"Do we know each other?" Mrs. Hunt's question cut stridently across the babble of noise around us, causing several women in the group to turn and look at me.
"What?" Realizing immediately what I'd done, I blinked and forced surprise into my voice as I added, "Oh, I'm sorry. I was looking at the view. I didn't mean to appear like I was staring." Which, like a greenhorn damn fool, I had been.
"And you are?" Her voice was no less frosty than before, and grated my nerves as sharply as nails down a chalkboard. But it wasn't the voice of the person I'd heard in that place, and it only made my confusion that much stronger.
I gave her my best "no-one-is-home" smile, and held out a hand. "Barbie Jenkins."
She ignored the hand. "I can't recall a Barbie Jenkins on the list. Meryl?"
The woman identified as Meryl looked down her nose at me. Not a bad effort considering I was taller by a good three inches.
"No, there was no Barbie Jenkins on the guest list."
"Oh, that's because I came with a friend."
She raised a too-bushy eyebrow. "And the name of that friend?"
"Quinn O'Conor." I saw no harm in naming him, regardless of what my memories and senses were telling me about this woman. If she'd done the guest list, she'd know he was supposed to be here.
Her expression changed fractionally. She sniffed. Haughty didn't even begin to describe the sound. "He's a very generous supporter of the organization."
He was? That was news. But then, nearly everything about Quinn was news to me.
"Very generous," Meryl agreed gravely.
Meaning, obviously, that his choice of dinner partners would be overlooked because of it. If I wasn't so confused, I probably would have laughed at the old cows and their uptight attitudes - something that would surely have endeared me further.
"I'm sure he's going to continue his support," I gushed. "He's always saying what a wonderful - "
"Of course, dear. Thank you." She gave me an oh-so-insincere smile, and returned her attention to her friends.
Summarily dismissed, I quickly turned around and headed back into the crowd. I had no idea what was going on, but the one thing I needed to do was avoid Mrs. Hunt getting suspicious about me.
Only I didn't get all that far. A hand caught mine and I found myself being pulled into a body that was hard and familiar. The scent of warm leather and exotic spices wrapped around me, teasing my senses, stirring my hormones. Not Quinn. Kellen.
"Hello, Riley," he whispered, his breath so warm against my ear. "It's lovely to see you here."
Fate sure as hell was intent on playing games with my life - or was she merely trying to point me in the right direction?
I turned around to refute his statement, but as my gaze met his, the words died on my lips.
Because he knew. There was no doubt in his green eyes at all. Despite the disguise, despite my scent being covered, he knew it was me. And the depth of that recognition scared me. How could I connect so deeply with someone I didn't really know?
Someone who Quinn distrusted?
But what was perhaps even more scary was the fact that, unlike the Kellen I'd met in Melbourne, this Kellen was all alpha, all power, all need. The patience was gone. This wolf would take what he wanted, and what he wanted was me.
It was a thought that made my blood race. And yet I wasn't here to enjoy myself, wasn't here to play with a prospective mate.
But maybe, just maybe, he could help me with some information gathering.
"I need to ask you some questions - " I started, and he squeezed my hand tightly, making the words cut off.
"Not here. Let's go somewhere else."
I could have resisted. I should have resisted.
I didn't.
And while I would have loved to use the excuse that I couldn't go to Misha aching with need because the bastard didn't deserve it, truth was, I wanted this wolf just as much as he wanted me.
He strode out of the main ballroom and up the hall to the lifts, his grip on my hand forcing me to almost run to catch up with him. "Where are we going?" I asked, a little breathlessly.
"To my office. We won't be disturbed there."
The thought had my pulse skipping. As did the heated, determined look in his eyes. "You work here?"
"I own the building."
"Wow."
A smile touched his lips as his gaze slid down my body. Heat stirred deep within. "That dress is a wow." His gaze rose. "But I intend to take it off you in precisely" - he glanced at his watch - "twenty seconds."
The lift chimed softly as the door opened. He tugged me inside and pressed the top floor button.
