Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

ByJennifer Rardin

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

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-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dear Reader,

A few months ago a manuscript zapped into my inbox with a cover note from the agent that read: "A nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to die there." Miami isn't the first city you'd think of for an urban fantasy novel, but then again, Jaz Parks isn't your ordinary heroine. She's an Assistant Assassin. And her boss is an ancient vampire on the CIA's payroll.

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY is the beginning of the Jaz Parks series. What I loved from the first page was Jaz Parks's voice: vulnerable on one side and yet fully capable of taking out anyone who gets in her way, usually the bad guys. This is a book that will keep you on the edge of your seat, so keep a pillow on the floor, just in case you fall off.

We all know that the urban fantasy market is booming, given the success of writers such as Keri Arthur, Patricia Briggs, Laurell K. Hamilton, Charlaine Harris, and Kim Harrison. But what I think each of them has—and what Jennifer Rardin has—is the ability to create characters that do more than leap off the page. They also grab you by the throat and don't let go.

This is, quite simply, a great read—fun, fast-paced, and oozing attitude and wit.

Best,

Devi Pillai

Editor, Orbit

P.S. ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST will be out in December 2007 and BITING THE BULLET will be joining the series in February 2008. We know you won't want to wait!

Copyright © 2007 by Jennifer Rardin

Orbit

Hachette Book Group USA

237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroupUSA.com

First Edition: October 2007

Orbit is a trademark of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN 9780316020466

Printed in the United States of America

For Kirk, my inspiration, my joy, my love.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Prologue

Fear sucks. Because you never know when it will hit you. Sometimes it sneaks up behind you, giggling like your best girlfriend from 7th grade. Then it whacks you on the back of the head, takes you straight to your knees before you realize what hit you. Other times you can see it coming, just a dot on the horizon, but you're like a canary in a cage. All you can do is hang in there and hope it doesn't hit you so hard you get motion sickness and puke all over the newspapers.

I already felt pretty queasy as I perched on the single, wooden folding chair in my boss, Pete's, office. In fact, I hadn't been this scared since I'd started working for him six months before. Not even when, about ten hours into my first mission, I'd walked into my hotel room to find a vampire standing beside the bed, holding a crossbow. My crossbow. The one I'd meant to use to eliminate him.

Unlike that scenario, this was not a case where I could just go away and try again later. Or, as I had actually done, kick both shoes into his face to throw him off balance, blast his kneecaps with the .38 I wore under my skirts for insurance, then finish him off with the crossbow he'd dropped when his bones shattered. In this instance I was forced to sit absolutely still and try not to ralf all over the Top Secret files stacked in rows two and sometimes three deep on Pete's green metal desk. Because, despite the fact that I'd successfully completed every mission he'd assigned me so far, Pete was about to fire my ass.

There could be no other explanation for this call-in. The man, notorious for his penny-pinching, had phoned me at 3:00 a.m. direct from Ohio to London for the express purpose of informing me I should buy a first-class ticket back to headquarters as soon as my job there was finished. He was probably looking at the receipt now, along with all the other expenses of my latest trip abroad. He ran a hand across his head, making his three remaining dome-hairs stand on end as he studied the open file in front of him.

I couldn't bear it any longer. There is only so much you can take of staring at blank turquoise walls, rows of black metal file cabinets, and white slatted blinds that have never been opened, which would explain the dead plant sitting on the table by the window. I sat forward, the chair creaking alarmingly beneath me. No doubt about it, I am the only thing in this office under the age of fifty.

You wouldn't know it to look at my clothes, though. I'd come straight from an American Airlines flight during which an avio-phobic widow had wadded various handfuls of my blouse and jacket into her fists the entire time. I looked like a homeless woman. Holy crap, if I lost this job I'd soon be a homeless woman. And that was the good news!

"Look, Pete, I know you told me to cut out the car hits. The repairs are too expensive. You told me that. So I stopped. I haven't caused an "accidental" crash in three months, you know that! But this last one just couldn't be avoided."

"I understand you took out my counterpart in MI5."

"Well, yeah, but only because his driver was in on the plot. He'll be fine. You heard that too, right? His back will heal in, like, six weeks."

"I heard there was a bomb."

"It didn't go off."

"But it could have."

I shrugged. "Better there than at the coronation." Wait, that sounds a little casual for somebody who should be begging at this point. "But I am sorry about the car. I took out extra insurance."

"This has nothing to do with the car. In fact, I'm glad you put that bastard in traction. Self righteous twit. No, you're here because I have a new assignment for you."

Thank you, God. I still have work! I nearly relaxed. Which, considering my current state, would've sent me right to the floor. But Pete had started cracking his knuckles. In my time with him I'd seen pencil chewing, furniture kicking, file throwing, and a short bout with scented candles. But the knuckle cracking was new. I sat back carefully and waited.

"You've heard of Vayl?" Pete asked.

"Who hasn't?" Even if, as was likely, Vayl's legend had far outpaced his achievements, he still rated maaaaajor respect. The guy was an icon, and not just because he'd become one of the 15 percent, or so, of vampires to gain acceptance among humans. He was also the best assassin our department had ever fronted.

"I'm partnering you with him." Pete's eyes darted away from my face, so I guess I wasn't hiding the What-The-Hell! very well. Long silence during which I tried to make my head stop spinning and Pete cleared his throat a few times.

"Pete, I… when you hired me, you promised I could work alone." My previous job had involved an entire crew, of which, I had been the leader. It had ended badly.

"Jasmine, Vayl has requested a partner. You specifically. You're smart, aggressive and resilient. His words, although I agree."

My lips had gone numb. "Uh-huh. And?"

He sighed. "And increasingly dangerous—to yourself." He rushed on before I could interrupt, which was a good thing, because I think my first response might've ruptured his eardrums. "You've been taking bigger and bigger risks. Like the job in Cuba."

I'd hit Castro's most trusted advisor, a general named Miguel Santas. In the middle of a crowded market. In broad daylight. Within arm's reach of his lieutenants. But I'd gotten away clean. Didn't that count for anything?

"And the one in Colorado."

Aaah, sweet. A pedophile named George Freede had started a church called International Brothers of the Light. Their main focus seemed to be kidnapping children from the U.S. and selling them to the highest foreign bidder. I'd tracked him to a resort and pushed him off a mountain. Okay, we'd both fallen off, but I'd landed on my skis in nice, fluffy powder. He'd dropped on a rock.

"I know how furious you must be, Jaz—"

"I don't think so."

He sighed again. "Okay, maybe not. But it's my responsibility to make sure my agents survive."

"So you got me a babysitter."

Pete laughed, deep in his belly where it sounded the most real. "Hell no. I hooked you up with a guy who's been alive nearly 300 years. I was just hoping some of his interest in life would rub off on you."

Tears pricked my eyelids. "I'm not suicidal."

Powerful word, suicide, no matter how you use it. It sobered Pete instantly. "No. If you were, you'd have died eight months ago. But you're not sensible either. You need somebody around who's not afraid to get in your face and tell you when you're acting like an idiot."

My fury had waned. Dammit, I should've yelled when I still had the gumption. But I couldn't deny the sense in what Pete said. And it was kind of nice to be looked after, cared for. I had only been alone a little over half a year. But it had felt like thousands.

I sighed. "You said he requested me? Why?"

"He's got his own reasons, which he says he'll reveal to you in his own time." Pete and I shared a cynical raising of the eyebrows.

"Quite a mysterious character, isn't he?" I noted.

"When he wants to be," Pete agreed.

We talked for awhile longer. Which was when I discovered, while Pete wanted me to stop taking crazy chances, his bosses appreciated the fact that I was willing.

"Our government looks at Vayl as a national treasure, Jaz," Pete said. "On paper you're his assistant. In reality, you're his bodyguard. You've met the members of our oversight committee."

And how. Senators Fellen, Tredd and Bozcowski had pretty much cured me of ever wanting to vote again.

Pete went on. "They've asked me to make sure you understand your primary mission will always be to make sure he comes back in one piece."

I'm 5' 5". I weigh one-twenty when I remember to eat, which isn't regularly. No question this guy, Vayl, could snap me like a twig any time the urge hit him. I laughed. Pete didn't. "You're not kidding."

"Apparently Vayl had a close call on his last mission. Real close. Which was why he revealed a secret no vampire has ever told anyone before. There are two moments when vamps are completely vulnerable. When they're taking blood. And when they're making a kill. He might have other reasons for wanting you there, but the fact that some ear-breather nearly smoked my best agent is enough for me and more than enough for the powers that control my budget. He wants a partner. You're it."

Chapter One

Six Months Later

"Get outta my way you old bat," I muttered under my breath as an elderly woman who shouldn't have been driving a golf cart much less a Lincoln Town Car at this time of night put-putted down the street in front of me, her blinker announcing she meant to make a right turn some time before she reached the ocean.

"A little testy tonight, aren't we Lucille?" Lucille Robinson is my usual cover and my alter-ego, a gracious, sweet girl who always knows the right thing to say. Vayl invokes her when I step out of line. I nearly flipped him off, but since he's still got one foot mired in the 1700s, I thought better of it and stuck my tongue out at him instead. I wasn't sure he'd see me making faces at him in the rear-view, but of course Vayl sees everything. I realized I'd come to count on that as much as I sought his approval which, at the moment, had ditched me.

"Do not be distracted by menial events," he reminded me in his stern baritone, "we have a job to do."

"But if you'd just let me ram this old biddy into the next electric pole I'd feel much better."

"You would not."

I sighed. Six months. Scary how much Vayl had learned about me in such a short span. In my defense, given time he could worm the true ages out of the entire cast of Desperate Housewives. Still, the only living person who knew more about me was my sister, Evie, and she was just that nosy.

"It's New Year's Eve for Chrissake," I grumbled. "There's supposed to be snow on the ground. It's supposed to be freezing." I guess the natives of Miami would've disagreed with me. And to be honest, all those palm trees would've sent me skipping around in circles if I'd been on vacation. But we Midwesterners have a thing about winter holidays and snow, and this year I had yet to experience either one.

Vayl went still, a sight that will creep you out big-time if you've never seen it before. He sort of resembles a statue anyway, as if Da Vinci had chiseled his square forehead, high cheekbones and long Roman nose from smooth, pale stone. His curly black hair was cut so short that right now I'd almost swear someone had painted it on. The temperature inside our silver Lexus suddenly dropped ten degrees. A breeze ruffled my red curls, playing them across my shoulders as if they were harp strings.

"You make it snow inside this car and I swear I'm going to park your butt in the middle of the next retirement village we come to and take the first plane I can find back to Ohio," I warned him.

Strange to think of Ohio as a base for any operation more dangerous than cataract surgery. But that's why we're still doing the government's business. Of course, people know we kill bad guys. They just don't want the gory details. But if you asked them in a dark room where their neighbors couldn't hear, they'd tell you we're not nearly as proactive as they'd like. Witches, vamps, weres… some would vote to throw them all on a gigantic bonfire and have done. But there's good sorts among those others who have earned, and deserve, the same rights and protections we humans get.

Vayl is one of them. And after six months of watching his back, I was glad I hadn't pulled a diva on Pete and stomped out of his office when he'd suggested the partnership. We'd clicked like checkers from the start. At this point I couldn't imagine working without him. But he did have his quirks.

He sort of came alive again, catching me off guard, as it would if, say, I were strolling through a botanical garden and the cherub in the fountain suddenly started flapping its wings. He sat forward, his smile just a twitch of the lips.

"How can you miss your sleepy little state when I have brought you to one of the most exotic spots on earth?"

"Okay, I know you're too old to be taking lessons from a young punk like me—"

"Jasmine (he pronounced it Yaz-mee-na, which gave me the biggest thrill, though I'd never let on) while I agree that 25 is quite young, you can hardly call yourself a 'punk'."

Yeah, but nutcase is just too close to the truth. "Dammit you old fart, would you turn right already!" The white-haired wonder leading what had to, by now, be a blocks-long parade must've turned on her hearing-aid. Because she finally pulled into the United Methodist Church parking lot, praise God, leaving the rest of us free to party until some other octogenarian found it necessary to take to the streets after dark. In Ohio, old folks know better than to drive at night. Yet another reason Cleveland rocks.

We drove straight to our very old, very exclusive hotel. Called Diamond Suites, it towered above the pink stucco wall that surrounded it and its gardens, rising nearly twelve stories before reaching its peak with a steep, red tile roof. The windows all wore black metal bars, decoratively scrolled top and bottom. The gated parking lot required a key card for entry. We'd retrieved ours along with the car we now drove, part of the privacy policy with which Diamond Suites attracts its reclusive, generally famous, clientele.

Vayl's eyes were the icy blue of an Alaskan Husky as he took in every detail of the scene before him, his brain cataloging it for future reference. Parking lot full of high-end rentals. Check. Automatic, card-key entry door with bullet proof glass. Check. Lobby full of complimentary goodies from fluffy white towels to imported shampoos, all graciously displayed on the shelves of antique armoires. Check. Not a single soul in sight. Excellent.

His hands full of bags, Vayl leaned over and nudged me with an elbow. "They say the place is haunted."

I snorted. An unladylike habit, I know, but one which, like swearing, has its place. "Probably your old poker buddies waiting around to even the score." This was not as far-fetched as it sounded. Rumor had it Vayl had won his cane and his first gold mine in a game of five-card stud.

Vayl's lips twitched again. Not for the first time I thought, If he ever truly smiles his face is going to shatter. But I tried not to think it too loud. On the plane he'd overheard the flight attendants discussing the pilot's stun gun from the back of the plane as he sat beside me in the front row. A man with that kind of ability only needs to listen slightly harder to hear my harsh thoughts.

Vayl had reserved the penthouse, so we took elevator 6A to twelve. At that point I did a little soft-shoe—the semi-claustrophobic's version of the I-gotta-pee-dance—until Vayl figured out which way to slip our key card into the metal slot on the elevator's control panel so the door would open. After I'd leaped out and regained a somewhat steady pulse, I took stock. We stood in a small enclosed entryway decorated with a massive flowery mural that involved all four walls, including the elevator doors, and half of the ceiling. Tiles in the pastel pink so common to Florida covered the floor.

I wrinkled my nose at the color. Something about pink makes my stomach churn. Maybe it's the resemblance to Pepto Bismol. Personally, my taste runs toward bolder colors. That's why I currently wore an emerald green silk shirt under my black jacket. Unlike Vayl's coat, which reached his knees and looked like it could comfortably hide a shotgun, or a sword, or possibly a small pony, mine stopped just below my waist and, because it had been tailored to mask my shoulder holster, fit superbly. My black slacks felt a little loose, probably because I'd missed lunch all month. And since the Weather Channel had warned of a cold spell hitting Florida at the same time we did, I'd worn my new boots. Hopefully they'd hold up longer than my last pair, which had fallen apart the first time I'd stepped in a puddle of blood.

I tugged my trunk through a set of white French doors that opened into a sunken living room furnished with flowered couches and chairs, glass tables and Pepto-pink carpeting. On the opposite end of the room, next to ceiling-to-floor curtains in Elvis velvet, sat a bigger glass table surrounded by chairs. I noticed it mainly because the chairs had rollers, which keyed a memory from my childhood.

My brother, sister and I were staying with our Granny May at her farm for the summer. Her kitchen chairs had wheels, so we spent part of each day either pushing each other around the room or having spinning contests to see who fell off first. Good times. I felt a throb of homesickness for those few golden moments when my sibs and I were friends, teammates and co-conspirators. Why couldn't it have lasted forever?

"Never mind," I whispered, "it's over now. Move on. Move on. Move on." I caught myself in the litany and clamped my lips shut, imprisoning the words before they could betray me.

Still carrying a suitcase, our laptop, his garment bag and cane, Vayl strolled into the room and took inventory. His eyes rested momentarily on a cut glass vase full of white orchids and moved on to a silver bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne.

"Nice," he said, nodding with approval.

"Yeah, it's uh," I struggled to put some of the expected enthusiasm into my voice, "grrreat!" I skirted the rim of the living room bowl, rolling my trunk after me. I liked it because it looked the way I felt most of the time, battered and old. Right now it appeared sorely out of place, and if the furniture could talk I was sure it would shame my low-class luggage right out of the building. The pack on my back wouldn't score any points either. Despite the fact that it dressed in basic black, it too had seen better days. But it worked, carrying my weapons in well-padded pockets along with my ammunition and cleaning cases. So rather than run to the nearest Motel 6, I just kept walking, taking my most treasured possessions toward another set of French doors to my left which no doubt led to a grossly sumptuous bedroom.

"Come now, Jasmine," Vayl chided me. Already across the room, he set the laptop on the table, and moved to the curtains, which I expected him to stroke like a pet panther. Instead he flicked them back, peered out the window. Satisfied, he looked over his shoulder at me. "I bring you to the most exclusive hotel in Florida and the only reaction I get is your Tony the Tiger impression?"

I felt like slumping against the wall, at which point I would bang my head repeatedly until I passed out. But no, the bell had dinged, forcing me back into the ring for Round 14 of the Never-Ending Battle. Nope, no blows traded, damn it all. Our struggle was just a continuous conversation during which Vayl tried to figure out how I'd grown to adulthood without acquiring the slightest refinement, and I continued to be baffled that a man old enough to remember when bathrooms were windowless shacks built above deep stinkin' holes could be fooled into thinking that ugly flowers and crappy-tasting liquor meant something.

"Look, Vayl, we've got a really big night ahead of us. Can't we just agree that I'm a cretin and you're a snob and move on?"

For a minute I thought he was having convulsions. Then I realized he was laughing. Depositing his stuff on an end table, he collapsed on the nearest couch and heaved with barely suppressed merriment. He looked… now why would the word 'yummy' come to mind? Under his coat he wore a dark blue sweater that hugged his torso as if they'd been reunited after a long separation. On the plane he'd mentioned his gray slacks had been tailored by a guy named Lawrence Clay who spoke with a lisp and sewed like a savant. His shiny black shoes had come straight off the shelf—in Italy. Since he'd assumed the identity of a high-end antiques dealer named Jeremy Bhane, his elegance was called for. It baffled me that such a thing could come so naturally. Or that I should find it so… delectable.

What is the deal with these food metaphors, girl? I asked myself. Miss too many entrees, did you? Or are you hungry for something a little more—no, no, no, don't you dare go there. For damn sure not with your badass vampire bossman. He could never replace Matt anyway. No one could.

"Jasmine?"

"Huh?"

"Are you all right? You suddenly look… haunted."

"Oh, yeah. I mean, no," short, fake laugh while I fished for something to say, "I was just wondering why you don't smile more. And I thought maybe it's because your fangs would show."

"Would that bother you?" he asked sharply.

