old man.

"Just let go of the gun."

The gun clattered against the asphalt as it hit the ground. Andrew turned her around and wrapped his arms around her again, holding her tightly.

"Thank God you're okay," he whispered in her ear. "When I woke up and couldn't find you, I knew he'd taken you. I thought it was too late. I thought . . . I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm okay." She burrowed her face in the crook of his neck. "We're okay."

They watched as Jason cuffed Swanson's hands behind his back and led him to a police car.

"This isn't necessary." Swanson had a feverish look in his eyes. "I could make you rich. I could give you anything you want. Let's talk. Negotiate. We should negotiate. Please."

Jason closed the car door without a word.

A few minutes later, the police cars began to pull out of the parking lot. Robyn stood with Andrew's arm wrapped around her shoulders, watching Jason and his colleagues leave the arena. Jason had assured them that whatever happened, the police had enough proof to keep Swanson locked up for the rest of his life.

"I think it works both ways," she said. "You know, the thing you said about me being unable to understand someone like Swanson. I don't think he could understand me, either. If he'd known me at all, he would have realized that I would never have forgiven him for taking Lucy. Or for hurting you."

"You're probably right," Andrew said. "He underestimated you."

They stood in silence. Robyn had a hard time processing that Swanson was finally out of her life for good. She was happy about it, but in a way, she felt a bit empty. Her life had always been a mess, and though she'd dreamed of having a normal life, the thought of that dream coming true scared her a little. A part of her wondered if she would ever be normal enough to pull it off. She smiled a little to herself. _I won't know for sure until I try_. Even though the concept of living a normal life scared her, she was still looking forward to giving it a shot.

"Well done, Robyn," said a female voice. "I knew you could do it."

Robyn turned around and found Cassandra and Drake standing in a corner of the parking lot. Drake was holding a big suitcase in his hands, and he'd put on his suit again.

"We have to leave now," Cassandra continued. "As Dr. Alexander has probably figured out, I'm not going to live much longer. There are more cities in need of my help, and I'm running out of time. Chrystal Valley is clean now, so it's time for me to move on."

"Is this what you do?" Robyn asked. "You travel to a corrupted city, pick out your puppets, and pull on their strings until the bad guy is caught?"

Cassandra smiled. "It's not a very ethical method, but it works. I don't need your approval or respect. I didn't come here to make friends. I came here to save your city, and that's what I did." Her smile faded a little. "I would appreciate if you didn't tell Jason about my mission. If he knew about all of this, he would think I only spent time with him to get information. That's not true. He's a nice man, and under different circumstances, I would have called him a friend."

"You're seriously asking us for more favors?" Andrew butted in. "You used us. We don't owe you anything."

"You don't owe me anything," Cassandra agreed, "but I'm fairly certain you'll keep quiet about me to protect your friend's emotions. Isn't that right, Dr. Alexander?"

Andrew clenched his jaw. His silence was an obvious answer.

Cassandra nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation."

She turned around and walked back into the shadows. Drake gave Robyn a final nod before following her. Somehow, Robyn knew this was the last time she'd ever see them. The realization saddened her a little, but at the same time she was happy for Drake. His years with Cassandra had definitely changed him, and having a purpose in life seemed to do him good.

"How are you feeling?" Andrew asked, breaking the silence. "Are you dizzy? Nauseous?"

"I'm fine," she said, but then she remembered her wrist. "You should probably take a look at this, though."

She held up her arm and rolled up the sleeve of her hoodie. The wrist had swollen to almost twice its usual size, and the pulsating pain kept getting worse.

He groaned. "That's it, we're going to the hospital. You need an x-ray."

"Only if you do one of those brain-scan thingies for your head," she countered. "You could have a concussion too."

"Oh. Yeah. I'd forgotten all about that." He rubbed the back of his head. "I can't believe you thought of that before I did."

She grinned smugly. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been hanging out with a doctor quite a lot lately. I've picked up a thing or two."

"Right." He shook his head, smiling. "Brain-scan thingy it is, then."

Robyn nodded and yawned. The adrenaline backlash was taking over her system, and all she wanted was to get away from the arena. It was probably the last time she'd ever set foot there, and the thought didn't bother her at all.

"So I guess this is it, then," Andrew said as they walked toward his car. "I can't believe everything's finally over."

"Not everything," she said with a smile. "For some things, this is only the beginning."

He put his arm around her waist. "You're right."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, calm and at peace. The Valkyrie's short and violent life had come to an end. It was finally time for Robyn Monroe to live.

# Epilogue

Robyn walked around in the apartment that had been her home her entire life. Seeing the bare walls and the empty rooms sent a wave of sentimentality through her chest. Everything she owned was already stuffed into boxes. Some of those boxes were still in the living room, but most of them were waiting for her in Andrew's house. _Our house,_ she corrected herself. _It's our house now._

She absentmindedly rubbed her wrist as she returned to the living room, more by habit than to relieve any pain. A year and a half had passed since the night of her final fight, but her wrist still ached from time to time.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked when she noticed the gesture. "I can move the rest of the boxes if your wrist is hurting."

"I'm fine," Robyn replied earnestly. "It's just a bit stiff."

"Promise me you'll tell me if it starts hurting, okay? You have to think about your career."

Robyn rolled her eyes. "I promise."

"And promise me you and Andrew will come over to our place to eat at least once a week," Lucy continued, using her teacher voice. "I don't know how you two are even alive at this point. At least one of you is going to have to learn how to cook."

Robyn snorted. "It's not like we're starving, you know."

"No, but all that junk food is going to clog up your arteries." Lucy frowned. "Promise me."

Robyn smiled. "I promise."

They carried the last of the boxes down the stairs. The moving truck would be there any minute, so they decided to wait for it outside in the sun. They sat down on the steps leading up to the door, enjoying the spring warmth.

"It's going to be weird not living with you," Lucy said. "I won't miss the apartment, but I will definitely miss you."

A gust of wind played with her shoulder-length hair, making it whirl around the right side of her head. After Swanson had cut off her braid, she'd decided to turn her uneven hairstyle into a sidecut. It looked surprisingly good on her, even though Robyn still found it somewhat strange to have longer hair than her sister.

"We'll be fine. We'll see each other all the time." Robyn wrapped her arm around Lucy's shoulders. "This won't change anything between us."

Lucy smiled. "I know. It's still weird, though."

"Yeah, it's pretty weird."

Even though Robyn was excited about moving in with Andrew, it still scared her a little. She had stayed at his place at least two or three times a week for a long time, but actually moving in was a completely different thing. It wasn't the commitment itself that scared her—what really scared her was how okay she was with the whole thing. She wouldn't mind living with Andrew for the rest of her life, and _that_ was scary.

Lucy and Mike were moving into a luxurious house close to Andrew's. Since Lucy had to take the train to Columbia University every morning, an apartment near the train station would have been a more logical choice—but instead, they'd bought a house. That fact made Robyn somewhat nervous. She hoped Lucy would wait until she got her teaching certification before thinking about having kids, but if she wanted to start a family already, there was nothing Robyn could do about it. Lucy was an adult, and Mike had a permanent job now. They seemed to be happy together. _Happy and rich,_ she thought, smiling a little to herself. Mike's salary was even higher than Andrew's nowadays.

The collapse of Swanson's organization had become the start of a chaotic chain reaction rippling through all of Chrystal Valley. Less than a month after his arrest, nearly half of the city's politicians had been fired. Mike—or Michael, as he now called himself—had maneuvered his way through that war zone and ended up with a surprisingly high position in Chrystal Valley's chain of command. He'd cut his hair and dropped his shaggy image, but his friends from FTS were still loyal to him. Mike had been the first of the new politicians to openly swear that he would never allow corruption to rule Chrystal Valley ever again. One by one, every single Chrystal Valley politician made the very same promise. That promise was later known as "Tyler's pledge."

Some people were fully convinced Mike would one day become the city's mayor. In Robyn's eyes, Mike was still a moron, but it wouldn't surprise her if those people turned out to be right. The citizens of Chrystal Valley seemed to see him as some sort of freedom fighter, and they all adored him. Robyn would never admit it out loud, but Mike and his colorful personality had grown on her over the past year. He was family, after all.

A soft vibration from Robyn's sweatpants pocket alerted her that something was going on with her smartphone. She pulled herself out of her thoughts and picked up the phone, hoping the calendar wasn't spazzing out again. Andrew had given her the phone as a Christmas present, and she still hadn't fully figured out all its functions. It was an e-mail this time—not the calendar sending her triple notifications for some forgotten event. She put her finger on the small envelope symbol to open the inbox.

"Oh my God," she gasped as she looked at the name of the sender.

"What?" Lucy asked.

"The e-mail. It's here."

Lucy's eyes widened. "Open it. You have to open it."

Robyn stared at the display. If she opened the e-mail, she would know if her year of hard work had paid off. She would know if the time she'd spent on distance learning to finish high school and all the money she'd spent on lessons in both ballet and modern dance had been worth it.

Though she wanted to open the e-mail, she couldn't bring herself to do it. Something important was missing—a certain some _one._ Andrew had believed in her the whole time, even when she'd had doubts herself. Without him, she never would have dared to even show up at the audition. It didn't feel right opening the e-mail without him.

"Go," Lucy said. "I know you want to read it with him. Just call me later, okay? I'll finish up here."

"Thank you." Robyn smiled and got to her feet. "I'll call you later, I promise."

She put the phone back in her pocket and began to jog toward Andrew's house. _Our house,_ she corrected herself again. _Our home._

• • •

Andrew was busy filling Tiny's food bowl with pellets when he heard a key enter the lock in the front door. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall, noting that Robyn was at least an hour early. _Shit._ He rushed to the bedside table in his bedroom, almost tripping over a bunch of moving boxes on the way, and picked up the small, velvety box he'd left there earlier that day. Not until the box was back in the sock drawer could he relax again.

Hiding his mother's ring from Robyn was getting trickier and trickier, especially since he kept forgetting to put it back in the drawer all the time. He'd been looking at it a lot lately, imagining what it would look like on Robyn's finger. One day, he would give it to her—but today was not that day. He wasn't sure if Robyn was ready for a commitment like that yet, and he still had one year left of his residency. Marriage would have to wait, at least for a little while longer. He wanted the proposal to be absolutely perfect.

He had just shut the drawer when he heard the front door opening.

"Hello?" Robyn shouted before slamming the door shut behind her.

Andrew left the bedroom and entered the hallway just in time to see her put her keys back in her pocket. The movement made him smile. The key she always used to open the door to the house was the second copy Andrew had given her. She still refused to use the first copy as anything other than a necklace.

"Welcome home," he said, loving how natural the words felt as they left his mouth.

"Thank you." Her face lit up with a beautiful smile. "I'm home."

They shared a moment of pure bliss. Andrew knew she'd been a bit hesitant about moving away from Lucy, but if she regretted the decision, it didn't show.

"I know I'm a bit early," she said, her smile turning slightly apologetic. "I got an e-mail."

He raised his eyebrows. "Okay?"

"From Juilliard."

"Oh. _Oh._ " He finally understood the situation. "What did it say?"

"I haven't opened it yet. I didn't want to open it without you."

She pulled out her phone and unlocked it, staring nervously at the display. Andrew placed himself behind her back so he could watch the screen over her shoulder. Her finger hovered over the little envelope symbol, hesitating.

"Wow," she said, swallowing hard. "I didn't realize how much I wanted to get in until I got the e-mail. Shit, Andrew, what if my modern dancing wasn't good enough? I mean, I've only taken classes for a year. I _think_ I nailed the ballet part, but the modern part . . . Oh God."

"I'm sure they thought you were wonderful," he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. "And if they didn't, you could always try again next year, or the year after that. Not getting in on your first attempt is not that big of a deal, all right? Whatever happens, I'm proud of you, and I know Lucy is too."

"You're right." She took a deep, strengthening breath, leaning back against his chest. "It's not the end of the world if I don't get in. As long as we're together, everything will be okay."

He kissed the top of her head. "Exactly."

When she pressed the button, they were both ready for whatever the Juilliard School Dance Division had to say. They were together, and everything would be okay.

# Acknowledgments

So this is where things get a little sappy. I apologize in advance. With that said, I want to express my love and endless gratitude to:

Suz, my best friend and beta, who listened to me as I went on and on about this story and then convinced me to actually write it.

My dad, for encouraging me to reach for the sky, and my mom, for catching me every time I fell.

My grandma, who told me she wanted to see my name on the cover of a book one day. (Look, Mormor, that's my name!)

My beta readers and critique partners, who weren't afraid to tell me the things I didn't want to hear.

And last but not least, the editors at Crimson Romance, who welcomed me into their family and made this story shine.
Copyright © 2016 by Cecilia Sjölund.
All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

Published by

Crimson Romance™

an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

57 Littlefield Street

Avon, MA 02322

www.crimsonromance.com

ISBN 10: 1-5072-0183-4

ISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0183-1

eISBN 10: 1-5072-0184-2

eISBN 13: 978-1-5072-0184-8

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover art © Gergely Zsolnai/123RF.

# Redeeming the Night

# Kristine Overbrook

#

Avon, Massachusetts

# Contents

  * Title Page
  * Chapter 1
  * Chapter 2
  * Chapter 3
  * Chapter 4
  * Chapter 5
  * Chapter 6
  * Chapter 7
  * Chapter 8
  * Chapter 9
  * Chapter 10
  * Chapter 11
  * Chapter 12
  * Chapter 13
  * Chapter 14
  * Chapter 15
  * Chapter 16
  * Chapter 17
  * Acknowledgments
  * Copyright

# Chapter 1

Smoke rose from torches around the chamber and snaked up the stone walls. The dark cloud pooled against the ceiling before it slipped through the vents. In the flickering light Ashley could easily make out the robed features of the sisterhood, somber in preparation for the coming ritual. The women had welcomed her, supported her, and had given her purpose during the worst part of her life. She owed them everything.

That was forty years ago. _So long?_ Decades passed easily in the sisterhood. Those who wore the black onyx band of membership didn't age. As the Mother had slipped the band on Ashley's finger all those years ago she'd said she only welcomed the worthy. Even now, Ashley thanked the gods she had been chosen.

Ashley and the other women began to sway. The ritual had begun. Gold embroidery around the hems of their maroon, satin robes glinted in the torchlight. The Mother stood at the center of the chamber, flanked by two women. Thirteen others, including Ashley, formed a circle around them. Their murmuring chant echoed off the stone, the reverberation adding a deep, harmonious counterpoint, as if the chamber chanted with them.

The women's onyx rings began to glow. Warmth grew and spread through their bodies. They moved in unison, circling, their steps keeping time with the chant.

Pressure built, rising within them. It flowed through their bodies. Coursed over their skin. Their breasts.

Every nerve ignited. They extended their arms toward the center.

The Mother reached her arms upward and cried out something unintelligible. The awakening began. The sisterhood cried out as waves of release shook them. Their bodies tingled and throbbed. The souls of the dregs of society, harvested for the betterment of womankind, pulsed from them, leaving behind nothing except oneness and satisfaction.

Slowly, Ashley's mind cleared from the shared orgasmic fog.

"Ah, ladies, the harvest of this month was plentiful and your offering bountiful," the Mother declared, extending her arms wide as if embracing the entire room.

Ashley nodded along with her sisters. This was the standard statement following the ritual.

The Mother raised a finger and continued, "So much so, it is time for us to move another to the inner circle."

This brought murmuring. The inner circle currently held two sisters: Lena and Ashley's own mentor, Tarma. Those in the inner circle were the honored teachers. They were the closest to the Mother, and they often took part in private rituals with her. Although the outer circle knew nothing of the rites, they all wished to participate.

The Mother reached a hand toward Ashley. "Sister, you have shown dedication to our course and unity of spirit with your sisters. I will bestow this honor upon you." Ashley stepped forward and placed her hand in the Mother's. Her heart sang. She'd done everything she could to garner praise from those in the inner circle. Now her focus had been rewarded. The Mother's thin fingers belied the strength with which she grasped Ashley's hand. "There are two tasks you must complete before you can take your place."

"Anything," Ashley whispered. The sisterhood had saved her when she'd been used and discarded by the man she'd trusted. With their help, she had spent years making sure other women wouldn't have the same struggles.

"The first task will begin tonight." The Mother nodded to Tarma, who promptly exited the room. "You will become an official mentor and train the one who will take your place."

Ashley nodded. This she could do. She'd helped Tarma educate several of the other sisters. Not everyone stayed; this life wasn't for everyone. But the three that she'd helped to instruct stood around her and smiled their congratulations.

• • •

Once the meeting had dispersed, Ashley remained in the room, and for the first time she participated in an inner circle ritual. She learned a new chant and drank a new potion and welcomed the spirit of her new _raison d'être_. It was very similar to the ritual she had gone through when she first joined the sisterhood, the one her protégé would have gone through the night before.

After the ritual, Ashley visited her protégé, Nichole's, room. She couldn't wait to meet her student and teach her the ways of the sisterhood. However, after only a few minutes she worried that Nichole would be better suited to a different calling.

Nichole sat on her bed in her white gown that all the apprentices wore. Ashley still wore her maroon one. The difference in color may help her assert her authority.

The feeling of wonder permeated the room, so Ashley decided to keep it light. "How are you doing? Once you accepted the spirit and the ring, your powers emerged. You should be noticing a few subtle differences by now."

"Oh, great," Nichole replied. "It's like I'm becoming a superhero or something. Just when you walked in I could hear what sounded like a snake hissing, but that would be weird, wouldn't it? I do seem to see a glow about you. A beautiful robin's egg blue one, with green and gold flecks." Nichole cocked her head. "It kind of shimmers around you."

"Yes, and over time you will be able to recognize your sisters using their auras. Very soon you will be able to accomplish a lot more. You will be able to change your appearance." To demonstrate, Ashley shifted into a likeness of Diana Ross. "Though you shouldn't use famous people because they get a lot of attention and the goal is camouflage." She shifted back into a brunette with a heart-shaped face and blue eyes—the image she used most days. Most sisters didn't wear themselves very often. For Ashley, her own face and body reminded her too much of her life before the sisterhood. "With practice, you will even be able to change your clothes."

"Really? How does that work?" Nichole asked, her eyes wide with wonder. "I mean, like the science behind it."

For some reason, Ashley had never asked that question. All she knew was that it worked. So she answered with her best guess. "It has something to do with being able to control the atomic particles of yourself and everything around you."

"Ooh."

"This is all so you can perform the primary function of the sisterhood: removing the evil influence of men on our society."

"That sounds exciting."

"You will feel more powerful than you've ever felt before." Ashley nodded. She knew she did. "You start by evoking the prey's worst fear. When they are overcome with terror it exposes their soul—it's colored the same as their aura, but brighter. When you _see_ it, use your mind and pull on the emotions that hide their true selves. Their fear, strength, and evil. It will feel like a part of you is reaching for them, like a hand you didn't know you had. You know you have it when you can taste it; every sister tastes something different. I taste ripe peaches."

"Doesn't matter who?"

"Every time." Ashley nodded. "When you taste it, you're there, and you suck all of that evil soul right out of their body." She was getting hungry just thinking about it.

"Ew."

"No, it's delicious. It gives you a delightful rush." She smiled and patted Nichole's leg until the woman smiled as well. "I always feel so energized after a harvest. So many women are saved by what we do."

"What happens to the men?" Nichole asked, still smiling but in a more forced way.

"What do you mean?" Why should she care what happened to the men?

"After you remove their souls. What happens to them?"

"They die." Ashley shook her head. "Of course."

"Do we absolutely have to kill the men?" Nichole asked in a whisper. The petite woman picked at the fringe of her gown.

"The soul is extracted. Living is no longer possible," Ashley replied, though she knew the answer wouldn't satisfy her student.

"But . . . "

Although Nichole had pledged to support their mission with a whole heart she questioned their methods. Ashley started to worry about Nichole's commitment.

She held up a hand and waited a beat. Partially for the calming effect on Nichole, but also because it gave Ashley a chance to be sure her voice would hold a patience she didn't completely feel. "Would you have wanted your boyfriend to continue abusing you? Could you have left him on your own? For all the free will you had left, he may as well have tied you up. Would you have wanted him to do it to another woman?"

Nichole responded vehemently, as Ashley had predicted. "No, of course not."

The gravitas with which she spoke caused Ashley to smile. And she could see Nichole had more to say, so she waited, a level gaze firmly on her charge. Finally, the reason for the woman's contrary behavior was about to surface. Best to get it out in the open.

"It's just that . . . " Nichole's saucer-like eyes met Ashley's. "Not all men are evil."

Ashley nodded. "We don't target the ones who are behaving. It's like weeding a flower garden. We only remove the plants that could harm the others."

Nichole went back to picking at her hem. "But some men change," she whispered.

Ashley wanted to shake the young woman, to tell her that men whose souls were corrupted couldn't simply clean them out again. It was only a matter of time before most men strayed down an evil path. It was their nature. But she knew from the way Nichole fidgeted she had yet more to say, so Ashley held her tongue.

"My dad changed for me." Again, Nichole lifted her huge eyes and seemed to search Ashley's face for something. "Before I was born he did drugs and messed around with loads of women. When my ma got pregnant with me he stopped all of that and became my dad."

In Ashley's experience, the male would only make that choice if it were the easiest to make. But Nichole's voice rang with love and wonder and stilled Ashley's interruption.

Nichole smiled as she rubbed at her knees. "Ma said they loved each other so much."

The emotion that poured from Nichole felt sweet and soft. In spite of herself, Ashley listened like a child to a fairy tale. She'd believed in love like that—once—long ago.

Nichole ran her hand over the fringe of frayed fabric and sniffed. "Then, one night, he was in a wreck on the way home. I was eight. Losing him broke our hearts, but Ma always told me how he'd changed when I was born. She said everybody deserves a second chance." Nichole rocked slightly back and forth, lost in memory.

Ashley remained quiet. She'd been given a second chance with the sisterhood, an out from an abusive and likely deadly marriage. A chance to help herself and women like her to be strong. How many chances did someone get?

Nichole's words burrowed into Ashley's heart. Could there be a man strong enough to fight the inherent male corruption and love her? Care for her? Live for her? In the years she'd been with the sisterhood she'd never encountered such a man.

"Nichole," Ashley said gently, "how many second chances did you give the man we found you with?"

Nichole nodded and squared her shoulders.

Still, the thought of a redeemable man tugged at Ashley's mind. Could one really exist?

• • •

The woman seemed to have more arms than an octopus. Eric Adams, private detective, disengaged himself from the grateful woman's embrace and said, "You're welcome, Mrs. Jaxon-Miller."

He'd attempted to evade her several times already; fortunately, the fifth time seemed to be the charm. Though she pouted, it seemed she got the hint and lit a cigarette instead of trying to kiss him again. She said, "Oh, no. I'm changing my name back to Jaxon. Allison Jaxon won't be associating herself with that jackass anymore."

Two days ago, she'd walked into the closet he called an office and asked him to follow her cheating husband. It had taken Eric less than an hour to snap the photos she'd just chucked across the room. Apparently, her husband cheated regularly, and in the open to boot.

A few puffs of her cigarette and the room filled with smoke. He was willing to overlook his usual no-smoking rule if it meant Ms. Jaxon was keeping her hands to herself. She dropped the half-finished cylinder into her water bottle and gave him a pointed look. "We really should talk about compensating you for your trouble."

She was slightly older, and she _was_ hot. Especially in the tight miniskirt and heels that made her legs look like they went all the way up to her neck. A year ago, he may have taken her up on the offer. Back then, he'd been a ladies' man. Back then, he'd been a man.

The Bestial Butcher case ended all that. The Butcher had turned his partner on the police force, Lydia Davis, into a werewolf. A _werewolf_. Eric had barely believed her when she told him. Then, during the raid that finally brought down the Butcher, the beast ripped Eric apart in an attempt to lure Davis into the open.

Luckily for Eric, the Butcher had used his mouth to tear open his stomach, and the disease, or whatever it was that changed a human to a werewolf, passed to him. Even as the surgeons operated to close his wounds, they closed on their own.

Fortunately, the surgeon had seemed content to take the credit for Eric's miraculous recovery. The next day, the surgeon's expression was more than a little uneasy as he examined Eric's healed wounds.

Then, with the help of Lydia, Eric had checked out of the hospital the following day.

"Hey, sexy, where did you go?" Allison Jaxon was sitting on his lap, brushing the hair back from his face with one hand while working the fly on his jeans with the other.

Eric stopped himself from standing up and dumping her onto the floor. The woman needed reassurance that she was still sexy. While he wouldn't sleep with her, he could boost her ego a smidge. He caught the hand that was in his hair and moved it to his lips. "Allison, you are one of the sexiest women I've ever met, gorgeous, and successful. But you should know I can't mix business and pleasure." He lifted her from his lap as he stood and set her on her feet, grabbing her ass and leaning close to whisper into her ear, "No matter how much I want to."

Then he stepped back and let his arms drop to his sides. He was taking a chance handling her this way. He hoped he was right that she merely needed some validation. She panted, and for a moment, she looked ready to pounce. Swallowing hard, she reached into her purse and said, "I'll write you that check."

After Ms. Jaxon left, Eric tucked the check into his wallet. Private detective work paid the bills, albeit not well. Being a cop hadn't paid all that well, either. In some ways, he missed it. But after Lydia left the force to start her family, he realized it was too difficult to explain how he could smell better than any police dog. By scent alone, he could tell if a person in interrogation was lying. Unfortunately, as a cop, he had to prove it. For instance, he would have had to produce cause to search the home of the pedophile who had kidnapped that little boy even though the pervert who answered the door reeked of the child.

Eric's new partner hadn't understood when Eric barged in as the man tried to close the door. He hadn't understood when Eric punched the man into unconsciousness before the pedophile could draw the 9 mm tucked in his waistband. He hadn't understood when Eric broke through the closet wall of what seemed to be a bedroom office. As a werewolf, his strength had doubled. Of course, during the full moon, it tripled.

Eric had found the boy. Saved the day. But the questions didn't stop, and he couldn't answer them. He couldn't work on the force anymore. Not when he couldn't be honest with his own partner. No sane man would believe him.

When he talked it over with the incredibly pregnant Lydia, she understood. "I found that the only team I can really trust is family," she'd said. Then she placed a hand on his shoulder. "And you, you're family now, you know." If he ever doubted it, all he had to do was reach out with his mind. Apparently, because of the closeness of the pack, he could talk telepathically with his pack mates.

He knew, but it didn't help. He could handle being alone professionally if he had someone to come home to, to share his day with. Hell, to share the _night_ with. But it couldn't be casual anymore. Wolves mated for life. Now, sex meant forever. If he wasn't careful, he could be bound for life to a complete bitch.

To anyone on the outside he appeared healthier than he ever had. Sure, he had a quicker temper than he used to, especially during the full moon. Because he'd refrained from human flesh for his first full moon, with the help of Lydia and her mate, he didn't look at humans as food. However, he now ordered his meat rare, and when the moon was full he barely cooked at all. The all-natural, raw diet cut the body fat, and the pet shampoos he used when he "wolfed out" made his hair full and shiny. Anyone who knew him thought he was happy.

The phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. A quick check of the caller ID and he answered. "Aaron Decker, how are you? How's Sin City?"

"Troubled. I could use you down here, man." Aaron sounded tired. More tired than when they'd gone through the academy together. "We've got a missing person case, juvenile, possible runaway."

"I don't know what I can do."

"That's all the false modesty you get. You were top of our class. You might have turned in your badge, but your reputation has grown in the last year. You've got instincts, and that's what we need. There's no evidence of abduction. The child left a typed note on her computer explaining she was running away, but that doesn't feel right to me. Not to mention she's the daughter of Miles Koburn, an influential man on the city council."

_Politics involved, too. Geez._ "Aaron, you might want to get the feds involved. Better resources—"

"You're not coming?"

The question hung in the air. He knew Aaron well, but could he work as part of a team again?

"It's an eleven-year-old girl," Aaron said. "The clock is ticking."

That did it. "I'm coming."

• • •

Ashley flipped her hair over her shoulder and strode confidently down the Strip. The dark night was lit by the ever colorful flashing lights. Other cities boasted that its citizens never slept, and although she'd never had a reason to leave Las Vegas, she was sure the nightlife here could give any of them a run for their money.

Every adult in this town focused on two things: sex and money. Women, men, young or old. All other necessities came second to the conquest of the seven deadly sins. And even these sins circled back to sex and money. Ah, but that was the good part. As the Mother taught her all those years ago, the deeper the coat of sin, the sweeter a soul.

Ashley had learned in the first few days of her own training that the sisterhood's goal was to rid the world of the evils done at the hands of men. Not every soul was as corrupt as the next, and the less tainted a man's aura, the worse the taste. Usually, after identifying those men whose hearts were mostly pure, she avoided them.

But now that Nichole had brought up the idea of a redeemable man, Ashley's eyes lingered on the less polluted specimens. The ones she used to ignore. How they held their women close. She wondered what it would feel like to be held by such a man.

She ran her nails through her hair. _Focus_. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

The hunt could be fun. Reading thoughts, weighing sins. Separating those indulging in a weekend of transgression from those who made depravity a way of life.

She remembered her induction and rubbed a thumb over the onyx band around her left ring finger. The ceremony, the belonging. She would never be a victim again.

Striding past the people lined up outside a club, she slid into the front of the line. She'd found prey in this club before. A wink to the bouncer at the door and she was waved through without paying the cover. He wasn't the purest man in the bunch, but as long as he remained useful he'd live. She spared a moment to wonder if the bouncer knew how close he stood to death's door.

The rhythm of the music pounded in her chest like a second heartbeat. Colored spotlight beams crisscrossed the room. She wriggled and bounced to the pulse like those around her.

She danced through the crowd, gathering her hair behind her head, and then, raising her hands in the air, she let her long dark hair fall into shoulder-length blonde curls. No one in the pulsating room noticed; neither did they notice her eyes swirl through a rainbow of colors and land on a deep, seductive blue.

Tonight, she would find prey for Nichole. The best way to learn was to do. So, after a week of orientation, Nichole would get to put what she'd learned into action. Tonight, Ashley would find Nichole's first kill.

Ashley's instincts led her to a man around fifty. Short and stocky. His thinning hair whispered of once being strawberry blond, but the bad comb-over lay limp, thin, and peppered with gray. Stretching his mouth into a vile grin, he stood at the bar and leered at the woman dancing on top of it.

The aura around the diseased leprechaun of a man swirled in dark blacks and browns. Oh, yes, he was a ripe one. Ashley strode toward him, waited until he turned in her direction, and affected a vacant expression.

"Oh." She stumbled against him and allowed her breasts to press against his arm for a moment longer than necessary. "Sorry," she mouthed at him.

"That's all right." He gripped her shoulders and moved her to stand at the bar next to him. "Let me just buy you a drink."

He waved at the bartender, and she leaned toward him again, this time catching the sweetly rotting scent of his corruption. She'd found a perfectly nasty one in the first club of the night. It seemed too easy.

The bartender passed the leprechaun her drink, and he gripped the glass by the top. If she really were the ditsy drunk blonde she pretended to be, she would have missed the little white pill he dropped into the glass. Too bad Nichole hadn't come out with her. He was almost too ripe to resist.

Giggling, she accepted the drink and downed half of it. The drug would have no effect on one of the sisterhood. She nuzzled up to his ear and yelled, as the music wouldn't allow for the seductive whisper the move called for, "I like you. How long are you going to be in town?"

"Baby," he shouted, "I gotta get back to the wife in two hours!" He grabbed her ass and pulled her closer. "I need to make this count."

"Where are you staying?" Nichole would have an easy time with this one. Her first time should be as pleasant as possible. Ashley could distract the wife while Nichole took the husband; the wife would be much better off without this jerk.

"The Palace." Short as he was, his face barely reached her cleavage. He turned his head and attempted to help himself.

She stepped away, threw her head back, and laughed, as if the Palace weren't good enough for her. She patted him on the cheek and made a show of stumbling away from him into the crowd. She felt his rage radiate at her back.

Once outside, she checked the bottle of pills she'd palmed from his coat. No label. She shook it and watched the little white tablets rattle around. Pleased that he would find no victims tonight, she emptied the pills into a nearby garbage can and then tossed the bottle in, too. Tomorrow, Nichole would ensure he would never take another victim.

• • •

Eric received the e-mail from Aaron with the tickets while at the bank depositing his check. The flight would leave first thing in the morning. Before heading home to pack, he stopped by his grandmother's house to tell her he would be out of town for a few weeks.

Her small townhouse occupied an end unit in a historic neighborhood. It had been passed to her from her parents, and she'd raised her children there. Then, when Eric's parents died in a robbery gone wrong, she'd taken him in.

The way the detectives had brought his parents' killer to justice was what led him to choose to join the force. They'd reviewed the clues, followed the evidence, and given them peace.

Although the neighborhood had gone downhill over the last twenty years, his grandmother insisted on staying in her home. No matter the crime statistics, or the fact that Eric's grandfather had had to put bars on the downstairs windows.

After his grandfather passed away five years ago Eric found himself stopping in daily. He couldn't cook, and since she made such terrific food and was on the way home, he would stop in and do a chore or two—then he would look meek and hungry. He spent many an off-hour mowing her postage-stamp-size lawn, moving furniture, or fixing things. Just his way of paying her back for the great food.

She was like a mother to him, and at seventy-one, she needed to be taken care of, though she'd never admit it. She didn't know about his transformation last year, and if he could help it, she never would.

He knew from experience that unconditional acceptance could only go so far. Years ago, he'd almost gotten serious with a woman. Unfortunately, he'd been applying to the police academy, and she was an accomplished thief. No matter what he said, she couldn't or wouldn't stop. He couldn't love someone who would cross the line he was going to defend.

He walked up the two steps to his grandmother's barred screen door. With the thick metal door open he could hear gentle singing coming from the kitchen.

Before he could knock she called out, "Come on back, dear." She never locked her doors. She refused to get a security system, but she always knew when he arrived.

"Nana," he called out as he entered and then locked the screen door behind him. "You shouldn't leave your door unlocked like that," he chastised, though he knew it would be futile. "Anyone could walk in."

"I knew it was you," came her usual reply.

"And if it wasn't me?" He followed his nose and the smell of fresh cookies to the kitchen.

She greeted him with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. "I would ask them to leave." She pulled the plate away from his outstretched hand to emphasize her next word. "Sternly."

"I believe they'd listen to you." Eric took his plate to the little table by the bay window of the kitchen. He could see his grandmother's small garden through the glass.

The rows were perfect, like always. His nana loved to garden and had had one for as long as he could remember. The herbs seemed to stand watch by the gate, and a little flower garden was in the center. A vase on the table held some of those flowers.

The warm cookies melted in his mouth. He'd lived on his own for years, but this kitchen, this house, was home.

Nana sat at the other end of the table and sipped her mug of tea. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

"Sure." He had nothing else planned, and it only took minutes to pack a duffle.

"Are you going to tell me about your day?" she asked when their meal was almost finished.

"Nothing much to tell. I finished a case for that woman who thought her husband was cheating on her, and got paid for it." Nana hadn't questioned his choice to quit the force. And although she'd quirked an eyebrow when he started asking for his steak rare she hadn't pressed him.

"I'm very proud of you. You might have stopped being a police officer, but you still make a difference in people's lives." She patted his hand. "Are you done?" she asked, pointing to his plate.

He nodded. "Nana, I wanted to tell you, I'm heading to Vegas for a couple weeks."

"Oh, a vacation?" She rinsed the dishes and set them in the dishwasher, then brought him a bowl of green beans to snap.

"A case. Aaron—you remember Aaron?" he asked as he reached for a bean.

"Married that lovely attorney, Vivian, got a job in Vegas. Yes, I remember him. Nice boy. Loved my pot roast."

"Well, he called today and asked if I can go to Vegas to help him with a missing person case. I shouldn't be gone too long."

"I understand," she said, drying her hands on a towel and leaning a hip against the cupboard. "Be careful; I hear there are some bad eggs in Las Vegas."

"No more than anywhere else," he replied, passing her the bowl of beans. But at her arched eyebrow, an expression he knew brooked no nonsense, he said, "I promise to be careful."

• • •

The rest of the night held many potential candidates for Nichole's first field trial, but none as delectable as the leprechaun-ish man who'd tried to drug Ashley. So she returned to the mansion.

The lush green grounds carried the scent of night blossoms and fresh mulch. Pale petals glowed under the full moon. The sisters took turns tending the house and grounds. Just because they weren't exactly normal didn't mean they didn't want to put out a good impression for the neighbors. In the 1940s, they'd opened the mansion under the guise of a women's hotel. A few years back they'd switched to simple apartments. They didn't advertise. There was no word of mouth, so no one even tried to apply for one.

Ashley crossed between the palm trees that seemed to stand guard on either side of the path. She pushed open the mansion's large wooden door, where the stone of the front porch gave way to an arching foyer. The sky mural of pink- and purple-tinged clouds painted in perpetual sunset on the ceiling seemed to ripple as she passed into the sitting room.

She heard giggling from the kitchen. She crossed the hallway, her stilettos tapping a staccato on the marble tile.

Six of her sisters sat surrounding the wood and glass table of the breakfast nook. Each woman held a spoon and passed around several pints of ice cream. The bay window behind them revealed the lights of the Strip glowing in the distance and added a festive atmosphere to the ice cream social.

Though they came from different backgrounds and different ethnic groups, they were family.

Tarma, who at the moment appeared as a long, lean woman with skin the color of caffé latte, sat opposite the door and was the first to notice Ashley's entrance. "Well, how'd it go?"

Ashley took a spoon and a pint passed to her by a short-haired redhead named Jessie. "Good." She scooped up a spoonful of dark chocolate and grinned. "Very good. Found the most delectably dark aura. He's at the Palace."

The other women moaned. Nichole wriggled in her chair. "Oh, could I have him?"

Tarma clucked her tongue. "That's rude, dear. You don't ask for a sister's prey."

Nichole hung her head as the other women nodded. But Ashley smiled at her student.

"I think we can overlook it this time, as I found him for you." She lifted a hand at their surprised expressions. "Nichole is ready. Soon, we will induct another full sister." Over a spoonful of ice cream she caught Tarma's eye. "We might have another trainee as well."

Tarma pursed her lips and nodded. "The prey has a wife?"

"Yes, but he says she's in Vegas with him. And _that_ is the only thing he said that I believe," Ashley said, licking her spoon clean. "He tried to drug me."

"Sounds delicious," said Felicia, the blonde wisp of a woman with the death grip on the rocky road.

"I think he will be," Ashley said. "After spending those few moments with him I think the wife will need us."

A rustle of cloth announced the Mother's entrance an instant before she spoke. "Not every woman is meant to join us, dear."

She entered the room with an unearthly grace Ashley hoped one day to emulate. Her skin was pale and luminous, rich even in the fluorescent lights. Her long black hair didn't hint at her age, which was rumored to be over three centuries.

She swept up to the table between Tarma and Nichole, and all the women sat in reverence.

"We are a select group of women." She caressed Nichole's cheek. "You all were chosen because you have a power inside you that attracts sinful men like moths to a flame. And in consuming their dark souls you complete two purposes."

The Mother paced to the window and turned. "You provide your gift with the power it needs to thrive, and you remove the sediment of society, which, in turn, allows the women of the world to find real love." As she said this last, her voice rang out.

Ashley felt as if her heart would burst with pride for the sisterhood, for the Mother, and for their purpose. Before she recovered from the Mother's speech Nichole cleared her throat quietly.

The Mother smiled at her. "Yes, my dear."

"Are you saying we shouldn't go after him?" the quiet voice asked.

"Of course not. Ashley and Tarma will take you. It would be best for Ashley to lead you to him and for Tarma to talk to the wife." To Tarma, she said, "Assess her potential. If she is open for the gift, bring her here. If not, then console her and advise her. Either way, both of you should be ready to assist Nichole if she needs it."

Her face shining with delight, Nichole stood. "When can we go?"

They all smiled at her eagerness and then turned to Ashley. Even the Mother looked at her. The weight of Ashley's position pressed unexpectedly. She knew what was necessary, so she placed her spoon on a napkin and said, "I think we should catch them at breakfast. He had the pills, so he's obviously done this before, but he seemed to want to hide his infidelity from his wife. I say we corner him while they're having breakfast."

The Mother nodded. "I'll leave you to discuss details, then. Remember, Ashley, when Nichole releases her harvest at the ceremony you will achieve your permanent place in the inner circle." She moved from the room as gracefully as she'd entered.

Nichole exhaled as though she'd been holding her breath. "Such a commanding presence."

The rest of the women nodded and again turned to Ashley. Taking hold of her nerves and shoving them to the rear of her mind she started to lay out her strategy. The ice cream was soon forgotten.

• • •

Eric returned to his apartment and found guests. Sitting on his couch were his old partner, Lydia, and her husband. It had taken him a while to get used to the idea of them married. Things change, he had reminded himself on more than one occasion.

Lydia grinned and rocked herself off the couch into a standing position. Her belly seemed to have doubled since he last saw her. "Eric."

"Wow. How many are in there?" he joked. "You weren't kidding about starting a family." She'd never attempted to hug him before. That, coupled with the fact that it looked like she was smuggling a watermelon in her shirt, made the embrace awkward. "How are you?"

"Getting close to time." She reached a hand back to the couch for Ryan. "That's why we wanted to come by; our children are most likely to be born this moon, and we would like you to do the honors."

"Me?" He stepped back from them and checked their faces to see if they were kidding. They weren't. Suddenly, he needed a drink. Given his company, he forwent the bourbon and grabbed three bottled waters from the fridge.

"You took the course on how to deliver babies in the academy," Lydia said, opening her bottle.

_True._ "Yeah, but—"

"And you're one of us," Ryan said, sending a chill up Eric's spine.

_True._ "Yeah, but—"

"There's no one we can go to for this, Eric. What if my baby—"

"Or babies," Ryan interrupted.

She nodded. "Or babies, come out furry?" Lydia's voice broke. They really had no one else to turn to. They didn't know any other real werewolves. Any books they could find were fiction. If they went to a regular hospital pictures of their babies would be plastered all over the tabloids and social media. They really did need him.

But the full moon was in two weeks, and he was on his way to Vegas.

Lydia wiped at her face as Ryan put an arm up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"Of course I'll be there, Lydia," Eric said. "I'm flying to Vegas tomorrow, but I'll be back here for the full moon."

"Oh, thank you." She hugged him again.

This time, Ryan got in on the action by clapping a hand on Eric's shoulder. "What's in Vegas?"

"Missing person case, but it shouldn't be a problem to make it home in time."

If they'd been in wolf form, their ears would have perked. Even so, their eyes widened, and they both leaned forward a bit.

"Need any help?" Lydia asked.

Eric shook his head. "So far, it seems straightforward." Crestfallen was the only word to describe their faces, so Eric added, "But I'll call if I have any questions."

Lydia chuckled.

Ryan reddened, rubbed a hand over his face, and said, "Aside from the pregnancy, things have been a little quiet on the home front."

"Don't worry. From what I understand, you've only got two more weeks until you have all the excitement you can handle."

# Chapter 2

Once Eric arrived in Las Vegas, he slung his carry-on duffel over his shoulder, ignored signs for food and gambling, and headed straight to the police cruiser just outside the glass airport doors. Aaron's e-mail had said Officer McMillan would pick him up at the airport. The delay would give the department enough time to free up a vehicle for Eric's use.

Barely three steps from the escalator a man who reeked of tequila staggered out of the crowd. As he approached, he tripped, colliding with Eric, taking them both down. "What the hell?" the man exclaimed, kicking his legs and flaying his arms.

Even as Eric disengaged his limbs from the cursing man, he patted his pocket to ensure he still had his wallet. Then the duffel tugged. A buxom, blonde woman had a hold of it and was attempting to lift it off his shoulder.

From his squatting position, Eric stood abruptly, yanked the bag, and caught the woman by the arm. "Cut that out."

"What?" She jerked away. "I was just helping you up." She huffed and flipped her shimmering hair over her shoulder as she turned away, muttering. "Try to give people a hand and this is what you get."

Before he boarded the plane he'd locked the zipper, and a quick check revealed the zip tie was still firmly in place. _Lucky for her._ He glanced in the direction the woman had gone and could see her through the crowd talking with the drunk that had tripped him in the first place. _Teamwork_. _Nice._

A uniformed officer strode to Eric's side. "Are you all right?" When Eric nodded, the officer asked, "Detective Adams?"

"Yeah. Are you my ride?" He scanned the officer's badge and name tag.

"Yup. I'm Officer Max McMillan. I'm parked just over here." They walked to the curb just outside the door. Once out of the air-conditioned building Eric felt the desert heat, surprisingly not oppressive, though he suspected that would change if there were any humidity in the air.

Max lifted his sunglasses and considered Eric's expression. "It gets cooler at night."

"Good thing. If it gets much hotter, the buildings will melt."

Max laughed as they climbed in. "The sun isn't even up yet."

Before they were in their seats, a call came across the radio. "Body found, sending coordinates to onboard GPS, Lieutenant Decker requests you bring passenger to site."

"Roger, dispatch," Max responded before checking his GPS and flipping on his lights. "Looks like we have to make an unscheduled stop."

Eric grunted. The case he was called for was a missing girl, but homicide took precedence. As they drove, he fought the urge to tell Max to take him back to the airport. A missing girl he could find. She probably ran to a friend's house. A dead body required evidence, and testifying to the evidence collection at a trial. Things he already knew he couldn't do anymore.

Aaron wouldn't have insisted he come to the site unless he felt it was connected to the girl he was coming to investigate. Eric's stomach sank further. It could also be the body of the missing girl. He knew he had to see this through.

They traveled outside the city for a while; more than once, Max turned onto roads that scarcely seemed to exist. Max handled the car like he knew what he was doing so Eric stayed silent. Sure enough, they rounded a sandy hill and came to a halt behind a coroner's van.

"We're here." Max got out and waved to someone on the other side of a large stand of scrub brush. A second later, Aaron came over to greet them.

Eric climbed out of the air-conditioning and clasped his friend's hand. "What's this all about, Aaron? Is this the girl?"

"A girl. Not the one I asked you to investigate."

Eric bit back a curse. "Then why am I here?"

Aaron glanced at Max and then turned his shoulder so they faced away from the forensics team. "My gut says these two are connected. I can't say how. We have an ID on this one. Twelve-year-old Suzie Hogan. She's a runaway from a group home on a seedier side of town. Her parents are both doing time in jail. There's a notification on her file that she stopped going to school. The feds did their thing months ago, and the case is still open, but they thought she might have simply run away. Probably caught up with the wrong element."

Eric shook his head. "It fits. She runs away, thinking she can do better on her own. She can't, so she starts turning tricks and ticks off her John."

"She could have, but . . . " Aaron held Eric's gaze. "Something's not right here."

"And since I was in town anyway . . . " Eric waved his hand at the scene. "I get it." They started walking toward the scene. "When was she reported as a runaway?"

"About six months ago."

"Can we guess as to time of death in this oven?"

The team had begun packing their tools, and a couple of them chuckled. One who held a clipboard said, "Given the insect activity, I would guess more than a day, but no more than forty-eight hours ago. I should be able to give you more accurate results once she's on the table."

It appeared as if the girl's body had been literally rolled out of a car. Her arm lay crossed over her torso, and her leg was entangled in a bush of some sort. Strands of her long brown hair obscured her face. Much of it had snarled in the bush as well.

"The body isn't posed in any way," Eric said, leaning forward slightly to observe the corpse. Blood coated the dent in her right temple. The lab would most likely be able to identify a weapon, but regardless of instrument, the effect was plain. She had bruising on her hips. The mortician would be able to tell for sure, but the first guess would be sexual assault. Eric knew the others would be thinking the same. An abomination anytime, but on a young girl, it enraged him.

He struggled for composure. Thank goodness it wasn't a full moon; he wouldn't be able to hold it together. She had been broken and thrown away. Rage wouldn't help her. Nothing could now. He held his position and breathed deeply.

The scents around the body revealed themselves. Animals had been at her. They'd torn at her flesh but hadn't managed to free the leg from the bush's grip. The scent of the police and technicians hovered around the girl, but didn't actually touch the body as had those of the animals.

Under it all, he could smell the girl. Even now, there was a residual of her sweat and tears. Of her fear. He could smell her attacker. The scent of him coated every inch of her. Eric's instincts said that she had been held by him for a while. Perhaps even since she "ran away." There were others' scents too. Female. _This is bad._

Aaron had been watching him closely, and when he straightened, the lieutenant said, "What do you see?"

Eric cocked his head, and they moved away from the bustle. "I don't think she ran away, I think he abducted her. Held her. Then, when he was done, he killed and dumped her." Gauging Aaron's expression as open-minded, Eric continued, "I also think there are others being kept where she was."

"Why do you think that?" Aaron's eyebrow raised.

"Let's call it a hunch."

"That's one hell of a hunch."

"You have no idea."

Aaron's eyes narrowed, and he cleared his throat. "Well, your hunch doesn't leave us much to go on to find the guy that did this."

"I know." Eric ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe you should call in the feds on this one? I can't give you more evidence than what you got with your gut feeling."

"We'll work it. Let the techs do their thing. Meanwhile, I'd still like for you to look at our more recent runaway case."

"That's why I'm here, but the feds should be called on that one, too."

"They've been called." Once again, Aaron narrowed his eyes. "I'll have Max take you back to the hotel—check in, grab something to eat, and I'll be by to pick you up in a couple hours."

"Sounds good." Eric glanced back at the girl's body, now being lifted into a bag. She wasn't why he'd been brought here. Even if he could find her killer the odds of him being brought to justice with Eric's help was slim to none. He wasn't a cop anymore.

• • •

His room at the Palace was functional. Surprisingly similar to the mid-grade room he and four other guys had stayed in during their freshman spring break in Vegas. Given its location and price he expected fancier.

The room had been thoroughly cleaned. His sensitive nose could pick up only the faint hint that other people had occupied this room before him. No fault with the maid service.

After a quick shower and change of clothes, he left the room to wander around the casino and grab a bite.

The gold and black hallway was quiet. No children fussing, televisions blaring. When Eric reached the elevator, the doors slid open, and a group of very happy, definitely drunk people stumbled out singing off-key at the top of their lungs. He stepped aside adroitly to let them pass.

One of the women began removing her top before being pulled through an open doorway, squealing. _Ah well, what happens in Vegas and all that._

As the elevator descended the sounds from the casino increased. When the doors opened, the noise and lights assaulted the senses.

He wandered around the floor aimlessly, marveling at the supreme order behind the chaos. Waitresses in sexy, but not too revealing, uniforms walked through rows of slot machines, balancing trays of drinks, taking orders, and making small talk with the patrons.

Past the one-armed bandits, the cause of most of the flashing lights and come-hither beeps sprawled out over several levels, stood dozens of green felt tables, though only a few were open for business.

Eric scanned the crowd. Never having had an interest in gambling, and having only gotten a couple of hours' sleep on the plane, he stifled a yawn and headed toward a glass elevator and a café nestled into one corner of the upper level. Along with several tables and booths the shop also had a bar along the balcony rail so the patrons could enjoy the view. He took his sandwich and soda and sat at the rail.

From this vantage point he could see the roulette tables below him, the slots to the right, and the blackjack tables to the left.

People moved below him on the casino floor. It wasn't even afternoon, yet still the slots did a good business. He could only imagine what the floor would look like at night with patrons decked out in evening wear.

A pair of white-haired old men walked hand in hand on the far side of the roulette tables, the taller of the two caressing his partner's cheek and speaking earnestly. Eric averted his eyes from the obviously intimate moment only to watch as a rotund woman danced back from her alarming slot machine to crash into a waitress carrying a full tray.

The waitress fell gracefully to the floor, twisting to keep the glasses from toppling. She narrowly avoided having her leg crushed as the winner's mass careened toward her.

The crowd that formed around the two applauded as the waitress stood again, not having lost a drop from the drinks. Seemingly unfazed by the accident, or the attention, she balanced the tray with one hand while offering the other to the heavy woman who still struggled to stand.

Disaster averted, Eric's attention caught on a couple walking across the floor to the glass elevator as he finished his sandwich. Nothing about the couple rang out as remarkable, but for some reason he continued to watch as they entered the coffee shop.

The man walked a step ahead of the woman. Briskly, almost as if he wanted to lose her in the crowd. His strawberry-blond comb-over wisped around his head as he stomped across the floor. Matching wedding bands revealed them to be married. Rolling his eyes at the woman who followed, the man chose the table just to the left of Eric's.

Something was definitely wrong with this guy. He leered at every woman and barely seemed to notice his wife. The poor woman slouched into a chair across from her husband, defeated and apparently accepting of her husband's behavior.

Her gaze lifted from her lap and met Eric's. She flushed and straightened in her chair and ordered in a ringing voice as soon as the waitress came over.

When the man reprimanded his wife, Eric stared at his soda and silently thanked the universe that the full moon was two weeks away. Otherwise, it would be much harder to control his temper.

"I order first." The last syllable whipped through the air. The man continued in his terse tone, "You'd best remember your place. Jesus, you're just lucky I brought you on this trip."

"You're right, I'm sorry, thank you." The woman strung the words together, bowing her head again. The plea of forgiveness in her voice wrenched at Eric.

He wanted to say something. To stand up for this woman who'd quite obviously been beaten down too much to stand for herself.

Rings formed in the soda he held as he struggled to mind his own business. There was nothing illegal about treating her like dirt. But he'd get involved if the guy got physical with her, Eric promised himself.

As he breathed deeply, he heard soft female voices behind him.

Eric shifted and raised his head. _Oh my God._

Three beautiful women stood around the guy's table. They looked so amazing, Eric sipped his soda to moisten his mouth.

The drop-dead blonde stood with her back to him, seeming to whisper to the man. If Eric hadn't already been sitting, he would have needed to.

Feeling muddled, he shook his head. A brunette stood on the other side of the man, and a dark-skinned woman stood behind the wife.

The two who flanked the man wore sultry pouts and what could be called sundresses, if they had more material. They leaned over to talk to the man. From his viewpoint, Eric could see the slight curve of the blonde's bottom.

Suddenly aware of how long it had been since he'd last had sex, he tore his gaze away from the perfect bottom that peeked out at him from under the hem of her dress. _G-strings aren't underwear_. He focused on his drink.

She shifted her stance, and he felt warm—he couldn't tell if it was the heat of her skin or if he'd started to blush. Maybe he should tell her to pull down the fabric? Hell, maybe he should do it for her. A _purple_ G-string.

His groin tightened. Yeah, it had been far too long. His celibacy could only extend so far; his hand longed to caress that curve.

After several seconds of concentrated breathing he turned to say something. Avoiding the beautiful bottom, he looked toward the wife's side of the table.

The dark-skinned woman wore jeans and a pastel cotton top. Instead of a sultry pout, her face held a genuine expression of concern as she laid a hand across the wife's pale one.

So intent on the words of the woman beside her, the wife didn't seem to notice when her husband left the table with the brunette.

The blonde straightened, her dress finally hiding her rear, and watched while the brunette escorted the husband out without a word or a backward glance. He groped at the brunette as they exited the café and were soon lost in the crowd of people.

The blonde shook back her long, spiral curls, caught the eye of the woman with the wife, and gave a small wave.

Eric felt himself entranced by the blonde again, his vision drinking in her athletic yet voluptuous body. When she waved, the fabric across her bosom shimmied hypnotically. Her playful demeanor changed as she turned and looked at him. Her gaze held him more than her bottom had.

"Uh, hi." _What the hell was that?_ He knew how to pick up women. He needed to say something better than that.

Her eyes seemed to burn ruts into his skin as they intently swept every inch of him. He felt naked, exposed to her in every way. Closing his eyes, he still felt the heat of her gaze. He welcomed it, opened himself to it. Then it was gone.

His lids flew open only to see her back disappear into the crowd on the promenade on the other side of the glass elevator. Rushing after her, he dodged tables and an elderly couple just entering the café. He managed a few more steps before she was completely engulfed.

He went back the café. The wife and her new friend were gone. Sitting at the bar again he scanned the casino below and sipped his soda.

Who were those women? It was almost too obvious what the husband had in mind when he left, but where did the wife go? Where did the blonde go?

He stared down into the casino without seeing the people. He tried to focus on the details of the other women, but all he could think about was the blonde.

Obviously not a normal woman. A hooker? _No,_ he dismissed the idea. She would have made a move on him. A John was a John, and obviously she wasn't looking for money. A member of the casino staff? Possible, but unlikely. The waitresses dressed scantily, but the blonde's dress just didn't fit in with the café's or the casino's atmosphere.

If only he hadn't been tongue-tied. Briefly, he considered contacting casino security. Maybe she was staying at the hotel. _Shit_. What would he tell them anyway? What was he thinking?

Aaron's text appeared, letting him know he was outside.

Eric stood and glanced briefly in the direction the blonde had gone. No point anyway. He buried the instinct to try to find her. Time to work.

# Chapter 3

Ashley elbowed her way through the crowd, aware the man tried to follow. When their eyes had met something about him spoke to her. Not like prey. Like a tendril of white light that reached out to her.

_Ridiculous._ She snorted. He had the same thoughts as every man. In the seconds that their eyes met, he was consumed with lust.

She ran a hand through her hair, allowing the curls to straighten and the tint to darken as her fingers passed. Regardless of his intentions, now wasn't the time to play with him.

Nichole had taken the slimy leprechaun to a nearby hotel. They prepaid in cash for the rooms they used. Made it easier to leave, and as every day, hundreds of people got lucky at the tables, paying in cash didn't raise any eyebrows and left no trail. Especially when you could change your appearance at will.

She blinked, changing her vivid blue eyes to brown with flecks of gold.

Changing her appearance in public didn't present a risk—or at least only a minimal one. Even in the freak show of the Las Vegas Strip people moved along in their own little worlds. In fact, the larger the crowd, the less of a risk.

As Ashley neared Nichole's room she remembered how long it had taken her to perfect a public change. Even a racial change could be done in public gradually enough. She added that to her mental lesson plan. She opened the hotel room door and stepped silently inside.

Once the door closed the room was dark and quiet. The privacy drapes had been drawn. Ashley bit on the tip of her tongue to keep from calling out for Nichole. She'd expected the perfume of fear to have filled the room. Instead, only pangs of disappointment. _Damn_.

She stood just inside the doorway until her eyes adjusted to the darkness, worrying something must be wrong. She felt, more than saw, that the closets and bathroom were empty, so she stepped forward.

The bedroom came into full view. On the far bed lay the strawberry-blond man, seeming to sleep peacefully with his hands at his sides, his comb-over brushed back away from his face. On the other bed sat Nichole, still wearing her guise of the fair-skinned brunette. Her pink and yellow aura gave a slow, depressed flicker as she stared at the body of her would-be victim.

It was too early for him to be vacant; he must have gone catatonic. _Weak, little man_. He could dish out the fear, but couldn't take it. Outrage at his selfishness, of slipping so easily beyond their reach, filled Ashley. A feeling she swiftly stifled. Excess emotion wouldn't help Nichole. With cold resolve, she distanced herself from the situation.

Without a word, Ashley moved to the bed beside her protégé and patted her trembling leg gently.

After a moment, Nichole turned her head. "It was wonderful for the first couple of minutes. Then he slipped away into this. I couldn't see his soul. I couldn't take hold of his emotions." She covered her mouth with trembling fingers. "I tried to wake him. What did I do wrong?"

"It's not your fault." She patted Nichole's hand, keeping her eyes from the infuriating sight on the bed before them. "Some people can't handle fear. They just shut down. He's not dead, just trapped inside his own mind." Ashley pursed her lips for a second. "Really, the only tragedy here is that in this state his fear doesn't radiate." She stood and retrieved a couple sodas from the minibar, passing one to Nichole.

"Has this ever happened to you before?" Nichole opened her bottle and sipped slowly, watching Ashley.

Swallowing her mouthful, Ashley smiled. "Yes, actually. But as it turns out mine was a serial killer."

"Really?" Nichole shifted on the bed, bringing her other leg onto the mattress and crossing it over the other.

Pleased the mood had started to lift, Ashley continued. "He liked to kill hookers. I picked him up from a bar that used to be on 4th, Whips and Chains. He was my third, and you know the hooker angle is the easiest lure."

Nichole nodded. "Right."

"Well, his aura just oozed. I just knew I had hit the mother lode. So much so, I thought about calling Tarma so we could capture it all. I get him into the room, and no sooner does the door close than he whips out a gun." She took another drink. "I knew I needed armor, so I took the shape of the succubus."

"Wings and tail and all?"

"Every inch. I looked just like the tapestry in the Mother's bedroom. Shaping into creatures is as easy as into other people. It's just a mask. It's not you." Another sip. "I looked magnificent." She smiled, remembering how she almost distracted herself in the hotel room mirror. "Homicidal bastard fainted dead away."

Nichole covered her face again, and this time giggles escaped.

_That's better_ , Ashley thought, then she continued. "I changed back and tried to wake him up. Nothing. I left him in the room and called the police. They came and arrested him. All of the evidence was there."

Nichole gasped. "I remember hearing about that guy. My boyfriend used to talk about him. He would complain that they shouldn't have tried him when he was in a coma."

"Yup. His DNA matched the other crime scenes, and he went to a maximum-security mental hospital." She smiled again, this time at Nichole. "I expect he'll stay there for a while."

They sat in silence, finishing their sodas. The weight in the room had lightened considerably.

"Ashley?" Nichole asked after a few minutes.

"Yes?"

"What should we do with him?" She pointed to the comatose man in front of them as if there could be a different "him" to whom she was referring. "We can't call the police."

After a moment, Ashley said, "Leave him."

"You think it's safe?"

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "You smoothed your fingerprints before you arrived." It wasn't a question. Removing the prints from their fingers was the first thing they were taught.

"Of course."

Ashley stood, tucking their empty bottles into her purse. "Leave in five minutes. Walk the Strip, find a good area, then change and go home." She touched Nichole on the shoulder. "I'll see you there." And before her nervous protégé could ask more questions, Ashley left the room.

No one could have known someone with that dark and slimy of an aura would be such a wuss. So afraid of his own fear that he receded into himself, leaving them nothing to take hold of to pull out his soul. What a waste. Leaving the body in the room left her with a residue of guilt, though she would never say that to Nichole.

Ashley hated to leave a job unfinished. As children, her brother and sister would shirk their chores for other things, but Ashley couldn't leave them undone. She would finish hers and theirs, too. Her parents never knew, and her siblings didn't care.

As an adult, she still couldn't leave things undone. It had sabotaged her career and her marriage. No, the last wasn't her fault.

She rubbed at her face as she rode the elevator down to the lobby. She'd been that woman who intimidated the men by working harder than them. Who, try as she might, could never be perfect—which her husband had reminded her of constantly. Who was another woman in another life. Tucking the memories safely away she strode out into the bright sunlight of the desert day.

She walked at a brisk pace, changing twice as she wove herself through the crowd. Given what she was leaving behind it felt best to look as different as possible. With each step, her skin and eyes darkened. Slowly. Her breasts and hips grew until the sundress stretched tight against her skin.

Once the change was complete she patted her shoulder-length hair and licked her wide lips. Pausing to look in a shop window at her reflection, she smiled. Her skin and eyes were a rich mocha.

"Oh, yeah, baby." A man stuck his bald ebony head out the window of a passing car.

Satisfied, Ashley walked to the bus stop two blocks north and caught the bus back to her neighborhood.

• • •

When Eric climbed into Aaron's car he was handed a file.

"Let me handle the talking," Aaron said. "Miles Koburn has asked us to track down his daughter, but he doesn't want the media to catch on that she is a runaway." They pulled onto the freeway. "I'm going to ask her parents some follow-up questions. You should be able to inspect her room and the property, especially if you think there's a connection with the desert girl. Keep any hunches to yourself. We don't want to panic them unnecessarily."

Local politics was a game Eric didn't want to play. "They're hiding the fact their daughter is a runaway." He nodded. "How well do you know them? How would they react if Olivia had been kidnapped?"

Aaron drove away from the Strip. "He would tear the town apart, and he's connected enough that he wouldn't need to use his bare hands."

Leaning back in his seat, Eric grunted. In this city, he expected nothing less.

• • •

When Ashley got home she searched every room until she found Tarma. The lean woman sat in a rocker in the air-conditioned sunroom at the back of the house, crocheting. The setting sun cast the room with an orange glow.

Tarma created colorful blankets, spending hours working with yarn and her hook. It was a rare holdover from her days before the sisterhood. Most women inducted did their best to forget everything about their previous life. Ashley was no different.

Tarma had gone from her family's house to the sisterhood's mansion. She seemed to enjoy the fact she hadn't wasted time on relationships. And she told them on more than one occasion she'd known her purpose since childhood.

Ashley entered the sunroom and stretched out on one of the wicker chaise lounges. "Why do you crochet all the time? It's not like we need any more blankets."

"They're not for us, silly. I donate them to children's shelters." She held up the project she'd been working on, three thick rows of bold colors with a kind of ridge running through it. Beautiful work.

"Where did you learn?"

"My mother." She set the yarn, hook, and blanket into the basket beside her rocker. "It was the way she calmed down after Father was done with her."

Most of the sisters came from environments where men ruled with iron fists. Still, Ashley lowered her head as she searched for something to say. "Oh."

"Mother would make the most beautiful sweaters and blankets." Tarma looked out the window to the garden at the rear of the house. "She should have become a member of the sisterhood. She had spirit."

"It's good you have a way to remember her." Ashley couldn't remember her own mother. After trying for a while she shrugged. Any memories she would find probably weren't what she wanted to remember. The two women sat together, sharing the silence.

"Sorry," Tarma said. "I tend to lean toward melancholy when a woman won't let us help." Her hands opened and closed on her lap. Then she reached into the basket for her project. "That poor woman went home to wait for him." Her hands seemed to fly as she crocheted.

"Then it's good that he won't show," Ashley said.

Tarma smiled wanly as her hook wrapped and looped through the yarn of the blanket at tremendous speed. "I told her that, but she insisted he was really a good man, just going through a hard time since his mother died. She told me he 'followed the old school' on marriage." She looked at Ashley. "I wish the old school wasn't so bad for the women."

"No, that's not what I mean. Nichole wasn't able to take his soul."

Tarma's hands paused again. "He didn't turn her down; he was very much into her. I saw him. His aura was so dark and slimy he could have left a trail."

Laughing, Ashley leaned back in the chair again. "That's the truth. No, Nichole was just getting started when he went catatonic."

"Oh, for crying out loud." Tarma shook her head, and her hands resumed their flying maneuvers. "Well, at least she didn't mouse out. What did you do with him?"

"The only thing I could think of—we left him." Ashley ran her teeth over her lower lip. "We couldn't risk getting involved in an investigation."

"You won't be able to use those identities for several weeks you know."

"Yeah, I know. They'll want to question the women that went into the room with him." Ashley closed her eyes and concentrated on stretching every muscle. "Shame. It was one of my best outfits."

The sound of shuffling feet got Ashley's attention, and she looked up at the sunroom entrance. An old Asian woman sat on the step that led to the other room. Every feature seemed wrinkled like a raisin. Unfortunately, the sundress the old woman wore ruined the effect.

"Nichole," Tarma said gently. "You need to watch what clothes you're wearing."

The wrinkles around the old woman's eyes deepened. She looked down at herself and sighed. The struggle evident, she gave the dress sleeves and a collar.

"Better?" The old eyes looked up hopefully.

"Longer," Ashley said.

Nichole stood and again shook with effort. The dress lengthened.

Tarma made a noise that sounded like a squeaky hinge. A quick glance told Ashley the other woman was trying to muffle a giggle. "A shawl would complete the outfit."

Nichole dropped to the step. "I can't. I don't have any energy left." She leaned against the door frame. "Ashley told you?" she asked Tarma.

"Yes, she did. He was vile but also weak. Don't worry, honey, she'll take you out tonight and get you someone." She looked meaningfully at Ashley. "If you ask nice she may even start him for you."

Ashley nodded.

Nichole brightened, wrinkles smoothing away from the old face. "Oh, would you?"

Ashley felt sorry for Nichole. Such a first outing had the potential to derail her training. Not that she was slow, just lacking the instinct of most of the other women.

"Of course I will." Ashley walked to the step and draped her arm over Nichole's hunched shoulders. "Why don't you go up and get some rest? Then we'll talk about what we'll wear."

Tears filled Nichole's eyes as she stood to go upstairs. "Thank you. I'll get it eventually."

"Of course you will," Ashley and Tarma said together.

Nodding, Nichole made her way through the kitchen and out of sight.

Ashley ran her teeth across her lip again. "Tarma, can I ask you a question?"

"Always," she replied without looking up.

"Have you ever met a man that had an effect on you?"

"What kind of effect?" Tarma asked, her hands and eyes busy in her work.

"It was like he saw me." Ashley rose from the step and paced the length of the sunroom. "Not just my image, you know? The real me."

With the last statement she changed into herself. The woman she'd been before she was inducted into the sisterhood. A woman of average height, with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair, a little overweight. Nothing special.

"I doubt it. Most men can't see past the end of their nose," Tarma said, glancing up once when Ashley changed. "Seems to me there is another explanation . . . Were you attracted to him?"

"No," Ashley answered immediately. Was she? Something called out to her. Something connected her. "Maybe."

Tarma's hands stilled again, and she pinned Ashley with a look. "Maybe?"

Ashley tried to ignore the dryness in her mouth. She knew she could share everything with Tarma. "I don't know. I felt him looking at me when we were talking to the husband."

"I'm sure many men were looking at you." But her mentor's eyes had an edge that remained out of her voice.

"I felt him." Ashley continued pacing and wrapped her arms around her chest. "I pulled back, because I wanted the slimy bastard to go with Nichole . . . "

"And?" Tarma prompted when Ashley drifted off.

"I don't know what happened. I felt his eyes on me. When I turned, it was like a flash. Like I recognized him." She stood in the window. The garden had a concrete fountain that bubbled water over white marble stones. She used the rhythmic splashing as a way to focus, to calm her budding anxiety.

"You knew him from before the sisterhood?"

"No, but I knew him just the same. And he knew me. Damn, Tarma, I wanted to fall into his arms."

Tarma stopped her work and stared at Ashley with an open mouth. "That is serious."

"I know." Ashley wanted to wail but thought better of it. The whole house didn't need to know.

"What did his aura look like?" Tarma tucked away what was now half of a blanket.

"There was white." Ashley tried to remember what she'd pushed into the back of her mind. "With blue, green, and gold flecks and streaks." She felt her face start to soften and hardened her features. She couldn't let even an untainted soul weaken her. "But there was a shadow. Not a darkness . . . It was like nothing I've ever seen before."

"It sounds pure enough," Tarma said. "Why do you think you wanted to fall at his feet?"

Ashley cringed. "In his arms, not at his feet."

"Ashley, dear, you know it amounts to the same thing. Keep me apprised of the situation, please." Tarma hefted her basket, and with a nod, she left the room.

Was it the same thing? Ashley wouldn't serve him and certainly would never fall at his feet. Still, something about him touched her. That could not be tolerated—because she liked it and wanted more.

# Chapter 4

The drive to the upscale neighborhood where the Koburns lived took about half an hour. Every now and then there would be a break between the rows of houses and Eric could see down the mountain.

On the drive, they'd passed schools and grocery stores. A park where teens were playing soccer. Normal life in normal towns. Not the image usually conjured when one thought of Las Vegas.

The Koburn home looked similar to its neighbors. A small mansion with gray-green siding and white trim, separated from the street by a large lawn framed by flowerbeds.

They said nothing as they approached the house. Eric opened his senses. Two small animals had a den under a bush by the front wall, and a snake kept watch from under a small rock.

The path to and from the front door was practically littered with scents. Without a specific target, even he wouldn't have the ability to distinguish one from the hordes of others.

They were greeted at the door by a well-dressed woman in her mid-thirties. Her navy blue blouse was both flattering and somber. Her hair and makeup were perfect. The only outward sign of her distress was the rigid way she answered the door. Eric knew she was panicked and near to falling apart. "Detective. Have you found our daughter?"

"Not yet, Mrs. Koburn. I've called in a colleague, Eric Adams"—he indicated Eric—"who specializes in missing persons."

She hesitated, as if considering the wisdom of telling someone else about their personal problems. "Very well." Two words that to any other ear would sound aloof, however, Eric heard a glimmer of hope. He hoped with her.

As the door opened Eric could see the evidence of Mr. Koburn's financial success. Marble floors, large artwork in heavy frames, and a chandelier overhead that looked wide enough to take out the three of them if it should fall.

"Mrs. Koburn, I have a few follow-up questions for you and your husband. Is he in?" Aaron asked, taking the lead.

"And I suppose Mr. Adams needs to see her room." She stood with her hands listlessly by her sides, exhaustion marking every inch of her.

"It would help. Yes, ma'am," Aaron replied.

Her gaze burned into Eric. Angry and frightened for her daughter, she had very little control, and Eric knew she was fighting against the urge to scream at them to stop wasting time and that even exhausted she was ready to begin house-to-house searches on her own.

Eric kept his expression soft while he said, "I believe I can help."

They remained in their positions for a moment before she rolled back her shoulders and looked pointedly at Aaron. "You know the way to Olivia's room, please show him up. I'll find Miles." As she strode away the crack her heels made against the marble echoed through the vaulted room.

Eric arched an eyebrow at Aaron, who shrugged. "She's used to being in control, and now she has none." Aaron led the way up the massive staircase. "The bedrooms are this way. Olivia's faces the back; her parents' is across the hall on the front."

At the top of the stairs Aaron turned left.

"What's to the right?" Eric asked.

"Upstairs living room, guest bedroom, and a private office. I got the full tour when we came here the first time." Aaron turned right and entered what Eric assumed to be Olivia's bedroom, but once they were inside he saw no sign of a bed.

"This is her living area." Aaron motioned to the desk and shelves of books. "Her bedroom is through here."

Now this looked like a little girl's room. An entire wall of white shelves held dolls and figurines. All of the wood in the room had been painted white. The curtains, throw rug, and bedspread were done in the bright colors of Easter and little girls.

Nothing in the room seemed out of place. No stray dishes or clothes. No toys strewn about. It felt safe to assume when you grew up with someone else putting your things away, if you wanted privacy, you learned to do it yourself. "When you talk with the parents, ask if they've had the room cleaned in any way since she left."

"We haven't." The man that stood in the doorway wore a suit. A black tie was knotted at his throat. "I'd appreciate it if you can make this quick; I have business associates downstairs."

"I understand," Aaron said. He quickly introduced Eric to Mr. Koburn. "Let's talk in the sitting room."

"Not even to vacuum or dust?" Eric asked as they filed into Olivia's sitting area.

"No," Mrs. Koburn said. "Maria doesn't come until tomorrow."

Eric turned back to the room. If the others were watching him it might appear as though he was simply staring. Of all his new abilities, his incredible sense of smell was by far the most useful in this situation. He breathed deeply, feeling the scents of everyone who'd been in the room. He moved slowly, leaning toward her closet and then the bed. Both were places where the girl's fragrances would be prominent.

He began to separate and identify the smells. The girl and what was most likely the housekeeper permeated the entire room. There were others of course—her parents, Aaron, and even officer McMillan, most likely from when they first investigated the girl's disappearance.

But there was something else. Another scent on the bed. The closer he leaned, the stronger the scent. Stepping to the edge of the bed Eric donned a pair of gloves. Like the pictures of women's beds in every advertisement he'd ever seen, the head of the bed was loaded with pillows, including two fancy ones outside of the comforter. He carefully moved these to the end of the bed. Then he pulled back the quilted cacophony of pastels.

The sheet set was light pink, as were most of the pillows. Tucked under the sheets, resting its head against the mountain of pillows, was what appeared to be a ragdoll in pink pajamas.

The doll itself seemed to be of simple construction. Two pieces, front and back, with arms and legs jutting out from the body like a gingerbread man. The face appeared to be drawn on by a marker. Odder still were the clothes. Pink and silky, certainly cleaner than the body of the doll, with seams on the outside as if stitched in haste.

What's more, the doll smelled very little like the rest of the room. It was newly introduced. He'd bet it had never been washed in the family's laundry. Until he talked to the Koburns he didn't want to move it, so he leaned in and sniffed, then moved about the room to track the scent.

Sure enough, the scent traced a line across the floor to a dresser topped with an ornate mirror in one corner of the room. Then it went through glass doors to a balcony. His stomach sank. However the abductor had managed it, he'd left with the girl this way.

As Eric turned from the doors he heard a throat clear behind him. Aaron and the Koburns were standing in the door. "Mr. and Mrs. Koburn," he began after he got the nod from Aaron, "are you familiar with all of your daughter's toys?"

Mr. Koburn shrugged and shook his head, but his wife nodded. "Most of them, yes. She received an allowance for little chores so she bought a few on her own. She liked to show them to me, though."

Eric nodded. "Without touching, can you tell me if the doll on the bed is familiar to you?"

She leaned over. "I've never seen that before in my life." She straightened, eyes wide and wild, and wrapped her arms about herself, as her husband leaned in for a look.

Mr. Koburn scowled. "What does this mean? Did she run away? She left a note. Where did that come from?" He looked at Aaron then back at the doll. He whispered, "Was she kidnapped?"

Eric removed an evidence bag from his pocket and, using his gloved hand, tucked the doll into it. "We're not sure."

Aaron said, "I know you have business associates here, but we would like to have our forensics team come by and process this room." Mr. Koburn nodded, his hands clenched, his jaw set.

"There is still a chance she ran away?" Mrs. Koburn asked.

Aaron shook his head. "There's a chance, but in my opinion, it's a small one. I think we should look at this like a kidnapping until we know it's not."

"But the note . . . " Tears welled in Mrs. Koburn's eyes.

"Notes can be forged," Eric said.

"Of course they can." Mr. Koburn frowned. "We should have looked at it this way from the beginning. I'm sorry." Eric couldn't tell if he was talking to Aaron, his wife, or his missing daughter. To Aaron he said, "Call your team. My associates are leaving now."

• • •

The afternoon came and went. Twilight deepened into night. While the forensics team swept the room, Aaron and Eric checked the backyard. Olivia's bedroom balcony attached to a system of balconies and decks that led to the yard. The lawn was bordered by a short rock wall. Beyond that, the hillside sloped to a road below.

Eric paced the rock wall. Her scent was here; the kidnapper's had to be as well. Days had passed since she was reported missing. Winds had blown. Animals had crossed the trail. Still, he had to find something. The kidnapper would have had to crawl over the wall, taken his time, stayed down. Eric knew if he wanted to find a scent this would be the place to do it.

Finally, something caught his attention behind a garden of ornamental grass. He'd stooped to get a good whiff and saw a slight indentation in the dirt when Aaron tapped him on his shoulder. "Hard to find something in the dark."

"Yeah." Eric cleared his throat. "Do you have a flashlight?"

Aaron grunted, clicked on a small LED light, and handed it over. "I heard you sniffing."

"Hay fever," Eric said. Aaron obviously didn't want to let this go, but maybe he could be distracted. "I've got a partial shoe print. I think he took this route over the wall."

Using his radio, Aaron called someone over to take a cast of the print. They looked for fibers or any other signs of the kidnapper's passage and found nothing.

"Did you get a list of Miles Koburn's business associates?" Eric asked. The cold trail irked. He'd expected to find some other evidence, something else that would allow him to find this girl.

"And the service people," Aaron confirmed. "The Koburns' as well as their neighbors'. You know the feds are automatically notified on kidnappings. They arrived while you were scoping out the hillside."

"Are we off the case?" Eric stretched and crawled over the wall down the hillside to the road below. No skid marks.

"No, not entirely. We have a good relationship with the local office. They're keeping us in the loop. We just have to do the same." Aaron scratched his cheek.