"You're getting a little presumptuous, aren't you?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Am I?"
The lift zoomed upward, and for a change, my stomach had no reaction. Maybe it was the presence and heat of the wolf standing so close keeping any reaction but desire at bay. "I came here with someone, you know."
"Quinn O'Conor." Cold amusement touched his green eyes. "It gives me a great deal of pleasure to steal you away from that bastard."
I stepped back. "I hope that's not the only reason because otherwise - "
He laughed, cutting me off. "If I truly wanted to annoy him, I would have taken you somewhere closer, somewhere his vampire senses could feel every little glorious thing I intend to do to you."
And I thought the horse-shifter was hot...
I blew out a breath and resisted the urge to fan myself.
The lift stopped and a small bell chimed as the doors opened. Only they didn't open into a hallway but a huge office with billion-dollar views over the harbor.
"Stunning," I said.
"It is,'" he agreed, but he was looking at me when he said it.
I smiled, liking this wolf more and more. "That lift a private one?"
He waved a keycard I hadn't noticed before. Observant, that was me. "Totally. Why?"
"Because I'd hate for us to be interrupted."
"Oh, we won't be." He tugged me forward. The office was huge, and not just an office. There were double doors to our left that led into a bedroom that looked to be as big as my whole apartment, and a single door farther along that same wall that led into a bathroom.
"You live here?" I asked, almost running to keep up with him again as he skirted around several perfect-for-seduction leather couches.
"Most of the time. I have an apartment in Melbourne, too." He looked over his shoulder, his eyes flashing green fire in the shadowy light. "I intend to be there a whole lot more often."
"Well, good." Then I saw where he was headed and stopped. "Umm, sorry, but I'm afraid of heights, so getting near the windows is not a good idea."
He switched tack, tugging me toward a long mahogany board table. He pushed several chairs aside, some of them crashing to the thick beige carpet as he spun me around and backed me against the table.
My breath caught as his hands slid teasingly down my waist and hips. His fingers briefly caressed my thighs, sending little sparks of electricity shooting through my system, then he caught the hem of the dress and it was being pulled up and over my head. "Twenty seconds, on the dot," he said with a smile.
"I do so admire a man who keeps his word." I hitched my butt onto the tabletop. "Now that you've got me naked, what are you going to do with me?"
"Offer you a drink, of course. What would you like?"
"Would a coffee be pushing the friendship?"
"One espresso coming up."
He walked over to a bar that was bigger than my entire bathroom back home, and grabbed one of the cups sitting beside the coffee-making machine. "Why are you here with Quinn?"
I shrugged. "It's business more than pleasure."
The machine hissed as he began pouring coffee into the cup. "So you are fucking him?"
There was no judgment in that question, just a statement of fact. Which was nice when compared to Quinn's uptight attitudes. I smiled. "Of course I am - why?"
"It just makes it all the more delicious when I steal you away from him." He walked across the room and handed me the cup. "Now, where were we?"
"Chatting," I said. "And drinking coffee."
"You're drinking coffee," he corrected, his voice slightly distracted as he ran one finger down my neck and across my shoulder.
Desire trembled through my veins, and the fires of need leapt into focus. I took a quick sip of coffee, but it didn't do a whole lot to ease the deep-seated ache. "It does take two to keep a conversation going."
"I've always found talking to be overrated."
"And I've always found one person being dressed while the other is naked somewhat unfair."
He grinned and stepped back, then unhurriedly began to strip. I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the show - and it was a good show. The man knew how to do a decent striptease. Once naked, he stepped between my legs, brushed my hair from my left shoulder, and lightly planted a kiss on it.
"I prefer the natural color of your hair," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "It's so much prettier."
"And yet you recognized me, despite the changes," I agreed huskily. "How?"
"An alpha always recognizes his chosen mate."
His words made my heart do crazy things. I barely even knew this wolf, and yet here he was, declaring his intent to make me his. It was thrilling, sexy, and just a little scary. "I'm not your mate."