"Not at all. We had two vamps on my Helsinger crew. Stellar people." Now dead, dead, dead… Feeling a guilty sort of pride that I'd been able to say that last bit without breaking down, I opened the bedroom door. Surprise, surprise, it had a huge round bed with a fuscia duvet and a mirrored headboard. I'd call the carpeting a nauseating mix of Pepto-pink and cherry-flavored Nyquil. I liked the whirlpool tub in the next room though, and the shower was big enough for me and the cutest six guys I could round up on short notice.

"I suppose you find this room a bit over the top," said Vayl, making me jump and squeal.

"What is the deal with you tonight?" And how come you keep showing up just when I'm trying not to think of how long it's been since I've had sex?

He shrugged. "I am, how do you say, feeling my oats, perhaps?" He'd let a trace of his original accent creep into his voice. His left eyebrow moved upward a couple of notches. I forgot to breathe as I wondered just how many women had lost themselves in those emerald green eyes. Over nearly three hundred years? Don't make me laugh. And don't think about him that way anymore. You're his assistant. Period.

I sighed, feeling a whole new level of bummed. "Well, I'm not. I was supposed to hang out with my sister tonight, not hop a flight to Miami. She's already mad that I missed Christmas, and if this trip triggers her labor I'm never forgiving myself. Or you. So can we just start the briefing? The quicker this is over the faster I can crawl home." And grovel. At the knees of my kid sister. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

He checked his pocket watch. "All right," he said, "the party is in two hours and, knowing women as I do, it will probably take you at least half that time just to get dressed."

I knew Vayl wasn't complaining, but since I already felt vulnerable, the comment cut me. And when I bleed, I get pissed. It's like he's implying a tough girl like me needs a miracle to transform herself into a beautiful lady and, as we all know, miracles take time. What an ass!

His touch, bare fingers on my cheek, startled me. I could tell by his feverish warmth that he'd eaten when he woke at sunset. The decent vamps, the ones who were trying to blend, all fed without killing. Many had willing donors. Others bought their blood from one of two government licensed suppliers. More would likely pop up as vamps like Vayl made obvious the advantages of integration.

He said, "I have offended you."

"Actually, yeah, you have." I shook my head to dislodge his hand. It felt a little too… nice. "It's okay, though," I said, my anger deflating somewhat in response to his stricken expression. "People ought to be able to point out the truth, or at least give it a nod on the way past without other people getting all freaked out about it."

"I have no idea what you just said."

"Good. Now," I took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the doors, "let me unpack and I'll meet you in the pit, um, living room in five minutes."

He left me alone to empty my trunk. I didn't. I sat on the bed, fished a pack of cards out of my bag and began to shuffle them. Blend, bend, bridge, over and over I shuffled the dog-eared pack until Evie's tears, my ghosts, Vayl's unintended insult and the immense suckage of the holidays, which I'd spent equally blacking out and melting down, receded beneath the steady thrum of the cards.

Vayl had draped himself across one of the couches when I came into the living room. All he needed was an ivy crown and some half-dressed bimbo fanning him with palm fronds between bites of grapes and he'd have been a dead ringer for a gorgeous Julius Caesar.

Aw, who was I kidding, he'd probably palled around with the man before Cleopatra showed up and ruined all their fun. I sank down on the couch opposite him, curling my feet underneath me. "Getting into character?"

"We are going to a $5,000 a plate charity dinner/dance. Our target has only invited the crème de la crème of society. He will expect both of us to behave with a certain amount of savoir faire."

"Let me see if I can translate your bullshit, um, I mean French. We're supposed to be a couple of big spenders?"

"Yes," he replied, raising his eyebrow a disapproving tick at my language.

"So who's the target?"

"A plastic surgeon of Pakistani origin. His name is Mohammed Khad Abn-Assan and he has either lifted, tucked or liposuctioned half of Hollywood. I understand several of his celebrity clients will be there tonight."

"And here I left my autograph book in my other purse. So what's the charity?"

"It is called New Start. It brings in millions of dollars a year, supposedly to pay for reconstructive surgery for child victims of disfiguring accidents."

"Cool. Only I'm guessing the kids will never see a dime."

"Highly doubtful considering the fact that Assan is diverting most of those funds into the Sons of Paradise."

"Whoa, hang on just a second. The Sons of Paradise? Are you telling me we're going to hit a financial bastion of the most extreme of the extremist terrorist groups?" Vayl nodded. "Awesome!" Those assholes will be dining on sand and pisswater by the time we're finished with Dr. Bankroller. "But you said they're only getting most of the money. Why not all of it?"

Vayl's eyes hardened, black obsidian even the most penetrating stare couldn't break. "Sources say he uses the rest to perform surgery on members of the organization who cannot afford to look like their Most Wanted posters anymore."

That got my motor running. "What a creep."

"The world is full of them."

"You're telling me. It's good there's people like us around to balance things out."

"What is this optimistic talk I hear coming from your mouth?" Vayl asked. "Are you Jasmine's evil clone, come to lull me into fluffy white thoughts so you can stake me in my sleep?"

"At best your thoughts are pink. Kind of like this carpet." Vayl's eyes lightened suddenly, a trait that will make you do a double-take if you're not used to it. The vamps I'd known before him didn't have that particular ability, but then it wasn't really fair to compare. Vamps have their individual gifts and weaknesses, just like humans. The one sitting across from me, for instance, wore his eighty-year string of successful missions like a mantle. He had infiltrated the most exclusive factions, beaten the highest tech security systems, faced the most powerful supernatural forces ever seen on earth and won. So why did he need me? After six months he still hadn't given me a plausible explanation.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" I asked.

"Assan has never before been more than a link in a chain. But as far as we can tell he has suddenly gained great power within the Sons of Paradise. We believe he has brought them a new partner, one with the money and clout to rock this country to its core. There is not much chatter about this person or persons, but when you listen to the whispers you hear scary things."

"You mean scarier than usual things?"

Vayl nodded.

"I don't suppose this partner has any Raptor markings on him?" The Raptor was a rising star on our potential hit list. Both Vayl and I knew we'd have to go after him eventually. His lethal mix of charisma and savagery along with rumors that he'd accepted fealty oaths from a dozen large nests, two covens of black witches in Scotland and several packs of Spanish weres had made him the subject of several of Pete's bulletins.

"Not so far." Vayl ran his fingers across the black cane that lay beside him on the couch. A museum piece, it had been hand-carved in India and was almost as famous around the office as its owner. A procession of intricately detailed tigers marched around the leg of the cane up to a gold band, which separated it from the multifaceted blue jewel that topped it. When you twisted the head, the tigers shot away from it, revealing a hand-hammered sword whose maker had been dust for centuries. I hadn't expected to see the cane until the party. It was unusual for Vayl to carry it with him here, where he should've felt safe. Where I'd felt pretty cozy myself. I sat up straighter and looked around the room.

"What aren't you telling me?" I demanded.

"We are going to have to be very careful. Assan has powerful friends. And…"

"What?"

Vayl shook his head. "Just keep your eyes and ears open. Something about this feels… wrong."

And that was really saying something, coming from the C.I.A.'s number one assassin.

Chapter Two

Half an hour later I'd rediscovered my femininity. It's fun occasionally, sort of like an archaeological dig without the sweating. I stood before the bathroom mirror resembling the pale, regal daughter my mother would've preferred, wondering how I was supposed to hide my modified Walther PPK, which I called Grief, underneath material that clung like an obsessive ex-boyfriend.

I'd gone for an oriental look and discovered the red mandarin collar and short, half-moon sleeves suited me fine, especially with my hair pinned up and swirled around the way I'd seen it done in Cosmo. Fake diamonds dangled from my ears, and though no one could see, they matched my belly button ring perfectly. The hilarious bit was that Pete had been the one to give it to me.

His face had slowly flooded with color as he'd handed me the case. "I understand this is an appropriate item for your, uh, I mean that since you've got that, uh, piercing—"

"What's it do?" I'd asked as I'd taken the case and pulled out a faux diamond stud.

"It's a homing device," he'd said, obviously relieved that I hadn't made him stutter through the whole setup. "You activate it by breaking the gem off the post. If you don't have a way to keep the gem on you once it's signaling, it has been tested safe on the digestive system, so you can swallow it."

Oh goody. "What happens after it's triggered?" I asked.

"We have a team standing by in Miami. Once they receive the signal, their orders are to try to contact you and, failing that, to coordinate a massive search and rescue."

So, with my jewelry firmly in place, I gave myself one last critical look. I'd been careful with the eyeliner, so my eyes looked larger, greener, more soulful than usual. I had fine, fragile features that fooled almost everyone I met, a real advantage in my line of work. And the fact that my body leaned harder towards bony than athletic didn't hurt either. My legs were by far my best feature. They occasionally peaked through the side slits of my calf-length, red satin skirt. I wore red, low-heeled sandals I could actually run in, and I'd chosen a sequined handbag to match, so that's where I finally stowed my weapon.

When I came out, Vayl's bedroom doors were still shut. I rapped on one.

"Yes?"

"I'm going scouting. Back in thirty."

"All right." I took off to find the address on our cleverly faked invitation.

Diamond Suites was situated about fifteen minutes from Assan's location. The Lexus purred under me like a snoozing lioness as I drove there, but I resisted the urge to wake her up on the Interstate. Pete's blood pressure tended to spike when he thought I'd done any excessive spending, and I figured he'd stroke out if I showed up with a speeding ticket on the way to a location.

I took a leisurely tour of Assan's digs, trying not to gape too much at the enormous, brilliantly lit mansions fronted by country club style landscaping. The lawns were so well manicured you could've used them for putting greens. What a hoot if Dave and his buddies had lived here, because they actually would have. I could imagine them all, full of that eighteen-year-old cockiness you wish guys would never lose, drinking Albert's beer and calling their shots like it was a game of 8-ball.

I spared my twin one more minute, wondering what part of the world held him tonight, hoping he was okay. Like me, Dave's pretty high up the hush-hush ladder. Like me, he'd started in a different part of the Agency, but now he's a Special Ops stud, so he spends the majority of his time overseas. It's an excellent excuse not to keep in touch and we use it like a dust rag. If we were careful we'd never have to speak to each other again. A hell of an accomplishment for people who used to complete each other's sentences.

"Enough," I told myself, "enough, enough, enough—" I bit my lip, stopping the loop with pain. You're working Jasmine, so work. Focus on the work. The work will keep you sane. At least in everybody else's eyes.

I took a deep breath and let it out with a laugh when I saw the fancy, scrolled metal sign on the gate in front of Assan's house. Anything with an entrance right out of Jurassic Park and enough fencing to contain a herd of brachiosaurus demands a name, and Assan had chosen Alpine Meadows. Without a mountain in sight. Nor were there any cute Austrian kids running around singing "Do, Re, Mi." Who was this guy really kidding? The name might trigger thoughts of "Sound of Music," but it looked like "The Haunting of Hill House."

Driving on, I discovered the area contained more dead ends and cul de sacs than a game of Clue. But I did find a couple of quick routes out just in case the boogers hit the blender. I cruised the neighborhood five more minutes, soaking in the ambiance, picturing myself looking like I belonged inside one of these six-bedroom, 4 1/2 bath monstrosities. Then I went back for Vayl.

I didn't see him when I pulled into the parking lot, but I could feel him waiting for me. Although it was more than that. It's an extra sense, one I've only had since… well, for about 14 months. And I'm not the only one who's fascinated by it.

During our first mission together, Vayl had admitted part of the reason he requested our pairing was the fact that I can smell vamps. Not literally. Still, it's almost a visceral scent, something near the back of the nose and just behind the eyeballs that whispers immortal to the base of my brain. Different vamps make me react different ways, but that's the basic idea.

We'd been stalking a renegade named Gerardo, who the Italian authorities had asked us to bag before he decimated yet another convent. Apparently he'd run through so many in Europe that he'd felt the need to emigrate. Having trailed our quarry to the hushed halls of the Monastery of St. Bernadette in Oregon, we hoped the sisters had enough brains to keep themselves barricaded in their cells and that my inner alarm would sound before one of them needed to escape for a quick pee.

"Do you feel anything yet?" Vayl had asked.

"Nope. And I'm not sure it would help if I did."

"Why not?"

"It's not like I could give you coordinates. The Sensitivity doesn't work that way. Best case scenario, all I know is he's in the same room as us."

Vayl had stopped me, his hand so warm on my shoulder I would've suggested a trip to the emergency room if he'd been human. "I believe this gift is just the tip if the iceberg, Jasmine. If we nurture it, develop it, I think you will be amazed to discover what lies deep beneath the water."

Ironically, that was where we found Gerardo, hiding under the lily pads in the fountain behind the abbey church. I'd seen vamps fight before. Fought beside them, in fact. But Vayl surpassed them all. He attacked Gerardo with the ferocity of a starving crocodile, his lips drawn so far back from his teeth I could see his rear molars without squinting. They both fell back into the fountain, slamming the statue of Bernadette that stood in the middle hard enough to make her wobble.

When they emerged, blood bubbled from a huge gash in Gerardo's shoulder. He broke free of Vayl's grip and tried to jump out of the water. Vayl caught him halfway and he fell hard on the concrete rim. Like a lion on a zebra, Vayl latched onto the back of Gerardo's neck, the look in his eyes just as fierce and nearly as primal. Suddenly I knew why the Romans had packed their coliseum on a regular basis. I wanted to roar with approval. My gladiator was kicking ass, baby.

A sound to my right distracted me. A nun shuffled out of the shadows. I ran toward her. "Sister, you need to leave. This isn't something you should see," I said.

She'd jumped me almost before I realized she smelled undead. But the newbies are sloppy. Lack of training, maybe, or an overabundance of hunger. My crossbow bolt pierced her heart before she could even form a decent snarl. When I looked back at the fountain, Vayl stood alone as well. We'd smoked both our vamps without sustaining any major personal damage. Always a cause for celebration.

Vayl had pointed to the little bits of ash and dust that had fallen where the nun had stood moments before. "That is why you must hone your skills."

Six months later I hadn't made a helluva lot of progress. While I often felt like yanking my hair out by the roots, Vayl maintained his cool. He just kept saying, "We are missing a vital link in the chain. When we discover what it is, you will rocket forward. But that does not mean you should stop trying."

So he continued to throw training ops my way, and since I wanted to keep my job, I kept cooperating.

I looked around the lot, wishing I could ping some sort of radar off him. After all this time, I still hadn't figured out how to narrow my search. I'd learned only that if I paid attention to the awareness, it might alert me when he moved. Leaving the car running, I turned off the headlights and turned on the night vision. It was easier than it sounded.

One of my roommates in college was a techno-wizard named Miles Bergman. The tall, skinny son of a Russian dissident and an environmental biologist, his paranoia prevents him from working for the government outright. But he does sell us the rights (sometimes exclusive) to use his gadgets. Pete loves the arrangement, because it means he doesn't have to put out any extra cash for pesky items like health insurance and vacation days.

One of the many cool inventions Bergman developed for me was a set of night vision contact lenses. I squeezed my eyes shut for a couple of seconds and when I opened them the interior of the Lexus looked like it had been parked under a green streetlamp. The cars surrounding me could've come straight from Enterprise of Emerald City. All lovely shades of lime, they lined up like contestants at the Miss Oz Beauty Pageant. Only one wasn't what she seemed. One hid a dark, long-lived secret. But which?

I scanned the lot quickly, never letting my eyes rest in one place for too long. And I still nearly missed him. He stood between a Toyota Tundra and a Jeep Cherokee, an inkblot in the shadows, tapping his cane on the side of his shoe.

"I see you," I whispered. As if I had shouted, he stepped forward. I unlocked the doors as he made his way to the car, just another well-to-do gentleman going out on the town. He looked like an Oscar winner, handsome and elegant in his black tuxedo. Even his cane worked, an integral part of the affluent man's evening clothes rather than an assassin's tool.

He slid into the car beside me, which shook me more that I let on. I preferred him sitting in the back, like a boss, rather than in front, like a date. I moved to change gears and nearly yelped when his hand covered mine.

"Wait a moment," Vayl said, looking at me steadily through his predatory eyes. I tried not to fidget while he took stock of my hair, dress, shoes, though every second that passed squeezed at my nerves, as if he'd wrapped them in barbed wire and turned a crank that pulled it tighter until they screamed. I wanted to thump him. Didn't he know he was being rude? And unsettling? And rude? I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I thought when he said, "You look incredible. Like a goddess. I take back everything I said earlier."

The attention-starved teen in me melted. Even my brain reverted. All I could think for a second was, He likes me! He really likes me!!

Gag.

I squeezed my eyes shut, took my vision back to normal. It helped restore my equilibrium too. "Thanks," I said. "You look pretty sharp yourself." I paused a second. "I was just thinking about our first mission."

"You were?"

"It reminded me of a question I've been wanting to ask for awhile." One I apparently only felt brave enough to pose while in goddess mode.

"Oh?" His tone buttoned up like a Victorian collar. But, being temporarily divine, I barreled on.

"I noticed that you always bleed your vamp targets before you take them out."

"That is true."

"Well, for cripe's sake, don't go all frosty on me. I don't give a crap about that part. I just saw a pattern and wondered—"

Vayl sighed and the whole car filled with the sound, like a mournful wind bouncing off the walls of an empty canyon. "It is my failsafe. I do not want to kill innocents, so I take their blood during battle. I can taste whether or not the donor gave it willingly or with his last gasp."

"Wow, I didn't know you could do that. Cool." I glanced at him. Not much changed. But the easing of the lines around his eyes and lips told me I'd said the right thing. Which was when I realized it mattered to Vayl what I thought of him. Wow. When had that happened?

Probably during your last blackout, spat a bitter, scared corner of my mind.

I regarded it as if it stood separate from me, a flat-chested freshman wearing too much eye shadow and the confidence of a lame-duck president. Shut the fuck up, I told it. Then I drove my boss to the job.

We arrived at the gates of Assan's mansion behind a short line of vehicles that included two limos and a gleaming black Corvette. One by one the drivers showed the guards their invitations and were allowed to enter. I hadn't seen any guards on my scouting trip, though intel had informed us Assan kept anywhere from 10 to 12 on staff. These two shopped in the big and beefy section and still their suit coats barely buttoned, maybe on purpose, so all the guests could see the outline of the guns riding underneath.

One looked to have some Chinese ancestry. He wore his black hair pulled back into a ponytail. His partner reminded me of Schwarzenegger in his bulkier days. If he spoke with an Austrian accent I'd struggle not to laugh in his face. Unprofessional, I know, but the more stressed I get, the more likely I am to bow to inappropriate hilarity. I could already feel the giggles tickling the back of my throat.

"This had better be a damn good forgery," I said, as I took the invitation from the seat beside me and rolled down the window.