"No reason to follow the same leads." Eric inspected the side of the road. Gum, cigarette butts, and bits of glass, but that was all.

"Exactly. They're having their lab work on the shoe print and the doll." Aaron made a note on his tablet.

Eric's gut said the normal avenues—interviews with the girl's school friends and knocking on doors at ten o'clock at night—wouldn't work. And the regular service people wouldn't have taken a child from the homes where they were employed. But the interviews had to be done, and the sooner they got started the better.

After hours talking to neighbors, weepy little girls, and irate parents, they headed back to the car. Eric stifled a growl. "It always feels like a waste of time asking questions of people who know nothing."

Aaron said, "It's late. I'm starving and could use a drink. What do you say?"

"I'm in," Max said, jogging up from behind them.

He hadn't exactly been invited, but Eric caught Aaron's eye and shrugged. The animated young cop might distract from the fact that they had to wait for tests to come back before they could hope to save the girl.

"Fine," Aaron said, clapping Max on the shoulder, "but you get the first round."

"As long as I get to pick the place," Max said.

"As long as it has food," Eric agreed.

• • •

It was a club off the Strip called The Layer, and according to Max it was the hottest new bar in town. The outside looked like a warehouse. As they pulled in, the only tip-off that it housed a club was the line of people wrapped around the building.

"Looks like there's a wait," Eric said, getting out of the car. "I'd rather eat fast food than wait in that line."

"Don't worry, we'll get in." Max led the way with a swagger. Eric and Aaron exchanged smirks behind his back as they followed. Max had already proved entertaining.

To one side of the door stood a woman in a black leather pantsuit holding a clipboard. On either side of her stood two extremely large men. "Obviously hired for their personality," Eric whispered to Aaron as Max walked up to the woman who had just waved a couple more people inside.

Max placed a hand on the small of her back and whispered in her ear. After a second, she flipped her dark red hair back, looked all three men over, and smiled.

Reaching into her very low-cut blouse she removed a business card and handed it to Max with a wink.

Max nodded to her, tucked the card in his pocket, and led the way into the club.

"Do we want to know what you said to her?" Eric asked once they'd picked out a table to the right of the large dance floor.

Max grinned. "No."

Aaron asked, "Will I have to arrest you?"

Max's smile remained as he waved a waitress over.

"What'll it be, boys?" The waitress seemed to be wearing a form-fitting tuxedo, but once Eric looked closer he realized it was body paint. All she really wore was a small string bikini.

They ordered a pitcher of beer and a pizza.

"Are you attached, Detective?" Max asked Eric.

"Married to the job."

"Then here's to open relationships," Max toasted, and the other two lifted their beers in response.

"Vivian is understanding about the job that way," Aaron said of his wife. "Speaking of Viv, you know you can't leave town without coming by the house to say hello."

"I will," Eric said. "Even so, I can't stay in town long. My old partner got married and is having a baby. For some reason, she wants me to be there when she delivers."

"When is she due?"

"Two weeks. I hope we find Olivia before then."

The three of them sat in silence for a while before Max cleared his throat. "In the spirit of open relationships," he picked up where he'd left off, "I've got a game for us to play." Max rubbed his hands together. "We take turns picking women for the other to get their numbers. Aaron, your relationship is as open as Viv will allow, so you keep score. We each have five minutes to get a phone number."

"If we don't get it?"

"You do a shot of whiskey," Max replied.

Aaron let out an exaggerated "ooh."

Max laughed. "It's actually a good thing. The more you drink, the more you relax. The more relaxed you are, the more likely you'll get phone numbers." Max sipped his beer regally. "Now, who to send you after first . . . "

"Her in the green." Aaron indicated one of three women who had just sat down from a turn on the dance floor.

Eric took a sip and stood. "Wait, what happens when I get the number?"

"Then I take a shot of whiskey," Max said.

"The idea is for us to just get drunk then." When Max nodded, Eric chuckled and made his way over to the table. He'd had a high tolerance for alcohol before he became a werewolf. Now, poor Max didn't stand a chance.

"Good evening, ladies," he said when he stood at their table. "My friend over there dared me to get your phone numbers. So, would you mind if I joined you?"

They studied him warily, but one waved him to a seat. Max was going to get very drunk.

The women watched him as if he were about to pounce. He smiled and touched the hand of the woman on his right. "I'd rather leave you in peace, but my buddy over there thinks I have a problem picking up women."

The woman on his right leaned toward him. "I doubt that." She moistened her lips and ran her thumb across his index finger. "I'm Jean."

"Yeah, well." He placed his other hand on top of hers and smiled at her friends. "If I came back with all three of your numbers I'd be off to a good start."

"I'll bet you would." The one on his left, not nearly as inebriated as her friends, looked him over closely.

"Amanda's our DD," Jean said, disengaging her hand and scribbling on a napkin. "It's even my real number."

"That's great. Thanks." He took the napkin from her and raised an eyebrow at the other two, breaking out a charming expression that he used to use with his nana to get extra dessert. "Please."

"Oh, God, don't beg." Amanda wrote a number down and passed it to him, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The last woman leaned over the table to run her napkin over his lips. "Mine's real, too." Her dress dipped to expose impressive cleavage. "Everything's real."

"I'll keep that in mind." Eric smiled at each of them then left, very much aware he was being watched as he walked back to his table. He couldn't help but chuckle at the women's giggles.

Aaron grinned at Eric. "They were looking at your ass."

Ignoring him, Eric counted each napkin as he put it down in front of Max. "That's three." He waved to a passing waitress. "My friend here will need three shots of whiskey, and please leave the bottle.

"That was too easy," Max said.

The waitress set the three shots in front of Max. Then another arrived with their pizza.

Eric slid a hot slice from the pie. He nodded to Aaron and before the second bite said, "It's good."

Aaron chuckled. "Maybe we'll need some hot wings, too."

Over the course of the evening Eric did well but struck out enough that even he felt a little fuzzy. When he came back to the table after trying to get the number of a thin, short-haired redhead he had to admit he was having fun. "Even the 'my friends are daring me' didn't work with her." Eric threw back the waiting shot. "She's a lesbian."

"You don't know that," Aaron said, munching on a buffalo wing.

"That's what she told me." Eric picked up a wing and watched Max with interest.

Already wiping his mouth and popping a mint, Max stood. "You didn't ask right." He smoothed his clothes and sauntered over to the redhead.

Eric shook his head mournfully as he watched his new friend.

"You think she's really a lesbian?" Aaron asked.

"Oh, yeah." Eric was already feeling sorry for Max. "See that large blonde woman coming up behind him?"

"Oh no."

The large woman topped Max by a foot and a half. She placed a hand on his shoulder and apparently squeezed, because his face contorted in pain as he jumped and grabbed his shoulder.

Though his back was to Eric, he knew Max would be talking fast.

Eric sipped at his beer, trying to dilute the whiskey coursing through his system. "Twenty bucks says he gets their numbers."

Aaron studied the trio for a moment and agreed to the bet. "That blonde looks like she's going to crush him."

They spent another minute intensely watching the action and when the two women kissed Eric felt his blood heat. The redhead passed a napkin to Max and the women whispered to each other as they watched him walk away.

"And that's how it's done." Max placed the napkin on the table displaying the women's names and number.

"Damn." Aaron smacked the table and dug out a twenty.

"You bet against me." Max tsked. "Everybody likes a little variety."

Grinning, Eric toasted Max with the shot as he tucked the twenty in his pocket. The man was just too good. Eric had participated in a threesome once, back in his younger, more carefree days. Now, though, he needed more than a conquest. The game had been fun, but he knew he wouldn't call any of the numbers in the stack in front of him.

Aaron counted up napkins. "You're tied."

"Okay, man, tiebreaker time," Max said. He gestured toward the bar's entrance. "Two Latina babes just walked in. You have to get numbers for both of them. Damn, lucky bastard, they're twins."

Eric turned and looked. It took a moment to sort through the crowd, but he soon caught sight of the women, tall and attractive. Tan skin glowed in the lights, and long black hair fell straight to the middle of their backs.

"Okay, I got this." Eric stood and straightened his shirt.

He weaved his way around the tables, and as he neared the twins he reached out a hand to tap the closest on the shoulder. Then it was like he'd been smacked. This woman smelled similar to the blonde with the purple G-string at the casino earlier. No. No, it _was_ her.

She had changed her appearance. How did she do that? His hazy mind worked on that a bit. She was supernatural—she must be—but what kind? Not that he cared, really. Still, it put her in another class altogether. It didn't hurt that she smelled amazing.

Before he could touch her shoulder, she turned. He let his fingers rest lightly on her shoulder, then glide down her arm. "Hello." His voice felt thick. His breath came fast. Never in his life had he reacted to a woman this way, except maybe when he was eight.

"Hi," the other woman responded, grinning at him. The color of her eyes seemed to spin.

Eric shook his head, the alcohol affecting him worse than he thought possible. He was seeing things. "Um, I'm Eric." He reached out his hand to the other one.

"Nichole," she said, then got an elbow and grunt from her twin. "Sandra Nichole. As she shook his hand, she turned to stare at her sister. "Uh, _Dana_ , why don't I get us a table?" She turned back to Eric. "Nice meeting you."

Eric nodded at the retreating back and then turned to the woman who'd been in the corner of his mind since that afternoon. "I'm glad to see you again."

Eric could see something like panic in her eyes. "What are you talking about?" She wrinkled her nose. "I've never met you before."

# Chapter 5

She fought the urge to moisten her lips. How could he know? She recognized him, of course, the man from the café that afternoon, but there was no way he could recognize her. Why would he say that? Was it a line he used to pick up women? She remained quiet, waiting for him to speak.

A moment passed, and he continued to smile at her. He could at least have the decency to look uncomfortable. She scanned the room. "Well, if that's all then."

His expression changed like lightning. "Wait." He moved to grip her arm and stopped inches from her skin.

Even a person unaccustomed to reading emotions could sense he earnestly didn't want her to walk away. To Ashley, he may as well have shouted it. She couldn't fathom why he wanted her to stay so desperately.

Pleased to have maintained the advantage, and filled with curiosity, she clasped her hands in front of her and waited, allowing the corners of her mouth to twitch only slightly when he groped for something else to say.

When he did speak his voice seemed to rumble. "Want a drink?"

Unable to hold it back, she grinned and nodded once. Following him to a table, she rationalized the distraction. Nichole would be fine and perhaps better off without someone over her shoulder. Perhaps, if Ashley dealt with a less ripe man, it would help her maintain her edge. A bit of practice.

The table held several nearly empty food baskets which he stacked and pushed off to the side. Enjoying watching him squirm, she raised an eyebrow and leaned back. He shifted and waved for a waitress, tapping a staccato on the table while they waited.

After a moment, a waitress appeared and took their orders for white wine. Watching him carefully, Ashley could tell he had matched her order and wished she'd chosen something else. _Ah, too bad._

"So," he croaked. He cleared his throat and then spoke again. "Are you visiting Vegas?"

Small talk. Easy. "No, I live here." Easy but boring, and no reason not to play. "So, what about this weather?"

"Um, yeah, it's hot," he said. She watched his brow crease as he seemed to struggle for something else to say. Running a hand through his hair he sighed. "I don't have anything amazing to say."

"Really?" The sarcastic comment came out without a thought.

"Really." He delivered his answer with such direct honesty she fought the impulse to giggle.

No, no giggling. She straightened her curving lips. What was she doing? She shouldn't be sitting with him; she really should be with Nichole.

Thinking of her student, Ashley glanced around, found the woman standing at the bar, and caught her eye. Instead of the bundle of nerves Ashley expected, Nichole grinned, waved, and gave her a thumbs up. Ashley dipped her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. "She thinks I'm going to get lucky," Ashley muttered.

"Your . . . sister?" The man across from her glanced around.

"Never mind." Ashley regained his attention. "What's your name?"

"Eric Adams. What's y—" The obvious question was interrupted by the waitress and their wine.

"Dana," Ashley answered when the woman walked away.

"Dana . . . ?" He dragged the word out, motioning with his glass, waiting for her last name.

"Eric, what is your intention here?" Suddenly, she felt impatient. She'd become distracted, which had of course distracted Nichole. This man was entertaining and surprisingly attractive. An observation she never thought she could make. Waiting for him to get to the point could take all night, and she had things to do.

"Intention?" His brows furrowed, and he lifted his glass to his lips.

"I'm not interested in a business proposition," she said.

He smiled over his glass.

"And I'm not interested in a personal relationship, either."

He set his glass down.

His disappointment was palpable, and her stomach twisted in response. It didn't matter. His feelings were inconsequential, she reminded herself. As were hers. She had a responsibility, and she'd wasted too much time indulging her curiosity.

"You want to go back to your friend." He did nothing to hide the regret in his voice.

He'd said "friend." They were disguised as twins. How could he know? She carefully schooled her features to hide her discomfort. As she rose, she said, "Sister. And I've abandoned her to sit with you."

"I understand," he said. Also standing, he stepped around to her side of the table and pleasantly extended his hand.

She took it, planning to shake it briefly, but he closed the distance between them with a step and slipped his free arm around her waist. Their joined hands pressed between them.

His movements were so unexpected she didn't have a chance to react before he leaned in, lightly brushing her lips with his, and then let her go. But he didn't step back.

"I'd have killed myself if I hadn't done that," he said, his lips inches from hers.

Her body reacted. Heat. Her face felt hot, and something seemed to ignite inside her. Things awakened; every nerve felt alive for the first time. Incredible. Intriguing. Infuriating. Damn him.

Still gripping his hand she twisted, swept her right leg behind his, and stepped closer, tripping him backwards onto the floor. She released his hand and pointed a finger in his face while placing one high-heeled shoe on his crotch.

"You didn't have permission to do that." The venom behind her words was lost when she realized he was still smiling.

"You have beautiful legs."

Though this man confused her, she maintained her hard expression. "This is a warning." He didn't fear her, but he didn't want to possess her, either. Every way she knew to control the situation was gone.

"Yes, of course." He remained on the floor, propped on his elbows as if it were the most comfortable speaking position in the world. "I would like to see you again. Maybe when you're not out with your _sister_ . . . " He curled his fingers in air quotes around the word "sister."

"Perhaps you will. You said you've done so already." She removed her foot and stalked off to find Nichole.

And found her deep in conversation with a waitress. "Are you ready to go?" Ashley asked.

"Yeah, sure." Nichole looked from Ashley back to the waitress. "Thanks for the information." She handed the woman a twenty.

Once outside in the night air they both spoke at once.

"So how'd it go?"

"Why'd you pay her?"

Giggling a little, Nichole answered first. "The waitress was talking to a bartender and bouncer about a guy that comes in every Tuesday and harasses her." They climbed into their car. "Big tipper, but he's getting annoying, and she feels uncomfortable now."

"So you bought his description?" Amateur mistake. "You didn't need to pay her. You just come back on Tuesday and look for him."

"I didn't know what he looked like."

Ashley pulled out of the lot and silently called to the universe for patience. "You can see his aura. If he's prey, you'd be able to pick him out of the crowd, even if he were dressed as a woman or hiding in a box."

"Right." Nichole sounded like she was pouting, but Ashley refused to look.

"I'm trying to help you," Ashley said with an even tone.

"But there were no ripe ones there."

"The night is still young." They pulled into the parking lot of another club. Ashley undid her belt and was out of the car before she realized Nichole hadn't moved.

"What are you waiting for?" She ducked her head to see into the car.

"How did it go?" Nichole asked.

"How'd what go?"

"The talk with your new disciple. He seemed to want to worship you."

Ashley chuckled and closed the car door. If Nichole wanted an answer she'd have to get out too. It worked.

"Well?" Nichole asked, slamming the car door.

"Nothing special."

"He kissed you." They walked across the parking lot.

"Yes, and now he knows better." She fought to stay irritated, but the remaining warmth of the kiss and the memory of Eric grinning up at her from the floor made it a losing battle.

"Did you like it?" Nichole rubbed her hands together. "Did he ask you on a date?"

"Who do you think we are?" Ashley snapped. "We don't date; we no longer _need_ men." Best that she remember that, as well. "I was curious as to what he wanted. That's all." Ashley decided then that the best way to battle the memory was to ignore it altogether. "We have a purpose tonight."

"I know." Nichole rubbed her hands together again. "All right, let's go find some scum."

After a few moments in this club, they located several ripe men. But one, in a large cowboy hat and with a wrestler's build, positioned against a wall near one of the side bars, stood out most.

They kept their Latina guises and chose seats at the center bar. Over several hours, they watched him and who he approached.

He was buying drinks for girls too young to be in the club in the first place. He was hunting too. Finally, one of the young women giggled to her friends and kept looking in his direction. The hunter grinned, not in excitement like his quarry, but in satisfaction.

Nichole and Ashley exchanged a glance. The hunter had found his prey. And they'd found theirs. With a nod to Ashley, Nichole moved off to the ladies' room to change her appearance. He would be hers so she would be the lure.

Ashley stayed in place and in her current form and watched the girls move closer to the hunter. Gazelles, not realizing they were being stalked.

With her friends surrounding her, the hunter's target remained safe. Separated from the herd she'd be easy pickins. The way she kept looking in his direction, she seemed to be waiting for his signal to approach, ready to break away at any moment.

The hunter pushed away from the wall. Crap, the bastard didn't waste time. Even as she moved to intercept the girl Ashley scanned the crowd for Nichole. She finally spotted her, in the form of a petite blonde, wide-eyed and well-endowed, just leaving the ladies' room.

Nichole only needed another minute or two, so Ashley retrieved a discarded, half-full glass and bumped into the innocent girl, dumping the dregs of a strawberry daiquiri down the front of her blouse.

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry." Ashley slurred her speech and swayed, grabbing a napkin off a nearby table to dab at the blouse.

"Oh my God!" The girl fanned her hands in the air and backed away from Ashley's napkin.

The girl's friends surrounded her immediately and ushered her off to the bathroom. Ashley stumbled up to the nearby bar and ordered a daiquiri to keep in character. She didn't want to tip the hunter off.

Then she heard Nichole make her move. Did he have the time? Ashley nearly flinched, the line was so transparent, but then any line delivered with vacant wide eyes was believable.

Ashley turned and leaned against the bar. With peripheral vision, she watched Nichole talk to the hunter, yelling in his ear and occasionally giggling when he yelled in hers.

All that was required of Ashley now was to watch and wait.

• • •

Once back in his hotel room Eric sat at the small table by the window. The evening had been a great way to blow off steam. He hadn't had a night with the guys in ages. Mostly because once he'd left the force he didn't feel right going to McDaniel's, the local cop bar.

He glanced at the desk with the work folders on top. Then at the large empty bed. The bed reminded him he was alone, which in turn gave him an image of the woman he'd met at the bar. She was human, but also something more. She intrigued him, more than any case he'd ever worked.

At one time in his life he would have been attracted by her beauty. Her smile. Her eyes. Knowing that her looks weren't the real her, he struggled to determine what caused his instant attraction. Her scent? The way she seemed to see into him? Whatever it was, he needed to forget her. A supernatural woman with far too many secrets, he would never be able to trust her. Nothing good could come from that woman.

# Chapter 6

Ashley sipped her daiquiri and studied the club. A large dance floor surrounded a central bar and was packed with couples gyrating to the pace of the music.

One of the blessings of the sisterhood was that alcohol and other deleterious substances had no effect. On some nights, Ashley would have given her right arm to be able to numb her mind and drift like the humans around her. Like she used to.

When she'd been mortal she'd drunk. In the beginning, she did it to feel warm and fuzzy. Just a way to relax and unwind. But then after she got married it became a way to escape. Her husband hadn't been an ass when they met. He was strong and possessive, but in that decade, that behavior was romantic and not the warning sign it was now. Drinking had been a comfort then. A hug when she had no other way to get one.

Since the sisterhood, she only drank to blend in with humans, to play the part expected of the prey to the slime she hunted. Most of the time she didn't miss the effect. Occasionally, about once or twice a year, she would sip a cocktail for herself, remembering the warm and fuzzy effect fondly.

Ashley sipped again, glancing at Nichole. She leaned against the wall while the hunter braced his elbow beside her head, leaning in to speak almost directly into her ear.

They should be leaving soon. Ashley reminded herself she'd taught Nichole well. Taking too long made it too easy for people to notice you and try to help.

After another ten minutes, Ashley was still anxious. Nichole needed to step up the pace. So, Ashley sat her glass down and strolled toward the exit, catching Nichole's eye as she went. A clear sign _it's time to go_.

The night air felt good on her bare arms. Brisk. Almost as if the air passed along energy with the modest chill. She got in the car and started it. She barely noticed the music on the radio even as she tapped her fingers to the beat. Nichole should bring the hunter out any minute. Meanwhile, her mind wandered.

Eric. What was up with him, anyway? He knew they weren't sisters, but he couldn't see through her disguises. No one could. He'd have to be able to see her true self. Her aura. And that was impossible for a man, or so her teachings in the sisterhood had taught her.

Nichole emerged from the club with the hunter's hand possessively around her neck. _Well, finally._ He steered her to his black SUV and opened the door for her. When he walked to the other side of his car Nichole grinned at Ashley and twiddled her fingers.

Ashley smiled at her protégé's excitement. Nichole should be eager; this guy looked tasty. A child predator. There was no greater sin than to taint the innocence of youth.

Ashley pulled out of her space and followed them. They drove toward the Strip, passing the club where she'd met Eric.

Without thinking, Ashley felt for him, to sense his presence. A pang of disappointment hit her. He'd left. Maybe he'd gone home with his friends. Or a woman. He was plenty attractive.

She shook her head. He could do anything he wanted. She had no claim to him. The hunter's black SUV changed lanes, and she followed suit to keep them in sight.

There was always the possibility Eric had gone in search of her. The stray thought lifted her spirits immensely. But the grin on her lips only lasted a moment. What was wrong with her?

She pushed her self-examination to the side when they drove out of Vegas and onto the desert highway. Not wanting to give herself away Ashley cut her lights and navigated by the glow of Nichole's aura bouncing along in the vehicle ahead of her.

By now, any normal girl would be getting nervous, with the lights of civilization only a glow on the horizon. No one around for miles. No one but cacti and coyotes to hear her scream. He'd done this before. He probably had a favorite dumping place as well.

If this were her show, instead of Nichole's, she'd make him live the terror of his victims. Fair punishment for any crime. But this wasn't her show; every sister had her own way of drawing out the fear. Nichole was calling the shots tonight, and Ashley's job was simply moral support.

The car ahead of her veered sharply right beyond a stand of scrubby little bushes and stopped.

Not wanting to warn him with the sound of her vehicle Ashley stopped, too, and waited.

The hunter got out and walked around to the passenger side, opening the door and yanking Nichole out by the hair. He pulled her away from the road, far enough onto the packed earth for Ashley to see clearly.

"Okay, lay it on him," Ashley whispered under her breath.

The hunter slapped Nichole across the face so hard she fell to her knees. She sat, head bowed at the hunter's feet. When he took off his belt Ashley cringed, waiting for Nichole to do as she'd learned, to twist the fear from him.

"Come on." Ashley gripped the steering wheel and leaned in. "Do it. You can do it."

But Nichole didn't move, even when the first blow came down from the belt. And another. _Damn._ Another. Nichole's aura dimmed.

"Oh, damn." Ashley got out of the car and strode toward the hunter. "Enough!" she roared.

His head snapped up, and a nasty grin contorted his features. "I'll save her for later." He stepped around the still hunched Nichole. "I'm gonna make you scream." He took both ends of the belt in one hand and snapped it.

The move was obviously meant to intimidate, but his complete ignorance of the current situation struck Ashley as funny, and she laughed out loud.

"What are you laughing at, bitch?" He swung the belt against his boot. "I'm going to fuck you. Then I'm going to gut you."

This brought a fresh wave of laughter.

"With your belt?" She stood still, waiting for him to get in close. "You're a moron if you think I'd be scared by a little dick with a belt."

Dropping the belt, he lunged at her with both hands. She stepped adroitly out of the way, allowing him to crash to the parched ground.

"No wonder you prey on children." She kicked a loose rock at him.

When he tried to stand she reached out her mind and touched his. Time to draw out his fears. She sifted through memories of his victims as if she were searching for just the right app on a phone.

After a second, he tried to get up, and she placed her stiletto in the small of his back and said, "No, don't get up."

He'd taken his first victim as a teenager. A hooker then, older and not his type, but it gave him a taste. Ashley took the pleasure he felt at her torture and death, twisted it to fear, and changed his perspective.

He cried out, waving his open palms in the air. The sound was a combination of a howl and whimper. Scrambling at the dirt, he wailed, "I'll do anything you want, just don't kill me."

Ashley twisted the memory of his next victim, a classmate in high school. He screamed again, his voice rising an octave.

Fear ran off him in rivulets. She twisted again and again. Like juicing an orange, she wanted to be sure she got every drop.

Finally, he lay on the ground whimpering. She prepared for the final blow, to remove his soul.

"Wait." Nichole stepped into view.

"You want to finish him? I think there's a little left," Ashley said, glad to see her student come back on her own.

"No, I want you to let him go now." She laid a hand on Ashley's arm.

"What are you talking about?" Ashley stared at Nichole. "You wanted to finish him an hour ago." Ashley studied the woman she'd been training for the past few months. "Do you feel guilty? Did he get to you?" She patted Nichole's shoulder. "Some sisters relive their own past on their first time out. It's nothing to worry about."

When Nichole said nothing, things became clear.

"You feel sorry for him. You want me to spare him." Aghast, Ashley nudged the barely moving man with her toe. "You didn't see what he has done."

"Doesn't matter. Whatever he's done, it doesn't make it right for us to do almost the same thing to him."

"He's getting what he gave to those women, what he almost gave to you. This is justice."

"No, now it's cruel." Ashley watched Nichole crouch beside the man, then look up at Ashley. "Look at him. Look at his aura now."

She looked, not because she was told to, not because she was concerned for the slime that lay sprawled at her feet, but because for the second time that night, she was curious.

What had once been a diseased aura, swimming in colors better suited to an overripe banana, was now pale tan. It seemed as though, by reliving the pain of his victims, he'd redeemed himself. Cleaned his slate.

"You've never seen this before, have you?" Nichole asked.

"No," Ashley admitted. It was the only reply she could give. She'd never bothered to watch the aura of her prey once she cornered them. It served no purpose, or so she'd thought. But now . . .

The man at her feet had had his soul cleansed, and the idea of taking it now repulsed her. He groaned and mumbled. The word "bitch" was muted, but obvious. He had a chance to better himself, and without realizing it, he would toss it aside.

"He won't change," Ashley said, tilting her head at Nichole.

"But you'll let him live?" She brought her hands together so quickly she almost clapped.

"He won't change, and when he reverts to his old ways the sisterhood will take him."

"He will change for me." Nichole knelt beside the man. He'd loosened sand from the packed earth with his writhing, and now he struggled to lift his face from it.

Irritated with Nichole for being so damn naive and herself for allowing her student to save the man, Ashley stomped back to her car. She retrieved a small knife from under her front seat and walked back to where the other two sat.

Ashley crouched in front of the man and leaned into his face. "Do you remember me?"

His expression scrunched like a baby dirtying his diaper. "I remember." The words seemed a struggle. "Don't like you."

"Good." Her hand grabbed his, prying his palm open and yanking it closer to her. With the tip of the blade she marked his palm, slicing the flesh in a simple pattern.

"This will be your reminder to behave. Every time you look at your hand you will remember how close your sins brought you to death. You've been given a chance to redeem yourself tonight. If you deliberately bring harm to anyone you will be found and what should have happened tonight will happen. Do you understand?" As she asked the question she raised the bloody point of the dagger into the man's face.

"I do, I understand." His eyes crossed, wide with horror as he watched the blade.

Ashley wiped the knife on the hem of her gown. Once a hunter, now he appeared to be a lost child. Although his aura seemed clean Ashley knew it was far from pure.

Nichole placed her hands on the man's face and though she radiated no power her soul seemed to touch his for a moment. "Be good," she whispered to him.

Tears ran down his face as his large hands reached up and covered hers. "I will. Thank you."

The crying gave Ashley pause. She'd seen men cry in agony, in despair, and as a bargaining tool, but never in gratitude.

The man almost skipped to his truck, a beatific smile upon his lips. Nichole seemed exhausted as she walked back to the car, leaving Ashley to stand on the rock-hard earth in the desolate desert. In one naive instant, her world, all of the rules she'd been taught, had just been turned on their ends.

# Chapter 7

Ashley's evening wasn't getting better. Nichole rode in the passenger seat in silence for miles, which was fine by Ashley. She'd trained her, nurtured her, and she'd thrown it all away for the slime of humanity.

"Will I be kicked out of the sisterhood?" Nichole asked, echoing Ashley's thoughts.

"I don't know." Best to be honest with her. "I'm not aware of this ever having happened before." _And it happened on my watch._ What would the Mother say? Would she still want her in the inner circle?

She glanced at the woman beside her. Grudging acceptance filled Ashley, drowning out questions of "What was she thinking?" and "How could she do it?" and leaving only "What do we do now?"

"Do you _want_ to leave the sisterhood?" Ashley asked the base question she could build upon.

Nichole's reply came immediately. "No, of course not."

"Then you will need to go through with it. You'll need to finish him off."

"I can't."

Ashley gripped the steering wheel in a valiant attempt not to backhand her passenger. "What do you mean you can't? It's not like you went into this with your eyes closed."

"Yes, but in the end, I thought he would still be evil."

"He is," Ashley started to explain.

"He isn't! You felt him, right? You touched his mind after you finished rousing his fear? He wasn't evil anymore. Why don't they train us for that?"

Ashley didn't answer. Of course she hadn't—there was no reason to touch his mind when the only thing left to do was feed. Suddenly, that action felt barbaric. No. Ridiculous. Trying to shake off tendrils of guilt winding their way through her gut, Ashley glared at Nichole.

Her way of life was falling into doubt, and part of her wished they hadn't rescued Nichole. But even as she thought it, she regretted it. All women deserved to be delivered from that hell, no matter how they complicated your life.

"All right, Ms. Angel of Mercy. When he goes after another victim, you'll be there to finish him." She punctuated her statement by poking the dashboard.

Ashley expected silence, but instead the response came quickly. "You removed the evil; he's been punished. He won't return to his old ways."

"It's the nature of men."

"I disagree."

Ashley smacked the steering wheel. "Damn it." They were driving through their neighborhood. "What do we tell the sisterhood? What do we tell the Mother? We couldn't find anyone? You choked? Or that men are inherently good and our business should be to give them a second chance?" She didn't bother to hide the snippiness in her tone.

"I don't know," Nichole whispered. "I'm sorry I've disappointed you."

"Damn." Torn between wanting to comfort the woman beside her and wanting to strangle her, Ashley pulled into the garage, killed the engine, and turned to face her protégé. "Look, since you've been here, you've become a friend. I know for a fact the Mother doesn't induct new sisters easily. When we took you in she read your heart and obviously saw a woman worthy of the sisterhood.

"I'm still that woman."

Ashley took Nichole's pale hand and pattered it. "You've changed, but while we figure out how, and what we are to do about it, we should keep tonight between us."

"Agreed." And with Nichole's nod they went into the house.

Ashley made it to her room without running into anyone; she hoped Nichole did, too. New sisters responded differently to their first successful nights out. Some were exhilarated, needing to recount the tale to everyone who would listen, often several times. Others insisted on being left unaccompanied. So the other sisters would let the successful start the party. Just in case the triumphant sister wished to be alone with her thoughts.

Ashley herself was one of the latter. Stretching out on her bed she lay spread-eagle, a position she'd assumed that evening so long ago, when she'd harvested her first soul. An evening she hadn't thought about for years. She'd insisted on being alone that night.

They'd found him on the street. Stumbling, drunk as a lord, through the streets at twilight. She'd simply walked up to him and reached out to his mind. He'd done so much harm to everyone he knew. He'd beaten his wife and children. He'd stolen from his friends. Initially, she'd been revolted and wanted to jerk away from that horrible mind. But a memory of him pushing his wife down the stairs changed her mind.

She'd made him relive the harm he'd done to his victims over and over until she could remove his soul.

As she sucked, the taste of peaches filled her mouth, rich and sweet. But even as she reveled in the energy that filled her, she saw flashes of other memories. Him being beaten with a belt, being locked in a closet for days, scornful laughter and belittlement. He'd been a victim once.

That gave him no right to inflict it on others.

Her feelings of rage and justice had warred with guilt and shame.

She shook her head. The memories had surfaced quickly, almost consuming her. She forced them back. Locked them down tight.

She changed her position, rolling to her side, and stared out her door.

Nichole lost it in the truck, then. Weak and vulnerable, she must have thought of how her father had been redeemed, which in turn would have brightened her sympathy for the man tonight.

Ashley had seen plenty of that, too. So many women so used to being victims that as soon as the sisterhood dispatched one horrible man the poor woman would shack up with another. Some people didn't have survival instincts.

But then sometimes it took a second chance given by the sisterhood for the women to learn their lesson and make better choices.

Could men be the same? Could they actually choose actions to better themselves?

She stood and paced her small room. Of course they could; self-advancement was foremost on most people's minds, regardless of gender. But could they set aside their own desires for the betterment of others? Could they deny themselves in purely selfless acts?

Nichole surely thought so. They needed to track the hunter's progress. He couldn't be allowed to return to his previous behavior. If necessary, Ashley would finish him herself.

She crossed to her window. The lights of Vegas illuminated the sky. There was still a problem. "With all the people living, working, and playing in this city, how do I pluck a needle out of that haystack?" she asked herself.

"Does one man mean so much?" In the window's reflection, Ashley could see Tarma standing in the doorway.

Thinking quickly, Ashley shrugged. "Another prey we passed over tonight." She didn't move from the sill. "I was wondering if Nichole could find him again."

"Well, that depends . . . " Tarma's voice and face faded into the background, and another swam into view in the glass: the man with the clean aura. Eric. His curly brown hair framed his unnaturally innocent face. Something about him made her want to be close to him. She wanted to— _Wait. What?_

"What did you say?" Ashley turned.

Tarma sighed. "If she touched his mind she should be able to find him again. Once contact has been made you can recognize their soul."

Ashley considered it for a moment. "Until the other day, when I found prey, I took them. However, sometimes I would have to find out something about him, like where he lived or worked, so I could track him down again." She tapped a fingertip on her chin. "How exactly can I track them by their soul?"

Tarma sat on the edge of Ashley's bed, rekindling memories of Ashley's own training and with them the sense of acceptance and belonging. The sisterhood had made her whole. Damn Nichole.

"Once you've touched their soul, you recognize them the next time you see them. Sometimes, with prolonged exposure—say you were interrupted—you can even track them."

Ashley nodded, but asked, "How?"

"What do you mean 'How'?"

Ashley leaned against the sill. "How can you track them?"

"Souls are exchanged when people are intimate. Touching another's soul is as intimate as you can get."

"So you leave a piece behind?" The idea that all these years she'd shared souls with these slimeballs before doing them in turned her stomach.

Tarma chuckled and jabbed her finger in the air. "That's why we don't tell you while you're in training. Worse than a bug crawling in your ear isn't it?"

Ashley couldn't respond, and when Tarma held out a hand she went and sat beside her, allowing her own mentor to wrap an arm about her shoulders.

"There's nothing to worry about." Tarma gave Ashley a squeeze. "It's a very small piece, and what you give to the men, you get back in the end, understand?"

"Sure, right." She didn't feel better. In fact, it raised other terrible questions. "What if you don't get it back? What does it do to you?"

"If the one you're saving for Nichole doesn't pan out for _her_ you should take him." Tarma shrugged. "It's nothing to worry about."

"Right," Ashley said. "Of course. But what if I didn't? What would happen?"

"I don't know, honey. I always go back and get them. It might take a while, but I keep getting drawn back to them, so it's almost irritating. Even if I don't need them, I'll take them because the constant encounters get on my nerves."

That didn't seem so bad. Ashley could handle irritating. "How long have you ever waited?"

"Only one took over a year. I think he was in jail. It took a few years to finally get him. I drove by the compound an inordinate amount of times."

"But it didn't hurt you?"

"No, it's just a little piece." Tarma rose and walked to the door. "Okay now?"

Ashley nodded and shut the door after Tarma left. She still didn't like the idea of that scum running around Las Vegas with a bit of her soul. She'd need to track him down in the morning.

• • •

Ashley went down to breakfast, her mind full and her stomach empty. Even with its persistent growls she wasn't sure if she would be able to keep down the bagel she planned. Too much to consider.

The house wasn't awake yet, though the sun was already high above the horizon. Late to bed, late to rise. Hard to wake with the dawn when sleep comes only three hours before.

As she toasted her bagel, Ashley thought of the man Nichole released. She knew she would need to be the one to track him, as Nichole hadn't touched his soul. And he definitely needed to be tracked.

He was clean for now, but what would become of him later? He could take several victims before being diseased enough to catch the attention of the sisterhood again. Innocent victims who were already piling on her conscience.

On the other hand, what if he had been redeemed? What if they could affect a permanent change on these men? Send them home as the men their abused families hoped they would be?

"Change the world," Ashley whispered to the bagel she pulled from the toaster. It didn't respond, of course, but seconds later, Jamie wandered into the kitchen. She wore her natural look around the mansion.

It was ordinary. Many of the sisterhood had a feature they despised and therefore spent energy to keep it transformed even in private. Jamie had no such flaw. In fact, she had no distinguishing features whatsoever; the memory of her melted away moments after she passed. Before the sisterhood, she had made a comfortable living as a pickpocket.

"Morning," Ashley said, setting out a coffee mug for the bleary-eyed woman.

Jamie jumped. "God. Morning. What are you doing up? I figured you'd have a late night."

"I did." Ashley took a bite of her bagel. Jamie had come into the sisterhood just before Nichole. It was possible all of the others would understand the position Nichole had put Ashley in. However, she decided to keep things to herself for now. All she had was conjecture. She could consider telling the others if Nichole's method was confirmed.

"Didn't go well, huh?" Jamie dug the coffee out of the fridge and started a pot.

"She had different expectations for her prey."

"Not much left of him?" Jamie tapped her nails on the mug she held.

"In a manner of speaking." Ashley took another bite of bagel.

"Always knew that girl would set new standards," Jamie said, pouring more coffee into their mugs.

How could she chat with the others like nothing was wrong? Nichole's experiment had the capability to ruin the sisterhood's existence.

Tarma entered the kitchen, immaculate as always. "Good morning, ladies."

"Morning." Ashley placed the used mug in the dishwasher and moved toward the exit. Tarma would pull the truth from her for sure.

"Wait." The order stopped Ashley in her tracks, so readily did she obey her mentor. "We never talked about how Nichole did last night."

"She's setting new standards," Ashley said, then quickly left the room.

• • •

Morning came too soon for Eric, accompanied by the worst hangover in history. His eyelids felt like sandpaper and his mouth like it had been stuffed with cotton all night. The bedroom was blessedly dark.

For a moment, he lay with his face half buried in his pillow, loath to check the digital clock on his bedside. It was before dawn, this he knew for a fact. He hadn't slept past sunrise since he'd been bitten.

His hangover would be short-lived. As had every injury since he turned. The only good thing to have come from that horrible day.

As he pressed his face into the soft down of the surprisingly comfortable pillow his mind wandered to yesterday's cases. One girl found dead, slightly older than the one taken. One was an orphan, and the other the daughter of a wealthy family. Both were listed as runaways.

"Nothing connects them," he muttered to himself. But Aaron's instinct told him that he was missing something. His subconscious almost had it, but the epiphany slipped away as he woke more.

Grunting in frustration, he turned on the local news. The broadcaster droned on as Eric drank his water and quickly showered. By the time he exited the bathroom to the weather report, his hangover had been washed away.

The weather promised another scorcher _. Astonishing_. As the newscasters started back on the top stories, the mouthful of water Eric had sipped nearly exploded from his lips. A familiar face flashed on the screen.

" . . . personnel found the man in a hotel room. If you have any information about this man please contact Vegas police." The number flashed under a sketch of the troll from the café the day before. "Police would like to find a person of interest, this woman." There was something familiar about the woman on the screen. He'd never seen her before. However, it was like a tiny voice said, _I know her._

# Chapter 8

Ashley decided she couldn't wait for the hunter to strike again. Men couldn't be trusted even when their own lives were on the line. Following a piece of her soul was harder than Ashley had thought. She felt a general pull to the southwest, but blindly following that pull was impeded by buildings and twisty roads. Occasionally, she was actually driving away from the pull. The effect was dizzying.

She drove with the windows down to let in the morning air. Mornings always held positive meaning for her. As a child, so long ago, she would sneak from the house while her mother and the uncle of the week slept off the night before. The air was fresh and, without the heat and hurt of the coming day, full of potential. But when the adults inside woke up, the magic would break and the day would be ruined.

This early, most tourists would be just getting to bed. Ashley doubted Nichole's experiment was a local. She'd swing by a couple of the off-Strip hotels.

Planning her route, she nearly missed what seemed to be a golden glow coming from the Palace casino up ahead. Odd that this guy was staying in the same hotel as the leprechaun. She pulled into the parking garage and strode though the side door.

Wearing the same guise as the night before, she hoped to instill fear if he recognized her. She didn't worry about the added security at the door. It just confirmed that she wouldn't be able to use the blonde disguise for a while.

Upstairs, she took the elevator to the tenth floor. The closer she came to the little bit of severed soul, the brighter it glowed. Tarma mustn't have been paying close attention if it took her a year to find her prey.

As Ashley approached the door, the glow practically sang to her. It seemed happy. She tried not to think about what could make it change that way. Knocking, she readied herself. If he tried to run she needed to be ready.

The face that greeted her at the door wasn't the hunter, but the guy from the bar, Eric. "What?" she asked before stopping to watch the bit of her soul she'd been tracking bob giddily inside his chest.

"Good morning," Eric said. He didn't seem surprised to see her. "Come in. I just saw you on television."

"What?" she asked again, stepping inside. Did he know? Did he take it on purpose?

"You already said that." The corner of his mouth twitched.

She nearly growled. "Here." It took all of her self-control not to shake him. "What are you doing here?"

"In Vegas?" His face remained stern, but his eyes danced. For all his solemn exterior, he was laughing at her.

"This is your hotel room." Of course he was staying in the city, but how the hell did he get the piece of her that now glowed so happily inside him? _The kiss_. "Who are you?"

"Would you like a drink? I have coffee." He stepped to a table just outside the bathroom and waved at the one-cup coffee maker that sat on top of it.

"Where are you from?"

"Maybe water or tea then?"

"Answer me."

"Have a drink." He patted the mini fridge.

Strangling him wouldn't do. Did he even know what he'd done? She needed to know if there was more of this type of male. Were they organized? "Fine."

The grin he flashed almost outshone the light in his chest.

"Water." She sat on the corner of the bed and waited. He handed her a bottled water and sat on the other corner. Promptly, she moved to the chair of his little desk and faced him. "Now, who are you?"

He didn't say anything until she sipped her water. "As I told you last night, my name is Eric. I'm a private investigator from Chicago. And you are?"

"My name is Ashley. I'm from here." She peered around the room. No sign of the slime that permeated the hunter's aura. In fact, the suite seemed like a typical hotel room: some residue of depravity, but nothing from Eric.

"Excellent," Eric said. "I know as much about you as I did last night." He retrieved a bottle of water for himself and sat again.

"How'd you get it?" she finally asked, deciding to be direct.

"Get what?" His brow creased.

"That piece of me." She stood.

"I didn't . . . What?"

"What about your friends?" she demanded. "Did they help you?"

Eric shook his head. "Help me? What are you talking about?" He closed his bottle and set it on the floor beside his feet.

The dancing bit of her soul in his chest got brighter.

"Help you take it." She pointed to his chest.

He glanced at her finger, his eyes wide. "Take what?"

"Me." She felt a tug from the bit of her soul that had snuggled itself into Eric's chest. Then it tugged harder, knocking her off her feet, landing her in Eric's lap.

They both gasped as a second shock wave tore through them. She could smell the coffee on his breath and feel the panting rhythm of his breathing. Her mind went blank. Next thing she knew, she'd grasped his face with both hands and pulled his lips to hers.

She felt the piece in him move. _That's right, come back_. Then another part of her soul made its way out of her body into his. Unlike last night, she felt it happen this time. Panic rose. This wasn't right. She should regain the part she'd lost. She tried to back away, but the two bits joined within him and gripped her closer. Then the hole made by losing a piece of herself was filled with a piece of Eric.

She moaned as the bit slipped into place. She hadn't felt so complete in years, not since she first joined the sisterhood. _Oh, God._

"I gotta go." Her lips moved against his. She tried to wriggle from his grip.

"Wait," he breathed. His hand caressed her cheek gently. The pressure of his lips against hers softened again. She sank onto his shoulder. The warmth of his arms surrounded her like nothing ever had. She felt secure, wanted, completely safe. Gentle and sweet and deliciously happy.

At that thought, her eyes widened and stared into his. The brown eyes she'd noticed before were filled with flecks of amber. In the center, his pupils dilated, the black void widening. She could get lost in those depths.

The stubble on his face scratched around her mouth, tenderizing her lips with its coarseness. The rough movement sent tingles through her. Closing her eyes, she ran a hand up into the silky curls of his hair.

Too much, too fast. It didn't matter; she didn't want the kiss to end.

A groan escaped her, answered by one from him. She felt his fingers trace the line of her neck. She shifted slightly on his lap. Suddenly, instead of being held, she was being lowered onto the bed.

_Whoa_. Her eyes flew open. Releasing her grip on him she gasped. "What are you doing?" She stared at him, breathless and panting, hovering over her. She needed him to pause, but she didn't want to stop. A sob almost escaped when he nodded and stood. Running his hands through his hair he backed away from her.

"Sorry," he said, taking a sip of her forgotten water. He shook his head. "I don't know what that was."

Sitting up, she tried to compose herself. The moment was over, and she still had to track down the hunter.

"No problem. I-I should go anyway." She knew what it was. Their souls were mingling. She rolled off the bed, straightened her shirt, and looked to where he stood by one of the large windows.

What had been a happy ball of light now merged with his aura, giving it a two-tone color, white with gold streaks.

Something was happening between them that both frightened and excited her. Did he know? Doubtful. She should tell him, but he probably wouldn't believe her anyway. Right now, she needed to go. Before it got any worse.

She walked to the door, and he followed.

"Will I see you again?" His brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something else and closed it. She should tell him something.

"There's something happening between us—" she began.

He stepped closer. Too close. "I've noticed."

_Just step out of the door_ , she told herself. But the piece of him within her kept her frozen in place. "I don't think either of us could prevent it if we tried."

His grin fell. There was so much more to this man than she knew.

Against her better judgment, against all of her training, she reached out to him, the stubble on his chin rough against her fingertips. Then her fingers traced the line of his jaw until they reached the back of his neck. She pulled his mouth to hers.

Again, she felt her soul reach for his. This time, she enjoyed the exchange, almost as much as the dozens of primal sensations that coursed through her that told her to drag him back inside the room and make wild, passionate love to him. The instinct almost got the better of her before she broke the kiss.

"I'll see you again," he whispered. "Soon."

She felt his gaze on her until she turned the corner for the elevator. Unable to help it she smiled all the way back to her car.

• • •

Eric closed the door behind Ashley, his mind still reeling from the way she'd grabbed him. That was dangerous. For her as well as him. She wasn't human, she couldn't be. Still, there was something about her. He'd seen, and experienced, too much strangeness since his transformation for this woman to faze him. Something sparked when they were together like with no one he'd ever dated. However . . .

He had yet to see the real her. What he didn't know about her outnumbered what he did know. She was wanted by the police.

What the hell was happening to them? He'd felt something shift within him when they kissed. Could that be what people meant when they said the earth moved?

• • •

_Find the hunter_. Ashley needed to follow up on Nichole's target from the night before. No matter how often she'd reminded herself of that in the last five minutes, her thoughts returned to Eric.

Just the idea of spending another moment with Eric nearly had her turning the car around.

Nearly.

Nichole's face swam before Ashley's eyes. Tracking the hunter came first. Her poor, innocent protégé who had turned Ashley's world on its ear wasn't cut out to be in the sisterhood. Even if she were right, and men could be permanently redeemed, there was no room for that kind of thinking in the sisterhood. If she were to be honest, many of the sisters enjoyed getting "some of their own back." Until recently, Ashley had felt the same.

Certainly, Ashley didn't need a man. And she didn't want one. Men embraced chaos. They merely used women to satisfy themselves and their needs. Even Eric. There was a shadow in his soul. Something dangerous seemed to lurk just past her reach. She squared her shoulders. He was entertaining, but he should most definitely be avoided.

_The hunter is the target._ She followed the little tugs like a GPS; the closer she got, the harder they tugged. Ashley pulled into a neighborhood of tract housing. He was local. _Surprising_. The houses looked as though they'd been made with a stucco cookie cutter—small buildings on top of each other with postage-stamp yards.

The street led past rows of homes then around a large circular park and playground area.

Several families picnicked. Hordes of children ran about under the trees and on the jungle gym.

Once upon a time, she'd wanted a family. She slowed the car to watch the interaction at the closest picnic blanket.

A matronly woman watched a young girl of about five run from their blanket to the swings, pigtails flopping as she ran. The child called to be pushed and was answered by the hunter who rose from beside the woman, kissed the hand he held, and walked to the girl.

When he turned to push the child, who now kicked her legs in excitement, Ashley could see the faint piece of her soul in his chest. Still glowing golden and bright.

To get a closer look, she parked her car and walked over to the woman on the blanket. She sat in the grass a few feet from the woman on her right.

After waiting a few moments, Ashley spoke. "Kids are great, aren't they?"

"A blessing," the woman replied without hesitation.

"Your husband looks like a loving father."

"Yes, he does." The awe in the woman's voice spoke volumes, but Ashley chose to err on the side of caution.

"Isn't he?" Ashley asked, hoping to draw her out.

"He's a new man this morning." Then she jumped, as if just realizing she was speaking to a stranger. "He's less stressed today."

Nodding wisely, Ashley said nothing more, but watched the man Nichole had taken mercy on pushing his daughter. None of the vile slime that had so permeated the man's aura the night before remained.

He'd been cleansed. This morning, his entire being reflected a new man. Joyful, spending time with his family.

Ashley looked again at the small bit of her that lived in him. So small, she didn't think she'd miss it. Better to leave it there in case he was to backslide and again become something that needed destroying.

She sighed as she walked back to her car. At least for today the small family could build good memories. Perhaps Nichole was right.

• • •

Ashley returned home to a mansion in turmoil. Tension could be felt from the other side of the front door.

She kept her eyes open for the cause of the cacophony of voices. Nichole sat at the kitchen table, tears streaming down her face. No one else was in sight.

"What's happening?" Ashley asked after she slipped into the kitchen.

"Oh, Ashley," Nichole wailed.

"Shhh," Ashley warned. She didn't know what was going on, and the last thing she wanted to do was get involved in petty sniping. And if it was worse, she wanted to know the situation before she got involved.

"They're sending me away," Nichole gasped through sobs.

"What?" She stood up. "Who? Why?"

"The Mother, because Tarma told her I didn't make the kill last night."

"You told Tarma?" Ashley leaned on the table, struggling with the urge to shake the teary woman. "Why did you do that?"

"I thought if you trusted her I could too," Nichole whispered and looked up at Ashley with big, watery eyes.

Ashley straightened and shoved her fists into the pockets of her jeans. "I told you not to tell anyone. _Anyone_."

"But they should know there's a better way, that we can do our work without killing them." Nichole wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Ashley sighed. "Sure they should, but at what expense?"

"I don't want to leave." Nichole sniffled.

Ashley felt sorry for her. The whole idea that men are able to change was a foreign one to the sisterhood, and it would, of course, be especially difficult for the woman who founded the sisterhood.

"Maybe I could talk to them," Ashley offered.

"Don't, you'll get in trouble too." Nichole blinked her large eyes at Ashley and then they widened larger. "Did you see the guy at the bar again?"

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked, concerned.

"The guy who stole the kiss."

"No," Ashley said, and then remembered seeing her soul in him. If she could see hers in him then others with the power could see his in her. "Shit."

"I can see bits of his soul all over you," Nichole said, standing and hugging the surprised Ashley.

She pressed her hands over her heart. How could she hide this? The sisterhood would kick her out for sure if they caught wind of what she was doing with Eric.

"Oh, God, what do I do?" Ashley pleaded of the air.

"Why don't you concentrate your power on your aura? Instead of disguising your physical appearance, alter your own aura?"

"It could work." Ashley concentrated on herself and her own aura. The effort had perspiration beading across her forehead.

Finally, after quite a bit of pushing, Nichole told her she had it. Just in time, because a second later, Tarma walked into the room.

"Ashley?" The question sounded like a whip in the silence. Ashley spun to face her mentor.

"Yes?" Ashley smiled and gulped down the sudden string of excuses that rose in her throat. She had nothing to explain.

"You left the house early this morning. I needed to talk to you."

"Sure, I—"

"The Mother wanted to talk to you." Tarma stared at Ashley, her eyes flickering as if she meant to see through her.

_Confidence_ , Ashley reminded herself. "Sure. Is she here now?"

"Yes." Tarma led the way up the stairs.

"What did you need to talk to me about?" Ashley asked, focusing on the paintings along the stairs and hall.

She'd seen them before, heck, she'd lived in this house and walked these halls for years. But today, they took on a whole new meaning for her.

Just at the top of the stairs hung an angry abstract of reds, oranges, and blacks that seemed to flicker in the light of the stairwell. She could swear she felt heat emanating from it.

Farther along the hallway, another looked like a portrait of a marriage kiss in an outdoor wedding, but as she passed, the bride appeared to be eating the groom. Ashley choked back her exclamation and was overcome with a bout of coughing. Why hadn't she seen any of these things before?

"You understand Nichole will have to leave?" Tarma asked, pausing before another flight of stairs.

"Of course." Ashley met her old mentor's eyes. For the first time, she saw the vertical slits where her pupils should have been. "She doesn't belong here." Ashley didn't think she would be able to lie, so she stayed with the truth.

"She seems to believe men are worth saving, able to be reformed." Tarma let the statement hang between them, heavy with the implied question: did Ashley believe the same thing?

Ashley responded as she would have three days ago. "I'm sorry she'll have to leave. She had promise."

Again, Tarma waited. The silence, though obviously for effect, nearly unnerved Ashley.

Finally, after twenty seconds that seemed to last twenty minutes, they continued up the stairs. The heavy wooden doors to the Mother's bedroom opened by themselves as Tarma approached.

"Ah, it's about time, Ashley." The Mother walked to the door, clasped Tarma's hands, and then turned to Ashley. "I'm glad we caught you before you went hunting this evening." She led Ashley by the hand to an antique couch by the open French doors that overlooked the garden with a view of the desert beyond.

Ashley'd been in this room on several occasions, and never before had she had the overwhelming dread that she had now.

A light dry breeze blew through the doorway. It was warm and pleasant, but it chilled her to the bone.

"You've had a lot to deal with, dear." The tone was strong and sweet. Ashley wanted to believe the kindness in her words as she'd done so many times before, but her mind picked apart every word, looking for an inner meaning.

"You look a little dehydrated." The Mother passed her a glass. "Have a drink."

Ashley thanked her and sipped. But the Mother placed a finger under the glass and lifted the bottom. "Drink up. We don't want your promotion to suffer because you're not caring for yourself properly."

The drink seemed fizzy like peroxide, but it tasted like cinnamon. She finished the glass, and before she could inspect the empty vessel the Mother handed it to Tarma and continued, "Nichole wasn't ready to join the sisterhood. I saw potential in her, but she proved that she just doesn't have what it takes." All Ashley could do was nod, as the bony hand patted hers. "You mustn't blame yourself for her failure. She had radical ideas unworthy of a member of the sisterhood."

The skeletal fingers dug into the back of Ashley's hand. She held in a gasp and endured the pain. "You're not placing any stock in those ideas, are you, dear?"

Ashley replied quickly, knowing any hesitation could be used against her. "I told her the idea was ridiculous at the start."

"Good. That's good." The vise released, and Ashley's battered hand received another pat. "This will allow you the opportunity to deal with an unfit sister. It is not part of your training, but I see how valuable it will be to you."

"Okay."

Tarma circled to stand just behind Ashley. The Mother seemed not to notice. "Of course, she knows too much to set her loose into the world. We can't guarantee her silence out there, so she'll have to be dealt with by us. Well, by you."

"Dealt with?"

"Your very first." The Mother patted her hand again; she seemed proud.

Tarma, on the other hand, rolled her eyes. "Sentimentality is a weakness." It wasn't imagined; she hissed like a lizard.

"Tarma's right. It can be." The Mother narrowed her eyes at the hovering woman. "However, tonight, we celebrate."

_A celebration. Dealt with_.

Tarma gripped Ashley's shoulders and squeezed. "If you drain her quickly it won't bother you as much. Do you feel it inside you yet?"

Ashley fought to keep her facial muscles relaxed. They wanted her to kill Nichole. Could she even do that? At one time, maybe, but now . . . Ashley's stomach clenched, and she swam through a wave of nausea. What had they put inside her? The way they talked it was more than energy, more than a spirit.

"You and Tarma should hunt together for a while. She will be able to teach you some new techniques. Help you embrace the spirit within you."

"That's great. I've missed hunting with her." Ashley smiled, but her vision blurred for a second as she gazed at both of the other women. But they weren't women. They were powerful creatures that for the first time she could see clearly.

The Mother looked the most familiar. Then, Ashley realized the tapestry over the large bed was a portrait. Scales as black as coal. Eyes that defied nature by being even darker.

Tarma looked similar to the Mother, except instead of being shiny, coal-black, her skin was a deep, forest green. Both of their auras were tinged with the blood of a recent kill.

_No hesitation, absolutely no revulsion_ , Ashley thought. She couldn't let them see what she really thought, the fear she felt. The part of Eric inside her warmed, giving her strength.

"It's been a while since I've hunted with someone that knows what she's doing," Ashley added as she leaned back a little and crossed her legs.

"Good. Then it's settled." The Mother stood and clasped both of Ashley's hands, pulling her up with her. "Now, go fetch Nichole so we can get this unhappy part over with." Then she released her.

At her cue, Ashley left the room.

The door had almost closed when she felt it being pulled back and open again. She glanced back, and what she saw caused her to lose her grip on the knob. Talons extended from the green scaled fingers that curled around the door from the inside.

Once Ashley stepped away from the door, the hand returned to the well-manicured appendage of her mentor. The seconds between releasing the door and seeing Tarma's face were barely enough for Ashley to regain her composure.

"Ashley." The woman's smile chilled her as it never had before. "Would you mind telling Jessie to pick up some ice cream on her way home this evening?"

"Sure." Ashley didn't run but walked briskly to her bedroom. A quick scan told her there was nothing of value to salvage. Slipping a purse over her shoulder, she left.

The Mother was right about one thing: Nichole didn't belong in the sisterhood. Now Ashley realized that she didn't either. She swallowed and prepared to leave her home of forty years.

If either of those creatures caught wind of her connection to Eric, he would be in danger, too.

# Chapter 9

Ashley barely controlled her descent of the stairs. Running wouldn't do, not if she were going to get Nichole. When she peeked into the front sitting room she found Nichole, hands folded, waiting.

Ashley tapped her shoulder and forced a smile. "Let's go to lunch."

"Ooh, that sounds lovely. But Tarma told me to wait." Her shoulders slumped slightly. "They're probably going to wipe my memory."

She couldn't let her anxiety show, and there was no way she could explain. "Before you forget me entirely would you mind if we had one last lunch first?"

The corners of Nichole's lips quirked slightly.

"I know." She reached for Nichole's shoulder and steered her to the front door. "I'll get it out of my system at lunch."

Calmly, they walked to one of the sisterhood's cars. She dare not run, though she had no idea what would happen if they were caught. She had a feeling that a last lunch wouldn't fly with Tarma and the Mother.

When they were on the road, Nichole asked, "Where are we going for lunch?"

"Nowhere." A side glance revealed a pout. "I had to get you out of there. I couldn't take you upstairs."

"Why? They were just going to erase my memory."

"No, they weren't." Ashley had no idea where she intended to drive.

Silence.

"They want you dead," Ashley said, pulling onto the freeway. Nichole needed to know the truth.

"Nonsense. I'm not a man. I'm one of the sisterhood, and a woman."

"You're not a member until your induction ceremony and as far as being a woman goes, I don't think that matters anymore." _If it ever did._ "They ordered me to kill you."

Nichole exhaled slowly.

"Don't worry, I won't."

Nichole's eyes widened slightly, and she patted Ashley's leg. "I know you'd never hurt me. Where are we going?"

Ashley bit her tongue. Had this situation arisen just a couple of days ago she very well might have served Nichole's soul to the Mother on a silver platter.

"I haven't a clue," Ashley admitted. Even before she knew something sinister lay beneath the surface of Tarma and the Mother, she wouldn't have thought it possible to run from the sisterhood. Now it was the only way she could see a future, for her or Nichole.

# Chapter 10

Eric worked to put Ashley's morning visit aside. Aaron had agreed to let him review the original file of the murdered girl, Suzie Hogan. Even as he read the details of the case, Ashley came into his mind unbidden. Repeatedly, he pushed her image aside to focus on the folder in front of him. There would be plenty of time to work out the mysteries of that woman later.

The poor girl's end began as a kidnapping.

Before Suzie's disappearance, she lived at the Angola Center for Displaced Girls. According to the report, the last any adult saw of her was on her way to the school bus stop. No children were interviewed.

The report was functionary, written by an overworked individual and dictated by a similar person, both of whom most likely saw too many runaways to think anything strange in yet another young woman who decided life would be better on her own.

He needed to re-interview the staff at the center and the girl's friends.

He made a quick call to Max, who agreed to play chauffeur and access card. With a single flash of Max's badge the two of them were escorted through the hallways to the principal's office. The walls were yellowed to the point of almost being brown around the corners and moldings. It reminded Eric of his neighbor's house growing up. His friend's parents smoked, and the tobacco stained everything. When they moved out, there were squares of blue on the green walls where the pictures had been removed. Time had its own color palette.

He could hear the murmur of voices as he and Max moved deeper into the building, and picked up the scent of stale coffee, pancakes, and maple syrup. Not the homiest place to grow up, but it beat living on the street. It was probably better than skipping around foster homes. His old partner would know.

They followed the elderly receptionist through a pair of glass French doors at the end of the yellow hall and entered the principal's office. A sign beside the doors labeled it as belonging to _Dr. Lucy Callie, Principal_. Behind the heavy wooden desk sat a woman with tired eyes but a quick smile. "What can I do for you, Officer?"

Max shook her extended hand. "My associate, Detective Adams, has a couple questions for you regarding Suzie Hogan."

Principal Callie tapped on her computer's keyboard. "She's one of our girls?"

"No, ma'am, at least not currently," Max responded.

She abandoned her computer and tilted her head.

"Six months ago you had a runaway named Suzie Hogan," Eric explained.

Now the rest of her face matched her eyes. "Unfortunately, we have a lot of girls come through here and far too many runaways. It's difficult to remember them all."

Eric held out a copy of the missing person's report; the girl's picture had been stapled in the top corner.

"Yes, I remember her. She wasn't very happy here. Many of the girls aren't. She talked about making her way to California to become an actress. I figured that's where she went."

"Do you have any of her belongings that weren't stored with the missing person's file?"

"No, but sometimes before the runaways leave, they pass on a belonging or two to their friends. You can talk to her roommates."

"Could we see her room as well, please?"

Her brow furrowed a moment. "Of course."

Eric nodded. It was possible that the girl's belongings could harbor the scent of her abductor. Hopefully another clue would follow.

• • •

Instinct had Ashley driving through the city. She had no real direction but she knew she needed to hide Nichole in a place that the sisterhood normally wouldn't go. Finally, she saw a light that called her like a beacon. Then she felt a pleasant tug. She pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be a school. She parked directly behind a marked police car. Close to even inept police would still be safer than in the middle of nowhere.

"I know this place," Nichole said. "I was sent to live here after my parents died."

Perhaps Nichole would be safe here. At least for a while. "Maybe they have a position available. Didn't you used to be a cook?"

Nichole nodded. They entered the building and followed the long hallway. A few steps from the closed office door, Ashley wondered at the wisdom of seeking his company. "Maybe we should go."

The door opened. Voices crept through before anyone was visible.

A squeal of delight sounded from Nichole just before she launched herself at the woman who stepped through the door. The woman endured the hug with a smile and patted Nichole's blonde hair. "Dr. Callie." Nichole squealed again.

Eric's gaze met Ashley's. It felt like he almost smiled, though his expression remained stern. She'd resumed the form similar to the one she usually took, a heart-shaped face and blue eyes with golden blonde hair. He'd never seen this form before, but he knew her. She could tell that somehow he could see through her disguises.

Once she had the excited woman at arm's length, Dr. Callie recognized her former resident. "Nichole Braden. How are you? What brings you back here?" The old woman's tired face came to life.

"Looking for a job," Ashley answered, gripping Nichole's arm to silence her.

"I might have something available." Dr. Callie glanced at Ashley and returned her attention to Nichole. "I have to take these gentlemen to room 235." She seemed distracted and much more interested in talking with Nichole than with anything the "gentlemen" were doing. "They are investigating a young woman who ran away. I have to show them to her former room." She linked an arm through Nichole's. "Walk with me and tell me what you are up to these days."

"Well, for one thing, Tarma got really mad at me."

"Who's Tarma?"

Ashley wanted to strangle Nichole. "Her boss. That's why she needs work."

They started up the stairs with Dr. Callie asking about Nichole's work experience. By now, Nichole had fortunately begun to catch on to watching what she said. So Ashley hung back and tried not to focus on the quizzical glances Eric sent her.

The officer with him had been with him at the bar, too. Luckily, he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. He simply smiled and nodded. By the time they'd arrived at the room, Dr. Callie had found a position for Nichole working in the kitchen at the center.

"All of the beds in this room are occupied. I'm not sure what you think you'll be able to find. The girls who don't have classes this hour are in the library, so you have time to look around," Dr. Callie said. "Take as many pictures as you need, just please put everything back where you found it. The young ladies can be very particular about who touches their belongings." To Nichole, she said, "Let's go down to my office and get the forms."

Nichole slipped the onyx band from her finger and pressed it into Ashley's hand. As she walked away she twiddled her bare fingers at her former mentor.

The officer turned toward the open door then, as if having just noticed that she still stood there. "Can we help you, miss?" he asked.

She didn't know how to respond. She just looked at Eric.

To Max, he said, "She's a friend." To her, he said, "I need to take care of this right now. Will you wait here?"

She could only nod and lean against the hallway wall. They needed to talk. He had an idea of how she kept finding him, but this time he deserved an explanation or at least the semblance of one. She tapped a light rhythm on the wall behind her. That sort of conversation could get messy.

• • •

Eric forced his attention to the investigation. There would be time enough to deal with the woman waiting for him in the hallway later.

Suzie used to live with two other girls. They each had a bed and a desk. Their dresser drawers were built into the bed frame under the mattress. Each bed had been neatly made, and there wasn't a scrap of clothing on the floor. There must be rules against leaving an untidy area. From what Eric remembered of his own adolescence, most children weren't neat unless coerced.

Starting with the things to the right of the door, Eric opened the drawers of the desk just long enough for a sniff and then closed it.

Max watched for a second and then cleared his throat. "You seem to have a method."

Moving to the drawers under the bed, Eric said, "Yup."

Max rocked to his toes and back again. "I'll just take a peek in the closet."

"Fine."

His nose told him the floor was mopped and the bedding changed regularly. One girl had a stash of candy bars in the back of her desk. Another had a stash of pot under her mattress. He'd cleared most of the room when, finally, his nose caught a scent. He crossed the room to the closet and leaned against the frame. He asked, "Find anything?" before taking a whiff.

Nothing.

As if confirming Eric's perception, Max grunted. "Nothing. Lots of shoes, just nothing useful."

The smell came from somewhere. He made to move back to where he'd left off and smelled it again. There, on the bed—under the covers—no—in a cigar box, tucked between the wall and the mattress. A rag doll in what appeared to be jeans and a black t-shirt.

"Bingo." He could smell the killer—faint, but there. Now if only there were a national scent registry, they'd be golden.

Max stood from where he was replacing shoeboxes. "That looks familiar." He dug gloves and an evidence bag from his pocket.

"Suzie didn't run away," Eric said, holding the pillow up so Max could remove the doll.

"But if she was abducted it was off the street. How did the doll get here?" Max placed the doll in the evidence bag and sealed it. Then he tucked his gloves back into his pocket.

"Let's ask Dr. Callie. We'll need to interview the occupant of this bed."

As they left the room Eric told Max to go on ahead so he could hang back to talk to the gorgeous honeyed blonde who still waited for him in the hall.

"One of these days I'm going to need to know what you really look like." He tucked his hands into his pockets.

"We need to talk."

"Yes." He used to go for this type. Blonde and curvy. But more than her looks, which seemed to change from one hour to the next, her scent drove him wild. Floral and woody. Rich and scintillating. "Do you have a car?"

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "Yes, but—"

He continued without giving her a chance to tell him why it wouldn't work out. "I have a few more things to do here. If you could wait for me, I'll treat you to lunch."

"I—we—" she floundered.

"Good."

He descended the staircase quickly. She was the one that kept finding him. She was the one that first said they needed to talk. She could wait.

Dr. Callie was already talking to Max when Eric entered the room. "Rachael brought it back from school one day. She said something about it being what Suzie left behind. I thought it was something Suzie gave to Rachael when she decided to leave."

"Had you ever seen _Suzie_ with the doll before?" Eric asked.

"I don't think so. Honestly, I didn't think anything of it."

"We know," Max said as he tapped the end of his pen against his jaw. "Is there a way you could call Rachael in here so we can ask her a few questions?"

"I'll need to be present during questioning," Dr. Callie said as she dialed an extension.

"Of course." Max notated that Dr. Callie would serve as Rachael's _guardian ad litem_.

Within minutes, a young lady about fifteen entered Dr. Callie's office and sat. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that reached her shoulders. Wisps of stray hair had pulled free and wandered across her face. Saucers of blue stared at the three adults and waited. This young lady knew from a young age to only answer the most direct questions.

Max took the lead. Pulling the bagged doll from his pocket he placed it on the desk in front of the girl. She reached a hand toward it, then thought twice, and clasped her hands together on her lap. "What can you tell me about this doll?" Max asked.

"It's mine," she said, her fingers flexed.

"Where did you get it?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"Suzie left it for me."

"How do you know that?"

"Because it was dressed just like her, and she left it in our spot."

"Your spot?"

"You know, where we stood while we waited for the bus." Everyone nodded. "I stopped to talk to Mickey Marino." She glanced at Dr. Callie. "He's really nice, but he was out of school 'cause of the flu or something so he was asking me about homework."

Dr. Callie nodded and motioned for the girl to continue.

"Suzie said she would meet me at our spot. Mickey and I walked slow 'cause I was showing him something in the book or something and when we turned the corner, she wasn't there. I thought she might have sat back in the bushes. We did that sometimes, too. Ya know, out of the sun. She wasn't back there, but this doll was. It was dressed just like her. She was always talking about running away to Hollywood. She kept saying about how it was so close and all she had to do was hitch a ride. I figured she stopped talking about it and just decided to go."

"Without saying goodbye to her best friend?" Eric asked.

"That's what the doll was, her way of saying goodbye." Again, she reached for it and stopped herself. "Why is it in the bag? Can I have it back?"

The doll was six months old. The scent of the kidnapper was there, but to anyone else it was doubtful there would be anything of use there at all. And Rachael believed it was the only thing she had of her lost friend.

"We have to keep it for just a little while. But when we are done we'll make sure you get it back," Eric said.

"Soon?" she asked.

Max crouched beside the girl's chair. "It may take a while. But as soon as we can."

She crossed her arms. "Don't forget."

"I'll bet Dr. Callie will make sure we don't forget," Eric said, winking at Rachael.

The girl sat straighter now and smiled so the stray lock of hair swung away from her face. "Oh, no. She remembers everything."

The principal smiled. "I'll make sure to keep checking with them until they are done with it."

Max stood, and both men shook Dr. Callie's hand. "I think we have all we need. My number is on the receipt for the doll."

They exited the building.

"So, he's not _just_ a kidnapper," Eric murmured. The feds would be involved for sure. They were always notified for missing children but didn't always take an active role. Now that the kidnapper had graduated to murderer, they would be all over this. Eric would have to function in front of them. Explain himself. His stomach knotted.

"I'll take this to the lab and see what they can get off of it after all this time." Max cleared his throat and opened his car door. "You go ahead and take care of your business."

Eric had been following Max to his car without thinking. But when the officer cleared his throat Eric looked up to see Ashley leaning against her SUV, watching him. "Right," he said to Max and simply stood still till the officer drove away, leaving him alone with Ashley.

"Where do you want to go for lunch?" she asked.

His mind, still concerned with the upcoming federal investigation, didn't quite register what she said. "What?"

"Food." She spoke slowly. "Eat. Talk. You buy."

_That's right._ "Our third date. We could always go back to my hotel and order room service." The flirtation came unbidden. If she took him up on it what else might he do without thinking? Still, the entertainment of verbally fencing with this enigma of a woman began to ease the queasiness.

She grunted. "A restaurant." A smile played at the corners of her mouth. "I'll pick."

# Chapter 11

Sitar music and the unmistakable scent of curry spiced the air. Once they were seated in the dimly lit Indian restaurant decorated in dark maroon and gold she began to relax somewhat. A small buffet had been set up in the corner near the kitchen, but Ashley had ordered for them.

From her studies of the sisterhood's library over the years she knew the symbols on each table were meant to encourage harmony. She also knew the symbols over the door were an ancient spell to keep away evil spirits. The sisterhood learned these so they wouldn't hunt in places with these marks. They said it was because there was no prey, but now she wasn't so sure. She had no idea what would happen if she did, but she knew no one from the sisterhood would attempt to follow her here.

Eric hadn't seemed himself when he came out of the center. But as they drove, he seemed to shake off the burden that weighed on him. Now, as he sat across from her, he cocked his head and smiled. "Did you want to start the conversation? You're the one who said we needed to talk."

"You know I'm not who I appear to be." She hesitated; how could you tell someone that fairy tales are true? That not everyone is human?

"I can tell that you're you no matter whose face you wear." He sipped his water.

"You know I can—?" She fell silent as the waiter delivered their food.

Coconut curry lamb and what Ashley only knew as butter chicken. Next came a big bowl of jasmine rice and a plate of naan bread. The waiter refilled their water and then took a closer look at Eric.

Realizing he was the subject of scrutiny, Eric smiled at the waiter. The man whispered something in another language and leaned closer. They were nearly ear to ear before Eric's eyebrows rose and he leaned back. Now it was the waiter's turn to smile. He placed a card on the table next to Eric's plate. To Ashley, he nodded. "Please enjoy."

Eric tucked the card in his pocket, glancing over his shoulder at the retreating waiter, and chuckled. When he caught Ashley's gaze, he shrugged. "Extremely distant relation."

He scooped food from the plates in the center of the table onto his own and tasted. "This is very good. I haven't tried Indian food before. I like it."

She watched him eat, then served herself. She really hadn't thought this through. The place was safe enough, but there were people around. The entire staff of the restaurant seemed to be taking turns gazing their way. For some reason, they'd become far less anonymous. Anyone could overhear. "Perhaps we _should_ talk somewhere more private."

He grunted. "I'm comfortable here, but if you need somewhere private there's always my hotel room."

"That sounds good."

That broke his concentration on his food. "Really?"

Why did he sound nervous? "Don't worry, we can finish lunch first," she teased.

He watched her for a moment. She tried to eat without self-consciousness, and failed. When she returned his gaze, he asked, "Who was the girl with you earlier?"

Lucky for her, she'd been thinking about how to describe the situation in real-world vernacular since she first ran into him that afternoon. "Something of a coworker. A trainee. Turns out she isn't really right for the job. Got into some trouble with our boss and was about to be fired. It seems as though she'll be able to get a fresh start at the center."

"Good. Where do you work?" he asked.

"That's a subject better left for later." She spooned a little more rice onto her plate.

"How long have you worked there?"

"Yeah, that should wait for later, too." She dipped a piece of naan into the sauce on her plate and bit into it.

"Is there anything you can tell me that doesn't have to wait till later? Family? Hobbies?"

She thought a moment. She had no other family besides the sisterhood. Now she didn't even have that. Her own parents died early, though she would have outlived them anyway. Images of her childhood seemed to waft from some ethereal plane. She and her mother wearing aprons and carefully pouring something into a pan. Laughter like angels singing. Sweet bread fresh from the oven smeared with jam they'd put away the year before.

Tears welled. She hadn't thought of her mother in decades. "Baking." She sniffed. "I like to bake."

"It doesn't look like you like it."

"My mother and I used to bake together before she died."

"I'm sorry for your loss." He reached for her hand.

"It was a long time ago." She dabbed at her eyes and sipped her water. "I guess I've been too focused at work to think about much else. I haven't baked since she died. I do read a lot, though."

"I like to read almost everything. I've even read a romance or two. What do you like to read?"

"Cookbooks. Nonfiction . . . " _Mostly stuff in the sisterhood library._ Now that she thought about it, she realized that it was mostly feminist occult type stuff. She coughed.

"No, that's okay." He cleared his throat. "It looks like I've eaten the lion's share. Go ahead and finish yours. I'll be right back."

He crossed to the register and paid for their meal, then was engaged in conversation by their waiter. The two of them were quickly surrounded, and the manager herded the chattering group into another room.

Leaving the table while your lunch companion was still eating was rude. It wasn't his fault—he'd only gone to pay, she reminded herself. The waiter had somehow discovered they were related. They must be catching up. But . . . Eric didn't look Indian. She'd just finished eating when Eric returned.

"Planning a family reunion?" she asked.

"Something like that." He extended a hand. "Ready to go back to my place?" He waggled his eyebrows in outrageous suggestion.

• • •

On the drive over, she changed her look again. It was thrilling to watch her transform. It took some concentration to refrain from touching her arm as her tone darkened. Now she had dark-chocolate skin and a very revealing white sundress. The contrast was appealing. The fact that it was still her made it tantalizing.

He opened the door to his hotel room for her, and when he closed it, she slid the privacy lock closed.

"So . . . " He raked his eyes over her ebony body. "Are you a natural brunette?"

"Why doesn't this freak you out?" She seemed irritated at his easy acceptance. Of course, that made it more fun to bother her. "What's your deal?"

He pulled two bottled waters from the mini fridge, passed her one, and took a sip of his own. "You first."

She squared her shoulders. "I'm a member of the sisterhood."

He shrugged. "I'm a member of Marroni's Gym."

They stared at each other for a while. He could see very clearly she was fighting the urge to smack him. He let the corner of his mouth rise a bit. "Okay, what is the sisterhood?"

"It is a group of women. Their main goal is to rid the world of men's evil."

"I take it you don't mean mankind's evil." He sipped his water and sat on the edge of the bed.

She shook her head.

"And how do they do the ridding?"

"By removing their souls and thereby their lives."

His small smile was gone now. He'd heard about them before. Back home, a drug dealer had run into the precinct naked and raving about sisters who wanted to eat his soul, but Eric hadn't believed they existed. But then _he_ existed, so why shouldn't they? "You're a succubus."

This time, it was she who shrugged. "I never thought of myself like that. I suppose I am. I wasn't born this way."

He nodded and closed the cap on this water bottle. "I was reborn last year." It was still hard to admit it. Even having beaten the curse, and with all the good that it had allowed him to do, he still felt . . . Was it shame? He forced out the words. "As a werewolf."