"But you will be." His mouth replaced his breath on my shoulder, and slowly, languorously, he kissed his way toward my ear. When the sweet heat of his tongue delved inside, a helpless sound of pleasure escaped my lips.
He chuckled, a throaty sound as seductive and as arousing as his touch. His fingers trailed from my hips to my breasts, and lightly began to tease and pinch the engorged points. I squirmed, put my coffee on the table and forgot about it as every inch of my body vibrated with the hunger that flowed through my veins.
When I could stand no more, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him close, so that my breasts were squashed against his chest. The beat of his heart was as wild as mine, and the heat of his desire a furnace that burned my skin, making me sweat. Want.
His mouth brushed mine, a tingling, tantalizing promise of what was to come, then he reached behind me. "Your coffee, madam," he said, offering me the cup.
I smiled and accepted it. "And what will you be doing while I drink it?"
"Oh, this and that."
His fingers slid into my moistness. I groaned, put the cup back down as I shifted to give him greater access. He caressed me, teased me, bringing me to the edge all too quickly. But he offered no release, withdrawing his touch, kissing me fiercely and thoroughly, until the threatening tremors had subsided. Then he offered me coffee and started all over again.
By the time I'd finished the rest of that cup, the coffee was cold and I burned. My heart was hammering so loudly its cadence seemed to fill the silence, and every fiber in my being quivered.
His hand slid up the inside of my spread thighs, his fingers grazing me yet again. I shuddered, thrusting into his touch, sure I was going to burst if he didn't get on with it. "Stop teasing," I moaned, when he did it a second time.
He chuckled, then wrapped his free hand around my neck and kissed me hard. As his mouth claimed mine, his fingers slid between us, pressing into my slickness, caressing, delving, until he'd slipped inside. Then his thumb pressed into my clit, and he began to stroke, inside and out. I shuddered, writhed, as the sweet pressure built and built, until it felt as if I was going to tear apart from the sheer force of pleasure.
Then everything did tear apart, and I was shuddering, writhing, moaning. The tremors hadn't even subsided when his hands tightened on my rump and he pulled me forward. His hardness speared me, and it felt so good I groaned.
He began to move, and thought became impossible. All I could do was move with him, savoring and enjoying the sensations flowing through me. But the calm control of his initial seduction quickly disappeared, replaced by urgency, need. His strokes became fierce, hungry thrusts that shook my entire body, his fingers bruising my hips as he held me close. I didn't care. The sweet pressure had begun to build again, and was quickly reaching boiling point.
We came together, his roar echoing across the silence, his body slamming into mine so hard the whole table seemed to shake.
When I finally caught my breath again, I took his face between my palms and kissed him long and slow. "I think we both needed that."
His grin was that of a man who knows a job has been well done. "Yeah. Though I have to admit, it was a little too fast for my liking."
I grinned. "Fast can be good."
He raised a hand, and gently thumbed away a trickle of sweat from my cheek. "Fast was very good."
"So, you feeling up to answering a few questions now?"
"I think I could manage one or two." He parked his butt on the table beside mine. "What do you want to know?"
"What do you know about Mrs. Hunt?"
"She's a snobby old fart who does a marvelous job for her chosen charities." He studied me for a moment, then said, "Why?"
I hesitated. How much could I tell him? How much should I tell him? "Her name cropped up in an investigation," I hedged. "I've just been sent up here to check her out."
"By whom?"
Oh, crap. Still, if we were going to get involved, he'd have to know sooner or later who I worked for. "The Directorate."
"You're a guardian?" Disbelief edged his voice.
I laughed. "No, just a liaison. But we're short staffed at the mo, so I get to do the unimportant stuff, like follow leads that probably go nowhere."
"What was the lead?"
"That she was involved in some funds going missing." The lie slipped easily off my tongue, and part of me felt guilty about it.
Though the more worrying thing was the fact that only part of me felt guilty about it.
"How is missing money connected with a Directorate investigation? The mob you work for only go after killers, don't they?"
"Generally." I shrugged. "I do what I'm told. Makes life there a whole lot easier."