"What," Vayl whispered, "are you finally nervous?"

Is the Pope Catholic? "Shh, it's our turn." I pulled up to the gate and handed the invite to Arnold Jr. Up close he overwhelmed the eyeballs, built like a tractor with the confidence that came from knowing he could mow us flat without breaking a sweat.

"Welcome to Alpine Meadows," he said in an American accent—whew!

Vayl sat forward. "Thank you," he said, his voice more melodic than usual as his eyes met those of the guard's. I felt the magic cross my skin on its way to Arnold Jr., a scented breeze of power so purely Vayl, I would have recognized it in a perfume factory. "In five minutes you will not remember our faces or the fact that you admitted us." Junior's jaw went slack and his pupils dilated like he'd scored an instant high. He nodded, handed the invitation back to me and stepped away from the car.

"Can you do that for me next time Pete wants to wring my neck?" I asked as I moved the Lexus toward Assan's mini-castle. The rumble in Vayl's throat could've been anything from a growl to a burp. I stole a look at his face, and from the way his lips were quivering decided it was a chuckle.

The valet had a hard time understanding why any high society dame would want to park her own car. Then Vayl spoke to him and made it all better. He directed us around the side of the house, where I backed into the space closest to the front door. I sort of specialize in quick getaways. Too bad I wasn't driving a Hummer, It would've been fun to pull straight in and then mow over the perfectly trimmed hedges and gigantic urns on the way out.

Like a good little blueblood, I waited for Vayl to stroll around and open my door for me. We took a path lined with Japanese lanterns around to the front of the house, uh, mansion, um, pretentious freaking monstrosity posing as a home. Yeah, that's more like it. At the top of white marble steps that led to doors the size of rocket silos, a barrel-chested, pock marked man with the eyes of a scorpion took our invitation and added it to a lace-lined basket at his feet. I had a sudden image of him skipping through the woods holding that basket in front of him like Little Red Riding Hood, and laughed out loud. He and Vayl both looked at me strangely. I patted Vayl's arm.

"Oh, honey, I finally got that joke you told me on the way here. Hilarious!"

Vayl nodded as if he understood and led me indoors. "You will explain that one to me later, I hope?" he whispered out the side of his mouth.

"I'll explain it to you now." Then I forgot what I was going to say as we entered a massive, marble-lined hall lit with five, count'em, five sparkling chandeliers. So many candelabras lined the walls that even if the lights winked out you still could've seen well enough to read the fine print on an iffy contract. And the art! I smiled up at Vayl as if I belonged among people who thought nothing of owning paintings bigger than my apartment. I had never felt so sorely out of place. Even my teeth felt fake.

"You are looking gorgeous tonight, my dear," Vayl said, squeezing my hand.

Somewhat reassured, I said, "Thank you darling. And may I say you grow more handsome with each passing day?"

He nodded graciously, every bit the self-assured multimillionaire we wanted our host to think he was. Speaking of the devil, here he came, greeting his guests with the slick friendliness of a tiger shark at a daily feeding. His white tuxedo set off his dark hair and skin to perfection, and the gold rings on six out of ten of his fingers highlighted his remarkably slender, blunt-nailed hands.

I managed not to flinch as he came at me, all teeth and glittering black eyes. Sometimes things would be so much simpler if you could just pull out your gun and shoot the bad guy. Reason number seventeen why Indiana Jones is my hero.

"My dear lady," the little snake was saying as he took my free hand and kissed it—yuck—"I am so pleased to make your acquaintance."

I smiled brightly as his mouth continued to move, but I no longer heard the words. Oh God, not now. But God had taken a coffee break and my senses had gone along for the donuts. Another sound had replaced Assan's prattle in my shivering brain. A loud buzzing, like an oven timer on steroids, gave warning. Next my vision would narrow to a speck and then, poof! disappear. I might come back to myself in five minutes. Or it might take a couple of days. Afterwards, if I asked the right questions, I might find out what I'd said and done in the meantime.

This can't be happening. But it was, and I felt like I was dying, drowning in the flooded hull of my sinking sanity. I looked at Vayl, hoping he'd throw me a life preserver as I tried not to blow it, not to panic. He squeezed my hand, hard. A throbbing pain shot from fingertips to elbow. And the darkness retreated.

"Lucille Robinson," Vayl drawled, introducing alias-me to Assan, "and I am her…" he paused, allowing our host to jump to any nasty conclusion he wished, "… associate, Jeremy Bhane. We are, of course, staunch supporters of New Start and delighted to finally meet its famous founder."

Assan shook Vayl's hand. "So good of you to come," he said. He reached back and pulled a Jessica Simpson clone to his side. I'd been so distracted I hadn't noticed her pin us. She stood at least three inches taller than me, which gave her a good half foot on her husband. "This is my wife," he said, "Amanda."

I held out my hand with some difficulty. My little brownout had taken the oomph from my muscles and deposited the whole seething mass in my stomach. If she shook too hard I'd puke all over her Vera Wang. But Amanda wasn't up to heavy lifting either. She squeezed my hand as if it was made of porcelain, did the same for Vayl, then dropped her arm like concrete encased it as she murmured, "Pleased to meet you."

One thing about feeling miserable, you instantly recognize it in others. Amanda Abn-Assan, I knew, was giving almost everything she had to the task of just staying upright. I looked at Vayl quickly, to see if he'd noticed the puffiness under her eyes. The look he gave me said he had. Now why would the wife of a brilliantly successful surgeon have been crying recently? Several reasons came to mind, but none that totally satisfied my gut feeling about her. It was a mystery worth solving. Later.

Assan excused himself and Amanda, leaving Vayl and I to stand around trying to look natural. Vayl snagged a couple of champagne flutes off a passing waiter's tray and we toasted each other. My face started to hurt from all the smiling. Vayl bent down to lay a kiss just below my ear that I felt clear to my toes. Okay, Jaz, don't hyperventilate now. It's just skin touching skin, here. That's all. The fact that your knees feel a little weak is probably just an estrogen spike. Yeah, that's it. He whispered, "Let us begin."

I nodded, relieved to be done with the standing around. Ready, in fact, to sprint from my current position if it would distance me from these highly inappropriate feelings. I would concentrate all my efforts on identifying the security measures and memorize the layout of the place. Then, after all the guests had left, we'd return and eliminate Assan. That was the job, and God help me, I loved it.

My whole body buzzed with anticipation. I lived for this. This was what chased away the looping thoughts and the nerves and the nightmares. Only the work allowed me to manage a conversational tone as I said, "I'll be right back, darling. Make sure you miss me!"

"I have already begun," said Vayl, giving me a look so mushy anybody who weighed more than a marshmallow would sink up to their knees in it. What a load of bull. And yet it was reassuring to know if Pete ever dumped us we could always write dialogue for Days of Our Lives.

I gave him my biggest, phoniest smile and turned toward the grandest staircase I'd ever seen that wasn't plastered across a movie screen. Red plush carpeted the steps, which would hide the blood nicely if anyone ever got shot on them. They split halfway up at a landing that held an ornate golden bench on which to rest should the hike have left you winded. Since I needed to scope out the second floor, I made like Scarlet O'Hara in reverse and swept up the first flight.

A discreet little sign with a southern belle printed on it encouraged me to take the next flight to my left and another sign posted at the head of the stairs suggested I try the first door I came to. I reached down to adjust my sandal strap and get a good look around. At the top of the stairs a sitting area with couches draped in white silk and a matching oversized ottoman separated the ladies' bathroom hall on my side from the men's bathroom hall on the other side. The hall on my side narrowed, running past the bathroom and four other closed doors, two on each side, before turning the corner. A quick stroll to the other side as I pretended to enjoy the view showed the exact same layout.

I walked back to the ladies bathroom. As I opened the door I looked over my shoulder. I'd already identified which of the guests were actually Assan's goons in disguise. None of them was looking, because Vayl had chosen that precise moment to drop his glass. So I moved down the hallway, trying each door as I passed, finding them all locked. At the end of the hall I turned right, because a left would've taken me downstairs and, from the sound of it, into the kitchen.

This hall contained a long bench on one side and a bank of windows on the other. The view must've been spectacular during the day as, I supposed, it looked out on several acres of lawn. The wall behind the bench held a rectangular, spotlighted painting of a whole passel of naked Egyptian serving girls bringing gifts of gold, food and wild, caged animals to the Pharaoh, who looked very happy to see them all.

There were no stairs at the other end of this hall, just a huge oval mirror with a fancy gold frame. I shared a troubled look with myself as I recalled the brownout I'd just experienced. The thought made me nauseous, so I tossed it away, forced myself to concentrate on the job.

"The job, the job, the job, the job," I whispered, until I realized what I was doing and bit the inside of my cheek. I turned right at the mirror and, as expected, found myself in the men's bathroom hallway. Again I encountered two sets of locked doors. At the men's room I made as if to go in, pretended to realize it wasn't the room I wanted and feigned embarrassment as I hurried past the front sitting area to the women's bathroom.

This time I went in. The room consisted of a small lounge decorated with diamond patterned wallpaper, a red velvet chaise and a massive potted fern. The commode sat in its own little claustrophobic's nightmare of a closet, and the claw-footed tub and floor-to-ceiling shower shared another room with an entire wall of four sinks.

Looking to waste the expected amount of time, I washed my hands and fiddled with my hair. Someone else came in, so I turned to leave, a polite smile fixed on my face. It must've fallen right off in my shock at finding I was sharing the bathroom with a man, who looked as shaken as I felt.

"Sorry," he said, raking his fingers through his thick, blonde mop of hair, "I know the guys are supposed to use the toilet across the way, but I was sure they'd find me there."

"Well, they'll probably find you here too as soon as the rumor gets around that a guy is hiding in the ladies room." I studied his face as I spoke, and immediately liked what I saw. He had that fresh-out-of-college look that makes you think maybe the world's not such a pit after all. He wore a black tux with a red bow tie, red cummerbund and matching red canvas high tops. And he was chewing bubble gum.

I'd seen smiles like his a few times before. The message was clear—if you don't love me yet, you will soon. But such honest humor accompanied it that no way could it offend me. "Aw, come on," he said, "I can tell you're not a gossip. Help me out here. I'm not a pervert, just a party crasher." I almost believed him. But his eyes darted away from mine at just the wrong time. He hadn't been lying nearly as long as I'd been catching liars.

"So what's the deal, do you fill up on olives and cheese cubes and then run?"

"Something like that."

"Bullshit." The shock on his face was comical. Apparently he'd never heard a grown woman swear. "Tell me why you're really here before I bypass the guards and call the police."

He took a moment to ponder the wisdom of telling a total stranger, no less one with a potty-mouth, the truth. "You know, most people buy my schtick."

"I'm not most people."

"No doubt." The look he gave me combined equal parts respect and flirtation. Yeah, I was flattered, but I didn't let it show. I was too busy hiding a bemused smile as he blew a perfect purple bubble, popped and retrieved it. He gave me an apologetic grin. "My last girlfriend was a smoker who thought it would be fun to corrupt me. The gum helps kill the nicotine cravings."

"Good idea. Now quit trying to distract me and fess up."

"Okay, here's the deal. I'm a private investigator. Mostly I look into insurance fraud. But I know Amanda Assan from way back. We were friends when she still had a gap between her front teeth and permanently scraped knees. That was before her mom decided she'd never be happy until Amanda had won every Little Miss Beautiful pageant from here to Tallahassee." His disgust for Amanda's mother made me see her clearly. A bitter, middle-aged divorcee with more chins than sense. Poor Amanda, she'd probably thought she was breaking free when she married Assan.

He went on, "Anyway, Amanda called and asked me to investigate the secret doings of her hubby. That is, who he's doing secretly."

"Isn't this kind of a public forum for a private investigation?" I asked, mostly to cover my disappointment in him for trying to put one by me, and in me for thinking anyone over the age of ten could survive this world with any part of their innocence intact.

"Yeah, but you can learn a lot about a guy by watching him at an event like this. People who have stuff to hide never think they're giving themselves away, but it's often obvious to anyone who pays attention."

"And I take it someone's been paying too much attention to you?" I couldn't help but laugh at the face he made. It belonged on a five-year-old who's just been caught drinking Mountain Dew for breakfast.

"I screwed up royally," he admitted. "Assan noticed me having a conversation with his wife a few minutes ago, and now his goons are chasing me all over the house to find out why."

"It must've been a pretty intense conversation."

"She was crying."

Amateurs. "All right," I said, "let's get you out of the house, shall we?"

His eyes lit up like I'd just promised to buy him a pony for his birthday. "You're going to help me? That's great! Oh man, I can't thank you enough!" The grin resurfaced. "You like me, don't you?"

Good Lord, he must have more first-date sex than George Clooney! "Yeah, that's why I'm helping. I find you absolutely irresistible. What's your name?"

"Cole Bemont." He held out his hand so I shook it. At least his grip was firm.

"Lucille Robinson," I said. "Now, here's what we do. You and I will find a back way out of this place. If we come across someone else we make like a couple of lovesick teenagers. People generally hurry past heavy breathers. I get you to the parking lot, you get the hell out. Got it?"

He nodded. "There's just one thing I've got to do before we go," he said. Before I could inquire he grabbed me and planted a kiss square on my mouth. It was short but fiery, despite the grape flavoring, and when he let me go I was panting.

"Holy crap!"

He smiled, not at all apologetically, and said, "I've wanted to do that ever since I saw my first Bond movie."

I nodded. "Well, you have excellent timing. Now, shall we go?" He gave me a courtly bow. "After you, Madame." I opened the door, scanned the area and closed it again. "Goon at the bottom of the stairs making his way up," I told Cole. "Change of plan. You wait here while I divert him. As soon as his back is turned go down this hall, take a left. Go straight down the stairs to the kitchen and outside. Got it?"

To Cole's credit he stayed nice and calm. "Got it." I hesitated. Aw, what the hell. I took him by the lapels and pulled him in for a second helping. This kiss was even better than the first and I hated to cut it short. But duty called. I wrenched the door open and stepped into the hall. Cole's goon was at the landing. I started toward the stairs, timing it so he'd be two steps below me when I tripped into him. Jerry Lewis couldn't have done it any better. I squealed to get his attention, my hands flew up, though I made sure to keep a tight grip on my bag, and I fell right into his arms, turning him as he caught me so his back was to the bathroom. I gasped and babbled long enough for Cole to sneak out of the bathroom and down the hall.

"Oh, thank you so much," I told the guard, straightening his jacket and dusting him off as if I'd dumped a bowl of baby powder on his shoulders. Though I kept my focus on the guard, pouring on the charm so thick you'd need a foghorn to navigate it, I still kept a peripheral eye on Cole. He'd nearly made it to his first turn when a door opened beside him. Cole paused, said something, and the door closed immediately. He shrugged, went on his way, and I blessed the guard's heart one last time before heading down the rest of the stairs.

I found Vayl in the room adjacent to the front hall. It might've been called a parlor in another century. He held my drink with one hand while he nibbled off an appetizer buffet with the other.

"Darling," he said, holding out my drink, "you must try this pate'. I think it is the best I have ever tasted."

I smiled, took the glass and headed toward the end of the cloth-covered table. Vayl followed closely, too closely. I stopped short and he nearly mowed me over. Turning to face him, I laughed lightly, but under my breath I said, "Are you sniffing me?"

His expression could've been chipped from granite for all it gave away, but his eyes had gone a stormy grayish-blue. "Who kissed you?" he hissed. "And who else hugged you?"

"What makes you think I've been making out with two different men?" I turned to get a plate, fork and napkin, then walked to the opposite end of the buffet, forcing Vayl to dodge several couples and a white-coated caterer to keep up with me.

"Two distinct scents cover your own," Vayl whispered when I finally stopped long enough to spoon some mini-sausages onto my plate. "And what is left of your lipstick is smudged."

I made my smile icy as January rain as I wiped my lips clean with my napkin. "It's a long story," I said, "and we have a job to do." I spooned more goodies onto my plate while Vayl waited for a couple of B-movie stars to clear out. He added more stuff to my plate as he continued our murmured conversation.

"Oh yes, we are working tonight, aren't we?" Vayl and sarcasm went too well together. The mix made me want to punch something. I settled for stabbing a bowl of caviar repeatedly with a serving spoon. Vayl watched me beat the fish eggs into submission as he continued, "The security system will be easily compromised. The guards, well, we will have to watch them more, get a sense of their movements even though the party will take them somewhat out of their normal routine. That is, unless you would rather pop out an uzi and mow them all down right here."

I glared at him. But I was more mad at myself. I did seem to be developing a tendency to jump first and hope for a parachute later.

"Talk," he demanded.

I retreated to a corner beside a tall, potted fichus and stuffed sautéed mushrooms down my throat while I tried to figure out how to make what I'd just done sound remotely logical. I shook my head. Once I'd been a sensible person. Now, well, there's just no explaining me. At least not without using words like "insane," "stupid," or "Night-time Nyquil."

Vayl came in close, towering over me like a grade school principal. I looked up at him and swallowed a grape in one guilty gulp. "Can we have this conversation never?"

"What. Happened."

So I told him—everything—start to finish. And damned if it didn't come out sounding like an episode of Nancy Drew.

"So, do you make a habit of kissing strange men in bathrooms?" Vayl's eyes had darkened to jade with swirling gold flecks that made me slightly dizzy. When I didn't immediately reply he added, "Because it certainly was not mentioned in your file."

What is it about the people who know you best? You never reveal to them the secret location of your make-me-crazy buttons and yet, like toddlers at preschool, they root them out and push them again and again and again. Mine are directly connected to hand grenades. So as soon as Vayl finished speaking I heard the tell-tale clatter of a pin rattling on the floor. My file? I wish it was in my hands right now. I'd smack you over the head with it so hard your bell would still be ringing for church next Saturday night!

Then I'd clonk myself, hard, on the frontal lobe. Maybe that would cure me, and I would never again have to be embarrassed by what we in the C.I.A. like to call my PDD (Previous Dumbass Decisions). However I was not done digging my grave.

"I don't make a habit of kissing anybody thanks to you!" Realizing Freud would have a field day with that statement, I rushed on. "It was a spontaneous action, something I'm sure you have no experience with, and though as my boss I can see how you might be upset that I helped him considering what we're here for, you might also congratulate me for defusing a situation that might've interfered with our plan."

"Do you think these two men will remember you?"

"I sure as hell hope so!"

"So when the police investigate Assan's passing tomorrow morning, and they question everyone whose invitation lies in that lacy little basket and cannot find Lucille Robinson, these men will be able to describe you quite easily?"

My stomach clenched and all the food I'd just wolfed down spontaneously combusted. "Hey, when you're done lecturing me, could you speak to my ulcers? They seem to be misbehaving as well."