Ashley stepped back.

"No need to fear. The curse is beatable. I mean, I'm still a werewolf, but it doesn't control me." Eric's shoulders sagged. "Physically, at least," he whispered. The conversation wasn't going well. He hadn't planned on sharing that with her, and now she was afraid. He took a deep breath and focused on the positive. She hadn't run yet.

"Yeah, but it's . . . " Her eyes darted about as she searched for the right word. "Contagious."

"I don't bite." He rubbed a hand across his face. "I've never talked about this with a non-werewolf before." Her doubt resonated from her as she maintained her distance. "No, really, the one that made me was a serial killer. He used me as bait to get to my partner. She killed him. Then she and her husband helped me beat the curse, kept me from killing during my first full moon, but . . . "

It hurt for him to admit what he had become. He was strong, though, strong enough to keep going. Strong enough not to turn the hurt onto someone else.

• • •

She had hurt like that so many years ago. Then Tarma came and helped her out of the abyss. If only she could do that for Eric now. Every part of her wanted to try. No matter what he felt about what he'd become, he wasn't the monster he thought he was.

She'd never known a werewolf before, but she supposed if succubae could exist, so could werewolves. Now she knew how he knew her when she shifted. She must smell the same. The small spark of delight at figuring out the puzzle dimmed with his pain.

She reached for him and took his hand. Then she scooted closer. She could already sense his wariness of her next move. Sliding still closer, she leaned into his neck and inhaled the combination of shampoo, cologne, and man. She sighed.

His trembling fingers traced their way up her thigh, and she shivered in anticipation.

His breathing deepened and then stopped.

She leaned back. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his lips pressed together into a thin line. Why did he stop himself? He wasn't repulsed by her . . . or was he? "What is it?"

She pulled away further, but his hand caught hers before she could leave his side completely. "I can't be cavalier about this. There was a time—" He shook his head. His eyes pleaded with her to understand. "Even once for me now means forever. I . . . we need to be sure."

"Sure of us?" She chuckled softly. "I'm not even sure of me anymore. A week ago I would have separated your soul from your body without a moment of hesitation. I was always taught that if I hesitated—heck, if any woman hesitates—to see if a man is more than he seems, I put the world in danger.

"But I let you in. Because of Nichole, I hesitated with you and not only are you more than you seemed, you're doing something to me." She squeezed his fingers. "But you need to know, I am sure of you. I can see your soul, even if you can't. You are not a monster.

"I was married when I was barely a woman; the sisterhood saved me shortly after. I lived with them for four decades."

His eyebrows rose as he did the math.

"Eric, I haven't even attempted to love someone for forty years. I don't know that I've ever made love. If you must wait, I can do that." She winked. "When you reach my age you get good at waiting."

That got a chuckle from him. She could see his pain ease.

Together, they lay back on the bed, fingers entwined. He cleared his throat. "You are a succubus." When she nodded, he continued, "You were training the other woman, Nichole. Why?"

"I was going to be a part of the inner circle." She'd been so proud; now the thought sent a wave of disgust through her.

He grunted. "A promotion. You must have been good at your job."

"Yes."

"What does that entail? You wouldn't get a raise?"

"I didn't know at first. After I pledged to train Nichole, I was taken for a ceremony to take in the spirit. I wonder now if that meant something more. It's possible they are trying to make me into a demon."

"Sounds like fun." He stiffened a little, but he didn't release her hand.

"I might have gone along with it, until I met Nichole." It felt important for her to admit it to him.

"Oh." His thumb stroked hers.

"She had some crazy idea that men could be redeemed."

"Absolutely insane." Not a hint of sarcasm tinted his words.

"It was. But the other night—the night you and I first spoke, in fact—she stopped me short of ripping a man's soul out completely. I was so close. But she saved him. When I tracked him down later his wife said he was a new man. He seemed like it. He seemed fulfilled. It's like I gave him a second chance at making the right choice."

"That sounds great. What's the problem?" He nudged her foot with his toe.

"I think the Mother, our leader, already knew about the ability to give second chances. I don't think she cares. Nichole told them about her ideas, and they asked me to take care of her."

"They asked you to kill her. Your own student."

"Yes. They told me to do it quick so it wouldn't bother me so much. Now I've helped her escape, and they'll know that I know their secret. They'll be after me next. All they would have to do is extract her soul to learn everything that's happened. Then they would know about me. About us. We haven't gone too far for you, but we've already crossed the point of no return for me."

She withdrew her hand from his and propped herself up on one elbow to face him. "You want to know how I keep finding you? Our souls have begun to mingle. You carry pieces of me in you." She placed a finger on his chest. "I couldn't release the pieces of you if I tried, and for a while, I did try. I can see the bits of me are happy here." She tapped him again. "I wouldn't want to move them now if I could. If the sisterhood finds out any of this they will destroy us both."

She rested her forehead against his solid chest, exhausted. Emotionally drained. She wanted to be with this man every waking moment of the day. But if anyone found out, the two of them would be eradicated. Their souls fed to demons only the Mother knew.

Love had made her miserable, just as the sisterhood had promised it would.

• • •

Screams pierced the darkness. Deep throaty shrieks and heavy flapping wings of a demon on the attack echoed in stark contrast to the high-pitched wails of a woman in pain. The musky scent of scales swept away by the breeze.

"Ashley. Help me." Nichole gasped before the creature dove again, talons outstretched.

• • •

"Nichole." Ashley woke from where she'd been snuggled against Eric. They'd fallen asleep clothed. She got out of bed and checked her pocket for her keys.

He'd opened his eyes when she sat up in bed; now he was standing too. "What's wrong?"

"I think they found her." She found her keys. "I have to go to the center."

"You're not going alone." He slipped on a holster and gun, then his leather jacket on top of that.

They raced to the parking garage. At one in the morning, the party scene in Vegas was starting to get really hot. The press of cars on the Strip made Ashley wish jumping out and running could get her there faster.

Finally, traffic started to move. Once they were clear of the Strip, Eric asked, "How do you know she's in trouble?"

"She called out to me."

"Succubae are telepathic?"

"We're connected. You wouldn't understand." She raced through a yellow light.

"Careful, a speeding ticket will only slow us down."

She decelerated a little. Almost there. They flew around a corner and nearly into a limo with six women sticking their heads out of the moon roof. The sound of Nichole's screams seemed to echo in her ears. Ashley skidded into the parking lot sideways, finally coming to a stop so close to the side of the center's van she had to crawl out of Eric's door.

There was no sound besides their labored breathing.

"Where is she?" Ashley demanded.

There was no bellow of demons or flapping of wings. Only traffic in the distance.

She ran to the center's front doors and then around the side of the building to look into their field area. "Where is she?"

Eric had drawn his weapon when he got out of the car. But as they stood in the quiet parking lot, no evidence of any activity around the building, he put it away. "Ashley, there's no one here."

She stood staring at the building. "There has to be."

"The only people are inside. Asleep." He crossed to her and wrapped his arms around her. "Could it have just been a nightmare?"

"No." She looked around again. "It was so real."

"We can come back in the morning to talk to her if you want."

"Yeah." She nodded slowly, sorting through the images in her dream. What had she seen? Nichole, broken and bleeding. Collapsed on asphalt. It was a parking lot. Dark asphalt and bright yellow lines. Ashley looked at her feet as Eric led her to the car. The lot was faded to a light gray even in the dim light. The lines of the spaces were pale white.

"It wasn't this parking lot." Ashley jerked her shoulder away from Eric. "Either Nichole wasn't attacked here—"

"Then where would she be?"

"Right, or—"

A flap of wings overhead revealed the answer. "It was a trap," Eric finished, drawing his gun again.

Doors slammed. Nichole called from the door of the center. "Ashley!"

"It still is," Eric yelled as he grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the front doors. A deep musk descended, covering them like a blanket. The deep sound of flapping wings circled overhead, out of sight, but every beat an ominous rhythm. With Eric at her right, Ashley positioned Nichole behind them. They stepped backward to try to force the confused woman back into the building.

"Why are you here? What is that?" Nichole shouted over the demon's screams.

"Tarma," Ashley answered. As one landed and folded its enormous wings, another circled overhead and then swooped. Two. There was no way they could fight off two. "And Lena."

Demons. Their skin covered in scales, dark and slick, glistened like ebony in the distant streetlights. After Tarma landed, she clacked her jaws; it sounded like cracking bone.

When the second landed, both creatures shifted into human forms. "Sisters, we need to talk." Tarma reached out her hands.

"You've left us. Without word. We were worried," Lena said as they both stepped forward.

"Aw." Nichole started toward them. "We're fine, really."

"No." Ashley tried to push the infuriatingly innocent woman behind her again. "They want to kill you. Go inside."

The women kept coming. They were barely three yards away. "The Mother wishes only to know you are cared for," Tarma said.

Lena finished, "As she does with all of her children. You are her child, Nichole. You always will be. We care for you."

"We accepted you."

"We love you."

Two yards away. Both women reached out now. "There is no need to be frightened."

Nichole ducked under Ashley's arm and reached for the women. Ashley cried, "No!"

In a blink, demons stood in the women's places.

Eric roared. And in an instant, he shifted into what could only be called a giant wolf. He attacked Lena with claws and teeth. His gun was forgotten. Ashley wanted to stop him; his fur was so fragile compared to their scales.

Eric slammed his body into Tarma, sending her flying. Then he landed for an instant before leaping at Lena. Claws found their way under her scales and ripped as he wrenched, taking great gobs of flesh with them.

Lena landed a bite on his shoulder, but before she could bear down he raked his claws across an exposed eye and she roared in pain.

Half watching Eric's battle, Ashley wished she could help him. But she had to get Nichole to safety first. "Inside!" Ashley yelled, grabbing Nichole and pulling the innocent behind her once more.

When Ashley spun to face Tarma she found nothing.

"Ashley." The gurgled word came from behind her. Ashley spun, but it was too late.

Tarma had circled her and ripped out Nichole's throat.

Ashley screamed. Fury shook her body, and claws erupted from her own fingers. She leapt upon the back of the demon and tore at the leathery wings with every ounce of strength. The creature burst into the air and shook Ashley loose. She landed on top of Eric's gun. As fast as she could she aimed and fired, over and over, into the sky after the retreating demon.

She didn't realize the magazine had gone empty until Eric's calm hand covered hers and took the weapon from her. Deaf from the reports of the gun, she saw his lips move but couldn't hear what he said. She followed the motion of his hand and saw Lena, now in human form and torn to pieces.

She looked closer at him. He was covered in Lena's blood. He needed to get off the street. Behind her, Nichole gurgled again. Eric's predicament forgotten for a moment she knelt beside her former protégé, her friend, and wept. "I'm so sorry." She cradled the petite woman's body. "Oh, Nichole, I'm so sorry."

Nichole offered a faint smile before she slipped away.

• • •

Eric gave her a moment to grieve. But just that. The shots had alerted others who'd called the police. "Darling, we have to leave."

Sirens were getting closer. She wasn't budging. Eric did the only thing he could and called Aaron.

He gave him the address of the double homicide they'd attempted to interrupt and told him cars were already on the way. Luckily, Aaron hadn't yet gone home for the day and called dispatch, told them he was en route, and that there was an undercover already on the scene.

With the bottled water and napkins Ashley had in the car he cleaned his face the best he could and rinsed his mouth with water. A quick examination of Lena confirmed she wouldn't become some mutant werewolf-demon hybrid, if that was even possible. She had not survived his attack.

Ashley was still bent over her friend's fallen body when the police, and soon Aaron, arrived on the scene. Eric told and retold the lie he'd made up on the fly. She had been giving him a tour of the area when he saw the two women being attacked by a dark figure. They attempted to subdue the attacker, who got away. Ashley had tried to save her friend, and he tried to save the other one. "She seemed to be losing blood from every artery. It got all over me."

EMTs changed him into scrubs, and the police bagged his clothes. The wounds he'd sustained from the fight had already healed before he changed. His blood wouldn't register as human anyway, so they would toss it out as cross-contamination.

After Eric had changed, Aaron pulled him aside. "What's happening here, man? This is the place you investigated today, for the homicide. I read Max's report."

"Nothing to do with our investigation."

"I still think I should know." Aaron glanced around.

"Not here. We'll talk, off the record, in the morning."

"You've got four hours until morning, slick."

"Feds will be on the scene by then."

"Yes," Aaron said. His eyes narrowed at Eric.

"Did you get anything off the doll?"

"Two pieces of hair. Brunette. They are running them for DNA, but a match could take days. If he's in the system at all."

"Could be the victim's. Could be one of his other victims'. Could belong to the kid who stashed it under her pillow."

"Could be his. If we get a match, then you've cracked this case wide open."

"That would be nice." Eric ran a hand through his hair. Still caked with blood. "Then I can get home."

Aaron grunted. "Damn it, man, don't make me wait to talk around feds. What's happening here?"

"Fine. You want the truth?" Eric leaned in so his mouth was inches away from Aaron's ear. "She's a succubus, I'm a werewolf, and we just fought off two demons. One changed back into a woman, and the other got away."

Aaron's eyes were wild when he pulled away. "Fuck you, man. If you don't want to tell me, fine." He stalked away. The glance over his shoulder seemed more worried than angry.

It was practically dawn when they got back to the hotel room.

Ashley had been quiet the whole ride back. Her expressionless face stared straight ahead most of the time. Now and then she'd glance down to pluck at the dried blood on the hem of her shirt.

She'd jerked away every time the investigative unit tried to have her change, so they'd scraped and cut off what they needed while she cradled Nichole. Eric had had to hold her back while they bagged her friend's body. But even the struggle she put forth was half-hearted. When the life drained from Nichole's body, the fight drained from Ashley.

He turned the radio to an oldies station for the ride and didn't attempt small talk. Most likely, she didn't care what happened with the police, so he didn't fill her in.

She looked haggard and worn when they rode up in the elevator. About halfway up, she seemed to note her appearance. She straightened her clothes and combed her fingers through her hair. When the elevator doors opened, a peal of laughter from behind a closed door made her flinch.

No sooner did they enter his room than Ashley began to pace the floor.

"Are you okay?" he asked, though he knew full well that she wasn't.

"I killed her."

"No—" He stepped toward her.

"No." She held up her hand to stop him. "I left her. I knew she was in danger. So what did I do? I left her in the care of an innocent teacher, in a school full of innocent girls. Then what did I do? I led them straight to her. They couldn't find her. They needed me. They used me," she cried. "They _used_ me."

She stormed to the window, opened the curtains, looked out over the Strip, and then closed them quickly. "Men will hurt you." She seemed to mimic someone. "They will lie to you, cheat you to get what they want, and use you." She coughed out a sob. "That's what the Mother would say." She began to shake with her tears. "It's what they all said. But they were no better than what they said men were.

He wanted to help, but in the face of her pain, all he could do was try again to wrap his arms around her. This mother creature wouldn't let this be the end of it. Ashley was a loose end. At just the thought of the woman in his arms in danger, he could feel the beast within him fight to surface.

Once the weeping subsided, he said, "They will be coming for you next."

"Yes," she said, her face still pressed against his chest.

"The question is: how did they track you?"

Her brow furrowed. "I tracked you by following the bit of me that had become a part of you. But I could see it. Nichole could see the part of you in me. If the Mother or Tarma left a part of themselves _in_ me or Nichole, I would be able to tell. So that can't be it." She shook her head and paced away. Shoving her hands in her pockets she stopped and her eyes widened. Slowly, she pulled her hand out. When her fingers opened he could see a black onyx ring in her palm, just like the one she wore.

She placed Nichole's ring on the dresser. "That's got to be how they are doing it," she said, unable to look away from it.

He took her shoulder and made her face him. Then he lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "Well then take it off."

# Chapter 12

It was simple enough. Slip off the ring. She knew what Tarma and the Mother were now. The sisterhood wasn't the blessing she'd believed for so many decades.

She knew all of this, and yet she couldn't let it go. The power and the sense of purpose had sustained her all of this time. No matter its origin, it saved her when she needed it. Removing the ring felt like turning her back on it and throwing it away.

Eric watched her expectantly. To him, it was the logical choice. He would probably give up being a werewolf in a second.

Nichole had done it. She'd given it up without a moment's hesitation. For Nichole, the choice was simple—she'd wanted to be happy, she hadn't needed power, she'd known the right path when she saw it, so she leapt.

_If I had chosen when Nichole had, she would still be alive._

Tears rose again, and Ashley blinked them away. She wouldn't hesitate anymore. She gripped the band and tugged. It wouldn't move. No matter how she twisted and wriggled, the black band seemed permanently attached.

"What's wrong?" Eric asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if readying to launch himself into a brawl.

"I can't get it off." The indecision of a moment ago was replaced by panic. Suddenly, ridding herself of the cursed thing meant immediate life or death. She ran into the bathroom, selected the complimentary bottle of lotion, and squirted it on the ring. Pulled and twisted. She dug her nails under the band and tugged.

She shifted to an extremely overweight person, and the ring expanded. Then she shifted to a child. She yanked. With every shift, the ring shifted with her. Fat, thin, big, little. Maybe if she shifted and pulled fast enough, at just the right time . . .

Finally, Eric's arms reached into the flurry of images and caught her shoulders. "Easy," he whispered. "We'll figure something out."

"You were right. They'll come after me next. They're probably hunting me down now." She rested her head against his broad shoulder. Even in her current state she realized he was the steady force she wanted. If only she could give up the ring, the power, the strength.

But, if they caught up to her, they would find him as well. "I have to leave."

He caught her arm even as she turned away. "Not a chance." He scooped her off her feet.

"You're in danger."

"So what if I am? It wouldn't be the first time." After he placed her on the bed he opened the mini fridge and passed her a bottle of water. "Besides, I don't know if you were watching me tonight, but I think I handled myself rather well."

The cool water eased her aching throat. He _had_ torn Lena to shreds. He handled himself so well that Tarma had fled rather than try to take them both on. He'd saved her life tonight. "You were amazing."

He smiled at the compliment even as he answered his ringing phone. He listened for a few minutes and then said, "I'm on my way." To her, he said, "Another girl was taken. I have to go." She began to stand, but he laid a hand on her shoulder. "No, you should stay here."

She took his hand in her own and stood. "They can get to me here."

"There is surveillance all over the place in this hotel." He waved his free hand toward the ceiling. "Nothing can happen without it being seen and recorded."

"They can change their appearance. They can be anyone. Surveillance won't make a difference. They could look like a senator if they wanted to." She laid a hand on his cheek. "They could look like you."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Fine, but you'll need to be in disguise."

It took some negotiation. He insisted she use a form she'd never used before. Finally, he took out his phone and flipped to a picture of his old partner. "This is my old partner. Can you be her?"

She looked at the phone and smiled. He had to be joking. "We are going to a crime scene, and you want me to look pregnant?"

"Oh." The irritation packed into that word, coupled with the way his brow furrowed as he flipped for a different picture, struck her as funny. Despite the seriousness of their situation and the hell of the last twenty-four hours, she couldn't help but laugh quietly.

"Use this one of her," he said, handing her the phone again and rolling his eyes as she struggled to quell the fit of giggles.

When she got a hold of herself, she reviewed the picture and passed the phone back. "I'll wait to change until we're in the car." She waved her hand like he had. "There are eyes everywhere, and we don't want people thinking you've got a harem stashed in your room."

• • •

At the stoplight just before the upscale Henderson neighborhood he glanced at her. He did a double take. It was as if Lydia were sitting shotgun, just like old times. "Uncanny. Do you sound like her, too?"

"I could, but I've never met her," Ashley said. Then she frowned. "Will that be a problem?"

He thought for a minute. "No, it's fine. None of them have either." He made the turn. "Still, I'd rather introduce you as an assistant with another name."

"Rose Bailey," she said. And when he shot a look in her direction, she explained, "I had an elderly neighbor once. She would feed me when no one else could be bothered. It was her name."

"Okay, _Rose_ , just follow my lead and let me do the talking, okay?"

"Not a problem. I don't have any delusions of being a detective."

Eric pulled the car in behind a black and white with its lights on. A quick survey of the street revealed the feds had already arrived.

Another child stolen from the home of a wealthy family. Was the kidnapper simply becoming more refined in his tastes? They exited the vehicle and Eric muttered, "Here we go."

They approached the uniformed officers stationed at the front door, and Eric displayed his ID. "We were called to consult by Detective Decker."

After a moment of close examination, the officer nodded to a man in a suit who stood just behind him. This man spoke into a walkie-talkie. A short while later, the door opened, and Aaron motioned for them to enter.

To his credit, Aaron didn't hesitate a beat when Eric introduced Ashley as his assistant, Rose, though his gaze swept over her before he led them upstairs. Did his eyes hesitate while looking at her abdomen? Did Aaron recognize Lydia and say nothing? Faced with that level of trust, Eric knew he should trust Aaron in return. However, the stretch would still be greater on Aaron's part. Believing in werewolves wouldn't be easy.

"Victoria Gunderson, twelve, disappeared from her bedroom between midnight and four a.m." Once again, Aaron knew the way through the maze of hallways, so he led the way. "She stayed up late watching a movie with her parents, and then when her mother was up in the middle of the night and saw her door closed she decided to check on her and found nothing. She is similar to the other girls who were taken in hair, eyes, and general facial and body structure.

"Crime scene unit has gone over the room already, but let's not disturb anything if we can avoid it." He handed them gloves and booties to go over their shoes. Once they were properly garbed he opened the bedroom door. "I think he was caught by surprise with this one."

Where Olivia's room had been decorated in pastels, Victoria's was done in earth tones. The effect was peaceful. A yoga mat lay in the middle of the floor on one side of her bed. In a far corner stood an overstuffed easy chair. An entire wall held a wide variety of books and what appeared to be fantasy statues, unicorns, and dragons. On the floor near the chair, standing on its pages as if dropped, was a book with a blue cover.

Ashley crossed the room to it. A yellow marker with a number two stood beside the book. Aaron cleared his throat as she bent to retrieve the book. Her fingers paused in midair. She gripped them into a fist and read the spine of the book aloud. " _Witch Way to Turn_ , by Karen Y. Bynum." She looked at the men, then back at the book. "We need to leave it?"

"Yes," they said together.

Where Victoria's life was similar to Olivia Koburn's, it differed from Suzie Hogan by leaps and bounds. If it weren't for his nose, Eric wouldn't believe the three kidnappings and Susie's murder were connected. The only evidentiary way to connect them was the dolls. Not that anything about the dolls had proven traceable either.

"Did we find a doll?" Eric asked.

"Yes. Dressed for bed." Aaron turned to face the bed.

The bed hadn't been touched. It looked like the kidnapper had interrupted her reading. But the book was not the only thing out of place. Several of the girl's shoes were scattered away from the wall where three other pairs were aligned. "They struggled."

Aaron nodded.

"Where was the doll found?"

Aaron raised a finger. "That's why I think she did some damage when she fought back. The working theory is that he leaves the doll where he finds them. Susie, on the street. Olivia, sleeping in her bed. Victoria's doll was found propped at an awkward angle against the shelving here." He indicated a yellow marker with a black number one on it. "It was dressed in a blue nightshirt and gray sweatpants. Her mother confirmed it resembled what she wearing at the time of her disappearance."

"He expected her to be sleeping. That's why she surprised him." Ashley could visualize a dark figure sneaking into the room only to find his intended prey reading and not as easy to capture as he thought.

Eric nodded, his eyes somber, but his approval of her statement evident in the small twitch in the corner of his mouth. It warmed her.

"The drapes are blackout curtains," Aaron said. "He had no idea she was still awake until he'd already gotten inside. We found no blood or hair, so she didn't get him as good as we would hope. But she stood her ground and made enough ruckus that he dropped the doll here, rather than leave it in the chair or tuck it into bed. He grabbed her and left in a hurry. She struggled, but he fought to take her anyway. Either he really wanted her, or"—he raised an eyebrow—"she saw him and he couldn't risk her identifying him."

"If she knew her kidnapper that would give us a lead at least. Otherwise, we know how this will end," Eric practically growled. A cool hand rested on his arm. With a glance into Ashley's eyes he knew she shared his hurt.

Memories of his attack began to surface. The dim warehouse. Moving through the pallets of newspaper stacked ten feet high. His gun was at the ready, but his quarry moved more silently than a movie ninja. There was a tap on his shoulder. He spun.

"Eric?" It was Aaron. "Are you all right? Do you need some air?"

"No, I'm fine." He waved away the concern. To Ashley, he whispered, "Later."

Aaron glanced at the empty doorway and then stepped closer to Eric. "What's going on here? Rose? I've seen pictures of your old partner. Who is this girl? Do you want to clue me in?"

"This isn't the time." Another look at Aaron's face and Eric cleared his throat. "You wouldn't believe most of it. Let's just say she's got some talent when it comes to detective work. If anyone asks, she is a consultant from my end."

• • •

Aaron's suspicions put Ashley on edge. What could he be thinking? He was a decent enough man. He'd killed before, but she could also see he took no pleasure in it. His virtues overshadowed his sins. She wouldn't have looked at him twice when she was hunting for the sisterhood. Still, if he threatened Eric, she'd drain the cop without a second thought.

Aaron's stony gaze swept over both of them. "Fine, for now." He pointed at Eric. "We're going to have a long talk."

"Okay." She allowed Eric to make his promise. She didn't know Aaron, but she trusted Eric to make the best call for them.

"Soon."

"Count on it."

The three of them turned to face the scene. Eric muttered, "He didn't bother with a note this time."

Aaron crossed his arms. "No, if she caught him off guard maybe he didn't feel he had the time."

"Excuse me." A man in a dark blue uniform and bright blue booties covering his shoes tapped a knuckle on the door jam. "We need to sweep the room."

"Again?"

"Mr. Gunderson insisted."

Nodding, Aaron led them from the room.

Once they were in the hall, a crew of crime scene techs filed into the bedroom, each holding another piece of equipment. Ashley said, "Mr. Gunderson must have considerable influence."

Aaron grunted. "You could say that."

Eric led the way down the hall. "Let's see if we can ask the parents a couple of questions."

The first floor of the house was still swarming with federal agents. Taking pictures. Talking to servants. Talking to each other. Many of them stopped their conversations to watch the trio descend the stairs. When they reached the bottom, the conversations resumed, more quietly.

"They are interviewing the family in the father's home office."

Even as they approached the room Ashley's mouth began to water. Someone in that room was depraved. The stench of it billowed through the door. Her ring burned. Her eyes fogged.

Eric gripped her arm. "Are you all right?"

"Someone in that room is corrupt." Her voice was hoarse with the need to feed. "I don't know . . . if I can control myself." She looked into his eyes and saw his confusion. "You know I feed on sin . . . " She gasped. "It's unbearable."

He nodded and handed her the keys. "Wait in the car."

• • •

When he caught up with Aaron, Eric nodded in the direction Ashley went. "She felt sick."

Aaron nodded. "It's a difficult case."

They moved quietly to the corner of the room. They stood behind two overstuffed easy chairs separated by a small table and lamp. Eric's first thought as he saw the study was that his grandmother would love to have a room like this.

The walls were lined with bookcases and filled with books. Reference books behind the heavy wooden desk, classics and varieties of fiction along the other three walls. Judging by the colors of the spines and the size, many were romance paperbacks. Stained-glass transoms, dark because of the hour, topped several of the bookcases.

The girl's mother and another man who patted her hand sat on a small spindly couch in front of the bookcases.

Behind the desk sat, Eric presumed, the father of the girl. A fed and Aaron's boss occupied the visitors' chairs, while what appeared to be another fed stood off to the side. Every so often, he would narrow his eyes and write something. He emitted an air of suspicion. It was a tactic. Someone for the father to focus on aside from the questions. _The better to trip you up, my dear,_ Eric thought.

The girl's father didn't squirm. He was poised, yes, but behind the air of control, something that must've been a habit for the powerful man, was the panic of a distressed father—a crease between his eyes that never smoothed, hands that maintained a death pinch on either end of a gold pen.

After ten minutes or so the pacing agent received a nod from the female doing the questioning and left the room. As he passed, the air currents wafted in Eric's direction. A familiar scent caught his attention. The killer had either been in the room recently, or he was still here.

How could Eric scan the room? The pacing tactic had been done and discarded. The father had officially moved to the category of victim's father. Eric glanced at Aaron and motioned for the two of them to leave the room.

Aaron's eyes widened as they rounded the corner. "Seriously, what's going on? He was making an enemies list. There are probably dozens of leads in those names."

"The feds will make you a copy."

Aaron continued to stare.

"Or at least they will be tracking down the leads themselves. Look, I need you to trust me one more time. I think our guy is in that room." At Aaron's sharp intake of breath Eric held up a hand. "I know I'm on thin ice with you as it is, and if I could explain everything now I would."

Aaron's face didn't twitch.

Eric chuckled softly. "I forgot what a good poker face you have." He considered a short version and dismissed it. This wasn't the place to debate the paranormal. "I'll tell you everything over coffee as soon as we're done here."

No reaction.

"Dude." Eric glanced over Aaron's shoulder to the three agents still outside the office. "We _really_ can't talk about it here. It's the best I got."

Aaron ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. How do we find out if you're right?"

"I need a plausible reason to circle the room."

Aaron nodded. "How many times?"

"Just once. I need to get close to everyone for a second."

Eric's oldest friend stared at him, seeming to search his eyes for the reason behind his words. "Fine," he said again, "but when we're done I want a big-ass coffee and not some pussy espresso."

Eric clapped Aaron's shoulder. "Deal. Now how do I get around the room?"

"That's easy enough."

When they reentered the office, the man who had sat beside the wife had stepped to the right-hand corner of the desk. Mr. Gunderson had begun to ask questions of his own. Although he wouldn't appreciate it, an interruption would keep him from working himself up.

Aaron walked up beside the agent who sat in a visitors' chair. "Excuse me. I'm Lieutenant Aaron Decker and this is my associate, Detective Eric Adams."

Hellos were exchanged, and Eric moved to shake everyone's hand.

The FBI agent was clean. So were the father and mother. Though, from the wobble and the faint botanical smell on the mother's breath, she'd washed down an anxiety pill with gin.

The man who stood at the right-hand corner of Mr. Gunderson's desk stepped up and extended a hand.

_HIM._

This man, with his expensive Italian suit, smooth face, and neatly trimmed dark, wavy hair, was the man who'd kidnapped the girls. This businessman had killed Suzie Hogan and who knew who else. "Hello, I'm Irving Pilcher, Mr. Gunderson's Chief Operations Officer."

Eric forced himself not to growl as he gripped Pilcher's cool, dry hand. "Sorry to meet you under these circumstances."

The man nodded. "Are you the team who've been trying to find the other missing girls on this case?"

"Yes."

Pilcher nodded again and stepped to stand beside Mr. Gunderson and put a hand on the father's shoulder. "Russell, these men have been trying to track this guy down and are stymied." To the FBI agent, he said, "I trust the FBI is in control of the investigation." Then he locked eyes with Eric.

Mr. Gunderson said, "Of course, we will appreciate any help you can offer."

Aaron passed a card to the FBI agent and laid one on the desk. "We will help in any way we can."

As they left the room Pilcher's voice could be heard, followed closely by the FBI agent assuring that while they wouldn't alienate any possible recourse they were in charge of the investigation now.

Aaron and Eric exited the front of the home. Aaron hissed, "Thanks a lot."

Eric glanced around and caught sight of Ashley standing next to the car. "Look. Do what you've got to do, then lead the way to breakfast. We'll give you that explanation."

"It's Saturday." Aaron glanced toward the sky brightening in the east. "Viv is always up with the sun. Come to my house for breakfast. She'll never let me hear the end of it if you don't stop by while you're in town."

Eric checked the sky as well. The setting moon was almost full. He had about four days to bring this guy in before Lydia went into labor. He could see Ashley patiently sitting in the car.

Aaron shifted his stance and caught Eric's attention. Eric said, "I think I can speak for both of us; after a night like tonight your wife's cooking sounds like heaven."

• • •

Aaron lived in a smallish house on a street filled with others just like it. The yard was trimmed, and a variety of flowering cacti filled the beds. With the low humidity and the nearly constant breeze it was easy to forget they were in a desert.

As they followed Aaron into the house, Ashley whispered, "Good people live here."

From the entryway, the scent of baking cinnamon and fresh coffee greeted them. "Vivian is the best cook," Eric said.

"Does your nana know that's what you think?" Vivian's lime-green apron would have seemed out of place on most people, however, on the radiant woman, it worked.

"Best after her, of course." Eric pretended to stammer as he returned her embrace.

She lifted her head from his shoulder. "Who's this?" she asked as she offered a hand to Ashley.

"Um," Ashley said.

"Yes." Aaron set a briefcase on the sofa just inside the living room and turned to Eric. "Would you like to introduce us to your companion?"

"My name is Ashley Paulo." She shared a glance with Eric, who nodded. "I'm a member of a sisterhood of succubae."

"And I've been a werewolf for the past year."

"Oh." Vivian smiled. "Well, I hope you're okay with apple cinnamon pancakes for breakfast, or maybe you'd like bacon and eggs, or better yet"—she patted Eric's chest—"I could defrost a chicken." Still giggling, she left the room.

Vivian had reacted as most people would. Aaron, on the other hand, stood as if flash-frozen, his eyes wide, his hands still holding the newspaper he'd brought into the house.

"You're not serious." He crossed the room and placed the paper on the coffee table. Still facing the paper, he spoke, "There's no such thing—well, Viv watches these shows—reads some books. It's not real." He turned to face them. "It's not real."

"Okay, it's not." Eric clapped his friend on the shoulder and squeezed. "You wanted to know, and I told you. I can't force you to believe me." He squeezed again before turning away. "Let's go get some of that breakfast." He tried to step past his friend to the door Vivian had used.

Aaron didn't move. "But—"

"I can convince him," Ashley said, stepping between them.

"Are you sure?" Eric asked.

"There's no way he'll really believe us otherwise. We know who the killer is. And there's no catching this guy alive without backup." She didn't need to go into the way they would have to stop him without Aaron's help. Ever the cop, Eric could bring people to justice, but extracting it on his own took a coldness he didn't have.

"What do you mean by that?" Aaron asked.

"You want him to face justice. If we go it alone, that won't happen." Her voice was hard as stone.

"You'll kill him," Aaron said.

"Worse. And even with you ready to scoop him up I can't say I won't do irreparable damage." She shook out her shoulders.

There was a long lull broken only by Viv's humming and the occasional clatter in the kitchen.

"I'm a sister succubus," Ashley continued. "I can change my form in order to attract prey."

Eric circled her to stand at Aaron's side. If he was startled, he might draw the weapon holstered at his side. Even Eric's quick reflexes might not be able to stop the reaction.

She made the change slowly. Eric recognized the woman as the one they'd raced through the night to save. Nichole.

"Wa—" Aaron started, his voice about two octaves too high.

"Steady," Eric muttered.

Even as a tear rolled down her cheek, she darkened her skin to that of a perfect chocolate chip cookie and shifted her features to simulate Vivian.

"Viv?" Aaron stammered.

"Yes, dear?" came the response from the kitchen.

"Uh . . . Is breakfast almost ready?"

"A few more minutes, but you can come pour some coffee if you want."

Even as the real Vivian responded to her husband, Ashley was already changing into a replica of Eric. The real Eric winked.

When she'd shifted back into her version of Lydia she stopped and leaned against the arm of the couch for a second. Both men stepped toward her. She released a weak laugh. "It's harder than it used to be."

Eric's smile faded, and he stepped even closer.

Ashley raised a hand. "I'm fine."

• • •

His eyes held only concern. He was too close. Hunger built within her—not for food, and not for his soul. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this kind of hunger.

Had his shoulders always been so broad? Had his eyes always seen into her heart? She reached a hand to touch Eric's face. A night's growth of beard prickled her fingertips. Had his lips always looked so inviting?

As he leaned closer, Eric whispered, "You're beautiful."

She'd been told that by countless men over the years. Mostly prey. And none of them had been talking about anything other than her looks. Eric's words meant something. A flush filled her cheeks.

His lips, soft and warm, pressed against hers. Her body reacted instantly. Libido, long dormant, inflamed every inch of her. She slid her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him closer. The kiss deepened. The room, the horrors of the past few days, everything slipped away as their bodies pressed against each other.

"Hey." The voice seemed so far away. "Hey." It sounded again like the insistent droning of a mosquito. "I hate to break this up, but Viv could walk in at any second, and you don't look a thing like you did a second ago."

Ashley glanced into the mirror, and a face she hadn't seen in a long time looked back at her.

"Hello?" Aaron stalked toward them. "Whenever you're ready?" His widened eyes emphasized his hoarse whisper.

Eric kissed the top of her head and released her. Once again, she shifted into Lydia. Just in time.

"Did you want coffee? I have tea." Vivian saw them in the foyer. "You're not leaving?"

"No, Ashley felt faint and was going to get some air," Eric replied.

"Oh, dear." Vivian started forward and took Ashley's hand. "You look so pale. When was the last time you ate?" Without waiting for a response she steered her into the other room. "Dig in."

They all sat, and Vivian set a pitcher of orange juice on the table before sitting across from Ashley. The conversation turned to catching up for the old friends.

"How is your grandmother?" Vivian asked Eric, as she spooned some fruit onto Ashley's plate.

"Nana's great," Eric said, forking a couple pancakes onto his plate beside several strips of bacon. "She spends her days divided between her garden and her kitchen. When I told her I was coming out here she told me to say hi and invite you to come visit."

"That sounds like a great idea. Aaron's due for a vacation soon. Perhaps we'll convince him to take it. We definitely won't get a chance to travel once Ricky starts school."

"How old is he now?"

"Three. And he already wants to be a detective like his daddy." Viv smiled warmly at her husband.

Rapid footsteps sounded on the ceiling. "Speak of the devil and he shall awaken." Viv made two plates and stood, lifting them both. "I'll take him into the den for breakfast so you three can talk."

"That's okay," Aaron began, but she shut him up with a peck on the lips.

"I know when you need to talk shop." She carried the plates from the room. The little pounding feet made their way down the stairs. They could hear a piping voice call for mommy before giggles and more running. A door closed on the other side of the house.

Aaron sighed and said to no one in particular, "I'm a lucky man."

After a moment, Eric broke the silence. "Irving Pilcher is our guy. We need to find a way to lure him in."

"Why would the COO of Gunderson's empire want to kidnap, torture, and kill young women?"

Ashley grunted softly. "Just because he's rich doesn't mean he isn't capable of extreme evil."

Eric nodded. "Some would say he would be more capable."

Aaron shook his head and ate a bit of cantaloupe before responding. "His life is so public. How could he possibly do this for so long without anyone knowing about it?"

Ashley gripped her orange juice. "His sort of fantasies don't grow in the light of day. They build in the corners of his mind until they darken his soul. The darker it gets, the more likely he is to act on what he truly wants."

"How do you know it's Pilcher?"

That was the question, wasn't it? He'd seen what Ashley could do; would he believe his old friend could be a supernatural beast?

"I smelled him," Eric said. He took a bite of bacon and smiled, showing nothing of the unease Ashley knew boiled under the surface.

"Because you're a werewolf?" Aaron's gaze shifted between the two of them. "Even with her show, it's hard to believe."

"Why do you think I'm not a cop anymore? I can smell better than any police dog. It's as good as seeing. I couldn't explain how I knew where a pedophile was hiding his latest victim. I knew who'd committed murder, rape . . . and who was lying. Did you know you smell different when you lie? But as a cop, I had to give cause. I had to find 'real' evidence. Quite often, there wasn't any, or when there was, it was so minute, no one should have found it. No one questions a PI as long as they deliver. I haven't had a case yet that I couldn't solve. You know that. It's why you brought me here."

Aaron sipped his coffee, then rubbed a hand over his face. "You've been this way for a year?"

Eric nodded.

"It's going to take a while to process. I'm sorry." He stood then and walked to the kitchen window. In the silence, they could hear a television in the other room. A child's song was playing, and a tiny voice piped gibberish to the melody. Finally, the song ended with "Yeahs" and clapping from Ricky and Vivian. Aaron nodded as if in agreement.

"I don't need to know any more. I'm not sure I want to. Whatever you claim to be, you both are on my side and that's all that matters." To Eric, he said, "You're a brother. I believe you, no matter how outlandish it sounds."

They stood, clasped hands, bumped shoulders, and slapped each other's backs in a kind of man-hug.

Once everyone got settled Ashley cleared her throat. "So, how do we catch this guy?"

Aaron cleared his throat. "I can't put a tail on him or get a warrant for his house without approval . . . " He glanced across the table at Eric.

"But we can." Eric nodded. "We'll stop by his house this afternoon and tail him when goes to visit his victims. Then we can call in a tip."

"Can you tail him without being seen?"

Eric leveled a gaze at his old friend.

"Okay." Aaron smiled. "Do your reconnaissance. Make sure there's proof we can use. Then call in the tip, and I'll bring the cavalry."

• • •

They had several hours before they planned on trailing Pilcher. Given their evening, Eric suggested they return to the room to sleep. He knew they both could use it.

Once inside, they didn't say a word. He sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes. When he stood and faced Ashley she'd already slipped out of her jeans and had shifted so she was wearing a baggy t-shirt that just barely covered white cotton panties. She was still in the image of his partner.

"What do you look like?" he asked, seeming to startle her from her own thoughts.

"I look like anything I want." She didn't seem to understand, but he suspected she did.

"You. The real you." He pulled off his belt, rolled it up, and placed it on the dresser.

"You've already seen the real me." She climbed into the bed.

If she could get comfortable for bed, so could he. There was something strangely dirty about climbing into bed with Lydia, though. "Have I?" He pulled off his shirt, but she was still on the bed, as his old partner, and he stopped.

She saw him hesitate.

Then he sighed. "It seems wrong when you look just like my partner."

At this, she smiled. Her first real smile since the day before. Slowly, she shimmered into what he took to be herself. Brown hair with gold highlights and a couple of silvery hairs that glinted slightly in the light of the bedside table. A round face with a dimple in the left cheek. Eyes that were so light brown they were almost golden. Her body had curves. The good kind. In all the right places.

"Wow." Suddenly he was more than a little self-conscious about removing his jeans.

"What?" She shimmered again, her appearance starting to blur.

"No." He climbed onto the bed and took her hand. "I like it." He looked her over again. "You are so hot."

She solidified into herself. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," he breathed as he leaned in to kiss her. He'd never seen a sexier woman. She was it. She was the one. Would she understand what it meant? He breathed deep. She needed to understand. She had to agree to forever. Silently, he prayed she would.

Nervous, more than he'd ever been, he leaned back, keeping a hold on her hand. "Will you marry me?"

• • •

He wasn't kidding. He wanted her, and he meant forever. There would be no backing out of it for him. She wanted to laugh. He couldn't see it, but they had shared so many pieces of themselves with each other already that they wouldn't be easily separated anyway. The pieces of him completed her more than when she was whole.

Her answer had already been written the instant she ran from the sisterhood with Nichole. This man was her future, and she was his. Finally, he knew it, too.

She took his face in her hands. "With all of my soul, forever."

He laughed and kissed her. Passion that had been held in control seemed unlocked, and the world fell way. Nothing mattered but them. Kissing, stroking, they shared everything. He opened his soul so completely to her, and she responded in kind.

They sank into what seemed like dozens of feather pillows on the bed. His voice was husky. "You have such an amazing body."

She warmed at the comment. And choked on a small sob.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You see _me_."

"No matter who you pretend to be, I will always see _you_." He gathered her in his arms and traced his fingertips lightly down her back.

His male scent mingled with the light fragrance of soap from an earlier shower.

Continuing to hold her in one arm, he caressed her with his other hand, starting at her neck. As he brushed her hair back from her shoulder he leaned down and touched his lips to hers.

Gentle but not hesitant, his hands explored her. Behind every movement, she felt purpose. Slow. Sensual. Needing to focus on something other than the areas of her skin screaming to be touched, she closed her eyes and reached for him. Her fingers traced his hard chest, running across his abdomen, which rippled as he shifted to stroke her thigh.

He leaned over her, kissing her hair, cheeks, nose, lips. His magic hands braced him as he hovered over her, raining kisses down over her neck and shoulders.

She knew he was taking it slow, taking care that their first time would be special. She wasn't a virgin, but her last encounter had been decades before and hadn't been tender. She became aware of her entire body as he kissed and caressed it. Not just the key areas.

Her hands moved as well, caressing the muscles of his arms and back. They rippled as he moved.

Oh, the anticipation. Each breast received a kiss, then he traced them with his tongue in a closing spiral, and finally flicked his tongue across the tip. She gasped and arched toward him. Didn't he know this was driving her crazy?

He moved on, lightly brushing his lips against her stomach. She moaned in protest, reaching for him, running her fingers through his hair.

"Are you in a hurry?" She could barely make out his mischievous grin though the veil of lust clouding her vision.

"I need you," she whispered, wanting his touch more than anything she'd ever wanted.

He touched his lips to hers again. She felt his smile and wrapped her arms around his neck before he could move on and continue the sensuous torture.

Sinking into the kiss, she felt the weight of his body on hers. The earth spun, and her senses swam, then he ran a hand down her side and slipped a finger inside her. She cried out against his lips.

Once again, every touch became slow and deliberate. His fingers explored the inside and his thumb brushed the outside, working her to climax. Lights burst and flowed with colors of a turbulent aura. She cried out again and focused him in her vision. The world still whirled about him, but he was steady in her sight.

"I need you," she whispered again. The lust had gone, leaving only him and a void he would fill. And as he did, they seemed to fall through space, love, and time, heralded back to earth by a multitude of bells ringing.

• • •

He needed to take his time. To make it special for both of them. He'd always been able to drive a woman wild, and he had been worried for a minute he had lost his touch. Her reaction proved otherwise.

Her moans almost ended him right then. She reached for him, had tried give him some of the pleasure he was giving her, but he stayed just out of reach until the world swam. Then he entered her. She gripped every inch of him, wet and warm and pulsing. They moved together. Bodies moving to the rhythm of their heartbeats. Faster and faster, until . . . light seemed to engulf them both and they gave their all to each other.

Their hearts slowed, and their breathing slowed. As they snuggled, they both knew they would never be alone again. They had become one.

# Chapter 13

A quick internet search led them to Pilcher's house. As they drove through the neighborhood Ashley gripped her right hand over the onyx band on her left ring finger. At Eric's quizzical glance she pointed and said, "The sisterhood lives down that street."

"Maybe you should . . . " he began.

"I can't," she whispered, twisting the band and giving it an experimental tug. "Anyway, we need it." He knew that was an excuse. His sense of smell would get them far enough. The idea that she couldn't remove the ring nearly sent her into a panic, yet she seemed fearful of the opposite too.

He grunted. He didn't understand. Was it just because she didn't want to lose her powers? He would give up his abilities in a second, but he also knew she felt like they were the only things that empowered her.

They drove slowly past Pilcher's house. No one appeared to be home. Eric pulled into a driveway down the block on the opposite side of the street.

"Won't someone say something about us parking here?" Ashley asked.

"There's a for sale sign in the front yard and a lock box on the front door." He gestured toward the ornate door they faced. "No one parks on the street in this neighborhood if they can help it."

She nodded. "So, what do we do now?"

"There is no sign he's home. So we watch the house."

"Maybe we should check to see if he's keeping the kids there. If he is, we could get them out before he even gets home."

"He could be home and just parked in the garage."

"The point is, from here, we can't tell if he's home. The only way to know is to knock. That's why we got the props, isn't it? As she pulled a bag from the back seat she morphed into a young girl. She could have been a sister to any of the abducted girls. Her clothes changed with her. Now she was in a scouting uniform. She pulled a clipboard from the bag. She winked at him and moved to open her door.

He grasped her arm to stop her. "Will you be able to control yourself if he answers the door?"

She looked him in the eye, and for a second he could see doubt. Then her eyebrow arched. "You'll be there, Daddy. I promise to behave."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't call me Daddy."

"Dad?"

He grunted.

"Pop?"

"Cut it out."

They climbed out of the car and slowly walked up the street. When they got to Pilcher's house Ashley went up to the front door. Playing the father, Eric needed to hang back a bit. He measured the distance to the door. He could reach her in five bounds.

The front door opened to reveal a woman in her mid-to-late fifties. "Can I help you?"

"Good afternoon. My name is Michelle. I'm with the Desert Scouts. I'm selling cookies for my troop. Number 492." She saluted and then lifted her clipboard to show the woman a fake order form they'd downloaded that morning with several sales already listed. "As you can see there are several new cookies this year."

"Oh, how lovely. Come in."

Ashley feigned worry. "I'm not supposed to." She glanced back at Eric.

"Your father can come, too." The woman pitched her voice to carry so Eric could hear. "Come on in for a minute while I get my purse."

Eric reached Ashley, and they followed the woman.

Ashley whispered, "All I get from her is innocence with an undertone of mischief."

Eric leaned close to Ashley's ear. "She's not nervous, and he's not home."

"Have a seat, I'll be right back." The woman waved at the living room before continuing on her way. "Can I offer you some lemonade?" she offered.

Eric coughed. The last time a woman had offered him lemonade the perp he was tracking had killed her before she could hand him the glass. "No, thank you."

The sitting room at the front of the house was connected to a dining area by an opening in a half wall. On the other side of the dining room another half wall revealed the woman puttering around in the kitchen.

Over the mantle of the fireplace hung a group picture of Pilcher, his wife—the woman singing to herself in the kitchen—and a teenage girl, similar in appearance to the other victims. Nearly identical to Victoria Gunderson. On the back of the antique couch sat a row of rag dolls. Each dressed in a different outfit.

"I never have guests." Mrs. Pilcher reentered the room carrying a tray of butter cookies shaped like little flowers with a hole in the middle, which she placed on the coffee table. "These are so much fun." She placed a cookie on her finger and nibbled the edge.

Ashley passed her the order form. "I like your dolls."

"Oh, me too," Mrs. Pilcher agreed. "My husband used to make them for my daughter. They were so close, the two of them. Sometimes she'd have problems with her stomach, and he'd sit up with her all night." Tears welled, and the woman sniffled. "She died years ago, but he still makes them sometimes. He gives them away to little girls that remind him of her. A special little doll for a special little girl, he'd say."

Using her disguise to its advantage Ashley widened her eyes and asked, "Oh, how did she die?"

Eric scolded, "Sweetie, that's not polite to ask."

Mrs. Pilcher smiled gently. "Children are curious." She patted Ashley's head. "That's a good quality in children. We were in a car accident. I was in a coma for a month. When I woke up Irving told me that she'd passed. My poor darling. They were so close; he was devastated."

Absently, she finished the cookie she'd worn on her finger, then she slipped on another, and nibbled off that one as well. "I just love cookies, don't you?" she asked as she checked several boxes on the order form.

• • •

Once on the street, on the way back to their car, Eric said, "She had brain trauma. She's functional. So much so that she's probably fooling herself. I really don't think she even notices what Pilcher's doing."

Ashley nodded. "What I could see in her aura was almost childlike. She has an overwhelming innocence about her. I don't think she would be able to notice complex threats."

"How do you mean?"

"She wouldn't fear a growling dog."

"I'll try not to be offended."

"She's innocent. In every possible way. Her husband, though . . . "

"Isn't," he finished for her. "Yeah, I smelled him. I couldn't catch the scent of any of the girls, though. Looks like we'll have to follow him."

"Should we report the doll collection to Aaron?"

"He'd only be able to put a tail on him, if that. He might not be able to get approval for a tail based solely on a tip. He'd have to knock on her door, too. Ask some questions. Too much activity could spook Pilcher if he isn't spooked already."

They got into the car and waited. Before long, a sedan pulled into the driveway of the Pilchers' house.

"That's him." Eric twisted the rearview so he could watch the house but still face forward.

Pilcher glanced up and down the street before entering his house. After a moment, the porch light went out. Luckily, she was far enough away from the house that she didn't want to devour Pilcher's soul.

"Are we going to sit here all night?" Ashley asked, before shifting back to herself. Given the way they'd spent their day, she had a difficult time keeping her hands to herself.

"It's a stakeout." Eric patted her hand, which seemed to snake its way up his thigh. "The whole point is to pay attention to the subject."

"Right." She pulled her hand away. "Pay attention. But it doesn't have to be rapt attention. Does it?" She leaned over and kissed his throat, peppering it until she reached his far earlobe, and in doing so, she'd climbed into his lap.

"That feels wonderful, but—"

"And if we're like this I can keep an eye on them, can't I?" It was serious, she knew that. But the scent of Eric, and the memory of that morning, had her longing for a repeat performance. She'd never felt so close to anyone in her long lifetime. So connected and still so free.

For once, she felt nothing but love coming from a man. No lies. No agenda. It was invigorating. She wanted to make him feel as euphoric as he made her.

Eric smiled as he slowly stroked her arms. "Yes, but as soon as he begins to move we'll have to stop, and I _know_ I won't want to do that."

"True." She shifted her hips in a slow circle and ran her fingers into his hair. "The upstairs window just lit up. It seems as though they are settling in for the evening."

Eric glanced into the rearview mirror. "So you're saying we have time to do a little of this?" He gripped her bottom and pulled her tighter to him. His hands slid under her shirt. They caressed her back and sides, then eased around front to cup her breasts. His warm thumbs circled over her nipples, hardening them.

"Oh." She leaned into his touch and bent to kiss him again. It would have been so easy to allow herself to forget the outside world as pleasure and fog clouded her mind. She opened her eyes for a moment to check Pilcher's house, only to see the lights on his car glow. "Shit. He's moving." She climbed off Eric's lap and watched as the dark sedan pulled away down the street. "Shit," she repeated.

"Keep an eye on him." Eric started the car and backed onto the street.

"He just turned right."

"Okay." They turned as well and pulled up behind Pilcher at a light to exit the neighborhood. Eric glanced at Ashley as she smoothed her hair and tried to get comfortable in her seat. "Told you so."

She grunted. "We didn't miss him." She gave his leg a squeeze. "I regret nothing."

"Neither do I." The depth of his voice told her he meant more than just playing around in the car while on a stakeout.

They followed Pilcher's sedan onto the highway. After a while, Eric said, "He'd want to keep his victim as far away from his home as possible."

"Makes sense." She nodded. "The wife is fragile. It seems he still values her, regardless of his extracurricular activities."

Their course took them away from the city. Twilight had them turning on the headlights. Luckily, they weren't the only ones on the road. For now.

She read a traffic sign. "He's heading toward Pahrump."

"That doesn't make sense. The problems there would be the same ones he'd have in Vegas. He couldn't hide the girls in a city, or even a suburban neighborhood. Not if he wanted to keep them alive."

As he spoke, the car they followed slowed and switched on his blinker. They followed suit. The exit had a gas station and a couple of fast food restaurants. He drove past everything. Then, after about five minutes, he pulled into a motel parking lot.

Eric didn't slow. As they passed, they could see Pilcher drive behind the building. Eric pulled into the first driveway after the motel and turned around.

Ashley reached out with her senses. She could feel the evil that was Pilcher. But also there were three other people. All innocent. All terrified. Something rose in her. Her ring grew hot. She could feel the power flow from that point and radiate throughout her body. "We've found them."

"We have to be sure," he said.

She remembered the pull she'd felt in the Gundersons' house and shivered. Eric was afraid of his own powers, of being a monster. What would his reaction to hers be? They had just found happiness. How would he react if she attacked Pilcher? "I don't think . . . I shouldn't."

"Just wait in the car. I'll scent out the girls." Eric cut the lights as soon as he pulled into the far side of the lot.

The closer they got, the stronger the pull. She closed her eyes but reopened them when he touched her arm. "Seriously, just wait here. I have to be sure the girls are here before we call in Aaron and the cavalry."

"Right."

He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. "I'll be right back."

She watched him until he disappeared behind the back of the motel. The building had once been maroon, but years of bleaching in the sun-drenched desert left it a pale and somewhat sickly salmon.

The tugging had become painful. If she gave in, there was no telling what she'd do. In all her time in Vegas, she'd never thirsted so deeply for a man's soul. Before she realized it, she was out of the car and crossing the parking lot.

• • •

Eric didn't draw his gun, though his hand itched to have it ready. He couldn't confront Pilcher. _I only need to be sure I have the right place._ The sedan had been parked halfway down the length of the building. That was most likely where Pilcher was keeping the girls.

As he passed the doors to what seemed to be empty rooms, he sniffed and listened. No telling how many girls the man had taken. The first three rooms were empty, but Pilcher's scent was all over them. It was possible he'd once stored his captives there.

As he neared the middle, he did draw his weapon. The fourth room was occupied. Only one girl from what he could tell. He wanted to save her. To take her to safety before calling Aaron. But that could tip off Pilcher and put the other girls at risk.

A yelp split the air ahead. He moved quick and silent to the large window. A sliver of light peeked through the drapes. Behind the door a female screamed and begged. Even through the door Eric heard the punch that quieted her. He couldn't leave her. He couldn't call backup. He had to help these girls now.

He leaned back and kicked the door open. The wood of the door frame splintered. The door itself slammed against the wall. Pilcher sat on the edge of the bed still fully dressed. A shape shivered under the flower comforter beside him.

"Can I help you?" He was calm, as if the man who'd just kicked in his motel room door didn't faze him, and neither did his gun.

"Stand up and put your hands behind your back." Even after so long, his cop training took over. Eric couldn't kill the man in cold blood. He might not come quietly, but his evil would end.

Pilcher laughed. "I'll do no such thing." He stood and held his arms wide. "I'm unarmed. I own this property."

"You don't own these girls."

"No one wanted them. Living on the street. Even in their mansions, they weren't wanted. No one paid attention to them. Loved them like they needed to be loved. Until me.

"You know, I had a girl once. My wife and I. She was smart, but the smart ones always think they know what's best. She needed me to look out for her. Teach her.

"When my daughter died, I knew I had to replace her. All of these men with daughters they barely acknowledge. Those girls were to be looked at, like dolls. Then, I realized, they can have the doll. I want the girl."

While he was talking, the comforter moved down a bit. Eric could see the rope that tied the girl to the headboard. If he transformed, he'd frighten the girl worse. So Eric moved closer, stepping close to a small table near the door. He tried to angle his gun away from the girl.

"Put the gun away," Pilcher continued in his smooth tone. "You're not a monster. Leave me with my family."

"Turn around and place your hands behind your back."

"No."

• • •

Ashley turned the corner in time to see Eric enter the room. She approached the open door with as much speed and with as much restraint as she could muster. She couldn't let him go in alone, but she didn't want to startle the poor child who cowered under the covers.

When Pilcher refused to follow Eric's direction, Ashley's thin thread of control snapped. Rage she'd never known before took over. She hurled herself through the motel room door. She pushed Eric aside. She saw only Pilcher and his fetid soul.

# Chapter 14

Eric fell against the small table next to the door. His gun clattered to the stained linoleum floor and slid under the tattered fabric that skirted the box spring. He measured the distance in a glance, but before he could move to retrieve it, Ashley, the woman he loved, caught his attention with a scream.

She was shifting but not shifting. As she changed, so did her scent. From where he sat, transfixed, her skin rippled and then seemed to tear in millions of different places. Scales slipped through and into place covering her body from head to toe. Her body also changed. Her hands sported four-inch claws, and a delicate tail whipped from behind her. But the worst, and most terrifying, was her face. No trace of humanity remained. Her snout sported rows of fangs, just as black as her claws. Her eyes were like pools of tar, deep and endless.

• • •

Ashley lifted Pilcher by the face, brought him close, and savored his delightful terror. Slowly, with sadistic delight, she exposed his soul a piece at a time, reaching in with her mind's claw over and over. Carving it away like peeling an onion. Layer by layer. Even wholesome events, work deals, benign shopping trips all tasted delicious. No matter what the Mother had told the sisterhood, Ashley knew them for lies. It wasn't about saving humanity from evil. It was about the harvest. Reaping the souls of those who the world wouldn't mourn. If wife-beaters, rapists, and killers disappeared without a trace, who would care? No one would look too hard. None but their mothers would mourn them, and most not even then.

Irving Pilcher had nothing below the evil. No part of him treasured his wife. No part believed the girls he held captive were anything more than the dolls he left in their place. So, she drained him. Every drop was gone, but her hunger hadn't abated.

Standing on the other side of the bed were a man and a girl. The girl was wrapped in the blanket from the bed. Their souls were intact.

They weren't nearly as sweet as the one she'd just finished, but she was hungry. She stepped closer and reached for the girl. The man trained his gun on her, and Ashley could only laugh.

"Don't make me do this," he said, his gun trained on her chest.

"That won't hurt me." She felt her teeth gnash together as she spoke, and she didn't entirely like it.

He shoved the girl out the door and closed it behind her. "Ashley, stop." He holstered his gun.

Something within her fought. Struggled against the wash of new impulses.

"I love you. We've mated, and for me, that's for life. If my life is to end now, at your hand, then so be it." He stepped closer. His fingers brushed against the scales of her face, causing her entire body to quake. "Let's live a bit longer, shall we?"

Ashley shuddered, and the creature that had taken such control over her subsided. She was still trembling when Eric wrapped his arms around her. Over the sound of her heart slamming in her chest, she barely heard him whisper into her hair that everything would be all right. How could it ever be all right? She'd lost control.

She panted like she'd run a marathon. The beast within her only wanted to feed. She had no power over it. She struggled to turn the short breaths into deep, cleansing breaths, to calm herself before she was completely overcome with nausea. Eric could easily have died at her hand and she could have done nothing to stop it.

"I don't know." She rubbed her hands against her face. "I don't know if I can control this."

Eric chuckled. "I know what you mean. We'll figure it out. Together." He opened the door and found Victoria Gunderson standing before them wrapped in a bed sheet, bloody from where her injuries had opened. When she saw the body of her tormentor on the ground she sobbed and ran to Ashley.

"Time to make the call," Eric said, glancing around to see if they'd left any obvious evidence.

Ashley nodded. "We have to leave. You can't tell anyone we were here."

The girl nodded.

"He's not dead, but he won't wake up." When the girl's eyes widened, Ashley took a lighter from the bedside table and held it under his wrist. The flesh turned black, and the man didn't even flinch. "We have to leave you with him," Ashley said by way of an apology.

The girl kicked the body. "When they ask me what happened, I'll tell them he was attacked by a dragon."

"That's just fine." Eric smiled and pulled out his cell phone. "The cops will be here soon to take you back to your parents." He led Ashley back to the car.

• • •

Aaron shook both of their hands warmly. "Don't be a stranger."

"I won't, I promise." Eric proceeded with a warm shoulder-bump hug.

"You know, you don't have to head home so soon. Even though he's a vegetable, it's an open-and-shut case. I'm worried about Victoria Gunderson, though—her statement involves a vivid description of a dragon." Aaron glanced Ashley's way. "You can't do dragons—never mind." He raised his hand when she cocked her head slightly, staving off her response. "I really don't want to know."

"We have to get back." Eric left out that the reason they had to leave was to deliver his ex-partner's werewolf baby. It wouldn't matter if Aaron's reaction was horror, disbelief, or curiosity. Now wasn't the time.

Aaron nodded and then shook Ashley's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Soon, Eric and Ashley boarded a flight to their new home.

• • •

Lydia was ready to pop. Ashley understood why Eric's ex-partner wanted him by her side. Although Lydia and Ryan had been strangely welcoming, Ashley felt like an intruder. Dishes were the least she could do.

"Sorry we don't have a dishwasher. I think we're one of the last families in America that doesn't.

"Oh, I don't mind. Really. You've been so welcoming," Ashley said as she donned rubber gloves.

"You're family now." Lydia smiled. "Before I met Ryan, I was alone. I had no plan for the future other than to look out for my career. Two years ago, if you had told me I'd be off the force, married to a man who I'm madly in love with, and about to have his baby, I'd have said you were crazy." She brought over the glasses from the dinner table. "But here I am. When you are—what we are—family takes on a different meaning. Never mind the supernatural part of it, though that _is_ huge. It's a community, albeit a small one, to share your lives with. Now you're a part of it . . . whether you like it or not."

The memory of the Indian restaurant surfaced. "You'll have to ask him, but I think Eric found some more family in Vegas."

"Really?" Lydia's expression was wary, but from the way her eyebrows arched and the corners of her lips quirked, Ashley knew as soon as Lydia went in the other room that would be her first question.

Ashley smiled. She'd wanted a family all of her life; even decades ago, her biological family had been beyond dysfunctional. The sisterhood, which had filled the void for so long, had turned on her. These people seemed so accepting, if only she could fit here. But there was still something off. Not with them. With her. She was more of a danger than they could ever be.

"Eric misses being a cop," Ashley said, changing the subject as she rinsed the last plate and placed it on the drying rack. She took the glasses and submerged them in the soapy water. "Do you?"

"Not as much as I thought I would. Ryan still writes articles, so he works from home, and I've been getting ready for the baby." She rubbed her belly. "Perhaps one day I'll see if Eric wants a partner at his agency. For now, I can't really think beyond the baby. It's always on my mind."

"I can imagine. Eric said you will most likely give birth during this full moon."

Lydia took a deep breath and nodded. "It makes sense. So, sometime in the next three days."

"Thank you for letting me be a part of it," Ashley said quietly, her gaze focused on her task as she rinsed the last glass and drained the sink.

"Family," Lydia said again as she clapped Ashley on the shoulder. "Do you have one?"

"Not exactly." Did she dare explain? She'd barely opened her mouth to change the subject when something slammed against the kitchen window. A face materialized. Dark and fanged. Dark eyes seemed to focus on Ashley as the creature reared back and head-butted the window.

Tarma.

"What the hell is that?" A growl built in Lydia's throat only to end in a squeak. She huffed for a moment, gripped her stomach, and called for her husband. "Ryan!"

Glass cracked and wood splintered as the creature slammed against the window again. Ashley had only a second to grab Lydia's shoulders and steer the cursing woman away.

Glass shattered, spraying the room with shards. The demon screamed. Lydia roared. Both men ran into the kitchen. They had guns, equipped with silencers, leveled at Tarma and opened fire. The demon swiped at them and screamed louder than the gunfire. Ashley's ears rang in pain.

Ryan emptied his clip and reloaded. The black figure fell backward out of sight.

Everyone spoke at once, but Ashley couldn't hear any of them. Then Ryan held his hands out for them all to be quiet. After a few moments the ringing stopped.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Eric growled.

"You know her?" Ryan asked.

Eric nodded and looked at Ashley. "That was Tarma, wasn't it?" When Ashley nodded, Eric cursed again. He climbed onto the sink to look out the window. When he faced them, he said, "Aside from the blood on your siding, there's no sign of her."

"Who is she? Why did she attack?" Ryan asked.

"They're after me." Tears filled Ashley's eyes.

Ryan moved to be nose to nose with Eric. "They followed you here from Vegas?" His voice rumbled with his temper.

Eric nodded.

Ryan paused a moment before asking Ashley, "How did they track you?"

Lydia hummed.

Eric answered. "It's got to be the ring. She's tried to take it off, and she can't."

Ashley grasped the ring. Her indecision had endangered everyone. Lydia leaned against the refrigerator with her head down. The two men of action stared at her, standing in the middle of glass and blood.

Ashley stepped to Eric, glass crunching beneath her feet. "You are a hero," she told him. "With everything you are, in any form. It's time for me to be as brave as you." She glanced back at Lydia and then bowed her head. "I can't endanger my family." With that, she strode from the kitchen and into the night.

• • •

Eric and Ryan both moved to follow her, but Lydia's groan halted them both. "Were you hurt?" Ryan moved to his wife's side.

She panted and met his gaze through a curtain of hair. "I'm in labor. My water broke."

Eric stepped to her other side to support her. "Are you sure?"

"Unless the baby is popping champagne corks in there, yes, I'm sure."

A scream sounded overhead. Ryan kissed Lydia and then stepped back and checked the clip of his gun. To Eric, he said, "You're up."

"But—" Though one arm was tucked under Lydia's, his other hand held his gun.

She groaned, and her grip on Eric's shoulder tightened. Ryan moved back to her and held her up on her other side. When the contraction passed she shrugged out of their grips and barked orders like a general. "Eric, you have experience delivering babies. You're with me. Ryan, go. Protect our sister-in-law." She waddled into the other room, her wet pants clinging to her thighs with each step.

"Careful, Ashley can turn into one of those things, too," Eric warned. "She doesn't have control."

Ryan hesitated a second to glance after his wife, who had already stripped from the waist down. Her body shook as she breathed through another contraction, supported, in part, by her claws embedded in the doorjamb of the living room. "You've fought them before, what works best against them?"

"Teeth and claws," Eric answered. "But take this anyway." He passed Ryan the loaded weapon.

Ryan slipped the Glock into his belt and disappeared into the night.

"Eric?" Lydia barked.

He rolled up his sleeves and moved to assist his laboring partner.

• • •

The blood trail circled the house. Though Ryan and Lydia lived on the outskirts of town they had three neighbors within a half mile of the house. Trees would block the view, but the scream of the circling demon echoed off the surrounding hills. No one could miss that.

Ashley moved into a clearing behind the house. Moonlight seemed to bleach the beds of flowers and short blades of grass. She walked to the center of the field. Tarma wouldn't be able to resist the bait.

A screech sounded behind her, just before a shadow blocked the moon, casting the field into momentary darkness. Ashley crouched as Tarma dove. Ashley spun and caught Tarma's leg. The beast lurched, off balance now that the slash that had been meant for Ashley's chest raked her arm instead.

Tarma's wings tangled under her. Ashley didn't hesitate to leap upon the sprawled demon. As Ashley moved, her form changed. The form that had so controlled her at the motel rose to the surface, though instead of fearing the demon, now she embraced it. Claws bit into Tarma's scales as Ashley swiped at her foe. The slim yet powerful tail balanced her as she reared back to deliver another blow. Teeth gnashed as Ashley struck again and again.

The warm flow of Tarma's blood trickled down and around the disturbed scales. The beast fought for breath.

Ashley stood and relaxed into her own form. Her arm burned. The light blue blouse she wore now hung like ticker tape from her shoulders. Only the collar held the fabric on her frame. Blood had stained her bra and the scraps of her shirt. The demon within her was braced just under the surface.

Tarma grunted and hissed as she rolled and clawed to her feet. Her tail no longer swung but rested limply on the ground behind her. Still, Tarma grinned when she saw Ashley the woman standing in front of her. Tarma's fangs clacked as she spoke. "Do you think you can get away with murder? Lena was your sister."

"So was Nichole." Ashley thought of the innocent girl several times a day. "And how many other sisters did you kill because they refused to follow blindly in feeding the souls of men to demons?"

"Only the Mother can make the call to retire a sister. You are not in the inner circle yet." She chuckled the dry, raspy sound of sandpaper. "You judge the demon, but you've accepted it well enough. Your bond is almost complete."

The thought chilled Ashley's blood. She would not be a demon's puppet. "I want out of the sisterhood entirely."

"It's too late. You're more a part of us now than you ever were. You will be punished for Lena, but you will learn." Tarma shifted her head toward the house, as if listening. "The Mother decides who goes and on what terms."

A door shut. Ashley could hear Ryan sprint across the gravel driveway and into the clearing.

"You think playing house with these werewolves will protect you from your destiny?" Tarma growled. "It's already inside you."

Ryan slowed and leveled his gun at Tarma's massive frame. Even injured, Tarma could rip him to bits, so Ashley moved between them. Tarma would have to go through her to hurt her new family.

Another raspy laugh. "You may end me, but the Mother can reach you here. She can reach you anywhere. Your new pets will never be safe."

"They will not be harmed."

"Once your transformation is complete, the Mother need only reach our her hand to control you. You will kill them all yourself. You have no choice." Tarma crept to her right, and Ashley matched her steps.

"There's only one alternative." Ashley felt the beast rise within her again. "You all must die." Wings spread. Claws sprouted from her fingertips. She would end this threat now.

A baby's wail pierced the air.

Ashley stopped and glanced back.

Ryan straightened and did the same.

"Ah. Another pet," Tarma purred. "You could swallow that one whole, you know, and if it's male, it would be the sweetest treat you could imagine."

Ashley rounded, and Ryan advanced, both growling.

Tarma launched herself and wobbled in the air a moment. "You have till sunrise. Deliver yourself or the Mother will have you dispatch your pets and return. You will come back to us, all the same." A powerful beat of her wings and Tarma lifted further into the air. She circled the house screaming before flying into the night.

"Are you all right?" Ryan closed the distance, ignoring Ashley's wings and still whipping tail.

She didn't need to debate this. Changing into her own form would mean discussion. Discussion would mean at least Eric coming along, and she couldn't put him in danger. As it was, she'd already interfered in Ryan and Lydia's happy world. She wouldn't cause anyone else misery.

"Tell Eric I'll be back by dawn." The cries of the newborn quieted. Eric would be out soon. If she saw him she'd never be able to leave. "Go. Take care of that baby."

She leapt into the air; perhaps this was the one thing she'd miss once she returned the ring, provided she was able to survive the night.

Ryan shouted something unintelligible as her powerful wings lifted her into the sky and away from her love. For years, she'd given the concept of love no thought. Then, for one brief moment, she'd permitted herself to dream of a family, a future. She had to protect everything she held dear, the prospect of raising children with a man who completed her more than the sisterhood ever had. Eric would understand. He had to.

Cities scrolled beneath her as she winged her way back to Las Vegas.

• • •

"It's a girl," Eric quietly announced as Ryan approached his sleeping wife and child.

Ryan stroked his wife's hair, then stood, and took Eric's shoulder. "Ashley said to tell you she would be back by dawn."

"Back by dawn? Where the hell did she go?" Eric struggled to keep his voice hushed, though even as he asked, he knew the answer.

Ryan's hand reached as if aching to caress the child's head. "The demon told her if she didn't they would kill us all." He met Eric's gaze. "She didn't give me a chance to talk her out of it. She said she'd be back," Ryan repeated.

The urge to race out the door was so strong, but Eric sat. Slowly. "No, she won't. She's trading her life for ours."

Ryan unfolded the baby quilt Eric's nana had given them and tucked in his wife and child. "Go after her."

Eric stood. Then sat, rubbing a hand through his hair. "They flew. I'll never make it in time."

"Call Silas." Lydia opened an eye just a bit. "Remind him of that article you wrote a few years back. He kept saying he owed you because his business went through the roof."

Ryan had his cell out and was already dialing. "I interviewed him for an article about the market for small plane tours. He cashed in on the publicity and has called me several times to offer us trips here and there. I'll tell him this makes us even, and maybe he'll leave it alone." He smiled at his wife. "Two birds, one stone."

"Glad I could help," Lydia muttered as she closed her eyes again.

• • •

To avoid being seen Ashley attempted to fly over the less inhabited areas. She hugged treetops to stay off the radar. When she reached the desert she flew as low as she could, though the sand still radiated around her head and the thermal seemed to want to lift her higher into the air.

Perhaps by the end of the day she'd be worthy of Eric. He fought his fears daily. He had the most beautiful aura.

He said they were mated, and though she hadn't known him to lie, it was hard to believe so simple a thing as sex could irrevocably bind them. It had been years, but she remembered what great sex was, and it _was_ great sex. Was it more? Maybe. Probably. Toward the end, before all the nerves in her body ignited, there might have been something. She'd felt closer to him than everyone. Even now, she seemed to feel his heart breaking. Or maybe it was hers.

The lights of Vegas lit the horizon. She couldn't simply fly up to the sisterhood's house. She'd have to land on the outskirts and probably borrow a car. If she lived, she'd return it; if not, the sisters would move it to a place where it would be safe till found. They'd had to borrow vehicles in the past. They'd always seemed to do the right thing, like returning them.

Things like that were what had kept her so blind for so long. She'd saved all those women from toxic relationships, and she'd been stuck for years in the worst one of all.

• • •

Silas landed his small four-seater plane on the closest airfield to the succubus mansion. "Sorry I can't take you closer."

"Don't worry about it." Eric climbed down and began to sprint across the pavement.

Silas called after him, "Do you want me to stay a day or so . . . in case you can't find your girl? Vegas is a big city."

"Thanks, but I have a very good idea where I'll find her."

# Chapter 15

Night still covered the sky, though the stars seemed to disappear in the east. Only about two hours till sunrise. The sisters would be readying themselves for her arrival. Of course she would come.

Ashley prayed, to any deity listening, that somehow their attention would be drawn elsewhere so she could acquire the element of surprise, but of course she knew better.

She landed in a small park at the edge of the housing complex. Few were out and about this time of day. Mostly joggers in spandex with their earbuds in, eyes focused on the road ahead and minds engaged in their own worlds. She descended in a small stand of juniper.

She would require a disguise, as she couldn't wander around Vegas as a demon. She assumed the appearance of someone on their morning run.

She jogged in place a moment or two before emerging from the brush, and trotted toward the path. Her lungs filled with the fresh morning air, the rhythm of her shoes on the pavement reminded her of the beat of her wings. In another life, she could really have enjoyed the run. But today—

A huge black figure bolted from across the deserted playground. It headed straight for her.

She braced herself, ready to shift. Then she got a good look at the creature and saw herself in his heart. She ran to meet him, cursing. "Stupid" and "pigheaded" were the nicest things she said.

In a bound, he shifted into himself, naked as a jaybird. His self-satisfied smirk was the only thing stopping her from smacking him.

"I told you not to follow me." She was barely able to rein in the shout.

He slipped a backpack from his shoulder and unzipped it. "No, you didn't."

"I told Ryan to tell you."

"You told Ryan to say you'd be back in the morning." He dressed as if they were in private. Then he stopped, barefoot and bare-chested, to catch her hand. "It's morning, and I'm an impatient man. You can't expect me to wait until the sun is up to see you."

She growled. "I wanted you to be safe. This isn't your fight. This isn't their fight. You all are my family now. Just being around me puts you in danger. But I can fix that."

He pulled on an old Van Halen t-shirt and sat on a nearby bench for his socks and sneakers. "Couples compromise. I left the rest of the family at home." Dressed, he pulled two guns and four clips from the backpack and tossed the empty sack under the bench. "We didn't all come. Ryan is following your instructions to look after his baby. They both send their regards, by the way."

She swatted at him. He easily ducked and then caught both of her arms. "When I was human, I thought I would fall in love and get trapped in marriage by some woman eventually. When I became . . . this, I was broken. I couldn't even date anymore. I thought there was no hope of finding anyone that would be able to deal with the monster that I've become." She started to protest, but he lifted a finger and continued. "Then, there you were. Accepting me for everything I am and reminding me that even as this"—he tapped his chest—"I can do so much good. I will not lose, you know." He ran a finger under her jawline. "I'm much too stupid and pigheaded for that."

They crossed the lawn and stood before the ornate door. It had never been locked before, and today was no different. She placed a hand on the latch and pushed. It swung open without a sound. They both hesitated.

"Is anybody home?" Eric whispered. "We'd like to kill you now."

She elbowed him and received a wink in return. He'd given her one of his guns and an extra clip. They raised their weapons now as they crossed the threshold. Nothing. No sound other than their breathing.

When she turned around he was admiring the mural. "I'm no art critic, but this is kind of nice."

She rolled her eyes and glanced in the adjoining rooms. No sign of anyone. She crossed to the entrance to the kitchen. Nothing. She expected someone to be around. They knew she was coming. Someone should have been there to greet her. Or at least take her into custody.

Then she heard it, and her shoulders tightened. Chanting came from the door under the stairs. The basement. They'd started a ritual. One she didn't recognize.

Her blood ran cold, and for the twentieth time, she mentally cursed that Eric had tagged along.

She gripped his arm. "I don't want you going down there. They will tear you to pieces just because you're a man."

The corner of his mouth twitched. He placed a hand on the doorknob. "Shall we?"