And if Jack heard me saying that, he'd laugh his head off. Doing what I was told had never been a priority of mine.
He frowned. "She's from an old money family, and takes pride in her charity work. I can't imagine her wanting to jeopardize either her family's standing or her own in the wider community by becoming involved in anything nefarious."
"So you haven't noticed anything odd about her behavior over the last few months?"
"No." He hesitated. "Although she did miss several charity events a few months back. The general said she was ��i."
"You didn't believe him?"
"We're talking about a woman who dragged herself out of hospital after an appendix operation to attend one of her pet events."
"Did you talk to any of her friends about it?"
"'One. Not that I was concerned or anything." He shrugged. "Apparently, she refused to see anyone for at least three weeks. Her friends were quite concerned."
"Did they speculate why?"
"Plastic surgery gone wrong. The general beat her up. Her new nails dropped off and she was mortified with shame."
I raised my eyebrows and he grinned. "Okay, I made that last one up."
"So, once the three weeks was up, she acted same as normal?"
"As far as I noticed, yeah."
"What about her scent?"
He raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"
"Did it change any after her three-week stint of seclusion?"
He hesitated. "Sort of. It got sharper. More distinct."
"In what way?"
He shrugged again. "I really wasn't paying that much attention to the old cow, trust me."
Great. No clue to sate my confusion in that answer. So were my memories totally scrambled, or were they giving me bits of the bigger picture? One I couldn't yet understand? Maybe Mrs. Hunt had been there. Maybe she enjoyed watching her husband taking other women. She didn't exactly look the voyeur type, but these days, you couldn't judge a book by its dowdy cover.
Yet her scent was exactly what I remembered smelling in that room, and it was also the scent of someone in my past. But two people couldn't have the exact same scent. A spoor was as individual as fingerprints or eyes. No two were ever exactly the same.
So why did I remember her scent and not her husband's, if indeed he was there? What the hell was going on?
"What about her husband? Anything odd happen with him over the last few months?"
He shook his head. "Wouldn't know. The general doesn't always get involved with the charities. He's on base a lot, apparently."
"With a wife that looks like that, who can blame him?" I muttered.
Kellen grinned. "That's why a man should pick his woman carefully. He has to live with his choice for the rest of his life."
"Humans don't."
"Humans don't do a lot of things - which is why I'm glad I was born a wolf."
I smiled. "So how come you're here tonight?"
He shrugged. "It's my building, and my dad is one of the sponsors. I'm here representing both parties."
"Not at the moment, you're not."
He placed an arm over my shoulder, and slid me closer. "At the moment, the only thing I'm representing is self-interest."
"Well, I'm here on work's time, and I really should be going back downstairs." But I didn't get up, didn't pull away. It felt too good being close to him.
"You've only been gone half an hour or so. No one important will have missed you yet."
Quinn would have - but I had a feeling that was who Kellen meant when he said "no one important."
His lips met mine and thought went south, not returning until a good hour later. By the time I did make it back down to the main ballroom, meals were being served. Energy caressed my mind, a tingling warmth that curled through my soul. Quinn, wanting me to open the psychic door and talk to him.
Which was not something I wanted to risk given what I'd just been doing. I didn't need the hassle he'd undoubtedly throw my way. So I ignored him and made my way back to our table, sitting down and picking up the napkin like nothing at all had happened.
"Where have you been?" His voice was short. Annoyed.
"Out scouting around."
"Scouting where?"
"Oh, here and there." I resisted the urge to say it was none of his business and took a sip of wine. "What do you know about Mrs. Hunt?"
He glanced around. "We cannot have this conversation here." His voice was little more than a stroke of sound. "There's too many ears."
"So why not just touch their minds and tell them all to ignore us?"
"The room is full of psychic-deadeners, in case you hadn't noticed."
I hadn't, but then, I rarely used my telepathic skills so there was nothing unusual in that. "Since when have psychic-deadeners worried you?"
"They don't, but they do stop you from chatting back."