Vayl took my plate in one hand and my arm in the other, marched us both to the garbage can where he chose to dump the plate (though I'm sure he considered leaving me there instead). Then he escorted me out of the parlor, into the dining room and out an ornate metal-framed screen door to the pool area.

"Uh, Vayl, I know you haven't lived in America long by your count, so I'd just like to point out that bosses don't generally drown their subordinates when they've screwed up royally."

He grabbed my right hand and brushed his thumb across my empty ring finger. The corners of his mouth dropped, what in anyone else would be described as a grimace. "You have jeopardized our mission and my high opinion of you." he frowned harder, "What possessed you?"

More like who, I thought. Lucille Robinson. A girl who looks just like me, but who has never, not once, blacked out or spent entire afternoons trying to get the song B-I-N-G-O out of her head. In those moments with Cole, she'd felt… real. And that was wrong in about fifty different ways.

"I'm sorry, Vayl." I hung my head. I'd been so careful, but he was finally figuring what a spaz I truly was. I should've known my run with the Agency couldn't last. But the hope of sticking the broken pieces of my career back together had been the only thing that kept me from jumping in front of a train after my, uh, incident. Guess I should've used brand-name glue.

Vayl pulled me into the shadows between the house and a wrought iron dining set. For a minute I thought he'd snapped and I was going to find out first-hand how much it really hurt to be vampire-bitten. "I can smell your desperation too," he whispered. "It is like burnt metal on my tongue. But above all I sense determination. Courage. The instincts of a predator and the skill of a master. It is a confusing combination, Jasmine. Can I trust it?"

What? It doesn't take me long to move from any strong emotion to pissed off. Mom used to blame it on the red hair. I guess a shrink would have a different theory. But suddenly I felt like wadding up the last six months of watching his back and shoving it down his throat.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise," I hissed. "Pete made it clear, and I agreed. My life for yours. If that's how it goes down, that's how I go. No questions asked. I know your value." Just as well as I know my own.

I glared at Vayl, mostly to give the tears that threatened a big, fat nuh-uh. He responded with his most inscrutable look. I thought of Cole's sparkling eyes and love-me smile and wondered how many times a man would have to smother his own feelings to get to the expression on Vayl's face. "I am not talking about my life," he said.

Okay, now my brain was going to melt. What the hell else could he possibly trust me with?

We heard a bell ring and noticed people begin moving into the dining room. Though I felt like I'd been shoved off a train in Siberia during a blizzard, Vayl's short nod signified he'd made up his mind. "Will you join me?" I knew he wasn't just talking about supper.

I wanted to say No, let's do this another day, when I'm not shaking like a strung-out crackhead. Instead I nodded, tucked my hand into the crook of his bent elbow and allowed him to escort me inside. Lucille's smiling face met those of the guests who'd begun to gather in the dining room, and not one of them guessed that behind the facade lurked a hired killer who sometimes thought it would be a great relief to finally die herself.

Chapter Three

I'll say this for me, even when my insides are twisting like a contortionist in the Cirque du Soleil, I do know how to focus. By the time we reached our seats Lucille Robinson had taken charge. She took real pleasure in her surroundings, enjoying the granite-topped table, the gold-rimmed plates, the enormous vases (pronounced vah-zes, my dear) bursting with pink and white tulips. My neighbor told me the nurseryman got them to bloom so early by faking them out, making them think they'd spent an entire winter underground when in fact they'd only spent about six weeks in the cooler. The word for the process, she said, was "forced." Those beautiful forced flowers reminded me of Amanda Assan as I watched her negotiate her way through the meal.

She ate $5,000 worth of French onion soup, Caesar salad, chicken parmesan and coconut cream pie, all the time making pleasant conversation with my tablemates who, after a word with Vayl, would never remember me in the morning. Not long ago she'd been crying on an old friend's shoulder. Now she wore a catalog-model smile.

When the white-aproned servers cleared the last dessert plate, Assan suggested we all move into the ballroom. Vayl put an arm around my shoulder and murmured, "I saw the room when I was looking around earlier. This is where you get to guess what is behind Door Number Four." A new Jaguar:

"No. But probably just as pricey."

We moved out of the dining room, across the hall and to a pair of custom doors decorated with intricate scrollwork and generous amounts of gold leaf. Two muscle-bound doormen let us into a room that made the guests gasp. The ceiling set the theme for the entire space. Half-dressed nymphs danced across fields of flowers while studly young princelings looked on from beds made of silvery white clouds. I suspected the artist to be a direct descendent of Michelangelo.

The burnished gold walls sported enough detailed trim to keep an army of plasterers busy for six months. The wood floor was so dark it was almost black. Two long tables set with punch bowls and crystal glasses sat along one wall underneath oversized windows dressed in black velvet. Another wall backed a miniature orchestra, its members dressed to match the curtains. As soon as the door opened they began to play, and the song lasted until all the guests had entered. Amidst applause for the musicians, Assan stepped up to a microphone.

"Notice the dark-haired man in the shadows just to Assan's left," Vayl whispered.

"Wasn't he hovering near Assan when we met?"

"Yes. I think that one is his personal bodyguard. You will have to deal with him when the time comes." I smiled and nodded as if Vayl had just complimented the band.

"Thank you all for coming," said Assan, his voice echoing weirdly in the enormous room. "You are the reason so many young children have been given a second chance at life." He went on but I stopped listening, so steamed by his b.s. I'd begun to consider how I would kill him if Vayl gave me the chance. But those daydreams ended abruptly as my nose twitched and my scalp began to tingle.

"Jeremy?"

"Hmm?"

I tugged on his sleeve so he'd lean down, bringing his ear within an inch of my lips. "There's another vampire in the room." It seemed weird to be the one, of the two of us, who could sense this. But vamps are completely closed to one another. I would imagine it makes for horrible relationships.

"Find him."

I focused on the scent, a rotten potato kind of odor that made my head ache. When the man slithered his way to the front of the crowd I knew it was him. He wore his nutmeg colored hair long, past his shoulders. His eyes, a striking light blue as cold as the arctic, kept him from looking girlish. His blue, pin-striped suit fit so well at least half the guests would be asking him for the name of his tailor before the evening ended. But it didn't look as if he meant to stay. He caught Assan's eye, signaled him with a slight nod, and suddenly our host couldn't get away from the microphone fast enough.

"Excuse me," he said, "I am afraid that duty calls. Please enjoy the rest of your evening knowing that, even tonight, your generous donations have helped to make an unfortunate child whole again."

I caught myself short of a full-blown snort. I murmured, "If he's going to put some poor kid's face back on straight I'll do the hula."

"Lovely dance, that. The story is all in the hands. I did not know you knew—"

"Vayl, I was kidding."

"Oh." Tightening of the lips. Translation—crap, when am I going to leap into the 21st century and get with their damn humor? Jerk of the head. Translation—obviously not today, so let's get on with the job, shall we?

"Keep hold of my hand." Vayl's power slid over me like silk pajamas. What a rush! No one even glanced at us as we passed, and most of them couldn't have seen us if they'd tried. We followed Assan and his vampire friend into the part of the foyer that wandered underneath the stairs. Assan's vamp wouldn't sense me here either, not as long as I was touching Vayl.

There are other, more permanent ways for a vamp to share power, but I preferred this one. Less invasive. Plus I liked the hand-holding. Pathetic, I know, but that's what happens when you haven't touched another soul in over a year.

We crouched behind a huge statue of a naked guy and listened in. Okay, the gleaming black marble butt in my face distracted me slightly, but I'm still a pro, so I did hear the highlights.

"—well?" Assan was saying.

"Better than expected," the vamp said, "the virus has already mutated."

My stomach clenched at the word 'virus.'

Assan nodded happily. "So we are ready for the final test?"

The vampire nodded, pushing his hair away from his face in a way I found chilling, because it was such a graceful gesture. The worst monsters are always the prettiest.

"I wish we could do it tonight," Assan ventured, but the vampire shook his head.

"No, we must follow the plan. We know the mutation must have a full 24 hours to thrive before it can be transferred and made lethal. Tomorrow night is soon enough."

"And then?"

"You know," the vampire said indulgently.

Assan's grin would've fit better on a shark. "And then the purge begins."

The vamp flashed his fangs in ecstatic agreement. He looked at his watch. "Svetlana and Boris arrive in 20 minutes. We should go."

Vayl and I traded looks of dread. Obviously defrauding charities and rearranging fanatics' faces were the least of Assan's crimes.

I jerked my head toward the surgeon and his undead friend, raised my eyebrows. Let's take them now. Try to make them talk before this virus can be unleashed. I badly wanted to grab the bastards and bang their heads together.

Vayl shook his head. I knew what he was thinking. Too public. Too soon. Though it chafed to admit it, he was right. Only God knew what vital information we'd miss if we hit them now. So we followed the men toward the back of the house. When we knew they were headed for the garage, we shifted into high gear.

We dodged into the dining room, slipped out the poolside doors and raced to our car. Still holding hands, we swept through the night like a couple of phantoms, Vayl's power pushing us so our feet barely touched the ground. I'd never felt so strong, as if all the complex systems that allowed me to exist were working with such perfect precision I could perform miracles if I wanted to. Nifty Gift, I thought. If Vayl's ferocious grin was any sign, he thought so too.

I'd left the car unlocked just in case. My keys were in my hand almost before I thought of it, and within seconds we were rolling down the driveway.

"No lights in the rearview," I said.

"Good. Do you know where you are going?"

"Yeah. One of the neighboring houses is vacant. The drive's open, but there's a row of pine trees near the road that screens the rest of the yard and the house. We can wait there."

"Excellent work, Jasmine." I nodded my thanks, pressing my lips together to keep myself from grinning at the compliment.

The guards at the gate waved us through without even a second glance. I made a left as if I was headed for the interstate. When the gate had disappeared behind us I took the next right and killed the headlights. After some high speed, highly illegal driving, I hit the driveway of the empty house, drove into the grass and behind the trees. With my night vision activated I could easily see Assan's mansion and, moments later, the headlights of a vehicle began to close the distance between the house and gate. Vayl didn't tell me it was all in my hands now. Even though I'd screwed up less than an hour before, he still trusted me to know my job. I liked that about him.

My hands were wet on the wheel as I pulled back onto the street. Following taillights is easy in a low traffic area like Assan's neighborhood. It gets a little more challenging on the interstate, but Assan's vehicle, an extended-cab Dodge Ram the color of strawberry Pop Tart filling, was tough to miss. Too bad this virus bombshell had blown our original assignment to shreds. I could've taken him out on the Interstate and no one would ever have known it wasn't an accident.

Ten minutes later we'd followed the Pop Tart truck to an abandoned air force base. As soon as we could, we ditched the car and headed toward a congregation of sightless buildings gathered in the empty compound. A hundred yards from Assan's truck, we grabbed cover among the jungle of shrubs and tall grasses that edged one of the base's old helipads and watched the two men exit their vehicle. The vamp leaned on the hood while Assan went to an electric pole where he fiddled inside a large gray box. Seconds later a ring of red lights came on and less than five minutes after that I heard the rhythmic thump of helicopter blades spinning overhead.

I tensed with expectation as the copter touched down and a couple, one large, one small, wearing black jumpsuits hopped out. They crouched low as they hurried toward Assan's truck. Moments later the helicopter flew away and our four subjects made their own exit. I sat in the weeds and watched them go, trying to come to some practical conclusions.

Okay. So we have two new vamps named Svetlana and Boris arriving the night before the final test of a virus that mutates and is capable of purge-like deaths. Hey, maybe it's not all that bad. Maybe the Russians are computer geeks and the virus is just a big, bad worm. I wish. I really, really do.

We gave Assan, his buddy and the Russians just enough lead-time that they wouldn't see us pull out behind them, and hoped their next stop would lead us to some answers that didn't include the phrase, 'end of the world as we know it.'

Chapter Four

One of my worst childhood memories is of sitting at the kitchen table of our tiny house on the base at Quantico. I was crying so hard my favorite Mariah Carey T-shirt had wet blotches on it, and snot bubbles kept popping out of my nose, which Dave thought was "Way rad!" I remember that bothered me even more, because I thought he should be crying too. Mom sat across the table from us, smoking a cigarette and patting a howling Evie on the back. Evie always cried when I cried. It was one of the reasons I finally stopped.

Mom looked at me with what I took to be an utter lack of sympathy. And she said, "I know you were expecting your dad to come home today. I know you were planning to share a piece of your birthday cake with him. But, you've gotta remember, Jaz, nothing ever goes according to plan. Nothing. Not ever."

I believed her. What I couldn't tell her was that I also believed Dad hadn't made it home because he'd been killed in Desert Storm. My neighbor had told me so. The twelve-year-old daughter of a supply sergeant who ruled us all with her advanced training in name-calling and dirty fighting, Tammy Shobeson got her kicks from torturing me when Dave wasn't around to back me up. And learning it was my tenth birthday had inspired her. She'd buried her claws deep, too. I spent the rest of my childhood dreading the news of Albert's death. Despite his long absences. Despite our chilly relationship. And then, BAM, Mom keeled over in the shoe department of WalMart. A massive heart attack had proven once and for all that nothing ever goes as planned. Nothing. Not ever.

I carried that lesson like a compass. And most of the time it got me where I needed to go. This once, however, fate caught me by surprise. When I glanced into the rearview not a mile from where we'd pulled back onto the interstate, I found an SUV flirting with the back bumper of my Lexus.

"This was definitely not part of the plan," I murmured.

"What?"

A spine-shuddering thump was Vayl's answer. "What the—?" He turned in time to see the SUV hit us again, crumpling the trunk upward so far it looked like we'd grown a spoiler.

Suddenly my hands were full trying to keep my wounded car between the white lines. The SUV had to veer off as well, but he was back fast, crunching into my fender like we were playing bumper cars.

Had Assan pegged us? Had he called in backup to pull us off his tail? No more time to wonder. After another meeting with the SUV our rear end had more wrinkles than an Agatha Christie novel.

"Son of a bitch!" I floored it, but speed was only a temporary solution. We didn't have the horses to outrun him, and if he took my bumper at the wrong angle, I'd go spinning off the road like Jeff Gordon after a run-in with Tony Stewart.

"All right," said Vayl, "I have had it."

"What are you thinking?"

"I am thinking it is time we find out who is trying to kill us."

"Can we do that without dying?"

"Maybe."

"Then I'm for it." I watched in the mirror as the SUV closed on us. Geez but he was coming fast. "Hang on," I told Vayl. I slammed on the brakes. Taken by surprise, he swerved, caught my back bumper with his side panel and continued his spin on into the median.

The impact triggered our airbags, and for awhile Vayl and I fought to get our eyes uncrossed. They may have slowed those bags down, but when one goes off in your face it still feels like you just got your neck sprung by a Rock-Em-Sock-Em-Robot.

I was debating whether the ringing in my ears was a product of the blow to my head or a sign of imminent mental breakdown when the doors opened. A red-faced, gray-bearded man blocked my exit. He towered over me, wearing faded blue overalls and a Dolphins jacket, looking like he could flip the car over without breaking a sweat. His eye had swollen shut.

"I hear raw steaks work wonders on shiners that size," I offered.

"Shut your mouth before I do it for you." He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the car. I stumbled, fell against him, felt the hard outline of a pistol jam against my ribs.

"What do you want?" I asked. Good. I sounded brave.

"Just think of yourselves as a stain and us as bleach." O-kay. Maybe these guys weren't with Assan after all. Maybe they'd just escaped from some understaffed, under funded psych ward.

I turned my head to check on Vayl. They were taking him very seriously. He stood among the brush and scrub that passed for a shoulder on this part of the highway, leaning on his cane as he traded stares with three men in their late twenties.

Two held him at bay, or so they thought, with silver crucifixes held out at arm's length. One had JESUS SAVES emblazoned across the front of his gray T-shirt in big orange letters. The other wore a black sweatshirt that framed two praying hands surrounded by a beaded necklace with a silver stake hanging from it.

The third man, who'd come straight from a funeral judging by his three-piece suit, aimed a cocked crossbow at Vayl that would've made me laugh in different circumstances. It looked like he'd built it in his 7th grade shop class.

"And don't try any of that mumbo-jumbo on us," JESUS SAVES warned Vayl. "I'll tell them if you do and you'll be smoke before you can blink."

As Graybeard yanked me around to Vayl's side of the car, two big light bulbs went off in my brain, which probably meant I was flirting with an aneurism. But while I still had my faculties I figured JESUS SAVES was a Sensitive, like me. He also must've been present at a staking to know vampires do leave trace amounts of dust and ash when they're vanquished, but the biggest part of them goes up in smoke.

We were down on numbers and weaponry. Never a good place to be, even when you're a pro. I admit, dread had sunk its claws into the back of my neck, and it wasn't helping me think any clearer. Then Vayl met my eyes—and winked. Suddenly I could breathe again. Because in that moment I knew no two-bit operation run by a bunch of yahoos was going to beat us. Not tonight. Not ever.

As soon as my mind cleared, I noticed two things. An undeniable affection for my partner whose survival meant a lot more to me than mere job satisfaction. And the pseudo-identity of the organization fronting this one-night event.

"Hey Vayl," I jerked my thumb at Graybeard, "this one's into cleanliness and that one," I nodded at JESUS SAVES, "is into godliness. What's that make you think of?"

"God's Arm." Vayl's instant reply pleased our captors. It's always nice to have your ultra-fanatical religious affiliation recognized. It's also nice when someone guesses who you've dressed up as on Halloween. I raised my eyebrows at Vayl and slid my eyes toward Graybeard's neck. He understood immediately. All members of God's Arm have a cross tattooed on their necks as a rite of initiation. These necks were clean.

"Let's walk," said Graybeard, gesturing toward a grove of trees in the distance with the .357 Magnum he'd pulled from his front pocket. Vayl's slight nod encouraged me to cooperate, for now. So I walked, my sandals protecting me so poorly from the rocks and weeds I considered kicking them off. Only the possibility of stepping on shards of glass or metal deterred me. It had gotten colder too, and my party dress wasn't providing much protection against the wind that kept brushing against me in an endless, winter-borne tide. The full moon lit up my goosebumps and the pseudo-path ahead of me. But I squeezed my contacts into night vision anyway, preparing for a trek through the deeper brush ahead.

Nobody talked during the walk, which only took us about 200 yards off the highway but seemed endless. Something about the march seemed eerily familiar to me. It was like the entire store of knowledge I'd built around criminals and their victims had coughed up the ghosts of those who'd walked ahead of their murderers, sometimes cold, sometimes stumbling, leaving glowing footprints for me to follow. Only they were angry that I'd consented to follow that trail. "Fight!" they whispered, their wild, haunted memories sharpening their voices. "Fight now. Fight hard. Die, if necessary, only die fighting!"