She kissed him and then nodded. They were outnumbered, and the Mother had more magic in one pinky than Ashley had ever dreamed of having. She was with Eric, they were together; hopefully that was all they needed.

She descended the stairs first. Every step was familiar. She ran her hand along the wall; her fingertips recognized every cool stone. This place had been her home for decades. She'd laughed and cried in this house alongside these women. The sisterhood had been her family. Now, without hearing her out, they'd turned on her and would destroy her new family. The people who truly loved her.

_But the sisterhood loves you. We would give all to see you succeed. You belong with us._

Her body trembled. _This man hasn't given anything. He's stolen your heart, tampered with your mind. He doesn't deserve to hold your soul._ Ashley's stomach soured. _You should take it back. Take back your soul. Rip it out. Rip it out._

She stopped and braced her hands on either wall.

_Rip it out. Take it back._

No, he hadn't stolen anything. She'd given it to him.

_Rip it out. Take it back._

She'd welcomed him. She loved him. She swayed under the pressure.

• • •

Eric stopped behind her. He couldn't understand the chant, but he did feel its weight. It pushed on his body like the pressure of a plane at takeoff. The sisterhood knew they had entered the mansion. They pressed into the couple's minds.

Ashley had braced herself in the passageway, her head bowed. He knew she felt the chanting more than he did. He wanted to help her. But how? He reached out a hand and laid it on her back. "I love you," he whispered.

She gasped. Her whole body went rigid. Then, after a few moments, she turned her pale face to him. "Thank you," she whispered.

He didn't know what he'd done, or how it worked, but he sent out a silent prayer of thanks that it had.

The chanting continued to get louder the deeper they went. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and called out, "Your nasty singing won't stop us. We will end you."

Eric's voice echoed through the stairwell, and the chanting faltered.

Then Ashley herself giggled, and the tinkle of it reverberated against the stone, again tripping up the chanting.

She called out to the chanting women. "The sisterhood is run by demons. The Mother and Tarma are not what you think. We don't have to kill the men. They can be saved. We can make a difference without demons. Come with me. Let me show you how."

She reached back and took his hand, and together they descended the stairs to the bottom. The chanting continued, but the damage was done. The pressure was alleviated. The passage curved at the bottom, but before they turned the corner and faced the hordes that wanted to kill them he needed to do one thing.

He reached for Ashley and kissed her deeply. They were joined. They were one. Male and female. They had balance. When she leaned back, she said, "I love you."

She passed him her gun. He started to try to stop her. But she raised a finger to her lips, stepped back, faced the chanting, pulled a knife from her pocket, and made to cut off the finger with the black onyx ring. Around the corner, the room erupted in screams, halting her knife and causing it to fall from her fingers. Running footsteps warned them of their approach. Eric passed Ashley back her gun and stepped to her side.

Seconds later, several women sprinted around the corner. And Eric opened fire. In such a narrow hall the noise set their ears ringing instantly. It was easy for him to pick them off. With strangled cries, they fell to the floor.

They came in waves. One group would fall, a few moments would pass, and another would round the bend.

• • •

Ashley stood rooted to the spot, gun half raised, holding back sobs. Nine had fallen. They came without weapons. Nothing but their raised hands and hollow screams to defend themselves. There was only one word for it. Slaughter.

"Stop," Ashley called to the Mother creature who held sway over these women. "You're killing them. Give them a choice. Let them flee."

"They had their choice. They are part of the sisterhood. They've been freed from the influence of those like the murderer beside you. Did you think they would not die for this freedom, for the power you would so easily cast aside?"

Running steps heralded their approach. Eric raised his weapon and looked at Ashley. He would lower his weapon if she asked. She shook her head. He lowered his gun.

With a deep breath, Ashley raised her own and eliminated the last three. Jessie. Meredith. Lacey. The last of her sisters fell. They weren't innocent. They'd ripped out and devoured hundreds of men's souls. But, like her, they'd been duped. They had been sold on the corruptness of men by a master of manipulation and corruption. There was no way to save them. No way to explain how they'd been misguided. To give them the gift she'd been given. She lowered her gun. When this was over she'd mourn the lives they could have had.

But it wasn't over yet. Eric took Ashley's hand and led her over the bodies of the crumpled women.

Through the arched doorway, they could see an altar flanked by two demons. Although she'd been in this room before, all the comfort and belonging she'd known here was gone.

The smaller of the two hissed. Tarma obviously hadn't been able to return to human form. Scales were missing. Her wounds still oozed. She couldn't heal. Still, she limped toward them. "You've made a mistake, sister." For some reason, they still wanted to turn her back.

"I've made my choice." Ashley's voice echoed through the cavern. "You can still be saved." Ashley knew in her heart that Tarma would never leave the Mother's side, but if there was a slim chance that her friend and mentor could be freed she had to try.

"You're forsaking a great gift," Tarma grumbled and hobbled around to their left, causing them to sidestep closer to the Mother.

The Mother approached the pair, her arms outstretched. "You've fallen for this man. We can forgive that. You should concentrate on your other new relationship."

As she spoke, Ashley felt her skin writhe and the slits for her scales open. Instead of becoming the beast, she felt its presence inside her. This was a new kind of shifting. The demon meant to completely take her over.

"It's a love more complete than you'll ever know. A love no human can give or understand."

Where the pieces of Eric's soul were warm and filled with light, the demon was a void. Not warm. Not cold. Nothing. And it was spreading. The ring burned; the darkness spread.

"No," Ashley commanded. "I am done with the sisterhood. I will not be a demon's puppet." She pushed as hard as she could against the darkness. She felt Eric's love and concentrated on how much she loved him back, on the possibilities, on their bright future, and the glow brightened. It warmed. As the rest of her lit up like a glow stick, the ring faded and faded. Finally, with joy, she slipped it off of her finger.

Tarma's tail got a little more life in it as she directed her muzzle toward Eric. "I've been given the honor of killing you myself, _dog_. I'll enjoy every minute." She crossed the distance between them in two steps.

Claws extended, she shoved Ashley aside and lunged at Eric.

• • •

He raised his weapon when the first demon started moving. When claws and fangs charged him, instinct had him unloading his clip into the dripping maw. But it kept coming. He felt its claws on his arms.

"The first thing I will remove is your balls, you pitiful creature." It punctuated its statement by digging its claws into his thighs. Points of fire arched his back and had him screaming in agony.

He heard a deep chuckle, and the pain receded. Eric opened his eyes to a sheet of rock. The demon held him to the ceiling. "No!" He heard Ashley scream.

"I will be doing you a favor, sister. That part just causes trouble anyway."

His gun had fallen from his hands. He tried to shift to the wolf, only to realize he already had. His claws scraped impotently against the demon's scales. He twisted in the grip to see Tarma's maw open. The scent of decay wafted from the demon's throat. Even as the teeth neared, he could see Ashley scrabbling on the ground for the ring she'd tossed.

"No," was the only thought he could muster as his head disappeared into the dark.

An impact brought him back into the light. Another sent him flying through the air. Inhuman screams echoed in the chamber. The strike of the floor on the back of his head plunged him into darkness.

• • •

Ashley gave herself over to the beast and spared Tarma no mercy. She barely noticed as Eric flew across the room. She gripped Tarma's throat in her mouth and bit. Scales popped and flesh wrenched.

The human part of herself cheered as the demon within her belched forth fire and roasted the mangled husk of what used to be Tarma. She reveled in the flames. Even after her foe was nothing but a charred lump of nothing on the floor, she kept the flame on.

_You've made the right choice_ , the Mother cackled in her mind. _Now, the mongrel._

Ashley turned. Eric's bloody body lay in a heap on the floor.

The demon within her bubbled flames to the surface. _Roast the mongrel._

_No._ Ashley struggled to regain control. The demon pressed. Ashley twisted. The demon turned. She had no control anymore. The wings, the teeth, the fire all belonged to the demon.

Except for a finger. One finger on her right hand. She concentrated all of her energy. The finger moved, taking the unsuspecting arm with it. She curled the finger around the ring and pulled. The demon realized too late what she'd done. The dark band fell to the ground. In a scream chorused by the Mother, Ashley regained control.

She ran to Eric, not raising her head when the Mother roared again.

"Eric. Oh, Eric," Ashley cried. Blood poured out of everywhere. She tore at her clothes to make bandages to stop the bleeding. She pressed frantically on the wounds on his chest.

Ignoring the Mother as she moved to scoop Tarma off the floor, Ashley focused everything she had on Eric. _You can heal. You can do this._

Finally, his eyes fluttered open, and he groaned.

"Oh, thank God," Ashley whispered, gathering him close.

The Mother roared.

Ashley stood, placing herself between the Mother she'd come to loathe and the man she'd never believed she could love.

"I will drink his soul and yours with it." The Mother once again came out from behind the altar. "I will have you both."

_No!_ The word didn't scream from her lips, but broadcast from her heart. Like a supernova, the power of their combined souls ripped from her chest. The last thing Ashley saw as her life flowed from her was the Mother reduced to ashes.

# Chapter 16

Two women were sitting on a rock at the edge of a babbling brook, their bare feet swinging to sweep toes into the warm water. "Is this heaven?" Ashley asked.

Nichole laughed. "What if it is?"

"I don't deserve heaven."

"Oh, but you do. You gave your life for your love, for your family. Self-sacrifice is the sign of a noble heart. Don't you realize how much you have changed? I've learned that everyone gets a second chance, every day. It's how you choose to use those chances that makes you good or evil."

"I'm dead. Out of chances."

Nichole arched an eyebrow. "Do you remember the mural on the mansion wall?"

As if in answer to Nichole's question, they were buffeted by rhythmic gusts of wind. From the sky descended what looked like a white dragon.

"We've got a proposition for you."

• • •

Eric was alone. The room echoed every breath, every pant, as he pulled himself toward where Ashley lay in a pile of ashes, her body charred, a gaping hole in her chest.

"No." His back and chest ached. "Ashley." He had to get to her. The couple of feet he had to go felt like a mile.

The air stank of sulfur and burnt hair. Ashes tickled his nose and made his eyes water. He had to get to her. She couldn't be . . . She just couldn't be . . .

"Ashley." He choked out her name again. "Ashley." He reached for the fabric of her blouse. His fingertips brushed her arm. Another shove with his toes and he gripped her forearm.

_No._ She was already going cold. Tears fell unchecked from his face. He managed to push himself up and turn her head to face him.

He heard footsteps on the stairs. "Help," he called, cradling her head in his arms. "Please help her."

The steps ran now.

Aaron and several police officers rushed into the basement, guns drawn. When he saw Eric on the ground he ran over. "No." Aaron ordered the officers upstairs to retrieve the EMTs.

Aaron pressed his fingers to Ashley's throat and, after a minute, shook his head.

A note rang through the room, echoing like the chanting. Though, where the other pressed, this freed. The sound reverberated and grew in harmony and complexity. Aaron crouched next to Eric, his face twisted in confusion.

Then, something happened. Did she move? "Ashley?" Eric whispered her name as if to gently wake her.

And she breathed in, sucking in air as if rising from the water. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. She managed a weak smile and took his hand in hers. Another ring adorned her finger, this one opal. The lights within it seemed to continue the music as the sound faded.

Eric brushed his bruised lips over Ashley's. It was over.

Aaron cleared his throat. "I don't mean to interrupt, but there were reports of gunfire." He stood and surveyed the room. "There are no bodies, but I'm going to have to explain this." He paused and looked at the couple. "Those gangs are getting out of control."

Ashley and Eric rose to their feet.

"You all need a ride anywhere?" Aaron asked.

"No." Ashley smiled. "We're going to fly home, but I have one thing to do first."

# Chapter 17

Ashley walked into the hospital disguised as a petite brunette with a pixie haircut. She wore scrubs and a name tag that she shifted to match those that the other nurses wore.

She entered with a throng of other nurses on their way in to work. Nobody paid attention to the new nurse. She knew exactly where she was going.

Finally, she saw the faint glow of the tiny piece of Nichole's soul. It was faint; it had entered a hostile environment and seemed about to lose the fight.

She walked into the room, quickly shutting the door behind her. She could see his body.

She walked past the empty bed nearest the door and lifted the chart on the second. Though the man still repulsed and infuriated her, this was her first act as a vessel of light. She was determined to do right by him, so she refused to look at the man in the bed. She read the name. William.

Naming him made it easier to see him as a person. With a deep breath, she reached out and touched his mind. She could see him as a boy, spoiled rotten by rich parents. As a young man on the fast track to success, dancing a jig on the backs of the little people, because it was what everyone expected.

And when the time came to have a wife and family, they needed to fit the mold he'd worked so hard to achieve. But they only disappointed him, because unlike his dreams, they were imperfect and that was unacceptable.

The man in the bed before her was broken, but not beyond repair. She only hoped that she would be able to do the job and return him to his wife. It was the least the poor woman deserved.

Ashley replaced the chart and looked at the man, at William. The wisps of graying strawberry-blond hair framed his head on the pillow. His pale face was drawn and relaxed.

In her years with the sisterhood she'd stripped a man's soul bare by inciting fear, but she'd never tried to heal someone. Her new power told her where to start, so she swallowed her new instinct and touched her hand to his forehead.

Fear. She could feel it radiating from him. She knew she remained the object of his fear. Hopefully, she could help him become a better person. The one time she'd cleansed a soul before, she hadn't meant to do it. She hoped the ability would not elude her. Over and over again, she reached into his soul and removed the evil bits. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she was done.

His vitals remained the same. The evil was gone, but he couldn't seem to wake up.

She reached her consciousness into his chaotic flow of thought. Scenes floated about her like movie screens playing scenes of his life. Every memory played on the screens. Then she saw the block, the fear that stopped him from regaining consciousness.

Standing, floating in the center of a long hall appeared to be Nichole, or at least the form Nichole took when she lured him. At her feet, what appeared to be a little boy cowered.

"Why are you here?" Ashley asked the apparition, but it didn't respond.

As Ashley approached the shuddering boy, William as a youth, he whimpered and shook, muttering something that sounded like a prayer.

Ashley looked again at the image hovering over them; though it still seemed to be Nichole she could see many differences.

The most obvious was a long, thin branch in her hand. A switch.

"You've been a bad boy." The image grinned and ran a hand down the length of the switch. "Now Nanny needs to punish you."

The boy's nanny closely resembled Nichole. That explained a lot. Little William was given everything with one hand and then was neglected and beaten with the other.

"I told you not to gulp so loudly. I don't like to hear you chew," the nanny exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the child sobbed.

Ashley moved between the child and nanny. "You will not beat him anymore."

The figure of the nanny screamed, dropping the stick and tearing at her hair.

"He is a good boy and can be a good man if you stop beating him." This woman must've been why he hated women. Ignored by his mother and beaten by his nanny.

Ashley turned to the little boy and, laying her hands gently on his head, let the healing power run through her and into the boy's mind. "Not all women want to hurt you, William. Your wife loves you and just wants to be loved in return."

Behind them, she could hear the nanny groaning. As she healed the boy, it destroyed the apparition that so horrified him.

So she concentrated harder. "You are a good boy. A good man."

"No, he's mine. Nooo," the figure wailed then screamed.

Ashley stroked the boy's hair. "I'm so proud of you, William," she said, keeping her tone gentle but speaking loud enough that he could hear over the nanny's screams.

Finally, the screaming stopped. Ashley spared a glance over her shoulder and saw nothing. The hall behind them was empty.

When she turned back to the boy he smiled up at her.

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome." She smiled back.

They both stood and walked down the hallway.

Ashley faded back to herself. How long she'd actually stood by the bed she couldn't tell, but her legs ached a little when she stepped back.

William's eyes opened. "Oh." He shifted and, realizing he was hooked up to equipment, his expression changed to bewilderment. "What am I doing here? Was I in an accident?"

"Um." She wasn't prepared to answer questions. A couple of voices could be heard outside the door.

"Are you sure you want to remove him from life support, ma'am?"

"He wouldn't want to live this way."

"Marie?" William croaked when he tried to call out.

"Bill?" Marie ran around the divider curtain to the bed. "He's awake." She touched his face. He was smiling at her.

"I thought you'd left me." Marie's tears ran down her face.

He placed his hand over hers. "I love you, darling."

The doctor looked at Ashley. "When did he awaken?"

"Just now, Doctor," Ashley replied. When the doctor picked up the chart, Ashley edged around the curtain and slipped out of the door.

• • •

Ashley had once wondered how many chances someone gets to remake their life.

They pulled up in front of Eric's grandmother's house. The idea of meeting the most important woman in his life scared her slightly. "Are you going to tell her anything about being a werewolf? Or about what I've become?" Ashley asked as they ascended the front stairs.

"Never is soon enough," he said as he opened the screen door at the same time Nana opened the heavy door.

They hugged in greeting. Once inside, Eric said, "Nana, I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Ashley."

Instead of anger, Nana laughed and hugged her.

Pleased, Eric said, "I'm going to go open this wine."

Nana took Ashley's hands. "Welcome to the family, dear." She linked elbows with Ashley and led her inside.

Nichole's voice whispered in Ashley's ear, "To answer your question, you have endless chances. Every instant you live is an opportunity for another choice toward happiness."

# Acknowledgments

Thank you

to my family, for your encouragement and support.

to Laura, my dear friend and butt-kicker.

to Tara G., your excitement is contagious.

finally, to Jess V., Annie C., and Julie S., your assistance and insight on this book has helped me become a better writer.
Copyright © 2015 by Sara K. Murphy.
All rights reserved.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

Published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

57 Littlefield Street

Avon, MA 02322

www.crimsonromance.com

ISBN 10: 1-4405-9349-3

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9349-9

eISBN 10: 1-4405-9350-7

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-9350-5

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover art © iStockphoto.com/grahambedingfield; iStockphoto.com/Chris Pritchard; iStockphoto.com/Yuri_Arcurs

# Shield from the Heart

# Mary K. Norris

Avon, Massachusetts
_To my Mom and Dad._

_You guys never stop believing in me. You always support me no matter what._

_Words cannot express how much I love you. Thank you!_

# Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

# Chapter 1

_Here comes the pain._

Footsteps echoed down the hall to stop outside Merrick's cell door. He tried to roll his shoulders to ease the ache in his joints but there was limited mobility with his arms tied behind his back. His fingers were just starting to lose feeling, which meant he probably had a couple more days like this before they untied him. His hands were always well and truly numb when they released him. The better to keep him incapacitated. After all, he wasn't much of a threat if he couldn't feel his hands to throw a fist.

At least they'd cut back on the drugs.

The door clicked as the lock was disengaged. Stale cologne wafted in to override the scent of Pine-Sol. In walked Vander Donahughe.

Merrick blew at the black hair that hung in front of his face to get a better view. Captivity made it a little difficult to keep up with his barber cuts.

As his hair fell to the sides of his face he knew he hadn't imagined it. Vander Donahughe looked different. Older. Wrinkles stood out along his mouth and eyes. His forehead had permanent creases and his hair was more than eighty percent silver.

Two assistants followed him into the room.

No. Not assistants. Merrick recognized the woman who liked to fondle him. Regina. No last name given. Average height, mid-thirties with brown hair and fake blue contacts. The bulky man who stood at her side was someone Merrick had never seen before. The most likely scenario? The man was there as hired muscle.

That was peculiar. Vander wasn't following his regular MO.

"Merrick Haskell." Vander shook out a sheet of paper in front of him as the muscle man pulled him up a chair. "Age: thirty. Current occupation: private investigator. And I must say you have quite an impressive success rate."

"Buttering me up isn't going to do you any good," said Merrick.

Vander acted as if he'd never even spoken. "Most would look at that success rate and find it curious, myself included. Tell me, Merrick, how is it that you manage to find all those missing people?"

Vander's dark eyes probed at his blank expression as if trying to glean all the information he wanted from Merrick's face.

Merrick didn't give him an inch. "I'm really good at my job."

Vander leaned back in his chair. Comfortable as could be. Merrick ground his teeth.

"And all the reports from your fellow detectives that you used to work with . . . ?" He scanned the paper until he came across what he wanted. "They talk about eccentricities, like your never ending need to contaminate a scene by touching everything possible. Any reason for that?"

Merrick stared straight ahead.

"I'm really trying to help you, Mr. Haskell. I want you to join the Kratos Guild. You see, I'm looking for something."

Despite his current predicament, he found himself staring Vander in the eye. "Who are you looking for?"

"It's not a who, it's a what. And what I'm looking for is an old employee's journal that contains some valuable information."

"Then why don't you ask the employee?"

Vander gave a forced smile. "I'm afraid he's not very chatty. He's in a coma. Has been for some time."

Merrick returned to staring at the wall. "Sorry, can't help you."

Vander grabbed the front of Merrick's chair and pulled it toward him. Merrick's body flew forward but his tied hands stopped him short. The jarring in his shoulders had him gritting his teeth.

"Don't lie to me." Vander kept him tilted forward on the two front legs of his chair. "I know you have an ability. An ability that allows you to gain some kind of information from an object after someone's touched it."

"No idea what you're talking about," Merrick lied through his teeth. "There's no such thing as powers."

His chair rocked as he was forced back. Vander's hands grabbed his face.

_And here it comes._

Pain erupted throughout his whole body. Fire burned through his veins, eating him from the inside out. He refused to shut his eyes and instead stared down the root of his hatred. His heart raced in his chest as if it could outrun the agony. His neck prickled as anger boiled beneath the vicious pull of Vander's power. His muscles started to weaken from the energy drain—

Vander stopped.

Merrick gasped for air.

The blackness that usually danced at the edge of his vision didn't come.

Vander had held back.

During Merrick's other interrogations he'd been drained until the point where his muscles were screaming, his heart fluttering like a caged bird, his vision spotting.

Something had changed since those days. And Merrick had a pretty good idea what. Vander was on the run.

"Trying to keep a disguise, eh Vander?"

The way Vander's face darkened let Merrick know he'd hit the nail right on the head. While Merrick might verbally reject the idea of powers existing, he knew otherwise. Vander's ability allowed him to suck the very life out of a person and somehow manipulate that energy to keep himself young. If he was holding back then he was trying to keep the aged appearance he currently wore. That probably had something to do with the fact that Vander's illegal kidnapping and cage fighting had been alerted to the police. He'd had to evacuate his last facility. Merrick had no idea where he'd been held and he certainly had no idea where he was now. But either way, Vander had to watch his back. Eventually he'd screw up and Merrick would be right there to get out of this hell hole.

Vander's hands returned to his face, his fingers digging into the bone of Merrick's jaw.

If Merrick swung his head fast enough he'd be able to take one of those digits and rip it off with nothing but his teeth.

The opportunity was more than tempting.

"I can feel the difference in your energy," said Vander. "I know you have power and it's only a matter of time before I find out what it is."

Merrick's repressed anger started to surface. The back of his neck tingled.

Vander thought he could manhandle him? Thought he could buddy up or buy him off after kidnapping him and torturing him for months?

Screw this fucker.

Merrick thrust his head forward with everything he had. The scent of copper burst into the air. He hoped like hell it was Vander's blood and not his own.

His hair obscured his view but he could hear Regina cry out as she went to Vander's side. The muscle man's beefy arm came around his neck in a choke hold.

"Drug him," Vander snarled as he wiped blood from his lip.

Merrick smirked.

Vander shoved the bloody sleeve he'd used to mop up his face right in front of Merrick. "You think this symbolizes a win for you? We'll see how gutsy you are after we pull the nails right out of your fingertips."

Merrick's vision went red. He struggled anew as Regina came over with a syringe.

Vander pushed the sleeve into his cheek, smearing the blood there. "Enjoy your feeble smell of victory."

But Merrick hardly heard him.

Vander's clothes . . . the impression in the fabric . . .

His own power reared up, and the vision bombarded him before he could stop it.

_A woman with dark brown hair stared up at him with disgust. But why? She was his. His Cali. His soul mate. She was the one that would set him free. He leaned in to kiss her. If she didn't see that she was his then he'd make her. Her long, slender hands pushed uselessly against him. She was a fighter. He admired that about her . . ._

Merrick jerked himself back to the present, bile rising in the back of his throat at what he'd seen through Vander's eyes.

That woman . . . Cali. Merrick had seen her before. The night Vander's corporation had been searched and busted. Vander had fled and Merrick had been transferred, but that woman had been there, staring at him through the cell window along with . . . the blonde one.

Those green eyes and that blonde hair haunted him in his dreams. He remembered the night of chaos, sitting in his cell waiting for his next visit when the feeling of being watched had him lifting his head and finding her there, watching him. Something had passed between them. Something instant. And he had no idea what it was.

A deep warmth spread through his chest and he had no idea if it was the drug Regina had administered or not.

His vision swam. Regina's hand trailed down his neck and chest until it rested on his inner thigh. She leaned into him, her breasts brushing along his shoulder. The sickly sweet scent of cherries surrounded Merrick. "Until tomorrow," she promised.

# Chapter 2

There was no escaping him.

Everywhere Sydney looked, he was there.

The prisoner she'd left behind in the Kratos building.

The ice blue eyes of the Husky she was tending stared at her as if he knew the thoughts his eyes triggered inside of her. Sydney carefully leaned away to jot a few remaining notes into the dog's portfolio.

Andrew, the Husky's owner, clutched his hands nervously. "Well, Doc? Is Shovel going to be all right?"

Shovel was going to be just fine. Andrew was a hypochondriac when it came to his dog's health. "Shovel's in perfect health, nothing to worry about here. He probably started sneezing uncontrollably because he sniffed the wrong plant in your backyard." She closed the folder and stretched out her hand to pat Shovel on the head.

Those ice blue eyes watched her. The burning sensation in her chest intensified.

She pulled her hand back.

"Well, take care. Remember, Shovel is due for his shots next month."

She got to her feet.

Andrew frowned.

Never in her career had she hustled one of her patients out without first chit chatting about their lives. Her parents would be horrified, but she had something else to take care of. Those eyes, so much like the ones that had seared her soul, were a reminder that she had a plan to finish formulating.

Back in her office she logged into her computer and pulled up the copied database from the Kratos computer system that she'd taken from Joel.

It had been a little over three months since the location in Orange County had been shut down. With the exposure of Vander Donahughe's illegal dealings, the entire Kratos Corporation was supposed to crumble and fall. But the large conglomerate had only shut down the one location and while that was supposed to lead to the release of all those captured within, Sydney knew first hand that that wasn't the case.

Vander had been able to get a few of his captives out, her mystery man being one of them. The guilt over that had never truly left her, but it was another deeper fear inside her that urged her toward finding their new location. The fear that her mystery man was her destined Mirror Mate—a soul mate that, once bonded with her, would increase her individual power.

She shook her head.

It wasn't possible.

She clicked on a file folder a little too forcefully.

All she needed to do was find the new location, free the man she'd seen all those months ago, and then her conscience would be clear. She'd be able to celebrate her three year anniversary with Joel without a doubt that he was the man for her.

It was time to take action.

"Come on," she mumbled to her computer as she searched for any address that could be used as an alternative facility.

The harsh clatter of metal hitting the floor made her jump.

"Sorry." Cali Crazar stood in the doorway to her office, two paint cans resting at her feet. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"Liar."

Cali shrugged. "Not my fault you were too absorbed in your computer. What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." Sydney tried to minimize the window but Cali was too fast.

Darn her and her long legs.

Cali had all the makings of a runway model: tall, lean build with dark hair and dark eyes. She was twenty-five, nearly two months older than Sydney. However, with her height, most days Cali made Sydney feel like a child when she stood next to her.

"The Kratos database?"

"Like I said." Sydney exited the window. "Nothing."

Cali leaned against her desk, arms crossed. "That's not nothing. What are you expecting to find?"

As if she didn't know. Cali had been there when they'd found the man with eyes like ice. She'd been there when Sydney had gone to the hospital in hopes of finding him among the other rescuees. But Cali wanted her to say it out loud.

Sydney had a sneaking suspicion that Cali might know what Sydney was too afraid to voice.

Cali had found her Mirror Mate all those months ago in Sydney's best friend, Felix. He'd been sent to rescue Cali from Vander Donahughe—who, at the time, had believed Cali to be his soul mate.

"Well?" Cali prodded. "You were trying to find where they might be keeping _him_ , weren't you?"

Sydney avoided her eyes, her heart speeding up.

Her office grew quiet, the faintest _ba-bump, ba-bump_ filling the air.

It sounded in time with her heartbeat.

Sydney shot her Shield up.

The sound cut off instantly.

She whirled on Cali. "Don't do that."

Cali narrowed her eyes. "If you'd tell me the truth I wouldn't have to use my powers as a lie detector."

Cali was their guild's Silencer, someone with the ability to manipulate sound, and ever since she became full-forced she'd been experimenting with her powers like crazy—her most recent breakthrough being she could determine if a person was lying by how fast their heart beat.

"Everyone is worried about you, Sydney," Cali continued. "You've been acting different for months now. And don't think I don't know why. What I don't know is why you're so obsessed with finding him."

Sydney dropped her Shield, the prickling at the back of her neck fading with her powers. "I'm not obsessed. I feel guilty. Every time I remember that we had a chance to free him and didn't, it eats at me. We thought he'd be safe with the cops on their way, but all we did was condemn him to more time with Vander. I feel it's my duty to find him."

Cali gave her a look that said she didn't one hundred percent trust her answer. "Duty? That's all you feel?"

"Yes."

_No._

"I'm trying not to let it get to me but after so long with no results . . . "

"It wears on you," Cali finished for her. "I get it. But don't worry, Joel's continually hacking into the system to find new information so it's only a matter of time. Now let's finish painting this room, shall we?"

As well as being a Silencer, Cali was also an amazingly talented artist. She was hard pressed for a job so Sydney had hired her to repaint the office. They both knew it was a waste of her skill but it was the only way Sydney could help her without giving her money outright. Cali wouldn't have accepted it any other way.

• • •

Joel burst into Sydney's office. "I got something."

Sydney and Cali both looked up from their work.

"What'd you get?" Cali asked as Joel came around Sydney's desk, his midnight blue eyes sparkling.

"I've been keeping tabs on all the e-mails that have been going back and forth to the different Kratos Companies. I have a system in place to alert me if there is any form of address going through the message and today there was a red flag." Joel gave Sydney a quick kiss in greeting.

She hardly felt it.

"You have a new address?" she asked.

He slapped a sheet of paper down in front of her. "Not only an address. Look at what was being shipped to this location."

Cali came up behind him. "Propofol?"

Sydney snatched the document. "It's a sedative, the one that I use in my practice."

Cali caught on instantly. "Which means that there's something at this address that they are trying to contain."

"All in favor that what they're keeping are people?" said Joel while raising his hand.

Sydney shared a look with Cali before they both raised their hands in agreement.

"This is it," said Sydney, staring at the address. San Francisco. Her heart beat rapidly. "We need to get Niella and Felix in here to discuss our next move."

Cali already had her cell phone out. "Felix said he'd be here shortly. He also has a surprise for you."

A surprise for her? The thought gave Sydney pause.

"Come on." Cali beckoned them out of the office to the front lobby where Niella sat at her regular post behind the reception desk.

Niella Souveray was the guild's Dreamer. Her power included visions of the past, present, or future. Unfortunately, she had no control over what or when she Dreamed. She looked up from her work when they entered the room. "So? We learn anything new?" She wheeled herself out into the middle of the lobby.

Sydney handed her the printout of the e-mail.

Niella's hazel eyes scanned the information. "So who's going to San Francisco?"

"I am."

"I will."

Sydney exchanged a startled look with Cali who had answered at the same time. They both stared at one another until Felix came through the door. Cali's eyes instantly sought him out.

Sydney felt a pang of jealousy—which was ridiculous because she had Joel.

She looked over her shoulder at him and found that he was watching Cali and Felix too, a wistful expression on his face. Her jealousy turned to guilt. Out of everyone in the guild, Joel had suffered the most at her strange behavior. She owed it to him to find this man so that she could return once more to the woman that she was.

He caught her staring at him and offered a warm smile before he came closer and took her hand in his. Sydney waited for the flutter of her heart or the flip of her stomach, but she guessed that after dating for so long it was natural to lose some of the excitement.

She squeezed his scarred fingers, resisting the urge to wince. The scars that ran along Joel's hands and forearms were something that she could never truly accustom herself to. It wasn't that she was shallow and wanted his skin perfect, she just couldn't look at them without thinking about how much pain he'd gone through when he'd been cut or burned working on cars with his father as a teen.

"What'd I miss?" Felix slid one arm around Cali's waist to address the group at large.

Cali gazed up at him. "We're going to San Francisco."

Sydney stepped forward. "Actually, I think it'd be best if I went."

The silence that followed was oppressive. She shifted nervously under everyone's gaze.

Cali found her voice first. "You can't just take off for a week. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't have a steady job like you do. I'm a little more flexible right now."

Sydney's brain understood the reasoning behind Cali's words, but her heart simply wouldn't listen. "I'll take time off, reschedule all my appointments. I'm overdue for a vacation anyway."

"Don't worry about it, Syd," said Felix. "Cali's right, we need you to stay employed to fund our little Guild of Truth." He flashed a grin.

Sydney's temper flared. A normally rare occurrence that she now found happening more and more. "Maybe I don't want to freakin' stay behind this time. Anyone ever think of that? I may not have the most offensive powers but I can still pull my own weight. I don't want to be the guild's sugar momma."

Felix held his hands up. "Whoa, totally not what I meant, Syd."

"I know what you meant and I'm sick of being assigned to the B-team."

"Now you know how I feel," Niella mumbled.

Sydney left that comment alone. She wasn't about to get into it with Niella. "If Vander's at this location then anyone who goes up there is in danger."

"Yeah," Cali butted in, "which is why—"

"Everyone but me," Sydney cut her off. "Vander is powerless with me there. Literally."

Cali wanted to say more. Sydney could see it in her expression. Cali had a vendetta against Vander after he kidnapped and tortured her personally. There was also the small fact that he'd tried to have Felix killed. But she also knew how much Sydney needed to find this mystery man of hers.

Their eyes locked, her green with Cali's obsidian.

"You know, I'm a little overdue on some vacation time too," Joel broke into the conversation.

Sydney gave him a dazzling smile. He was backing her up. After everything she'd put him through he was still sticking with her.

"When are you guys leaving?" Felix kept his hands up in surrender and Sydney felt a little bad about snapping at him like that.

"As soon as possible, I guess," said Joel.

Sydney straightened her shoulders. "Tomorrow night."

Joel gaped at her. "T-tomorrow night? Syd, I have to request time off. I can't just get up and leave."

"Tell them a relative passed away. They'll understand."

Joel shot a beseeching look at Felix. Felix shrugged his broad shoulders, some of his regular mirth shining in his blue-green eyes. "Oh, before I forget, Syd," said Felix, "I have a surprise for you."

Any more debate about San Francisco was put on hold as Felix led them out into the crisp autumn evening. The wind had kicked up, the sun already setting, the days getting shorter as they neared October. Gone were the days when it was light until eight at night.

"You too, Niella." Felix called as she stopped her wheelchair in the doorway of the clinic.

She waved him off and crossed her arms as the breeze barely disturbed her short pixie hair. "I can see everything I need to from right here."

Cali stuck her tongue out at her. Niella quirked an eyebrow, her lips twitching as if repressing a smile.

"What are we looking for exactly?" asked Sydney with a shiver.

Joel put his arm around her and tucked her into the warmth of his body. She stiffened for a fraction of a second before she forced herself to relax.

"You ready?" Felix's grin widened. He scanned the plaza parking lot but the traffic was slow. He inhaled deeply and focused his eyes on the empty handicap parking spot.

Everyone waited.

They kept waiting.

Sydney looked to Cali to see if she'd give anything away but her attention was riveted to her Mirror Mate. "What—?"

Felix waved his hand. Sydney's Toyota Yaris appeared out of nowhere.

"Shit," Joel breathed.

Sydney stared at her long lost vehicle. "You brought it back?" Three months ago when Felix had rushed to Cali's rescue, Sydney had followed to offer backup and was rewarded with Felix Erasing her car so that no one could trace her to what had turned into a semi-crime scene. She'd thought the car she'd bought last spring to be lost forever. Felix had never been able to return things once he Erased them. But that was before he bonded with Cali and became full-forced.

She went to the hood of her car. It was hot to the touch. Unnaturally so. There was a faint aroma of sulfur that lingered.

"Where did it go?" She pulled her hand back with a frown. Her fingers were covered in a sticky goo. In fact, the entire car seemed to be coated in the faint pink mucus. Brown dirt clung to the goo-like film and Sydney investigated the side of her car where there were a few dents and scratches.

A frown marred Felix's handsome features. "No idea."

She crouched down to get a better look at the markings. She had to be hanging around Joel and Felix too much, because if she were perfectly honest, the scratch marks didn't look entirely human or animal.

# Chapter 3

"When did you learn that you could do this?" Sydney finished wiping the substance off her hand with the towel Niella offered her.

"Cali's not the only one that's been experimenting," said Felix. "I first started with Niella's theory that when I became full-forced it'd increase the distance in which I can use my powers. I tried Erasing something I couldn't see in another room, but that didn't work. So I moved on to something extremely far away that I could still see." He shook his head. "But that was a no-go too. Finally, I tried to bring back something I Erased."

"And still no idea where it went?" Joel pointed to Sydney's car.

The entire guild was a little on edge after they inspected her vehicle.

Felix promised to clean off the "ectoplasmic membrane" by the time she got back. But that wasn't what worried her. What if the substance was toxic? It was highly unlikely, considering that she'd touched it, but what if it was ingested by accident? She almost wanted Felix to Erase it back to wherever it had been.

Felix looked genuinely concerned. "No idea, man," he answered Joel. "Everything else I've Erased and brought back were on a much smaller scale."

"They also weren't Erased for as long as Sydney's car," added Cali.

"So who's going to brave going inside of it?" asked Niella.

Hesitant glances were exchanged all around.

"I think it'd be best if we let it stay here for a while," said Sydney.

"Agreed," said Felix as he ran a hand through his hair. It was a nervous habit of his when he was troubled.

Sydney put her hand on his forearm. She had to crane her head back to look up at him. "Don't worry, okay? We'll figure it out. Thank you for bringing back my car though."

He seemed to relax a bit. "You're welcome."

• • •

Sydney spent the majority of the evening rearranging appointments and clearing her schedule for the next week. She booked herself and Joel a flight up north to Oakland Airport where they'd stay at a nearby hotel. She couldn't help but think that the further they distanced themselves from San Francisco the safer they'd be from Vander and the Kratos Corporation clutches. Plus it was a little cheaper to stay outside the city.

If this whole rescue went off without a hitch, the first place Vander would look for them would be close-by hotels.

Not _if_ , she reminded herself, when. _When_ they pulled off the rescue without a hitch . . . she'd finally be rid of the anxiety that coiled inside of her.

• • •

"So this is it, huh?" Joel asked.

Sydney stared at the beige two-story building from across the street. Nothing stood out aside from the fact that it looked run down and half empty. The small windows on the bottom floor were all covered. There was no street entrance to the building, only a fenced-in parking lot off to the side.

Joel and Sydney watched as an elderly man got into his BMW and drove away. There was no security guard and no cameras that Sydney could see. But she was far from a trained expert.

"Should we come back later?"

Joel pulled out his laptop and made his way toward the crosswalk.

"Where are you going?" Sydney tailed him.

"I've been updating my hacking and pretty much everything illegal software. I want to walk the perimeter of the building to see if I pick up on anything."

Sydney felt completely exposed, like their intentions were obvious as they walked the outer edges of the building, but no one spared them a second glance.

One their third walk-by Joel stopped. "Got it." He shut his computer. "Let's go plan."

• • •

"Everything all right, Syd?" Joel kissed the back of her neck.

Sydney jumped. "What?" She'd been completely lost in thought. They'd gone over their plan of action at least a dozen times. Sydney had convinced Joel that they needed to strike that night. She should have been excited, instead she was filled with dread.

He started to massage her shoulders but Sydney couldn't force her muscles to relax. Joel stopped. Sydney braced herself for the inevitable question.

It didn't come. "We still have time before we go out, why don't we take a shower? Calm your nerves?"

"A shower sounds . . . wonderful." And it did. She'd shared dozens of showers with Joel, why should this one be any different? Everything was fine. She was simply suffering from some pre-rescue mission anxiety. It was natural. Totally and completely understandable.

Joel visibly sighed in relief. He trailed his hand down her arm. "I'll get the water running."

Sydney got up to strip, her hands shaking as she folded her clothes neatly into her dirty laundry bag.

She clenched her fingers into fists to stop the trembles.

What was wrong with her?

It was just a shower.

Just. A. Shower.

Then why was her stomach knotted and her dinner threatening to come up?

"Syd? Are you—?" Joel stopped short when he saw her standing there naked. His Adam's apple bobbed and his navy blue eyes roved over her hungrily.

Sydney felt the ridiculous urge to cover herself.

Joel was only clad in his jeans, his sun tanned chest seeming even darker in the poor hotel room lighting. He drew closer. His hand reached out and rested on her shoulder. "The shower can wait." His voice was rough. His other hand slid along her lower back to bring her closer to his body so that her small breasts pressed firmly into the hard warmth of his chest.

He kissed her. A slow, gentle kiss with a delicate swipe of tongue. His hands started to wander. Sydney pushed back. Her hand shook where it rested on his skin and she snatched it back before he could notice. "Joel." She cleared her throat. "We really should shower."

He stared down at her in confusion, the bulge in his jeans painstakingly obvious. "What's going on, Syd?"

She went to push away but his hands tightened, keeping her close.

"I know this is really going to sound bad, but we haven't had sex in three months. Ever since we helped rescued Felix and Cali from the Kratos building you've been acting differently. You're keeping me at arm's length and I don't fucking know why." His eyes pleaded for her to confide in him.

She looked away.

Joel cursed and dropped his arms from around her. "What's gotten into you? Is it me? Are you getting a three-year itch or something?"

Sydney whirled back to face him. "What? No. Joel, I . . . I want you." She cupped his cheek and forced herself to kiss him. He clutched her to him as if she'd disappear any second. Their tongues twined; the familiar flavor and feel of him after nearly three years together was like returning to the comfort and safety of home after a long trip away. Joel had been the longest relationship she'd ever had. She didn't want anyone else. No one knew her like he did. Fate had to have missed the memo where Joel was supposed to be her Mirror Mate.

When they broke apart they were both breathing heavily. "Then what's been bothering you?" He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She'd been trying to analyze the answer to that question for months. And the only thing she kept coming back to was her brother. He'd died of cancer at age seven. She'd been able to do nothing but watch as he withered away, as he suffered through treatment after treatment. She had been nine. It had been her job to protect him and there wasn't a single thing she could've done.

No one in the guild knew.

She kept the memory of Aaron locked away like she had his possessions locked away in her closet.

She stared Joel in the eye and answered as honestly as possible. "I can't stand by and do nothing if I know I can prevent someone from dying."

Sometimes she wondered why she never majored as a doctor or oncologist to deal with her brother's loss. It would have made more sense than becoming a veterinarian, but she'd never forget the proud look on Aaron's face when she told him that she wanted to take care of animals. He'd always wanted a ton of pets but with his disease they were never allowed to have them. Sydney had promised that when she became a vet and when he got better, she'd take care of all the animals he could fit into his house. She'd pinky promised him.

Joel brought her back to the present. "You're too good of a person, you know that."

She shook away the melancholy thoughts. "I'm not _that_ good of a person, trust me. So . . . are we okay?"

He trailed a finger down the side of her face affectionately. "We're golden."

"How're we on time?"

Joel glanced over at the alarm clock. His face fell.

"Not enough time for sex and a shower?" she guessed.

Joel flashed her a bright smile. "We can always kill two birds with one stone."

Sydney scrunched up her nose. "You know how much I hate that saying. Besides, in the shower? I don't think so. Sex wasn't meant for the shower." His face grew crestfallen. She kissed him on the nose. "After," she promised. "After we get back home we'll spend the rest of our vacation together. In bed."

Joel perked up instantly. "Then what the hell are we waiting for?"

• • •

"Not much security, is there?" Sydney surveyed the area for what was probably the seventh time. She wrapped her arms tighter around her body as another breeze swept through the streets. She didn't know if it was just her, but the San Francisco wind seemed so much colder than the breeze that blew off the Newport ocean back home.

Joel was busy on his laptop. Somehow he had hacked into the building's well-concealed security system and deactivated the feed and alarms. He had some kind of loop playing that would make them invisible in the building as long as they didn't encounter anyone.

"Only a handful of guards on duty," he answered.

And they had no idea if those guards had powers or not. Which made their plan extra tricky. Back in their hotel they'd come up with a roughly put together plan. If they came across someone with powers, Sydney would Shield until Joel could get close enough, then she'd drop her Shield and he'd use his ability to Lock anyone to anything, including a person's shoes to the floor. One their prey was stalled with nowhere to move, Joel would knock them out. Because once she put her Shield back up his Lock would be negated.

She patted the side pocket of her cargo pants. And if all else failed then it was a good thing she'd brought her own supply of Propofol.

Joel shoved his laptop into his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "Ready?" He looked positively delighted. Sydney couldn't understand how he and Felix could get so excited about playing super hero. It was downright terrifying.

_Maybe you_ should _have let Cali come instead._

She could hardly keep the water in her stomach down.

"Syd?" Joel asked when she hesitated.

_No backing out now. You can do it._

"I'm ready."

He gave her an encouraging squeeze on the arm.

They crept out from the bus stop when there was a lull in traffic. This late at night on a weekday there weren't many cars on the street. They reached the chain-link fence and Joel pulled out a master key that he'd programmed to open the gate. He slid it past the sensor. She held her breath. The gate rattled open on its rusty wheels.

They slipped inside the parking lot and made their way along the wall of the building to remain unseen to those driving along the street.

Any minute she expected a car to drive in and spot them.

Did her heart always sound this loud?

She shook herself. _Stay focused._

A loud burst of laughter came from down the street. Sydney spun.

Joel got to work on the entrance lock. "Don't worry." He seemed to sense her nervousness. "No one from the street can see us."

The gate started to rattle closed.

"Joel—" she started.

"It's supposed to do that," he reassured her. "It's set on a timer as if a car was driving in."

Right.

_Stop being so childish. Remember why you're doing this._

She recalled to mind the way her mystery man had been drugged, sitting all alone in that cell, suffering.

The image bolstered her confidence.

Joel cracked the lock on the front door. "Go in easy," he whispered as she passed by him to enter the dim lit lobby.

She hovered near the door while he propped the door open an inch for an easy escape. He turned around to survey the area.

It was like any other office building, Sydney supposed: empty lobby, two hallways leading in opposite directions to lead up behind the main wall. There were no decorations whatsoever. Along the ceiling was the impression of inverted stairs, which meant that they were above them behind the wall they were facing.

She pointed to the ceiling. "Do you think they're being held upstairs?"

Joel tilted his head as if listening for something. "I don't know. Maybe. I'm a little more worried about where the workers on duty are at."

Neither one of them spoke the one doubt that she was sure they were both thinking: What if no one was being held here at all?

Footsteps came from down one of the hallways.

Joel flew to the opposite hall and motioned her over.

They slipped behind the cover of the front wall just as a man came around the other end. He was average height with dark hair, but with the poor lighting she couldn't tell if it was black or brown.

She exchanged a glance with Joel. They were both thinking the same thing.

The man was too thin to be a hired guard. That left only one other option. He was hired because he had powers.

Joel motioned for her to use her ability. She nodded.

The man strolled through the lobby, his gaze catching on the ajar door.

Joel crept out from behind their hideaway and carefully made his way over.

The back of Sydney's neck gave the appropriate tingle, letting her know that her Shield was up.

Joel tapped the man on the shoulder. He spun. "You picked the wrong place to rob, buddy," the man said as he grabbed Joel roughly around his neck.

Joel wasn't the least bit concerned. The man stared at Joel, his arrogant smile slipping when he realized his powers, whatever they were, were useless.

"Something the matter?" asked Joel before he clocked him.

The man went down.

Sydney lowered her Shield. Not that Joel really needed his powers. That right hook took his opponent down. But just to be on the cautious side she ran over and injected him with her sedative.

"Questioning my fighting ability, Syd?" Joel asked as they propped the man up in a dark corner.

"Not at all," she huffed. "Simply covering all possible means for interference."

"How much did you give him?"

"Not too much, he should be out for a good half hour."

There was the scrape of a chair being moved upstairs, followed shortly by footsteps.

Joel eyed their unconscious friend. "Coming to check on him?"

Sydney strained her ears. What she wouldn't give to be able to use Cali's powers right about then to hear better. "I don't think so." The steps were getting further away.

"We should move slowly then. There's still two more up there."

She followed Joel as he took the stairs two at a time. The second floor opened up to a long hallway with doors on both sides. Some were open, others closed. The footsteps they heard could have gone into any number of those rooms.

A chill slid down her spine. Were they being expected?

Joel cursed under his breath.

She joined him down the hall. "What?"

"I think we found where they're holding their captives."

He jerked his thumb at the sideways folder that rested in the holder that was mounted to the door. It was the same type of paperwork a doctor would have for their patients.

Sydney's stomach twisted. Was this it? Was her mystery man inside?

Joel already had one of his gadgets out that would hack into the electronic lock on the door. "You should watch this," he told her.

"Why?"

"Because we have no idea where the other two guards are and I'll be a better look out. You can get everyone out of their cells."

He didn't give her time to argue. Not that she would have. "See this?" He held up some kind of card that was connected to a small device he held in his hands. "Jam it into the slot here." He motioned to the designated spot on the lock. "When the card's in, it'll scan the proper code and unlock the door. When you're all done pull the card out and open the door. Simple."

He handed her the stuff as he opened the door he'd been working on.

Sydney's heart leapt into her throat.

A young man lifted his head.

She exhaled. It wasn't her man.

"Who're you?"

Joel pointed to himself. "I'm Joel, this here is Sydney. We're here to bust your ass out."

She rushed over to the kid. The lighting was poor in the cells, more so than out in the hall. "What's your name?"

"Luke. Luke Teagan."

Luke had hair that was either a sandy blonde or a mousy brown. His sky blue eyes watched her carefully as she worked on the ties at his hands. He had the smallest cleft in his chin.

"Nice to meet you, Luke." Sydney ripped at the knots until they came undone. His fingers were nearly purple and swollen from poor circulation. She cringed inwardly. "Can you stand?"

He got slowly to his feet. He towered over her.

_Kid must still be growing._

"This way." She ushered him out. "Stay with Joel, all right?"

He nodded.

She rushed down the hall past an open conference room and stopped outside the next locked door. She shoved Joel's key card into the slot and waited as the machine ran through its algorithms.

There was a faint click and she pulled the key from the slot and opened the door.

Peering up out of a face shrouded in ink black hair, ice blue eyes locked with hers.

Sydney's heart hiccupped.

# Chapter 4

_Regina must have gotten bored_ , Merrick thought as the lock disengaged. He went to straighten his posture then thought better of it.

Screw it.

What good was showing defiance, anyway? Regina just seemed to enjoy it more.

The door opened. Merrick felt a kick to the gut when _she_ walked in.

_It couldn't be . . ._

Yet his eyes told him a different story. Dressed in a black shirt, green cargo pants, and black . . . Sketchers? His blonde beauty stood in front of him like a dream come to life. For a handful of heartbeats she stood in the doorway watching him, as if afraid to breathe.

There was a hiss from down the hall. A male voice. It snapped her into action.

She raced around his chair, her soft fingers working at the knots binding his hands, brushing against his skin every now and again. Merrick repressed a shiver. The warm scent of vanilla wafted over from her. His cock stirred.

"Who the hell are you?" he finally found his voice. It was a little rough.

There was a hard tug on his wrists before the bindings fell away.

"Sydney Spencer."

He massaged feeling back into his hands. She watched him openly with a mix of curiosity and fear.

He stood, for the first time realizing how tiny she was. She didn't even reach his shoulder. "I'm Merrick."

She stared up at him, swallowing visibly. She forced a smile. "Nice to meet you."

She booked it for the door.

"Where are you going?" He took a step and had to reach out for the wall as a sudden surge of vertigo hit him. Damn drugs, malnutrition, and dehydration.

"I have to free anyone else," she threw over her shoulder.

He followed her into the hall. At one end there stood two men. One was dressed in scrubs like him. Another prisoner. The other man motioned for Merrick to join them but he followed Sydney.

She was busy deactivating another lock.

He came up behind her. "Where did you get that?"

She stiffened fractionally. It was a small tightening in the shoulders, but Merrick saw it. Did his presence upset her?

"I got it from Joel, the man over there. He's really good with electronics."

"And what do you do?" he found himself asking, wanting to know the answer. Who was this woman that looked so incredibly young and why was he so drawn to her?

She pulled a wired card from the slot in the door and twisted the handle. She turned to face him and his gut clenched as their eyes locked. His whole body prickled with awareness.

There was a flash in her green eyes, gone before he could identify it. "I'm a vet," she said before disappearing into the room.

He decided to stay outside the cell. He heard Sydney introduce herself and ask the girl's name.

"Hazel Benedict," came the answer.

A girl a little taller than Sydney came out of the room. She had thick, straight black hair, with a full set of bangs that brushed into a pair of deep forest green eyes. Hazel eyed him hesitantly before she noticed he was dressed in scrubs. Same as her.

"Right that way." He pointed down the hall where the man named Joel stood with the other freed captive.

Hazel went to join the others. Merrick continued to follow his blonde.

"Who do you work for? Why are you doing this?" he asked as she worked on the last locked room.

She shot him a frustrated glare. "Can't I say I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart and be done with the interrogation?"

She vanished into the last cell where another girl named Juliet Arden was being kept. She had long, wavy brown hair and deep blue eyes. She was nearly the same height as Sydney, but unlike Sydney, Juliet was gifted with curves and an ample chest.

Any further questions Merrick would have asked were put on hold as Juliet conducted her own interrogation. "What's going on? Why am I here? Those people kept asking if I have any powers. I don't! Who are you really?"

Sydney looked like she was holding back an eye roll. She gave Merrick an annoyed look as if the girl's curiosity had been his fault.

"No more questions," she hissed to shut Juliet up. "We need to get out of here first."

Juliet's blue eyes widened as she realized they weren't out of the woods just yet.

Merrick held his finger up to his lips to signal her to be quiet then pointed to the group forming at the other end of the hall.

Juliet scurried to meet them.

"Where are you going?" Merrick whispered.

Sydney continued down the hall investigating all other rooms. "I thought I said no more questions." She sighed. "I'm looking for the other guards on duty. We only took down one. There's supposed to be three." She paused when she came to the end of the hall.

"What is it?" He followed her gaze. It was another set of stairs. "You think it leads somewhere else?"

She shook her head, blonde hair flaring out to brush his arm. He inhaled sharply. How long had it been since he'd been with a woman? Fisted her hair? Obviously too long if he was this riled up over a woman he just met.

"The building is too small for those stairs to lead anywhere else but the bottom floor," Sydney answered. "The only problem is that we left an unconscious man on the bottom floor."

That was certainly going to give them away.

"Maybe they're in a break room," he offered optimistically though he highly doubted it.

She nodded absently. "Come on." She went back the way they'd came to join the others.

"Joel," the man with rich brown hair and midnight blue eyes introduced himself. His hands and forearms were covered with scars. Now wasn't the time to ask questions, though Merrick did catalogue it for later.

"This is how it'll go down." Joel rallied them into a small circle. Merrick noticed with some discomfort that Sydney positioned herself at Joel's side. "Syd and I will go down first and make sure the coast is clear. You guys follow after, okay?" There was a collective nod. "Only after we give the all clear," he stressed.

More nods.

They made their way to the stairs. Merrick slid to the front to speak with Joel who seemed to be the obvious leader. "I can help," he whispered.

"I appreciate it, man," said Joel, "but—"

Merrick cut him off. "Look around you, the others are just kids. I'm not. I'm trained."

Joel studied him. Merrick didn't back down. Finally Joel leaned into him and lowered his voice. "Do you have powers?"

Merrick froze.

Joel waited with a "no bullshit" expression on his face.

Could it be possible that these people were like him? His first instinct was to lie. Self-preservation and all. But then his eyes slid to Sydney. His heart quivered in his chest and he rubbed at it absently.

He forced his gaze back to Joel's. "I do," he said just as quietly.

Joel nodded. "Stay close and don't do anything stupid. My power allows me to Lock a person if I touch them. That means if I can get my hand on their feet they won't be able to move from wherever it is they're standing. It'll be a lot easier to take down an opponent that can't move. You feel me?"

Merrick couldn't believe he'd been found by more people with abilities. "I understand."

They proceeded down the steps. The building was in dire need of repair. Cracks lined the walls, dirt marred the floor. Where the hell had they been keeping him? He was tempted to ask but they reached the bottom floor. Joel and Sydney split off in opposite directions to search for their two missing targets.

Merrick trailed Sydney. There was no way she'd be able to take on another person. She barely looked like she'd be able to fight off a twelve-year-old.

"Why do you keep following me?" She raised her hand as if to shove him away but stopped herself before her hand could make contact.

For some reason that bothered him, he wanted her hand to touch him. He wanted her skin on his again.

He shook himself.

"You look like you could use some help," he said.

Anger sparked in her eyes. "Because I'm small?"

Merrick was smart enough to know wounded pride when he heard it. He refrained from answering.

They came across no one in the few hallways that eventually connected to the second set of stairs. They rejoined Joel and the others by the first set. Joel's eyes flickered from him to Sydney and back again, a frown forming.

_Shit._

Were they together?

As if in answer, Sydney crossed to Joel and laced their fingers together.

_Fuck._

Merrick's lungs constricted, an unwanted burst of anger bubbling up inside of him.

"No one," Sydney reported.

_It's better this way_ , he told himself, unable to tear his gaze away from their clasped hands. It may have been a while since he'd been with a woman, but he reminded himself that there had been a damn good reason behind why he avoided them.

"All right then," said Joel. "Let's go."

They circled around to the front.

An unconscious man lay off to the side. A small noise from his right caught Merrick's attention. Hazel's eyes were locked on the male, burning bright with hatred.

Merrick took a closer look at the slumped over figure and balled his hands into fists. He'd endured a lot of pain at the hands of that man. He had some kind of ability to cause excruciating pain on contact. The idea that that man's hands had been on someone as young as Hazel made Merrick see red. He was pretty sure if he had seen any kind of fear or tears in her eyes he would have gone over and broken the fucker's unconscious neck. As it was, Hazel's bottom lip didn't so much as tremble. She simply glared.

Joel came to an abrupt stop.

Sydney dropped his hand. "What is it?"

"I left that open." He gestured to the front door.

It was closed, the electronic lock engaged.

Joel pulled his backpack off and rummaged through it.

A shadow shifted in the corner.

Merrick took a step forward to warn them but it was too late.

"Stop right there." Regina cocked a gun right at Joel's chest.

Joel froze, the device Merrick had seen Sydney using clutched in his hand.

Regina motioned with her gun. "Drop it."

Joel carefully set his equipment back in his pack and placed it at his feet.

"Push it away from you," instructed Regina. Another shadow detached itself from the wall. Dennis. Again, no last name given.

The young man in their group shivered as Dennis walked forward to relieve Joel of his belongings.

Regina smiled at them. "I knew I smelled intruders." She tapped her nose with her free hand.

Joel and Sydney exchanged confused glances. But Merrick realized what they didn't with a sinking sensation: Regina had a power. He recalled all those visits from her, some of her words making more sense to him now. The off-hand comments about his scent and how it drove her wild, how she couldn't get the smell of him out of her nose. She must be some type of blood hound with the olfactory ability to track others by their scents.

He scanned Dennis but found no weapons on him, concealed or otherwise.

If he could figure out some way to disarm Regina they'd have a chance. Dennis's abilities required physical contact. As long as he was in contact with another he could take away a person's sight. They'd done it enough to Merrick in the past. It was a scare tactic: blind the captive so they wouldn't know when the pain was coming. It was a sick sort of amusement that left the captive in constant anticipation.

Dennis started to shift through Joel's bag.

"Hands up," Regina commanded.

Merrick found his gaze drawn to Sydney. She was watching him.

_Have to protect her . . ._

He couldn't stand the thought of Sydney going through what he had for the past however many months of his life.

He tore his eyes away. "You're not going to stop us from leaving," he told Regina.

Dennis paused in his ransacking. Regina's lips curled further. "Is that so?" She aimed the gun at him.

Merrick could feel the group around him tense. He braced himself for the pain he was about to unleash upon himself. His leg muscles bunched. He readied his hands. He sprang—

"No!"

Movement on his left.

A shot fired.

Merrick slapped at his chest. No wound. He lunged for Regina.

Cries erupted from all over.

He caught Regina's wrists and forced them up. Another shot rang out. Plaster sprinkled down on them.

"You know there's no escape," Regina whispered to him as she fought his hold. "Wherever you go, I'll find you."

Before he could break his rule of not hitting women, Joel was at his side. He dropped to the ground and covered Regina's feet with his hands. "Leave her," said Joel. "We don't have much time—I heard someone mention reinforcements."

Merrick tore the gun from Regina and threw it down the hall. He stepped away from her. She went to follow and tipped forward.

"What the fuck is this?" she shrieked. She clasped her ankles and heaved. They didn't move from the floor.

The others were huddled around the front door. Merrick scanned Sydney for injury but it was the young man with blue eyes and a cleft in his chin that took the shot. The sleeve of his scrubs was wet with blood.

"Joel," Sydney cried. "We need the code."

Joel reversed direction back to Dennis who must've been knocked out during the chaos. He was starting to stir, Joel's pack tucked between his feet.

"No time." Merrick forced his way through. He inhaled deeply and put his palm flat over the keypad.

The back of his neck tingled. He shut his eyes as he was bombarded with visions. Different people, tons of emotions, but they all typed in the same code.

He pulled his hand back and punched in the five digit password. The lock clicked free. He threw the door open and held it. The others stared at him. "Out," he ordered.

Sydney hustled the injured man out.

Joel clapped him on the shoulder. "Nice."

They ran out into the parking lot.

"Where's your van?" asked Juliet.

Joel ran to the gate. "Don't have one."

"You don't have a van?"

"Look," said Joel. "We had no idea how many of you we were going to find, if any. Not to mention finding parking would have been a bitch."

"We're in a parking lot," countered Juliet. "You could have parked here!"

Joel grumbled under his breath.

"So, what?" Juliet continued. "You thought you'd get us out nice and smoothly, no problems whatsoever, and we could just walk away?" Juliet laughed humorlessly. "You guys overestimated your skills."

"You know, you're about as optimistic as Niella," Joel mumbled.

Sydney shared a secretive smile with him.

"So how'd you get here?" asked Juliet.

"The BART."

BART. Bay Area Rapid Transit. Merrick inhaled, catching the faint sea breeze. If he had to guess he'd bet his money on them being in San Francisco. Shit. He was over three hundred miles from home.

"The what?" cried Juliet.

Joel ignored her to address Merrick. "Can you open this gate like you did the front door?"

Merrick put his hand on the metal box. "This isn't the same. There's no password."

Joel cursed.

"Isn't there some way to overload the system with a jolt or a kick or something?" asked Sydney.

Hazel perked up from where she hovered at the injured man's side. Without a word she ran to the box and put both hands over it. She took a deep breath and held it. Her whole body shook. Electricity surged from her hands into the box. Smoke rose, the system blown. The gate rattled.

There was no time to stare. Joel raced over and manually opened the gate. Merrick went to help.

"Now where?" asked Juliet.

Two cars came speeding around the bend of a nearby corner.

"Backup," said Sydney.

They all huddled behind a bus stop poster board.

"Should we make a run for it?" Sydney said to Joel.

"No need." Merrick peered out around their hideout. A bus pulled up and stopped.

"Everyone on," commanded Joel.

They packed in. It was deserted, which was good. Joel ran to the front to pay their fare while the rest circled around their injured comrade to hide the blood.

Joel returned a second later to claim a seat behind Sydney and the injured one. He leaned over the seat to take a look and cursed. "How're you holding up, Luke?"

Luke.

Merrick filed the name away.

"I'll be fine." The sweat beading on Luke's forehead indicated otherwise. "I'd rather die than go back there."

"Well, you didn't have to get so close to dying to prove your point," said Joel dryly.

Luke tried to grin but it looked more like a grimace. "I'll try to remember that next time."

"Hopefully there won't be a next time." Sydney tried to take a look at the wound but he kept shifting away from her. "Don't worry, I'm a doctor," she said when Luke continued to evade her advances.

He quit squirming. "Really?"

Sydney scrunched up her nose. "Well . . . I'm a vet. And we're going to need supplies."

Luke shook his head. "No you don't. I told you, I'll be fine."

"You were shot," Merrick reminded him, wondering if Luke was going into shock.

Hazel squeezed in at Merrick's side. He stepped aside to give her room. "You were really brave back there," she told Luke.

Luke ducked his head, his neck growing red.

Juliet leaned in around Hazel. "You know, whoever saw us get on this bus is going to be able to track us. Shouldn't we have a destination in mind?"

"Why don't you and Hazel check the routes up on the wall and find us a way back to the BART station?" said Joel.

Juliet's chest puffed up at being given an important task. "Come on, Hazel," she said warmly and led the other girl to the middle of the bus.

Sydney worked at Luke's sleeve and pulled it up to reveal his wound.

Merrick stood in front of Luke to block the bus driver's view. "That's not too bad. I thought it was a lot worse from the amount of blood."

"It was a lot worse," said Luke. "But I told you I'd be fine. I heal rapidly. That's my power."

"That's why you took the shot," Sydney mused out loud.

Luke nodded. "I saw you," he jerked his head at Merrick, "get ready to jump the woman with the gun but I lunged for her first so she'd take me down, giving you time to tackle her."

Merrick's admiration for the kid grew. "I have to agree with Hazel, that was really brave. Thank you."

"We're still going to need to stop," said Sydney. "He's going to need another shirt. He'll draw too much attention with all this blood. All of you are going to draw enough attention as it is in those scrubs."

Merrick looked down at his feet. They were all barefoot too. Luckily the bus driver didn't give them shit about that.

Joel leaned back in his seat. "I don't think anything's open this late, Syd. It's late and dark out—as long as we keep Skywalker here in the shadows we should be fine."

Luke turned around in his seat to face Joel. "Skywalker?"

Joel shrugged. "You have to admit, you're a striking resemblance of him."

"I guess." Luke hunched down in his seat to rest his head back.

"Any idea what Juliet can do?" Joel asked Luke.

Luke opened his eyes. "No idea."

"Juliet said she didn't have any powers." Sydney dug around in her pockets and pulled out a small tissue that she used to push against Luke's wound. He hissed in pain.

Joel made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. "I have to say I was a little surprised to find Static Shock on our team."

Merrick frowned. "Who?"

Joel pointed to the girls. "I'm talking about Hazel and her electrokinesis ability. Out of the two of them I would have thought she was the one that didn't have powers."

"Electrokinesis," Merrick repeated, still unable to believe what his life had turned into. "And I thought my clairsentience was odd."

"Clairsentience, is that what you call your power?" asked Joel.

"I looked it up on the internet one day."

"Well." Joel leaned forward and put a hand on Sydney's shoulder. She jumped. "Let me tell you, if you join our group back home we'll find you a much better title."

Merrick wondered if Joel's offer would still stand if he knew Merrick was secretly lusting after his girlfriend.

Juliet cleared her throat, announcing her and Hazel's return. "We're going in the wrong direction. We need to get off this bus as soon as possible. At the next stop we'll have to walk about a mile, if I estimated correctly, to another pickup. That new bus will then arrive close enough for us to walk to the Montgomery station."

"Luke?" Sydney asked tentatively.

He opened his eyes. The poor kid looked absolutely exhausted. Merrick knew the feeling but he had to keep it together. He'd be able to rest when they were all well and truly free.

"Are you going to be able to walk all that?" Sydney relayed Juliet's instructions in case he had dozed off.

"Think so," Luke mumbled.

"We're about to find out." Joel got to his feet. "Because here comes our stop."

• • •

Luke ended up making it. His injury slowed the entire group down but no one said anything about it. It was because of him that they were able to get away at all and Merrick wasn't going to knock the kid when he took a bullet for him.

However, Merrick could feel their head start slipping away as they wove through the tight streets. Once they were back on the bus it wasn't too bad, but he kept himself on high alert. There was no telling how far Regina would be able to track them. The whole group might already be watching all the stations. He sincerely hoped that wasn't the case.

He took a seat across from Sydney. "It was a good thing you guys didn't stay at a nearby hotel."

She kept her expression carefully guarded. "We figured that would be the first place anyone would start looking."

"Smart."

By the time they arrived on Market Street the young ones were fading fast.

Luke had rolled his shirt sleeve up to cover the blood. His wound still bled, but they figured it was better to have a small amount of blood instead of a large stain that drew the unwanted eye.

"Come on," Joel tried to rally them. "We have to make the last train."

Joel took the down escalator at a run. Merrick waited for the others to go before he followed. Brown hair caught his eye but when he turned there was no one there.

Was he imagining things?

He scanned the street one last time before heading below ground.

Stale air greeted him. It was mixed with the scent of machinery and unwashed bodies. He could hear the approaching transport. The platform was nearly empty. Juliet, Hazel, and Luke all stood near the bright yellow marker at the edge of the platform, eager to board. Joel and Sydney were not far behind them.

"Are you going to take us home with you?" asked Hazel.

Merrick joined them.

"Only if you want," said Joel. "Our main goal was to get you guys back where you belong. But if you don't have anywhere you're more than welcome to join our Guild of Truth."

Juliet perked up. "You mean there's more of you?"

Sydney nodded. "Not too many more, only three."

"We'll tell you more about it on the way to Oakland." Joel motioned to the oncoming transport.

Merrick's stomach clenched.

Nerves?

No. He felt an itch at the back of his neck as if he were being watched.

The BART pulled up, doors opening. The others started to board. Merrick scanned the platform. Nothing. But he knew better than to doubt his instincts. He studied every person whether sitting, standing, or walking.

Sydney went to board.

Regina stepped out from behind a scheduling board, something raised in her hand.

Merrick didn't think. He reacted.

He grabbed Sydney by the shoulders and a jolt went through him at the contact. He wrenched her away from the doors. Sydney yelped in surprise.

Joel jumped to his feet. "What the fuck are you—"

A shot _pinged_ off the transport cart.

Joel ducked inside with a curse.

The doors shut.

"Joel!" Sydney cried out.

Joel banged on the glass but the BART was already moving.

# Chapter 5

Sydney watched their only chance at escape leaving without them.

Merrick grabbed her hand. "We need to get out of here."

Her heart skipped as his warm hand enveloped hers.

To emphasize his point another silenced shot went off three feet from where she was standing.

They booked it for the escalators. Sydney tried to keep up with Merrick's longer stride. She started to fall behind, her hand tugging him back. He slowed his pace and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Her stomach flipped.

"How'd they find us so fast?" she huffed.

"Regina is a tracker."

The man they'd knocked out with Propofol stepped out from behind a pillar.

They skid to a stop. Sydney threw her Shield up.

The man grabbed her, purposely going for skin to skin contact.

"No," Merrick roared, unaware that her power would negate whatever the man's ability would have done to her.

Merrick's fist flew. Their attacker flew into another scheduling board. Another shot rang out. Cries of alarm burst into the air. A security guard was racing toward them.

"Merrick." Sydney tugged his arm to alert him.

"I know." His jaw bulged.

They sprinted for the escalator and made it top side, shouts ringing out behind them.

Sydney had to stop and catch her breath. "Now where?"

Merrick's black hair whipped out as he looked up and down the streets. "Do you have cash on you?"

Sydney patted her cargo pockets. "Yeah, why? Where can we go with you in scrubs that won't draw attention?"

He hailed a taxi. He held the door open for her. "The obvious choice, of course." He climbed in after her. "To the hospital," he told the driver. "Stay low," he whispered and pushed her head down as the taxi took off.

She sunk lower into her seat, her heart racing a mile a minute. The taxi smelled like cheap incense. She tried to breathe through her mouth to lessen the smell but it wasn't helping.

"A hospital?" she asked to distract herself from her body's reaction to Merrick's close proximity.

He looked out the back windshield for perhaps the third time. "Like you said, scrubs are going to make it a little difficult to blend, but not at a hospital. Not to mention the ER has people there at all hours of the night so no one will think twice of us staying there."

The idea of staying in one place all night didn't sit well with her, but they didn't really have any other options. They could try a hotel but what if Vander was watching them? She had no idea how far his wealth and power reached.

Was he even in San Francisco? The location of Vander had eluded her guild for the past three months.

The hospital wasn't very far from the BART station. Sydney paid the driver and Merrick led her into the ER. It was about half full, ranging from bed wrangled individuals to snot nosed little children.

Sydney shivered as she was reminded of all the time she'd spent in the hospital with Aaron, staying by his side as he went through his treatments.

A nurse behind the front desk eyed them. Well, she eyed Merrick. She didn't give Sydney the time of day.

A stab of possessiveness went through her. She instantly shoved it away as Merrick went over to a far corner.

She took a seat in one of the stiff-backed chairs. "We're going to stay here and wait out the night?"

Merrick didn't take his eyes off the entrance. "We can take shifts sleeping. I'll take first watch."

Something told her that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep. It wasn't the constant noise or hushed voices, it was the atmosphere that put her on edge.

"You can relax," Merrick said after a few minutes of silence, startling her. "I'll keep watch for Regina or anyone else that looks suspicious."

"Regina was the woman who shot at us?"

Merrick nodded.

"No offense, but I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep. My brain is a little overwhelmed right about now." That was an understatement. She'd gone in knowing that they might have to fight more of Vander's employees. But the escape she had imagined had been nothing like the chaotic run for their lives that she was currently experiencing. Not to mention being shot at was never a pleasant feeling. "I hope Luke's okay," she mumbled aloud.

"That kid is resilient. I'm sure he's fine." He took his eyes off the front entrance to give her a small smile.

Her heart did that stupid flip thingy again, her cheeks heating.

She shifted in her seat, her mind going back to that moment where she thought Regina was going to shoot Merrick. She'd cried out before she'd even knew what was happening, the fear for Merrick's life overwhelming her.

_Could it be possible that he was her Mirror Mate?_

Her stomach knotted with both dread and excitement.

Joel's anguished expression as the BART pulled away haunted her. He'd be so worried. She pulled out her phone before she realized that Joel wouldn't get reception while the transit was traveling underground. She tucked her phone back into her pants and readjusted herself in her seat.

"Are you going to tell me why you're so fidgety or am I going to have to guess?" said Merrick.

She crossed then re-crossed her legs, caught herself, and then glared at him.

Amusement touched his face. "So I'm to guess? In that case I'd say it's the hospital that's got you uncomfortable and not our situation, which is curious considering that you told me you were a vet. Don't you work in a clinical setting?"

Sydney didn't like his astuteness. "How did you get so good at reading people?"

"I'm a PI. It comes with the territory." He went back to watching the room at large. Sydney was just starting to relax when he spoke again. "So are you going to tell me why you don't like hospitals?"

_So much for avoiding the question._

She got the feeling that Merrick could wait out any question. Her fingers curled into fists. "They bring back old memories I'd rather not think about," she confessed. Memories of Aaron with no hair being pushed in a wheelchair, his little bones sticking out against his skin, and the scent of sickness that seemed to permeate the air.

"What happened?"

"That's none of your business," she said curtly, though something inside of her said she could tell him—trust him. Still, she refused. She'd never even told Joel about her brother and now she was supposed to just open up to Merrick because she _felt_ like it?

She studied Merrick's profile determined to find what it was that was drawing her in. There had to be some logical reasoning. His black hair was straggly, so that couldn't be it, his face gaunt from his time as a prisoner—that most definitely couldn't be it. Yet . . . he had a strong jaw line and the most captivating eyes she'd ever seen. Heat pooled in her belly. He was also brave and protective, a quick thinker too. Her gaze dropped to his hands. She remembered how warm they were around her own. Her breasts ached as if eager for his touch.

Merrick stiffened.

Sydney mentally slapped herself. _What am I doing?_

"What is it?" she asked, glad her voice didn't come out husky. She tried to ignore the throbbing of her body.

Merrick gave the smallest nod to the far end of the ER. "See the janitor over there? This is his second time in here and his second time watching us."

Sydney instantly tensed. "You think he works for Vander?"

"I don't know." Merrick's head whipped around. "How do you know Vander?"

Something like disappointment settled in her chest. He didn't remember her?

_Come on, Sydney, that was three months ago and he was drugged up._

She cleared her throat. "Three months ago my guild exposed the underground illegal fighting matches he held at his facility. We tried to bust the prisoners out but we didn't have enough time. I . . . I saw you in one of the cells. You probably don't remember me but—"

"I remember you."

Their eyes locked. Sydney's breath caught. Everything she had been denying was right there staring back at her. Suddenly she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her stomach filled with butterflies. Her gaze dipped to Merrick's mouth. What would he taste like? She desperately wanted to know.

She licked her lips.

His eyes snagged on the movement. Lust sparked in his ice blue gaze. Sydney felt an answering spark inside her very center.

_If I just move a little closer . . ._

Merrick tore himself away.

Sydney blinked. She was leaning heavily over the side of her seat. Mortification set in and she jerked back.

Merrick's face was carefully neutral. "So," his voice was gruff, "how long have you and Joel . . . uh . . . been together?"

Embarrassment and shame flooded her. He knew they were dating? She wanted to melt into a puddle right then and there. "Our three-year anniversary is coming up in a little over a week," she said meekly, feeling even worse.

Merrick's knuckles briefly flashed white. "That's a long time."

She picked at invisible lint on her pants. "It is."

A brief quiet settled over them.

"You know, you're really going to need to get some sleep. If you don't you're going to be too exhausted tomorrow to do anything."

"I know," she sighed. "I just have to calm myself first, then I should be all right."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "It might help if you focused on something else other than whatever is bothering you."

The trouble was there were too many things bothering her. Her memories of Aaron, her relationship with Joel . . . him.

"Why don't you tell me about what kind of powers you have?" Merrick said. "You already know mine."

She smiled at the much-needed distraction. They were in a corner far enough away from the other patients that they wouldn't be overheard. "I'm a Shielder. My power negates everyone else's around me when I use them."

He looked mildly impressed. "So when that man grabbed you at the station you didn't feel anything?"

"No. What does he do anyway?"

"He causes pain."

She swallowed thickly. "How long did Vander have you for before he moved you?"

He shrugged. "There's no way to keep track of time, but I'd guess a month give or take."

She processed that for a minute. Four months total. "I'm sorry we didn't get to you," she voiced the one regret that had been haunting her all summer. "We wanted to free you, the woman I was with and I, but we thought for sure you'd be rescued by the police. We never knew Vander moved you until we couldn't find you in the hospital."

"You searched for me?"

Her cheeks flamed. "Yeah."

He started to reach for her, then stopped. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his scrub pants. "Thank you."

She didn't know what to think of his small slip. Did he want to touch her like she did him? "Where are you from?"

"Anaheim."

Her body traitorously perked up at the realization that he didn't live very far from her. "Were you working on any big cases before Vander took you?"

That half smirk was back on his face. "Are you interrogating me?"

"It's only fair after you questioned me _during_ a rescue mission."

"In all fairness you didn't answer all my questions."

"I did too," she protested.

"You told me you were rescuing me 'out of the goodness of your heart,' when really it sounds like you were doing it for your 'guild.'"

"Technically it's both. The Guild of Truth has vowed to stop Vander at every turn, plus we wanted to save those that we let down back in Irvine."

"The Guild of Truth? As opposed to Vander's Kratos Guild?"

She stiffened in genuine surprise. "How do you know the name of Vander's Guild?"

He watched a nurse wheel a patient through the swinging double doors. "Because he wanted me to join it."