Which I would have thought he'd actually enjoy. Still, we did need to talk about Mrs. Hunt, so we'd have to do so with the very link Quinn had tried to use moments ago. While the deadeners meant normal telepathic channels wouldn't work, the bond we'd created worked in a whole different area of the brain, and owed its existence to the fact we'd once shared blood.
With a slight grimace, I imagined that psychic door in my mind and threw it open. It was certainly easier to do than the first few times I'd tried.
Why do you ask about Mrs. Hunt? he asked immediately.
His mind-voice was as rich and as sexy as his regular voice, flowing through every corner of my being like a hot summer breeze.
I found the scent I remembered, only it belonged to Mrs. Hunt. And Mrs. Hunt's scent is very similar to the scent of a man from my past.
Then you must have the wrong scent. No two persons have the same scent. Besides, it was a man who abused you in the center, not a woman.
Don't you think I'm more than aware of that fact? I thanked the waitress as she placed an entree plate in front of me, and picked up my knife and fork. I'm just telling you what my senses ate telling me. I can't help it if it's not making sense.
I tucked into my meal as I tried to remember the name of the man who had smelled like Mrs. Hunt, but my memories refused to cooperate. Maybe he'd been a one-night stand. I didn't do it regularly, but I was a wolf, and I didn't not do it, either.
Once I'd finished my meal and the waitress had come back and collected the plate, I asked, How well do you know the Hunts?
He frowned slightly, and somehow managed to carry on a polite conversation with the woman sitting on the other side of him as he said to me, I've only ever seen them at chanty events like this.
And has Mrs. Hunt always looked so... dowdy?
His quick glance was somewhat irritated. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and not always evident on the surface.
Says the man who is never seen with someone less than stunning.
Quinn's amusement shimmered through me. I have an image to uphold.
I snorted softly. In so many ways, this old vampire was so typically male in his responses. And a human male at that.
What pack does Mrs. Hunt come from?
I would have said brown, except I've never seen a wolf from a brown pack with eyes quite like hers. But there again, I wasn't exactly well traveled. Quinn, on the other hand, was.
He sipped his wine, flashed a toe-curling smile at the waitress as she picked up his uneaten plate, then gave me a somewhat darker look. And had me wishing he'd flash a few toe-curling smiles my way occasionally.
Mrs. Hunt isn't a werewolf. His tone suggested I was an idiot to believe otherwise.
But while my memories might be whacked, my instincts were working just fine. Trust me on this - she's a wolf.
No, she's not.
Well, the Mrs. Hunt in this room is. I paused to look around the room. She had to be on one of the tables near the stage, which I couldn't see thanks to a pillar. Could she be a doppelganger of some kind?
Doppelgangers are ghostly replicas, not human tissue.
You know what I mean.
Yes. He paused. If she's a wolf, then she's obviously not the real Mrs. Hunt. The question is, when did the exchange take place?
Kellen's comments came to mind. She apparently disappeared from the charity scene for three weeks a couple of months ago. Wouldn't even talk to her friends, apparently.
How do you know this?
I asked.
Who?
People, I said airly.
Annoyance ran through his gaze. And was that a hint of jealously? Did the vampire suspect?
The vampire suspects, all right. Who the hell did you fuck to get that information?
I met his gaze, and shook my head. That is none of your damn business.
We are here to do a job -
Which I'm goddamn doing, so stop acting like a cuckolded husband.
He looked away. But his anger swam around me, breathtakingly sharp. Well, tough. And it wasn't like our deal had even started yet.
So, why would someone want to replace Mis. Hunt? I said, more to get the conversation back on track than any real desire to continue conversing with the stubborn, stupid man.
The why is easy. Hunt's a general He'd have access to many top secret military areas, Including Landsend?
He looked at me, eyebrow raised. Possibly.
But would Hunt be the type to share military secrets during pillow talk?
Having talked to the man, no. But he might not be doing it knowingly.
Wolves aren't often telepathic.
You are.
Yeah, but that's thanks solely to a vampire background.