I never meant to go another way. And I think… yeah, now.

I sucked in my breath and screamed, "Oh, God! Something bit me!" I grabbed my right ankle, hopping around as much as Graybeard's grip allowed.

"What do you mean?" he demanded, looking from my pain-contorted face to my ankle and back again.

"A snake," I gasped. "Look, there it is!"

I pointed at the feet of the Suit, who immediately backed up and looked down.

"It's too cold for snakes," Graybeard was saying, but too late. Vayl had seen his opening. He shot his scabbard at the Suit, knocking him sideways. The bolt from his crossbow flew off into the bushes. Vayl's blade flashed and the Suit dropped, holding his left arm and groaning as blood spurted from it in steady bursts. I didn't wait to see how Vayl dealt with JESUS SAVES and Praying Hands. The confusion that had delayed Graybeard's reaction was clearing. In moments he'd be putting his Magnum into action.

I attacked. My first move, a knife-hand to the elbow, made him drop the gun. He blocked the fist I aimed at his groin, blocked my next two moves as well. He'd been trained, and well. But he was still slower and older than me, and I made it count.

The kick I connected to the side of his head put him off balance. He countered with a punch that would've broken my ribs if he hadn't been backing up. Even so, I'd be feeling that blow for a week. I took him down with a hook kick to the back of his knee. Two more hard kicks to the temple did the trick. He fell to his side and stayed there, quietly bleeding into the brush. I grabbed his gun and stood back. A bullet to the brain would've been easy and I was sorely tempted. Bang, bang, bang. But it wasn't my place to decide. Vayl would choose whether he lived or died. Ironic, huh?

The boss had done pretty well for himself. Apparently JESUS SAVES and Praying Hands had tried to run for it, because they stood about 50 yards away, gazing at Vayl like a couple of trapped rats as he circled them, his sword hovering inches from the crosses they brandished like pop guns. I could feel his power build as he circled them. JESUS SAVES could too, and neither his shaking arm nor his bladder seemed to be able to hold up against it. Vayl spoke a single word and Praying Hands crumpled to the ground.

JESUS SAVES, being a Sensitive, just stood there shaking. Like me, he was much less susceptible to Vayl's hypnotic suggestions. Fear had a bigger influence, however. When Vayl made a move toward him he screamed like a little girl and ran off into the trees. When they found him in the morning I suspected he'd be gibbering like a Blair Witch escapee.

The Suit moaned weakly. I went to check on him. He'd squirmed out of his belt and was trying to cinch it tight enough over his bicep to stop the fountain that had drenched his shoulder, sleeve and half his face. "Here," I said, "let me help you with that." I jerked the belt tight, and he yelped in pain. The bleeding slowed to a trickle. "You want to watch who you ambush next time," I told him. "There's a lot worse monsters than vampires wandering the world."

"I know," he whispered, looking straight into my eyes as if he could see my secret life spread before him, a horrific map of violence and destruction justified—maybe, maybe, maybe—by the violence and destruction it had prevented.

Vayl came closer, leaned over Graybeard and whispered in his ear.

"You've only got a few seconds left," I told the Suit. "Soon he'll be crouching over you, speaking in your ear, scrambling your brain. Is there anything you want to tell me before your mind goes as soft as frozen yogurt?" Okay, I was exaggerating. Most likely Vayl was suggesting to Graybeard, as he had to Praying Hands, that if he ever tried to kill anyone again, even a vampire, his heart would burst. Maybe the Suit sensed that.

"No," he answered.

"Vayl likes to mess with people's minds," I told him. "Literally. He might go easy on you, leave the memories of your wife and kids, your childhood. If you tell him who sent you."

The Suit was pale, clammy, barely conscious. Which is maybe why he slipped. "He'd kill us," he whispered. His eyes closed. A tear trickled down one cheek. Would you believe I felt sorry for him?

I kept my voice low, trying not to startle him into silence. "Who?"

No answer. I shook him, but he'd passed out, and it looked like he'd be spending the next couple of hours that way.

"Get the car started while I deal with him," said Vayl. "I hear sirens."

Chapter Five

I coaxed the battered Lexus off the highway at the nearest exit and headed south. I'd never used the roads I now took, never even seen them on a map. But I'd get us back to the hotel all the same. Evie liked to tell people I'd gotten a GPS implant. Neat idea, but untrue. My uncanny sense of direction had come to me along with my Sensitivity—after. It made sense in a way. My life as I'd known it had changed in every way it could 14 months ago. It seemed right the way I perceived life should change too.

"It's only two o'clock," I told Vayl. "Do you want to go back to Assan's house?"

Vayl shook his head. "Not tonight. I feel I should know this vampire ally of Assan's, and yet I do not recognize his face. Until we have some background information on him, we need to wait. To plan." Vayl slumped in his seat. "When we left Ohio all we thought Assan had was a heinous hobby. Now we know he has an undead ally and a potentially deadly virus. It seems to me they must also be destroyed."

"I agree. But should we add more targets to our list now that we've become targets ourselves?"

"Something else to consider before we make our next move," Vayl said, shrugging. "We must ensure that our little problem is not putting this entire operation into jeopardy."

"What are you saying? Are you saying we should abort the mission?"

"I do not know."

That shut me down. Vayl got quiet too, considering our options, maybe. Or maybe just recharging. In the silence the banging of our bumper took center stage like an American Idol loser, making me cringe. Graybeard and company had really done a number on the Lexus. We'd had to bend the back fenders away from the tires before we could even drive the thing, and I wouldn't bet on the axle still being in mint condition. I felt an evil thrill at the thought of those four. By now they'd all be strapped in their roller beds, and in another ten minutes hospital personnel would be trying to figure out how one of them could've picked up a sword wound outside of a circus sideshow.

"That was a smart move back there," Vayl said.

"Oh, the snake thing? Thanks. Yeah, that did the trick."

"I noticed. Ah, could you refrain from trying it again in the future?"

I glanced over at Vayl. I'd blinked off my night vision, so only the moonlight glancing through the windows showed me his expression. It looked tight, the way men's faces will when they're either feeling or remembering pain. I'd seen it often on Albert after diabetes had forced him to retire, and on David the night we'd stopped speaking. That look went straight to my heart and squeezed.

"You, uh, don't like snakes very much?"

"No."

"Well quit looking all pinched and aristocratic. I'm not making fun of you."

"I am just somewhat sensitive about my phobias."

"You mean there's more than one?"

He jerked his head toward me. I held up one hand. "Okay, okay, backing off. Um, I suppose this would be a bad time to ask you to talk to Pete for me, you know, about the car?"

His eyes widened. I could almost hear him thinking, of all the nerve! "You were driving," he said.

"But he likes you so much better than me."

"That is because I don't keep wrecking the rentals."

"Jesus Henry Christ, Parks, why is it that every time I send you out on assignment something explodes?"

Only Pete called me Parks, and only when he was mad. He called me Parks an awful lot. "The car didn't explode, Pete, it crumpled. In the back. About six inches all the way across."

A strangled scream from the other end of the phone told me Pete might be choking on his own tongue. Maybe if I just waited very quietly at this end he'd suffocate before he could fire me.

"Let me talk to Vayl."

"Okay, hang on."

I took the phone to Vayl, who was lounging on one of the couches, getting a huge hairy kick out of my current predicament. The louse. "Tell him it wasn't my fault," I whispered as I handed him the phone.

"It was not Jasmine's fault, Pete," Vayl said. Just for that I went to the mini-fridge to get him a beer. I got one for myself too, a reward for spending the hours since we'd gotten back to Diamond Suites trying to untangle this new mystery Assan had presented us with.

"Yes," said Vayl.

At least we'd figured out the identity of Assan's accomplice. He'd made the FBI's Most Wanted Vampires list.

"I know," Vayl said.

The vamp's name, Aidyn Strait, rang bells all over Top Secret Land. He'd spent all of his long, long life trying to solve scientific problems using horribly unscientific methods, leaving a trail of mutilated bodies stretching back to the 18^th century. According to his file, which even now stared at me from the screen of our laptop, his latest venture was getting vampires to breed vampires, not through an exchange of blood, but through traditionally human methods.

So how did the vamp version of a fertility specialist end up with the human version of a makeover artist? As yet, we'd found no clue. We did know two things for sure. Assan and Aidyn were both henchmen types. That led us to believe someone else was calling the shots. Also, Aidyn did not look like he had when he'd crossed Vayl's path a century ago. Apparently Assan had done his buddy a big, plastic favor.

"How does that work?" I'd asked Vayl as we'd stared at the laptop screen, which was displaying Aidyn's before and after photos.

"I am not sure," Vayl had replied. "We can be scarred by fire, and full sunlight destroys us. Perhaps Assan used some sort of specially calibrated laser?"

That made sense. While we were in college, Bergman had theorized that lasers might be used to kill vampires. But he couldn't figure out how to produce the necessary power in a hand-held weapon. Surgery was a different story. All you needed was the space and the financing.

Vayl took a sip of his beer and gave me a nod of thanks.

"What's Pete saying?" I whispered.

Vayl cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. "He is extremely upset that someone tried to kill us tonight."

"So he doesn't want to fire me?"

Vayl held up a finger, listened for a minute, then shook his head. "Jasmine," he said, "Your job is, how you say, solid. One of the reasons I chose you is because Pete told me you are the best human agent he has."

"Oh." I drained my beer, marched into my bedroom, closed the doors, buried my face in the pillows and burst into tears.

Some time later I felt Vayl's presence beside me. The bed sank as he sat down.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm great." I turned to look at him, made sure he could see my smile was genuine. "Our simple little hit has turned into a bioterror nightmare. I nearly died tonight. My boss yelled at me for five minutes straight without stopping to take a breath, and in between I spent three hours staring at a computer screen. I think I may get cancer from the radiation. And I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Weird, huh?"

Vayl brushed a curl away from my cheek with a forefinger. "Unique," he said, "which is what I have come to expect from you."

Once in a great while a very private person will get that ask-me-anything look on his face. When you see it, you have to be ready to pounce. As soon as those soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners I jumped in. "Look, before, you said you chose me because I was the best."

"Absolutely."

"Why though?" I asked. "Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed the ride. And I hope I spend the rest of my career working with you. I know why Pete wants us partnered. I know why the Senators on the Oversight Committee want me here. But I've been wracking my brain for six months and I haven't been able to come up with any truly viable explanations as to why a vampire who's been around nearly three centuries needs an assistant. You can hypnotize people—"

"Only those with weak minds."

"You can cause a freeze that makes liquid nitrogen look wimpy."

"Thank you."

"You can make yourself invisible—"

"Not invisible, just intensely uninteresting."

"You run like you're strapped to a rocket. Your hearing's remarkable. You're stronger than Paul Bunyan… am I leaving anything out?"

His eyebrow rose ever so slightly, but I was so attuned to him I knew he was making a wry face. "Is that not enough?"

"Why me?"

He waited awhile to answer, shaking his head slightly every once in awhile as if he was trying out reasons and discarding them one by one. Finally he said, "After what happened to you November last, most people would have just curled up and died." I stared at him, ready to walk if he even brushed against the heart of my pain. "You did not. You survived, but with Gifts that have only just begun to surface. I felt you needed help to develop these Gifts. And since I needed an avhar—"

"What's that?"

"A partner, just like you."

"And?"

"You are right, there is more. I must ask you to be patient. When the time is right, we will both know."

Nuts. "Okay," I grumbled. I suddenly wanted my cards. I took them off the bedside table, and as I did my eyes strayed to the clock. "It's almost time," I said. "Do you need me to help you set up the tent?"

Vayl has never slept in a coffin. Now that I knew he was phobic, I suspected lying in one probably gave him the heebie jeebies. I don't know what his sleeping arrangements are when we're home. Hell, I don't even know where his home is. But when we travel he brings a custom-made tent that covers his entire bed. The material is impermeable to light, so if someone was to accidentally open a curtain or something, he won't singe. I'd love to have one myself, just because the kid in me thinks it would be a real hoot, like camping out only without the bugs.

Vayl's fingers slipped into my hair. The pins began to fall out and he combed each bit as it loosened. I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek against his thigh, totally lost to the sensation. It felt great, soothing. It shouldn't have. Why wasn't I backing Vayl off?

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, catching my breath at his expression. Passion lit his eyes with an intense green flame. I could not look away, not even as he lowered his face to mine very slowly and deliberately. At the last second I turned away, the feeling of his lips against my cheek making me gasp.

"So tired," I murmured, though I'd never been more aware. Can't do this, Jaz. It's wrong. It's bad. It's…

"Sleep then," he whispered, his lips so close to my ear I felt his words tickle my eardrum. I felt him slip the cards from my hand and heard him put them back on the table.

"Okay." I snuggled under the blanket he draped over me and promised myself that tomorrow, as soon as darkness fell, I would definitely put Vayl in his place.

Chapter Six

You know how sometimes real sounds can invade your dreams? Like one time, I was napping on the couch and dreamed I was interviewing Steven Tyler. Then I woke up and there he was on MTV talking to some bimbette who asked such stupid questions I was glad to wake up and find it wasn't me.

Now I dreamed that Vayl and I were discussing the mission. I said, "So what do you think this virus does?" And Vayl answered by making a strange trilling noise, like he had a cricket stuck in his throat.

"How do you think it gets transferred?" I asked.

"Trrrill."

"And what's the deal with this vampire/terrorist connection anyway? The Sons of Paradise hate supernatural stuff, and vampires are just seething with it. So why ally with them, especially if you have your own cadre of mad scientists?"

"Trrill."

"Vayl, it's so weird, you sound just like my—"

"Cell phone," I mumbled. I opened my eyes, stared at the glittering handbag on the bedside table, a little worse for wear as a result of its trip to the floorboards during last night's wreck. Beneath the bag, where I'd laid it before we left, sat my personal phone. Ringing. Which meant it was either Evie or Albert, neither of which did I feel like talking to at—I glanced at the clock—eight in the morning.

I said a very unladylike word as I reached over to pick up the phone and my ribs reminded me to fight dirtier next time some hulking bruiser wanted to trade blows. "Do you have any idea what time I went to sleep last night? I mean this morning?" I waited. Nothing. Oops, forgot to press the button. I might actually be glad about that later.

Beep. "Hello?"

"Jaz, I'm so glad you answered."

"Evie… have you been crying?"

"It's either that or pound Dad over the head with a mallet."

Crap. I am so not up to this. "What's he done now?"

"More like what hasn't he done." Evie really didn't belong in our family. Too sweet. Too anxious to please. It tended to bring out the worst in the rest of us, including Albert.

"Okay, what hasn't he done?"

"He hasn't taken his insulin every day, or followed his diet, or minded the infection in his f-f-foot."

"I thought we hired a nurse to do that for him."

Evie took a deep, trembling breath, but she still started crying again, hard enough that I didn't understand what she said next.

"Evie, all that bawling can't be good for the baby, so cut it out." I knew I sounded stern, but bossiness is the main perk of big sisterhood. And she did calm way down, way quick.

"Now, first of all, where's your husband? He'd be having a cow if he knew you were this agitated over Albert."

"Tim's in Philadelphia on business."

"Okay, after you get off the phone with me, call him. It'll make you feel better. Now, what about the nurse?"

"Dad fired her."

"What?!" I felt the prickling along my scalp that signaled Big Anger. I wished I was the Queen of Hearts so I could just order my little card soldiers to cut off Albert's head. "When?"

"About a month ago."

"A month! But I've sent him two checks to cover her salary since then."

"Me too." Tears had crept back into Evie's voice. I could just imagine her sitting with her elbows on her little breakfast table, her straight, honey-brown hair sweeping forward to cover her face as she dropped her forehead into her hand. "Apparently Dad's been using the money to buy donuts, beer and cigarettes. Now he's sick, the infection's spread to his heel and up his ankle. The doctor at the veteran's hospital says he may have to amputate, but he won't know for sure until he examines Dad, and Dad won't go!"

"What. A. Dumbass."

"Jasmine!"

"Well he is."

"No, I am for not keeping better track of him. But we've just been snowed under at work with this turnaround." She was an engineer for Trifecta Petroleum in Indianapolis. Can anybody say free Indy 500 tickets? Yeah, baby. "And by the time I get home I'm so tired I can barely move. But that's no excuse—"

"Yes, it is. The last thing you should be doing is driving to Chicago to look after the original Grumpy Old Man. He's the one who's abusing himself, not you, so quit feeling guilty."

"Does that mean you'll call him?"

"Yeah, right after I hang up with you."

"I'm on my way to work, but you can call me back later tonight to let me know how it goes if you want."

"I'll try. But no promises. I'm in the middle of something big right now."

"Me too. Unfortunately, I'm it." She laughed a little—music to my ears.

"You're so full of it," I said. "I saw the last picture you e-mailed me. You're gorgeous." I meant it.

"Th-thank you."

"Are you crying again?"

"Only a little. And in a good way this time."

"Well, I guess that's okay. Take care of yourself and Evie Junior, okay? You two are the only girlfriends I've got."

"Okay. Love you. Bye."

"Love you too." Beep. She was gone, back to the normal, everyday life that I'd give my life to preserve.

I dialed Albert's number, but before I hit the last digit I turned the phone off. He was an hour behind me, so he wouldn't be awake until at least ten my time. I set the alarm for 9:30 and went back to sleep.

Psyching yourself up to talk to Albert Parks is like preparing for battle, a metaphor he'd probably appreciate since he'd done that a few times himself during his 30-year stint with the Marines. You need to have all your resources in place before you make your big move. That's why, before I called him, I showered, dressed in my comfy clothes (maroon sweats and an extra large black T-shirt) and drank about half a gallon of coffee. Then I gave myself a pep talk.

"Okay, Jaz," I said as I shuffled my cards for the hundredth time, trying to relax to the whish of a perfect bridge, "here's the deal. You will not yell at Albert for at least five minutes." I figured the call would be over in two, but I'm one to hedge my bets when it comes to losing my temper. "You will keep your opinion of him to yourself this time, and you won't mention Mom at all."

"Okay, I'll try," I told my closet door reflection, "but I'm not making any promises." I nodded to myself, then I called Albert.

He answered on the fifth ring. Not a good sign. His voice, when he said, "Hello," sounded faint and weak.

Though he'd gotten himself into this predicament, he would now expect pity. Ugh! I grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. "Hey, Albert," I said, trying to sound pleasant and not overly concerned. "Evie tells me you're not feeling well."

"She's a meddler, that one, just like your mother."

I gritted my teeth. I would not argue with him over the fact that what he saw as meddling, we saw as Mom coming home early from work to find him in the sack with her best friend!

"I heard you fired your nurse."

"Goddamn busybody. Always wanting to know what I was eating, always poking me with those damn needles."