She gripped the arm of her chair. "And what did you say?"

He gave her a flat stare. "What do you think I said? I denied him."

Sydney sagged in relief, the wheels in her brain turning. "Did he say why he wanted you to join?" If he was building another facility to run illegal fights then the guild needed to know about it. They needed to cut him off before he could even start.

"He wanted me to find something for him—a journal from an old employee that's in a coma."

Her stomach turned to ice.

Her feelings must have shown on her face because Merrick turned his full attention to her. "What is it?"

What were the odds? "I think I know which employee Vander is referring to."

"Who is it?"

"His name is Kevin Bauer. He's been in a coma for a few years now because my best friend, Felix, put him there. He was a full-forced Dreamer, someone with the ability to see the past, present, or future," she explained at his puzzled expression. "Kevin's Mirror Mate was a woman named Collette—she had a sick obsession with Felix and wanted him to love her. He didn't and to punish him, Collette tried to have Kevin kill him. Felix fought back and nailed him in the head with a chair as he ran for his life. That's why he's in a coma."

Merrick cursed. "That's some life your friend's got there."

"That's not the half of it. Three months ago Vander went after Felix's Mirror Mate, Cali, because he thought she was his. He later found that he was mistaken, that Kevin had lied to him, but still he sent Collette after both of them. It was through this whole mix up that we formed the Guild of Truth. We learned of Vander's dealings and vowed to stop him. Cali put a stop to Collette but Vander got away."

"Collette . . . " Merrick frowned. "I know that name."

"She was Vander's right-hand woman for a while. She could create Illusions with nothing but a thought and a wave of her hand."

The muscles in his neck strained as he clenched his jaw. "Now I remember that bitch. She was the one that lured me to her with a false case. She had all the documentation but when I touched the paperwork I couldn't get a reading from it."

She nodded. "Probably because it wasn't real."

He inhaled deeply as if to calm himself. "So Vander is looking for this journal that was written by a . . . Dreamer? Why?"

"I wish I knew. We have a Dreamer in our guild, her name is Niella. She keeps a little notepad on her because I think it helps keep her sane. She's never told me but I think she writes down everything she Dreams so she can differentiate between what she Dreamed and what is real. I can only imagine that Kevin did the same thing, writing down everything he was asked to Dream about." That's when it clicked. "He hasn't given up on finding his Mirror Mate," she whispered.

"What?"

She grabbed his arm. A flare of desire shot through her. Merrick's eyes flashed. She released her hold. "Vander hasn't given up looking for his Mirror Mate," she repeated, trying to sort it out through her jumbled brain. "He went after Cali because he thought she was his Mirror Mate but when he found out she wasn't, the guild and I thought he'd simply drop the issue. Now he's looking for Kevin's journal because I bet you anything he's looking for any clue as to her whereabouts."

Merrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying to follow you but I'm a little confused about what a Mirror Mate is."

"A Mirror Mate is a destined soul mate of sorts. When the two individuals find each other and bond completely they increase each other's power. That's why Vander wants to find his so badly. He wants to expand his power." She needed to tell the guild as soon as possible. If Felix's theory proved true, then the whole reason Kevin lied to Vander about Cali was not only to get back at Felix, but to protect humanity from Vander ever becoming full-forced.

"And how do you know who your Mirror Mate is?"

Sydney's mind was going a mile a minute. "Hm? Oh, usually there's an instant connection. A deep awareness of each other after you set eyes on one another or touch."

His expression turned guarded. "What kind of connection?"

As if against his will he trailed the back of his fingers along her forearm.

Sydney repressed a shiver but she could tell he felt it.

Those intelligent eyes watched her, taking in too much, putting together the pieces.

_Uh-oh._

Did he know?

Did he suspect, like she did, that they . . .

She swallowed thickly.

# Chapter 6

The tension between them was broken as the janitor wheeled over his cart.

Merrick snatched his hand away and shot to his feet.

Sydney could only sit there in a daze, her body humming beneath her skin.

The janitor put his hands up, clearly startled at Merrick's aggressiveness. He was an older man with graying hair and dark brown eyes. "I didn't mean to startle you, son. I just thought that you'd want a more private room to rest between your shifts is all."

He gestured to Merrick's scrubs.

Sydney felt her eyebrows rise. Merrick shot her a "what do I do?" look and she had to hide her smile behind her fist.

The janitor didn't notice their hesitancy. "There's a room in the back currently empty. It's got a cot. I know it's not much but it sure beats these piece of shit seats. Pardon my language." He nodded in Sydney's direction.

She waved him off. She was more than used to Cali's and Felix's cursing. In fact, everyone in the guild had a pretty colorful vocabulary except her.

She watched as Merrick mulled over the janitor's offer.

A few minutes later they were led back to a secluded room with dim lights and a scantily dressed cot. There were a few chairs and side tables, and a small TV mounted in one corner.

Merrick moved a chair in front of the door. "I figured the further away from prying eyes, the better."

The cot was a little stiff. Sydney gave it an experimental bounce. "That sounds reasonable to me. I have to admit I'm a little surprised the janitor didn't question you about working here—he just saw the scrubs and instantly assumed."

He took a seat across the room from her, near the door. "I know, he didn't even say anything about my bare feet. In fact, look what he gave me." He held up the blue coverings for shoes and slipped them over his feet.

At least now it wouldn't look so obvious that he wasn't wearing shoes. And the whole ensemble did make him look like a surgeon, or at the very least a nurse.

"You should probably get some sleep now," he told her as he rested his ankle across his knee.

She leaned back and tried to get comfortable. She wanted to bring up Vander again but didn't know how to breach the subject without including Mirror Mates. They had to find that journal first. If there was any clue in it as to where Vander's soul mate would be, then they needed to get to it before he did.

Sydney spent the next hour or so attempting to fall asleep. No such luck. Every time a nurse wheeled past their room she thought it was Vander's people looking for them.

A warm hand on her shoulder nearly had her jumping out of her skin.

"Hey, it's just me," said Merrick.

She sat up. "Is it my turn to watch?"

He took a seat next to her on the cot, his body so close she could feel the heat from him. "No, it's not your turn. You haven't slept a wink."

"How did you know I wasn't sleeping?"

"Your breathing," he said as if it were obvious.

"If it's not my turn to watch then why did you come over here?" Did her voice sound a tad nervous?

"To try to help you fall asleep. Now, lie back down."

Her heart started to pound.

"Don't worry," he said, seeing her terrified expression. "I'm not going to jump you."

Was that a stab of disappointment she just felt?

Despite herself she looked at his crotch where there was obvious evidence that he did want to jump her.

"You know, your staring at it isn't going to make it any better."

Horrified, and with her cheeks burning, she went to scramble away.

"Hey." He caught her easily. "You don't have to run." He put a pillow in his lap and patted it. "Try resting your head against me."

She stared at him incredulously. Was he kidding?

He smirked. "I'm serious. Give it a chance, for five minutes at least. If you can't fall asleep then I'll go back to my side of the room. Fair?"

She kept eyeing his lap.

_Why are you so scared? You've cuddled with Felix tons of times. This is no different._

Then why did it feel like she was betraying Joel?

"Five minutes," she conceded and curled up on the cot. She hesitated before letting her head rest against the pillow. Her shoulder pressed against the side of his thigh, the heat of him calming a tension deep inside of her.

She focused on his steady breathing and found her eyelids drooping.

Fingers sifted through her hair. She tensed. Merrick's hand froze.

She wanted to tell him to keep going but the words were lodged in her throat. Her emotions were in such turmoil. She forced her eyes closed.

She was just starting to drift when she felt Merrick's hand return to her hair. She smiled sleepily before sleep claimed her.

• • •

Vander watched the security footage off the commandeered laptop Regina and Dennis had offered up to him. All four of his prisoners had been taken. _Rescued_. He sneered at the word. And by whom?

He zoomed in on the blonde and her brown-haired companion. Sydney Spencer and Joel Kegler. He knew them, recognized them from their last attempt at destroying his work.

It seemed like Cali's little Guild of Truth was following him.

He'd underestimated them, but not anymore. He learned from his mistakes and now more than ever he'd keep his eye on them. After all, they did have something that he wanted.

"There." He paused the video: Merrick was holding his hand over the security panel, eyes closed. He was using his powers. Vander had been right; he could learn information from touching an object.

His phone went off. "What?"

"Sir, they're on the move." Regina's voice came through the other end.

Vander resumed the video. "Good, don't lose them." They had been smart to go to a public location, a hospital no less. It was a lot harder to apprehend a person there. It was also the perfect destination to lose Regina—with all those different scents even someone as powerful as she would be slowed down. Fortunately for him, his form of motivation kept her performing at her best. There was no room for failure. All he needed to do now was find the proper motivation for Mr. Haskell.

"And what about the others, sir? They've arrived in Oakland and are staying in a hotel."

He didn't have to be quite so tolerant of them. "Pursue them at any cost. Keep tabs on Mr. Haskell and Miss Spencer—you'll get further instruction on them later. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

He ended the call and debated whether or not to fly Jente up to assist with Regina. Jente Mitchell was an invaluable asset. With the ability to go invisible he could tail anyone and learn valuable information.

He thumbed through his contacts.

• • •

"So I was thinking that if Vander is so set on finding this journal that we should get to it first. You live in Anaheim, which is close to where my guild functions out of my clinic. Kevin lived down there too so his things should be somewhere close by. We could pool resources and find this thing. You'd be a great asset if you wanted to help us."

"You were thinking all this while you slept?" Merrick asked as they walked Market Street. Ever since they woke up Sydney had kept up a constant chatter. Her bubbly personality was so at odds with the doom and gloom he'd been subjected to for the past four months. It was a welcome change.

He snuck a glance at her and his cock stiffened. She was so beautiful when she was relaxed and smiling. Waking up with her golden hair spread across his lap that morning had him seeking a private bathroom stall very quickly.

_She's taken._

He knew. Hell, he was probably only attracted to her because she was the first woman besides Regina that he'd really been in contact with. His past celibacy before being kidnapped probably wasn't helping matters either.

_But what about those Mirror Mates she kept referring to?_

He could have sworn that when he asked her about them there had been a flash of fear in her eyes. But why would she fear finding her soul mate?

Shit, was he really buying into this?

Obviously she was afraid that he'd jump to the conclusion that they were Mirror Mates when they clearly weren't. Which he was. She was right to be wary.

"I do some of my best thinking while I sleep," she said happily. She checked her phone.

Waiting for a text message from Joel? Again?

He'd called earlier that morning to check on Sydney. As if Merrick would have let anything happen to her. His hands balled into fists.

They were supposed to meet up that day and eventually fly back to So Cal.

Merrick prowled the streets as he searched for some way to disguise their scent. Joel might think they were in the clear but Merrick knew better. Regina would find them and they had to be ready.

"Where are you going?" Merrick asked when Sydney stopped at a set of doors.

"In here." She disappeared inside, forcing him to follow.

"Why?"

Sydney stopped and put her hands on her hips. "You need clothes, remember?" She gestured around the store.

In his haste to find some way to escape Regina's tracking ability he'd forgotten about his state of dress. A few employees eyed him, clearly appalled.

"Can you even afford to buy clothing in a place like this?" he whispered to her.

"Please." She waved him off. "I'm not buying you a new wardrobe. We only need an outfit."

That didn't mean he was going to let her spend a fortune on him. He searched for the cheapest clothing available: one pair of jeans, a black v-neck sweater, and a pair of shoes. Simple, affordable, and essential.

He stepped out of the fitting room, not bothering with his reflection. The clothing fit, he didn't care how it made him look. He already knew a lot of his body had withered away from his captivity, no need to reinforce the fact. As soon as he returned home he was going to hit the gym and gain back all the muscle that he'd lost.

"Let's get out of here." He approached Sydney where she sat in a waiting chair.

Her bright green eyes widened. They raked his body from head to toe.

That really wasn't helping his situation. When she looked at him like that he wanted to force her back onto a flat surface and take her, driving any thoughts of Joel clear from her head as he drove himself into her body.

His erection strained against his new jeans. He clenched his jaw, forcing any and all images of her from his mind. He needed to focus on more important things. Like Vander. He'd be damned if he was going to let that fucker get away with what he'd done to him. Four months of his life were gone. His business was probably bankrupt, his bills long overdue. Had anyone gone looking for him? Was there a missing persons out for him?

He doubted it. No one at the station where he used to work truly cared about him. All those friendships had withered when he'd started succeeding on cases that others had failed at.

He followed Sydney to the cashier. She paid for his clothes with a card. "I appreciate the clothes. I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

She collected her receipt. "You don't have to. I like helping others."

He held the door open for her as they exited the store. "If you won't let me pay you back with cash I can at least help you find that journal Vander is looking for."

She stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. "Seriously?"

He grabbed her arm and kept her moving. The longer they stayed in one spot the easier it'd be for Regina to find them. "Seriously," he told her. "He fucked with the wrong PI."

She pried his fingers from her arm, the touch stirring his blood even more. "So all you want is revenge?"

"Four months, Sydney. That's how long I was isolated and tortured."

She was quiet for a moment before she stared up at him. "You called me Sydney."

He frowned.

"That's the first time you've used my name . . . Merrick."

He didn't understand the big deal until she spoke his name. His gut clenched. It was like an intimate caress. Lust seized him but he wrestled it back.

His gaze caught on a store to his right.

"Where are you going?" asked Sydney.

Merrick held the door open and ushered her in. He scanned the crowds before following her but didn't see any brunettes with fake blue eyes.

Sydney's nose instantly scrunched in that adorable way of hers. "Bath and Body Works?"

The smell hit Merrick a second later and his own nose screwed up as the sickly sweet scents bombarded him. "We need to disguise our scents," he told her and started for the tester sprays.

"You mean to hide from Regina?" Her eyes grew distant as she thought. "You said she was a Tracker."

He glanced at her in surprise. She had a good memory.

She shook her head, her lips curling. "Man, you'd definitely fit in with the rest of the guild."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you made up a title for Regina." At his blank expression she elaborated. "You called her a Tracker. Everyone in the guild has come up with at least one title for someone with a power."

"What title did you come up with?"

Her chin rose just a little higher. "My own."

"You came up with the term Shielder?"

"Yup. So far our list of titles include: Shielder, Eraser, Dreamer, Silencer, LockSmith, Veiler, Diverter, and Illusionist."

Merrick tried to commit all those to memory. He'd have to ask about each one. Later. "You can explain that after we conceal our scent." He picked up a spray. Twilight Woods. He gave an experimental sniff.

He pulled the bottle away from him. Well, it was definitely strong enough.

Sydney picked up some kind of vanilla fruit blend. He took it from her hand. "You already smell like vanilla. You need a _different_ scent."

She studied him. It didn't take him very long before he realized that he'd admitted to smelling her.

Shit.

He thrust the Twilight Woods at her. "Try this." He spun on his heel to go look for other sprays.

"Hey." She trailed after him. "You never explained what a Tracker is." She doused herself in spray before picking up another stronger smelling one and misting him with it.

He jumped.

She grinned.

He snatched the bottle and squirted her right in the face. "Imagine for a moment that werewolves existed. Their sense of smell? That's what Regina has."

Her smile faded. "Do you think she'll be able to Track us?"

Merrick continued to spray himself. A female employee stared openly at him. "She might," he said at last. "She's well acquainted with my scent. She was always assigned to bathe me." Sydney's knuckles went white around the new bottle she held. "She used to tell me she bought my soap specifically for me. It was Irish Spring. She thought Haskell was Irish. I felt like telling the bitch that my last name was Welsh." The old anger started to rise, the back of his neck prickling. He recognized the sensation and quickly stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Sydney's body was turned away from him, making it hard to get a read off of her.

He wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, to turn her around to face him. But he didn't trust himself to touch anything at that moment. Every time his neck tingled the way it was now it meant his powers were lingering, waiting to read the next thing that touched his skin.

The clothes he wore had been specifically chosen from the bottom of their piles in the store. It meant fewer people had come into contact with them, which meant there were fewer impressions left for Merrick to pick up. He caught glimpses of bored employees, but nothing too distracting.

No matter how much he wanted to touch Sydney, he couldn't. He didn't want to pick up on her pity or worse . . . any lingering thoughts about Joel.

A low growl started in his throat when a flash of brown hair caught his eye. Merrick spun to gaze out the window.

"Is it Regina?"

He shifted at the last minute to avoid brushing shoulders with Sydney. He might have his clothes as a barrier but one could never be too careful. "We need to keep moving. What time is our train at?" They were going to take the BART out of San Francisco to meet up with Joel and the rest of the escapees.

She pulled out her phone. "We still have plenty of time."

"In that case," he made his way toward the exit, "we should switch stations. We can't afford to linger here any longer."

Merrick started making his way up Market Street. There was little time for conversation as Sydney huffed next to him to try to keep up. She was stronger than she looked. Not once did she complain that he was going too fast or ask him to slow down.

A glimpse of brown hair up ahead had him slipping up the next street they came across.

"Why are we going this way?" Sydney gasped.

Merrick double checked over his shoulder. "Regina was up ahead. We can circle around this block to bypass her."

A lone man with his hair tied back in a ponytail caught Merrick's gaze and held it. Merrick's instincts went into high gear. That man worked with Regina. He just knew it.

He deviated off course again. Before Sydney could ask he spoke out of the side of his mouth. "There's more of them."

Her postured stiffened. "Is it the man who caught me at the station?"

"No." He hoped like hell that fucker wasn't near. He'd kill him if he laid another hand on Sydney. In fact, he hadn't caught sight of Dennis either.

He paused, another suspicious man up ahead.

Sydney stopped next to him.

Merrick glanced over his shoulder, his mind realizing what was happening too late.

More men were behind them.

Regina stepped out from around a corner.

"Shit, they herded us."

# Chapter 7

Joel paced the hotel room as the sound of Juliet, Luke, and Hazel playing cards lingered in the background of his mind.

"Joel, you can stop pacing," said Juliet. "You're going to wear a path into the carpet. Besides, Sydney will be fine. Merrick's with her."

His nails bit into the palm of his hand. It was that very reason why he was so wired. If Syd had been trapped with anyone else he wouldn't have been as worried. But he'd seen the way Merrick had looked at her. Fuck, he even had to admit that Syd had looked at Merrick a few times with some kind of emotion in her eye.

_You're overreacting._

Was he? He didn't fucking know anymore.

More than once he'd wished with every fiber of his being that he and Sydney were Mirror Mates. Then he wouldn't have these niggling doubts. He'd know for sure that she was the one for him.

He forced himself to sit with the others.

Hazel quietly passed him a hand of cards. He picked them up. "Thanks."

Three games later Joel was convinced Juliet was cheating.

She planted her fists on her curvaceous hips. "I am not," she protested.

Joel leaned toward her. "Oh yeah?" he challenged. "Then let someone else deal."

Luke and Hazel exchanged a smile.

A knock at the door interrupted Juliet's stammering.

Joel's head whipped around. "Syd?" Had they caught an earlier train?

The others got to their feet.

He pulled open the door.

"Your girlfriend is a little busy, I heard." A hand grasped Joel's hand.

He wrenched back but it was too late. His vision went black. "What the fuck?" He blinked, flailing his free arm. He couldn't fucking see!

Juliet and Hazel cried out behind him. He heard shuffling followed by a crash.

He dropped to the ground and reached out blindly with his hand. He connected with a shoe. His neck prickled and he Locked it.

"Bastard," the man growled before Joel was kicked in the chest. He reeled back. The connection between him and his attacker was broken. His vision slowly started coming back into focus. He glanced around the room.

Vander's men had found them.

• • •

"Nice trick." Regina strolled toward them, tapping her nose. "Would have worked too if we hadn't been watching you since the hospital."

Merrick pushed Sydney behind him.

"What do you mean they herded us?" she whispered up to him.

He took in their surroundings. "They manipulated me into thinking I was escaping them when really they led me right where they wanted me." He waved his hand around. "To somewhere much less crowded."

They started to close rank around them.

The man with the ponytail pulled out a long piece of fabric.

Merrick tensed. "I'm not going back with you."

Regina smiled like she used to when he resisted her in his cell. She always found his defiance amusing.

Her smile was all the warning they got. The men pounced.

Merrick was far from his peak performance but he wasn't starved and sleep deprived anymore either. He knocked a man with a buzz cut right off his feet. He could hear another attacker coming up behind him but the man with the ponytail came at him at the same time.

They locked grips. Merrick could hear the struggle behind him. Every instinct raged at him to help Sydney, but if he didn't take care of the man he was fighting he'd be no help to her.

Anger fueled his strength and he kicked out, taking his attacker by surprise. The man's leg buckled and he dropped to one knee.

Sydney cried out.

Merrick whirled.

Cloth wrapped around his nose and mouth.

"You shouldn't have taken your eyes off me," Ponytail said. He tightened the fabric around Merrick's face making it difficult to breathe.

A kick to the backs of his legs had him dropping to his knees. He struggled to get a grip on the hands behind his head. The cloth tightened further.

Sydney cried out, struggling against the man holding her. Regina walked over to the two of them but didn't pay Sydney the least bit of attention. Her eyes were for Merrick. She watched him, as if waiting for something.

What the fuck? What was she waiting for?

He'd ask, but the bastard behind him was slowly suffocating him.

"Leave him alone." Sydney kicked out behind her. The man winced as her heel made contact with his shin.

A few more seconds ticked by. Merrick started to get lightheaded, his heart pounding.

Regina's brows drew together in confusion. "Why isn't it working?" Her nostrils flared. Her expression went blank as she finally turned to Sydney. "You," Regina hissed. She sniffed the air again. "What are you doing? Why can't I smell him from here?"

Beneath the cloth Merrick smirked. Sydney was using her powers.

Sydney feigned ignorance and shrugged.

Regina's face darkened. She struck Sydney across the face.

Merrick saw red. The back of his neck suddenly prickled. The sensation cut off as abruptly as it had come.

Regina inhaled through her nose. "Stop it," she yelled at Sydney before she hit her again, this time dropping her to her knees.

Merrick roared behind the fabric. The back of his neck was pins and needles again. The cloth around his face cut into his skin. He didn't care, he—

_He saw a woman with the most beautiful blue and gray eyes. His Collette. He was the luckiest man in the world. He'd do anything to keep her. Anything. He finished the last of his journal entry. He'd put it away later. Right now all he wanted to do was watch Collette as she danced. All he wanted was to follow her to their bed like he did every night she beckoned him. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth. He clutched his heart, the feelings inside of him nearly bursting with how much he cared for her._

_He hesitantly approached her. "Would you like a partner?" he asked._

_She assessed him from head to toe. He knew he was lacking. He would never be worthy of someone like Collette, yet she allowed him to remain by her side._

_"Did you finish your silly writing?"_

_He stared over his shoulder at his beat-up notebook with the warped spirals. "It's not silly," he mumbled. She didn't understand. Didn't understand what it was like to see so much, to feel so much. He rubbed his aching temple. He was trying his best, but Vander asked the impossible._

_He rubbed his head harder._

_Too much. They demanded too much!_

_His nails bit into his skin._

_Gentle fingers curled around his hands, pulling them from his temples. "Shh," Collette soothed. She smiled seductively at him. "Dance with me?"_

_The pressure in his head eased. "Always," he breathed._

Merrick gasped as he was hurled from the vision.

"Merrick," Sydney cried out. She glared at Regina. "What'd you do to him?"

Regina released her hold around Sydney's throat.

Merrick heard the faint pounding of feet coming their way.

Regina lifted her nose to the air. "Perfect timing," she said softly. "Gentlemen," she raised her voice. "The authorities are on their way. Let us depart."

The rag around Merrick's face disappeared, though he knew now that it wasn't a rag. It had once been a shirt.

"Merrick, are you all right?" Sydney rushed to his side.

"Hey." An officer ran over from one of the side streets. "I heard shouts. Are you two all right?"

The officer helped Sydney get Merrick to his feet. His head was pounding and his legs were a little shaky, but other than that he was fine.

"We're okay, officer," Merrick said politely. "Just a little roughed up." He pretended to feel around in his pockets. "Bastards got my wallet."

"I'll call it in." The officer stepped back to give them space as he pulled his radio from his belt.

Sydney ran her hands along his arms and torso worriedly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Her touch set his pulse racing. His cock hardened as a wave of hunger and want flooded him. Their eyes locked and he saw an answering flash of desire swirling in her green gaze.

_Fuckin' A._

His hand reached for her face.

The officer returned.

Merrick dropped his hand. Sydney glanced away, but not before he saw the disappointment. His lungs constricted.

"I called it in to the station. They'll keep a look out. I didn't get much of a look at your attackers. I'd be happy to take you back to the station so you can give a full report."

Merrick shook his head. They needed to make their train. "That's much appreciated but we'd rather be on our way. Could we leave the report with you?"

The officer took notes as Merrick described Regina and her goons down to the very last detail. He even dropped her name to give her a little extra hell.

"And how did you learn her name?" the officer asked.

"One of the men let it slip when they were talking to her," he supplied helpfully.

The officer nodded and wrote it down on his pad before flipping it shut and tucking it away. "I'm really sorry this had to happen to you two. You seem like good people." He offered Merrick a card. "You can check in with the station to see if they get your wallet back. We'd be happy to mail it to you."

"Thanks."

The officer disappeared the way he'd come.

Merrick headed back to Market Street, Sydney at his side. She worked her jaw, reminding him that she had been hit. His temper flared. "Come on." He led her into a drugstore and bought a frozen bag of peas from the food section with the card she handed him.

"What're those for?"

He crunched the bag in his hands. "It's for your face."

They made it to the Montgomery station without incident. Merrick sought out a deserted part of the platform and took a bench. He turned to Sydney and cupped the side of her face in his hand. She shivered. He pretended not to notice as he placed the frozen peas on her jaw.

She jerked away from the cold. "Ow. Don't you need your own bag of peas?"

"I wasn't hit in the face," he said, though the backs of his legs and his knees were aching fiercely.

"I don't get it," she said. "Why'd they attack us to just run off?"

Merrick scanned the crowd. No one was within hearing range. "I don't think they were trying to capture us."

"Then what were they doing?"

He shifted the bag against her face. "The fabric they used to cover my nose and mouth, I'm pretty sure it belonged to that Dreamer you told me about. Kevin."

She didn't need any more prompting. He could all but hear the wheels in her mind turning. "That's why they roughed you up. They wanted your emotions running high so you'd use your powers without meaning to."

"Roughing me up wasn't what pushed me over the edge."

She blinked up at him, her head tilted slightly. "Then what'd they . . . oh." Pink flushed her cheeks and she looked away. "You got upset because they were hurting me?"

With his free hand he cupped the other side of her face so that she'd look him in the eyes. His blood rushed through his veins, his cock throbbing with repressed need. "When they touched you, I wanted to kill them," he confessed.

Her lips parted but nothing came out.

He couldn't explain why he felt this need inside of him to protect her. To claim her. All he knew was that he had to have her. That she was his. And he had to taste her.

He dipped his head to capture her mouth with his.

She gasped against his lips.

He pushed harder against her, half afraid that she'd pull away.

Fingers gently slid through his hair to grasp the back of his head. Excitement and desire spiked through him. Her lips moved under his, carefully at first before gaining more and more confidence.

Merrick dropped the peas on their bench so he could reach around her waist and draw her closer.

She slid willingly into his lap, her mouth hot on his. Merrick groaned low in his throat as some kind of deep tension within him eased.

He couldn't even begin to explain the rightness of Sydney in his arms. It was as if she was fashioned for him. Her petite body pressed tight against him, her perky little breasts brushing against his chest.

His cock pulsed against her thigh.

He slid his tongue deep into her mouth. She opened wide for him, moaning as she fisted his hair.

Merrick's control was slipping.

Everything about her was intoxicating: her touch, her scent, her taste. He wanted to sink himself so deep inside her body that he shook with the force of it.

The platform rumbled.

In the distance a child shrieked in glee.

Sydney's hold tightened in his hair, her tongue stealing deep into his mouth, as if she couldn't get enough of him.

Merrick growled in frustration as he regretfully pulled away. The platform was filling as their departure time drew closer. They were both breathing heavily.

Sydney blinked as if waking from a dream.

Thirty feet away a young man with a Mohawk gave Merrick a thumbs-up.

Merrick glowered at the kid. He scampered away.

"Our train is coming," Merrick said gruffly.

Sydney's emerald green eyes went wide. She instantly released her hold on his hair. He'd been thinking of getting it cut as soon as he could but suddenly thought better of it. He liked the feel of her hands in his hair. She stared down at where she sat and scrambled off his lap.

She brushed at her clothes as if to smooth out any stray wrinkles.

He picked up the abandoned bag of peas and joined her by the yellow safety line. "You're going to have to wait until you wash your clothes to get out those creases. You slept in that outfit, remember?"

She blushed.

He handed her the bag of peas. "How's the jaw?"

She took the frozen food from his hand without touching his skin. "Better." She pressed it to her slightly swollen cheek and winced.

Merrick shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her.

"So," Sydney said after a few seconds of silence. "You never finished telling me about that piece of clothing that they wrapped around your face. You said it belonged to Kevin?"

A group of giggling girls came to stand next to him. Merrick shifted closer to Sydney, uneasy. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets.

Sydney watched him.

He dropped his voice. "I know it belonged to Kevin because when I got a reading off of it there was a woman in the vision. Collette. That was Kevin's Mirror Mate, right?"

She nodded eagerly, all ears now. "What else did you see?"

"I don't just see things. I pick up impressions: thoughts, feelings, sights, sounds, everything really. Kevin was writing in his journal. If Vander's expecting some leather bound encyclopedia then he's clearly mistaken. It's a beat up blue notebook that you'd buy at any office supply store. The spirals are warped and the coloring on the cover is cracked and faded. I couldn't tell what he was writing because his thoughts kept drifting to Collette. He kept obsessing on how lucky he was to have her and how she didn't understand how hard it was for him to sort through all the information he has obtained. I'm guessing he's talking about his Dreams?"

Sydney shifted the peas to the other side of her face. "It has to be. If Vander was trying to find his Mirror Mate along with a whole bunch of people with powers then he'd have been demanding Kevin to be Dreaming quite a bit. That much information would be like sensory overload."

"That would explain why Kevin seemed to be going mad," Merrick muttered aloud. He elaborated when she tilted her head askance. "It's hard to explain but his thoughts were . . . erratic. He kept grabbing his head as if it was driving him crazy. Which I guess it was."

Could that ever happen to him?

Would he reach a point in time when he used his powers so much that he'd no longer be able to keep track of reality anymore?

The group of girls next to him started getting louder. A few even shuffled closer to where he stood.

He shoved his hands as deep as they'd go into his pockets. He couldn't read them if he didn't touch them with his skin. Yet he still felt that underlying fear of accidentally absorbing something that he didn't want to see.

Maybe he would be driven to insanity.

# Chapter 8

Sydney followed Merrick's lean frame through the train cars. She watched with rapt attention as he avoided brushing up against anyone. There were a few close encounters but all he did was push his hands further into his jeans—jeans that hugged his narrow hips and surprisingly still muscled legs.

When he'd stepped out of that fitting room Sydney's stomach had flipped. The clothing had fit him as if tailored for his body. The black of his sweater had brought out the ice blue of his eyes and emphasized the darkness of his hair. Sydney had expected him to be lanky from his captivity but Merrick had surprisingly held on to his muscled frame. He wasn't as big as Felix but he wasn't too far from Joel either. She was sure that with a few visits to the gym he'd make a very impressive male specimen.

Unbidden, her mind drifted to the kiss they'd shared. Her body grew both hot and cold. She could still feel his lips against hers, the addicting taste of his tongue and lips, her body throbbing with want, her breasts aching, her sex pulsing.

She'd never experienced a desire so fierce before. And the worst part of all was that she didn't even feel guilty about it.

_You should! You just cheated on Joel._

She had a whole list of excuses ready in the back of her mind but she wouldn't do that to Joel. She had cheated on him. Plain and simple. And the fear and dread churning inside her only intensified when she thought about telling him.

Joel had been all she'd known for the past three years. He was her first real love. The thought of hurting him tore at her. What if he never wanted to speak to her again? What would that do to the guild? Would they fracture and drift apart?

The idea made her sick. They were her family. How could she have been so stupid to jeopardize that?

She stared at Merrick's back, the muscles rippling beneath his black sweater as he moved through the train cars like a panther moved through the forest. Her heart fluttered.

Merrick made her feel things that, if she were truly being honest with herself, she hadn't felt with Joel in months.

She rested her hand against her pants where her cell phone resided. She longed to call Cali or Niella. But what if they found her act of kissing Merrick as a betrayal to Joel?

She snatched her hand back. She couldn't tell them. There were too many of them invested into the guild. She would have to reason it out herself.

That was fine. She could do it.

Merrick wouldn't tell anyone. She had to trust that he wouldn't tell anyone.

He finally stopped when they reached an abandoned car. He took a seat at the furthest end in a corner.

She hesitantly took the seat next to him. They both still smelled like those ridiculous fragrant sprays. If they wanted to gain any chance of losing Regina they needed to shower and re-disguise their scent again.

She turned to Merrick. "I think it's fishy that Regina just let us go."

"I agree."

"They wanted you to get a reading off Kevin's shirt." That much was obvious. "I think it was a setup."

"I know. I figured as much when they fled. Regina would have been able to smell the cop; she would have known there was only one. They could have easily taken him down but they didn't. They used that officer as an excuse."

She tried to ignore the heat of his body next to hers as she thought.

"How did they know you'd be able to read the shirt? Did you confess to Vander that you had a power?"

His face darkened. "I didn't confess shit. I'm assuming he had suspicions long before he captured me. He had my business records. He was putting the pieces together and I probably cemented those suspicions when I pulled that stunt on the entrance of the facility you broke me out of."

"I wonder what he thought you'd gleam from that shirt," she mused aloud.

He leaned back in his chair. "Like I said, I saw Kevin writing in a journal but his thoughts and emotions weren't focused on it. I'd probably be able to distinguish the notebook however if it was in a stack of books."

"Maybe that's what he wants. Both Kevin and Collette are in a coma, which means that their possessions are probably in some kind of storage somewhere."

"How'd Collette end up in a coma?" he asked.

She lurched in her seat as the BART came to the next stop. They lucked out. No one entered their cart. That wasn't likely to happen again.

"Felix's Mirror Mate, Cali, knocked her out with a fire extinguisher to the back of the head," she answered.

Merrick cursed under his breath. "You hang out with some violent people."

Sydney's smile was bittersweet as she thought about losing her guild. "They really grow on you." Even Cali, who she'd had a rough start with, was a dear friend to her now. She wouldn't trade any of them.

"Like a fungus?" His voice was serious, but Sydney saw the glitter of amusement in his eyes.

"Just like a fungus," she agreed with a grin. "You'll be able to meet them when we get a flight back home."

"We have to make it to an airport first." The brightness in his gaze dimmed. "If you're right and Vander wants me to pick the journal out of a group of books then that means he won't quit looking for me."

She put her hand on his thigh before she even knew what she was doing. The muscles under her palm stiffened. Desire flared in his eyes. She snatched her hand back. "Look, I'm not going to abandon you because Vander is after you. I've dealt with that before, trust me. We have a plan, remember? We're going to find this journal before him and we'll destroy it. Together."

"And what if I want to destroy more than just a silly journal?"

She refused to drop his gaze. "If you want a piece of Vander then I suggest you get in line."

"What did he do to you?"

"He came after my friends, that's enough in my book."

There was a brief flash of emotion in his face but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

At the next stop people started trickling into their cart.

She noticed that Merrick still had his hands tucked safely away in his pockets.

"Why were you avoiding touching anyone?" she asked.

He exhaled slowly. "It's a habit. I know better than anyone that people aren't what they seem and I don't want to 'pick up' anything if I don't have to."

Had he picked up anything on her when they'd touched? There were so many emotions running rampant inside her that he probably wouldn't have been able to differentiate between them. The thought gave her some peace of mind. She didn't want him to see the fear inside her over whether or not they were really Mirror Mates, or the more embarrassing, all-consuming lust she had felt as she ran her hands through his silky black hair.

"Do you accidentally read people a lot?" she asked as inconspicuously as possible. Would he tell her if he'd ever read her?

A man in a black leather coat walked into their compartment. Merrick sat up a little straighter. The man spotted an older woman, his face splitting into the biggest grin.

Merrick relaxed. "Sometimes I can't control it." He spoke softly from the corner of his mouth. "Mostly my control slips when I'm angered or—" He cut off, his eyes darting to her.

"Or what?"

He stared at her for a few seconds before answering. "If I'm aroused."

Sydney felt the blood rush to her face. He had read her then!

He must have caught sight of the sudden fear in her expression. "I haven't read you," he said fiercely.

"Are you lying?" she shot back.

"No."

How did she know if he was telling the truth?

Oh, what she wouldn't give to have Cali's powers right about now.

Merrick turned to face her more fully. "I wouldn't do that to you, okay? Believe me, I've learned my lesson. I never want to know what's inside someone's head. It's not meant to be known. It gives you nothing but pain, horror, or disappointment."

Something in his voice had her believing him. "Why do you say that?"

His stare was level. "Do you really want to know?"

She nodded.

"There was a high school teacher I took out to dinner once. My powers were still relatively new. I didn't fully understand the consequences of having them or what they'd expose me to, but I got my first glimpse that night. The whole date went off without a hitch until I took her home."

Sydney didn't know if she wanted to hear the rest of this story.

"I kissed her outside her apartment. She was wearing this scarf around her neck and when I touched it . . . " He paused. "When I touched it I saw her using that same scarf to tie one of her students to her bed as she had sex with them."

Sydney's heart stopped.

"She slept with her senior students. No one knew about it."

"Except you," she said softly.

"Except me," he said, disgusted.

"Did you report her?"

Merrick nodded. "Not at first. I was too sick to my stomach. Eventually I realized what I needed to do so I gave an anonymous tip. I stopped dating for a while after that. Then I met this woman who was a friend of a client of mine. I decided to give dating another try and took her out for coffee. I made sure not to touch her clothes but that didn't matter. I bought her a scone and accidentally touched the cloth napkin while she went to the bathroom." His jaw bulged. "I got a full view into her mind when she first laid eyes on me in the café. She found me lacking and entertained thoughts about how I'd look so much better if I adopted her ex-boyfriend's fashion sense and body language."

"Did you ever date after that?"

He shook his head. "I gave up on finding comfort from another human being. One way or another I'd eventually see something that I wasn't supposed to."

"That must be very lonely," Sydney mumbled. Her heart constricted in her chest. Did he think she was harboring ill thoughts and feelings about him? She wanted to touch him, to let him read her so that she could prove him wrong.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "When did your powers first start manifesting?"

"I noticed things when I started working as a detective. I'd touch something and get glimpses of things, things I knew no one else would know. I researched my ability on the internet and then started practicing at work. Sometimes I could get my powers to work when I wanted, other times they didn't. As my control grew I started solving more and more cases. My co-workers didn't like that." He gave a forced laugh. "They started to alienate me. Eventually I got the hint and left. I started my own PI agency."

"And that's when Vander found you?" she guessed.

He focused his ice blue eyes on her. She felt the touch all the way to her soul. Heat bloomed in her lower abdomen. "Not Vander," he corrected. "Collette."

• • •

Sydney tried Joel's phone for the fifth time.

Straight to voicemail.

Again.

Unease wormed its way into her thoughts.

"Still no answer?" asked Merrick. He stood at the curb on the lookout for a taxi.

She pocketed her phone. "That's not like him. He always picks up."

A yellow cab made its way toward them. Merrick dropped his arm. "We'll go see for ourselves why he's not answering his phone. Don't worry too much until we know all the facts." He rested his hand briefly on her shoulder before opening the car door for her.

She missed the heat from his skin instantly.

She gave the cab driver directions to the hotel and tried to refrain from fidgeting in her seat.

Why wouldn't Joel answer his phone? There'd be no reason for him to have it switched off.

_It could have died._

She considered the idea. It was feasible that it had died and he was simply charging it.

When they arrived at the hotel she felt a little more reassured. There were no cops, no ambulances, which meant that nothing of import had happened.

She approached the main desk. Their check-out time had long since passed and she hadn't discussed with Joel if they were going to prolong their stay or not. She'd imagine, given the circumstances, that he would have rebooked their room, but she needed to make sure.

"Excuse me." She offered up her best smile to the woman behind the counter.

The woman held up her finger as she finished giving directions to the person on the other end of the phone. Merrick came up behind Sydney. The back of her body grew warm from his nearness.

The woman hung up the phone and turned to give them her full attention. Her eyes stuck to Merrick and her smile instantly grew.

Sydney had to tamper down the jealousy that surged inside of her. "I was wondering if you could tell me if the occupants in room 436 renewed their stay," she said through clenched teeth.

Merrick glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Was that a smirk she saw tugging at his lips?

At the mention of room 436, the woman instantly snapped out of her doe-eyed daze. "I'm afraid the occupants of room 436 were asked to leave after the disturbance they caused. If you're looking for some kind of refund, I'm sorry but the credit card given has already been charged with the damages done to the room."

"What?"

The woman flinched. "There's no need to yell." She held her hands out in front of her. In any other situation Sydney would have found the idea of a woman nearly five inches taller than herself cowering from her in fear laughable.

"What happened?" she demanded.

At her side, Merrick was already scouting the area.

Sydney slammed her hands down on the counter. "Did anyone get hurt? Where did they go after you kicked them out?"

Had Vander gotten to them? How had he found them? Did they have more than one Tracker?

Sydney's mind was awhirl with possibilities. She focused her thoughts. She had to concentrate on finding Joel and the others. What about Luke and his injury? Was he healed? Had he been reinjured?

"Well?" she snapped when the woman didn't answer her in a timely fashion.

The woman still held her hands out in front of her as if that would protect her from Sydney's wrath. "There was a noise complaint. When the staff was sent up to give them a warning they found the room in shambles."

"You mean you didn't find anyone there?" Sydney's blood turned to ice.

"I wasn't working at the time and only heard from a co-worker. I'm not sure whether the occupants were there or not. All I was told was that they destroyed the room and that there had been a noise complaint."

"So what you're telling me is that what you heard could have been embellished and you would have no idea?" That gave Sydney nothing to go on. That left too many options and she didn't like it. She liked order, simplicity.

"Thanks very much," she managed to ground out before she stomped down to the elevators.

The woman didn't even bother asking if she was a paying resident.

Merrick waited until they were alone in the elevator to speak. "I've never seen you go bat shit crazy before," he said idly.

She turned on him. "I did not go bat shit crazy. You want to see bat shit crazy?" She floundered for something else to say or do that would demonstrate bat shit crazy and came up blank.

Merrick laughed. "Behold, she curses." As if her cussing was some remarkable feat.

She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed in silence.

Merrick eventually sobered. "Want to tell me why we're going to the fourth floor?"

She avoided looking at him. How dare he make fun of her! "I want to see the damage for myself if they haven't cleaned it up already."

"You think they were ambushed by Vander?"

"What other option is there?"

He shrugged. "But if you already know they were ambushed then why go visit the room? What are you hoping to find out?"

Some of her anger diminished. "I don't know. Maybe there's a clue they left that would let me know they got away?"

He nodded. "Good thing you have your 'clue' right here." He pointed to himself.

Sydney's anger faded completely as she perked up. "I forgot. You can read the objects around the room, right? You'll be able to tell if they were taken again?"

"In theory. I can't promise anything, Sydney."

She didn't care. She threw her arms around his neck.

He stumbled from the unexpected weight, his arms instantly banding around her as his back connected with the wall of the elevator.

For a split second Sydney reveled in his embrace. The hard planes of his body, the feeling of protection and security . . . she could stay in his arms forever.

She pressed harder against him, her heart hammering in her chest. The tingles of desire only increased when she felt his erection press against her lower abdomen. She clenched her legs together as a throb of want went through her.

She pulled back. Merrick held her at arm's length, those intense light blue eyes of his searching her face.

She could no longer deny that there was something here between them. How deep that connection ran, she didn't know. But she needed to.

She recalled the first time she'd met Cali and how the Silencer had thought Sydney and Joel were Mirror Mates. Cali had asked if Sydney had felt a jolt the first time she'd touched Joel. She hadn't, but with Merrick she had.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Did you feel a shock the first time we touched?"

"I felt something." His voice came out low, rough. His fingers tightened around her hips.

Her breathing grew shallow as she imagined his fingers digging into her flesh as he pounded himself into her. As she imagined his powerful body atop hers covered in a thin sheen of sweat, nothing but raw passion reflected in his eyes.

The force of her desire shamed and embarrassed her.

Merrick's erection twitched against her.

_Oh, what are you doing, Sydney?_

She didn't know. She was spiraling out of control and she hated herself for it.

She was trapped in his icy gaze.

Would he kiss her again?

Would she let him?

Her body was suddenly too hot. The elevator too small.

Merrick cupped the side of her face. That fiery passion she'd been imagining seconds ago was now present in his eyes.

_He wants you._

It should have scared her. She should have been appalled. But all she felt was a giddy excitement and an answering burn in her breasts and between her legs.

For the first time in her life she entertained thoughts of having sex with a man somewhere other than in a bed.

Merrick leaned toward her, his chest rising and falling just as fast as hers.

She wanted his tongue in her mouth again.

The realization slammed into her.

# Chapter 9

_No. This is wrong._

The elevator doors dinged. Sydney used them as an excuse to jump away from Merrick before he could kiss her. She practically ran into the awaiting hallway. The temperature was frigid compared to the stifling heat in the elevator. She wrapped her arms around herself as goose bumps erupted along her skin.

_Joel. Think of Joel,_ she chanted over and over again in her mind.

That's why she was here. That's who she should be thinking of at a time like this. He was missing. She had no idea if he was safe or injured or captured.

Merrick was a silent sentinel behind her as she made her way to room 436. She didn't want to turn around and see his face. She was too afraid of what she might find there.

Would he be angry? Relieved? Her stomach knotted.

Or would he be hurt? Her heart constricted.

She kept her eyes straight ahead as the room came into view. She tried the handle. Locked. She tried her keycard. Didn't work. She stomped her foot in frustration.

"Stay here," Merrick said. He continued down the hall toward the distant sound of vacuuming.

She waited, hoping no one would open their doors and find her standing there like an idiot.

A few minutes later Merrick returned holding the housekeeper's master key.

She blanched at him. "You stole that? What if we get caught?"

He unlocked the door and propped it open for her. "Get in," he ordered.

She stepped into the room. The receptionist had been right. It was in shambles. The door slammed shut behind her. She jumped and turned to find Merrick not in the room with her.

He wasn't in the hallway either.

A few seconds later there was a knock followed shortly by, "It's me. Let me in."

"Where did you go?" she asked him as she stepped back to give him room.

His stare was flat. "I had to go return the key. Don't want to tarnish your perfect little record, now do we?"

So he was angry? Heat flooded her cheeks. "What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"Let's not do this," he said, his voice still frustratingly emotionless.

"Do what?"

"Argue. We have a mission to do."

"Well, if you didn't want to argue then why did you make that dig at me? Are you angry at me for not kissing you back there in the elevator? Is that it? Because—"

"I know," he cut her off. "You have a fucking boyfriend, you don't have to keep repeating it. Shit." He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Sydney's temper started to rise. "Well, sorry for trying to remain loyal to my boyfriend."

She could read in his eyes that he wanted to call her out on their kiss earlier. On everything they'd done that would raise eyebrows. "When you throw yourself on a man who hasn't been with a woman in well over four months you shouldn't be surprised with his reaction."

The comment cut deeper than she thought it would. "So you're saying the only reason you wanted to kiss me was because I was the only available female to you?" Her hands itched to slap him clean across the face.

He leaned closer to her. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

And to think she'd thought he was her destined soul mate.

Tears burned the back of her throat but she rather choke on them than let them fall in front of Merrick. "Then why did you tell me you felt something the first time we touched?"

The question caught him off guard. For a moment his impeccable mask slipped, she glimpsed a flash of hope before his face settled into a harsh, unfeeling expression. "We need to get to work."

Sydney didn't know which was worse—his non-answer or if he would have answered. She decided it didn't matter.

"Agreed," she said as aloof as possible.

• • •

Merrick's neck tingled as anger rode him. He kicked a coffee table leg out of his way.

Sydney sat silently on one of the beds.

He should be focused on finding an object to read but all he found himself thinking about was Sydney and Joel fucking under those sheets. Had she and Joel had a quick fuck before they'd busted him out? Had she moaned his name as she climaxed?

He wanted to hate her, but he couldn't muster the feeling with her sitting there looking so miserable.

He felt like the biggest asshole. He shouldn't want her. She had been absolutely right to pull away from him. Shit, he could only dream of having a woman as loyal as her. She was a good person.

_Too good for you._

He didn't deserve someone like Sydney. She was honest and true, while he scammed people with his powers when he was crunched for money. He could only imagine what she'd think of him if she ever learned about that.

His thoughts circled back to her question in the elevator. It was the only thing that didn't make sense to him. Why would she ask if he'd felt anything when they first touched? Had she been trying to figure out how he felt about her?

His mind flipped through the possibilities.

Why would she be asking about an obvious sign of chemistry between them if she had no plan on exploring it?

His frustration grew.

He paused near the fallen cards that littered the floor. He picked up a handful and received a hurricane of different impressions. Juliet's smugness at her sleight of hand, Hazel's feelings of contentment as she sat surrounded by the closest thing to friends she had, Luke's hesitant thoughts about having a future where he wouldn't have to be afraid all the time, and finally Joel's worry over Sydney.

He let the cards fall to the floor.

He picked up the coffee table leg and found himself inside the head of the man who'd been knocked out. He dropped the leg.

Merrick systematically made his way around the room until he found what he was looking for. He stumbled upon the impression by accident. After gleaming nothing for so long he started to run his hands along every surface, skimming the surfaces faintly to see if they held what he was looking for. It was next to the mini fridge that Merrick came across a section of the side table where Joel had rested his hand.

"They got away," he told Sydney. He ran his fingers over the wood again. "Joel stood here, surveying the others, amazed that they'd fought so fiercely. He was also worried about you. Us," he corrected when he realized Joel had thought of Merrick's safety. And didn't that feel like a punch to the gut? _You repay the man who saved you and is worried for you by making attempts on his girlfriend?_ Fucking asshole. That's what he was.

Sydney got to her feet. "Anything else?"

Merrick pulled his thoughts back to where they needed to be. "They made a run for it, somewhere public where they can hide in plain sight. He'll try to contact you as soon as possible."

"Maybe that's why his phone is turned off," she thought aloud. "He wants to conserve battery power because he didn't have sufficient time to charge it."

"Could be," he ceded. He listened for the sound of vacuuming. It was closer but they still had time. "You should shower," he told her. "We need to wash as much of the fragrance off our skin as possible. We'll probably need new clothes too if we want to stay one step ahead of Regina."

"I have just the thing," Sydney said brightly as if remembering something. She dove over the second bed and pulled out two luggage containers from beneath. "I forgot about these. Joel wouldn't have had time to take our things with him." She pulled out a nice pair of khaki pants and a white shirt that she laid a green sweater over.

A few seconds later she was digging through Joel's things. She threw Merrick a pair of jeans and a long sleeve button-up that was dark blue. She tossed him a black jacket as well.

"The shirt and jacket should fit you okay but if the pants are too big there's a belt in here too." She pulled out said belt before disappearing into the bathroom where Merrick distinctly heard the lock being engaged.

He forced his eyes back to the clothing that had been laid out for him and refused to let his mind wander to where it wanted: specifically the shower, where Sydney would be wet and naked.

His cock stiffened painfully. He groaned and dropped down onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

Why did his thoughts always come back to her?

The water started in the bathroom.

Merrick steeled himself. _You will not think about another man's woman,_ he ordered himself.

He owed it to Joel. The man had done nothing to warrant this kind of treatment. If the man was a rat bastard then this would be easier, but from everything Merrick had seen, Joel was nothing but an upstanding citizen with a super hero complex and a love of all things nerdy.

By the time Sydney finished with her shower Merrick had a raging hard-on that he was desperate to relieve.

Once in the privacy of the bathroom he took care of business, all the while convincing himself the blonde that he envisioned was _not_ Sydney.

He came with a muffled groan and put his hand out in front of him to brace himself against the side of the shower. The back of his neck tingled. His palm touched the smooth imitation marble and he found himself inside Sydney's head.

_She was running her hands over her soapy body._

Merrick's mouth instantly went dry, he grew erect once again.

Pull away, he commanded himself.

In a second . . .

_Her hands circled her breasts, a fleeting thought of how small they were. She gently squeezed them. Her thoughts swirled with worry over the others but in the forefront were thoughts about . . . him._

Merrick could hardly breathe.

_She squeezed her breasts again, wondering if Merrick would find them too small, wondering what his hands would feel like on them . . ._

"Fucking hell," he muttered harshly.

He ripped his hand away from the wall. Arousal rode him so hard he thought he might die from it.

There was a tentative knock on the door. "Merrick," her beautiful voice called through the wood. "Are you almost done? The vacuuming is getting closer."

He cleared his throat. "I'll be out in a second." He thrust the shower knob all the way over to cold. Freezing water pelted him. He forced his head under the spray.

_She wants you just as much as you want her._

He shook the thought away.

He curled his hands into fists, cursing his powers. He hadn't asked to see inside of Sydney's head.

_But you did. Now what are you going to do?_

Nothing, he thought vehemently.

Sydney's inner thoughts meant nothing. They didn't change their current circumstances; all his knowledge did was torment him. Now he knew that she harbored feelings for him—feelings that she would never act on.

She'd never be his.

# Chapter 10

"Is everything all right?" Sydney asked Merrick as they made their way out of the hotel.

He'd been more tense and silent than usual. She was willing to move past their argument, but maybe he was still upset about it?

His hands sank deeper into Joel's jean pockets. "I'm fine," he said.

She'd been surprised at how well Joel's clothing had fit him. The entire outfit gave him a rugged, hard edged look that she found very distracting.

"I'm sorry for trying to spray you with Joel's cologne," she said. She had been trying to help disguise his scent but Merrick growled when she caught him on the arm with the stuff. She didn't know what the big deal was. Joel's cologne smelled good, but if that's what was upsetting him then she wanted to make amends. They were all each other had right now—they needed to clear the air so they could go back to the way things were before.

"I already told you that you don't have to apologize. It was a good idea but Regina might already have that scent memorized."

Her phone went off in her back pocket. She fumbled for it. "H-hello? Joel?"

"Syd! You're all right."

Sydney's shoulders sagged in relief. "I'm fine. Are you okay? What about the others? How's Luke holding up?"

Joel chuckled. "Easy, Syd, they're all fine. Damn strong bunch of kids if you ask me. We were like the Fantastic Four."

Sydney rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see her. "Where are you now?"

"We're at a library. I got in contact with an old hacker friend of mine who is getting us some fake IDs for our little refugees and then I'm booking us flights home. We need to get the hell out of dodge, or in this case Nor Cal."

"Are there any open flights that leave today?" The sooner they got back home the better. Not only would they be further away from Regina, but they'd be able to start looking for Kevin's journal.

The sound of a keyboard clicking traveled through the phone. "There's a flight to John Wayne that leaves in an hour but there are only four vacancies."

"You should take it."

"What?"

Sydney pulled the phone away from her ear at his outburst. "Merrick and I can catch the next flight after you. But you need to get the others out of here. Every second we spend up here is more time for Regina to find us."

"How am I going to give you Merrick's fake ID?"

"You can leave it with someone."

Joel grumbled something under his breath. "You know I hate leaving you, right?"

Her heart twisted in her chest. Unable to help herself, her eyes flickered to Merrick. "I know," she said.

"Hey, I have an idea. What if you met up with us and then we could send Merrick along with the others. You and I can stay behind and catch the next flight."

There was absolutely no reason for her to argue with his logic. It was doable. It made perfect sense. And yet . . .

She wanted Joel to travel with the others.

She felt like the world's biggest heel.

"We might not make it to you in time." She found the excuse slipping off her tongue. "We'll meet you at the airport and see what happens, okay?"

"Copy that, Gold Leader," he said.

She hung up with him and put her phone away.

Merrick came up next to her. The heat and masculine smell of him tantalized her. "So we're off to the airport?"

She couldn't look him in the eye. She nodded.

• • •

"I can't believe you went back for this stuff." Merrick nudged his elbow into the back of the car seat to signal the trunk where Sydney and Joel's luggage was safely stored.

Sydney shrugged. "We're just going to the airport and it seemed foolish to leave all that clothes behind."

"You know," Merrick leaned over to say to her. "Whoever is left behind could drive down."

She gave him an incredulous look. "That's like an eight hour drive."

"It goes fast if you keep changing drivers. It beats waiting in an airport where we can be Tracked and trapped."

"You really think Regina would attack at an airport?"

His gaze was level. "I think Regina will do whatever Vander orders her to do. And Vander sure as fuck is crazy enough to attack in a public place if he really wants me, which I'm guessing he does."

She shook her head. "We'll fly. It's faster." Something nagged at the back of her mind. "Did you see Vander here, in San Francisco?"

"He was there a few days ago when he interrogated me. It could have been the same day you came and broke us out."

Sydney digested that bit of information. "What did he look like?" She knew the authorities were still on the lookout for him, but did that mean they'd informed all the police stations across the nation?

"Older. He's been holding back with his powers, hasn't sucked the life out of many people lately which is causing him to age quickly. If I had to guess I'd say he looked around late fifties."

Sydney suppressed a shiver at the mention of Vander's ability. She'd heard about it from Cali and was eternally grateful she hadn't experienced it firsthand. "That's at least a twenty-five year difference than what the media images portray him as. He'd be able to go out in broad daylight and no one would know the difference."

"Don't worry," said Merrick. "I doubt he's going to be in the thick of things. He can't risk using his powers and becoming younger. We'll be safe from him personally, at least for a little bit."

• • •

Jente Mitchell watched, invisible, from the backyard as Cali fussed around the kitchen.

Something was bothering her. She kept pacing, her dark hair pulled back. Her tall, lean build was encased in black tights and an off the shoulder sweater. She looked absolutely stunning.

He hadn't been able to visit her for a while due to the busy schedule Vander had him on. Now he'd have to watch from afar with no idea as to why she was agitated. Was it because of her "soul mate," Felix?

Trouble in paradise? One could only hope.

Through the glass back door he saw the front door open. Felix entered, running a hand through his hair.

Cali rushed over to him.

Jente felt a pang of jealousy. Would there ever be a time when a woman would run to be by his side?

They stood together talking.

_Boring._

He could sneak closer and try to hear what they were saying but he didn't risk it. Cali had developed the uncanny ability to sense when someone else was near and now that her powers were at their maximum she'd be able to hear his heartbeat a mile away. It didn't matter if he was invisible or not.

His pants pocket vibrated.

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the caller ID.

He sighed and picked up. "What?"

"There's been a change of plans." Vander's voice was tight with irritation. Good. Bastard deserved it. "You won't be flying up. In fact, I need you to monitor the John Wayne airport and keep a look out. I'm sending you an e-mail with pictures of the targets. I need you to follow them." Vander hung up on him.

Jente growled low in his throat and a second later his phone _pinged,_ alerting him of a new e-mail. He opened the attachment and flipped through the pictures.

Well, well, well . . .

It looked like Cali's little guild just kept digging themselves deeper and deeper into Vander's business. No wonder the man was so pissed off.

• • •

Sydney spotted Cali waiting for them by the baggage claim. She waved, the silver bracelets on her wrists clinking together with the movement. She was dressed in regular Cali fashion: dark blue jeggings, black boots, and a white t-shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back, her side bangs framing the side of her face.

Sydney gazed out of the corner of her eye at Merrick and she couldn't help but wonder, did he prefer his women tall and leggy?

His expression gave nothing away, leaving her to ponder the idea.

They'd missed Joel and the others at the airport but were able to catch the next available flight. Merrick had insisted on walking around the airport the entire time they'd waited for their flight. Sydney's legs had wanted to fall off.

The plane ride had been heaven. She'd never wanted to sit more in her life. She'd even dozed off and woke up with her head propped against Merrick's shoulder. She had apologized profusely but he hadn't seemed to mind.

"Hey," Cali greeted when they reached her. "Everyone else is waiting."

"They made it okay?" Sydney asked.

"Of course," she said to Sydney before she turned her attention to Merrick. She eyed him up and down with her obsidian gaze. "It's nice to finally see you out of that hell hole," Cali said.

Merrick did his own head to toe evaluation. "I know you," he said. "You're the one that Vander tried to get to love him."

Cali stiffened. Her head whipped to Sydney as if to ask if she had told him about her time with Vander.

Sydney shook her head. _It wasn't me._

"You know," Cali said at last, "it seriously creeps me out when you guys seem to already know me without actually knowing me."

Merrick's lips curled into a small smile. "Tell me about it."

They followed Cali out of the airport to Felix's white Hummer.

"Where is everyone else?" Sydney asked.

Merrick climbed into the back seat and Sydney nearly followed him. She stopped herself at the last second and hurriedly made her way over to the passenger seat.

Cali started up the behemoth of a car. "Everyone is at Felix's. We didn't realize it was going to be such a slumber party. A little warning would have been nice."

"Didn't Joel tell you we were bringing back some people?"

Cali gave her an arched look. "He said people, not kids. You know that Hazel girl is only nineteen?"

Sydney winced. "Was she taken from her house?"

Cali shrugged as she merged onto the freeway. "She doesn't really talk all that much. Unlike Juliet." She shuddered.

Sydney laughed.

"So what's your story?" Cali asked as she stared Merrick down through the rearview mirror.

"Well, I'm not a kid if that's what you're asking. I'm thirty, a PI, and want to crush Vander like a fucking cockroach."

Cali nodded. "I like it. You got a name, Mr. PI slash Vander killer?"

"Merrick Haskell."

"Cali Crazar." She flipped the blinker to exit the freeway. "Nice to meet you. I think we'll get along swimmingly."

They pulled into Felix's driveway. It was well into the evening. All the lights inside were blazing.

When Sydney entered the house she realized Cali had been right. It looked exactly like a slumber party. Sleeping bags were thrown on the floor of Felix's living room. There were bowls of popcorn, chips, and pretzels everywhere and the distinct smell of pizza wafted from the adjoined kitchen.

Sydney made a beeline for the kitchen. Now that she knew Joel was safe she could take care of some more basic urges. Like hunger. Felix was behind the counter, a piece of pizza in his hand. Felix was the only guy in the world that she knew of who looked good with a five o'clock shadow. He smiled when he caught sight of her, but she noticed the small bags under his blue and green eyes. His bronze skin was looking a little pale too.

She frowned. "Everything okay?"

He saluted her with his pizza slice. "Busy week."

She nodded and moved closer to the open pizza box. "Tom's?" she asked hopefully. Tom's Pizzeria was a few stores down from her clinic and offered the best pizza around.

He closed the lid so she could read the fast food chain name. "Sorry," he said around a mouthful of pizza. "We tried to get Niella to order us one but she refused to go over there."

One day Sydney was going to unearth the reason behind why Niella avoided Tom's like the plague.

That day wasn't today.

She snatched a piece of pizza and turned, nearly running face first into Merrick's chest. His warm hands settled on her shoulders, steadying her. She gazed up into those ice blue eyes, her mouth dry. "Sorry," she managed to squeak out.

"It was my fault, I was too busy following my nose to watch where I was going."

"Help yourself." Felix held out the pizza box to him. "We ordered plenty. I'm Felix, by the way, Felix Del Valle."

Merrick released Sydney but he still remained where he was, which meant he was only a few inches away from her. She could feel the heat from him, her body hyperaware of his.

Merrick introduced himself and Felix started the whole friendly chit chat thing.

Sydney could have gone and mingled, left the boys to their manly talk, but she stayed where she was.

Merrick settled against one counter while Felix faced off on the other. Every now and again Merrick would reach for another piece of pizza, his arm brushing against her side or her stomach. He apologized each time, but she noticed that as it went on the touches became bolder, the pressure of his touch firmer.

Sydney's stomach was flipping so frequently she had to stop eating for fear that she wouldn't be able to keep her pizza down.

Felix gave her a curious look when she continued to remain in the way of the pizza. She could easily tell he was wondering why she didn't just hand it to Merrick.

_Because I want to steal as many touches from him as possible._

Of course she'd never tell Felix that.

"Here you are." Joel's arm slid around her shoulders and he planted a firm kiss on her cheek.

She tensed. Felix's eyebrows shot up. She forced herself to relax. Beside her Merrick's body went stiff.

"I should have known you'd be by the pizza." Joel reached around to grab a slice. "So what are we talking about?"

Sydney ducked out from under his arm. "I better go find Cali and Niella."

As she passed Merrick she could have sworn she felt his hand reach out and slide against her arm.

She shivered.

# Chapter 11

Merrick watched Sydney leave out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't been able to resist stealing one last touch. And when she shivered? His entire body clenched.

He directed his attention back to Joel and Felix. Both men were watching him.

_Shit, caught red handed._

Joel looked like he was barely holding on to his temper.

Felix's expression was carefully neutral, almost contemplative. He glanced between Merrick and Joel. "Come on, Merrick." Felix hustled him out of the kitchen. "Let's introduce you to Niella."

The name tickled something in the back of his memory and Merrick allowed himself to be led over to a woman in a wheelchair. Cali was at her side. Joel had pulled Sydney back into the kitchen where they were talking near a small circular table. He didn't like the way Joel was invading Sydney's space. The urge to go over there was fierce, but he shoved it down.

"Ladies," Felix interrupted the two women. "I wanted to bring Merrick over here to introduce him to Niella."

Merrick tore his eyes away from the kitchen. Niella had light brown hair that was cut in a short pixie style. She had intelligent hazel eyes and an attitude that Merrick could feel from two feet away. This was a woman who didn't like to let people get close to her. Again he felt the tug of familiarity. Like he'd seen her before. But where?

"So you're the one I've been Dreaming about the past few days." Niella held out her hand politely.

Merrick drew back.

"Told you," Cali said smugly. "Creepy as fuck."

After being introduced to Niella, Merrick migrated over to where the "kids" were sitting around their own pizza box. The fact that they were closer to where Joel and Sydney were standing had nothing to do with his sudden interest in them—or so he told himself.

Hazel smiled at him and offered him a piece of pizza. He was beyond full but he accepted the food anyway and took a bite to keep from having to talk. He sat down on the couch and listened.

"—Felix can take care of them. We're on vacation. I thought you said we were going to spend the rest of the time together." He could barely make out Joel's voice.

"I know." Sydney sounded genuinely conflicted. "But I feel bad just leaving them behind. We're kind of all they know. I don't want to abandon them."

Joel grumbled in frustration. "It's only for the night. They'll be fine."

"Exactly, it'll just be for tonight," Sydney bargained. "Once I know they're taken care of, then we'll spend some real time together."

"You're killing me, Syd," Joel said in defeat. "Trust me, after three months of celibacy every day is like an eternity."

Three months of celibacy?

Sydney hadn't slept with Joel for three months?

Merrick's mind whirled.

Three months . . .

He realized with a start that it was three months ago that Sydney had seen him in his cell.

Surely that was nothing but a coincidence . . .

_You don't know that. She could have stopped sleeping with him because of you._

He threw the thought away. It was impossible.

Wasn't it?

His mind circled back to the question she'd asked him in the elevator.

What if she'd asked him if he'd felt something between them because she had too?

What if, like him, she thought they were Mirror Mates?

He shook his head. Too many "what ifs."

He spent the rest of the night in a thoughtful stupor.

Cali drove Niella home but the rest of them bunkered down at Felix's. Joel and Sydney retreated to the guest bedroom. Juliet and Hazel each took a couch in the living room while Merrick and Luke toughed it out on the floor.

"I'm really sorry I don't have anything more comfortable for you to sleep on," said Felix. "I used to have an air mattress but I accidentally Erased it."

Merrick was still trying to get used to all the new terminology Sydney's guild seemed to use. Felix was an Eraser and caused things to vanish. Cali was a Silencer—she could manipulate sound. Niella was the Dreamer. He'd even learned the proper name for Joel—a LockSmith with the power to Lock anyone to anything with a single touch.

Merrick, Hazel, and Luke had all confessed to their abilities and Joel had promised to think them up titles. Juliet had seemed very interested with the entire ordeal. She'd even taken down notes. When she was questioned about her own powers she admitted that she didn't have any. It turned out that she had been a little too close to another woman that Vander had taken and because Juliet was seen so close they instantly assumed the two were friends and that Juliet had powers as well.

Merrick didn't know if he bought the story. Why would Juliet be seen hanging around another person with powers? How would she even know that person had powers?

Had it all simply been bad luck?

Merrick focused himself back to the present.

Sydney walked in behind Felix. "I thought you could bring back anything you Erased? Why not bring back the air mattress?" She continued into the kitchen, which meant she missed Felix's reaction. But Merrick didn't.

Felix instantly tensed, something like unease flickering behind his eyes before disappearing. "Remember how your car came back, Syd?" Felix's voice held a hint of forced cheer.

"Don't remind me," Sydney said as she filled a glass with water.

Felix grinned. "I rest my case. I don't think I'll be bringing back anything I've Erased for a little while."

"Well, goodnight." Sydney waved to them before disappearing down the hall. A few seconds later Merrick heard a door click shut.

Felix stood there for a few awkward moments before he stepped back. "I have an early start so I better turn in. The others all gave me their orders but I didn't catch yours, Merrick—do you want anything in particular from the bakery?"

Merrick shrugged. "Anything, really. I'm a man of simple tastes."

Felix excused himself and Merrick tried to get comfortable on the floor.

He slept a solid four hours before Hazel started making noises in her sleep. The others were too exhausted to be bothered by the small mewling but Merrick couldn't ignore the sound. He decided to head to the bathroom and come back in a few minutes to see if the nightmare would pass. He didn't want to wake Hazel up. The kid deserved all the rest she could get.

He finished drying his hands in the bathroom and stepped out into the darkened hall where he collided with something small and soft.

A quick gasp.

Merrick's body instantly stiffened as the person shifted against him. He inhaled deeply and caught the faint scent of vanilla.

Sydney.

She tried to step back but he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her flush against him. She didn't resist.

He ground his teeth and forced himself to speak. "What are you doing up?"

"I heard someone in the bathroom."

She heard someone and had wanted to investigate? Or had she gone to investigate because she had been hoping it was him?

_You're delusional. Stop making something out of nothing; you're only going to hurt yourself in the end._

His hands trailed down the sides of her body. He hissed when his fingers reached the end of her oversized t-shirt. It was all she wore.

Here he was shirtless and she was in nothing _but_ a shirt.

"What are you doing?" she whispered and knocked his hands away. He noticed that her voice was shaking.

He invaded her space until she was pushed up against the wall. "Why haven't you slept with Joel in three months?"

Her mouth gapped. "How did you—? That's none of your business."

"Was it before or after you saw me in that cell?"

_Please say before, please say before._

She avoided his gaze. "Before."

Fuck.

She was lying.

Merrick's emotions were in turmoil, his cock swollen and aching. "Why did you ask if I felt anything the first time we touched?"

Even in the dim lighting he could make out her eyes widening. "N-no reason."

His finger trailed the outside of her exposed thigh. She trembled beneath his hand but didn't knock it away.

He leaned in to speak into her ear. "Stop lying."

He needed to pull away. He needed to stop. He was obviously sleep deprived. But everything in his body was telling him that this was so right. He brushed her hair away from her neck and kissed her there.

She gasped and he barely stifled a groan. He ground himself against her, unable to help himself. Every instinct inside of him said to claim her.

Her fingers traveled over his skin, feather light touches that set his blood racing.

He snaked his hand behind her head and kissed her. Her mouth opened for him instantly, her hands getting lost in his hair.

Desire flared white hot.

He slid his hand beneath her t-shirt to cup her hip. He brushed the material of her panties with his thumb. It would be so easy to hook his finger through and pull them down.

Would she be wet for him?

He followed the hem until he reached her center. Sydney jerked. Merrick bit down on his tongue, hard, to keep from cursing.

She _was_ wet.

He drew his hand away before he went too far.

Sydney kissed him harder and her tongue twined against his, driving him crazy.

The hall light flickered on.

# Chapter 12

One second Merrick's body was pressed deliciously against hers, the next it was gone.

The hall light burned Sydney's eyes and she blinked to give them time to adjust. Hazel stood a few feet away, face flushed.

Heat crept up Sydney's neck. She'd been caught kissing Merrick less than ten feet away from where she was sharing a bed with her boyfriend.

Hazel shut the light off and turned to retreat.

Would she tell anyone?

Sydney's body went cold.

Merrick looked conflicted, as if he didn't know whether or not to go after Hazel or to stay with her.

She made the choice for him. She raced back to her room and shut the door. She climbed back into bed, her heart racing.

_Coward._

Joel was still asleep.

She tried to do the same but all she kept thinking about was if Joel would be able to smell Merrick on her.

• • •

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Sydney asked Juliet for perhaps the fourth time.

Juliet placed her hands on her hips. "Of course I'll be fine. It's my family. I've been away from them long enough."

"And you want to go with her?" Merrick asked Hazel.

She kept her eyes downcast, her thick black hair obscuring her face. "I don't really have anywhere else to go and Juliet said they wouldn't mind. They seem nice too."

As stupid as it sounded, Sydney was going to miss Juliet and Hazel. She'd grown attached to them, or at least felt responsible for them. But Juliet had insisted that she get back to her family. Apparently she'd even invited Luke to come with her and Hazel, but Luke had declined. Instead he'd asked Sydney if he could join The Guild of Aletheia. Joel would be ecstatic over hearing Luke use the "real" name of their guild. Most of them just referred to it as the Guild of Truth. However, Joel had been called into work for some kind of emergency.

"We'll be happy to provide as much money as you need to get wherever you're going," Sydney told the two girls. Even though Juliet wasn't even a year younger than Sydney she still thought of her as a girl. She'd helped rescue her after all.

"It shouldn't cost us too much," said Juliet. "We're only going to Thousand Oaks."

Which was quite a ways from where they lived, at least an hour and a half.

"And you're sure you want to go?" Sydney asked Hazel.

Juliet looked put out by all the questions but Sydney wanted to make sure this was something Hazel wanted and not just Juliet.

Hazel looked her in the eye. Cali must've provided her with some make-up because the black eyeliner she wore made the forest green of her eyes pop.

"I'm sure," she said. "I really appreciate everything you've done for me. I'd like to stay but I don't want to get involved with Vander anymore. I'd rather stay away from the super hero life. At least for a little bit."

Sydney couldn't fault her for that. Hazel was young and obviously scared. As their guild dug deeper and deeper into Vander's business they were constantly putting themselves in danger, a danger Hazel didn't want.

Sydney pulled her into a hug and Hazel tensed, reminding Sydney of Cali before she got used to regular human contact. "We'll miss you," she whispered into Hazel's ear.

When she pulled back, Hazel was smiling at her. It made her look both beautiful and young. "I hope you and Merrick make it," she whispered to Sydney. "I think he really likes you."

Sydney blushed.

Hazel moved on to hug Merrick. From afar the two could pass for siblings. She noticed that Merrick even embraced Hazel like a sister.

"If you ever need anything," she heard him tell Hazel, "you call here and they'll find me. Okay?"

Hazel nodded. "Okay."

Merrick ruffled her hair affectionately.

Sydney's heart tightened in her chest.

Hazel moved on to Luke. He was shifting nervously. She looked like she didn't know whether or not to hug him. Finally Luke gave her a quick embrace.

"How're you guys getting to Thousand Oaks?" Sydney asked Juliet after she gave polite handshakes to everyone. There was no hugging from Juliet. She briefly wondered if it was a defense mechanism so she wouldn't become attached.

"Cali and Felix are going to drive us to a metrolink station."

Sydney checked the time. Felix still wasn't back from the bakery but she could hear Cali grumbling about the early hour all the way from her bedroom. It was just past ten o'clock in the morning. Sydney shook her head. How Cali dealt with Felix's early morning schedule, she had no idea.

• • •

Sydney watched Felix's Hummer disappear down the street, leaving her and Merrick in the front yard.

They made their way back into the house. Sydney's eyes slid to the hallway where they'd made out. Her body grew warm at the idea of being alone with Merrick in Felix's house. It was like the first time she found herself alone with a boy in high school all over again. A giddy nervousness that she wished she could make go away.

Merrick did a good job at masking his emotions. He'd been coolly detached all morning. The smile he bestowed on Hazel was the only warmth she'd seen from him. Was he just going to forget last night even happened? Was he going to wait until she brought it up?

_Like that's really going to happen._

She wasn't going to put her heart on her sleeve and tell Merrick her fear about their "destiny." What if he laughed at her?

Or worse, rejected her.

He wasn't making it any easier either. When she told Merrick about Mirror Mates she hadn't been able to tell if the idea frightened him or excited him.

Felix had been downright ecstatic when he'd learned about Cali being his Mirror Mate. He'd done everything in his power to win her over and keep her in his life.

But Merrick . . .

Merrick had confessed to being afraid of ever getting close to a woman for fear of learning her inner thoughts and feelings. Did that mean that if she told him they were Mirror Mates he'd keep her at a distance?

He had been very receptive when everyone told him their powers but it was a lot harder for someone to believe in soul mates when there was no tangible proof.

Sydney rubbed her chest where she felt a small ache. Cali used to tell her that the further she was from Felix the more her chest felt empty, but was this feeling Sydney had really solid evidence?

And what if Merrick didn't feel it?

Had she ever seen him rub his chest? She tried to remember but the last few days were one big blur of activity. She was more than ready to go back to her day to day life at the clinic. She didn't know if she was cut out for this adventure stuff like Cali and Felix and Joel.

_But you're not done yet. You still have to find Kevin's journal._

She thought about handing that torch off to Cali and then berated herself for it. She could do this. She was going to see out the rest of her vacation and she was going to hinder Vander anyway she could because everyone who was hurt by him deserved some kind of peace of mind.

She straightened her shoulders and turned her attention to Merrick. He'd had to borrow more of Joel's clothing. Today he wore snug jeans and a black turtleneck that Joel had forgotten he owned. He looked downright sinful, especially with his black hair flaring out over the collar of his shirt. Felix had offered to take him in for a haircut, but to Sydney's delight Merrick had declined. It'd be a shame to cut off all that silky hair.

She found her thoughts wandering and instantly reeled them back in. "So," she broke the silence. "Did you have something in mind to do today?"

Felix had washed off her Yaris, and it waited in the driveway for her.

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to see the damage Collette has done to my life."

"Then let's go."

• • •

Sydney wrinkled her nose as she slipped into the driver's seat of her car.

Merrick hesitated with the door open. "What is that?" he asked. "It smells something like sulfur."

She turned around to survey the back seats and found small claw marks in the fabric. Had a cat gotten into her car?

As Merrick got in she briefly explained the fate of her poor Toyota.

Merrick swore. "Strange goo and foreign scratch marks? There's never a dull moment in your life, is there?"

"That's not true." She exited the freeway. "Last week the most exciting thing that I did was give a puppy a flea bath. While seeing Niella soaking wet and miserable was very entertaining it was otherwise very dull."

Merrick stared at her as if he didn't know whether or not she was joking. When she returned his stare he started to laugh. The sound caught her off guard, as did how handsome he was when he laughed.

The light she was stopped at turned green. She barely noticed.

The car behind her honked. Merrick sobered. Sydney stomped on the gas.

When they arrived at Merrick's apartment he left Sydney in the car to go talk to his landlord. She didn't know why he wanted to exclude her, but she tried to tell herself it wasn't personal.

He returned twenty minutes later with a key dangling from his finger. He opened her door for her.

"And?" she asked him.