So your mother wasn't telepathic ?
I gave him a sideways glance. That comes under the heading of "none of your business," doesn't it?
You are such a bitch sometimes.
I grinned. When you share, I share. It's as simple as that, buddy-boy.
At that point, an MC got up and started proceedings, which included a charity auction. Having no money to play with, my attention wandered back to my original problem - who was the lover in my past that smelled of pine and springtime?
You've had so many you can't remember?
If I could have hauled off and hit him, I would have. Are you going to tell me you can recall the name of every woman you've slept with?
No. But I sure as hell can recall their faces.
Of every single one? Right through all of your twelve hundred and forty odd years?
Every woman I've slept with for pleasure, most certainly.
Yeah, right. I was really believing that one. But that's not every women you've slept with, is it?
No. He raised a hand, bidding for a weird-looking painting.
I've danced with wolves out of the same sort of need. I couldn't tell you what they looked like let alone what they smelled like. I paused, but couldn't resist adding, Remember what you said a few months ago? That a wolf will jump anything with a dick when the need was on her? I guess it's true.
I didn't put it so crudely.
Maybe not, but the intent was there.
He raised his hand again. I believe you told me you'd never got to that stage before.
I believe I may have lied.
And here I was thinking you were at least honest.
I'm a werewolf - we're all lying whores, aren't we?
He looked at me for several long seconds, his expression vampire clean, then just shook his head and looked away.
The auction continued. Quinn bought two paintings and a dinner for two at some fancy restaurant while I got more and more bored. If this was a sample of the high life, then the high life wasn't for me.
The auction finally finished and dessert arrived. I started to tuck in, then saw Mrs. Hunt on the arm of her husband, heading for the door.
"Time for us to go," Quinn said, wrapping his fingers around my arm as he exchanged quick goodbyes with our tablemates.
And do what, precisely?
Follow them.
We grabbed my coat from the cloakroom, and headed out into the foyer. The air here was cooler, and I shivered. We have our orders.
We have half an hour before we have to head back to the airport. I'd like to see where they go.
Probably straight home after such a fun-packed night. The Hunts had already disappeared. We caught the other lift and headed down.
It's unusual for them to leave a function like this so early.
I shoved on my coat, and quickly did up the buttons. Maybe the general's feeling randy.
He gave me a flat look but didn't bother saying anything. I resisted the impulse to grin. It might not be wise, but damn, baiting him was fun.
The lift came to a halt and the doors opened. The Hunts were already out the main doors and walking down the stairs. We hurried after them, slowing only when the foyer doors opened to let us out.
The night air hit like ice, freezing the bits that were exposed. I crossed my arms, trying to stop my teeth from chattering as Quinn pulled me to a stop on the bottom step, then made a quick call to his driver.
The Hunts walked to the leading cab in the rank, the general opening the door for his wife. In that instant, the sensation of danger hit so hard that it left me gasping for air. Air that screamed a warning that something fast and deadly was tearing through the night toward us.
I threw myself sideways, knocking Quinn out of the way. He cursed, his arms going around me, instinctively cushioning my body with his as we fell to the ground. He grunted as we hit, and his eyes widened. Something burned past my ear, and I twisted around in time to see one side of the glass doors shatter.
Someone had shot at us.
A woman screamed. A high-pitched, wailing sound of horror.
Gut churning, I twisted around again.
Martin Hunt lay on the ground, his face little more than a pulpy mass of blood and bone.
Quinn thrust me off him, and I scrambled to my feet.
"Two shooters," he said. "One from the building directly ahead, one from the right."
"I'll take that one," I said, pointing to the building directly ahead as I kicked off my stilettos.
He nodded, and blurred into night. I grabbed my heels then ran with vampire speed across the road and into the office building. Hitting the guard telepathically, I made him forget he'd seen me as I ran into the nearest stairwell.
There was undoubtedly more than one set of stairs, but right now, the important thing was getting to the roof as fast as possible. I could track the assassin's scent from there.