My Rage-O-Meter spiked. I could feel the veins in my forehead throb like war drums as my temper began to shred. It's a fragile thing, my temper. Sort of like the pretty colored tissue paper you find lining gift bags. My inner eye watched it disintegrate into little, raggedy edged pieces that floated away to perhaps reassemble themselves in another place and time as my father whined, "She treated me terrible, Jazzy. And now I feel terrible."

"Oh, for Chrissake, Dad, you feel terrible because you're not following your doctor's orders. Evie's going nuts worrying about you, and Dave and I don't have time to come coddle you so you'll quit trying to fucking Mil yourself! So here's the deal. We're hiring you another nurse. You will eat what she says. You will take the insulin shots without complaining. And if you fire her, I will personally haul your sorry ass to the Veteran's home and dump you on their doorstep."

"But—"

"Furthermore, you will make an appointment with your doctor today, and if he has to cut off your goddamn foot none of us are going to pity you because you brought it on yourself!"

"Jasmine Elaine Parks—"

"Don't you dare pull your Dad voice out on me, old man. I know exactly what kind of game you're playing and it doesn't wash. You weren't there when we were growing up. What makes you think your pitiful health is going to make us come to you now?"

There was a long silence, during which I'm sure Albert was looking longingly at his beer can while I was kicking myself for yelling at a decrepit old war hero. I knew he'd been an awesome Marine. He had a drawer full of medals and an address book full of phone numbers of men who would still willingly die for him. He just never should've had children.

"I'm tired," I said, suddenly feeling even older than his 61 years. "I'm working on a big account and it's got me on edge. Evie's call knocked me over that edge and now you're catching the fallout."

It wasn't an apology. He didn't deserve one and he knew it.

"I'll call the doctor this morning," he said. I guess if I could make concessions, so could he.

"Good. I'll call you when I find a new nurse."

"Okay."

Another awkward silence. This was the point at which many fathers and daughters would exchange little affectionate phrases like 'I love you' and 'I miss you.' We knew that. We just had no way to get there from here.

"So… I'll talk to you later," I said.

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

Beep. I found it terribly ironic that lately all my conversations with family members ended in a high, annoying sound.

I threw the phone on my bed, dropped down beside it. Before other things demanded my attention I picked up the phone, dialed Evie's number and left a message for her to get me the number of the nursing pool we'd drawn the last woman from. Hopefully I could hire one who hadn't yet talked to his old nurse and learned what an ass Albert could be.

Chapter Seven

I woke to the sound of a doorbell.

"Hey," I told the clock, which was blinking 1:00 p.m. at me, "I went back to sleep. How cool is that?" Even better was the total lack of nightmares. I started to bounce out of bed, but my ribs turned it into more of a slow roll. Grief accompanied me to the door. Vayl had taped a note there.

Jasmine,

Before I went to my rest, I ordered you something special, since I know how much you hate to eat out. See you at dusk

V

I looked through the peephole. Nobody. And the only inhabitant of the hall, when I opened the door, was a serving cart full of covered dishes. I imagined the waiter dashing back to the elevator after he'd rung so I wouldn't catch a glimpse of him and think, gasp! that real people actually ran this hotel. I supposed the employees did a lot of darting into stairwells and linen closets. Were they required to run sprints every morning before work to keep themselves in shape? Hmm, a definite thought. By the time I had the cart inside, the door locked, and the table set for my meal, I'd decided the entire staff met in the attic every morning for calisthenics, and every one of them, maid, cook and maintenance worker alike, wore matching pink leotards.

I uncovered the lids to each dish one by one, offering each plate a round of applause as it appeared. Number one plate held three small pancakes, a slab of butter and a mini-pitcher of syrup. A mushroom omelet spread itself across plate number two and plate number three held four slices of extra crispy bacon. Vayl had also ordered coffee and a big glass of orange juice. I saluted his closed door with my mug and said, "To you, Boss. May you never realize how much I truly like you."

Which brought up toe-tingling memories of last night. You know what, best to leave those alone. Write the whole thing off to delayed reaction due to surviving a car wreck and an assassination attempt and ignore the fact that it had never happened before despite some close brushes with death on our previous missions together. Stuff those uncomfortably exciting feelings in a manila folder and lock them in one of Pete's black metal file cabinets. Case closed.

As I ate the most delicious breakfast I'd consumed in months, I planned my afternoon. Since anything to do with Assan fell under Vayl's domain, I tabled the whole issue and moved on to our more immediate problem. Four fairly well-informed killers disguised as religious fanatics did not just materialize and try to eliminate two Central Intelligence Agency employees. I wasn't sure how they'd even found us on that highway, but I did have a theory. Someone must have told them we were after Assan, so they had probably watched his house until we showed up. That someone had taken a big risk too, because only a handful of people even knew we existed. That included Pete, the three senators on our department's oversight committee, Bergman, and the woman I was about to call.

Our secure phone sat where we'd left it last night, beside the laptop in front of the unoccupied chair at my breakfast table. I swallowed my last bite and used that phone to call Martha. She answered on the first ring.

"Demlock Pharmaceuticals," she said in her gravelly baritone. She hadn't smoked a day in her life, but you'd never know it by her voice.

"I need to establish an order."

"Hold, please."

Moments later Martha was back on a line that was now secure from her end as well as mine.

"What do you need, hon?"

My secretary called me 'hon.' How cool was that? Of course, she could pretty much do as she liked. She might be a 4'8" granny with mocha skin and whipped cream hair, but she could nail your ass to the floor with a single look. I asked her about it one time. She said it was the result of raising seven children, every one of whom still wilted beneath The Look like old lettuce. Never mind the only one of her kids without a Ph.D. was an M.D. All of them acknowledged her as the Supreme Leader of the Evans clan. Luckily she had her soft-spoken hubby, Lawrence, around to make sure her rule didn't run to fascism. Lawrence spent his weekdays teaching at the Southern Baptist Seminary and his weekends saving souls at Hope Baptist just down the street from my apartment. What a sweet man. And generous too, unlike some guys I was about to name.

"Hey Martha, I need to talk to Pete. Um, how is he feeling today?" As Pete's secretary (and Vayl's—we're big on sharing at the C.I.A., just ask the F.B.I.) she was in the best position to know.

"Annoyed. But that's typical." She sighed. "This morning I told him the other department heads had started a pool based on the timing of his last gasp. They're giving two-to-one odds on a heart attack at the office. The man has no idea how to relax!"

Ouch. If he died, I'd have even more guilt to add to the trailer.

I was already towing. Not a pretty thought. "You should talk him into going on a fishing trip or something."

"I could. But he'd just end up snagging his line on a body or catching sight of some high level, vacationing drug lord and that would be the end of that."

"Well, we'll think of something. So… did he tell you about last night?"

"I heard your car got a little bent out of shape."

"Yeah. But it wasn't my fault."

"It never is, hon. Are you and Vayl okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine."

"Well, that's what really matters." She sighed. Disappointed we'd survived, or just dreading the task ahead? "I'm starting the paperwork this morning, so it should be ready for you to sign when you come back. Do you need a new ride? I might even be able to get you one from the same company."

The same company. Holy crap, Martha knew exactly what kind of car we'd been driving because she'd made the rental arrangements to start with! She could easily have given Graybeard the details. Of course, Pete would've had access to that information too. The senators? Yeah, they could've found out as well. So much for narrowing down my field of suspects. Only Bergman had an airtight alibi, that being his paranoia. He'd never hire someone else to do his dirty work because he'd be too sure they'd betray him.

Bergman's bow out of the race gave me no consolation. That still left five other people I liked and/or worked for. No way would finding the answer to this particular riddle make me a happy camper. My stomach churned, spitting acid all over my delectable breakfast, making it want to part company with my digestive system.

"Jasmine?"

"Sorry, I was spacing out." Out, out, out… I dug my fingernails into my thigh. "Naw, don't worry about the ride. It's taken care of. Pete, however, is another story. Is he busy?"

"Never too busy for you. Hang on."

I didn't have long to wait. Pete's got a thing about telephone charges. He doesn't like paying them.

"What's up, Parks?"

"Last night's fiasco. We seem to have an information leak in our department. There's no other way those jokers could've found us."

"I agree. I'm also concerned about the Assan side of things. If we don't handle this right—" he stopped, because what could you say that didn't reek of drama? We sat in frozen silence, fully understanding the ramifications of a plan that included the words 'terrorist sympathizer,' 'evil vampire,' and 'virus.' Then I guess our dwindling phone minutes snapped him back to reality, because Pete trucked right on, saying, "Last night I suggested to Vayl that you might want backup. He said he would let you make that call."

Hell yeah, I wanted to say. How about the Florida National Guard for a start? But in our business, if you pressed the panic button every time you thought the world might be ending, you'd be out of work before you could say, "But we thought—"

However it would be nice to have someone outside the Agency we knew we could trust, because you never knew what these loons were going to throw at you. And I had an ideal candidate in mind.

"I want to bring in Bergman."

Thoughtful pause while Pete tallied up the potential expense of that request. "You sure you need a tech-head?"

"We've already got plenty of muscle. I know it's gonna cost you, but I shouldn't have to remind you the guy's a genius. Plus he's an outsider." Way out, actually, but I knew how to deal with that. "He made a big difference in the result of our last mission. You said that yourself."

"Okay, give him a call."

"Thanks. And, Pete, I really think we've got to go silent until this is over." I waited for him to protest. If he'd engineered last night's attack, he'd want to keep track of us so he'd know where to send the next wave. His reply, immediate and definite, left no doubt in my mind where he stood.

"I think that's for the best."

Yes! That left one less heartbreak on my horizon. "Okay, talk to you on the other side."

"Parks…"

"Yeah?"

"You're clear on your duty to Vayl. I know that. But take care of yourself too. That's an order."

"Yes sir."

After we hung up I did a little happy dance around the rim of the pit, managing not to fall in despite some spectacular high kicks. Gosh, if I hadn't minded the whole world ogling my butt I could've been a showgirl! I took one more victory lap, settled back down at the table and called Bergman.

After drumming my fingers through five different sets of prerecorded options and punching a combination of buttons that practically committed me to sacrificing my first-born child if I revealed any detail of our pending conversation to anyone, I had to leave a voice-mail. While I waited for his return call I keyed the name of Senator/Suspect #1 into our database and started reading.

Two hours later I'd read all the information I could gather on Senators Fellen, Tredd and Bozcowski. I'd also done a short background check on Cole Bemont out of pure nosiness. I felt much better about our spontaneous exchange of affection now that I knew he was definitely one of the good guys.

Wondering when Bergman would decide to crawl out of his cave and reenter the real world, I decided I'd wait more patiently if I could do so standing up. So I moved all the furniture out of the pit and lined it up against the walls like freaked out pre-teens at the Christmas Dance.

Taekwondo was the first martial art I ever learned. Mom started sending me to class when I was eight, somehow managing to find me a new instructor every time we moved, so that by the time I hit eleven I'd earned a first-degree black belt. I've trained in plenty of other disciplines since then, but taekwondo is still my favorite. I started with white belt, worked my way through each form until I reached my present rank, 5th degree black belt. By the time I'd finished my ribs were pounding out an S.O.S. on my lungs and my sweats were soaked. So I headed to the shower.

I peeked out the curtain on the way. "Nothing moving out there. The whole damn state must be hungover." Which was when I realized a new year had crashed on me. Should I make a resolution? Be nicer to old women and cats? Swear less? Learn a new language?

"Got it!" I told my reflection as I went into the bathroom to undress. "My resolution is to learn how to swear in a new language."

If Evie were here she'd be rolling her eyes. "That's not swearing less, Jaz," she'd say.

"Ah, but that is where you are wrong little round grasshopper," I'd tell her in my Chinese grocer accent. She loves that one because, of course, I do it terribly. "I will be swearing less in English. And I will be learning a new language."

I lingered over my second shower, afterward took the time to shave and pluck and cosmeticize myself into some semblance of order. Now wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved purple shirt with prehistoric cave-paintings printed all over it, I was ready—to wait some more. These were the times I missed Evie the most. She's one of those people who's easy to be with, laid back, undemanding, never in your face—like me. I do sometimes think it's good we were military brats. All those moves forced us to become friends with each other because we knew our other friendships couldn't last.

Okay, much more of this mushy crap and I'll have to trade my PPK for a parasol.

I dropped to the bed, turned on the't.v. and picked up my cards. While Oprah helped some poor schmuck finally let go of her dead poodle, I shuffled. It sounds lame, I know. But I like the sound the cards make slapping against each other. It's much sweeter than the clatter of my thoughts, looping around my brain like the cars on a kid's racetrack, never winning, never ending, just rushing in circles until I want to lay down on a busy stretch of railroad and hope Dudley Do-Right is busy elsewhere.

Bergman called just as I turned the channel and, what do you know!, Dudley Do-Right galloped across the screen, riding Horse backwards because that's how all courageous Mounties ride their steeds in the backwoods of Canada. "Jasmine? Are you secure?"

Hmm, really too many ways to answer that question, and not all of them comforting. "It's safe to talk," I said. "What're you up to?"

"Nothing."

Which meant he had several high-level, top-secret projects on the burner, none of which he wanted to discuss. "Cool. That means you've got some free time, right?"

"Could have. What do you need?"

"Backup. Big-time backup with all the bells and whistles. How soon can you be in Miami with a vehicle?"

Long silence as Bergman did some mental calculating. "How soon do you need me?"

"Dusk would be good." I chuckled, but he got the message.

"I'll leave tonight and call you when I hit town."

"Excellent," I said, and we hung up. Nice thing about Bergman, he likes to leave the details for face-to-face conversations. "Don't worry, Vayl," I said, looking at my wall as if I could see through it, straight into his room, "help is on the way."

Chapter Eight

Nobody could rent me the kind of power I needed in a vehicle, though I only meant to use it until Bergman showed, so I ended up leasing one. That chore accomplished, I spent the rest of the time until dusk rearranging furniture. I reset the pit, using a completely different configuration than the hotel preferred and thinking I'd showed up their designers big-time. Evie always forces me watch the Home & Garden Network when I visit, and I felt sure most of their decorators would approve of the cozy new conversation area I'd created. Now I just had to figure out why I thought I needed one.

I was just getting the urge to shuffle cards in response to this new brain teaser when darkness fell. A strange sound from Vayl's room made me jump to my feet. It was half gulp, half gasp, what you might expect to hear from a swimmer who's finally surfaced after staying under far too long.

I was through his door before the sound stopped, Grief cocked in my hand.

Vayl stood in front of his tent-covered bed, staring at me as if I'd sprouted antennae. He was naked.

"Whoa!" I covered my eyes and spun around. Redundant, I know, but that two-second view of his magnificent pale bod had activated my conservative Midwestern values, chief among those the belief that you don't ogle naked men who don't already belong to you. "I'm so sorry! I just heard this noise and it sounded like you were in danger, so I came to save you." Dumbass. I should've known it was the sound of power, of magic, bringing Vayl back to a life he couldn't bear to leave. I'd been close when he'd come awake before, but never close enough to hear such a sound.

"I'm outta here," I said, moving toward the door.

"No, stay."

Uh… He laughed softly, a purely male sound that recognized how much I appreciated his form and loved that I was embarrassed he knew.

"Do not worry, I am dressed."

I peeked over my shoulder. "Well that hardly counts," I said, my heart fluttering like a marker flag as I watched him. He'd covered his bottom half with a white towel, but most of his muscular thigh showed as he went to the room fridge and opened the door. As he leaned over I winced to see scars criss-crossing his broad shoulders and back. When he stood I noticed a chain swung from his neck. On it he wore a gold ring.

He'd pulled a plastic bag full of blood from the fridge. As he tore it open and poured the contents into a glass, I thought I should maybe be grossed out. But I wasn't. Vayl did what he needed to survive, and he managed that without treading the path walked by the majority of vampires on earth. I had to respect that.

"Tell me what you did today," Vayl said as he went to the dresser.

"O-kay." I started at the end and worked my way backwards, watching him pull a pair of faded jeans and a dark red button-down shirt out of a dresser drawer. As I gave my report I learned that my boss also wore black silk boxers. The knowledge left me a little breathless and a lot perturbed. What I felt was wrong on so many levels you could package it into an entire training video called What NOT to Do While on the Job.

Vayl went into the bathroom and I finished my review as he showered. Just like any guy, he was getting ready for work. But Vayl was not any guy, far from it. And therein lay my dilemma. I could only deny reality for so long, and then only if Vayl cooperated. It didn't look like he intended to for much longer. Whatever had made us work so well as a team from the start had changed, had grown. I guess I'd known that, at some level, something had been stirring between us for awhile. But hey, I'm so good at denying reality I could give lessons. I just had no idea how you tell an immortal creature whose powers routinely cause abject cringing and/or death that you want him, but he's not what you need. My guess—very carefully.

I fell silent, and since he seemed to have nothing to say either, I left him to finish his shower. I'd curled up on one of the couches in the conversation area I'd created when he came out of his room. Apparently the new furniture arrangement was less conducive to talk than I'd anticipated, because speech suddenly failed me.

Unless he'd switched to camouflage mode, Vayl rarely entered a room without everyone feeling his presence. His personality could be like mist, drifting gently into your lungs until every breath sent him sliding through your veins. Or, like a violent change in air pressure, it could reach out and slam you against a wall. At the moment, looking at him through eyes that I hoped hadn't glazed over, I wouldn't have noticed if a ninja had dropped through the ceiling and started breaking chairs.

He moved with the total body awareness of a professional athlete, and now that I knew what that body looked like, I could not take my eyes off it. If a scientist gave a lecture on the Alpha male, she'd definitely throw in a few slides of Vayl. But until last night, until he'd looked at me like I'd sashayed right out of his deepest, darkest fantasy, I hadn't thought about where our relationship might lead us, or how exciting that trip could be. What a helluva time for my hormones to kick into overdrive.

"Vayl, I… we…" I caught his eyes and stopped speaking. They were the gray-blue of storm-swept waves, snapping dangerously over lips compressed so tightly I could see the outline of fangs beneath them. "What's wrong?" I asked, some instinct making me touch the gun now resting in my shoulder holster.

Vayl descended into the pit and dropped onto the couch I'd positioned on a diagonal with mine. For a minute he just sat there with his elbows on his knees, staring off into space.

"Vayl?"

"Something is wrong with my blood supply."

"What do you mean?"

Vayl jumped up and started pacing. "The blood I brought to sustain me. It is tainted." I felt the familiar bewilderment that used to fog my brain when my math teacher handed me a word problem. How was I supposed to know which train would reach Dallas first?

"How could you tell?" I asked.

Vayl grabbed one of the decorative pillows off the couch and began picking at one corner of it. I'd never seen him so shaken, and it was starting to scare me.