"It was a good thing I was never late with my payments. When I started missing rent he decided to give me a break the first two months, after that he realized that my mail was piling up. When he found me missing he called the cops. He said he didn't touch any of my things and left it just in case I turned up dead and my apartment would need to be investigated."

"So what'd you end up telling him happened to you?"

"I said there was a family emergency overseas that came out of nowhere. I apologized and said I'd get him the missing rent as soon as possible. He didn't seem too beat up about it but he did give me his sympathy for whatever happened overseas."

He walked her up a flight of stairs that led to a single door. He ushered her into a utilitarian room. Sydney really hadn't expected anything less from someone like Merrick. There was one sofa, one TV, and a large bookshelf surrounding the TV. Everything was so tidy. It was sparsely decorated too. Though Merrick wore a lot of black, his home was done in rich browns and touches of green or blue depending on the room. The kitchen was green and brown, the living room blue and brown.

Sydney walked over to the tall bookcase. She smiled and pulled out one of many books. "John Grisham?" She waved the paperback around.

Merrick snatched the novel from her hand and gently put it back in its designated slot.

She wanted to tease him more but one look from him had her mouth snapping shut.

She continued her inspection in the kitchen. She half expected to find empty beer cans and old pizza boxes, but the place was immaculate. The only thing that told of Merrick's absence was the thin layer of dust collecting on all the surfaces.

She spotted a food and water dish near the refrigerator. She smiled. "You have a pet?"

Merrick's face darkened.

She felt her smile fading. "Oh no." She looked around, realizing that if he had a pet it would have had to survive on its own for the past four months. "I'm so sorry, is it . . . ?"

He shook his head. "Not what you think. I did have a pet. A black lab. The best kind of running buddy. I got a visit from Vander when they took me. He didn't appreciate Marshal barking at him so he decided to make an example out of him while I was held captive."

Sydney felt bile rise in her throat. "Oh Merrick . . . " She didn't know what else to say.

"It's fine." He turned his back on her. "I guess it worked out for the best. He would have starved anyway."

It was far from fine but she didn't press him. "Is everything here? Vander didn't take anything?"

He looked grateful for the distraction and slipped into his bedroom that branched off of the living room.

She followed at a respectful distance, curious to see what this room would look like. It wasn't very different from the rest of his place. There was a king sized bed, a work desk covered with neatly organized stacks of paper, and a few photographs.

Sydney made her way over to the pictures while Merrick checked out his closet. When she took a quick glance she noticed the majority of the shirts hanging up were—surprise, surprise—black.

There was a picture of Merrick graduating from the police academy, another of him in uniform with his parents, and finally an older photo of Merrick when he was younger with his arm wrapped protectively around a girl that looked remarkably like a younger version of Hazel. Sydney picked up the frame to get a better look.

It was obvious that this was Merrick's younger sister, but why wasn't she in any of the other photos? Had she been the one taking the pictures? Or maybe there had been a falling out between them?

Merrick came up beside her. He froze when he caught sight of what she was holding.

"How come there aren't any more pictures of you two together?"

His face shuttered closed. He took the photo and put it back on his desk. "They didn't take anything. I'd like to head over to the station now, if you don't mind. I want to find out what happened to the cases I was working, if anyone took them over." He didn't wait for an answer. He just left the room.

Sydney watched him go. She glanced back at the picture. The little girl smiled back at her, reminding her painstakingly of her brother Aaron. She swallowed the lump in her throat and left the room.

Merrick was waiting by the front door.

He gave her directions to the station, even told her to stay inside the car when they got there, but this time she refused.

They argued for a good two minutes before Merrick gave up and said she could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

She didn't understand what the big deal was, but as soon as they entered the station she knew why Merrick had wanted her to stay in the car. He didn't want her to see how the others treated him.

"Well, well, well," a man with a straining belly said as soon as they walked in. He smelled of coffee and looked like he was a few days overdue on his shower. "Look who came back from Camelot, Merrick the magical. Or was it Merrick the mad?"

"Nice to see you too, Russell," Merrick bit out.

Russell's oily dark gaze slithered over Sydney, making her skin crawl. "Nice piece of tail," he said with a nod in her direction. "Where'd you find her? The high school bleachers?"

Sydney flushed, her hands fisting.

Merrick moved in the blink of an eye.

Sydney heard the sound of flesh impacting flesh. Russell swore. He staggered back a few steps before he lost his footing and went down on his ass.

She bit back the smug smile that tugged at her lips.

Another officer came over after the commotion. He stared down at Russell who was now cupping his jaw and trying to mop up his split lip.

"Jesus, Russell," the newcomer said. "Can't you go ten minutes without opening your mouth?"

Russell got to his feet with a baleful glare directed at Merrick. He swiped at his lip again before storming off.

The man watched him go with a shake of his head. "Sorry about that," he said, turning to them. "Russell's a piece of work, always has been and always will be." He shook hands with Merrick. "It's good to see you again, Merrick. Word was that you'd moved on to greener pastures." The man's gaze darted to Sydney and he gave Merrick a quick smile. "I see the rumors are true?"

Merrick shook his head. "Family emergency. This is Sydney, a colleague of mine helping me on a new case."

Sydney tried not to wince at the term colleague. Was that all he thought of her as?

"Sydney," Merrick said, "This is Detective Stokes. Steven Stokes."

"Please," Steven held out his hand to her, "call me Steve."

He had a firm grip. "It's very nice to meet you, Steve."

His blue eyes sparkled. "Likewise. So, what brings you back here, Haskell?"

Merrick tucked his hands into his pockets. "Did you hear anything in regards to my cases? The ones I was working before . . . I had to take off?"

Steve scratched at his chin. "Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure someone came by and dropped off your files and notes. You had an arrangement made, right?"

Merrick nodded slowly. "You said you'd take care of my cases in the event that I couldn't finish them."

Steve snapped his fingers. "That's right. Now I remember, it was a few months ago when I got a huge box delivered to me. You had quite the handful of cases. I was able to solve most of them. Some weren't very difficult at all. I don't know why you even took on some of the customers you did."

"I have to make my rent somehow."

Steve nodded. "True enough. Come on back to my office and I'll show you the cases."

Sydney followed behind Merrick. She couldn't help but notice how everyone looked and pointed at him before whispering to their co-workers.

Merrick kept his gaze forward but Sydney knew he could hear what was being said, the major give away being his back was ramrod straight.

He tried to act indifferent, but Sydney knew what it was like to be the center of unwanted attention. She'd been the only twelve-year-old at her high school. If people thought she looked young now they had no idea how young she looked when she was twelve. Super small and childlike, she'd been the constant source of whispers down the hallways. Most would make fun of her size, but there were a few others who would attack her with more scathing comments. She knew they only envied her academic skill. It wasn't her fault that she'd excelled in her classes and had been able to skip grades.

Steve led them into a private office and excused himself while he went to get Merrick's box full of cases.

"Don't let them get to you," she said as soon as the door shut.

Merrick jerked around to look at her.

She gestured to the door. "All those people out there whispering? They're not worth your notice."

"And you have experience in this department, how?"

She told him about her high school. "The most embarrassing moment of my life was when the school threw the Backwards Dance. It's like Sadie Hawkins except for some reason my school liked to use a different name. Anyway, I had the biggest crush on the star quarterback. Brandon Archer. He was a senior but I didn't care. I went up to him one day after our advanced algebra class. He was already surrounded by his group of friends but I went over anyway and asked him to the dance. I figured I better get to him first before any other girls."

"What happened?" Merrick's muscles were tense. Was he still on edge from earlier? Or was that menacing glint in his eyes on behalf of her?

When they locked gazes she got her answer. Her stomach fluttered and she looked away. She cleared her throat. "I asked him and his whole group got really silent. Brandon studied me for the longest time, probably unsure if it was a prank or not. Either way he turned me down flat, said he didn't date twelve-year-olds and if he ever wanted to rob the cradle he'd go after a more developed child."

The tendons and veins in Merrick's neck stood out. "Fucking bastard," he hissed.

"He was," she said. She wasn't going to disagree with him. "But the point is that I didn't let it get in my way. I was the talk of the school for a month straight after that little stunt, especially when everyone thought I didn't go to the dance because I was rejected. In reality I was too busy helping my parents at the vet clinic to make it to the dance. I'm getting off subject again, but Merrick, don't let what those people out there say about you get to you. They're probably just jealous. I'm guessing that Russell guy is one of the ones that got upset when you started succeeding in solving all your cases?"

Merrick gave a humorless laugh. "Russell was the tip of the iceberg. He was also the most outspoken, as you got to experience firsthand. You saw everyone out there whispering, that's what it was like. Russell wasn't one of few or one of many; he was one out of everyone. They all held some kind of animosity toward me."

"Steve didn't seem so bad."

Something like sadness washed through his expression. "Steve's better at hiding it. I think he tries harder because we were best friends in the academy. He was a great detective and when I started to one-up him . . . I think he felt more angered than any of the others but he didn't want to admit it. He hid his jealousy well but I still heard others talking, mentioning things Steve had said about me behind my back."

"You mean he pretended to be your friend while he talked about you behind your back? What a jerk. What an ass."

Merrick's brows arched.

"You heard me. He's an ass." She glared at the door where Steve had exited a few minutes ago.

When Steve returned carrying a cardboard box, Sydney continued to glare at him. He paused in the doorway, startled by her sudden hostility.

Merrick leaned back in his chair, smiling.

# Chapter 13

Merrick watched in amusement as Steve slowly tiptoed around Sydney to place the box down on his desk.

She was like a fierce, protective kitten the way she glowered at Steve for him. A familiar yearning came over him. One he pushed away.

He wasn't that type of guy, no matter what the station used to whisper about him—he didn't go after taken women. _He wouldn't._ Everyone thought he was that kind of guy and he guessed he should have been. What with how everyone gossiped about him behind his back and how all the department wives looked at him. He could have easily slid into the sleaze ball category but he was better than that.

_Except when dealing with a certain blonde._

He tried to distract himself but too late he was bombarded with images and sensations from last night when he'd had her pressed against the wall of Felix's house.

For some reason when he was in the heat of the moment his conscience always decided to take a vacation. He became nothing but a product of animalistic need and want, left later to rage at himself for his lack of moral judgment.

"Here's a pile of all the ones I was able to close." Steve dipped into the cardboard box and pulled out an impressive stack of folders, effectively drawing Merrick's attention away from thoughts of Sydney.

Merrick slid the cases across the desk to look through them.

Steve watched as he leaned against his desk. "Looking for anything in particular?"

"The MacGregor case." Merrick looked up. "It's not here. Where is it?"

Steve's face darkened. He pushed the box toward Merrick. "It must still be in here then."

Merrick didn't say a word. He got up and started to dig through the files.

"You've been gone a long time," Steve piped up. "I doubt you'll even need to finish those cases. I'd throw them all out if I were you."

"Well, it's a good thing you're not me," Merrick growled under his breath. He reached the bottom of the box. "It's not here. Is there another box anywhere?"

One look at Steve's face and Merrick knew he was going to make this difficult for him. He shouldn't have demanded the whereabouts of the folder. Steve didn't like being ordered around by someone who wasn't his superior.

Steve leaned back and shrugged. "Like I said, it was a long time ago. I'm pretty sure this was the only box."

Merrick bit down on his temper as he retook his seat. "Can you double check for me?" He swallowed his pride and gazed up at Steve. "Please?"

His strategically placed submissive seating and comment worked. Steve smiled and got to his feet. "I guess I can have another look since you asked so nicely. I'll be right back." He turned his smug grin on Sydney. She glared at him and his smile slipped.

Merrick held back a bark of laughter.

"I'm sorry I ever thought that man was anything but a jerk," Sydney said when the door clicked shut.

He waved her off as he leaned forward to continue poking through his old cases. "Don't beat yourself up about it. There's nothing wrong with you trying to see the good in everyone."

She made a thoughtful noise in her throat before scooting closer to him. "So why are you so determined to get your stuff back on that one case? Are you still going to solve it? What's it about?"

Merrick carefully put down the file he was holding. He glanced at Sydney through the corner of his eye. She was sitting patiently, hair falling around her face, eyes bright and eager to learn. He didn't mind her curiosity. In fact, her constant urge to learn was something he loved about her. She had an analytical mind, like him. It was that same reason why he hesitated in explaining the case to her. Would she put the pieces together after being in his house? Would she see the connection between his need to find this missing girl and the reason why he didn't have any more pictures of his sister?

He'd never really talked about his sister with anyone who wasn't family. She had her own special corner in his heart where he kept her locked safely away.

"Well?" Sydney prodded gently.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell her that it didn't really matter what the case was about. But instead he found himself telling her the truth. "The case is about a missing girl, Sandy MacGregor, age fourteen. She was taken from her home one day after school while she waited alone for her mom to get off work."

He could see the gears working in her head and he kept going before he lost his nerve. "I'm going to solve Sandy's case. Her mom deserves peace of mind. Even if it comes four months late." He only hoped she was still living in Anaheim, that she didn't get up and leave when Merrick failed to find her daughter.

"Because you never got peace of mind?" Sydney asked softly.

He flinched. She rested her hand on his arm, the connection felt all the way to his soul. They locked eyes. "It's because of your sister, isn't it?"

The question was like a punch to the gut.

"That's why you didn't say anything when I asked about her picture. At first I thought maybe you just had a falling out but that's not it, is it? She went missing?"

He couldn't stand the look in her eyes. "I wasn't there for her when I should have been. We were supposed to walk home from school together but I stayed after. I told her I'd catch up, only I never did."

His guilt ate at him. He'd done such a good job at burying it, and now he was ripping the wound wide open. He should have kept his mouth shut. He should have—

"My little brother died of cancer."

Merrick blinked.

Sydney was no longer looking at him. She was studying a stain on the floor. "I was his older sister, I was supposed to protect him from everything, but I wasn't able to shield him from disease. I had to witness him wasting away, unable to help him, unable to do anything but watch."

Merrick's chest swelled with emotion. Here they were, nearly two halves to the same whole.

His body acted on instinct. He wrenched her into his lap and fused their mouths together. Sydney clung to him desperately.

He kissed her hard and deep. Warmth burst from his chest, chasing away the lingering cold. She wiggled against his growing erection. Arousal spiked through him.

The back of his neck prickled once.

His hand hesitated, hovering between her shoulder blades. Not quite touching her sweater. But he wanted to. He wanted to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling.

He wanted to know if she thought they were Mirror Mates like he did.

Dammit, but he wanted to know.

His hand drew closer.

He froze less than an inch away from her.

But what if his plan backfired? What if all he saw was her thoughts about him not being good enough for her, not being what she wanted for the long run? Could he deal with seeing that?

He doubted there was a single mean thought in Sydney's head. But did he want to risk it?

_You know better than most the evil that lurks within all human beings. Do you really want to see Sydney's?_

He pulled away from her, frustration building.

For once in his fucking life he'd like to be able to touch a woman and not fear her thoughts about him.

"What is it?" Worried green eyes stared back at him, her entire face nothing but open.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her. _Are we Mirror Mates?_ Was he really going to buy into the whole soul mate thing? Did he want her to be his?

Yes.

Soft footfalls came from outside Steve's office door.

"Steve's back." His voice came out gruff.

There was a brief flash of hurt in her expression as she extracted herself from his lap. He wanted to grab her wrist and erase any pain he'd caused her but the door handle turned.

Steve came back in holding another box. "This is the last of it." He dropped the container with a loud _thwack_.

Merrick found the MacGregor case and tucked it under his arm. "Thanks," he said to Steve. "I'll stop by another time to get the rest of it, if that's okay?"

Steve stared at the mess on his desk with disdain. "Yeah, fine." He waved Merrick out.

Merrick held the door open for Sydney as they made their way toward the front. He could hear the whispers as he passed the desks of his old co-workers. This was definitely something he didn't miss. He took Sydney's advice and didn't let the hushed voices get to him.

The front door came into sight and Merrick held the folder out to allow Sydney to precede him.

The file was snatched from his outstretched hand.

His eyes traveled from the hand holding his file to the arm it was attached to, then the body, and finally the head. Benjamin.

_Cock sucking bastard._

Benjamin had been a co-worker, like Russell, who didn't mind opening his big mouth to piss Merrick off.

"Ben." Merrick forced the name through clenched teeth. Just looking at the man had his temper rising and the back of his neck tickling.

Ben flipped through the case with no regard to the notes he scattered along the floor.

"Hey," Sydney protested. "Watch what you're doing."

Ben cast Sydney a fleeting look. "I thought you'd flown the coop, Haskell." He returned his gaze to Merrick, smirking as he watched Merrick crouch down on the floor to pick up the papers Ben had dropped.

When he finished collecting the notes, Merrick rose to his full height and felt some satisfaction as he was able to stare down his nose at Ben. "I had a family emergency," he told him. "As you can see I'm back now."

Ben's lips twisted into some hideous rendition of a smile. "And we're so happy to hear that. Our number one crime solver is back in Anaheim. Who wouldn't be ecstatic?" Ben looked through the case one more time. "This isn't a new file. What are you playing at now, Haskell?"

Merrick held his hand out. "I'm not playing at anything. I'm not here to take your cases. That's one of my old ones. I need to tie off a few loose ends and would appreciate it if you'd give it back." _Before I pound your fucking face in._

"You think you're so much better than us, don't you?" Ben held the folder out. "Nothing here is engaging enough so you fall back on your old cases, is that it? Why not just spit in our faces?"

The idea was more than tempting.

Merrick reached for the folder but Ben dropped it before he could close his fingers around it. The file fell to the floor, paperwork flying everywhere.

"Nice catch," Ben sneered.

Merrick saw red. He grabbed Ben by the collar of his shirt.

Sydney jumped in to intervene. Other officers froze in what they were doing.

Merrick barely noticed. He was no longer in his own head. He was in Ben's.

_Ben was wearing the same shirt, the collar undone as he lay over Sally the receptionist, his pants down around his ankles. Sally's skirt was hiked up as Ben pounded into her, grunting with the effort._

Merrick stumbled back, gagging. He felt dirty from the inside out. Everyone stared at him like he was a freak.

_Let them stare._

He kept his gaze level with Ben as he asked, "Does your wife know you're sleeping with Sally?"

If he'd thought the office was quiet before, it was nothing compared to the death silence that followed his question.

Ben's face turned purple. "You fucking bastard." His arm pulled back for a punch. "If you say one fucking word I'll kill you."

The stillness was broken and two nearby officers jumped in before Ben could do anything stupid like punch Merrick.

Merrick didn't wait around to see what became of Ben. He stormed out of there.

Sydney practically ran to keep up with him. "Are you all right?" she asked when he burst through the front doors out into the autumn breeze.

He inhaled deeply, the scent of car exhaust mingling with the smell of fast food. "Far from it, I'm afraid." He paced back and forth, hands clenched.

"You want me to take that before you ruin the papers inside?" she pointed to his tightened fist where he was crumpling the MacGregor case.

He swore and thrust it out to her.

She gently took it from him, her fingers brushing his experimentally. He pulled back. "Merrick . . . " she said.

He shook his head. "Just stop. This has nothing to do with that case or my sister. This is just me being pissed off at that fucking asshole, Benjamin." Who was nothing but a rat bastard that cheated on his wife.

He paced for a few more minutes, waiting for his head to clear. Sydney hefted herself up on the small hideous blocks that were used as decoration. She kicked her legs like a little kid as she waited for him to cool down.

He exhaled heavily, his anger leaving him. Sydney didn't want to spend her time with some anger crazed psycho. He needed to rein in his temper. What the hell had he expected when he came back to the station? Flowers and rainbows? He had been prepared for this kind of shit.

_You simply underestimated how easily it was for them to get under your skin._

"I'm sorry." He leaned against the cement block next to her.

She continued to kick her feet. "No worries. It must be hard having to deal with everything that you . . . " she waved her hand, " . . . _see_. Did you see that man sleeping with another woman?"

Merrick barely repressed a repulsed shiver. "I was in his head while he was fuc—uh, sleeping with the receptionist."

She glanced back at the building. "You must have hated it here."

He snorted. That was an understatement.

A companionable silence fell over them.

Merrick kept replaying her words. How he hated it at the station. Somehow it sparked his memory of them in the hospital and how she'd hated it there. That's when it clicked.

"That's why you hate hospitals," he mumbled to himself.

At his side Sydney stopped kicking her feet.

He waited patiently until she raised her gaze to meet his. "It's because of your brother, isn't it?"

He thought he caught a glimpse of vulnerable fear within the emerald green of her eyes. "I've never told anyone about my brother before," she confessed. "Not Felix, or Cali, or even . . . " she drifted off.

"Joel," he finished for her.

She nodded miserably. "I don't know if Niella knows—with her you can never tell what she has Dreamed or not. Most of the time she doesn't share."

He felt humbled that she'd confided in him. More than that. He was honored, privileged—

His chest swelled with emotion.

He wanted to be the one she confided in. He wanted to know all about her fears and failures and successes. He wanted to be that steady rock in her life that she clung to in times of need.

"I won't tell anyone," he said softly. Then he did something he hadn't done since his sister had gone missing. He held his hand out, pinky extended. "I pinky promise."

The smile she gave him warmed a deep part of himself that he'd thought long dead. Her pinky curled around his. "I won't tell anyone about your sister," she promised back.

He held her pinky longer than customary.

Her face flushed.

"You ready to get out of here?" he asked, getting to his feet.

They started to make their way to her car when Merrick froze.

Sydney picked up on his posture immediately. "What is it?"

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and not in the regular powers manifesting kind of way. "I think someone's watching us."

# Chapter 14

Sydney's mind instantly flew to Regina.

She'd found them!

The only problem was that Sydney didn't see anyone.

"Are you sure?" she asked Merrick. He was scanning the parking lot like a trained assassin. She could tell that he wanted to answer in the affirmative but there was no one out there.

The air in her lungs froze.

She knew better than anyone that just because you couldn't _see_ someone didn't mean they weren't out there.

The back of her neck tingled and she threw her Shield up.

Across the street leaning against a beat-up building, the kid Sydney could only guess to be Jente appeared. She'd never actually seen Jente but Cali had described him to her a couple of times.

Tan skin? Young looking?

Check.

Black hair cut in a fantasy/anime sort of style?

Check.

She couldn't see from this distance but she was pretty sure that if she looked into his eyes she'd find one gray and one green. Cali said it was one of his most defining features.

Merrick zeroed in on him like a hawk.

It took Jente a couple of seconds before he noticed Merrick's stare. At first he simply stared back, then his posture stiffened. He pulled away from the wall he'd been lazing against as if realizing that he was no longer invisible.

She could all but hear the word his lips spoke. _Shit._

He took off like a shot.

Merrick sprinted across the parking lot.

"Hey!" Sydney ran after him but with his longer legs he easily pulled ahead. Ten feet. Twenty. She was losing him. She had no idea how big of an area she could Shield. If Jente got out of range he'd be able to turn invisible again and they'd lose him for sure.

She pushed her legs as fast as they'd go. Her lungs were already burning.

Merrick disappeared down a residential street.

She wanted to call after him but she could barely get enough air as it was. She followed Merrick into the small neighborhood. He was already halfway down the block. Jente was nowhere in sight.

Merrick reached another corner. A large black van was parked near the curb. He raced past. An arm shot out knocking Merrick right in the side of the head. He stumbled.

Jente emerged from behind the cover of the van. He bounced on the balls of his feet like a boxer ready for action.

Merrick rubbed his jaw.

Sydney forced her stupid little legs to move faster. She grabbed her ribs as a side ache shot pain throughout her whole body.

Jente took another swing. Merrick stepped back dodging the blow.

Jente threw another, dropped into a crouch and aimed for Merrick's ankles.

Merrick barely caught himself.

Jente was fast. He also appeared to be a trained fighter. He carried himself with a certain kind of grace as he circled Merrick looking for any kind of weak spot. He feigned a punch. Merrick fell for it and got clipped in the jaw. Again.

Merrick threw a quick one-two at Jente. He danced out of the way and shot out with an uppercut.

Merrick caught his wrist and pulled him in close, locking his arms around his chest.

Jente struggled.

Merrick closed his eyes. They opened a few seconds later, locking with Sydney's. "Drop your powers. I need to get a reading off of him."

Jente's sunglasses had been discarded during his fight with Merrick so Sydney could see his green and gray eyes widen. "Oh, fuck no."

Sydney dropped her Shield.

Jente jammed his elbow into Merrick's ribs.

Merrick's hold broke.

Jente kicked back, forcing Merrick further from him.

Sydney ran to Merrick's side.

Jente went invisible.

"Let him go," Merrick said just before she pulled her Shield. He rubbed right beneath his sternum.

"Are you okay?"

Merrick wasn't paying her any attention. His gaze was off in the distance where she could barely make out the sound of running footsteps.

"Did you get anything from him?" she asked.

Merrick shook his head. "That kid has got a lot of issues. All the impressions I got from his shirt were mixed up in a jumbled mess. There might have been something there for us to use but I'll have to wait for all the sensation overload to settle down before I can take a look through it all, so to speak."

"You can do that?" she asked as they made their way back to the station.

He shrugged. "It's different with each person, but with that guy," he jerked his thumb in the direction Jente took off, "it's kind of like watching a movie in fast forward. I was bombarded with a whole bunch of images so I have no idea what I've seen but later I'll suddenly remember something that stood out. Make sense?"

"Kind of." She pulled her cell out.

"Who're you calling?"

"Cali. The guy that just attacked you is named Jente. We all thought he'd gone with Vander when he took off but I guess not." She held her phone up to her ear.

Cali answered on the fourth ring, out of breath. "What?"

Sydney frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"Huh? No. Was there something you needed, Sydney?"

"I wanted to let you know that we just ran into Jente."

There was a few seconds silence. "What did he want?"

"No idea. Merrick felt someone watching him and when I used my powers he appeared across the street."

"Which means Vander knows exactly where you guys are."

A chill went down Sydney's spine. Did that mean it was only a matter of time before Regina came to take Merrick back? They hadn't even started to look for Kevin's journal. She really hoped Merrick would find something pertaining to them in all those impressions he picked up from Jente. They needed to know what Vander was up to.

"Cali!" Felix's voice echoed through the phone.

"I see it," she shouted back. There was a crash followed by colorful cursing. "Look, I got to go, Sydney. I'll talk to you later."

"Wait." Sydney threw her hand out even though there was no way Cali would see it. "I need to talk to Felix about Kevin and Collette."

There was another crash and more cursing. "I'll have him call you." Cali hung up on her.

Sydney pulled the phone away and stared at the screen. What the heck was going on over there? She hoped it was nothing serious.

Felix liked to joke that their little vigilante super guild helped rescue animals but she didn't think he'd ever take on the task if it was presented to him. Maybe Niella had had a Dream about some animal and Felix decided to do something about it.

It wouldn't be the first time he played hero and she doubted it would be the last. She shrugged it off.

"What was going on?" Merrick gestured to her phone.

"No idea. It sounded like they were chasing some kind of animal, but I have no idea why unless Felix's pet rat got out again." She shuddered.

"Don't like rats?"

"No. In fact I'm terrified of them."

"Why?"

They'd reached the station and thus her car. Merrick waited with the passenger door open, gazing at her over the top of the car.

"Why don't I like rats?"

He gave a half shrug. "Why are you terrified of them? There has to be a reason, no one wakes up terrified of something without good reason."

She climbed into the driver's seat. Merrick followed suit and buckled his seat belt.

"When I was little I was locked in my aunt's attic while playing hide and go seek," she found herself saying as she made her way back toward Felix's. "She used to have a lot of rats up there but I never noticed before until I was trapped for an hour up there with them."

She shuddered, remembering how she'd spent the hour screaming for her parents to come get her.

"I'm afraid of sewers," Merrick offered out of the blue.

Sydney tapped the brake a little too quickly. "The sewer?" She snuck a look and found that he was totally serious. _No way_ , she thought. Someone as tough as Merrick afraid of a sewer? It didn't even make sense.

"It was a dare my senior year of high school. The manhole was wide open, and my friends dared me to go inside. When I did the workers saw me and yelled at me to get the hell out of there. I freaked and fell into the water. It didn't help that I used to be afraid of mutated crocodiles in the water when I was little."

Sydney bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "What a pair we make, huh? You're afraid of sewers and I'm afraid of rats."

The dry look he gave her didn't help with keeping a straight face. "It wasn't funny."

"Oh please," she said while merging onto the freeway. "My story of asking Brandon Archer to the Backwards Dance was way more traumatizing."

"You want traumatizing?" he challenged. "The first girl I ever liked, Evelyn Clark in third grade, I nailed her in the face with a dodge ball."

Sydney burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. She pictured a miniature Merrick standing horrified in a schoolyard while the girl of his dreams lay on the ground with a bloody nose. "You're right, that is traumatizing. I'm surprised you ever got a girlfriend." That last part was a lie. She was sure he had no trouble in that department. Girls were probably throwing themselves at him as soon as he could smile at them.

"Once I stopped smashing their faces in with rubber balls they became a little more receptive," he said nonchalantly.

They shared a grin that set Sydney's heart pounding. Yup, she definitely would have been one of those girls to swoon over Merrick in high school.

She tore her eyes away from him and scanned the rearview mirror. She didn't see any motorcycles. According to Cali, Jente drove a motorcycle, and Sydney was going to be darn sure he didn't follow them. She'd Shield all day if she had to. The last thing she wanted was for Jente to report to Vander about any findings on Kevin's journal. Which reminded her . . .

"We need to start looking for that journal Vander is after," she said to Merrick.

He looked up from the case file. "Didn't you need to wait for Felix to call you back?"

She shook her head. "We don't have time to wait around if Vander is monitoring everything that we do. I'm going to stop by Felix's house and see what the heck is going down over there."

A half hour later she pulled into Felix's driveway.

As she stepped out of the Yaris she could hear shouts coming from inside. She exchanged a worried look with Merrick. "If it's Felix's rat that's on the loose I'm getting out of here as fast as possible."

He joined her in front of the door. "Don't worry," he said with a straight face. "I'll protect you." The corner of his mouth twitched.

Sydney glared at him. "That's not funny."

She rang the doorbell.

Cali opened it a few seconds later, took one look at them, and nearly slammed it closed right in her face. "Heeey . . . Syd." She winced.

Sydney cringed. "No offense, Cali, but don't ever call me Syd."

Cali nodded. "Right. Agreed. So what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to Felix." She tried to get a look at the house around Cali but Cali was too tall.

"Oh. Yeah. That." She looked behind her then back at Sydney. "Give me a second." She disappeared. "Felix, get your pansy ass out here," Cali cried into the house.

Merrick's eyebrows rose.

"You get used to it," Sydney told him. "Trust me, the more insulting the name the more endearing."

Felix opened the door. His left arm was wrapped in white bandages that were spotted with red—

"Is that blood?" Sydney grabbed his arm. Felix hissed in pain. She released her grip. "What happened? What's going on with you guys?" Cali came up behind him. They exchanged looks.

Felix ran his hand through his hair. "We didn't want to say anything, but remember when I brought your car back from . . . wherever?"

She didn't like where this was leading. "Yeah?"

"Well, I might've brought something _else_ back with it."

Sydney's gaze dropped back to the bandage on his arm. "What do you mean you _might've_ brought something back with it?"

Felix stared at his feet. "See that's the thing, we don't really know what it is. We think it's a cat. But we're not sure. We can't tell if it was a cat at one point that just spent too long wherever it is things go when they are Erased, or if that goo your car was covered in mutated it. I didn't want to worry you about the goo without knowing anything first."

"Is it safe for her to be driving that thing?" Merrick asked Felix with a jerk of his thumb toward her Toyota.

She remembered the claw marks on the top of her back seats, as well as the dents and scratches that marred the side of her car.

Felix shot Merrick a dark look. "I wouldn't do anything to endanger Syd's life."

That seemed to satisfy Merrick.

"You say you think it's a cat," said Sydney. "Do you want me to take a look at it? I usually know a cat when I see one."

She could read Felix's reluctance. Felix had a very strong protective streak, one she would never hold against him.

"Sure," he said at last and opened the door for them.

Sydney swallowed thickly as she followed after him. Merrick placed a comforting hand on the small of her back. There one second, gone the next. She wished he kept it there, then flushed at her own thoughts. Her traitorous eyes sought the hallway they'd made out in. Her whole body grew warm and she pulled her eyes away as Felix led them into his living room.

The room was a disaster.

The sofas were shoved haphazardly away from the middle to clear an open space. Tables were shoved against the walls. Coasters littered the floor along with art supplies and papers.

In the center of the room sat one of Sydney's medium sized kennels. Atop that was Felix's extra-large water cooler that they'd brought to the beach numerous times. She could see miscellaneous objects sticking out from the cooler, no doubt to help weigh it down.

"Is that—?" She pointed to the kennel.

Felix gave her an apologetic look. "We stole one of your kennels when we dropped Luke off with Niella."

"You left Luke with Niella?"

Felix held his hands palms out. "He was the one who wanted to see the clinic. Niella was going to do some paperwork and offered to give him a tour."

Luke was interested in her clinic? The thought made her smile. She'd always wanted to hire more help, to expand her clinic, but never got around it.

A crash from inside the cage took the smile right off her face.

The sulfurous smell got stronger the closer she got to the kennel. A small animal paced within.

Felix had taken one of her nicer kennels, which meant little light could penetrate through the thick plastic walls. She hunched over to try to get a glimpse through the door.

Merrick peered into the large cooler and whistled. "What's with all the weight?"

Cali crossed her arms. Sydney noticed a white bandage on the back of her left hand. "Trust us, that _thing_ is fucking strong."

Sydney swallowed another lump of fear as she crouched closer to the front of the kennel. "Why didn't you guys tranquilize it?"

Cali and Felix cast each other worried glances. Felix answered first. "We did."

Sydney waited. "And?"

Guilt blanketed his face. "And," Felix drew out, "we might have plowed through nearly your entire stock of sedatives last night to keep this thing knocked out. But today the last one we had wore off in eleven minutes."

"What?" She whipped her gaze up to Felix's face before dropping it back to the cage. The creature inside didn't look any bigger than a beagle. She squinted against the shadows inside the container. "Do you have a flashlight?"

Felix dug inside the cooler and pulled out a huge camping flashlight.

Sydney clutched it to her chest. Merrick crouched down next to her. "Do you want me to hold that for you?" he offered, pointing to the flashlight.

She shook her head. "I got it." She steadied her trembling hands, something she was always good at. You had to have steady hands to be a surgeon and she'd learned at a young age to repress her shakes even while nervous.

She inhaled once and flashed the light inside the kennel.

The creature shrieked. The metal door banged as the thing rushed it.

Sydney fell back. Merrick caught her in his arms, the warmth of his chest on her back a small comfort.

"T-that's not a cat." She stared unblinking at the container. A hiss came from the shadowed corner in the far back.

Felix squatted down in front of her. "You're sure?"

She leaned back against Merrick for comfort. His arms tightened around her.

Cali's eyes watched them studiously.

Sydney didn't care, her mind was awhirl with images of what she'd just seen. "I'm all but positive," she told Felix. "Cats have fur, unless it's a breed like the Sphynx, but that didn't look anything like a Sphynx. Its skin was . . . was discolored." She didn't even have a name for the color. Purple? Red? Some kind of maroon? Cali would be better at describing the color—she was the artist. Sydney was just the vet. "And don't get me started on the anatomy," she mumbled. The whole body had been misshapen. The arms and legs were too long, the joints in the wrong places and bent at unnatural angles. And the eyes . . .

Merrick's arms tightened around her as she shivered. "Could this have been a side effect of some kind of radiation exposure?" Merrick's breath tickled her ear. She suppressed another shiver and realized that the back of her body was pressed firmly to the front of his and that she could feel his reaction to her nearness pressing against her. On the heels of that thought came the horror that Felix and Cali were witnessing every minute of it.

She wanted to shoot from Merrick's arms but knew that would draw more unwanted attention than if she slowly extracted herself.

She held her hand out. "A little help here?" she said to Felix with a wiggle of her fingers.

Felix leaned over and grasped her hand, pulling her from Merrick's lap. "Could that be possible?" he asked.

"What?"

He motioned to Merrick, who was getting to his feet. "The radiation exposure. Could massive amounts of radiation do that to a . . . cat?"

She stared at the kennel. "I've never seen radiation do that outside of movies," she said truthfully. "Its body is all wrong, Felix. I don't know what to tell you."

His expression fell. Cali wrapped her arms around his waist. "Radiation might not be ruled out completely," she said to him. "You could be Erasing things to Fukushima. Right into the heart of the melted nuclear power plant."

Felix didn't look like he believed it, but he put on a brave smile anyway. "Yeah, maybe."

Sydney had known Felix for years and she knew how afraid he had been of his powers. He used to be terrified of where he might send something after Erasing it. They'd both hoped that once he became full-forced that he wouldn't have to fear Erasing anything ever again, but apparently life just wasn't that simple.

# Chapter 15

After more cautious studying of the "cat," Felix Erased it back to wherever it came from. Sydney didn't mind seeing it go. She and Merrick stayed and helped rearrange Felix's living room back to its original form. By the time they finished Sydney had two missed calls from Joel.

She stepped out into the hall to get some privacy and called him back.

"Hey," Joel picked up cheerfully. "What were you up to that kept you so busy?"

She filled him in on Felix's cat from hell.

"Holy shit. Seriously?" Joel said when she finished.

"Seriously," she told him. "I don't know what could have done that to a cat, Joel."

"Don't worry about it. It's gone now," he said, picking up on her unease. "And if you're worried about your car I'm sure if you ask Felix real nice he'll Erase it for you again."

She smiled. "Maybe I'll have him Erase another Yaris from a car lot and then bring it back right away, that way I won't be out a car. I can't keep borrowing yours."

"You know I don't mind," he said absently. "But hot damn, are you considering thievery, Syd? I never thought I'd see the day. I'm so proud of you."

"I'm not seriously going to ask him."

Joel's voice dropped. "Aw, come on. A little bad will do you good."

"Except when I get caught with a stolen car."

"Where's that never ending optimism? Besides, I doubt you'd ever get pulled over. When was the last time you drove over seventy miles per hour on the freeway?" He made a few thinking noises. "Oh, I remember, when I accidentally broke my toe a year ago on that old, clunky metal frame you used to have on your bed."

"You screamed like a little girl." She laughed.

"I did not."

When she hung up with Joel she felt lighter inside. She'd missed their easy conversations. She missed the uncomplicated friendship between them.

"Everything all right with Joel?"

Sydney jumped.

Cali had snuck up behind her. Her shoulder propped against the wall, arms crossed over her dark purple thermal top.

Sydney tucked her phone away. "Yeah," she said with some relief.

Cali studied her carefully. "You still care for him, don't you?"

Sydney's relaxed muscles instantly stiffened. "What are you talking about? Of course I still care for Joel. He's one of my best friends."

Cali's gaze never wavered. "But that's all you see him as, isn't it? A friend."

Sydney's lips formed the protest but the words never came. She'd been with Joel for nearly three years, he was her first love . . .

And suddenly she realized that she already viewed him as her first love and not her only love. Because she had moved on. Somehow, somewhere deep inside, she'd lost the intimate connection with Joel. She still wanted him in her life but now when she pictured his arms coming around her, she only felt comfort. There was no heating of her blood, no tickling awareness of his body, she only thought of him like an older brother. Like Felix.

Cali took a step toward her with her arms out as if to catch her. "Are you okay? You just went white as my canvas."

"I'm over Joel," she mumbled numbly.

Cali tried to catch her eye. "Sydney?" She gave her shoulders a little shake. "Are you with me?"

Sydney blinked. Never in a million years would she have thought this would happen. She was going to have to break Joel's heart.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Cali backed up. "Okay, now you look green. What the fuck did you eat for lunch?"

_You're going to break up the entire guild._

Tears burned the back of her throat. She blinked her eyes rapidly to keep them at bay and looked into Cali's eyes. She watched her carefully.

Everything Sydney wanted to tell her stuck in her throat. What if Cali thought her change of heart was a betrayal? Cali didn't have any qualms about speaking her mind. And Sydney didn't want to hear her worst fears voiced aloud.

She clamped her mouth shut.

"Sydney?" Cali searched her face.

"I'm fine," she lied. "I could use some water though."

Cali disappeared down the hall. Had Cali heard what she'd said? That she was over Joel?

_What do you think?_

She'd mumbled in front of a Silencer. Cali probably heard her loud and clear.

Not even ten seconds later Felix came down the hall. "Can I talk to you?"

She tampered down her sudden fear and nodded. Felix led her into his bedroom and closed the door behind them.

"What's up?" She tried to sound unconcerned.

Felix ran a hand through his hair. Never a good sign. "Merrick just finished asking me a whole bunch of questions about Mirror Mates. That's what's up."

Sydney wrapped her arms around her waist to stop the trembling. She'd completely screwed up. "What did he want to know?"

"Everything. What it felt like, how do you know if the woman you think is your Mirror Mate is the one? Sydney—" He ran another hand through his hair.

Terror froze her in place. Her whole world was crumbling. Chaos everywhere. No order. Now Felix suspected that she and Merrick were Mirror Mates and Cali knew she no longer had sexual feelings for Joel. If they put two and two together . . .

Her head throbbed and she rubbed at her temples. She'd been holding her Shield up for a long time now. Those few seconds respite when she'd dropped it to allow Felix to Erase the "cat" hadn't been long enough to reenergize.

That only brought into focus that she still had Jente to worry about. Not to mention they still had to find Kevin's journal. That took precedence over everything else.

Pushing her growing headache aside she slid past Felix before he could say anything more incriminating.

"Where are you going?" he asked before she could completely escape into the hallway.

She forced her thundering heart to slow. "We have to find Kevin's journal."

He cupped her elbow to keep her in place, his brilliant blue-green eyes staring down into hers. "Sydney, this isn't something to brush off. I think Merrick thinks you're his Mirror Mate."

She was suddenly very glad Felix wasn't touching her hands because her palms instantly started to sweat.

He searched her eyes with his. His expression was nothing if not sympathetic and understanding. She could tell Felix anything. But he was Joel's best friend. Just because she knew him longer didn't automatically make him her friend more than Joel's.

If Joel left the guild would Felix be forced to choose between them?

What if he chose Joel?

Her stomach started to cramp again.

Felix's fingers tightened around her elbow. "It's okay," he said softly.

She looked away. "It's close to dinner time. I'll go pick up a pizza from Tom's."

It took her nearly ten minutes to convince Merrick that she could go alone to pick up a pizza. It wasn't until she was on her way out that Cali pointed out she could pick up Niella and Luke from the clinic.

She'd wanted to be alone but she guessed some time to herself was better than none.

She slipped into Tom's Pizzeria and inhaled the smell of garlic bread and pizza sauce. She must've been a little early because the dinner crowd hadn't arrived yet.

"Hey, Sydney." Tom came out from the back with his visor crooked as usual. She didn't think she'd ever seen it on straight. "I thought you were on vacation." There was no suspicious glint to his eye, just genuine curiosity. Sydney relaxed fractionally.

She forced a smile. "Not even a vacation can keep me away from your delicious pizza."

He leaned against the other side of the counter. "That's just sad," he said while giving her one of his grins that used to make her heart flutter when she was a teen.

Thomas Larkin had owned the pizzeria a few doors down from her parent's clinic for years. She'd met him when she was eighteen and worked part time with her parents at the clinic while attending college. She'd instantly developed a crush on the twenty-three-year-old pizza maker. It hadn't been hard. Tom had clear green eyes, unkempt dirty blond hair, and a smile that had melted her eighteen-year-old heart. She'd tried numerous times to flirt with him but nothing had ever come out of it. It was one of her biggest regrets not pursuing Tom to see if anything could have developed between them. Yet at the same time she was grateful nothing had ever happened, it would have ruined their friendship and right now she needed someone like Tom—a close friend with no ties or biases whatsoever to the guild.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

The easy smile faded from his handsome face. His forehead wrinkled in worry. "What's wrong?" He came around the counter.

She scuffed her shoe against the floor. "Nothing's wrong, I just . . . need some advice."

Tom went over to the front door and flipped the sign to "Closed." "Come on into the back so we can get some privacy."

This was why she loved Tom. She smiled gratefully at him.

In the back of the pizzeria she watched as he put together her order. "So," he said after he loaded their pizza into the oven. "What's on your mind?"

She snagged a green pepper out of a topping container and popped it in her mouth to buy herself some time to think. "What do you do when your feelings for someone you really care about change?"

Tom took a moment to dust his hands off. "I'm going to take a guess and say this is about Joel?"

She nodded.

Tom exhaled and joined her leaning up against the counter. "First of all, I think that changing feelings is natural. It's a part of growing up."

She gave him a flat stare. "I'm not sixteen."

"Hey, you'll always be that little eighteen-year-old to me." He wrapped his arm around her and rubbed the knuckles on his other hand gently on top of her head.

She pushed him away. "I don't want anyone to get hurt," she confessed. "And you know how close-knit my guil—uh, my group of friends are. I don't want to ruin the whole dynamic."

"I hate to say this, Sydney, but you can't stay with Joel out of some twisted obligation you feel for your friends. That's not fair to you—or Joel. It's perfectly normal to want to move on. That's why we date, to figure out what we're looking for in a life partner and what we're not. You'll find that one guy for you."

"What if I already have?" she mumbled.

Tom stopped nibbling on his piece of Canadian bacon. "You already have? Meaning—? Ohhh."

She waited for the disappointment, the condemnation. It never came. "You're not a bad person because of this, Sydney. You got me?"

"Easier said than felt," she said.

"I'm serious." His expression hardened. "You're not a bad person. You can't help what you feel. It's as simple as that."

"Okay," she said because she didn't know what else to say. She'd never seen Tom so fierce before.

He relaxed back into his easygoing demeanor. "Good. Don't lose sleep over this either. You look exhausted."

She was. She'd dropped her Shield on the way over. Cali could listen for Jente if he was hanging around Felix's and she didn't need to Shield herself while going to get pizza. Her body needed the rest.

Tom wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and she felt a comforting tingle throughout her whole body.

When Tom released her she felt loads better. Rejuvenated.

She gazed up at him. "What did you do to me?"

Tom tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"When you hugged me . . . I felt . . . tingly." Realizing her words could be taken in a totally different meaning, she flushed. "I didn't mean—"

Tom laughed. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure you were just exhausted and when you relaxed it helped ease some of that weight you've been carrying on your shoulders." He pushed off the counter to tend to her pizza.

Her eyes followed him, her brow furrowed in thought. "I guess," she muttered.

While Tom was busy she slipped back to the front of the pizzeria. Bad idea. The dinner crowd had arrived and they spotted Sydney.

"Uh, Tom?" she called to the back. "It looks like there's an angry mob outside your place. You want me to flip the sign and let them in?"

"Give me a second," he answered. She heard movement as he bustled around in the back before he came out holding her pizza all boxed up and ready to go. "Here." He handed it to her. "Let me know how everything works out, okay?"

She didn't want to lie to Tom, but she didn't know if she'd be able to go through with breaking up with Joel. Their three-year anniversary was only a few days away. It would devastate him.

But which would hurt him more: breaking up with him before, or right after?

She could barely meet Tom's eyes. "Okay," she told him.

His green eyes warmed. "You can do it, you're stronger than you think."

At that moment she didn't think so. She'd never been particularly strong or adventurous. If she was she'd have thought her powers would have reflected it. But what did she do? She Shielded. It was a fancy word for hiding. For cowardice.

A warm hand gripped her shoulder. Tom was still watching her. "I'm just a phone call away if you need anything."

She smiled at him. "Thanks."

• • •

"Finally." Niella rolled out from behind the reception desk when Sydney came in. "Come on, Skywalker, our ride is here," she yelled to the back.

Sydney hid her smirk. Niella liked to think she kept her distance from the guild, but what she didn't realize was that when she used Joel's nicknames and helped create titles, she was a part of the guild as much as anyone else.

Luke emerged from the back, his brown/blond hair falling into his eyes. He needed a haircut, Sydney thought absently.

He smiled when he saw her. "Your clinic is amazing," he gushed. "I can't believe you run this whole thing."

Pride swelled in Sydney's chest. "My clinic isn't that amazing," she said on instinct, even though she thought it was. It wasn't very big but it was hers and she loved it. The first time Cali had seen it she'd commented on how small the place was. Sydney liked Luke's reaction much better.

"Well, I think it's amazing," Luke said as she locked up. "Do you ever need, like, help or anything?"

Sydney pulled back from the door to look Luke up and down. He was no longer dressed in his scrubs. He had on worn jeans and a black jacket that wasn't quite zipped up all the way revealing a . . . _Star Wars_ shirt?

_Joel . . ._

She shook her head at the idea of Joel happily giving Luke a shirt to wear.

With his outfit Luke looked like any regular kid. But what was he before he was kidnapped by Vander? Had he been homeless? She knew Juliet had a family to return to. Hazel admitted to having no one but she hadn't elaborated beyond that.

"Luke," Sydney said, "did you have a home you needed to return to? Parents that you needed to contact?"

"Uh." Luke studied the floor, shifting nervously.

Sydney waited patiently. She knew that he was twenty years old, so he didn't have to go anywhere he didn't want to go.

"I'm not going to force you to do anything. You know that, right?"

He lifted his blue eyes from the ground. "I-I know." He twisted his hands a few times before continuing. "I was in the foster care system for a while. The home I was taken from . . . the people were really nice." He shrugged. "I just don't see what good talking to them will do. I mean they were great and all and I'm really glad I was placed with them but I don't want to cause them any more problems. I'd rather stay away. They probably thought I ran away anyway." He continued to fiddle with his hands, his eyes darting around.

She decided not to press him anymore. "Why don't you help Niella get situated in the Hummer?"

He looked grateful to have something to do and disappeared to the back of the car to help Niella.

When they reached Felix's, Sydney's heart flipped at the sight of Joel's truck parked out front.

She felt Niella's eyes on her and tried to keep her outward appearance calm and collected.

Tom's words floated through her head as she brought the pizza in. Felix, Cali, Merrick, and Joel were all seated on the couches. Joel and Merrick were on the same couch. Sitting side by side the two looked so different, yet so similar.

Everyone turned when she entered the room and Sydney found her eyes locked with Merrick's. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Where are the others?" Cali asked.

She pulled her gaze from Merrick and pointed behind her. "Luke's helping Niella."

"Nice." Felix came over to her and took the pizza box. "Who's hungry?"

Merrick and Joel got to their feet. Sydney was stuck rooted to the ground. Joel gave her a smile though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He pulled her in tight for a hug. She closed her eyes instantly so she wouldn't see Merrick's expression over Joel's shoulder.

"Sorry I had to work," Joel said as he released her.

"It's fine." She forced her own smile while her heart raced. It was so hard to stare into his face when she knew she had to break it off with him. She'd spent the entire car ride back to Felix's bolstering her confidence. She had to do what was right. Right?

Indecision warred within her.

# Chapter 16

Merrick climbed into the back of the Hummer where Luke was practically jumping up and down.

"This is so cool," said Luke. "We're going to break into a hospital so you can use your powers."

"Technically," Felix said from the driver's seat, "we're not breaking in. We're visiting during visiting hours but the rest of that statement is true. You think you're going to be able to get anything?" Felix directed that last question at Merrick.

"I won't know until I get there," he said honestly.

Joel sat silently in the passenger seat. Merrick tried not to watch him but he couldn't help it. Once Sydney had returned with the pizza Joel had never left her side. As if he wanted to keep Sydney away from Merrick on purpose.

_Stop being such a fucking asshole. That's his girlfriend and he has every right to want to spend time with her._

Sydney might be Joel's girlfriend but after Merrick's conversation with Felix about Mirror Mates, Merrick was almost positive that Sydney was his.

Everything Felix had described had happened between them. A jolt through his system when they touched, an ache in his chest when they were apart, and an overwhelming need to be with Sydney—to taste her and touch her.

He bit back a groan of frustration as his cock hardened.

All these sensations couldn't have been one sided. Sydney had to have felt them too, which begged the question: why didn't she do anything about it? Did she not want Merrick as a Mirror Mate?

_I thought you weren't buying into this soul mate shit?_

He sighed. He didn't know what to think anymore. Was it too much to hope for a woman he could get close to and not have to fear her inner thoughts?

"You think Juliet and Hazel are all right?" Luke's voice snapped Merrick out of his inner musings.

He glanced over at the kid and saw real concern on his face. "I'm sure they're fine. I told Hazel to call if she needed anything. If she's in trouble, we'll know."

Or at least he hoped so. Regina hadn't shown her pretty little mug since they came to Southern California. He would have thought Vander would send her after him, or that she'd at least volunteer, but he hoped that not seeing her meant she was ordered to stay in San Francisco.

Luke nodded. "I miss them," he mumbled.

Merrick blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought their friendships had grown that strong, but then he remembered that all his time was spent with Sydney.

_And look how attached you got to her._

"I'm sure they miss you too," he said earnestly.

Some of the sadness left Luke's face. "I bet they would have had fun going on this mission."

Merrick felt like telling him that it wasn't really a mission. They were walking into a hospital room, end of story. But he didn't want to ruin Luke's illusion.

They arrived at the hospital with a little less than an hour to "visit."

Felix led them to a private wing. A few nurses eyed them skeptically but no one stopped them. Merrick kept a close eye out for anything suspicious. He had that tickle at the back of his neck again, like someone was watching him. Could it be that Jente guy again?

They shouldn't have left Sydney at the house.

They had no way of knowing if they were being followed but she had looked beyond exhausted and Merrick had agreed with Joel and Felix that she needed to stay behind and rest.

"Here we are," Felix announced as they stepped into a sterile smelling room. The temperature was on the cool side. Merrick instinctively scanned the room. There wasn't much to look at. There was nothing there. No flowers, nothing to indicate that anyone came to visit.

Merrick stepped closer to the bed. It was surreal to look down into the faces of Collette and Kevin and feel like he already knew them. He'd seen them awake, walking and talking. He'd been inside Kevin's head, feeling what he felt.

They both looked washed out now. White faces, drab hair, and sunken cheekbones.

Felix stared at both of them with a strange expression on his face. Some kind of mix between sympathy and loathing.

Joel remained off to the side, arms crossed over his chest. Luke stood nearby looking as if he wanted to come closer but wasn't sure if it was appropriate.

Merrick stood between the two beds acutely aware of all the tubes that were attached to both Collette and Kevin. Maybe it was a good thing Sydney had stayed away. She hated hospitals; he couldn't imagine what seeing someone like this would do to her.

"Have you ever gotten information off of an actual person before?" asked Felix.

"No, just things they've touched. I'm not sure this'll even work. I've never tried to read something off of someone in a coma before. They might not give off impressions like a normally active person would."

"Just give it your best. We might as well start at the main source." Felix moved away to give him more room.

Merrick ran his fingers along the sheets as he focused. He'd never tried to get inside a person's head before. Not to mention one that was in a coma. Was it possible for him to become trapped inside another person's mind?

He fucking hoped not.

He inhaled. The back of his neck prickled. He reached out and brushed the limp brown hair off of Kevin's forehead. His skin was lukewarm. Merrick repressed a shiver.

_You won't get trapped._

He pressed his fingers more firmly against Kevin's skin and shut his eyes.

Nothing happened.

He gave it a few more seconds but no visions came.

"Anything?" asked Felix.

Merrick shook his head in awe. "Nothing." He couldn't read people. A tightness in his chest released. "I'll try his clothes and the sheets, just to make sure." He touched Kevin's hospital gown and instantly got sucked into a strange black void. He was aware of being moved and that was it. He jerked his hand back.

Holy shit, had that been Kevin's thoughts?

He touched the clothing again. This time he didn't get any black voids. He picked up on the nurses: their boredom, their sympathy. He pulled away when a few nurses got curious about how hung Kevin was.

He moved onto the sheets. More nurses. He was ready to pull away when he stopped. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He skimmed the sheets like someone would skim the pages of a book until he found what he was looking for. There.

_"Where is she?"_

It was Vander.

_"You hid her from me, didn't you? Why?" Vander grunted. "It doesn't matter. It was a fool's mistake. You forget I hold Collette's life in my hands. One phone call to the hospital and every machine that's keeping her alive will be unplugged. This might not matter to you now but it will. I've found a way to bring you back to me. It might take time but we've both got plenty of that."_

Shouts erupted.

It took Merrick a moment to realize that they weren't coming from his visions. He wrenched his hand away from Kevin's bed in time to see Luke get shot in the chest by a taser. His body convulsed, then dropped.

"Shit." Joel caught him on the way down.

Felix waved his hand and the taser disappeared from existence. He launched himself at the men in the doorway. Joel placed his hand flat on Luke's chest. He held on for a second before jumping into the fray with Felix.

Merrick rushed to help. A fist shot out and took him in the solar plexus. He staggered back. The man who'd hit him crouched next to Luke and gripped him under the arms. He heaved but Luke's body didn't move an inch. It was like he was glued to the floor.

Not glued, Merrick realized, but Locked. He laughed aloud at Joel's genius and flew into the fight with renewed vigor. His fist smashed into the face of the man trying to abduct Luke. The man flew, knocking into the back of Felix's knees. Felix stumbled and took a hit in the gut.

Merrick winced. Cali was going to beat his ass if she ever found out about that.

Felix's eyes locked with his.

_My bad_ , Merrick mouthed.

Felix grinned before slammed his elbow into his closest attacker's ribcage. The man doubled over. Merrick kneed him in the face.

They systematically worked their way through their assailants. Joel Locked them in place and Felix and Merrick took them out. By the time they were through Merrick could taste his own blood in his mouth. They'd moved into the hallway but there were no nurses or doctors to be found.

"Convenient," said Merrick.

"Come on." Joel went back into the Bauers' room to unlock Luke from the floor. "More could be on their way. We better head back." He was sporting a cut on his forehead and a swollen lip.

"I'll keep watch—you guys try to wake his ass up," said Felix.

Joel shook Luke by the shoulders. "Come on, Skywalker, a little electricity never hurt anyone. I mean, look how fast Luke bounced back after being jolted by the emperor in the movies. This is nothing."

Merrick gripped Luke's other arm and together he and Joel lifted him to his feet.

Luke blinked.

"I think he's coming around," said Merrick.

Luke gave a pained groan.

Joel and Merrick walked him out of the hospital room. By the time they reached the elevators he could stand on his own. Merrick reached out and steadied him when he started to sway again.

"You're fine," Joel kept repeating. "You're invincible, remember?"

"I don't want to be invincible if it means I have to take all the hard hits," Luke said as he rubbed the back of his head.

Felix patted him on the shoulder. "I'll bet after a few more big hits like that you won't even feel pain anymore."

Luke stared at him incredulously.

"Welcome to the Guild of Truth," Felix said with a grin.

"The Guild of Aletheia," Joel said, exacerbated. He dabbed at his swollen lip with the hem of his shirt. "You know that fight would have gone a lot smoother if you would have brought back the taser for us to use," he said to Felix.

Felix punched the button for the lobby. "Sorry, it's force of habit to not bring something back."

Joel grunted. "I'm going to have to think of a better excuse at work for all my bruises besides 'I like to box.' Everyone's going to think I'm into S&M or something."

"S and M?" asked Luke.

Felix and Joel exchanged a look. Felix raised his eyebrows as if to tell Joel that Luke was his trainee.

"Sadomasochism," Merrick spoke up. "It means getting off on pain."

Luke shuddered. "Who'd ever want that?"

"There are some . . . unique people out there," Felix said carefully. It was very politically correct of him.

Merrick remembered the man in San Francisco whose power caused pain on contact. He studied Luke, took note of the way he held his arms around himself as if to ward off the world. He was pretty sure Luke would never want to experience pain ever again if he could avoid it.

The lobby was bustling with people and it took everything Merrick had to keep his head high as he walked out as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn't sporting the beginnings of a black eye or a split lip.

A few workers stared openly. Some pointed. Merrick kept an eye out if any one of them pulled out a cell phone. Someone had to have alerted Vander that they were here.

"Well, that was pointless," Felix said once in the safety of his vehicle.

"Not completely," said Merrick as he buckled up. He told the rest of them what Vander had said to Kevin's unconscious body.

"Well, shit," said Felix when he was done. "What the hell did he mean he can bring him back?"

"No idea." But he wished he did know. If Kevin woke up would Vander leave him alone? Vander had said it would take time, which meant that for now he would keep pursuing Merrick.

• • •

"Would you two knock it off?" said Niella. "What the hell is wrong with you guys?"

Sydney and Cali both stopped their pacing.

Cali rubbed at her chest. "Felix is away from me, that's what's wrong."

Niella waved her off. "Yeah, fine. You I understand. You . . . " She pointed to Sydney. "What's your problem? Why are you so antsy?"

Sydney dropped her hands before she felt tempted to rub at the hollow ache in her chest. She was nervous, anxious. As soon as Merrick drove away she wanted to race after him.

Both women watched her carefully.

She forced herself to sit. "I'm worried about them. All of them," she stressed in case they got any ideas.

"Well, quit it, you're making me nervous." Niella rolled her shoulders.

Could it be that Niella was worried too?

"Are you worried about Luke?" Sydney asked.

The glare shot her way was answer enough.

"You are. That's so cute," Sydney teased, glad to divert the attention away from herself.

"Look, the kid has had a tough life. He doesn't need any more complications."

Cali continued to pace. Sydney wanted to join her but concentrated back on Niella. "I know he was in the foster care system, that had to be rough."

"You want to know why he was in the foster care system?" Niella asked. "It's because he had an abusive father. Luke and his sister were separated and he went from home to home until this last one kept him for a few years."

"He told you all this?"

"He mentioned it and then while he was touring the clinic again on his own I had a Dream about him. His past."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Nah, I'm sure he doesn't want anyone to know, so you better keep your mouth shut." Her hazel eyes hardened.

Sydney leaned back. "I promise."

Cali let out a relieved sigh.

Sydney looked up. The tightness in her chest had lessened, which meant—

She shot to her feet as the front door opened.

The men shuffled into the living room all bruised and bloodied except for Luke. Luke looked shaken, his hair frizzing out like he'd stuck his finger in an electrical socket.

Sydney's attention flew to Merrick. He had a black eye and a split lip. "Are you all right?" She ran to him and only realized her mistake when she clutched Merrick's face in her hands.

A deathly quiet settled over the room.

Sydney dropped her arms and spun to find the rest of the guild gaping at her. Her eyes instantly sought Joel.

He stood off to the side sporting a cut on his forehead and a swollen lip. He stared at her dazed, as if someone had bashed him over the head from behind.

He blinked and the dazed look was gone. In its place was hurt and betrayal.

Sydney took a step toward him.

His midnight blue eyes narrowed. His anger couldn't quite mask the pain she saw in his face.

"Joel," she croaked. "I—"

"What the hell, Syd?" His gazed flickered around the room to where the rest of the guild was watching them. His face flushed with humiliation. He stepped forward and took her arm. "Can we talk somewhere private?" he whispered between clenched teeth.

He didn't wait for an answer. He started to pull her toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

"Joel, wait," she protested meekly. She didn't want to have this conversation while he was pissed. She didn't want to have this conversation somewhere the entire guild could overhear them. She didn't want to have this conversation period.

His fingers tightened around her arm. "Joel, stop. Please let go."

He made it three steps with her stumbling after him before he stopped. She peeked around his body to see Merrick blocking their way. His eyes were shining like blue fire.

Joel's body stiffened. The tension in the room rose another notch. "Get out of our way," Joel seethed.

Merrick crossed his arms and widened his stance. "She doesn't want to go with you."

Sydney could barely hear over the roaring in her ears.

Joel's fingers twitched against her arm. "And you think she'd want to go with you?"

Merrick's eyes briefly met hers. For one second she could have sworn she saw a flicker of vulnerability. It was gone in the next instant, replaced with hard ice. "She asked you to let her go." He avoided Joel's question.

"This doesn't concern you," said Joel. "She's my girlfriend and I want to talk to her alone."

"If Sydney doesn't want to do something then it concerns me," Merrick said flatly.

"And since when did it become your responsibility to protect Syd?"

Merrick took a menacing step toward Joel. "Since you failed to do so."

Sydney gasped. "Merrick—"

Joel dropped her arm.

A split second later his fist slammed into Merrick's face. Blood gushed from his nose. He stepped back to regain his balance and threw his fist.

Sydney heard the crack of bone and cried out as Joel flew off his feet.

"Shit." Cali jumped out of the way.

Felix rushed to Joel's side. His blue-green eyes caught with Sydney's and he gave her a look like "what the hell are you doing?" She wasn't rushing to Joel's side. She was anchored to the floor, her gaze darting between Joel and Merrick.

Merrick held his clenched fist close to his body, his chest heaving.

Their eyes locked. Something like fear and anticipation coursed through her body. Her breasts ached and her sex pulsed.

She tore her gaze away and ran to Joel.

"Joel." She knelt next to him. Cali handed her a roll of paper towels. She brought them to his face where his hand was cupped to catch the blood from his nose. "Here." She tried to shoo his hand away. "Let me."

"Get away from me." He pushed her away. She fell back onto her butt. Numb.

Cali took the towels from her hand and shot her an apologetic half-smile. She took her place at Joel's side and handed him the paper towels.

Sydney mechanically got to her feet. She stared from the outside as Felix, Cali, and Luke helped Joel.

A delicate hand grasped hers.

She jumped.

Niella squeezed her hand once and let it drop. She rolled over to the rest of the group and handed them more tissues.

Tears welled in Sydney's eyes. It was all her fault. She'd done this. Her greatest fear of breaking up the guild was happening right before her eyes.

She felt Merrick come up behind her. She quickly stepped away, not looking at him. "Just stay away," she pleaded, though the words broke something fragile inside of her. She wanted nothing more than to curl into his strong, warm arms and forget the sight before her.

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Merrick's white knuckles. He backed off into the adjoining kitchen.

Felix helped Joel to his feet. His face was swollen and Sydney could already make out the beginnings of two black eyes. "Joel, I'm so sorry—"

He walked right past her.

Felix gave her an apologetic look and followed Joel out, talking to him in a hushed voice.

Numb didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling. She was dead inside. Joel wouldn't even look at her.

A car started in the front yard.

A few seconds later Felix came back in, looking uncharacteristically somber. He studied the blood stains on his carpet and Sydney felt even more terrible. "I'll help you clean up," she offered.

Felix held up a hand. "I think we all need to just calm down, go home and recuperate. We didn't find anything out tonight so there's no rush to do anything."

"Is there a phone I can use to call a cab?" Merrick asked.

Felix pitched him his cell.

The offer to drive him home was sitting on the tip of her tongue but Sydney swallowed it down. Right now she was feeling crushed and vulnerable. She didn't know what she'd do if left alone in Merrick's presence. And she wasn't willing to find out.

After Merrick left Sydney helped Felix with his carpet despite his protests. Once that was finished she searched for anything else she could do to occupy her mind and time. When there was nothing left she conceded defeat and collected her purse and keys.

Niella blocked Sydney's path to the door.

"What?"

Niella's face betrayed nothing. "Take me home." It wasn't a question.

Sydney's fingers tightened around her keys but all the anger drained from her when she realized the extra time would keep her mind away from thoughts of Merrick and Joel. Her shoulders slumped. "Fine."

Niella's wheelchair would barely fit in the back of her Yaris but they'd gotten it in once before.

Felix offered the guest room to Luke. He turned in as soon as possible. Sydney felt bad for ruining everyone's night but Felix said Luke was probably exhausted from being tasered.

"What?" Niella and Sydney both cried.

Cali, who was sitting on the sofa, leaned back in a relaxed pose. "Ah, tasers, that brings me back."

Felix shot her a mischievous grin.

The joke wasn't lost on Sydney. She'd been there after Cali had knocked Collette out cold with a taser.

"Don't worry," Felix said to Niella and Sydney. "A little rest and he'll be fine. He regenerates, remember?"

Niella grumbled about poor treatment of new recruits.

The car ride to Niella's started out in relative silence. Niella played with the radio until she settled for some upbeat dance song. When they were about halfway to her place she turned the volume down.

"So are you going to tell me what happened back there?" she asked.

Sydney kept her attention front and center. After a few minutes of following the car in front of her, she finally answered. "I didn't want anyone to get hurt," she confessed. There was no point lying to a Dreamer. Niella would find out about it eventually. The more she concentrated on a subject or object the more likely she was to Dream about it.

"Well, you failed on that front," Niella said bluntly.

Sydney winced. "I know. It's just—"

"Merrick is your Mirror Mate?" she supplied helpfully.

The air left Sydney's lungs in a rush. "How long have you known?"

"How long have you?" Niella countered.

Sydney adjusted her hands on the steering wheel restlessly. "I suspected as much when I saw him in June locked up beneath the Kratos building." She stopped at a red light and turned to Niella.

Her eyebrows were raised in surprise. "That's a long time, Syd."

"I know, but I couldn't say anything to Joel. He cares for me so much and this is so . . . unfair to him." The light turned green and she concentrated on the road.

"You're always so worried about everyone else. You're trying to please too many people. What do _you_ want?"

"Merrick." His name burst from her lips without conscious thought.

She whirled her head around to gauge Niella's reaction but she was only smiling at her. "Then you have your answer."

"But what about Joel?"

Niella leaned her head back against the seat rest. "Joel will be fine in time. Trust me."

Sydney frowned.

# Chapter 17

Merrick tipped the cab driver and made his way to his apartment. The door handle was loose and on further inspection there were scratch marks on the doorframe. Merrick jiggled the handle before sticking his key in.

Still locked.

He shook his head. Some punk kids were testing out their skills on breaking and entering and failed. Much to his relief. Maybe it was a sign that his luck was changing.

He pushed open his door and flipped the lights before relocking the front and engaging the flimsy chain. It was the first time he'd been back in his apartment by himself. His gaze drifted to the dog dishes by the fridge.

The apartment was eerily silent and he wondered if perhaps he should get another dog to quell the loneliness he was currently trying to hold off. He threw his keys onto the counter and opened his fridge out of habit. There was nothing inside of it. Nothing edible anyway.

He pulled a glass from the cupboards and filled it with some tap water. He held it without taking a drink as he surveyed his empty living space. He stared down into his water and dumped the glass in the sink, rubbing his chest as he entered the living room.

Maybe a book would help—

He froze in mid-reach and spun on his heel.

In the far corner near his window Vander and Jente appeared out of thin air.

Merrick recalled the scratches on his front lock. And here he'd thought luck was on his side.

He snorted mentally.

Idiot.

Vander had aged even more since the last time he saw him. His entire head of hair was silver now, emphasizing his dark eyes and brows. Merrick also got his first good look at Jente. He couldn't have been that much older than Luke. He had tan skin and black hair. Merrick would put him roughly around the six feet area in height but his most defining feature would be the mismatched coloring of his eyes. The coloring of his skin already made the gray in his eyes stand out, but the splash of green in his right eye stood out even more. When paired with the flat stare he was currently giving Merrick, Jente's gaze could be quite disconcerting.

_This is a man that can go invisible at any moment,_ he warned himself. _Be on guard._

"Not even going to reach for a gun?" asked Vander.

"Believe me, I would have if there was one close by."

Vander made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat before straightening his suit jacket. "Very well. That'll make this whole conversation much easier then." He stepped deeper into Merrick's living room, comfortable as could be. Jente remained in the corner where it would be easy for Merrick to forget he was there.

"If it was a conversation you were looking for a phone call would have sufficed." Merrick trailed Vander with his eyes.

Vander settled onto his couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. "We both know you wouldn't have answered."

"And what makes you think I'm going to talk to you now?" He moved slowly toward the kitchen where there were many knifes waiting for him in his drawers.

Vander sighed and pulled a Glock 19 from under his jacket. He pointed it levelly at Merrick's chest.

Merrick froze, hands instantly splaying. "No tasers?" he asked.

Vander flashed his teeth. "I'm afraid not. And with my powers being on temporary shutdown I'm sure you understand why I have to resort to such . . . barbaric methods of persuasion."

At the mention of powers Merrick's eyes instantly shot to the corner of his living room.

Jente was gone.

Shit.

He could be anywhere.

"And he could be aiming god only knows what at you as well," Vander said as if reading his mind. He easily tucked his gun back into his jacket.

Merrick ground his teeth. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. "What do you want?" he growled.

Vander held his hand out to the chair on his left. "Sit."

Merrick remained standing until he heard the distinct click of a gun somewhere off to his side. Keeping his hands near chest level he sank into his armchair. Once seated he carefully placed his hands palms down on his knees where they were in plain sight. "Now, what the fuck do you want?"

Vander folded his hands together. "I'm afraid it's the same thing I've wanted since the beginning. Your compliance."

"Bullshit. You never wanted my compliance, you wanted that journal. And just in case your invisible spy hasn't noticed—I don't have it."

Vander's eyes glittered darkly. "On the contrary, Mr. Haskell, I believe we can help each other tremendously. My resources are infinite. You can ask Mr. Mitchell if you'd like." He held his hand out to gesture to his invisible companion.

Merrick filed the last name away.

"My resources could be a valuable asset for someone like yourself."

"For someone like me?" He scoffed. "You forget that I've been doing fine with my cases on my own."

"I'm not talking about your PI cases," Vander said calmly. "I'm talking about your missing sister."

Merrick's heart ceased beating.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across Vander's face. "You do want to find her, don't you? Imagine having a multi-million dollar company at your fingertips. A company, I might add, that, what's the phrase? Has their fingers in many different pies?"

Merrick breathed slowly.

_Don't let him know how much he's getting to you._

An image of his sister rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

_Alyssa . . ._

"Still not enticing enough?" said Vander.

Merrick found his voice. "There's no guarantee that I'll find her with your resources. I've collected quite a bit on my own."

"And how has that worked out for you?"

He clenched his jaw.

"That's what I thought. If my resources aren't enough then I promise a guarantee that you'll find her, but it may take time."

"How?"

"Not how. Whom." His dark eyes bore into Merrick's. "I believe you visited him tonight."

Merrick heard Vander's voice through his head, telling Kevin that he was going to bring him back. "Kevin," he breathed.

Vander leaned forward, elbows on knees. A crazed look came over his face. "You don't understand the power associated with having a . . . Dreamer in your pocket. Anything you could ever want would be yours in a manner of seconds."

Merrick thought of Niella sitting all alone in her wheelchair. What would Vander do if he learned that she was a Dreamer? Images of Dennis and Regina converging on her flooded his mind. He'd never submit someone to that kind of fate.

"How are you going to wake Kevin up?" he asked.

That shark's smile was back. "I can't tell you all my secrets, now can I? The only thing I will tell you is that it involves another person with an ability."

It didn't take a genius to figure out that person needed the ability to heal. He instantly thought of Luke. Was that why Vander had tried to kidnap him again?

No. Luke could only heal himself rapidly. He didn't possess the power to heal others. Maybe he'd gain that power when he became full-forced?

"Why did you try to take Luke tonight?" Merrick asked. If Luke was Vander's target then he needed to warn the others.

Vander depthless eyes stared straight through him. "Money is power, Mr. Haskell, and Mr. Teagan has his uses, none of which are any of your concern."

"If I worked for you it'd be my concern," he said evenly.

"That's where you're mistaken. If you worked for me it still wouldn't be any of your concern. Now, what is your answer?"

Merrick pretended to think about it. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to say, go fuck yourself."

Vander's face still held its pleasant expression but Merrick could make out the tick in his jaw. Vander got to his feet in one fluid motion. He reached into his jacket and Merrick braced himself for the pain of being shot.

Vander didn't retrieve his gun. He pulled a business card. "I'll get that journal, Mr. Haskell. I'll be watching you. I'll keep in touch but just in case you wish to contact me." He held the card up before placing it face up on the coffee table. Vander unlocked the front door and walked out without a backwards glance, the door left ajar.

Merrick stared.

Had Jente followed him or was he still watching him right at this moment?

His eyes traveled over every piece of furniture in his home but he couldn't find anything to give away Jente's presence if he was indeed still with him.

"If you're in here," Merrick growled. "You better get the fuck out, now."

He held the door open but heard no footsteps. After a few more moments of feeling like an idiot he slammed the door shut and locked it.

He stormed into his bedroom and booted up his computer. A few minutes later he was staring at the digital scans on his sister's case. _Unsolved_ , he read in one of the corners. The word haunted him. Somewhere out there Alyssa could still be suffering. Alone.

Merrick cradled his head in his hands.

He was no closer to finding Alyssa than he'd been years ago when he'd picked up her case.

Vander's promise slid against his mind like a lover's caress, taunting him, tempting him. He fisted his hair.

All it would take to find her was one Dream. One Dream and all his years of searching would come to an end.

What if he found the journal and then bartered with it? Then he wouldn't have to work for Vander. They'd both get what they wanted.

But Merrick would still be stuck with having to wait.

If he worked with Vander he would be given unlimited resources. If he didn't work for Vander but bartered the journal for Alyssa's whereabouts he'd have to wait until Kevin woke up. He'd have to trust Vander's word that he'd keep his end of the bargain.

_You could always keep the journal until Kevin woke up._

But by that time the journal would be obsolete.

_Maybe Niella could find Alyssa for you._

He lifted his head and stared at the search bar on his computer screen. Something about Niella pulled at his memory. The name wasn't common and something about her face stood out to him.

He typed her first name into the internet search bar. A few different hits came up but one caught his eye. _Niella Souveray: Olympic Athlete Mangled in Freak Car Accident._

Merrick clicked the link.

Now he remembered why she seemed so familiar. He'd watched her in the Olympic trials. He scanned the article. Niella had been a sprinter. She'd qualified for the Olympic Games when one night after practice reporters claimed she'd been so tired after a night of celebrating that she'd fallen asleep at the wheel of her car and crashed.

As Merrick continued to surf the web he found different takes on the accident. Some claimed it was self-inflicted, that the pressure of the games were too much for Niella and she'd purposely injured herself. Either way, Niella had been on her way to victory when in a matter of seconds her whole athletic career had been taken from her.

_No wonder she seems so bitter._

There wasn't much more on Niella after the accident. She'd moved from San Diego further up the coast. What she was doing with her life now, reporters didn't know.

Merrick stared at an image of the car wreck. No one else had been injured. "Falling asleep at the wheel . . . ," he muttered aloud.

He sat up straighter as something clicked. Dreamers. Dreaming. Niella had been suffering from a Dream while she'd been driving.

Merrick's heart went out to her.

He shut down his computer. He didn't need anything else to depress him. He'd reached his quota for the day.

He lay down in bed staring at the ceiling wondering how he'd ask a woman who'd lost all her dreams because of her powers to use those powers for him.

• • •

A knock on the door woke Merrick from a dead sleep.

He shot up, eyes gritty from trying to stay awake all night in an attempt to sniff Jente out. He'd obviously failed.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shuffled to the door to see who was on the other side.

His heart kicked against his ribs.

Sydney.

His fingers tightened on the knob. He inhaled and loosened his grip. He pulled open the door. "Hey."

"Hey." She stood before him immaculate as ever. Her hair hung in perfect loose waves down past her shoulders. She wore a three-quarter sleeved top against the late September chill that brought out the green in her eyes. She hardly wore any makeup but Merrick loved that about her.

She stared at him, mouth slightly parted. Merrick glanced down at his chest. He'd forgotten to don a shirt in his haste to answer the door.

The hungry glint in Sydney's eyes had his blood quickening. His hand gripped the door. "What do you want?"

She dropped her gaze to the floor but she couldn't hide the flash of hurt fast enough. Merrick ground his teeth. He flung the door the rest of the way open and stepped back. "Come in," he said gruffly.

Sydney hesitated before she entered.

Merrick scanned his apartment for any sudden appearances. "Are you Shielding right now?"

"What?"

"Are you using your powers?" He quickly went back to his bedroom.

Curiosity must've got the better of Sydney because her hesitancy melted away and she trailed after him. "Yes, why?"