I ran up, and up. And up. Ran until my legs were on fire, my lungs burned and my stomach was doing cartwheels. Once I reached the roof, I wiped the sweat out of my eyes, then carefully opened the door. Or tried to. The damn thing was locked.
So much for not announcing my presence to the shooter.
I stepped back, and kicked the door with as much force as my quaking limbs could muster. It was apparently quite a lot, because the door crashed open. The cold night air swept in, freezing the sweat on my skin and wrapping the scent of musk and man around me. The killer was still here.
I sniffed, trying to get a sense of direction. The wind swirled, making it difficult to judge where, exactly, he was. And what he was.
Which was unusual. This shooter wasn't human, because I was sensing his presence. So why couldn't I tell which race he was?
I wrapped the shadows around me and stepped out. The dark night and the nearby lights seemed to sweep around me, and the realization that I was so very high up hit like a punch, making my stomach turn and head spin.
Then a sense of impending doom washed over me, and the sick sensations were lost under the sudden need to save myself. I dove sideways, landing with a grunt on the hard concrete, scraping skin off hands and knees. Something pinged against the metal of the door and sparks flew. The shooter had infrared sight. Swearing under my breath, I scrambled to my feet and ran like hell for the nearest cooling tower. Soft pings followed, nipping at my heels like a terrier.
Damn, damn, damn. Back pressed hard against the cooling tower's metal casing, I closed my eyes and breathed deep, trying to get some air into my burning lungs. Trying to control the fear lashing at me. The harsh sounds of sirens bit across the night, mingling with the rumble of traffic. I had to get out of this building before the cops arrived. I couldn't afford to get caught up playing twenty questions.
Swallowing heavily, I concentrated on the strongest noises, zoning them into a separate section of consciousness. Then I zeroed in on the underlying, closer noises. A cricket chirruped to my left. Soft footfalls moved to my right.
I swiped at the sweat running down my face with the sleeve of my jacket, then slipped around the cooling tower and peered over the edge. Nothing but a wide expanse of concrete between me and the cooling tower where the shooter must have stood.
Though the footfalls had ceased, the scent on the wind suggested the man had moved to the rear edge of the stairwell. Maybe he was trying to get around me. Maybe he was simply trying to escape.
I retraced my steps and padded silently to the other side of the stairwell. Once I was close to the corner, I stopped and lowered my shields a little, feeling out the shooter's thoughts. Nothing. He was either mind-blind, or he was shielded against psychic intrusion.
I swore under my breath. So much for taking his mind and rendering him helpless. I'd have to do this the old-fashioned way. I risked a peek around the corner.
He was down the far end, on one knee, gun aimed at the tower he'd just vacated. Obviously, he thought me dumb.
I padded forward slowly, resisting the urge to blur and run at him with vampire speed, not wanting to risk the scream of approaching air giving him a warning.
At the last moment he sensed me anyway, turning and firing in one quick movement. The bullet nicked my shoulder, throwing me back and down, digging a trench in my skin deep enough to lose a fingertip in. Pain hit and I hissed, my vision momentarily blurred by the sting of tears. The bastard had silver bullets.
He hadn't been aiming for Quinn earlier. He'd been aiming for me or Mrs. Hunt.
The click of bullets being reloaded echoed across the night. I caught my balance and pivoted, knocking the weapon away from him. His hand darted to his back. I blurred, kicked him in the balls, then whacked one of the shoes across his jaw as he was going down. Fire leapt across his jaw, meaning the shooter was vampire, even if I hadn't sensed it.
His grunt was abruptly cut as the back of his head smashed against the concrete. His eyes rolled back and he didn't move.
Now that adrenaline had faded, the pain hit again. Swearing softly, I tugged off the dress then called to the wolf within me. Power swept around me, through me, blurring my vision, blurring the pain. But I only stayed in my alternate form for a heartbeat, then shifted back. The wound still stung like blazes, but at least the bleeding had stopped.