"Look, Vayl, just tell me what you know."

Vayl sat down again, avoiding my gaze, watching his fingers worry at the pillow instead. "When I went to get a drink I realized something was wrong. That is, once the blood had warmed, I could smell something in it that should not have been there. Something my nose tells me will make me ill."

"Did you check all the bags?"

"Yes. They are all tainted."

"Did you keep some? We should get it tested."

"Yes."

This is bad, bad, bad—"Vayl, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Of course. After last night how could I think otherwise? But polluted blood would not kill me, it would only make me sick."

"Sick, like out of commission? Sick as in vulnerable?"

"Very possibly."

"Then maybe this is just a prelude to another attack." I waited for Vayl to agree, but he just shrugged. The pillow in his hands began to come apart. I was beginning to identify with it, big-time. Okay, Jaz, keep it together. You are a trained pro. Eventually you will find the ass that needs kicking and that's exactly what you'll do. As long as you keep it together.

"So let's figure out who's doing this," I said, more to myself than Vayl. "I don't think it could've been Pete. He was too ready to agree with our suggestions."

"That still leaves several highly trusted suspects." He shook his head. "We have been betrayed." He sounded like he'd already had some bitter experience in that area. "Worse, we have already established that Assan and Aidyn prefer to be led, which means our betrayer is also, most likely, the architect of their entire project."

"We have a very nasty problem, Vayl."

"Two, actually."

"Yeah?"

Vayl sank back down onto the couch, looking bleak as a cancer patient. "Not only is someone trying to kill me, but now I have to find a supply of fresh blood."

I knew that as we sat there staring at each other we were sharing the same thoughts. Neither of us wanted to say them out loud, but it had to be done. I started.

"So, what are our options?"

"Limited." Vayl drew in a deep breath, clasped his hands together convulsively. I'd never seen him so agitated. "I cannot hunt. I… made a vow." He looked at me out of the corner of his eyes. "I know that must sound stupid and old-fashioned to you—"

"Not at all. Of course hunting is out. We're the good guys."

Vayl's lips twitched.

"Okay," I amended, "we're walking that thin line between good and bad, but we're not kidnapping kids or blowing up federal buildings so I say, if we're erring, it's on the side of good."

"Which is why we cannot raid a blood bank or anything similar to that."

"I agree." Weren't we just two reasonable people? It's what we spooks do when the alternative is blind panic. "So what can you do?"

"Find a willing donor. Vampires tend to attract them. I know of two in the area I might approach."

Whoa, buddy. Where did you go when I wasn't looking? "You've… made some contacts? Recently?"

If Vayl had any blood in him, he would've blushed. He avoided meeting my eyes, and he started to fidget like I'd just caught him slipping a frog into the teacher's desk. "I, well, yes." He straightened up and looked me in the eye, realizing, maybe, that he didn't have to answer to anyone, me the least. "I cannot discuss it right now." His look softened. Did I really seem that hurt? "I will tell you later, when we have time."

"You want to save it for the plane ride back?"

He nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting. "Yes. I will tell you everything you want to know then."

Maybe. I wanted to know an awful lot after all. But I wasn't completely ignorant, at least about vampires in general. Not so long ago I'd been considered something of an expert. Which was why I'd been so good at killing them, why I'd headed my own team. I did know that the act of taking blood from a human donor, willing or not, involved all of a vampire's senses. Like giraffes leaning down for a drink of river water, vampires were at their most vulnerable when taking blood. Both loyal and captive vamps had described it as 'heady,' 'intoxicating,' and yeah, 'better than sex.'

Whoever had sent the bad blood must know what I knew, that by creating a need for a human donor they'd also produced an ideal situation for assassination. Thing was, I couldn't see me standing guard outside some locked door while God knows what went down inside. For all we knew these willing donors of Vayl's were part of the master plan too. That was logical me speaking. Stupid, stubborn, bizarre me couldn't stand the thought of Vayl sharing that sort of intimacy with another person. I guess I was a flake after all. Didn't need him, no. But wanted him bad enough I was about to do the unthinkable. It should've been more of a consolation to know Pete would've approved.

I stood and began to pace. "Vayl, Pete outlined my job pretty clearly to me. My highest priority is to protect you when you're vulnerable."

"During a takeout—"

"No. Always."

Vayl stood, blocking my path, making me stop and look at him. "I know where you are going with this. I will not. I cannot—"

"Why not?"

Vayl looked at me a long time, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if the words he was about to say needed to be chewed first, ground under his molars until the sharp edges wore away.

"Jasmine…" he stopped, thought a minute, tried again. "I do not know what it would do to us. You would be stepping onto a path that could lead you to vampirism."

"Not if you don't drain me. Not if I don't drink your blood."

"You are right. But because you are a Sensitive you could, you probably would change." I must've looked puzzled because he kept trying to explain. "The kind of—joining—you are suggesting is not one-way."

"So, what are you saying, that there's magic in your backwash?"

The tightness around Vayl's eyes eased a little, and a dimple appeared in his right cheek. "You could say that."

"What might happen to me?"

Vayl sank back onto his couch and I sat beside him. "I have never done such a thing with a Sensitive, so it is impossible to predict." He took my right hand between both of his, lacing our fingers together, rubbing my empty ring finger with his thumb as he stared at the memories he'd projected onto the wall.

"Could you make it so I can fly?" I asked.

That got his attention. "What?"

I felt a little self-conscious, but figured the time to guard my ego had long passed. "I've always wanted to fly," I confided, "like Superman, only without the ridiculous costume."

"It is not…"

"Or how about superhuman strength so when I throw people they sail clear across the room?"

I suddenly understood what the word 'flummoxed' meant. I'd never really known before this moment, when Vayl's eyes went all round and confused, and the only thing he could say that sounded remotely like English was, "Wa." It didn't last long. Vayl snapped back to himself and grabbed me by the shoulders.

"This is serious!" His eyes bored into mine, twin obsidian pebbles that looked ready to bury me under a great big avalanche. It ticked me off. Here I was, offering the guy his life, basically, and all he could do was threaten me with metaphorical boulders! "You have no idea, Jasmine. The two of us will mix at a very basic level. I cannot predict the outcome. You cannot know the risk!"

I grabbed the lapels of his jacket, considered shaking him 'til his teeth rattled, thought better of it. "Vayl! Calm down before I slap you! Damn, but you're grouchy when you're hungry!"

That got him. His hands dropped from my shoulders. He dug the heel of his palm into the furrows between his eyes. "You are insane, you know that?"

Ouch. "I'm just being practical. I knew someday I might have to bare my throat to you. Pete and I discussed that very possibility. As for danger and risk-taking, that's what Pete pays me to do. And you and I both know he intends to get his money's worth."

"Jasmine, I cannot—"

"Why not!"

"Because you are not food!"

I stared at him for a minute, then I started to grin. I couldn't help it. "Vayl," I tried to keep my face straight, "I'm not asking you to eat me."

Vayl's jaw dropped and I burst into peals of laughter. Eventually I heard him chuckling along with me and I knew we'd be okay. When I had my warped sense of humor back under control I said, "It's just a temporary solution. Until we can figure out something better. Okay?"

When he sighed and his shoulders dropped out of defensive mode, I knew I'd won. "Then I will not wait any longer. You must take this," he said. He pulled the chain he wore out from under his shirt. Off came the ring and away went my smile. I knew from the look on Vayl's face this was serious times ten.

He held the ring out to me and I stared at it as it sat in his palm. Intricately woven golden knots formed the band, and in the center of each knot glittered a superb little ruby. The exquisite craftsmanship made the ring resemble a magical artifact, like a token of love left at the bottom of the Lake of Dreams by some broken-hearted nymph.

"Oh, wow." I touched it as if it was crafted of spun glass.

"You like it then?" Vayl took it and slipped it onto my finger. Though it sat on my right hand, the feeling still spooked me, as if we'd just agreed to some sort of unmarriage.

"It's gorgeous," I said, holding my arm out to see it better. I dropped my hand to my lap as a thought occurred to me. "I can't keep it."

"What?"

"It's too much, Vayl. Too expensive. Too beautiful. Too personal. Plus Pete would kill me. Remember what he said about not accepting gifts?"

"From clients, not from each other. Jasmine—" frustration furrowed his eyebrows, edged his tone, "why do you always have to make everything so difficult?"

My first instinct was to argue, but I had no basis. Vayl had made this wonderful gesture. Did I really have to spit in his hand? "It's just, I don't understand why you would give this to me when, you're right, I have been a pain in the ass lately."

"Because it is more than a gift." Vayl brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. An old fashioned token which should never have gone extinct. "You wear a ring made by my father's father on the day I was born. It is called Cirilai—which means 'guardian.' My mother, as she lay dying from the difficulty of my birth, had a vision of my death. She knew it would be violent. She knew it would endanger my soul. Cirilai contains all the ancient powers my family could muster to protect me. As long as it exists, I may lose my life, but I cannot lose my soul."

Holy crap in a shipwreck, I'd heard fables about such artifacts. To actually have one wrapped around my finger though? Well, to be honest it made me feel kind of nauseous. "Why in the world would you give something so precious to me?"

If I'd known him for years, maybe I could have read the answer in those amber eyes. He must've spent a minute trying to tell me things with them that words could never express. But too much of the unknown still stood between us to allow a translation. That's what I told myself. Maybe I was just too scared to let myself understand. Finally he said, "I gave you Cirilai because the ring will protect you as well. And because I sensed in you the same power that is invested in the ring. The two of you belong together—with me."

At the risk of sounding like a two-year-old, I repeated myself. "But, why?"

Thank goodness that, unlike mine, Vayl's patience isn't tied to a lit fuse. His hands tightened on mine. "You and Cirilai remind me that, while I am no longer human, I am also no better than human."

"Is that all? We keep you humble?"

"Think of what happens to people who possess such powers as mine when they decide their ideas, agendas, race is superior to all others."

"Napoleon," I whispered. "Hitler. Hussein."

Vayl nodded solemnly. "In guarding my soul, you protect the world. And that is why I need you as my partner. My avhar."

Grateful to be sitting now that my knees felt like wet spaghetti, I looked down at our clasped hands until I could speak without sounding like a reality-show confessor. Jerry, I swore never to love again until I met someone who could earn every ounce of respect and affection in my body with a single gesture. Ick. It would never work anyway. Reasons? God, I could make a ceiling-to-floor list. But mainly, because I didn't want it to. Did I? No. No. No. No. No. So. Back to the task at hand: making sure my vamp, er, boss didn't run off for some high-risk blood-letting with his willing donor. I took a deep breath. Made myself focus. "Are you telling me this now because I need to know, or because you're putting off the inevitable?"

"Maybe both," he said, shaking his head. "You, me, the ring—we each possess a power that is potent all on its own. Combining the three, well, if the bomb squad knew what we were planning they would probably stick us in a lead-lined bunker."

"Vayl, you're not talking me out of this. It's the right move. So quit lecturing and get to it."

Vayl hesitated one more minute, then he drew me into his arms. "I will not take much," he assured me, "only what I need and no more."

No more, no more, no more.

His fingers grazed my neck as he swept my hair aside. His lips brushed my earlobe, moved down to my throat. One arm pulled me closer as the other hand tipped my head sideways. I sighed as I felt his power settle over me, warm and comforting as an old quilt. He kept nuzzling me with his lips, caressing me with the tips of his fangs until something new rose between us, a force that sizzled and snapped, making the very air churn. I could hear my breath coming in gasps.

"Vayl… please."

"Yes," he said, his voice hoarse with desire. For me? For my blood? I wasn't sure there was any difference just then. I wanted to share this new insight with him, but my frontal lobe chose that moment to completely shut down. Even the pain of his teeth penetrating my skin didn't wake it up.

Vayl's arms tightened around me. I reached down, digging my fingernails into his thighs as he drank me in. The air shimmered with power. With magic. My head buzzed with it. Through half-closed lids I watched colored bubbles of light dance across the walls. The darkness came so quickly after that, I never even knew it had taken me until I returned to myself and realized I was lying on the couch with one leg flung over its arm. Vayl sat on the other couch, staring at me like I'd grown an extra head as I struggled to sit up. A tightness on my neck caused me to reach up, but when my fingertips encountered a gauze pad I dropped my hand back into my lap.

"What?" I asked, trying hard not to cry. I don't know if I was more distressed that I'd blacked out or that I'd missed most of an experience that had promised to be unforgettable. "Did I do something wrong?" I asked. "Did I say something out of line?" What the hell just happened?

Vayl shook his head. "You were perfect. Better than the best. I have never… it has never been like that for me before."

"For me either." We smiled at each other. The hard knot of fear that twisted my heart with every new blackout relaxed. Vayl didn't know. My secret still hid safe. Now that my attention could wander, I realized the experience had left some aftereffects. "I do feel kind of funky though," I commented.

He sat forward, his eyes wide with concern. "How do you mean?"

"Umm, like, drunk. But not."

I thought Vayl would come sit beside me, fuss over me a little, but he sat statue still, like a street performer who's run out of gray body paint. Finally he whispered. "I know."

"Know what?"

"It is as if you are an entire spectrum of light that just became visible to me. I can… hear your heart beating. I can sense your hunger pangs. I know you are scared. You are also elated, tired, worried and," his voice dropped, "excited."

"Oh no," I said. "Oh no, oh no, oh no—" I bit my lip hard, stopping the litany with my own blood. Vayl had kept his word. He'd left me plenty. It trickled onto my chin as I tried to stand, but I moved too fast and lost my balance. Vayl caught me just before I landed in a heap on the floor. As soon as I regained my equilibrium I growled, "Back off."

He stepped away.

"No, I mean with your senses or whatever. You were supposed to give me super powers. You were supposed to make me fly. You weren't supposed to march through my thoughts like a lumberjack in a rainforest!"

"Jasmine, that is not how it happened! There is no need to panic."

"I'm not panicking!" But I was, and I had no way to hide it. "I don't want you inside my head," I told him, keeping my voice as reasonable and level as possible considering I just wanted to stuff my face into a pillow and scream. "It's too intimate, too scary. I'm not ready for that!" I realized I was yelling and covered my mouth.

"I warned you. I told you—"

I raised my hand to stop him talking, trying to swallow my oceanic fear as I did. "I can't have you—exploring me like that. There are things you don't know. Things I can't explain." I stopped, took a deep breath to keep myself from babbling on until he did discover my secret.

His lips twitched. "Are you really that bad?"

"Well… no, I'm just… not that good."

"Maybe that is why I find you so interesting."

"Huh," was my brilliant reply.

He took my hand and pulled me back down to the couch. "Jasmine, the change has begun. You cannot let it destroy you."

"No, I can't." Can't, can't, can't…

"So relax. I promise you, I will not probe. I will not intrude. Your thoughts, your memories, are still your own."

"… Okay." I took a deep breath and sat back.

"I would like to ask you something, however."

Crap! "What?"

"Why did you rearrange the furniture again?"

"Well, I wanted to work out and… again?"

"Remember Ethiopia? And Germany? And Hong Kong?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, you have rearranged the furniture in every apartment, hotel and hut we have stayed in since I have known you. And always the same way. I just wondered why."

"Oh," I laughed weakly, wracking my brain for a plausible excuse. "Well, that's the way it always was growing up. No matter what house we were living in, Mom arranged the furniture the same way to make it feel like home."

A damn fine explanation, I must say, and one Vayl swallowed whole.

"I was just wondering."

"Let's go kick somebody's butt," I suggested, thinking it would sure make me feel better. "I feel like I really could throw a bad guy across the room."

"And suddenly we have so many from which to choose." Vayl thought a moment, giving me time to rearrange my brain. Like the furniture, it made no sense to me, but I did recover most of my scattered control. "Any ideas?" he asked.

"Assan comes immediately to mind."

"I am sure it will be a pleasure ending his existence. But he is more valuable to us as he is right now, oblivious and unbruised. First we need to find out where he and Aidyn are storing the virus."

"And how they're making it," I added. "Do you suppose they're keeping their notes at Assan's place?"

"Possibly. Though Aidyn seems to be the creator. We need to ascertain where he is staying as well."

"Sure would be handy if we had a contact on the inside," I said. "But Assan's staff is unapproachable."

"What about his family?"

"You mean the wife?" We shared a knowing look. "You mean the jealous wife who's hired a private investigator?" We both nodded. With the butt-kicking officially tabled, I moved across the pit to a mauve arm chair beside which stood an end table with a phone on top, a drawer for the phone book and a lamp to read her by.

Most men I meet through work tend to avoid that whole Live-Like-A-Normal-Guy gig. In fact, most guys I meet through work want to kill me. So when I found Cole's name and number listed in the white pages I felt a sudden urge to giggle. It went away just as quickly. I'd met a normal guy. Big whoop. That didn't make me any more normal.

He answered his phone on the first ring. "Cole Bemont."

"Cole! This is Lucille Robinson. We met—"

"Last night!"

"You remembered."

"Are you kidding? I've been kicking myself all day for not getting your number." We stopped speaking for a moment, homage to the kisses.

"Cole, I have a problem I wondered if you could help me with." I kept my voice businesslike since Vayl sat three feet away, and I honestly didn't want to lead Cole any further astray.

"Sure," Cole said.

"Um, don't you want to hear what it is first?"

"Doesn't matter. You saved my hide yesterday. Plus my lips are still tingling. At this point, I'm prepared to do just about anything you suggest."

Yipes! What have I unleashed? I wanted to say, "Cole, maybe you haven't heard, but I'm an idiot. The C.I.A. has tried its best to bury that fact since they did hire me. But here's the deal. Despite my actions last night I am not looking for a relationship with you. I can't maintain a relationship with you due to the fact that I don't want to. Also, I'll be traveling a lot and my boss is a vampire who I may be falling for (already have?) which is a whole other kettle of crap I'm so not ready to deal with. At any rate, these life choices don't make me a good candidate for pet owner, much less girlfriend." But I needed Cole to help me get information, which meant I needed him interested for just awhile longer. Damn, damn, damn.

"Can my partner and I meet you somewhere in say, half an hour?"

"Your… partner?"

"It's kind of impossible to explain over the phone."

"Okay. How about Umberto's? It's semi-private and the food's great."

"Fine." Cole gave me directions and we hung up. I looked at Vayl. "It's set."

"Good. And?"

"And what?"

"You want to say something else, I can tell." I nodded. "Sometimes, this job sucks."

Chapter Nine

When this whole mission ended, I suspected that if I survived, Pete would demote my ride to a used moped. Not great motivation to push the self-preservation button. But at the moment, I didn't care. My local Mercedes dealer had brought me a dark blue C230 Sport Sedan that made even New Year's traffic bearable. The car hummed like a Broadway star. I joined right in, and the two of us sang a duet Steven Sondheim would've tapped his foot to while we motored down the sparkling streets of Miami.