Merrick ripped open his closet, the bathroom, anywhere Jente could hide.

Nothing.

Merrick exhaled in relief. So he had left with Vander last night.

"Is everything all right? No offense, but you look horrible."

Merrick caught sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. Sydney wasn't wrong. He looked like shit. The bags under his eyes were accentuated by his paler skin and dark hair. His lips had dried blood on them, his nose was swollen, and bruises were forming all over his face. His black eye was coming in nicely as well. He was also sporting a couple bruises along his chest. He snagged a shirt from his closet and slipped it over his head.

"I didn't sleep very well last night," he said on his way to the kitchen. He searched for some instant coffee and found nothing. "Can I get you something to drink? Water or . . . water?"

Sydney perched herself on the arm of the couch. "Water is fine."

He filled a glass for both of them and handed her one. "So what are you doing here?"

She stared into her glass. "I was going to call but then I realized I didn't have your number. I hope you don't mind me stopping by like this. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Kevin's journal and our next steps."

Merrick very carefully put down his glass. "I don't think we should look for it anymore."

Sydney nearly spilled her drink. "What?"

He'd been thinking about Kevin's journal a lot last night and either way Vander was going to get it. He explained as much to Sydney. "If we leave it hidden wherever it's hidden then the chances of him finding it lessen."

"But he's never going to stop. At least if we found it we could keep it safe."

"Keep it safe how?" he challenged. "He's a billionaire who could break into anywhere. There's nowhere safe to hide it."

"The Guild can protect it," she said stubbornly.

Merrick crossed his arms. "The Guild? Do you know how much work that would be? The manpower that would take? You'd be a constant target. Vander would never stop, especially once he found out the location. You can't Shield forever, Sydney. I saw you yesterday, you were exhausted and that was a single day. One day. Can you imagine doing that for weeks on end?"

"It might get easier the more I practice," she shot back.

Merrick wanted to roll his eyes. "Say that did happen, would you want to spend the rest of your life staying close to the journal? Because you seemed to have forgotten that all our powers seem to be based off of proximity."

"At least I'm willing to give it a shot here. You seem to have given up. If Vander ever found his Mirror Mate and bonded with her there's no telling what would happen with his powers. You've seen what he does in his spare time. You've experienced it and you don't want to stop that from happening? Vander uses people like us, Merrick, to gain money and power, and I can't believe you're willing to sit back and forget everything that ever happened."

Her fingers where white around his glass as she caught her breath.

"Look, I know things . . . " She stopped and tried again. "Last night . . . " She inhaled. "If you don't want to be a part of our guild then that's fine," she said quietly. "I don't blame you. But we could really use you in this one thing. Please. Then you never have to see any of us ever again."

Merrick took the glass of water from her hands and set it down on a nearby table. He gripped her hands and pulled Sydney to her feet. She was trembling. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Her free hand rested against his chest. He wondered if she could feel his pounding heart.

"What if I don't want to never see you again?" he said.

Her breath hitched. He could smell the vanilla coming from her skin. He inhaled greedily, the scent ratcheting his blood higher.

She licked her lips nervously. "Merrick . . . "

"I'll help you," he said.

"You will?"

"I only want one thing in return."

"Sure. Of course. Anything."

He leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear. "I want you."

Sydney jumped from his arms like a startled rabbit. She smashed into the side of the couch.

"Why do you fight it?" Merrick sighed.

"Fight what?"

He gripped her in his arms again. A jolt went through his system. Sydney's eyes widened. "This," he said, refusing to break eye contact. "I know you feel it too, so don't lie to me. We're Mirror Mates." The color drained from her face and Merrick briefly wondered where this sudden recklessness was coming from. "You keep hiding behind Joel like you're afraid of what could happen between us."

At the mention of Joel some of her regular fire returned to her eyes. She shoved him back. "I'm not afraid. I've loved Joel for three years, all right? I-I can't . . . "

Silence fell.

Merrick's hands ached from how hard he was clenching them. He spun on his heel.

"Wait," Sydney called out.

He froze. His control was slipping. There was too much crushing down on him and his desire for Sydney wasn't helping. If she didn't want him then she needed to say it so that he could move on.

_But we're Mirror Mates._

He'd never be able to move on.

He whirled back around and grasped her by the shoulders. "I don't care if you love Joel. You're mine."

His lips crushed against hers, his tongue forcing her lips apart to gain access to her mouth.

# Chapter 18

Sydney could do nothing but cling to Merrick as his tongue slid deep into her mouth. A moan rose from her, her fingers digging into the flesh of his arms. His muscles were coiled tight beneath her hands and she shivered in anticipation at all the raw strength Merrick was holding back.

_He wants you. He knows you're Mirror Mates and he wants you._

Desire rode her hard and she tore her lips away to suck in a lungful of air. Her whole body was on pins and needles, hyperaware of every brush of Merrick against her body. She craved his touch, wanted to feel him deep inside her.

She slid her hands up his chest and let her fingers tangle in his black locks. She wrenched his mouth back to hers for a hard kiss.

His answering groan set her blood on fire. Her sex pulsed in need and she shamelessly ground her hips against his growing erection.

His arms tightened around her almost painfully.

When his fingers skimmed the bare flesh beneath her shirt, she jumped. His fingers trailed up her stomach to her chest where they slipped beneath her bra to cup one of her tiny breasts.

"I know they're not much," she mumbled in apology.

Merrick pulled away to stare down at her. "What are you talking about?"

She avoided his gaze. "My boobs. I have the body of a prepubescent boy."

He grasped her chin and forced her eyes up to his. "As someone with experience in that field, you don't, Sydney. You're perfect. Everything about you is perfect."

He kissed her then. Slow and gentle. Warmth bloomed in her chest.

She reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head with some difficulty. She stared at his broad chest, her stomach flipping. "I've wanted to touch you like this since the first time I saw you shirtless," she confessed.

He smirked down at her. "Then what are you waiting for?" He drew her hand to his chest and slid it over his heart. "Touch me."

Sydney's mouth went dry.

Merrick laughed at her expression and scooped her up into his arms before depositing her on his bed. Sydney didn't even remember the journey from the living room to the bedroom.

Merrick crawled over her like a predator, his fingers skimming the waistband of her pants. His mouth settled over hers. Sydney opened for him eagerly, her tongue twining with his.

His hands worked her pants loose. Her heart jumped. He slipped the material down her legs.

"Are you wet for me?" he asked against her tingling lips.

He kissed her again before she could respond. Her mind reeled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as he painstakingly removed her panties. His fingers brushed against her and she shivered.

Merrick groaned when he found her ready for him. He slipped a finger deep inside her.

Sydney gasped. Her mind went blank. She rocked against his hand, eager for the pressure, the pleasure he could give her.

"Fuck," Merrick broke away from her mouth and tore her top from her body. He stared down at her with raw passion.

Her heart quivered. She tried to cover herself but he held her open and exposed. She could feel his gaze like an intimate caress.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered. He stole a kiss before his mouth trailed down the side of her neck. His hands cupped and squeezed her breasts. When his mouth reached her chest he replaced one hand with his mouth, sucking an aching nipple between his lips.

Sydney moaned and then cried out when the fingers of his free hand found her between the legs once more. He slid two fingers inside and gently thrust, his thumb rubbing against her throbbing clit.

She was panting in seconds, her climax building. "Merrick." She arched against him.

"Not yet." He withdrew his fingers.

She protested but he silenced her with a fierce kiss.

"I want to feel you coming around me." He squeezed her breast to punctuate his sentence. Her hands instantly dropped to the waist of his pants.

He chuckled as she worked the button and zipper frantically. Her body was poised right on the edge and she couldn't take a minute more of it. She was an aching ball of need. She shoved his pants down to his thighs, freeing his erection. Her eyes widened. Her inner muscles clenched in anticipation.

He gently pushed her onto her back, covering her body with his. Her legs wound around his waist as if they'd done this countless times before.

His lips drank from hers lazily.

She could feel him poised at the center of her. He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, his eyes locked on hers.

The emotion she saw touched her down to her soul.

He slid into her.

She hissed in pleasure, unable to break eye contact as he filled her completely.

His Adam's apple bobbed, the tendons in his neck standing out as he held himself back.

He slowly rotated his hips, a low rumble coming from deep within his throat. "You feel like heaven," he growled.

Sydney laughed. She couldn't help herself. "You're only saying that because you haven't had sex in such a long time."

He pulled out and slowly thrust back in. He smirked down at her. "Maybe."

She gasped in outrage but it quickly turned to a moan as he started to move faster. His hips rocked hard against hers. Her eyes drifted shut and Merrick dropped his head to seal their lips together. She wound her hand tight in his hair and trailed the other down his back, marveling at the feel of his muscles contracting under her palm.

She arched her back to meet him thrust for thrust, pleasure streaking through every fiber of her being.

Her pleasure built. Merrick's grunt sounded in her ear. Her legs tightened around his waist.

She was so close.

So—

She cried out as her climax claimed her.

Merrick gripped her bottom and pulled her up to thrust deeper inside her. She yelled out at the pleasure of it. His body jerked, his cock jumping within her before he came. His lips latched onto her chest, just above her heart.

She clutched him to her as the aftershocks skittered along her skin.

Merrick rolled off of her a few seconds later.

They were both covered with a thin sheen of sweat. Without Merrick's warm body to cover her the chill air caused goose bumps to rise all along her skin. She shivered.

Merrick pulled the bed covers over her body as he settled in against her side.

Despite the early hour in which she'd gone to bed the night before, Sydney hadn't been able to sleep. Now, nestled in Merrick's arms, she drifted into a warm, content sleep, her chest lighter than it had been in months.

• • •

Sydney awoke to a firm pressure on her bladder. She blinked and searched for a clock. It was still early in the day. She'd only been asleep for three hours. Steady, warm breathing along the back of her neck signaled that Merrick was still sleeping behind her. His hand rested solid and heavy on her hip and she slowly eased out from under it to get to the bathroom.

After she finished relieving her bladder she stood for a long second in front of the mirror staring at the hickey just above her left breast. Right over her heart. She rubbed the mark absently as mixed emotions coursed through her.

She went back to the bed and stared down at Merrick's sleeping face. It was covered in black and blue bruises, but even with all his injuries he was the sexiest man she'd ever seen.

She'd never felt so connected to another human being. She never wanted to leave his side; she wanted to wake next to him every morning.

_You have to break it off with Joel._

The idea might have frightened her before but all she felt now was a calm acceptance. Joel wasn't meant for her. She'd always love him, and she'd been lucky to have him for as long as she did, but now it was time to move on.

_I can do this._

She picked up her discarded clothes and went into the living room to try Joel's cell phone again. Still no answer. She tucked her phone away and decided to search the kitchen for something to eat. While she was warming some soup her phone went off.

She answered it instantly, not bothering to check the caller. "Hello?"

"Hey, Syd." Felix's cheerful voice came through the other end. "I'm off work and wanted to know how you were doing and if you wanted to come over. Cali mentioned something about finding Collette's address."

"She found Collette's address? Where?"

"Not sure, she kept boasting about how she was the next computer genius. I hung up on her when she wouldn't shut up."

Sydney laughed at Felix's glee. No doubt Cali would be pissed about being cut off on the phone and he was sure to get hell when he got home, but Felix loved nothing more than to push Cali's buttons.

Sydney's eyes strayed to Merrick's bedroom.

"So are you going to meet us here?" Felix asked.

Sydney turned down the stove before the soup boiled over. "Sure. I'll be over within the hour."

"See you then."

She hung up and divided the soup into two separate bowls. She fished out some stale crackers from the back of the cupboard.

"Is that for us?"

Sydney screamed. She spun around and found Merrick leaning against the wall. Naked. Her eyes instantly dropped to his stirring erection.

She forced her eyes back to his face, moisture flooding her sex as an ache pulsed through her.

His erection continued to grow. The heat in Merrick's eyes seared her. She grabbed the bowl of soup and held it in front of her like a shield. "I made us soup," she said lamely. "I found crackers in the back of the pantry but they're a little stale." She turned to grab the box. When she turned around Merrick was right before her.

She stared at his chest, heart pounding, before she tilted her head back to look him in the face. The hunger in his eyes had nothing to do with food.

"F-Felix called and said Cali found where Collette lived."

Merrick took the soup from her hands and put it back on the counter. "Why are you dressed?" He started to undo her pants. She stood frozen as his hand slipped inside. His fingers brushed aside her panties before pushing into her aching sex.

Her world spun and she grabbed him to steady herself. His fingers found a rhythm that had her moaning helplessly. Her legs opened wider in surrender.

Merrick's cock strained against her, pulsing.

He worked another finger into her and her knees buckled.

"Merrick." Her voice was breathless. "Take me back to the bed."

His mouth teased hers. "What's wrong with the kitchen?"

She sucked his tongue, long and hard. "It's not appropriate," she said once her mouth was her own.

"Appropriate?" Merrick chuckled and ground the heel of his hand against her clit.

She cried out.

He hummed in the back of his throat. "I'm going to enjoy taking you out of your comfort zone," he promised darkly.

She shivered before her orgasm washed over her in heavy waves.

When the last of her aftershocks wore off Merrick withdrew his hand. "Dump the soup," he told her. "We'll go out for lunch."

She reached out before he could escape and grasped where he was obviously aching. Every muscle in his body went rigid. She could hardly breathe after that last climax but she managed a quiet, "Where you do you think you're going?"

She walked him up against the fridge, her hand pumping him. Merrick's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head.

Power flooded her veins. It was downright intoxicating.

She grinned as she cupped his balls with the other and worked him. His muscles stood out against the skin of his body as he tensed. He came with a shout and his forehead dropped into the crook of her neck, his breath hot and hard against her chest.

She licked his ear. "Better?" she asked.

He raised his head, eyes glittering.

She jumped out of his reach before he could snatch her. "Felix is waiting for us," she yelled over her shoulder as she raced from Merrick. There wasn't much room to run, especially when she tried to keep clear of the bedroom. He caught her near the bookcase, his mouth hot and demanding. She kissed him back with equal force.

She didn't realize he'd picked her up off her feet until he put her back down. The floor helped ground her.

Merrick grinned when she stumbled. "Let's get some lunch and then we'll go find where Collette lives."

# Chapter 19

"Ha!" Cali crooned triumphantly. "Who says we need Joel for all the computer hacking?" She turned her laptop around to show Sydney the address.

Sydney studied the map on the internet. "Are you sure?" She stared at the rundown area of Santa Ana.

Cali glared at her.

Sydney backed off. "I'm just making sure."

"Well, I'm almost positive this is where she used to live." Her chest puffed up proudly. Felix came up behind her and gently bopped her on the head with the newspaper. Cali whirled in her chair, obsidian eyes sparking. Felix met her challenging eyes with a confident smirk.

Sydney could feel the sexual tension between them and carefully looked away. Is that what everyone else felt when she and Merrick locked eyes?

_No wonder everyone could see through your lies._

Both Cali and Felix had eyed them peculiarly when they'd walked in. Sydney still worried that they'd been able to tell that she'd had sex with Merrick.

"You sure you don't want us to come with you?" Felix broke his staring contest with Cali.

"We'll be fine." Merrick pushed off the counter where he was leaning in the kitchen, keeping his distance.

Felix looked to her. "Syd?"

Felix might have forgiven Merrick for last night but that didn't mean he'd forgotten. He wouldn't show open hostility but he didn't mind openly questioning Merrick's authority. He wanted to make sure she was okay with being alone with Merrick. After what had happened a few hours ago, she was more than comfortable being alone with Merrick, but she couldn't tell them that. Felix didn't trust Merrick because he didn't know him, but he trusted her.

"We'll be fine," she assured him.

That was all it took. Felix nodded. He handed her the address. "Let me know if you guys find anything."

She tucked the piece of paper into her pocket. "Of course."

By the time they reached Santa Ana it was well into the afternoon. The cloudy sky made it seem later than usual and Sydney hugged her jacket closer to her body as the wind kicked up. Merrick wound an arm around her shoulders. A jolt of pleasure raced through her.

They walked in silence for a few steps before she spoke. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not doing anything in front of Cali or Felix."

His body stiffened. He dropped his arm from around her. "Sure," he said curtly.

He started to walk faster. "Wait, Merrick." She pushed her legs to move faster. It didn't help. She broke out into a light jog. "I didn't mean anything by that." She'd upset him and she didn't know why.

"I know exactly what you meant, Sydney," he ground out. "I shouldn't have expected anything more, really. You wanted my help, I told you my terms, you met them, and here we are."

His words were like a slap to the face. "Excuse me?"

They had reached Collette's house. It was a rundown home with broken windows and dead grass. Sydney didn't even give it a spare glance. She raced after Merrick.

He was already inside when she caught up to him. "How dare you think I'm someone who exchanges sex for favors. Is that really all you see me as? A prostitute of some sort?"

Tears were creeping up her throat and she wanted to scream because of it. How could her life have turned so dramatically so quickly? They'd been fine five minutes ago.

• • •

Merrick saw the glistening of tears starting in Sydney's eyes and looked away. His hands curled into fists. He wanted to punch someone out, preferably himself. He'd been the one to make her cry.

He strategically avoided answering her question. He'd been an idiot to think that Sydney would want him over Joel. To think that she was different from all the other women he'd dated. She was ashamed to be with him, didn't want the others to know that she'd sullied herself by sleeping with him.

He ground his teeth and stormed deeper into the house. "Split up," he barked and left her in the entryway.

He'd been a fucking moron. And here he hadn't even needed to read her clothing to learn about her regret with being with him—her embarrassment. She'd outright told him.

_At least she was honest._

Merrick grunted. It was his own fault, really. He was the one who'd wanted to fuck her so badly. Did he really think that she'd choose him for good?

But then why did she run to him first last night when he'd returned with the others from the hospital?

_Women._

Now he remembered why he'd avoided them. They caused nothing but pain.

_Fool._

He slammed his fist into the closest wall. Plaster cracked and a low groan went through the house. He shook out his hand to ease the stinging and continued into some large living area. Piles of old clothes and random belongings were in each corner. A worn duffel rested in front of the fireplace.

Merrick frowned and stepped deeper into the room. The scent of unwashed bodies lingered in the air and he knelt down next to a pile of clothing and picked up the top piece. He rubbed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger but got no impressions off of it.

"Sydney," he mumbled. She was using her powers.

He dropped the shirt and got to his feet. It didn't matter. He didn't need his powers to know that there were squatters in this house. The only thing he had to worry about was when they'd come back.

He listened carefully for Sydney and heard distant shuffling from another room. Satisfied that she was safe he moved upstairs.

He searched for any kind of master bedroom that might still hold something of Collette's. Or if he was lucky, something useful of Kevin's. When he found the master bedroom it was completely ransacked, so he moved on. He lucked out on the second guest bedroom.

An old dresser was propped up against the far wall. He strode toward it and pulled open drawer after drawer. Old rags littered the floor. It looked like whoever got this room didn't want to bother folding their clothes up to use the dresser. That was fine with Merrick—the fewer people to touch the dresser the more likely he was to find the impression he was looking for.

The last drawer held an old-fashioned brush, with soft bristles and a decorative backing. He snatched it up. A personal object was even better than the dresser.

"Drop your powers," he yelled down to Sydney.

There was an answering gasp. His shout must have startled her. A few seconds later his neck started to tingle. He gripped the handle on the brush, picking up on numerous hands. He closed his eyes and concentrated on Collette's face, searching for her through a sea of people.

He opened his eyes.

Nothing.

He eyed the brush. Maybe he'd been wrong and this was one of the squatters' personal objects. He put it back and ran his hands along the dresser. He flipped through all the people searching for money and found a faint imprint of two young men moving the dresser from the master bedroom. Grandsons. This was ttheir grandmother's dresser.

Merrick stepped back. This was not Collette's house.

A stifled cry from downstairs caught his attention.

"Sydney?" He raced for the room he thought she'd be in and came to an abrupt halt when he reached it.

Two homeless men were attacking her. One held her against him, his hand over her mouth as she kicked out at the other one who was trying to tie her feet together.

Merrick's vision turned red.

The men spotted Merrick and froze.

"I-I told you there was another one searching for our stash," the man holding Sydney said to his companion. "We should just kill them both and move on. They know where we live now, we're not safe."

"Shut the fuck up," the man at Sydney's feet said. While he was distracted she kicked out and nailed him in the jaw, snapping his mouth shut.

Merrick pounced. He grabbed the side of the man's skull and shoved it straight into the wall. His eyes rolled back and his body dropped.

Merrick turned around to the man holding Sydney. His face was sunken with malnutrition, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes. He moved his hand down to her throat and squeezed. "Not another step." He started to retreat and slipped. He dragged Sydney down with him and Merrick lunged for her. The druggie screamed and tried to pull Sydney by her hair.

She cried out and clawed his hand. He dropped her and ran.

Merrick let him go. "Are you all right?" He dropped to Sydney's side and helped her up. She was covered with dirt and dust.

She was shaking but sat up on her own. "Fine."

Merrick helped her to her feet. "Let's go. This isn't Collette's house anyway."

She stared up at him, incredulous. "It's not?"

He shook his head. "I found an original piece of furniture in one of the upstairs rooms that belonged to an old woman who used to live here."

Sydney massaged the top of her head. "Looks like Cali wasn't as computer savvy as she thought."

Her hand moved to her neck and rubbed gently. It was an angry red and Merrick's rage returned full force as he yearned to go after the one he let get away. The back of his neck prickled.

But instead of going on the hunt he found his hands reaching out to carefully touch her neck. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked softy. "No scratch marks? No broken skin anywhere?" The men had been filthy and there was no telling what they could have passed on. Probably a zombie virus.

Sydney gazed up at him with those guileless green eyes of hers. "I thought you were mad at me?"

He dropped his hands to her shoulders, not realizing his mistake until the fabric touched his skin.

He was instantly flooded with Sydney's thoughts and emotions. He saw himself through her eyes—glorious, sexy, her fierce Mirror Mate. Her heart had torn inside her chest as he'd walked away from her earlier. She wanted him by her side. She wanted his hands on her body. He made her feel whole. His smile set her blood racing. His touch set her heart pounding. His eyes touched her to her very soul—

Merrick stumbled back, chest heaving.

Too many emotions flooded him and he couldn't differentiate between what were his and what were Sydney's.

"Merrick?" Concern was etched into her face. She reached for him and he hastily stepped away.

Tenderness . . . anger . . . desire . . . it all rode him. He was on a rollercoaster and couldn't hit the brakes.

"Just give me a second," he told her, not wanting to upset her anymore.

"What happen—?" Understanding dawned and she retreated, her arms pulling in close to her chest. "You read me?"

Now it was his turn to reach out to her but he stopped halfway. "I didn't mean to."

"What did you see?"

Their eyes met.

He didn't answer.

She visibly shivered.

"Let's get you out of here," he said at last. He couldn't look at her for fear of what he'd see.

_Had he been wrong about Sydney this entire time?_

He didn't dare hope. He pushed aside everything except their need to leave before more homeless came back and mistook them for stash stealers. He'd been lucky that the last two who attacked Sydney hadn't been carrying.

He scanned the front yard before ushering Sydney ahead of him. She kept her distance. When they made it to her car he held out his hand to her. "Keys."

"I'm perfectly capable of driving," she protested.

"You were attacked, your nerves are shot. Let me drive."

She handed him her keys. "What good are powers when you're still helpless with them?" she asked fifteen minutes into their drive.

He watched her cross her arms over her chest and stare out the window through the corner of his eye. "You're not helpless," he told her. "I saw you struggle. You were outnumbered and you were still giving those guys a tough time."

Sydney harrumphed. "They were druggies who weighed less than me and I still couldn't throw them off."

"True," Merrick conceded and received a dark glare. "But you've also been using your powers for two days straight. Am I right?"

She fell into contemplative silence and Merrick continued to drive back to his place. "Why are we here?" Sydney asked when he let her into his apartment.

"Cali's information was useless," he said. "I'm going to put in some calls and e-mails to some of my contacts at the station and see if I can pull any strings to get the information we need."

"Good idea." She pulled out her phone and stepped into a secluded corner of his living room in an attempt at privacy. He tracked her every step, wishing he didn't care so much who she was going to call. "I have a few phone calls to make," she called over her shoulder.

He disappeared into his room so he wouldn't have to hear them.

• • •

Joel stared down at his phone as it went off for perhaps the sixth time that day. Sydney's picture and number popped up. His chest ached and he reached for his phone instinctively before he stopped himself.

He let the voicemail pick it up.

He'd acted like a royal pain in the ass last night and he was determined to make it up to her. Felix had always told him his over-protectiveness was going to bite him in the ass and now it finally had. But he couldn't help it. He usually wasn't so damn clingy, but with Syd's distant behavior over the last few months he was terrified that he was losing her.

Punching out one of the men he'd helped save from Vander probably hadn't helped either.

_Technically he punched you out._

Joel tentatively touched his swollen nose. His two black eyes had attracted a lot of attention at work—so much so that his boss had called him over to make sure everything was okay. He'd even given Joel the rest of the day off.

Joel had been so tempted to find Sydney and spend his day off with her. But he still needed to cool off. He needed to think about his actions and compile an apology worth her forgiveness.

He pulled open his desk drawer and pulled out the black velvet box he'd picked up from the jewelry store after work. It was Sydney's three-year anniversary gift. He'd had it specially made for her. He imagined her bright green eyes sparkling when he showed it to her. It'd been so long since he'd seen her eyes light up like that.

_No . . ._

He remembered the look on her face when she'd brought the pizza from Tom's and how her face had lit up at the sight of Merrick—how her eyes had instantly sought him out over Joel.

He shoved her gift back into the drawer and slammed it shut, his heart pounding.

_It wasn't possible—Merrick couldn't be . . ._

Joel cut off his train of thought swiftly, denying everything he'd seen over the past week. No, the only reason Syd was pulling away from him was because he'd allowed the excitement to fade from their relationship. He wasn't interesting enough. She was showing attention to Merrick because he was someone new and interesting.

He swallowed his humiliation when he thought again of being knocked out by Merrick. His manhood had been wounded and Sydney had witnessed it.

His fingers flew over his keyboard. If he could get it back then he'd get Syd back. He had to show her that he was still that same capable, fun loving guy she'd fallen in love with three years ago.

He searched through the Kratos database looking for anything that could be useful in his mission. "Come on," he muttered. "Give me something good." He needed something that could dismantle the Kratos Corporation. Something big that would really win Syd over.

A file caught his eye and he double clicked on it. It was a companywide e-mail. A posting for a new job opening. In IT work.

Joel clasped his hands together and stared skyward. "Thank you."

This was just what he needed. He could apply for the job, hack into the computer so only the worst candidates that applied got through. That way he'd look like the golden goose. He could go undercover, gain all the ins and outs. He could have unlimited access to Kratos's computer work.

He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. If he got into their computer system then he'd be able to bypass any and all security. He could destroy them from the inside out. A complete systems meltdown could seriously hinder them.

Joel smiled gleefully as he got to work.

"Sydney is going to love me for this."

# Chapter 20

Sydney finished her call to Felix and rubbed her aching temples. Her brain was throbbing inside her skull.

She could still hear Merrick on his home phone and moved into the kitchen in search of some kind of pain reliever. She found some aspirin in the cupboard and popped two pills. She washed them down with a glass of water. She set the glass in the sink before joining Merrick to see if he'd learned anything new.

She found him sitting in front of his computer, typing furiously. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his shoulders and lean into him. "Find anything?" she asked, stopping a good two feet away from him.

"Not yet. That was Steven on the phone, he told me to try e-mailing someone new in the department. Of course he was an asshole about the whole thing. Wouldn't give me the contact information until I told him what I was up to."

"What'd you tell him?"

"That I was on a new case. That just pissed him off more because I'd only been back a day and I was already getting new work."

His voice was laced with bitterness and her heart went out to him. Without meaning to she stepped closer and ran her hand through his hair in a comforting gesture. Merrick froze in his chair as her fingers trailed through his silky black hair. It was so soft. She'd never tire of the feel of it slipping through her fingers. "Steven is just jealous," she said at last. "They all are. You're ten times better than they are and they know it."

He turned slowly in his chair to stare up at her. She smiled, then winced as a deep throb went through her head.

"What is it?" He cupped her cheek.

"I wouldn't touch me if I were you," she said and realized her mistake as he pulled away, hurt. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant because I'm dirty." She stared down at herself. "I mean, look at me. And I'm fine, it's just a headache."

He eyed her for a few heartbeats before getting to his feet. "You're using your powers too much," he chided.

Another shot of pain went through her and she decided that maybe she was pushing herself a little too hard. She dropped her Shield. "Maybe I'll lie down for a little bit." She took a step and stumbled.

Merrick's warm, strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her back flush against his chest. Her stomach hiccupped. His breath brushed against her ear. "You're not going to lie down on my bed covered in God knows what. Come on, Syd, let's get you cleaned up."

She smiled as he maneuvered her into his bathroom.

He deposited her on the toilet where she watched him turn on the shower, still smiling.

"What?" he asked.

"You called me Syd," she said brightly.

"Yeah, so?"

"So," she used the wall to help her get to her feet, "only my friends call me Syd." Which meant that he didn't hate her.

He arched one ebony brow. "Cali doesn't call you Syd."

"Cali doesn't count; it sounds weird when she tries to call me Syd. But you . . . " She stepped closer. "You called me Syd, which means you think of me as a friend." She grinned.

The bathroom was starting to fill with fog from the heat of the shower.

Something glittered in Merrick's eyes and Sydney felt an answering clench between her legs. He stepped closer to her and leaned down. "Believe me," he whispered against her damp lips. "I think of you as more than just a friend."

She swallowed thickly.

But then he straightened, without even kissing her. What the heck?

"Now come on," he said. "Let's get you washed up." He reached for the hem of her shirt and started to pull it up.

She stepped back and knocked his hand away. "I'm perfectly capable of undressing myself, thank you."

"Oh, perfectly," he agreed. "But I'm not going anywhere. If you pass out and bash your head on something in _my_ bathroom than that's a liability to me. You're not dying on my watch."

She fisted her hands on her hips. "So you're only in here to protect your assets? Not because you want to see me naked?"

"Exactly," he said easily and pulled her top over her head before she could protest.

She gasped.

Merrick's eyes roved over her greedily.

She wrapped her arms around herself self-consciously.

"It's nothing I haven't seen, or touched, or licked, or sucked—" he growled the last word, "—before, Syd."

Heat scalded her cheeks. "I don't care. I'm not going to stand here naked while you're fully dressed, happy as could be."

The ice blue of his eyes sparked. "I'm far from happy as can be," he rumbled.

She avoided her eyes from the bulge in his pants.

"And as for being dressed while you're naked . . . fine." He pulled his shirt over his head. "I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

Sydney stared, heart pounding. If she thought she was uncomfortable before, that was nothing compared to now. "P-put your shirt back on," she squeaked.

The steam in the bathroom was becoming oppressive. It added to her discomfort, made her skin damp and sticky.

"Why?" Merrick's hands dropped to the front of his pants.

She stared avidly as he popped the top button. Her heart skipped a beat and she shook herself mentally. "I don't need a chaperone to shower. Besides," she tried her best to cast a disgusted look at his groin, "the shower is not the place for sex."

Both Merrick's brows rose before a slow, feral smile broke out over his face. "Are you telling me Miss Prim and Proper hasn't gotten down and dirty in the shower before?"

"What did you call me?" she asked, affronted.

Suddenly Merrick was right in front of her. She stared at all that hard muscle like a possum caught in the headlights of a car.

Merrick chuckled and she felt his fingers under her chin, lifting her gaze up. "I'm up here. And I called you Miss Prim and Proper. Care to prove me wrong?"

Desire slithered through her whole body. She lifted her chin further—stubbornly. "I don't care what you call me," she lied. "I don't need an escort to shower. Now get out."

He stepped back and she shivered as he took all that heat with him. Even in a room full of steam he radiated more warmth than was in the air.

"I'll leave."

She sighed in relief.

_"If . . . "_

Her body stiffened.

" . . . you can take your pants off without losing your balance or using anything for support."

"That's like a trick question," she protested instantly. "There's no way to do it without losing my balance."

"Are you saying it can't be done?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

He pulled the zipper down on his jeans and smoothly pulled them down his legs, first lifting one leg out, then the other. All without losing his balance.

Sydney couldn't breathe.

He wore no underwear under those pants. He stood gloriously naked before her and she couldn't help but ogle his muscled frame—his long, wide cock. It seemed to pulse before her eyes and moisture flooded her sex. She wanted him buried deep inside her.

A faint rumble went through the air and it took her a second to realize that it came from Merrick. "If you keep staring at me like that I'm not going to be responsible for my actions." His voice was gruff with arousal.

She dropped her eyes to his pants on the floor, remembering his challenge. "You cheated," she blurted. With all that naked flesh before her she couldn't recall if he'd lost his balance or not.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You know I didn't. Now drop your pants without falling over or I'm staying right here."

Sydney wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Fine."

The aspirin must have started kicking in because the throbbing in her head had been reduced to a dull ache. She hoped it was enough.

She unfastened her pants and slid them down her legs. When they got around her ankles she inhaled and lifted her leg, determined not to reach out for something to steady her.

_One leg through . . ._

She lifted the other and her world tilted. The tile floor rose up to meet her, then suddenly she was encased in warm heat. Flesh.

Merrick.

She blinked.

She was in his arms, bridal style.

His ice blue eyes were sparkling with amusement but underneath she could see the worry. "Looks like I'm staying right here," he said to her.

He placed her back on her feet but kept an arm around her waist. He removed her bra but when his fingers tugged at her panties she pushed him away. "I can do it." Her voice came out shaky. Her whole body was on fire and she tried not to notice the weight of Merrick's gaze as he stared at her naked body. Her breasts plumped and ached. A deep throb started between her legs.

She hastily stepped toward the shower.

Merrick's hand tightened around her waist, sending her heart racing. "Easy," he said. "It's going to be slippery in there and you're not very steady on your feet."

To her horror he stepped into the shower with her. It was a combination bath and shower and he'd had to help her step over the lip of the tub. Once they were inside he pulled the curtain shut to keep the water in.

His erection pressed against her hip—hot and hard. "This is totally unnecessary," she told him.

The steam was clogging her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

_It's not the steam that's making it hard to breathe,_ her inner voice said, _it's the masculine body pressed against yours._

She cleared her throat. "Look, why don't you shower at your end and I'll shower over here in my end."

"Fine."

She didn't bother turning around to see his face. She didn't want to see his hair wet and glistening. She didn't want to see all that water sluicing down his body—caressing his skin like she wanted to.

"But I'm keeping my hand right here." His hot palm rested against her hip. She wanted to protest but decided not to push her luck. He was giving her as much space as possible in this dinky shower.

"Fine," she muttered back and reached for the shampoo.

She'd never been so aware of a man before in her life. As she washed her hair she could feel him behind her. The hand on her hip burned like a brand and every once in a while she caught a glimpse of naked flesh out of the corner of her eye.

When she was done scrubbing her scalp she paused. She needed to get under the shower head to rinse her hair.

She made the mistake of turning around to face Merrick and found him rinsing out his own hair—his head thrown back under the spray of water, eyes closed. The water rushed down his sculpted body. He might've been held in captivity for four months but he still looked great. She couldn't imagine how incredibly hot he'd be once he gained all his muscle back. He'd look like a Greek god.

Her eyes stared transfixed as a stream of water ran down his chest, down his abdomen, continuing south. She wanted to follow the trail with her tongue.

The fingers on her hip tightened and she jerked her gaze up to see Merrick watching her.

She had to swallow twice before she could speak. "I need to rinse." She pointed lamely to her soapy head.

Without a word he stepped out from under the water. They circled each other until she was under the spray and she closed her eyes and ducked her head under, pretending not to feel his heated gaze on every sensitive part of her body. Her nipples hardened and her legs shook beneath her.

Sydney went as fast as humanly possible. Merrick was still staring at her when she was finished, his eyes blue fire. She started to tremble and moved out from under the water, trying to get back to the conditioner—when her foot slid along the bottom of the tub.

Merrick caught her easily and she found herself pressed against all that wet muscle. The scent of his body teased her and she tried to pull away. "I'm fine." She looked anywhere but at his body.

He refused to release her. His hand brushed back a strand of her wet hair. "You look flustered," he commented calmly.

Irate, she glared up at him. "Well, I wouldn't be so dang flustered if you'd let me shower on my own."

He smiled as if she hadn't spoken a word. He ran his fingers through her hair again. "You're cute when you're flustered."

She blanched. "What?"

He lowered his head and pressed his damp lips against hers, softly at first, then slowly with more intensity.

Everything she'd been holding back came flooding out. She gripped his hair and ground her mouth against his fiercely. Electricity flashed through her whole body and she pressed herself closer to Merrick, wanting to feel all that wet skin against her own.

Merrick growled low in his throat and wrapped his arms firmly around her. His tongue slid between her lips and she met him halfway. Her head spun from the taste of him. He tasted just like he smelled—masculine. It made her heart pound and her sex throb.

She kissed him harder, stroking her tongue against his.

Hot water pounded against her back as Merrick walked her to the shower wall. His wet hands dropped from around her waist. He cupped her bottom, squeezed, and continued to let his hands explore.

She was shivery and achy from need. His hands caressed her sides before cupping her breasts. She sighed against his mouth, her own hands slipping and sliding along his back. She traced every ridge and muscle and squeezed his butt before dragging her hands to his chest. She tried to mirror his moves as best she could so that he could feel what it was like to be driven insane. The only problem was that he didn't have breasts. But she still grazed her fingernails around his nipples.

They hardened under her fingers.

She grinned. Merrick nipped at her lip playfully. She nipped back. He nipped harder. So did she.

Merrick growled, the sound resonating through her. It empowered her and she dropped her hands, trailing them over his abs, then lower still until she took him into her hands.

His body jerked.

Sydney fell back, the cold tile against her heated flesh making her yelp.

He tore his mouth from hers and breathed raggedly into her ear. "Spread your legs."

She tightened her hold on his throbbing shaft to let him know who was in charge.

He groaned and dropped his head to start licking the water from her collarbone. His fingers danced along her hip, her thigh, before settling at her very center. Lost to desire, she parted her legs for him.

He took one of her nipples into his mouth as he pushed a finger deep inside her. Her arm shot out to grip the shower wall. It was cold on her palm.

As Merrick suckled her breast she was hit with a wicked idea.

The hand around his cock pumped him once before dropping away. She replaced it with the one she'd had against the cold tile.

"Fuck!" Merrick bucked as her freezing hand wrapped around him.

She laughed. "Does that feel good?" she asked impishly.

His fingers slipped out of her. "I don't know," he said. "Why don't you tell me?"

Two cold fingers thrust between her legs and Sydney cried out at the shock of that cold going deep inside her. She hadn't realized that Merrick had been holding himself against the shower wall with one hand. His skin was well and truly frigid and she moaned from the sharp contrasting temperatures.

"You like that?" Merrick's gaze was wild, feral, as he watched her ground down on his hand.

Sydney bit down on her lip as she felt her orgasm building. She nodded.

His thumb pressed against her clit. Her breath hitched, her inner muscles clenching. She lost her hold on his cock and gripped his shoulder to keep herself from falling. "Merrick . . . "

His fingers thrust faster, his thumb rubbing her clit insistently. "Come on, Sydney," he goaded her.

She came apart with a scream.

Hands gripped her roughly under her bottom. Her feet left the floor. Water pounded on top of her from overhead before her back met another cold tile wall. She gasped, her legs locking around Merrick's waist. He sheathed himself inside her with one easy stroke.

They both groaned.

Sydney dug her fingers into his shoulders as her body was bombarded with sensation. The cold tile against her back, Merrick's hot, throbbing cock within her.

He started to thrust and she felt him all the way to her soul. He was so hard. She whimpered as the aftershocks of her climax faded in place of another orgasm building.

Wet hair dripped into her face and she blew at it uselessly.

Merrick raised his head from where it rested in the crook of her neck. Their gazes tangled and her soul quivered. Raw emotion stared back at her.

She had no idea what he saw in her eyes but suddenly he started to thrust faster, harder, his grunts punctuated by her moans. He held her gaze as he pounded into her. It was the most intimate feeling she'd ever experienced. Pleasure skittered along the edges of her consciousness. Her climax was so close. She arched her back, drawing Merrick deeper into her body.

His black hair was plastered around his face and she wiped it away, exposing his defined jaw and cheekbones.

She loved his face. She loved his body. She loved what he did to her and what he made her feel.

She loved _him_.

The realization tipped her over the edge and she came hard around him.

He kissed her, hard and demanding, as he continued to thrust into her, seeking his own release.

She clutched her legs tight around his waist. He groaned into her mouth as his body jerked against hers, coming.

# Chapter 21

"Sir."

Vander turned from the monitors in front of him.

David was typing furiously on his keyboard.

"What is it?" Vander asked.

David double clicked on a window. "There was a security detection but all that's popping up is a work resume applying for the recent IT position."

Vander frowned.

David brought up the screen on his own monitors.

Vander scanned the resume. "Were there any other applicants with this one?"

"No, sir. In fact, everything else that's been coming in has been less than qualified."

Vander's eyes narrowed. "Can you trace this back to the one who submitted it?"

David cracked his fingers. "Of course, sir."

Vander smirked. David had been a resent investment that was turning out to be worth the cost. Ever since Cali's little group had broken into his database he'd been increasing his security both physically and electronically. The only problem was that there weren't enough Davids to go around.

A few minutes later David uttered another sound of frustration. The noise grated on Vander's nerves. "What?" he barked at the young initiate.

David jumped in his seat. "Nothing, sir, only . . . whoever this person is, their own personal security rivals my own work."

Vander's interest spiked. "Is that so?"

He shut the monitors off in front of him. He was learning nothing new by watching his recent captives. There were no displays of powers and he was getting agitated.

He was no closer to finding a new Dreamer than he was to finding the one to heal Kevin. And that bastard, Haskell, wasn't making any new discoveries on the whereabouts of Kevin's journal.

He had one more lead concerning Kevin's recovery but that would take some time yet. The time to act wasn't upon him.

"Well?" he asked when David remained silent, his fingers flying over his keys.

David chewed his lip in concentration. The screens froze momentarily. David continued to type.

"What's happening?" Vander demanded.

A new file popped up before the screens flashed blue then shut down.

"Aha!" David leaned back, his hands in the air.

Vander grabbed him around the collar and wrenched him halfway out of his chair. "What happened? If you compromised my security in any way . . . I will kill you."

David's brown eyes widened. "No, sir. I'd never compromise the system. You see, I allowed a temporary shut down so that whoever was on the other side would think I didn't get what I was looking for."

Vander tightened his hold. "And what did you get?"

David swallowed. He pointed to the screen that was rebooting. "That document. It's the resume, a real one. The one sent in I traced back and found that there was an original copy on the person's server, which meant that this was a decoy of sorts. I was able to copy the original resume onto our hard drive." David fell back into his chair with an _oomph_ as Vander released him.

"Bring it up on the screen," Vander snarled. Now he was going to see who was trying to screw with him.

It took David a few seconds before he brought up what Vander desired. It looked like the exact same document—only the name was different, as were the names of the schools he'd attended.

Vander leaned in closer to the monitor.

_Joel Kegler._

The name tickled something in the back of his mind.

"Run that name through our database. I want to know why it sounds familiar."

David's fingers were already moving. "Right here, sir." He brought up a window with everything on Joel Kegler they had.

"Well, well," Vander drawled. "Look who doesn't know how to stay away." Cali's guild was getting most annoying. Joel had also been the one to break into his facility in San Francisco. He was an impressive hacker and a valued member of Cali's group. Surely he'd be missed . . .

"Send him a request to meet for the position," he ordered David.

"Sir?" David stared at him, incredulous. "You're not thinking of giving him a job, are you?"

"Do as I say," Vander repeated.

David got to work. Vander left him to make a phone call.

"Jente," he said when the young man picked up the phone. "I need you to pick someone up for me."

• • •

Sydney's phone went off in the bathroom, the sound echoing through the small room and out into the bedroom. She stirred.

The ringing stopped then started again.

She groaned. There was only one person who'd call over and over again. And if Sydney didn't answer she'd only keep on calling. She moved to get out of Merrick's bed.

His arm slid around her and pulled her flush against his body. He was already hard.

"Let it ring," he mumbled sleepily.

She turned over and faced him. His hair was unkempt and he looked so adorable. She cupped his cheek, loving this feeling of waking up next to him. "Trust me, if I don't answer it now it'll never stop."

As if on cue the phone briefly paused in its ringing before starting up again.

Merrick sighed and flung himself onto his back.

Sydney kissed him gently on the cheek and rolled out of bed. "Yes, Cali?" she answered.

"Finally! What the hell? Felix has been wanting to talk to you all morning. He left a voicemail like two hours ago so I decided to call for him."

"How thoughtful," she said dryly as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "I was sleeping." She briefly glanced down on her phone to find that it was well into the day. She remembered last night and how Merrick had ordered in for them. They'd spent the rest of the night in bed, sating their newfound lust over and over again until they knew each other's bodies like the backs of their hands.

She grew warm just thinking about it.

"Syd?" Felix's voice came on over the line.

She instantly shoved those thoughts out of her head. "Hey, Felix. What's up?"

"What happened last night? You called and told me that you found nothing because Cali gave you the wrong information." There was a protest from Cali in the background. "You said Merrick was going to check his PI contacts. Have you heard anything?"

She stepped out of the bathroom and found Merrick on his computer, still naked.

_He sure does like to walk around in the nude._

Not that she minded. After all, she was nude too.

She walked up to him and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Have you heard back from anyone?" she asked Merrick.

He was checking his e-mail. "Nothing yet."

She relayed her find to Felix who was uncharacteristically quiet on the other line. "Felix?"

"Are you at Merrick's?" he asked neutrally.

"Yeah, why?"

Again silence. "Cali said that you'd just woken up."

"I did—" Sydney clamped her mouth shut. Horror flooded her. "I-I mean I had just woken up when Cali called but I was already on my way to Merrick's." She winced at her own lame excuse.

"Uh-huh," Felix said, unconvinced.

"No, really—" she tried again.

"Sydney," Felix broke in easily. The use of her full name from him had her shutting up instantly. "You don't have to lie to me," he said gently. "You're one of my best friends. You can tell me anything."

The words took her back, years ago, to Felix's parents' backyard, where he'd first shown her his powers. He'd been so scared to lose her, but she'd stuck by him. She'd told him that he could tell her anything.

She exhaled and walked out of Merrick's bedroom. "I know, and I will tell you everything, Felix. I promise. Just not yet."

"Okay," he said. "I trust you. But Syd?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful."

"I will."

"I mean be careful with what you're doing now as well as being careful about Kevin's journal."

"I know and I will. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone, Felix."

He sighed. "I know, and whatever happens I'm always here for you, okay?"

She smiled. "Okay."

"All right, I've kept you on the phone long enough. Get back to whatever you were doing but keep me updated."

"I'll let you know as soon as we find anything," she promised.

"Everything okay?" Merrick asked when she walked back into his bedroom.

She brushed her hair from her face and dropped her phone on his dresser. "Everything's fine."

He turned off his monitor and got to his feet. "So I take it Felix knows about us?"

She frowned at his tone of voice. "Yeah," she said slowly.

"And you're okay with that now when you didn't want him to know yesterday? You're not ashamed of me anymore?"

Understanding dawned and she stepped closer to him. "Merrick, I was never ashamed of you."

He was starting to close her out; she could see it in his demeanor.

"The reason I didn't want anyone to know yesterday was . . . well, because I was scared. My guild is my family and I don't want to lose them. I was so afraid of what they might think . . . "

"So you're not afraid anymore?"

"No, I'm still terrified, but I have to make my own decisions—including about who I want to be with."

"And who's that?"

She fisted her hands on her hips. "It's you."

His eyes sparked but he remained aloof. "What about Joel? He's all you know, you've loved him for the past three years."

He'd thrown some of her own words back at her, but she refused to back down. "He _was_ all I knew. But I know you now. And did love him for the past three years—I still love him, but it's not the same type of love. It's time for me to move on. I've been trying to get a hold of him since two nights ago to break things off. He hasn't been answering my calls."

Again there was something in his eyes, as if he wanted to believe what she was saying but couldn't quite do it. "You're going to break up with him?" he asked carefully.

She stepped closer to him until they were nearly touching. She rested her hand over his heart. It pounded beneath her palm. "I am breaking up with him. I'm choosing you, Merrick. I want you."

_I love you._ It was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't say it.

Merrick's grin lit up his whole face. He scooped her into his arms and together they fell onto his bed. He slid into her like he was coming home and Sydney moaned as he thrust, slow and steady, as if they had all the time in the world.

And she guessed they did. They had the rest of their lives together.

• • •

Joel pulled out his phone, half expecting to see Sydney's picture and number. But it wasn't her. She hadn't called all day. He swallowed his disappointment and tried to place the area code.

With a jolt he realized that it was the Kratos Corporation.

"Holy shit," he muttered and hurried into a deserted part of his work building. "Hello?"

"Mr. Johnson? Samuel Johnson?" A male voice answered.

"Yes?" Joel kept his eye on a nearby clock. He wouldn't stay on the phone longer than necessary in case they were tracking it. Just yesterday someone in Kratos had tried to hack into his own computer. He needed to be wary.

"This is the Kratos Corporation calling because of your impressive resume. We'd like to set up an interview if you are still available?"

Could it be a set-up? Or had the attack on his computer system been because he'd been snooping around too much yesterday?

He took the gamble.

"I'm still available."

"Excellent. Unfortunately, we no longer have a building in the Southern California area and apologize for our lack of professionalism. Would a meeting over coffee work for you?"

A few minutes later Joel hung up with the time and place for his meeting. It was at a local café—somewhere public, which meant that this had to be a real interview.

_Are you sure? Don't forget that Cali was lured in with a false interview months ago when Vander wanted her._

True.

He eyed his contact list, his finger hovering over Felix's number. He could call in backup.

An image of himself flying off his feet as Merrick punched him stole through his mind.

He tucked his phone away. He could do this. He didn't need backup. He'd prove that he could take on Kratos by himself.

He gingerly touched his nose and eyes. His face was still multicolored, he'd need to pick up some cosmetics to cover the worst of his bruising.

He talked to his boss and requested another half-day. Reluctantly his boss agreed. It probably had something to do with the fact that Joel was supposed to be on vacation but had come in when they'd been understaffed. The wonders of guilt.

His meeting wasn't for a few hours, so he spent that time getting ready. He applied face makeup to cover his injuries. He bought colored contacts and slipped them into his eyes. As far as disguises went it wasn't amazing. He decided to go with little changes—like Clark Kent. All he needed was a pair of glasses.

Joel slicked his hair back and added some white spray dye to his temples to give the illusion of aging.

He eyed himself in the mirror.

"Not bad." He pulled at his suit jacket. His eyes were itching like a motherfucker but he pushed through the pain. Grabbing his keys he headed out to start phase one of his win-Syd-back plan.

• • •

"I got something," Merrick called to Sydney. She was busy brushing her teeth. In his bathroom.

The image of her in his apartment—using his things like she belonged there, like they lived together—was enough to make him hard all over again.

She was his.

The urge to take her again rose up from deep within but he fought it back. No matter how bad he wanted to feel her inner muscles clenching around him, he'd promised to find Kevin's journal.

They'd agreed to find it and then burn it. There was no point in keeping it if there was any chance of it falling into Vander's hands.

Merrick had told Sydney about Vander's offer to help find his sister. She'd sympathized and promised that after they got rid of Kevin's journal that she'd talk to Niella. There were no guarantees with Niella, but it was better than nothing. No matter how tempting Vander's offer, he was not to be trusted. Merrick had to continually tell himself that Vander would never help him find Alyssa, even if he did work for him. Vander would never overlook the fact that Merrick had once been playing for the "good" team. He'd had his chance to accept Vander back when he was a captive in that room in San Francisco. He made his choice long ago and he was going to have to live with it.

Arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind. The scent of vanilla teased him. He groaned low in his throat as Sydney pressed a kiss to his cheek. He turned his head to capture her mouth with his, stroking his tongue deep into her mouth. She tasted like mint.

Her eyes were heated and glazed when he finished kissing her. His cock throbbed, demanding he take relief inside her sweet body. Demanding he make her moan and writhe beneath him.

Merrick clenched his jaw.

"What'd you find?" she asked.

He focused all his attention back on his computer and pulled up the e-mail from the station. "They looked up Collette Lizeroux's information for me and forwarded all the files. It looks like she lived in Garden Grove. The house hasn't been foreclosed or resold yet."

"How much you want to bet that's Vander's doing?" Sydney leaned closer to read the address, and Merrick noticed she was wearing one of his old t-shirts. The sight of her in his clothes made his body burn. Her clothes were still dirty from being dragged across the floor of that abandoned house yesterday.

He ran his hand lazily up the back of her thigh, lifting the hem of his shirt to find her bare beneath it.

Sydney jumped at the touch and straightened. The shirt fell back down to her mid-thigh but that still didn't erase the image of her naked flesh from his mind. His groin tightened painfully.

"Hey, none of that." She waggled her finger in front of him. "We've got work to do." She made her way back to the bathroom. No doubt to dress.

He caught her before she made it five steps.

"Merrick." Her voice was shaky—excited. She'd tried for exacerbation and failed miserably.

"Tell me you don't want it." He reached down and felt how wet she was.

Her body trembled.

He walked her to the wall and pressed her chest against it. He dropped his jeans, freeing his aching shaft. He gripped her hips and lifted her until she was on her tiptoes. She was panting and when he pushed into her she dropped her head in surrender.

Her body squeezed around him and he bit back his roar of pleasure. She was so tight—so hot. He pulled out to the tip and thrust back in. Sydney whimpered.

Merrick rode her hard and fast, demanding a climax out of her until she was shaking and exhausted.

He'd never tire of her. Every time he took her it only made him want her again, made him want her more. He'd never been so addicted to a woman—her touch, her scent, her flavor.

He felt himself hardening again.

Sydney gasped as she no doubt felt him growing inside her. "You can't seriously—"

He took her against the wall again, until the scent of vanilla could be smelled on his skin.

After they had finished he watched her dress on shaky legs, her whole body flushed a becoming pink. He loved taking her out of her comfort zone. He doubted she'd ever had sex anywhere other than on a bed. It made him grin to know that he was the first to take her in a shower and up against a wall. The first to make her peak in a kitchen.

"Do you need to call Felix to let him know what's going on?"

She had her shirt held up to her face, nose wrinkled. "I figure I'll call him when we actually find something. Do you have a washing machine here?"

They decided to stop by Sydney's house to get her fresh clothes.

Merrick took the opportunity to snoop. Sydney's home, like its owner, was as immaculate as ever. It looked like one big IKEA advertisement. Sydney's room was painted bright yellow. He felt like he was standing in the center of the sun.

"How can you see in here?" He pretended to shield his eyes.

"Ha ha." Sydney dug around in her closet. "You'd better get used to it because when we live together I'm not giving up my home for an apartment. No offense. You're too far from the clinic too."

Merrick froze where he was looking at the pictures on her dresser. "Did you say live together?"

She turned from the closet, a bundle of clothes in her arms. Color dotted her cheeks. "I mean—"

Merrick strode toward her and kissed her hard on the lips. "I'd endure a million yellow rooms if it meant being with you."

The grin she gave him made her look like a teenager.

Merrick's heart seized in his chest. How had she wheedled her way into his life so completely?

She disappeared into the bathroom to wash off and change. A box on the top shelf of her closet caught his attention and he pulled it down.

The lid popped open easily. Inside there was a worn baseball cap, a signed baseball, an old blue T-shirt, and pictures. On top of the shirt a photo smiled up at him. Merrick picked it up carefully. Sydney was easily recognizable by the bright smile on her face. It was at a baseball game. She looked to be around nine years old, her arm slung protectively around the boy next to her. He wore a bright blue shirt and a baseball cap to hide the fact that he had no hair. Even though he was smiling, Merrick could make out the fatigued lines in his young face.

It was Sydney's brother.

He thought of the shrine of things he had of Alyssa's hidden away in his own closet. Then he felt like a real asshole because he'd gone looking through Sydney's personal belongings. If she'd found Alyssa's box without his consent he didn't know how he'd feel about that. Definitely not warm and fuzzy.

He returned the box to the shelf just as it was. Maybe in time they'd both be able to bring out their boxes and share with each other the horror of losing the siblings they were supposed to protect.

"You ready?" Sydney poked her head through the door. Her blonde hair was damp and fell around her face in soft waves.

"Let's go."

# Chapter 22

"Now this is more like it," Sydney said as she gazed out the window.

Merrick pulled in front of a large mansion of a house. It was in a posh part of town, complete with expensive SUVs and stay at home wives that walked their little dogs.

Merrick threw Sydney's car into park and stared at the house through the windshield. He scanned the neighborhood. There weren't too many people out and about, but there were enough. The cloudy weather from yesterday was gone, leaving them with nothing but bright sunshine. It made them easy targets to spot.

"We'll need to go around back to sneak in." He searched the streets for any kind of pool service van. If they could borrow a few things from the company to disguise themselves as they slipped into Collette's backyard it would make this a whole lot easier. The last thing Merrick needed was the cops to find him breaking and entering into a house whose address he'd gotten from them.

There were no pool service vehicles. Only a dark blue SUV and a motorcycle were parked on the curb. Everything else was safely tucked away into the driveways or five car garages.

"Maybe Collette hid a key somewhere by the front door." Sydney pointed to the various potted plants that led up to the front of the house.

"I can't check all of them, that'll look suspicious."

"I don't think so. I mean, look how we're dressed and look what we're driving. We're not exactly thug material here."

Merrick thought it over.

"Besides, we're going to have a better chance of finding a key in the front then we are the back."

"Fine." He got out of the car. "We need to do this fast."

"Start with the welcome mat," Sydney called when she couldn't keep up with his longer stride. "We'll pretend to be relatives if anyone comes up and asks."

He stopped and turned, giving her a chance to catch up. "You look nothing like Collette."

"No," she conceded, "but you do. You both have dark hair and Collette had blue/gray eyes. You have blue so it's close enough. We'll tell them you're a cousin or something."

Merrick shook his head and kept walking, checking his speed so as not to leave her behind.

Her fingers laced through his, startling him. "Thank you." She eyed his legs pointedly.

He squeezed her hand. "You're welcome."

They made it to the front door hand in hand and pretended to ring the doorbell like visiting relatives.

"Now what?" Sydney whispered as they stood there.

He held his hand up to the door. "Now you drop your Shield."

His neck prickled as soon as she did and he touched the hard wood. He pulled back a few seconds later. "We'll get nothing there," he said aloud for Sydney's sake. "Too many impressions of door-to-door salesmen."

She stepped off the welcome mat. He did the same and crouched down to pick it up. As soon as his fingers touched it he saw Regina.

_She knelt down and tucked a spare key under the mat. "Lead us to the treasure, baby." She blew a kiss, Merrick's naked body as she bathed him fresh in her mind._

"—ell?"

Merrick shot up.

Sydney eyed him funnily. "Well? Nothing down there?"

Merrick toed the mat aside for Sydney to get a good look at the key.

Her face lit up and she went to pick it up. He pulled her back against one of the walls by the door. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"We're being watched," he hissed back.

Her body froze.

"Regina put that key there for me to find, which means they're waiting for me."

"What should we do?"

"Fuck if I know. Vander must've realized that I wasn't going to give him the journal. We should just leave."

"Wait." She stopped him from moving. "The journal might not be here. If we find a clue as to where it is then we can lose Regina and whoever else is watching us. If they left the key then that must mean Vander already searched the place and came up empty handed. He needed you to search because he found nothing out in the open."

"If he didn't find anything here then he has no idea where it is. Wouldn't it just be safer to leave the journal wherever it is? We don't need it for anything."

"That's not necessarily true. We have no idea what Kevin wrote down. There could be a whole list of people with powers in it. We could help them. There might be more things about Vander in it—things that could help us stop him."

"You really think Vander's own worker would write how to stop Vander in his journal?"

"Anything is possible. Felix has this theory that Kevin led Vander astray to Cali—one, because he wanted some kind of revenge on Felix and two, because whatever he saw in the future when Vander became full-forced—it wasn't pretty."

Merrick let out a weary breath. He picked up the key and quickly opened the front door. Sydney slid in first. Merrick kept an eye on the neighborhood before following after her. He shut the door and locked it.

"Wow."

He turned around and stopped. "Holy fuck." Hanging from the ceiling was the biggest crystal chandelier Merrick had ever seen. It probably cost more than Sydney's car.

"I think I might reconsider working for Vander." He crept deeper into the house, eyes still on the chandelier.

"That's not funny," Sydney called from another room. "Now start searching."

He found her in a room with a grand piano and a china cabinet full of more crystal. "How about a quickie on the piano first?"

Sydney looked up from where she was searching an old fashioned desk. "I'm serious."

"So am I," he said. "Don't tell me the offer doesn't appeal to you."

Her eyes flickered to the piano then back to him. "Fine, it does appeal to me—a lot."

His blood quickened at her admission.

"But we don't have time. We're being watched, remember? Regina could be standing right outside."

The use of Regina's name was like a bucket of cold water. She was right. What the hell was wrong with him?

It had to be the celibacy. Now that he'd had a taste of what he'd been missing he was like a sex fiend.

Or maybe it was just the woman in question. His eyes followed Sydney as she searched in the top of the grand piano. She had to bend over to look inside. His gaze fastened on her ass. He remembered the feel of her in his hands, how she felt pushed up against him as he slid inside her.

His jaw clenched. It had to be Sydney. He'd never been this consumed by a woman before. Every move she made was somehow erotic to him. He wanted to drag her beneath him and take her and screw whoever was watching. He wanted her with a longing that traveled all the way down to his soul.

He'd do anything for her, which included finding this damn journal so that Vander would leave them the hell alone. Once it was gone Vander would have no use for Merrick. And if Vander tried to kill him then he'd hide Sydney away and deal with Vander himself. He'd love nothing more than to beat the shit out of the man who'd held him in captivity for four months.

Resolved to get the job done, he strode to Sydney. "Find anything suspicious?" he asked.

She pulled her head out of the piano and shook her head. "I don't even know what the inside of a piano is supposed to look like, so I have no idea if something is out of place."

He took a look inside, searching for any kind of cuts in the wood. "I don't see anything."

He moved over to the piano bench and lifted the seat. He only found worn music sheets.

"Try pressing the keys," Sydney suggested.

Merrick arched his brow, a smirk playing at his lips. Her time around Joel was showing. "You think there's some kind of hidden bat cave in here?"

She looked down sheepishly. "You never know."

"Let's keep looking and if we don't find anything I'll try the piano." Merrick methodologically started his way around the house, fingers skimming any and all surfaces for some kind of clue. Sydney trailed behind him with nothing to do but wait. She volunteered to search other rooms but with no idea where Regina was or when she'd strike he wanted Sydney close by.

Forty-five minutes later, Merrick's brain was overloaded with pointless thoughts and visions of everyday life from when Collette used to live in her home. Her thoughts continuously circled her work, Kevin, and Felix. Sometimes he caught brief flashes of Cali in her thoughts and feelings but he never strayed long enough to get the full vision. It wasn't until his hand was tracing the edges of her jewelry box in the master bedroom that he found something.

Sydney slammed into his back when he came to an abrupt halt. "You found something?"

He closed his eyes and watched in his mind as Collette gathered valuable necklaces to put in the safe buried beneath the carpet of her closet.

"Fuck, yes." Merrick flew to the large walk-in. Shit, it was as big as his kitchen.

"Wow." Sydney stood mesmerized by the shelf upon shelf of shoes.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Not now. I need your help." He dropped to the floor and crawled his hands along the carpet until he found a faint impression of Collette pulling the carpet up.

"Is that a safe?" Sydney knelt beside him and took the peeled back carpet without needing to be asked. She held it out of his way as he pressed his fingers against the keypad.

A few seconds later he typed in the code.

"I can't believe you found it." Sydney bounced excitedly.

"We're not out of the woods yet," he said, but still his adrenaline was pumping. Could this be it? Had they found Kevin's journal? Was this whole ordeal finally at an end?

As soon as he lifted back the lid he knew that wasn't the case. There was no beat up spiral notebook to be found.

"So?" Sydney tried to look over the opened door but couldn't quite make it. "What's in there?"

Merrick dug his hand in and came out with envelopes and jewelry.

Sydney's nose wrinkled. "That's it?"

An object slid out of his hand and landed back in the safe with a _clank_. He and Sydney looked at each other before he dived back in to retrieve the object.

"What is it?"

"It's a key." He closed his fingers around it. Collette's thoughts briefly flickered through his mind. It was obvious she never really touched the key. It was something of Kevin's. "It's a key to a lock at a storage lot."

"Do you know which one?" Sydney got to her feet with him.

He tucked the key into his pocket. "I think so."

They made their way downstairs. Sydney paused by the front door.

"What is it?"

She stepped away so he could see the handle. It wasn't locked.

Son of a bitch.

"Are you using your powers?"

"Yes." Her eyes darted around, on the alert. There wasn't a soul in sight.

"It must've been Jente," said Sydney.

Merrick swore under his breath. "How much do you think he heard?"

"Enough. He's gone now but just in case he tries to follow us I'll keep my Shield up."

He nodded. It was all they could do.

He fisted the key in his pocket. "Let's go see where this leads us."

• • •

The storage facility was deserted.

Merrick leaned out the driver's window and typed in the code for the gate. It opened with an ominous rattle.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Sydney asked as they drove through.

Merrick circled around the back, scanning the storage numbers until he found what he was looking for. "I'm positive," he told her as he shut off the car.

The storage unit that Kevin possessed wasn't exposed to the outside. They had to go through another door that opened into a dim lit hallway. Storage units lined both sides.

Sydney wrapped both arms around herself as if to ward off the chill. She eyed one of the broken light bulbs and swallowed. "I don't like it in here."

He counted down the cells until they reached Kevin's. "We'll be out soon enough," he promised her and took the lock in his hand. The key slid in easy enough. He exchanged a look with Sydney and then gave a twist.

The lock popped open. Merrick flashed a grin over his shoulder. Sydney smiled right back.

He threw up the metal shutters that kept the storage unit enclosed. Boxes upon boxes were stacked everywhere. Christmas decorations were abandoned in a far corner along with a beach cruiser bike.

Merrick stepped into the dark storage cubby. He caught sight of a flashlight and clicked it on. "I think you're going to have to drop your Shields, Syd. None of these boxes are labeled."

She stepped in with him. "They're down and I'll help you move some boxes."

He leaned over and kissed her. Her lips met his eagerly, soft and pliant. "We're probably going to get dusty and dirty so prepare for a shower when we get back," he said.

Her eyes darkened with desire. "I'm looking forward to it."

Merrick's groin tightened. "Then what the hell are we waiting for? Let's find this damn journal and get out of here."

• • •

Merrick dropped a box by Sydney's feet out in the hallway. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. The storage unit was now divided with boxes they'd opened and checked and boxes they hadn't. "What are we on?" he asked. "Lucky number twenty-three?"

Sydney started in on the box lid. "No idea."

She'd just pulled a flap free when the door at the end of the hall opened.

Merrick froze as a man he'd never seen before poked his head in. He spotted Merrick and Sydney before opening the door wider to let in more light.

"Is that your unit?" the man hollered down the hall.

Merrick squinted against the bright sun. He snatched up the lock and key from the floor and held it up.

The man nodded. "Just checking. We've had a couple break-ins the past few weeks." He held the door open for a few seconds longer than necessary before letting it close behind him.

Sydney shot him a worried glance. "That was a little weird."

He returned to the box and ripped it the rest of the way open. "We should hurry. I don't trust him. I couldn't tell if he was wearing a uniform or not. He could have been putting on an act for all we know."

"Merrick . . . " Sydney's voice drew his attention back to the box and he blinked as notebook upon notebook stared him in the face. "We found it."

"No shit." He picked up a worn red spiral and closed his eyes. Kevin's thoughts and emotions bombarded him. He dropped the journal and held onto the box. He frowned.

Someone else knew about this box. Had been—

The door at the end of the hall flew open. Merrick shot to his feet.

A faint click came from his left. Jente appeared a second later, gun raised. "Don't move."

"How the hell—?" Merrick started to ask but he stopped. He remembered the man holding the door open as if for no reason. Now it looked like he did have a reason—he'd been holding it open to allow Jente in. And with Sydney not using her Shields so he could get readings off the boxes it was the perfect plan.

He cursed under his breath.

Regina and gang strode down the hall toward them. Regina smiled seductively at him. Merrick's stomach turned. He eyed the box of notebooks then glanced at Sydney. Her green eyes were wide. Her gaze darted down to the box as if to ask, "What do we do? The box is right there."

He held his hand out and gestured for them to stay put. If they wanted any kind of chance to get away without being shot they needed to wait until everyone was within grabbing distance. Human shields were a wondrous thing. He'd grab Regina the first chance he got. She could use a few more holes in her.

Sydney carefully got to her feet.

Jente pointed the gun at her. "Don't even think about using your powers."

She nodded shakily.

Merrick growled protectively. If Jente so much as harmed one hair on Sydney's head he'd kill him.

"Well, well," Regina cooed. "I didn't think you went for the ones built like children." She raked her gaze over Sydney's petite frame, sneering.

Sydney glared at her.

"Cut the bullshit, Regina, and get the damn box," Jente said, bored. "I've got more important things to do than take care of your assignments."

Regina's face darkened. She motioned with her hand and a few unknowns from the back of the group came forward to get the box. Regina stared down at all the notebooks. "What kind of grown man keeps this many journals?"

"One on the brink of insanity," Sydney snapped at her.

Regina shrugged. "You'd think if he could look into the future he'd write down winning lottery numbers or something."

"Hurry the fuck up," Jente said, exacerbated.

Merrick watched his gun hand. The men bent down to lift the box. His gaze locked with Sydney's. He looked from her to the metal bat they'd unearthed in the storage unit then back to her. She gave the smallest nod.

With the box in their hands the two men couldn't do anything. Merrick lunged for Regina. He grasped her around the shoulders and swung her into Jente. The two collided. A shot went off. A light bulb exploded. Sydney yelped and grabbed the bat. She swung for the nearest man and hit him in the knee.

He fell, and the box of notebooks tipped. Journals went everywhere.

Regina screamed. "Pick them up."

Light burst into the hallway once more as the door was wrenched open. More hired muscle funneled in. They were going to run out of space fast. Merrick scrambled for where Jente was getting to his feet. He tried to surprise him from the back but the kid was fast on his feet. As if he sensed Merrick behind him, he spun and smacked him across the face with the butt of the gun.

Pain exploded along his jaw but he ignored it as he grabbed Jente's wrist and twisted.

Jente hissed in pain.

Merrick twisted harder.

Jente grit his teeth but eventually he dropped the gun.

Merrick dropped to get it and received a knee to the stomach. He did his best to push the pain away. With one hand clutching his abdomen he grabbed the gun and pitched it into the far corner of Kevin's storage unit where it fell behind a mountain of boxes.

Hands grabbed him from behind and nearly pulled him off his feet. He relaxed his body and dropped like dead weight. The men staggered. Merrick kicked back and heard a grunt.

"Merrick!" Sydney shouted.

He looked up and saw her holding the bat like she was ready to hit a home run. Jente and Regina were fleeing with the box, the man Sydney had nailed in the knee hobbling after them.

As if noticing the others making a run for it, the men holding Merrick threw him into Sydney. He caught her in his arms and together they crashed into the box towers.

"Are you hurt?" he asked her immediately.

She pushed herself up. "I'm okay. Merrick, we have to get that box back." She started to run after them.

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back. "Easy. No we don't."

She frowned at his calm expression. "What do you mean 'no we don't'? They have Kevin's journals."

"True, but they don't have _the_ journal." He smiled. "Now come on, we should leave. We got what we needed."

"We did?"

He ushered her out and locked up. There was no sign of Regina and their thugs. Good riddance.

"Merrick, I'm confused," Sydney said as they made their way back to her car.

"I'll explain everything, I promise, but first call Felix and see if he's home. We need to plan and we don't have that much time. I don't know how long it'll take for Vander to realize the journal he's looking for isn't in the box."

"What do you mean it's not in the box? There were tons of journals in that box."

He pulled out of the storage facility. "I know, but the one Vander's looking for isn't among them. I saw someone else get to the box before we did. I think Felix was right. Whatever Kevin saw he didn't want Vander to get his hands on his Mirror Mate. A trusted friend of Kevin's took the journal. He's the one who has it. His name is Greg Kelley."

• • •

Sydney sat back and watched as Merrick told Felix and Luke what had transpired at the storage facility and Collette's home. They were still waiting for Niella and Cali, but Merrick didn't want to wait. Time was limited. The longer Vander believed he had the right journal the more time they had to find the real one without having to look over their shoulders.

Sydney had to admit it was nice to not have to worry about Shielding because Jente was hiding out in the bushes. She doubted any Kratos Guild member was within a ten mile radius of them.

She pulled out her phone and checked it. She'd texted Joel to meet at Felix's as soon as possible but she hadn't heard back.

Cali and Niella burst through the front door as if someone was hot on their tail. They both instantly sought her out. "Where's your idiot boyfriend?" Niella demanded.

Sydney's eyes went to Merrick before she realized it.

"Not your Mirror Mate, I mean Joel. Where is he? Have you heard from him?"

"What's a Mirror Mate?" she heard Luke whisper to Felix.

Felix shushed him.

"I haven't heard from Joel." Her stomach started to sink. "Why? Did you Dream about him?"

Cali swore.

It was all the answer she needed.

Niella expression looked pained. "Vander has him," she said gently.

Felix exploded. "What? When the fuck did this happen?"

Niella looked lost; it was a rare show of vulnerability on her part. "I don't know. All I know is that he's about to be in pain. At first I thought it was emotional pain—that you finally grew a pair and broke it off with him, but you haven't heard from him." She looked ill. "Which means the pain I saw was physical."

# Chapter 23

Joel awoke groggily to the swaying sensation of being in the back of a car. "Fucking hell." He grabbed his head as it throbbed. What the hell had happened?

He remembered the café, the interview, being given the job, and shaking his employer's hand. They'd walked out together when he'd started stumbling.

His coffee.

They'd drugged his coffee.

Motherfuckers.

How long had he been out?

He couldn't see anything in the back of the van. There were no windows and his phone was missing.

His eyes felt dried out and he went to rub them before remembering the contacts. He pulled them out, his eyes tearing up. He rubbed his eyes. His hands weren't tied together. Neither were his feet.

He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand it could be a good thing because he could fight his way out of there. On the other hand he might not be tied up because whoever was holding him had powers and could easily take him out—thus he wasn't a threat and there was no need to tie him up.

Knowing Vander he went with the second option.

He was so screwed.

He didn't know how long he remained in the back of that van before it came to a stop. It felt like an hour but he had no way of knowing.

The car shut off. He edged his way closer to the back doors. If he could Lock his kidnapper's hands to the back doors he could make a run for it.

The front doors slammed. Footsteps sounded around the side. He heard voices.

Shit. There was more than one of them.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other anxiously. He could do this. He pressed his hands against the two back doors of the van. He heard the key and waited until they opened the door. He needed to make sure the guy's hands were touching the metal.

The van groaned as the back doors were pulled open. Joel Locked the metal and kicked out with his foot. The man who opened the door took the hit in the shoulder and flew back. His arm was stuck to the van and pulled him back like a bungee cord. He cried out.

"Nice trick, want to see mine?"

Joel turned to find the man from San Francisco. He grabbed Joel and hung on. Pain exploded beneath his skin. He screamed as the burning sensation increased under his skin, like he was being boiled alive on the inside. He wrenched away and dropped to his knee.

"Not so fast," the pain master said. He held his hands up menacingly. "Drop whatever you did to my colleague and I won't hurt you more than I have to."

Joel weighed his options. His muscles screamed and spasmed, his legs were shaking. He'd never experienced a pain like that before. It was as if every nerve ending had been on fire. He wasn't ready to feel it again. He eyed his surroundings.

_A crappy motel, how fitting._ He glanced back at the man flailing against the van door in an attempt to unlatch his arm. _Good luck with that, buddy._

He was tempted to watch the poor sucker to see how long he'd go at it before he realized there was no way he was coming away from that door unless Joel willed it. However, he didn't want to feel like his insides were melting either. Keeping a careful eye on the pain master he put his hand against the van door and dropped his Lock.

The man fell back on his ass and Joel grinned.

Once he was back on his feet the man stormed Joel, his arm held back as if to throw a punch.

Joel stared him right in the eye. "Touch me and I'll freeze your lungs right in your chest."

The man hesitated. He looked to his colleague as if to ask him if that was possible.

Joel had no idea if his powers allowed him to do that but this fucker didn't need to know that.

The pain master shrugged at his idiot companion. Idiot companion dropped his arm and instead glared balefully at Joel.

Joel returned his glare with a pleasant smile.

"Move it." He motioned for Joel to start walking.

He was taken to a motel room on the far side of the building, as far away from the front office as possible. _The better to hide your screams, my dear._ He thought of Little Red Riding Hood as he was led to the big bad wolf. Vander Donahughe stood inside the room waiting for them. He looked as if he'd aged forty years in the three months since Joel had last seen him. The sight was startling. _Grandma, what gray hair you have._

Sitting huddled on the bed behind him was a young woman. Looked like he wasn't the only captive.

"You're right on time," Vander greeted him. "I just got off the phone. It appears that your bargaining chip purposes have been made void."

Joel frowned.

"The journal is in my possession, which means your usefulness has all but run out."

Joel didn't take the bait. He wouldn't ask what he'd be used for if Vander wasn't going to barter him off to Sydney for Kevin's journal.

_How the hell had Vander gotten to it before her?_

Fear slid through him. He hoped Syd was okay. If she was hurt in any way he didn't care what happened to him, he'd take Vander down right where he stood. The man looked ready to break a hip at any moment. If Joel got to him before he used his powers then he might have a chance.

"Not going to ask what I'm going to use you for?" said Vander.

Joel crossed his arms and feigned nonchalance. "Considering what I've seen from you I have a pretty good idea."

Vander bowed his head in concession. "Then there's no point in wasting time talking about it."

Joel was grabbed from behind and propelled toward the bed. He landed on the edge of it.

The woman clutched her knees closer to her chest. She was dressed in RN scrubs. What the hell was Vander playing at?

"Everything's going to be fine," Joel promised her.

Her doe-like eyes latched onto him. He didn't think she heard a word he said. Poor thing.

The next thing he knew he was being held from behind, his arm gripped in idiot companion's hands. "What the fuck?" Joel struggled but pain flared bright hot through his body in warning.

Pain master held him immobile as idiot companion waited for some kind of signal from Vander.

Vander drew closer and touched the woman on the shoulder. "You're an incredible nurse," he told her calmly. "I've seen your records. The recovery rates are off the charts."

The woman shivered beneath his hand. "I'm just a nurse," she all but sobbed. "I don't know why I'm here. Please let me go."

Vander continued to speak as if he hadn't heard her. "You don't like to see people in pain, do you?"

She shook her head, tears leaking from her eyes. Joel's stomach churned painfully. "Please don't hurt me," she whispered.

"You're a natural born healer," said Vander.

"I'm just a nurse," the woman repeated. "You keep calling me a healer but I don't do anything special, I just do my job. Please . . . "

"Show me how good of a healer you are." Vander nodded at idiot companion.

Joel felt a snap in his forearm and screamed.

• • •

"We have to get the real journal and trade Joel for it." Sydney paced Felix's living room. Worry had her stomach cramping. This was all her fault. She should have gone over to his place when he didn't answer his phone.