I re-dressed then and, holding the stilettos at the ready in case he was bluffing, walked over to the shooter. He was Caucasian, probably early twenties, with black hair, tribal tats across his cheeks, and a ring in the middle of his bottom lip. It was the ring that was the psychic shield. Obviously, someone had done a little updating since I'd last seen one.
I straddled his body, plonked down on top of him, and pressed one heel against his chest, just as a precaution. If he moved, I'd stake him, because I wasn't in the mood for a fight right now. He wouldn't die immediately, because the stiletto wasn't long enough to reach his heart from where I had it positioned. But it would give me time enough to read him. And right now, that was all that was important.
I grabbed the lip ring and roughly yanked it out. Blood spurted. He didn't flinch, meaning he was truly out of it. Not that it mattered. Now that his mind was unshielded, it was mine to play in.
Lowering my shields again, I mentally reached out, touching his thoughts, rifling his memories. He was a contract killer, and had been hired yesterday to get rid of me.
Not Mrs. Hunt. Me.
So much for Misha's damn promise that he'd keep me safe and stop the attacks.
I continued rifling through the shooter's thoughts. He didn't know who had hired him, because the hit had been arranged through an intermediary. A man who had brown eyes ringed with blue and amber, and whose face had the same sort of harsh lines as Mrs. Hunt.
Did she have a brother?
Had the kill on General Hunt been deliberate, or an accident? Were the two hits even connected?
His mind couldn't give me the answers. He only knew what he'd been contracted to do.
I glanced up as the wailing sirens came to a halt on the street below. Time to go. I raided the killer's mind again, this time making him believe he had a broken leg. Even if he woke before the cops got here, he wouldn't go anywhere. I rose, patted him down for other weapons, shoved him onto his side so he wouldn't choke to death on his own blood - though if he was a vampire, that was highly unlikely - then kicked the rifle well out of his reach.
Move, Riley. Quinn's voice was edged with concern. The cops will be up on that roof soon.
I'm aware of that. I headed for the stairs. How'd you do?
He'd disappeared by the time I got up there.
I went down the stairs even faster than I'd come up, and a whole different set of muscles woke to protest. No clues as to how?
He left some feathers and the weapon behind.
So the second shooter was a shifter - not that that gave any clue as to identity. My filler had been contracted to hit me, not Hunt.
Hunt was a deliberate shot, not an accident.
I pushed my way out of the stairwell. The guard spun and opened his mouth to speak, but I took control of his mind and made him look past me and see nothing. So, we were both targets simply because we were both at the one spot. The question is, why did they want Hunt dead?
And how did they know you were here, let alone that it was you under that disguise?
I don't know. I just don't know.
The front doors swished open. Lights flashed across the darkness, streaking it with blue and red. Men in white and blue stood around the taxi and Mrs. Hunt, while a gathering crowd looked on in horror.
Awareness prickled across my skin, then Quinn was beside me, a shadow who suddenly found substance. He wrapped his hand around my arm and guided me to the right.
Where are we going?
'You re going to the airport. I'm going to follow Mrs. Hunt.
Jack, won't be happy.
Jack is not my boss, and we need to know what the hell is going on. If Mrs. Hunt is a replacement, she'll know something. Or somebody. I intend to find out which it is.
Be careful.
In these matters, I always am.
He stopped by the car and opened the door. Then he pulled me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that was wild, erotic, and a very unapologetic affirmation of what he wanted. And what he intended to do when we had more time.
I opened my eyes, stared into his. Saw the desire. Saw the determination, burning bright.
This vampire would not give up, would not go away. No matter what I did or said. He was playing for keeps. For real.
Which meant he still wasn't understanding that I was a wolf, with a wolf's needs, and that we could never be what he wanted us to be, no matter what might lay between us.
"Quinn - "
"Mrs. Hunt is leaving," he cut in harshly, making me wonder if he'd read my mind and was simply delaying the moment of truth. "We'll talk another time."
He kissed me again, no less fiercely than before, then pushed me into the car and slammed the door shut. By the time I'd twisted around to look at him, he was gone.