"For that to work we need to get the real journal." Felix stood a few feet away, participating in his own pacing. "Where does this Greg Kelley live?" he asked Merrick.

"I only caught glimpses. I put in a call to the city station and should hear back shortly. We're going to have to tread carefully. We can't go barging into this man's house."

"Why the hell not?" Cali asked from the couch.

"Because he has powers," Merrick said flatly.

"What kind of powers?" said Felix.

"I didn't see that much," said Merrick. "And with no idea what he can do, we need to plan this out. Kevin must've realized how valuable his information was, so he trusted it to someone he knew could protect it. That's saying something about this man's power."

Felix swore.

Sydney was right along with him. This was such bull. She couldn't sit by and wait while she knew Joel was being hurt.

"Look," Niella said. "You guys go after this Greg guy and I'll stay behind and see if I can Dream up anything about Joel. Specifically his whereabouts."

"Do you want me to stay behind with you?" Luke spoke up for the first time.

Niella looked startled that anyone would even offer but she quickly got control over her expression. She shook her head. "It's fine. I know how much you want to go along with them."

"I don't know if bringing him is such a good idea," Sydney said. Luke was only twenty years old. If anything happened to him she'd feel even worse. She didn't even think he knew how to fight.

"Are you kidding?" said Cali. "He's perfect. If we have no idea what we're going up against, we'll just shove Luke in first."

Luke's face paled.

Cali leaned over and chucked him under the chin. "I'm kidding."

Luke relaxed.

"But only partly."

Felix grinned at Cali's antics.

Before they could say anything else and give Luke a heart attack, Sydney intervened. "We need to come up with a plan. We don't have any time to waste."

"Agreed," said Merrick.

The Newport police station got back to Merrick within the hour. Sydney sent up a silent thank you that this Greg character didn't live in Anaheim. She never wanted to deal with Merrick's old co-workers ever again.

The address was some private estate that was very secluded.

"Shit," Cali commented as they looked up the address on the internet. "I don't think he has a neighbor within a mile of his house. Is that good for us or bad?"

Felix cracked his knuckles. "It's good. Everyone ready?"

"All set," said Merrick.

They piled into Felix's Hummer. Sydney went over the plan again and again. She hoped she could do this.

A warm hand covered her knee. "You okay?"

She looked over to Merrick. "I just hope I don't screw this up," she told him in a hushed tone.

His fingers tightened on her leg. "You'll do fine. No pressure."

She gave a quiet laugh. No pressure, sure. It was only her responsibility to Shield everyone periodically so they could take Greg by surprise. She'd have to be on high alert to watch for any signs of his powers so that she could temporarily shut them down before dropping her Shield so the others could use their powers in offense. It was like one big choreographed dance, only she didn't know if she remembered all the steps. Attack, Shield. Shield, attack.

It'd be a lot easier if she could see Greg during this whole operation so she could read his body language and facial expressions, but they probably weren't going to come across him until the halfway point.

"Someone want to tell me how Kevin befriended someone this wealthy?" Cali stared out the front windshield at the large double door gates that blocked off the estate.

"Maybe he gave him some good financial advice or some stock market tips," Merrick said dryly.

Cali turned around in her seat and grinned cheekily.

Felix continued down the street and parked a half a block away. "Everyone know what they're doing?"

They all nodded, Luke a little less confidently then the rest of them.

Felix's eyes latched onto him. "Cali and I are going to clear the way for Merrick to get any reading on where the journal might be kept. Sydney is going to be on the watch for any super powers and if we're in danger she's going to Shield us. Luke, you'll bring up the rear. You're our backup."

He nodded shakily. "You're not going to Shield if I'm hit are you?" he asked Sydney.

"Don't worry," she told him. "You're not going to have to take a bullet for anyone else. And if on the off chance that you do, I promise not to Shield, that way you'll heal just like you always do."

That seemed to put him at ease.

"You can always stay behind in the car if you don't want to come with us," Merrick said.

"No." Luke shook his head. "Joel helped break me out in San Francisco and I want to help him if I can."

When they were all out of the Hummer, Felix came around and clapped Luke on the shoulder. Luke flinched mildly. "Welcome to the Guild of Truth," said Felix. "You're official now."

Luke beamed.

Felix and Cali led the way back to the estate. As they came upon the gate Felix motioned them to the wall. "Cameras," he whispered. He waved his hand and the two little black cameras mounted on the top of the gate vanished.

Merrick blinked.

Sydney smiled and touched his arm. "You'll get used to it," she told him.

He nodded.

Felix turned to Merrick. "Give me a boost?" He motioned to the large wall.

"Why don't you Erase the gate?" Sydney asked.

"Because that's going to look suspicious. If I can get on top of the gate I'll be able to see the lock and Erase it, letting you guys in."

Sydney eyed the large wooden doors. The lock was probably a giant latch on the other side.

Merrick and Luke both helped boost Felix up enough so that he could grab the edge of the wall and haul himself up. He sat on the wall for a moment, his hand waving. No doubt he was taking out any threats that he could see. He jumped down from the wall and a few seconds later the two large gates swung open soundlessly.

"Nice landscaping," Luke said in awe as they all got their first good look at the front yard.

It was huge. Bright plants were everywhere. The driveway was lined with professionally designed hedges that were shaped into long spirals. A koi pond was off to one side of the place while a fountain was off on the other. All in all, the one word Sydney could think to describe the place was _exotic_. "At least we know he doesn't have kids," Merrick said as they made their way down toward the mansion type house.

"How can you tell?" asked Cali.

Merrick gestured to the grass. "There are no toys lying around anywhere. In my experience that means no kids."

"One less obstacle," said Felix.

They moved slow and steady until they climbed the stoop leading to the front door.

"Anyone else think this has been too easy?" Felix asked.

Sydney hadn't wanted to say anything but they hadn't come into contact with any resistance. Not even a guard dog. "Maybe he left?"

Felix looked doubtful but didn't say anything. "Get ready for anything," he warned her.

She stepped back.

Felix waved his hand and the lock and handle on the door disappeared. The door slid open, again soundlessly. Sydney wondered if they were just lucky that this man oiled his hinges or if Cali was at work. She cast a quick look in Cali's direction but the Silencer only smiled back.

Once all inside, Luke pushed the door closed as best he could but it continued to slide open.

If Sydney thought Collette's house was nice, then this place was amazing. Two curving staircases, one on each side, joined up in the middle to lead to the second floor. There was a hallway straight ahead and two rooms on either side.

A dark object moved too fast for Sydney to catch on the second floor. "Did you guys see that?" Her voice came out warped, as if she were speaking underwater.

"No, what?" She heard Felix's voice perfectly but there was something off about it. As if she heard it in her mind and not around her.

She turned to Cali. She smiled again and tapped her ear. She was using her powers. Somehow she was manipulating their voices when they spoke so that they'd be able to hear each other but no one else would.

"Something moved upstairs," she said.

Merrick's warm body came up behind her and for a moment she wanted to lean back against him and absorb all that heat. "Do you think it's Greg?" he asked.

She shrugged, some part of herself doubting that she even saw anything. "I know this is going to sound crazy," she said. "But what if we were to ask him for the journal? We're both on the same side. He might be sick of having to protect the journal from Vander—if we tell him we're going to take it maybe he'll be happy to be rid of it."

"The only problem with your plan is that we're not going to keep the journal from Vander. We're going to barter it for Joel's life," said Felix.

"Technically we don't have to tell him that," Cali commented.

Felix stared at Cali before turning around to look at the rest of them. "Is that what we want to do then? Try the diplomatic angle first?"

"There might be less pain that way," said Sydney.

Felix shrugged. "I guess—" A large object flew from one of the side rooms and smashed into his shoulder.

He staggered back. Cali raced to his side as another object came flying.

"Cali, watch out," Sydney cried.

Cali took the hit in the side of the ribs. Her face contorted in pain but she continued to Felix's side.

The dark shape reappeared on the second floor and Sydney stared into Greg Kelley's eyes.

A flurry of miscellaneous objects came hurdling toward them.

"Sydney!" Merrick shouted from behind her.

She tore her gaze away from Greg and threw up her Shield. The objects fell to the floor useless. Greg disappeared out of sight.

"Holy shit." Felix rubbed his shoulder absently as he bent to inspect Cali's side. "Out of all the fucking powers we had to get landed with Mr. Telekinesis?"

Sydney barely heard him. She rushed for the stairs. She couldn't let Greg get away.

"Syd!"

She kept running. On the second floor landing she went left where she saw Greg disappear. She followed her instinct and picked the furthest hallway to travel. She passed room after room, some connecting with others. There were tons of places Greg could have backtracked. She shook her head and pressed on.

"Syd!" Merrick's voice barely reached her.

Movement caught her attention and she veered left into a large room that was filled with boards and planks and other wooden items.

Greg stood alone in the center.

"You can't hit me with anything," she told him.

Greg slid a hand carved bat from one of the shelves. "I can't hit you with my mind," he corrected her.

She swallowed in fear but kept her footing. "Look, we're on the same side. We both want to keep that journal from Vander. If you help us—"

"I was warned about you." Greg stepped back and raised his bat. "You're the one's Kevin warned me about. Under no circumstances were you to get his journal. You'd ruin everything with it."

Sydney drew back. "What? No—we'd never . . . our friend is in danger."

"I don't care who's in danger. You're not getting that journal."

"You can't stop us. You're outnumbered and it's only a matter of time. Help us. Please."

Greg swung.

Sydney cried out as she dropped to the floor. The wood of his bat crashed into another shelf. Wooden objects flew everywhere, raining down on her.

She threw her hands up to protect her head.

"Sydney!" Merrick roared through the whole house. Footsteps thundered down a nearby hallway.

"Fuck diplomacy," she heard Felix say as she scrambled for the door. Her hand closed around a large figurine and she threw it at Greg with all her might.

He batted it away and brought his weapon up for another swing. "You can't stop my powers if you're knocked unconscious."

She screamed.

The bat swung for her head.

Merrick flew through the doorway. He tackled Greg to the floor. Greg's swing went wide but it still sent Sydney into another shelf.

Pain exploded behind her eyes and her vision went black—

She blinked up from the floor.

Luke was crouched next to her. "You're all right." He smiled. "How's your head?"

For the first time she noticed the blood on his hands. She tentatively touched the side of her head that throbbed with her heartbeat and felt the matted blood. Felix and Cali stood around them like a protective shield. Wooden objects were flying everywhere as if they were in the middle of a tornado. Felix was Erasing left and right while Cali used her sound waves to push away any object that came too close. She was covered in bruises, as was Felix.

Sydney pushed to a sitting position. "What happened?"

Luke helped her upright. "Merrick's attempting to kick Greg's ass—er, butt," Luke hastily corrected at her flat stare. "The only problem is that Greg's not going down without a fight." He motioned to the spinning cyclone of wood they were presently encased in.

_Merrick_.

"Where's Merrick? Is he hurt?" She tried to get to her feet and nearly fell over as she became lightheaded. She tried to use her powers and nearly cried out as pain tore through her skull.

"Easy." Luke kept her steady. "No sudden movements. Trust me, I've had my share of head wounds."

She didn't want to think of just how he'd received those head wounds. Niella's words about his father drifted through her mind unbidden but she pushed them away. "I have to fix this. I have to help Merrick, this is all my fault." If she wouldn't have been so darn stupid and waited for everyone before going after Greg they might have been able to avoid this. But no, she had to try to be the hero. For once in her life she wanted to be able to help the guild without anyone else's assistance.

_All you did was make things worse._

Well, now she was going to make things right. Bracing herself for the pain she threw her Shield up. Luke had to hold her up as pain erupted in her head.

Wooden objects fell to the floor with a clatter.

Greg cried out as Merrick advanced on him. "No!" Greg shouted, his gaze locking with Sydney's. "You don't know what you're doing."

Merrick caught him in a head lock and put him to sleep. It was over within seconds. Sydney dropped her Shield, exhausted.

"I got you." Luke wrapped her arm around his shoulders and held her up.

"Thanks, Luke, I'm so glad we found you."

He blushed and dropped his dreamy blue eyes.

Merrick was at her side instantly. His hands hovered near her head. "Shit." He brushed aside her hair. "I should have killed that bastard for hurting you."

"You did the right thing," she told him. "He was only doing his job."

"Well, he did a pretty fucking good job of it," said Cali. Her exposed forearms were covered in angry red marks, some already bruising. She had a cut along her forehead and dried blood in her side bangs.

Felix wrapped his arm around Cali's shoulders and drew her into his chest. He wasn't nearly as battered as Cali, though he did have a nasty gash on his ear that was still bleeding. "We should start searching the place. There are a lot of rooms to cover."

"What about him?" Luke nodded to Greg.

Merrick eyed him balefully. "We'll tie him up." He stepped over to Greg and grabbed his clothes in his hands before closing his eyes. A few seconds later he released Greg. "This might not take as long as you think, Felix," he said.

"You know where Greg hid it?" Sydney asked hopefully.

"I know what room, but he was very careful in keeping his thoughts to himself. I've never seen anything like it before. It was as if he knew what to expect."

Sydney frowned as she remembered Greg's warning.

# Chapter 24

Felix dragged Greg around by the duct tape and rope they had tied around his ankles.

Merrick kept glancing back every few seconds to make sure the bastard stayed unconscious. He would have been happy to make it permanent but Sydney would never have accepted that. She was too good of a person. She'd tried to help them by talking to Greg one on one but that man had been holed up in his house for years. Whatever Kevin had told him, he'd taken it straight to heart.

Merrick had never seen such paranoia in a person before. This was why they needed to destroy the journal. If they kept it around Sydney, Felix, and anyone else in their guild, they would be charged with guarding it and their fate would ultimately turn into Greg's. They'd never be able to leave for fear of someone getting their hands on the notebook.

He'd been right all along. It needed to stay hidden or be destroyed. He looked over his shoulder at Greg.

Felix caught him staring. "Don't worry, if he wakes up I'll put him back to sleep." The feral smile he shot Merrick told him how much he'd enjoy putting him to sleep.

Merrick's gaze slid over to Cali who was rubbing stubbornly at her bruises, as if that would make them heal faster.

He'd asked Felix a few days ago how someone identified their Mirror Mate, how they bonded. It'd taken Felix a couple seconds to answer.

_Your souls . . . they connect, but it's more than that. Cali once told me that when your soul cries out for the other and that call is returned—that's when you're bonded. I can't put it into better words. All I know is that Cali and I were in a situation and we were trying to reach each other. Suddenly I heard her voice in my head, my heart, everywhere. I called out to her and then the world turned blazing white. After that it's like you have a little mini sun burning deep inside your chest, a constant heat to know that you're not alone. Ever._

Merrick's eyes latched onto Sydney's swinging blonde ponytail. His gut tightened. To know that he'd never have to be alone . . .

He couldn't even imagine.

To have someone that would never shun him, someone he'd never have to fear betraying him or fearing him. The thought was amazing.

Sydney paused and turned around to face him, as if she could feel his eyes on her. "Am I still going in the right direction?" she asked him.

"The door is right up ahead."

She smiled that beautiful smile at him and his breath caught. She grasped the handles on the double doors and pulled. The smile on her face dropped.

"Holy fuckballs." Cali went through the threshold and paused at the end of the balcony where Sydney had walked.

Merrick's spirit plummeted as he entered the vast two story library.

"Did anyone else get a sudden image of the beast's library from Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_ just now?" asked Felix as he dragged in Greg.

Luke raised his hand. "I did."

"And the journal is somewhere in this room?" Sydney stared down at the wooden tables on the bottom floor. Some were covered with stacks of books, others papers and magazines. Every nook and cranny was stuffed with books—and not just leather bound old tome looking things either. Merrick saw books of every shape and size and to his horror there were spiral notebooks stuffed into shelves throughout the entire room.

"Please tell me you got more off of Greg then just what room the journal was in," said Felix.

Merrick didn't bother answering him. It would just depress them all. "We should split up," he said instead.

A collective groan went through the group.

"I'll take downstairs," Felix said cheerfully and pulled Greg toward the staircase at the north end of the room.

"Felix, don't you dare," said Sydney. "You'll drag him around upstairs, we don't need you throwing him down stairs and giving him a permanent concussion. Besides, we might need him later."

Felix sighed. "Fine, I won't drag him down the stairs. Why don't you, Merrick, and Luke take downstairs? Cali and I will cover up here. What are we looking for again?"

Merrick turned around and plucked a spiral notebook out of the shelf. "The journal is like this, only a worn out blue. If you find more than one just start making a pile and I'll go through them."

Cali gave a mock salute and kicked Greg as she made her way past Felix to start searching.

Merrick grinned. Cali was really starting to grow on him. In fact, the entire guild was.

The realization was startling. He'd never had a large group of friends, not since his days at the academy. Ever since his powers came into play he'd been on his own. He'd forgotten how much fun it could be to be a part of a unit.

He met Sydney at the large staircase and held his arm out to her. "Shall we, my lady?"

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. "Why, thank you, good sir."

Greg only woke up once in the four hours it took to sweep the entire library.

There was a commotion upstairs that came swiftly to an end before Merrick or Sydney could make it up the stairs.

"What happened?" Sydney asked.

Felix had still had his arm around Greg's throat. He gave an innocent shrug. "Greg was being uncooperative so I gave him a time out."

Sydney hadn't looked amused but she'd gone back downstairs to continue their search.

By the end of the four hours they had over three hundred and fifty blue notebooks.

They all converged on the bottom floor and spread out their finds over four tables. There was nothing the others could do after that. Felix and Cali took a seat and waited at another table and Luke went off to a table that held a large atlas while Sydney sat down by Merrick's side. Merrick exchanged looks with Sydney. He exhaled and picked up the first notebook. He closed his eyes to cut out any distractions and let his mind drift into the notebook, searching for any impressions of Kevin.

He put the notebook on the floor by his feet. "Nothing."

And so began the process.

By the three hundredth notebook, he could see the hope draining from Sydney's face. The library was eerily silent, the only sound coming from Luke turning the worn pages of the atlas.

"This can't be right," Merrick said when he discarded another journal about mathematics from high school algebra. "There had to be more that we just overlooked."

Sydney placed her hand on his forearm in a comforting gesture that only spiked Merrick's anger. He shook her off. "No, you don't understand, it has to be in here." He continued to grab the journals and started throwing them over his shoulder when they didn't bare the impressions he was looking for. He grew more frantic.

Sydney watched him with sad eyes. "Merrick, it's not here. Greg must've been messing with us. What better way to slow us down than by leading us to the library to search through millions of books? It was a wild goose chase."

He refused to believe it. He tore through the remaining notebooks before turning on Greg. Felix had draped him over the hard leather sofa by one of the large windows.

Everyone shot to their feet as he stormed across the floor.

"Take it easy," said Felix. "Shaking him isn't going to wake him up. We'll wait and then ask him where he put the journal. You don't want to do anything rash."

Merrick was about to blow through Felix when Luke's quiet voice stopped him short. "Guys, come look at this."

Merrick whirled.

Luke stood in front of the atlas, which apparently wasn't an atlas at all. At least, not a full one.

"Luke," Sydney breathed. "You found it."

Cut into the back pages of the large book was a square hole big enough to hold a blue spiral notebook.

Felix wrapped his arm around Luke's shoulders. Cali beamed.

Sydney threw her arms around Merrick's neck and kissed him. Her lips on his broke through any shock he may have been experiencing and he kissed her back. It was hot and demanding. His groin tightened and he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth where she met him stroke for stroke.

Someone cleared their throat and Merrick remembered that they had an audience. Sydney jumped back, her face red. The others stared at them as if not quite sure what to do. Luke's face was as red as Sydney's. Felix looked a little shocked and mortified as if he'd just caught his baby sister making out for the first time, and Cali was trying to suppress a smile and failing at it.

Merrick cleared his own throat and picked up the notebook. He instantly felt Kevin's thoughts and emotions. He pulled himself away from them. "Shall we go?" he said to the group at large as if nothing were amiss.

Sydney's pants pocket started vibrating. She hastily pulled her phone out and checked the ID. "It's Niella." She put the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"

Merrick watched the expressions that played over Sydney's face.

She hung up. "Niella knows where Joel is."

• • •

"So what's our plan of action again?" Cali asked as they all stared out the side windows of Felix's Hummer.

They were parked outside a crappy motel with chipping paint and rusted railing. The pool area was closed off because the water was green and Merrick was pretty sure their continental breakfast would make you sick for a week.

He pulled back from the window to go over their rough mission plan. "We scope out how many people are inside, especially if Vander is one of them. We offer to trade Joel for the journal. We don't give him the journal until Joel is safely in our hands and we are near enough to the car to make an escape. Felix will Erase it as we drive away. Luke, you're staying in the car because for whatever reason Vander still wants you. Plus, we need a getaway driver. You do know how to drive, right?"

"I'm twenty, not fifteen," said Luke.

"Right. Everyone got it?"

They all nodded.

Felix turned to Cali. "You have an estimate of how many people we're dealing with here?"

Cali's head was cocked as if listening for something. She kept closing and opening her eyes. "There are a good number of heartbeats coming from the furthest room. I'm guessing that's where they're holding Joel. I hear at least two females and maybe three or four males? I'm not sure."

"How can you tell there are females in there?" asked Luke.

"One spoke and another one is sobbing." Her head perked up like a dog.

"What is it?" asked Sydney.

The hate on Cali's face said it all. "Vander."

Felix popped his knuckles.

"We all want a piece of Vander," said Sydney, "but remember we're here for Joel. Our first priority is getting him out. Okay?"

Felix gave a tight nod before starting the car back up and driving around toward the far end where Joel was being kept. They parked around back and left Luke to guard the Hummer.

Felix handed Luke the keys. "If anything happens, get the hell out of here."

"And if you happen to see an old man running from the room, it'll most likely be Vander. Feel free to run him over," Cali piped up helpfully.

Luke looked sick at the idea of running over a person.

Felix playfully shoved Cali away. "Don't run over anyone. I don't want to have to wash blood off my car."

Luke's face paled even more.

"Would you two stop it? This is serious," Sydney hissed at them.

Felix held his hands up in innocence.

Cali's smile instantly dropped. Her head jerked to the side.

"What is it?" Felix asked.

Cali shoved Felix out of the way and sprinted across the parking lot toward the motel rooms. "We don't have time for a sneak attack. We need to go now, I just heard the words 'want them dead.'"

Merrick swore and set off at a dead run. Half of him wanted to keep pace with Sydney but the other half told him to go ahead—Felix would need him.

Cali got to the room first and blew the door open with a sonic blast that had Merrick's ears ringing.

Shouts erupted from within. A woman screamed.

Merrick's grip tightened on the journal. He could feel Kevin's impressions tingling against the skin of his hand, as if eager for him to read them, as if they wanted him to learn the secrets he was holding.

He hesitated at the threshold and let himself get sucked into Kevin's world.

# Chapter 25

Having short legs sucked.

Sydney pumped her arms as she trailed behind Cali, Felix, and Merrick. Cali and Felix rushed into the motel room while Merrick hung back near the door.

Was he waiting for her?

The thought warmed her and she didn't feel so bad about her height. She reached his side and briefly threaded her fingers through his. "Come on," she urged him. She was anxious to get to Joel. She hadn't seen him in days. Niella had said she'd seen him in pain. Her stomach cramped at the thought of Joel hurting. She hoped he was all right.

Merrick remained where he was.

She squeezed his hand but there was no answering squeeze back. "Merrick?" She tugged on his hand but he continued to stare, unseeing. She looked down and found the journal clutched in his other hand.

Shouts erupted from inside the motel room. A loud crash and a thump of a body hitting the floor had Sydney jumping. She dropped Merrick's hand and grasped his arms to shake him.

This wasn't part of the plan. They needed Merrick to hold onto the journal so they could barter Joel's life with it. In this state anyone could walk up to Merrick and take it.

What was he thinking reading it at a time like this?

She shook him harder. "Come on, Merrick, snap out of it," she pleaded.

"I thought I smelled vanilla," a female voice drawled behind her.

Sydney froze. She dropped her hands and curled them into fists. She knew that voice. Regina.

She turned slowly, doing her best to block as much of Merrick as she could. She couldn't let Regina see the journal. She had no physical powers, but then again neither did Regina.

She had no one to help her this time and while that scared her, she wasn't going to back down. This was the woman who'd had her hands on Merrick during his captivity. She'd touched Sydney's man against his wishes. That alone was enough to have her seeing red.

She wouldn't let Regina get to Merrick. Now, like at the facility, he was helpless and she was all that stood in Regina's way.

"Is he trapped in a fantasy land again?" Regina tilted her head like a bird. "Did you distract him with your thoughts?" Her eyes roved over Merrick's face greedily. "You know he's most vulnerable when he's trapped in a vision, right?"

Sydney widened her stance and held her arms loosely out at her sides, ready for anything. She may not be a black belt but she'd watched Felix and Joel enough times to have some semi-confidence in how to throw a punch. "I'm not letting you take him. He's mine."

Regina smiled. A yell came from inside the room but she didn't so much as flinch.

"Merrick belongs with us. I laid claim to him long ago. While you were snuggled up to your man back in that room, I was caressing all the hard planes of Merrick's body."

Sydney ground her teeth.

"He's my pet and I let him off his leash to lead us to what we needed. His usefulness has ended and now it's time for him to go back into his cage. I've been given orders to collect you as well."

That sent a jolt of fear straight through Sydney. She'd known Vander liked to "collect" people with powers, but that was back when he would harvest their life energy to expand his own. Now that he was limiting himself to keep the appearance of age she'd thought his kidnapping days were over.

_He'll never stop,_ she realized. _Once a monster, always a monster._

And now he'd set his sights on them. They'd stepped on his toes for the last time.

Sydney swallowed her fear and lifted her chin. "You're not taking us."

Regina thrust out her hip and crossed her arms. "And you're going to stop me? A child sized woman with no remarkable powers whatsoever?" Her casualness disappeared in the next second and a feral gleam came to her eyes. "I'd like to see you try." Regina lunged.

Sydney's first instinct was to jump out of the way, but that would leave Merrick exposed. Instead she ducked down and shot forward with both hands fisted.

Regina's height ended up being her downfall.

Sydney was able to get under her and drive her fists into her gut, right beneath her sternum.

Regina cried out and stumbled back, hunched over. "You bitch," she wheezed.

Sydney didn't wait for her to get her bearings again.

_If your opponent is injured and retreating, go on the offensive._

With no idea what to do, Sydney rushed her. She tackled Regina like a football player and together they flew into the motel room and landed with a crash.

Regina cushioned the fall. Her head snapped back, connected with the floor, and her eyes glazed over. Sydney shot to her feet but Regina didn't follow.

Sydney was breathing heavily. Adrenaline was rushing through her veins like fire and she stared down at Regina, unable to believe that she'd taken her out.

"Holy hell," she breathed, feeling invigorated. She wanted to jump and holler but refrained when her eyes caught on Joel. She cried out his name and ran to him.

"Syd?" He still had two black eyes and a busted lip. His arm was wrapped in a horrible excuse for a sling that hadn't been there before.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. "Oh Joel, I'm so sorry." Her hands fluttered uselessly around his obviously broken arm.

He cupped her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "It's okay. I can't believe you're here. I can't believe you took out that bitch." Pride sparkled in his midnight blue eyes. "This wasn't exactly what I had in mind for today but happy three year anniversary anyway." He tried to smile and grimaced instead.

Sydney's heart ached and she couldn't hold the tears back anymore. "Happy three-year anniversary," she whispered back to him.

Arms grabbed her from behind.

Joel shouted.

Sydney kicked back blindly.

"I remember you," a voice hissed in her ear before pain tore through her body. She screamed.

"Sydney!" Merrick's roar echoed through the whole room.

The pain suddenly ceased and she dropped to the floor, limp. She blinked back the spots in her vision as she tried to get to her hands and knees.

Grunts came from behind her.

A hand appeared in her line of vision and she looked up into Joel's eyes. "We need to get out of here, quickly, while everyone is distracted."

She grasped his hand and he helped her to her feet. She swayed and turned around to see Felix battling it out with Vander and his guards while Cali helped an innocent woman in RN scrubs. Merrick was fighting off the man from San Francisco.

Her eyes dropped to the floor and she smirked in satisfaction as Regina still lay there.

Sirens sounded out in the distance.

Cali was at their side within seconds. The woman in her nurse's uniform tucked under her arm. "We need to get the hell out of here before the authorities arrive. Where's the journal?"

"Merrick still has it."

Cali nodded. "Looks like we didn't have to barter Joel's ass for it after all."

Joel looked too exhausted to comment. Sydney wrapped his arm around her shoulders and together they made their way to the door. Cali paused and shouted back at Felix as she launched a sound wave right at Vander.

He flew into the wall and Cali smiled viciously.

"Wait." Joel paused at the door.

"Why are you stopping?" asked Sydney. "We need to leave."

Joel refused to move. "Get everyone out and I'll Lock the rest inside until the authorities get here."

Sydney exchanged looks with Cali. Cali shrugged and bellowed into the room. "Felix, get your ass out here, now."

"Merrick," Sydney shouted. "Hurry."

Both men finished with their opponents before booking it out of the room. Merrick grasped the door, slammed it shut, and held it that way as Joel placed his hand on the rotten wood.

Sydney held him steady as he finished. He felt so weak and fragile. It frightened her. "We need to get you to a hospital," she said.

"Not yet," said Joel.

Felix's Hummer came screeching around the corner. Luke leaned across the seat and opened the passenger door for them.

Joel smiled at Luke. "Skywalker," he drawled. "They got you working as a driver now?"

"It's better than being used as a human shield."

Joel laughed but it turned into a cough.

Cali opened the back doors for them and Sydney ushered Joel inside as the sirens grew closer.

"Stay close by," Joel instructed once they were all packed into the Hummer. "I need to be able to keep the door Locked."

Luke nodded and steered the vehicle into the next driveway over, which happened to be a 24-hour donut shop. "Anyone want donuts?" he called.

The only answer was the hysterical mumbling coming from the woman Cali had saved. Cali tried to keep her calm and even offered her a donut but she just kept repeating how they wanted her to heal Joel and how she couldn't and how they kept hurting him. "It's all my fault," the woman sobbed. She started to cry in earnest and Cali looked to Sydney, lost.

Sydney didn't know what to tell her. They needed to get that woman to a hospital just as much as Joel.

In the safety of the donut parking lot they watched as the police surrounded the motel and were led to the room in question. Joel was watching it carefully and at the precise moment the police went to open the door, he released his Lock. The door flew open as those inside tried to flee.

They all watched in silence as Regina, Vander, and his goons were all taken into custody.

"You think it's finally over?" asked Sydney.

Felix and Cali exchanged looks. "Truthfully?" said Cali. "Vander won't stop until he's dead. But I'd say this is a major setback."

"But there is the bonus that we didn't even have to give him the journal," said Felix optimistically.

"Journal?" Joel asked groggily as he slouched in his seat and rested his head against a window.

Sydney spent the car ride to the hospital filling him in on their adventure finding Kevin's journal and the significance behind why he wanted it. Of course, this was all shielded from the woman in the back, courtesy of Cali's powers.

There wasn't much talking once they reached the hospital. The woman disappeared as soon as they walked her into the emergency room. Joel was taken into the ER after waiting for three hours. Apparently a hysterical, sobbing woman came first as opposed to a man with a broken arm.

After he was tended to the doctors instructed him to get lots of bed rest.

"Niella will be waiting for us." Felix took over driving duties and drove them all to his house, and just as he'd predicted, Niella was waiting.

"It's good to see you in one piece," she said to Joel.

"I'm happy to be in one piece," Joel said.

Sydney escorted him back to the guest room where he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. She watched over him for a good hour until she was satisfied that he'd be all right. From the outside he didn't look too roughed up but that wasn't what worried Sydney. She feared what kind of scars were on the inside. Time in captivity with Vander, no matter how short, always left a mark.

She didn't want to think about what they could have done to him, especially with that man who caused the worst kind of pain imaginable with nothing but a touch. She shuddered and jerked when a blanket was carefully put over her shoulders. She grasped the fabric and turned to find Cali waiting there.

Cali's obsidian eyes moved from Sydney to Joel. "He'll be okay," she said. The sympathy on Cali's face was an oddity and it was a painful reminder of when she had been held captive by Vander for a week. "When are you going to tell him?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

Sydney could have pretended ignorance but she wouldn't do that to Joel. He needed to know that she'd found her Mirror Mate—that Merrick was it. Her heart ached. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "Today is our three-year anniversary. Even with all the chaos going on around us, he took the time to tell me happy anniversary."

"I know today seems like the worst day to do it, but you can't go around pretending that everything's okay. This would be the worst day to do that to him. He wants to celebrate three years together. He thinks you're still in love with him and you're not. You have to bite the bullet and tell him about you and Merrick before he's really hurt."

"I know, but I'm not going to wake him up just to break his heart. That would be cruel."

"True. As soon as he wakes up then?"

Sydney nodded miserably. Why couldn't Joel have found his Mirror Mate at the same time so that their parting would have been a mutual agreement?

_Because nothing works like it does in the movies._

"What should I say?" she asked Cali.

Cali combed her fingers through her hair a couple of times as she thought. "You know I'm not very good at that touchy feely shit, right? Under normal circumstances I'd say just tell him how it is. This, however . . . " She waved her arm to encompass his injured state. "This calls for a different kind of delicacy. Maybe ease into it? It's not like you hate his guts or something. Everyone can still see how much you care for him. It's not your fault that the love you felt turned into platonic love. Maybe explain that to him. As weird as this is going to sound, maybe tell him how happy you are with Merrick. Joel was always the kind of guy who'd rather chop off his own arm then see you upset or hurting. He'd do anything to help you—this time that just happens to include letting you go. He'll understand. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually he'll realize that you have to be with your other half." She pulled her gaze from Joel to regard Sydney. "Speaking of which, have you guys bonded yet?"

Sydney studied the carpet. "No, and I'm not sure how. You said that we'll bond when there are no more barriers between us, right? I feel like I'm ready but what if Merrick's not open to this?"

"Have you ever thought that maybe it's your unfinished business with Joel that is holding you back? You may think you're ready to bond, that you're open as open can be, but even the smallest doubt can hold you back. It took me forever to learn I loved and trusted Felix with my life, that I'd do anything to keep him. It wasn't until I was being dragged away from him that the deep dark part of myself believed it too and cried out for him. I don't think it's something that can be forced." She placed her hand on Sydney's shoulder. "It'll come. You don't have to bond instantly, trust me. That was the one fear that Collette exploited when she was trying to break my spirit. It'll happen, just have faith."

Cali left the room.

A few minutes later Niella rolled in. "I can watch him for a while," she offered.

Sydney nodded and went out to find the others. They were all sitting around the TV. Cali was next to Luke on one sofa while Felix was in the kitchen cooking. Merrick sat alone and Sydney went to join him. His arm came around her shoulders and drew her near. Her body instantly relaxed into his but her mind continued to war with itself.

Shouldn't she feel guilty about being in Merrick's arms when Joel was lying injured in the next room?

The guilt she thought she'd overcome came back full force and she didn't know how to deal with it this time.

The moment was upon her, but it wasn't what she was expecting. It wasn't how she had planned it. Spontaneity was not her friend. She needed order. She needed Joel to be perfectly healthy in both mind and body, but now he was neither and she felt horrible for having to add to his pain.

_Remember Cali's words_ , she reminded herself. Joel would do anything for her, he understood how amazing finding your Mirror Mate was and she didn't think he'd try to stand in her way.

_I'm sorry, Joel, but it looks like our three-year anniversary marks our beginning and our end._

# Chapter 26

Joel didn't surface into complete consciousness until two days after his rescue. Enough time for the guild to learn through Merrick that Vander had gotten out of police custody without a hitch.

Sydney sat at Joel's side, her jaw aching from how hard she'd been clenching it.

They'd never get that bastard.

Vander had slipped through the authority's fingers again without them even knowing it. His appearance had only played into his cover that he'd been kidnapped by Regina and her goons and beaten. The police had arrived and seen an old man at the mercy of young thugs.

Sydney had the sudden and surprising urge to hit something. She was also terrified that sometime during the night Vander would come for her. Or any one of her guild members.

After he'd been released Merrick had no way of tracking him. Vander had officially disappeared once more. She bet it was only a matter of time before he surfaced. The question was where would he pop up next.

Joel started to stir at her side. His eyes opened slowly and he stared at the ceiling for a few moments before he turned his head. "Hey."

Sydney offered him a watery smile.

"I look that bad, huh?" he asked.

She laughed. "I was just really worried about you." She brushed back some of his hair. It was getting shaggy again. Like always, Joel had forgotten to make a hair appointment. She remembered all the times she'd had to schedule haircuts for him and how most of the time he'd protest cutting his longer than average locks.

A small part of her ached at the thought of never doing that again, but there was a much bigger part waiting in anticipation to start making those kinds of memories with Merrick.

Would Merrick protest if she asked him to cut his hair now? It was down to his shoulders and fell around his head like a messy inkblot. Her heart tripped in her chest at the thought of those raven locks sliding through her fingers.

The ache in her chest was mild but she still felt Merrick's absence, even with him in the kitchen of Felix's home.

Fingers snapped right in front of her face. She jumped.

Joel laughed softly. "Are you with me? Maybe you need to get some sleep. How long have you been watching over me?"

_Not as much as you're probably thinking._

"On and off," she answered evasively. "Niella, Cali, and Felix have been taking shifts. Even Luke and Merrick have been watching over you."

The second she said Merrick's name, something came over Joel's face. His expression shut down. A small difference, but one Sydney recognized instantly.

"He's a really nice guy, isn't he?" Joel said quietly.

Sydney swallowed past the lump in her throat. "He is," was all she managed to get out.

"You know I wanted to hate him for the way he looked at you. For the way you seemed to look at him instead of at me."

Her lungs constricted.

"But he helped save my life and that'd make me a real asshole if I begrudged him for it, wouldn't it?" His eyes, which had been downcast, rose up to meet hers.

When their gazes locked she felt no shiver in her soul, no answering yearning to reach out and touch him. With a finality that went all the way down to her bones, she realized that it was over with Joel and it was cruel to let him think anything else.

She grasped his uninjured hand in hers and inhaled. "Joel, I'm so sorry for what's been done to you. I know you're hurting and the last thing I want to do is add to that hurt but . . . to not say anything now, I think would hurt you even more."

She heard footsteps out in the hallway and was glad that she'd shut the door so no one would witness their private moment. Joel's face already told her that he had a feeling where she was taking this conversation and she felt the tears in the back of her throat. But she had to plow forward, she owed it to him.

"I always wished you were my Mirror Mate." She paused, wanting him to see the truth of that in her eyes. She heard a door slam in the distance. "But I don't get to decide that. I know now that what I feel for you isn't what you want or need. You deserve the truth, Joel, and the truth is that I've found my Mirror Mate and . . . " Her eyes started to cloud with tears. "And it's not you."

She couldn't stand the broken look on his face. Couldn't stand the fact that she was the one that gave it to him, but she refused to look away. This was her doing and she needed to face it. She'd take whatever lashing he decided to give her because she deserved it.

In her heart she hadn't felt as if she'd cheated on Joel because she'd already moved on, but in his eyes he'd see her affection toward Merrick as utter betrayal. He had every right to leave the guild, to never help them again and never speak to her again. The idea had her choking back a sob.

She didn't know what else to say. All the nice and pretty words she had picked out two days ago dried up, and her mind stuttered as she tried to tell Joel her feelings. In this moment all the preparation in the world wouldn't have helped her.

"I'm so sorry," she said at last.

Joel gently pulled his hand from hers. Sydney could feel him pulling away more than just physically and she had no idea what to do about it. She needed to let him pull away—it wasn't her job to comfort him like that anymore. She'd be glad to comfort him as a friend but she doubted he'd want that right now. It'd probably be a long time before she was given that luxury again.

"I had a feeling," said Joel. "Every time you entered a room your eyes sought him first. When I was injured you ran to him instead of me. I get it. I've been beaten enough times to realize that I'm not your man anymore."

A thick silence fell over them.

"Does he make you happy?"

Sydney barely heard him. She swallowed her tears at the emotion in his voice. "I think so." She didn't want to lie and say yes. The truth was she didn't know.

Joel looked up after she answered. There was a touch of anger in his eyes, but it wasn't directed at her.

She spoke up before he could threaten Merrick for something he'd never done. "The truth is, I haven't known him that long. My emotions have been in such a state of turmoil that I can't tell what I feel, but I know I feel lighter when he's around." She rubbed her chest, the ache more intense than it had been earlier. "I can't really describe what he makes me feel but if you want my honest answer then yes, I think he can and will make me happy."

She waited with bated breath for the statement to crush him but all he did was nod, as if that was the answer he wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry it couldn't be me," he said.

She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm, over one of his scars. She flinched at the sight. "You'll find yours. She's out there somewhere. I'll help you look. You know I will. I'm so afraid of losing you, Joel. Please don't leave the guild because of me."

He jerked in surprise. "Leave the guild? You thought I'd leave?"

"I thought for sure you wouldn't want to be around me anymore. I was terrified that you'd leave and never look back—that the guild would fracture and break apart. I know you don't want to hear this but I still love you, just not in the same way."

He grimaced. "You're right, I didn't want to hear that. But Syd, I'm not going to leave the guild. I may need some time to myself for a bit, and I may not want to be around much when Merrick is, but I'm not going to leave. We're the Guild of Aletheia. What kind of guild would we be if we disbanded every time there was a complication within our group? We stick together and that's final."

She stared into his face. He was so brave, such a good guy. "You're going to make some woman very happy," she told him earnestly.

He blinked, caught off guard. He looked away but not fast enough. She saw the raw hurt and wanted to smack herself. She was acting as if they'd been broken up for three months and not three minutes.

She got to her feet. "I should let you rest some more. I'll come back later to check on you, if you want."

He gingerly touched his cast. "Maybe it'd be best for now to have someone else check on me."

His words were like a punch to the gut but she kept the smile on her face. "I'll have Niella or Luke come check on you then." With nothing else left to say she closed the door behind her and exhaled.

"How'd it go?"

Sydney nearly jumped out of her skin. "Would you stop doing that?" She whirled on Cali. "Do you do that to Felix?"

Cali uncrossed her arms and smiled. "All the time. One time I got him so good in the kitchen he sent cake dough flying straight into the ceiling."

Poor Felix.

"So, how'd it go?" she repeated.

Sydney shrugged and looked back at the door as if she'd be able to see Joel on the other side. "Not like I wanted, but better than expected, I guess."

Cali gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm. "At least it's over now and you can start afresh with Merrick. There'll be nothing hanging over your guys' heads."

"Thanks. By the way where is Merrick?" She stepped into the living room and found that everyone was accounted for except her Mirror Mate. Was that why her chest had ached worse while she was talking to Joel? He'd left? But why would he leave?

Cali shrugged. "I have no idea. He went down the hall I think to check on you and then he stormed out of the house a few seconds later."

Sydney's stomach sank. She thought back to the door slamming after she'd told Joel that she'd wished he'd been her Mirror Mate . . .

"Oh no." Sydney grasped Cali's arms, bringing her to an abrupt halt. "How long ago did he leave?"

"I don't know, five minutes ago maybe. What's wrong?"

Sydney dropped her hands and bolted for the door.

"Sydney?" Cali yelled after her but she didn't stop.

The streets in Felix's neighborhood were empty. She scanned the sidewalks but saw no sign of Merrick. Where could he have gone? She'd been his ride over here and she knew for a fact that he didn't have a cell phone yet so he couldn't have called a cab.

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted his name. There was no answer.

She raced back inside Felix's house and nearly collided with Felix. "Whoa." He caught her shoulders and held her. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

She jerked free of his hold. "I have to leave. I have to find Merrick." She snatched up her purse and keys.

Felix tailed her. "Did something happen to him? Do you need us to go with you?"

She waved him off as she climbed into her car. "I'm fine. I have to do this on my own. It's my fault he left."

• • •

Merrick stared out the bus window lost in thought as his surroundings passed him by. He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. He'd been such an idiot.

Sydney'd told him she was going to break up with Joel. That she wanted him. And like a fool he'd gobbled it all up.

_She never wanted me,_ he thought bleakly. All this time she'd wished Joel was her destined soul mate. _You can't fight destiny._

He grunted and curled closer into himself when a man took the seat next to him. The back of his neck was prickling on and off again and he really didn't feel like seeing what was in anyone else's head. He didn't want to see how shitty everyone else's lives were or weren't. He just wanted to go back to what he'd been doing before Sydney entered his life: paying bills, finding missing persons, finding Alyssa.

_Alyssa . . ._

Sydney had promised to ask Niella about her.

He shook the thought away. That promise, like everything else she'd spoken, was nothing but a lie. He'd been a moron to trust anything she'd said.

He shoved his hands into his worn jean pockets and stopped when his fingers encountered a slick piece of paper. He pulled it out and stared down at the card Vander had given him. His gaze fell to the worn blue notebook nestled between his body and the bus wall. It had been in his possession ever since he took it from Greg's house. He'd refused to let it out of his sight.

_If you give Vander the journal, you could find Alyssa._

He ran his finger over the phone number on the card. He had nothing to lose. Not anymore. No one to lose, no one to protect. Sydney had made her choice, she'd lied to him and deceived him. Him! The one that was able to read emotions and thoughts from objects. And like an idiot he'd never read anything of Sydney's purposely because he didn't want to violate her privacy. It had only been her shirt that one time.

Fuck privacy.

He knew better than to trust women. They were never what they seemed and this was the last time he was going to be kicked in the teeth. He rubbed at his chest in an attempt to quell the hollow feeling within. The action only angered him more.

He yanked the chord above his head and the bus pulled off at the next stop. He clutched Kevin's notebook to his chest as he maneuvered himself off the bus.

He scouted his surroundings until he found what he was looking for. He pulled some coins from his pockets and punched in Vander's number.

"Yes?"

"It's me." Merrick said without preamble.

"Mr. Haskell, can this really be you?" Vander oily voice slithered over the line.

"It is. Are you still in California or did you flee the state?"

"I'm still here. Just taking care of some investments is all. One of which I'm sure is going to be delighted to hear your voice."

Regina. Vander was getting her out of jail.

Merrick shuddered at the thought of her free once more. He'd worked months on end before to put women and men like her away.

But that was a different life.

"Do you still want Kevin's journal?" He cut the bullshit and got straight to the point.

Silence on the other end before, "You have it? The real one?"

So he'd realized the box he'd obtained was filled with nothing?

"I do, but I want your word—you're to help me find my sister. You said you could guarantee it."

"And I can, but I'm curious, what has caused the sudden change of heart?"

_A change of heart, indeed._

He redirected his thoughts before they got away from him.

"Nothing that need concern you. I'm willing to trade the journal for access to your company's resources and a guarantee of finding my sister when Kevin wakes up. I will not work for you. Are we clear? This is a one time deal: the journal for my sister and anything related to my sister."

"That doesn't sound like a very fair trade, Mr. Haskell. You'll be getting all my resources but any help you could offer me you're refusing to give?"

"Take it or leave it, I don't care. I'll burn this journal right now if you don't take the deal, it's no matter to me."

"And what if there's nothing in it about my Mirror Mate?"

He clutched the notebook in his hand. "There is."

For the next few seconds he heard nothing but Vander's breathing. "You read it?"

"I did. Is that a problem?"

There was a thoughtful sound on the other end. "No, I guess not. Very well, Mr. Haskell. When and where would you like to exchange items?"

"Exchange items?"

"Yes, the journal for a laptop connected to any and all databanks to the Kratos Corporation. You won't have to deal with any pesky security codes. You'll have full access to anything, everything, and anyone. There will be a specific e-mail set up for you that will grant you access to numerous people in high places. Is that good enough for you?"

"What's the catch?"

"No catch, Mr. Haskell. The laptop for the journal. But I'd like to point out that I'm taking a lot on faith here that there will be useful information for me in this journal. If you've lied to me again, your death will be a slow and painful one, that I can guarantee."

"Your threats don't scare me, Vander. There's information you want in here. Swing by my apartment in two days' time and you'll get your trade. I trust you remember where I live."

"I do."

"Good. And by the way, Vander, her name is Deborah."

He hung up the phone and dug out the attached phone book for the closest hotel. There was no way he could return to his apartment. He couldn't trust Vander. He'd probably sic Jente on him in the middle of the night to slit his throat and take the journal. There'd be less hassle that way. That's what Merrick would do if he were an evil and power hungry millionaire.

# Chapter 27

Merrick waved down the cab he'd called to take him to his apartment. As the taxi pulled up to the curb he got a good look at himself in the window. Dark circles under his eyes, pale skin, sunken cheeks. If possible he looked worse than he did when he'd first escaped Vander.

He blamed it on his horrible sleeping pattern. He'd barely been able to sleep for the past two days. His thoughts kept circling unbidden to Sydney. Every time he'd dreamed, it was of her face, her body . . .

He'd wake up with a raging hard-on and a fierce aching in his chest that refused to leave him.

Was this what he was to endure for the rest of his life?

He hoped Sydney was suffering as much as he was, but as soon as the thought left him he instantly regretted it. Even now he wanted no harm to come to her.

He swore under his breath and wrenched the car door open. He barked his address to the driver and sulked in the back, already feeling on edge. He'd thought finding his Mirror Mate would be a blessing, not a curse.

_I guess that's what happens when your Mirror Mate doesn't want you._

And to think he thought himself in love with her.

His stomach twisted painfully. He rolled down the window to get some air.

"Are you all right?" the driver asked him. "You look a little green. Do you need me to pull over? I don't want you puking in my car."

"I'll be fine," Merrick growled at him. "Just drive."

He clutched the edges of his seat. No wonder this was so hard for him. He was in love with Sydney. The realization was worse than being kicked in the gut.

_You're pathetic. Weak. The whole thing was an act and you went and fell in love with the woman. It serves you right._

He leaned forward in his seat and rested his head in his hands. He fisted his hair—wanted to pull it from his head. Damn her. Damn her whole guild for making him feel anything for them.

It was his time back at the station all over again.

_Not for long,_ he thought darkly.

He straightened and glanced down at the journal next to him. In a few short minutes his mind would be occupied with finding Alyssa. He'd be back to what was really important in his life. He had no reason to be invested in stopping Vander. He wasn't a member of the Guild of Truth. He scoffed at the title. Truth . . . yeah, right. As long as he was left alone with the Kratos resources at his fingertips, he didn't care what the Guild of Truth did.

_Yes you do. Don't lie to yourself. You're not that heartless of a person._

Yes he was.

_If you were, then you would've given Vander the journal yesterday, not today when—_

"We're here," the cab driver said bluntly.

Merrick snatched the journal and flung money at the driver, uncaring when he started shouting obscenities at him.

He didn't see any suspicious vehicles parked outside his apartment building but he could sense that he was being watched. "Come and get it, Vander," he mumbled and took his stairs two at a time.

There were no intruders inside his apartment and he hastily changed into a pair of clean clothes. As soon as he stepped out of his bedroom there came a knock on his door. Short and clipped. A business knock. Vander.

He tucked the journal into the back waistband of his pants and tugged his shirt to cover it.

Vander was waiting on the other side of the door, along with Regina, Dennis, and the nameless pain inflictor. Merrick didn't step back to let them in. "Those three stay out here," he told Vander plainly.

Vander inclined his head. "If that is what you wish."

Merrick stepped back.

Vander strolled into his home, a fancy cane held in one hand. There was a slight limp to his gait and Merrick smirked. He wondered if Felix or Cali had been the one to give it to him.

He slammed the door in Regina's face and turned to Vander. "Body's a little more fragile these days, huh?"

Vander leaned heavily on his cane. "I'm afraid old age just doesn't agree with me. Now, where is the journal?"

"Where's my laptop?" It hadn't escaped him that Vander wasn't carrying any kind of backpack.

Vander smiled and gave a careless shrug. "You'll get your laptop after you give me the journal. Regina has it out in the hall."

"Bullshit." Merrick ripped open his door.

Regina and her two partners still stood there in formation. Dennis handed her a black bag that she held up to him. It was the right size but when he went to reach for it she pulled it back.

"We had a deal, Mr. Haskell," Vander said from behind him.

He turned so neither party was at his back. "How do I know that bag has a laptop in it and not a collection of rocks?"

"Very paranoid, aren't you?" said Vander.

"I like to think of it as being careful."

Vander nodded to Regina and she zipped open the bag, exposing a shiny new laptop. Vander held his hand out and she carefully handed it over.

He limped back into Merrick's apartment.

Merrick slammed the door in Regina's face. He'd never get tired of that.

Vander set the bag on the coffee table and remained standing. "You have your prize, now where is mine?"

Merrick lifted up the tail end of his shirt and pulled out the notebook.

Vander smirked. "How very like a cop you are."

Merrick shrugged. "Some habits are hard to kick."

Vander came forward and gingerly took the journal. "I know the feeling," he said before latching on to Merrick's exposed forearm.

A mad gleam came to Vander's eye, a gleam that Merrick knew all too well, but it was too late. Pain ripped through him as Vander stole his life energy into himself. Vander moaned. Merrick's knees buckled and he fell to the floor.

• • •

Sydney brought her phone up to her ear.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I-I'd like to report a break-in." She forced shakiness into her voice. A few seconds later she hung up and pulled her bag of goodies into her lap. She readied three syringes and slung the strap over her head as she made her way across the street to Merrick's apartment. For the past two days she'd been staked out. She'd refused to let him go without a fight, without explaining that what he'd heard had been out of context. After the first night, she'd seen Regina scouting out the place so she'd gone back to her clinic and picked up a few supplies. It was obvious that Vander was still after Merrick.

Now he was trapped in his apartment with Vander and the trio from San Francisco. She'd be damned if she let them get the better of Merrick. As she climbed the stairs to Merrick's apartment she pulled out a bottle of Felix's cologne and sprayed herself.

No need to give Regina a heads up.

She spied the backs of their legs first. She readied her syringes, her heartbeat hammering in her chest.

_You can do this._

She crawled up the stairs slowly, hoping Regina wouldn't notice her smell coming up behind her. She'd only wanted to disguise her scent so Regina wouldn't identify her. She was tempted to use her powers but if she used her Shield then that would give her away faster than her scent.

Her plan was working as she reached the top of the stairs. Regina didn't even turn. A moan and a grunt came from inside and all her fear vanished as her concern for Merrick overtook her.

"Looks like Vander made his move." Regina went to open the door.

Sydney sprang. She got both men in the thigh and shoved the plunger down without mercy. Both men screamed like little girls.

Regina whirled, Merrick's apartment door swung open, forgotten. "You." Regina's eyes glittered with hate.

"Me." Sydney charged. She was out for blood.

Regina tried to duck but there was nowhere to go. Sydney crashed into her and they fell into Merrick's home, Sydney on top. She held her syringe in both hands, struggling to push it into Regina's chest.

Regina's face was bright red with exertion as she held Sydney off. Both their arms where quaking with the effort. "You bitch," Regina ground out. "If you inject that into my heart, you'll kill me."

"I'm a vet, you fucking moron. I know dosages—and how do you know I don't want you dead?"

For the first time Sydney saw true fear in Regina's eyes.

Sydney gained a few inches. She was so close.

Regina was starting to sweat.

Sydney could see her victory. She just had to find Merrick—

She looked up.

Big mistake.

Vander hovered over her Mirror Mate like a giant spider sucking the life out of its prey.

"Merrick!"

She threw up her Shield. Regina took advantage of her distraction and flipped Sydney over her head.

She landed with a grunt. Pain exploded in her chest as air was forcefully expelled from her lungs.

Numbly she flexed her fingers and found the syringe still within her grasp.

Regina lunged for her.

Sydney rolled. Not far enough.

Regina landed on her back and grasped her hair. She drove her face into the hard floor.

Sydney cried out. She threw her arm back and stabbed Regina right in her trapezius. She screamed.

Sydney shoved the plunger down. Regina threw her face back into the floor and Sydney lost her grip on the syringe. Her vision wavered in and out. The back of her neck tingled then stopped.

_No. Must protect Merrick._

She forced her Shield back up and threw her head back with everything she had.

A sickening crunch met her ears and Regina groaned in pain.

Something hot and sticky drenched the back of Sydney's neck and shirt and copper tinged the air.

Blood.

Sydney rolled and Regina fell like a rag doll onto the floor next to her, the needle still sticking out near her neck.

Despite her dizziness, Sydney plucked the needle out and got to her feet. The world spun but she forced herself to focus. Vander was nowhere in sight.

Sydney ground her teeth but there was nothing else to be done. She ran to Merrick's side.

"Merrick." She cradled his head.

His eyelids fluttered open. "Syd?"

She kissed him. "Are you all right? Can you stand?"

She helped him into a sitting position and got him onto the couch. "I should be okay in a few minutes," he said. "That fucker tried to kill me."

"Vander has a nasty habit of doing that," she said dryly.

"Sydney, what the hell are you doing here?"

"You mean besides saving your life? I've been staking out your house for the past couple days. There's something I have to tell you, something I think you need to hear in proper context. But right now I have to take care of something." She left his side.

"Where are you going?"

She grasped Regina under the armpits and heaved. "I have to stage a break-in one floor down."

Despite Merrick being weakened by Vander he helped Sydney break into an unsuspecting neighbor's apartment where they threw Regina, Dennis, and their buddy inside.

Sydney could already hear the sirens and dashed back up the stairs with Merrick to hide in his room. "I need to shower in case they come asking questions," she said.

And ask questions the police did.

Dressed in nothing but a robe with wet hair, Sydney stood by Merrick's side in his doorway as they explained the commotion they'd heard downstairs.

"And you didn't report it?" the officer asked.

"No sir," said Merrick, his arm wrapped around Sydney's shoulders. To the officer it would look like a sign of affection but Sydney knew that if it weren't for her, Merrick would be swaying on his feet.

The officer made a few more notes. "And what happened to your face, miss?"

Sydney's hand instantly went to her face. It throbbed from Regina's abuse but she'd hoped the heat from the shower and the flush on her face would cover it up. But it looked like their officer was a little more perceptive than she'd anticipated. She quickly sought out an excuse.

"When I heard the sirens and then the pounding of footsteps downstairs, I was given quite the fright. I slipped in the shower and bashed my poor money maker into the tile." She used her best bubbly voice to convey that she was an accident prone bimbo.

It worked.

"Very well, thank you for your time."

Merrick shut the door and they turned around to both stare at the large blood stain on his floor.

"Good thing he didn't want to be invited in," Sydney said as she helped Merrick over to the couch. "I'll clean that up right away."

Merrick remained eerily silent the entire time she cleaned. By the time she finished her whole body was on edge. She could feel the tension building in the room.

She drained the last of the water down the sink and nearly jumped out of her skin when Merrick's voice spoke right in her ear. "What are you doing here, Sydney?"

The bucket clattered in the sink as she spun on him.

His face was dark and haggard. He looked horrible. Vander's attack on him didn't help either. Anger simmered in his ice blue eyes, but there was also a flicker of vulnerability. A spark of feeble hope.

Her heart lurched.

"Why did you leave Felix's that day?" She needed to know what he'd heard, what he was feeling, and deal with it accordingly.

He crossed his arms. "I had my reasons."

Sydney's temper sparked. He was going to pretend that he hadn't heard anything? Fine. Two could play at this game.

"So you just decided to leave us high and dry for no good reason? I thought you were better than that."

His jaw bulged.

"I don't know what made you want to leave," she continued, "but the least you could do is give us back the journal." She held her hand out.

If possible, his face grew darker. "I don't have it."

Her little act crumbled. "What? What do you mean you don't have it? You left with it!"

"I traded it to Vander for information on my sister."

Sydney's world spun. All she could think was that Greg had been right. They never should have taken the journal. "You idiot!" she exploded and shoved him. "What were you thinking?"

Merrick snapped. "I was thinking how stupid I was to fall for your lovey dovey act. That's what! You played me. You never wanted me as your Mirror Mate, you said as much to Joel. I heard you. All that time together you had me tagging after you like some whipped puppy! Why bother stringing me along? Huh? You wanted another man on the side, was that it?"

Sydney's hand flew before she knew what was happening. She punched him in the gut.

Merrick grunted and clutched his abdomen. He chuckled before speaking in a deadly voice. "Get out of my house."

She trembled.

_Merrick would never hurt you._

"No." She raised her chin stubbornly. "You want to know why I've been staked outside your house? It's because I care about you. You said you overheard me telling Joel I didn't want you as my Mirror Mate, well, if you would have stuck around you would have heard me tell him that at one point in time I _used_ to wish Joel was my destined soul mate. But not anymore. I broke things off with Joel. You would have learned this if you hadn't run off. I broke up with him just like I said I would because I don't love him anymore."

Merrick's brow furrowed.

She tried stepping closer to him but he backed away from her. "I don't want to hear your lies. Save them for someone more gullible than I because I'm done."

"I'm not lying, you jackass." She finally understood Cali's need to resort to name calling. Men just seemed to respond better that way.

Merrick blinked. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me. Now are you going to listen to me or not? I don't love Joel." She dug deep inside herself for courage and plowed onward. "I love you, Merrick."

His eyes wavered and right when she was sure he'd cave, he turned his back on her. "If you won't leave, then I will," he said gruffly.

Her heart shattered.

She watched him make his way toward the door. With a finality that made her want to cry, she knew that once he stepped through those doors he'd be gone from her life forever.

_Please don't leave me,_ she whispered in the deepest part of her soul. Something fragile inside of her reached out. _Merrick . . ._

Merrick stopped dead with his hand on the knob of his door.

In the recesses of her mind she heard a tentative and hopeful, _Sydney?_ before everything was enveloped in heat and whiteness.

# Chapter 28

Merrick awoke to a fierce burning inside his chest. He blinked up at his ceiling before jackknifing into a sitting position.

How the hell had he gotten on the floor?

He rubbed at his chest absently. Heat blazed from within, like a mini fire. It filled him up—made him feel whole.

_Sydney—_

He spotted her a few feet away on the floor just like he'd been.

"Sydney." He rushed to her side and cradled her against his chest. With her in his arms, the heat in his chest turned into a deep warmth that seeped into every pore of his body. He stared down at her beautiful face in awe.

Could it be possible?

Had they . . . bonded?

He shook her gently. "Come on, Sydney, open those beautiful green eyes of yours. Even if all you do is glare at me, which I might add, I deserve. I was such an asshole. I should have believed you. I wanted to—I just—"

"You can quit babbling." She spoke without opening her eyes. A smile curled her lips. "I accept your apology."

He crushed her to his chest, vowing to never let her go.

"Merrick," Sydney squeaked. "Can't breathe."

He released her instantly and she inhaled deeply.

"I see you got your strength back."

He quickly took an assessment of his body and found that he felt great. Better than great. He was rejuvenated.

"How do I feel so fantastic?" He pulled back far enough to stare into her eyes.

Her emerald eyes shone up at him with such love it made his heart hurt. "Because we bonded." She placed one hand over his heart and the other over her own. "I've never felt anything like it before," she whispered.

He covered her hand with one of his. That oh-so-familiar jolt skittered through his body. His cock tightened and his eyes dipped down to take note that Sydney was clad in nothing but a bathrobe.

When his eyes wandered back to hers, he found stark desire flaring bright. "Have you ever been taken on the floor?" he asked her roughly.

She visibly shivered. She undid the belt of her robe and shook her head. "No," she said breathlessly.

Merrick hissed when the robe fell open, exposing her perky breasts. Her nipples were already hard and begging for his mouth.

_Easy_ , he calmed himself.

He rolled onto his back and dragged Sydney atop him. There was no need for her to suffering being on the bottom. He hadn't cleaned the floor in a while and he didn't mind a little dirt and grit.

She straddled his waist and pulled his shirt up and over his head. He kept himself in check as her hands ghosted over his chest, light as a fairy. He cupped her breasts in his hands and gently kneaded.

He groaned when she raked her nails along his skin and he couldn't help but ground himself against her bottom.

He cursed his jeans. They were all that stood in his way of sliding deep inside Sydney.

As if sensing his distress she leaned down until her chest was flush with his and fused their lips together.

Merrick's control was slipping. He hadn't sampled her in so long and she tasted so good. He wrapped his hand in her hair and pressed her closer to deepen their kiss.

She slid herself against him wantonly.

Merrick forced his attention to their kiss, lest he come in his pants.

He forced his tongue past her lips and stroked deep into her mouth. She met him stroke for stroke, lick for lick. His body was driven to a fevered pitch. His cock strained against the fly of his jeans and he didn't know how much more he could take.

Sydney broke their kiss to trail her lips down his neck, her hands questing further south until she reached the waistband of his jeans.

Finally.

Merrick dropped his head back as she worked his pants down his thighs, just enough to free him.

She inhaled sharply, as if she'd forgotten how big he was.

Merrick smirked.

He pushed her robe the rest of the way off her body until she was blessedly naked atop him. The sight was erotic as hell.

They were both breathing heavily by the time she pushed herself down onto him. They both moaned and the heat inside Merrick felt near to bursting. He arched his back and slid deeper inside her.

Her fingers bit into his chest where she was using him like a balancing board. Slowly she started to rock, then she rose up on her knees to sink back down on him.

Merrick bit his tongue to keep from shouting. She was so wet and hot around him.

Eventually she found a rhythm that had him meeting her halfway. When she started to tire he grasped her hips and helped her, driving himself up into her over and over as she rode him.

He felt his climax building.

Sydney's inner muscles clenched around him and she came with a muffled cry.

Merrick drank in the sight of her: her head thrown back, her blonde hair a messy halo around her head. Her green eyes glittered with satisfaction and he'd been the one to give it to her.

"I love you," he told her right as he was thrown over the edge.

His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her close as he shoved up off the floor to empty himself inside her.

He must've temporarily blacked out because when next he blinked, Sydney's head was pillowed on his chest. She traced lazy circles along his biceps and from time to time he could feel her lips press delicate kisses to his flesh.

"I love you too," she whispered against him.

He ran his hand through her hair, down her spine, and cupped her bottom. "I'm so sorry I was an asshole to you earlier."

She picked her head up to rest her chin on her arm. "I'm sorry you heard what you did and thought I didn't love you."

He traced his finger down her cheek. "I should have never doubted you. I was hurt. Ever since my powers manifested I've never been able to trust another. I should have realized I could trust you, but I was too fucking stupid."

She kissed him tenderly. When she pulled back her eyes were filled with sadness. "Greg was right, we should have never taken Kevin's journal. Now Vander has it in his clutches."

And this was where Merrick felt like a real fucking moron. "I should have known he'd double cross me. My anger at you and the guild clouded my judgment. He took the laptop, the journal, and tried to kill me. Under normal circumstances I would have seen his deception a mile away."

She pressed her finger firmly against his lips. "Shh, we'll get it back."

He shook his head, dislodging her hand. "There's no need."

She gave him a puzzled look.

"While I might have been out of it, I wasn't a complete fool. I read the journal and I found the information Vander was after. I also kept the journal a day longer than necessary. Old habits die hard, and no matter how much I wanted to think I didn't care about Vander or your guild, I couldn't bring myself to completely sabotage all our hard work."

"What are you saying?"

He squeezed her bottom affectionately. "I'm saying that if Vander had gotten the journal a day earlier he would have found his Mirror Mate. Her name is Deborah and she was visiting from out of town and would have been at a certain location at a certain time. Yesterday. Today she's gone and the information Vander has at his fingertips is all but useless."

She pushed off his chest hard enough to make him grunt. "Are you serious?" She was grinning like an idiot.

He ran his hands up her back and returned her grin. "Very serious. If Vander wants to find his Mirror Mate now, he's going to have to wait until Kevin wakes up."

"That could take years," said Sydney.

"Let's hope longer."

He pulled her down for a kiss.

# Epilogue

**Two months later.**

Merrick helped Luke center the Christmas tree in the corner of Sydney's clinic's lobby.

"You're still crooked." Niella tilted her head as she watched them from a distance.

"That's because your head is crooked," shot back Luke.

Merrick still had no idea how he'd gotten roped into this. Last night he'd been happily lying in bed after sex with Sydney, ready to drift off to sleep, when she'd asked him if he'd help decorate the clinic. He'd been too tired to do anything else but agree. Now, as he adjusted the tree for perhaps the millionth time, he realized Sydney had tricked him into this. She'd lured him in with sex until his defenses were down and his mind was fogged, then she'd sprung her trap.

He shook his head. The plan was brilliant, actually.

"Let's finish with everything else, then we can come back to the tree and mess with it some more." Merrick pulled out decorations that stuck to the exam room doors and handed some off to Niella.

Luke stepped up to take a share and stopped when Sydney's voice traveled from the back of the clinic. "Luke, I need some assistance here, please."

Luke smiled. "Duty calls." He cheerfully sprinted off.

Luke had started working for Sydney weeks ago after going through a crash course in being a veterinary assistant. It turned out that Luke had a real knack for working with animals. He looked a lot happier, though Merrick could still sense his unease every once in a while. It'd take Luke a long time before he felt comfortable enough to not have to check over his shoulder every five minutes.

Hell, Merrick even found himself still checking every dark corner of his life for Vander, half expecting him to come out of the shadows and kill him for ruining his only chance at finding his Mirror Mate. But so far he'd remained off the radar. A week ago they'd gotten a lead on some illegal activity at another Kratos location and had sent Felix and Cali. The two were due to return today, and they were all going to gather at Felix's for a welcome home/pre-Christmas dinner.

While it was a nice change to think of Vander as gone for good, Merrick knew he'd be back. Kevin and Collette were still waiting in their hospital room. Vander wouldn't leave that kind of treasure just sitting around. If Merrick had to guess, he'd say Jente was left behind to watch over Vander's prized Dreamer.

Merrick made his way toward the exam rooms to begin the decorating process when the phone started to ring.

Niella smirked at the excuse to stop helping with the decorations.

"Not you too," he said.

She gave Merrick a mock salute before quickly rolling behind the receptionist desk. "Duty calls," she parroted Luke's words and picked up the phone.

Merrick stared down at all the cheesy Christmas decorations in his hands. "Unbelievable."

• • •

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Merrick looked over his shoulder and started at the sight of Joel.

Dinner was over and everyone had sprawled out on the couches as Felix put on some ridiculous animated—claymation?—Christmas movie.

Merrick had been busy in the kitchen opening another bottle of wine when Joel had snuck up on him. He hadn't really seen much of Joel for the past two months. Not that he could blame him for wanting some space.

Tonight had been the first time they'd all really been together for a long period of time. Sydney had cut back on the public displays of affection and Merrick had had no problem with that. He didn't want to rub it in Joel's face. Joel had been doing a good job of keeping a fake smile plastered on his face, and Merrick had only caught a couple of wistful glances at Sydney the entire night.

Merrick cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the man in front of him. "Sure. What'd you need to talk to me about?"

Joel led him back to the guest room and gently shut the door once they were both inside. "It's not so much talking as I wanted to give you something—something for Sydney." He pulled out a velvet box from his pants and quickly gave it to Merrick as if he was afraid of losing his nerve.

Curious, Merrick opened the box. His eyes widened. "Joel, I can't give her this. It's too much." Inside the box was a beautifully crafted gold necklace with a pearlescent seashell charm.

When he tried to give it back to him, Joel pulled his hands back and held them out at his sides. "I can't give it to her. I don't have that right anymore, Merrick. Besides, the necklace screams Syd. She'll love it and I can't bring myself to return it. Just give it to her. She doesn't need to know it was ever from me."

Merrick stared down at the pendant. "Why are you giving it to me? You could have given it to anyone else in the guild."

Joel shrugged. "You make her happy. This'll make her happy and as long as she's happy, I can pretend that I am too."

Merrick's respect for Joel went up about ten notches. Under different circumstances he'd like to think they could've been the best of friends. But life didn't work that way, and so Merrick kept his distance. Maybe one day they'd be able to become friends. He didn't mind waiting.

He curled his hands around the necklace. "Thanks. Is there any specific date you'd like me to give it to her?"

"Tonight, if you want. I heard rumors that tonight was going to be a special night."

With that he left.

Merrick had no idea what Joel had meant until after the movie when Felix started to put on some seasonal music. Sydney pulled Merrick up to dance while Felix and Cali swayed around the floor. Out of nowhere a very non-Christmas song came on and Felix dropped down to one knee in front of Cali.

Sydney gasped as Felix took out a little black box and flipped it open to reveal a white gold band adorned with a black diamond.

"Cali Crazar." He stared up into Cali's wide obsidian eyes. "I'm already yours for the rest of time, but would you marry me anyway?" Felix flashed her a grin and Cali nearly tackled him to the ground.

"You pompous ass," Cali said. "You told me you were going into that jewelry store to gather intel."

"And you bought that?" Niella asked incredulously.

Cali glared at her good naturedly over Felix's shoulder.

"So is that a yes?" Felix asked.

Cali kissed him soundly on the mouth. "Of course it's a yes," she told him, then her lips moved but Merrick couldn't hear a word. It was as if he suddenly went deaf.

Felix's grin grew wider at whatever Cali said. It looked as if he had no trouble hearing her.

The alcohol really started flowing then. Merrick stole Sydney away before they had too much.

"What is it?" Sydney giggled as he closed the guest door behind her.

It looked like she'd already had a few good drinks.

"I wanted to give you something. I figured tonight was a good night." He pulled the box out and handed it to Sydney.

She instantly sobered. "Oh, Merrick . . . " She gingerly opened it and her breath caught. "It's beautiful. How'd you know I loved seashells?"

Merrick's smile was bittersweet. "Let's just say someone passed on the information."

Sydney beamed and threw her arms around his neck. "I love it. Will you put it on for me?"

When they went back to the living room everyone commented on Sydney's necklace. Cali and Sydney had fun comparing jewelry and as the night neared its end, Joel and Felix held up their beer bottles to gather attention.

"All right everyone, we have an announcement. We've official created a Title for Merrick."

They lifted their drinks in his direction.

"I know it's been a while," said Felix, "but you were a little tricky to figure out. So we've settled on . . . drum roll please . . . "

Joel pounded on the nearby coffee table.

"The Decoder," Felix said with a flourish.

Sydney's nose wrinkled. "Ew," she yelled. "You make him sound like a cereal box toy or something."

Joel and Felix opened their mouths to protest when Luke shot eagerly to his feet. "Hey guys, have you thought up a name for me yet?"

"Uh . . . " Joel looked to Felix.

"Sure," said Felix. "You're the . . . um . . . "

"The Generator," Joel shouted triumphantly as if the thought had just struck him.

Merrick stared down at his drink and realized with all the alcohol they'd consumed the name probably had just popped up to him.

Luke's face fell. "The Generator? That sounds too much like terminator."

Felix shoved Joel. "Yes! The Generator." He dropped his voice and adopted his best Arnold Schwarzenegger accent as he spoke the title. "I now dub it mandatory to say your name like this."

"What?" said Luke.

"Come on," Joel piped up. "Say it." Then he put on his own accent. "Luke the Generator."

Felix shook his head. "Mine was way better, man."

"I don't think so," argued Joel.

Merrick sat up a little straighter and put on the accent. "Luke the Generator, come with me if you want to live."

Joel and Felix both froze and stared at him. Then at the same time they burst.

"Holy shit!"

"That was awesome!"

Cali and Niella both cheered.

Sydney leaned into him with a grin. "I'm so proud," she teased him.

• • •

"So something has been bugging me. You mentioned before that everyone comes up with titles and terms for the guild." Merrick came to a stop at the light as he drove himself and Sydney home.

Sydney yawned. "Yeah. And?"

The light turned green.

"And I was wondering who made up the term Mirror Mates?" he asked.

"Felix. He was the first to find out about them so he named it."

"Is there any reasoning behind it?" He pulled into her designated parking spot and turned off the car.

"Felix believed that two souls that reflect one another are always destined to find each other. Or something."

Merrick turned in his chair and cupped her face. "He's right. And I've never been so glad that you found me."

Sydney's eyes sparkled with love and affection. She was his everything.

She leaned in and kissed him. "I'm glad I found you too."

# Acknowledgments

A quick thank you to all my family and friends that continue to believe in me. I'd also like to thank everyone at Crimson Romance for helping me make this book the best that it can be.

# About the Author

Mary K. Norris loves to travel the world and go on crazy, extreme adventures. Unfortunately, she can't do that all the time, so she creates crazy adventures for her characters in supernatural worlds from the comfort of her home in Southern California. She has a bachelor's degree in Kinesiology and when she's not reading or writing she's usually found doing some kind of physical activity, playing video games, or at Disneyland.
This edition published by

Crimson Romance

an imprint of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

57 Littlefield Street

Avon, MA 02322

www.crimsonromance.com

Copyright © 2012 by Mary K. Norris

ISBN 10: 1-4405-6187-7

ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6187-0

eISBN 10: 1-4405-6188-5

eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6188-7

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

Cover art © 123rf.com
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster ebook.

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# Contents

  1. Cover
  2. Electromancer
    1. Title Page
    2. Dedication
    3. Chapter 1
    4. Chapter 2
    5. Chapter 3
    6. Chapter 4
    7. Chapter 5
    8. Chapter 6
    9. Chapter 7
    10. Chapter 8
    11. Chapter 9
    12. Chapter 10
    13. Chapter 11
    14. Chapter 12
    15. Chapter 13
    16. Chapter 14
    17. Chapter 15
    18. Chapter 16
    19. Chapter 17
    20. Chapter 18
    21. Chapter 19
    22. Chapter 20
    23. Chapter 21
    24. Chapter 22
    25. Chapter 23
    26. Chapter 24
    27. Chapter 25
    28. Chapter 26
    29. Chapter 27
    30. Chapter 28
    31. Acknowledgments
    32. About the Author
    33. Copyright
  3. Underground
    1. Title Page
    2. Chapter 1
    3. Chapter 2
    4. Chapter 3
    5. Chapter 4
    6. Chapter 5
    7. Chapter 6
    8. Chapter 7
    9. Chapter 8
    10. Chapter 9
    11. Chapter 10
    12. Chapter 11
    13. Chapter 12
    14. Chapter 13
    15. Chapter 14
    16. Chapter 15
    17. Chapter 16
    18. Chapter 17
    19. Chapter 18
    20. Chapter 19
    21. Chapter 20
    22. Chapter 21
    23. Chapter 22
    24. Chapter 23
    25. Chapter 24
    26. Epilogue
    27. Acknowledgments
    28. Copyright
  4. Reedming the Night
    1. Title Page
    2. Chapter 1
    3. Chapter 2
    4. Chapter 3
    5. Chapter 4
    6. Chapter 5
    7. Chapter 6
    8. Chapter 7
    9. Chapter 8
    10. Chapter 9
    11. Chapter 10
    12. Chapter 11
    13. Chapter 12
    14. Chapter 13
    15. Chapter 14
    16. Chapter 15
    17. Chapter 16
    18. Chapter 17
    19. Acknowledgments
    20. Copyright
  5. Shield from the Heart
    1. Title Page
    2. Dedication
    3. Contents
    4. Chapter 1
    5. Chapter 2
    6. Chapter 3
    7. Chapter 4
    8. Chapter 5
    9. Chapter 6
    10. Chapter 7
    11. Chapter 8
    12. Chapter 9
    13. Chapter 10
    14. Chapter 11
    15. Chapter 12
    16. Chapter 13
    17. Chapter 14
    18. Chapter 15
    19. Chapter 16
    20. Chapter 17
    21. Chapter 18
    22. Chapter 19
    23. Chapter 20
    24. Chapter 21
    25. Chapter 22
    26. Chapter 23
    27. Chapter 24
    28. Chapter 25
    29. Chapter 26
    30. Chapter 27
    31. Chapter 28
    32. Epilogue
    33. Acknowledgments
    34. About the Author
    35. Copyright

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