"I would ask you how you feel," said Vayl, "but it is so obvious."

"It's amazing," I told him. "I just want to hug everyone I know. I want to buy the guy who engineered this car a bottle of champagne. I want to fly. Hey!" I turned to Vayl, "after this meeting let's go hang gliding!"

"In the dark?"

"It's a full moon." I stopped at the light, hang gliding forgotten as a burgundy mini-van pulled up beside me. "I have never seen that shade of red before. Can you see all those flecks of gold and black in it?"

"Yes," Vayl answered, his smile more full and natural than I'd ever seen it. "I take it you are enjoying this part of the change."

"Oh is that what it is?" The mini-van activated his blinker and began to inch into my lane. "Looks like he's a little lost," I commented as I waved for him to slip in ahead of us.

"You know, yesterday you would have cursed that man for ten solid minutes for delaying us," Vayl observed.

"Yeah, yesterday… I feel different than I did then."

Slight raise of the eyebrow, signaling imminent sarcasm. "No. Really?"

"Will this last?"

"I have no idea."

I followed the mini-van for several blocks, then took a right onto the street that led to Umberto's.

Vayl took my hand and laced his fingers through mine. "So tell me what you did today," said Vayl, "not work activities. Your things. How did you spend your free time?" I had to think a minute, dig out my mental binoculars to see past the blackout and the moments before it. Why was it so hard to recognize the woman who'd spent most of her daylight hours clicking through encrypted files, looking for dirt on politicians like some commie-hunting throwback?

Stardust in your eyes, sister. Only now it's time to blink.

So I began talking, starting with the family phone calls. But they required a back story, and that took awhile, especially since I kept pausing to point out a fab new color I'd discovered. Eventually I worked my way back around to the research I'd done, specifically the background stuff I'd gathered on our oversight committee.

"Any conclusions?" he asked after I finally finished talking. I shrugged.

"All the senators are suspect because they all seem way too innocent. Doris Fellen gives away tons of scholarship money every year. Dirk Tredd is a true blue war hero. And Tom Bozcowski was an extremely popular quarterback in the NFL before he shattered his knee."

"And then there is Martha," said Vayl.

I shook my head. "Man, I hope it's not her."

Vayl put his hand on my arm. "You must accept that someone in your inner circle could betray you."

"Oh, I accept it. I just know, of all our suspects, if Martha's the rotten link there's no doubt we'll be coming out of this bruised and bloody."

"You mean you prefer the senators?"

"Absolutely. They can't be nearly as mean, conniving, vicious and underhanded as Martha."

"She is an excellent secretary, isn't she?"

"The best."

Umberto's is an Italian restaurant located in a miniature pink castle. Only it wasn't exactly pink. It shimmered with shades of silver and rose too.

"I'm beginning to like that color," I murmured as I pulled into the lot, picking a spot where we could exit quickly. I swallowed hard on a spurt of nerve-induced nausea. This whole meet could go south in a heartbeat if Vayl and Cole got to feeling competitive. And it would be my fault for not controlling my hormones better. Damn chemicals. Why couldn't our bodies run on something simpler—like coal?

An image rose in my mind of Vayl and me walking around belching black smoke rings. I laughed inwardly. Wouldn't that change the world though? Everybody would have automatic dental coverage just to keep their teeth from looking like the inside of a chimney. And we'd be recycling our solid waste because sludge makes such nifty ashtrays.

"Would you care to share?" asked Vayl as we headed for the restaurant entrance, his cane hitting the asphalt every other step with a reassuring clink.

"Huh?"

"You are smiling."

"Oh." So I told him what I'd been thinking and we were both chuckling when we came through the door and met Cole, who stood waiting for us there.

He covered well, but I could tell Cole wasn't pleased to see Vayl and me sharing a laugh. Dammit. I know in other places kisses don't mean much. Shoot, in Hollywood they do inconsequential smooching all the time. But to Cole, and most other people in the real world, kisses are significant gestures, not something you play with as I had. I bit my lip, forgot it was still healing from the last bite and nearly made myself cry. So much for my post-donation high. The express elevator Vayl had taken me on came to an abrupt halt. The jolt left me with a roaring in my ears and a major craving for chocolate chip cookies followed by a good hour of card shuffling.

"Uh, Cole, this is my partner, Jeremy Bhane. Jeremy, this is Cole Bemont."

Vayl held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise," said Cole. They shook. I waited for Cole to wince, but Vayl reigned in his bone-crushing strength. I sighed with relief.

The hostess showed us to a booth in a corner lit by a couple of candles and a low wattage, recessed bulb. The decor diverted me enough that I stopped kicking myself long enough to enjoy it. The carpet sparkled with every hue of green imaginable. It contrasted nicely with the white tablecloths and folded napkins. The menu covers felt like real leather. So did the cushioned seats.

Vayl and I sat across from Cole. We ordered drinks, diet coke for me, beer on tap for the guys, and the hostess left. "Lucille tells me you are a private investigator," said Vayl.

I expected Cole to squirm under Vayl's icy blue gaze. He didn't, and I liked him better for it. Crap.

"That's right," he said, "although it's not turning out to be what I expected."

"No?"

Cole shrugged. "It's pretty mundane. And I'm not always sure I'm helping the good guys."

I spoke up. "Well, let me assure you that we are the good guys."

"Yeah?"

I looked at Vayl and he nodded. So I took out my badge and slid it across the table. Cole opened it, studied it for quite awhile.

"I had a feeling you weren't just another rich snob," he told me. Despite the fact that he wore white Nikes with black dress pants, his hair looked like he'd just stepped out of a hurricane and he smelled of citrus bubblegum, Cole suddenly looked all grown up as he slid my badge back to me. I slid it back into my jacket.

Our drinks came, we ordered supper and the waitress left.

"So, Cole—"I began.

"What happened to you?"

"Huh?"

"Your neck." He nodded at the bandage. I'd completely forgotten about it. My hand flew up to it as if I could hide it from him. Vayl bumped his leg against mine.

"Oh that." I smiled, because Lucille would've. "I burned myself with my curling iron. Second degree."

Cole nodded, apparently satisfied. "You were saying?"

"Um, okay, we've been investigating Assan for awhile now, and we're sure he's a big hitter in a terrorist group called the Sons of Paradise. We know he's performed surgery on fugitives. We know he has a powerful new partner and a plan of attack that could threaten the entire country, maybe even the world. We think the documents we need to stop him and his partner are in his house."

Cole whistled in disbelief. "And you think I can get them for you?"

Vayl sat forward. "Possibly. We hope you can at least provide us with information. You do, after all, have a connection on the inside."

Cole locked his hands together and played thumb wars with himself for a few seconds while he processed. "I don't think Amanda knows anything about her husband's shadow life. She sure wouldn't have hired me if she did."

"We need access to her house, especially to her husband's office," I said, hating that I had to push. "But we don't want to spook her. No telling which side she'd fall on if she knew the truth. All we want is for you to convince her that, to help further your investigation, you and your partner need to take a look at his papers, his computer, and the contents of his safe."

"My… partner?"

I nodded. "That would be me."

Our food came. Cole started stabbing at his lasagna. Vayl and I traded looks.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"You already have a partner."

Crap.

Vayl nudged me. "If you will excuse me," he said. "I think I will go wash my hands." I let him out of the booth. Cole didn't exactly glare at his back as he left, but I got the feeling he would've liked to.

"Cole." I sank back into the seat. "Last night, kissing you, was the closest I've been to a relationship in… awhile."

"You make that sound like a bad thing."

Crap in a bucket! We had only traded spit, that's all, and now he thought he deserved an explanation. Worse yet, so did I. I took a deep breath. His hands, exhausted from thumb wars, rested on the table. I put mine over them.

"Cole—" I stopped. Had to. Memories exploded out of the suitcases I generally kept them locked in. Voices. Screaming. Blood—some of it mine. A surging black hatred that nearly swallowed me whole. No way could I put all that into words, no way would I take anyone else back into the hell I still visited in nightmares. So I gave Cole a sketch, knowing he could never imagine the full picture.

"About 14 months ago, I was a Helsinger. Are you familiar with that term?"

Cole nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, straightening in his seat as if I'd just called him to attention. "Helsingers are elite teams of vampire killers, named for Dracula's nemesis, Dr. Van Helsing."

"Excellent," I said. He responded to my praise like any good student would, with a smile and a satisfied little nod.

"We didn't start out as a tight-knit group," I told him, "but we ended up that way. There were ten of us in all. I fell for a hard-charging former Green Beret named Matthew Stae. My brother, David, was on the team too. That's how he met Jessie Diskov. And when he married her it seemed perfect, because we were already like sisters."

Cole turned his hands so they held mine and squeezed. It was a little depressing holding his hands, because he would soon come to understand why I was too dangerous to touch.

"Some of what happened to my Helsingers on the night my life changed forever is classified. Some I just don't remember. Here's what I can tell you. We'd spent the day clearing out a nest in West Virginia. But we missed the Vultures. That's what we called the leaders. They'd holed up so deep we couldn't find their resting places before dark, and we didn't dare stay longer without our own vamps there to back us up."

Tangents, ah, I love 'em. Keeps you at a safe distance from painful subjects. But this was one train I needed to keep on track. "Anyway, they came back for us that night, before we had time to regroup. By the next morning the only crew members left breathing were me and my twin. And David only survived because he wasn't there. He was in the hospital, sidelined with two broken ribs from a previous mission." Jesus.

"Oh, you can bet I stopped talking to him that night. I lost my team, my fiancé, my sister-in-law. And my brother blamed me for all of it. It was my crew after all, my responsibility to see they got home safe after every mission." Like a tired, old dam, my throat began to hurt from holding back the torrent of tears that threatened to drown me if I released them. I finished as fast as I could. "So you can see why I can't have a relationship with anyone, especially a nice, normal guy like you. A guy stays with me long enough, he will die."

"Unless he's a vampire," said Cole.

Cole stopped my fabricated reply with a raised hand. "I know Vayl's a vamp, Lucille. I can smell it on him."

"You… you're a Sensitive?"

"Yep."

"But… how? I mean, were you born that way, or—" I stopped because he was shaking his head. His own bad memories were beginning to make his palms sweat. He squeezed my hands and faked a smile.

"I was born in New York," he told me, "just outside of Buffalo. Lived there 'til I was six, in an old white farmhouse with an actual barn and a pond out back. My brothers and I were skating on that pond one fine January afternoon when I fell through the ice. I was under the water for fifteen minutes before the firemen fished me out."

"So… you died?"

"Yeah." He was trying to act casual, in case I began to scoff at his life-altering experience. As if I could after what I'd survived.

"Was it… awful?"

He shrugged. "I don't remember. The doctors said kids will do that when an event is too traumatic to bear. I guess it's still too much for me. But afterwards," he leaned forward, eager now he knew I'd listen, "it was like you hear about in church, Lucille. There was a light, and then my grandpa was there waiting for me, and he had my dog, Splinter, with him. It was," his eyes shone, making me smile, "absolutely fabulous."

"And when you came back…"

"I could sense vampires, and other things, that ran in the woods east of my house. Between that and the horror of almost losing me, my parents decided for a new, ice-free scene." His gesture encompassed the whole state when he said, "So here I am."

I nodded, my neck creaking under the weight of this new information. I wanted to ask a dozen more questions, because Cole was the first of my kind I'd ever gotten to talk to like this. But he beat me to it. "So why did you let him bite you?" he asked.

My hand flew back to the bandage as if it was magnetized. "That's none of your business."

He took the time to blow an orange bubble and pop it before he said, "No, but it's the price I'm asking if you want me to help you out."

I stared at him, reframing this new picture of him so that it fit with what I'd already seen. "That's very personal," I said.

"I know." Cole dropped his eyes to our intertwined hands, feeling a little guilty, maybe, but not enough to back off. "Tell you what, you give me an honest answer and I'll tell you the real truth about why I'm working for Amanda Assan."

Suddenly I felt like it was my bet in a game of high stakes poker. I looked closely at Cole, trying to interpret his intentions. But his face, usually so much more expressive than Vayl's, gave nothing away. Did he have a straight flush or a pair of twos?

"Okay, Cole," I said, "I'm all in. But if I get my butt kicked on this deal, I'm sharing the pain."

"Fair enough," he said, trying to hide his triumphant little smirk. "So why'd you do it?"

Maybe I could've given him the party line and he'd have bought it. I might've convinced him with the arguments that had swayed Vayl. But people rarely ask me for the truth, and when they do I feel compelled to give it to them.

"Part of me just wanted to know what it was like," I told him. "Part of me wanted to feel that vital, to know that without me, Vayl would have lost more than his life. He'd have lost that navigational beacon that lands him on our side of the wall. Because there's nothing more demonic than a starving vamp. And part of me…" whoa, this is going to be embarrassing, "… just wanted to be close, to be connected to somebody else. Like I said, it's been awhile."

Cole grinned and brought my hands up to his lips. "Then maybe I have a chance after all."

I rolled my eyes. "Do you ever stop?"

He appeared to think about the question. "Not often." His grin said I'm wicked fun. "Women are passion, my weakness, and my joy. And you," he kissed my hands again, "are a paragon among them."

"You make me sound like some blue-haired preacher's wife."

His grin twisted, "God forbid."

I took my hands back, settling Cirilai down on my finger from where it had twisted up to my knuckle. "I did my bit. Now tell me why you're working for Amanda Assan."

I thought he'd stall, maybe rearrange the salt and pepper shakers or file the sweeteners by color, but he came right out with it. "I am a P.I. But my specialty is supernatural crime. Amanda's brother, Michael, died six months ago in India. He was traveling with Assan at the time. She thinks he might've had something to do with it."

"Just because he was there at the time, or…?"

"It was a combination of things. Assan didn't show much remorse for her brother or sympathy for her. Plus the circumstances of his death were odd, and Assan's explanation came out sounding pretty lame."

"In what way?"

"Michael died of a single stab wound to the heart. The weapon, according to the coroner, was an ancient sword of unknown origin. Assan collects swords. Also, symbols were found burned into the skin around Michael's wound."

"What kind?"

"Magical, as far as I can decipher. But I'm no expert and my sources haven't been able to translate them. I'd draw them for you, but—oh," he caught our waitress's eye and signaled her over. She found him a pen and some paper and left us after we reassured her we didn't need any refills.

While he drew the symbols for me Cole said, "Assan was in India to give a presentation at a conference on reconstructive surgery. He said Michael, who'd also been a plastic surgeon, had wandered off during one of the meetings, and when he still hadn't returned the next morning, Assan reported him missing."

"He waited awhile, didn't he?"

"Yep. And the meeting Michael left was one he'd discussed with Amanda. He'd told her it would make the whole trip worthwhile."

Yeah, the whole deal sounded about as fishy as a tuna factory. The symbols branded into Michael's skin threw me, though. Unless they'd had a radical change of philosophy, the Sons of Paradise despised all forms of magic. And these sure looked like spell glyphs to me. I guess it made their alliance with a vampire a little easier to swallow. But still…

Cole went on. "The icing is that some poor schmuck who thought he needed an early morning jog found a torso on the beach last week. Sharks had swallowed a lot of the evidence, but according to a friend of mine who works homicide, the victim had been murdered. By a single stab wound to the heart. And around that wound—"

"Glyphs," I finished. He nodded. "The same as these?"

"Yep."

"Wonder what Vayl will think of these." I ignored Cole's frown as I studied his drawings. Then it struck me that Vayl had been gone much longer than even an arranged absence should take. "Where is Vayl?" I asked, peering through the atmospheric gloom. Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stood up in response to the ripple of power that rolled across the room.

"Did you feel that?" I asked Cole. He nodded, looking grave and a little shaken. I slid out of the booth. I think I said, 'Excuse me,' but I'm not sure. The power called me with an urgency I'd never experienced before. It came from the other side of the restaurant so that's where I headed, followed closely by Cole.

"Vayl?" I whispered, "where are you?"

I smelled it before I felt it, a revolting combination of rotten eggs and ash that lashed my inner senses like a lion tamer's whip. The magic snapped past me, leaving me mentally singed, as if I'd stood too close to a burning soul. At least I knew now Vayl wasn't its source. His power had never made me want to shower in bleach water. This came from an altogether different sort of vampire.

I turned, searching for the vamp's target. I found him almost immediately, a spectacled, balding man in his mid-thirties with the soft face and hands of someone who hires out his yard work. He sat at a table with three other people, presumably his wife and sons. They stared at him in speechless shock as he clawed at his throat, his face turning a shade of red I'd never seen before tonight.

"Charlie? What's wrong?" The woman half-rose from her chair, but Charlie was way ahead of her. He jerked to his feet, toppling his chair backwards in the process. Now the other patrons had stopped talking, had turned to look.

"I think he's choking!" screeched an elderly woman whose ebony cane might've been related to Vayl's. I expected Charlie to nod, but his hands had moved to his chest, pressed flat against it as if to keep his innards from revolting and becoming his outards.

The kids, two blond-headed cuties about seven and nine, sat absolutely still, but I noticed they were clutching each other's hands. Somebody yelled "Call 911!" and the whole room erupted, everyone talking at once, the woman screaming, "Charlie, Charlie!" and people from my side of the room rushing over to get a better look.

Charlie keeled over, still holding his chest, and I felt the power flare out so quickly I could almost believe someone had pulled the plug. Almost.

I needed to find Vayl. We needed to locate Charlie's attacker. But before I could act, Charlie, himself, stopped me. He lay on the floor, his eyes open and yet empty as marbles. I'd seen a lot of dead guys in my time, and Charlie had definitely joined the club. But I'd never seen what happened next.

This dazzling light emerged from Charlie's body and hovered over it like morning mist. Only it looked more substantial. It was as if a Charlie-sized diamond floated three feet off Umberto's carpet, each facet giving off its own unique color. Then, as if some cosmic hand had reached down and turned the wheel of a kaleidoscope, the diamond split, spun and reformed. Now, multiple jewels danced in the air above Charlie's body. A moment later they flew apart like a spectacular Chinese firework.

One shot straight into the wife's mouth, quieting her immediately. One went to each boy, landing gently on their foreheads and then sinking out of sight. Several exited via windows, walls and doors, and I suspected they'd find their way to his dearest friends and relatives tonight. The largest one shot straight through the ceiling, destination unknown, but I—jaded, cynical Jaz, was voting for heaven.

"That is some amazing backwash you've got there, Vayl," I murmured.

"What?"

I turned to look and there he stood, not three feet from me, watching the action from a small nook formed by a ceiling-high rubber tree plant and the corner of the bathroom entry way, his power at its usual simmer. Most people would've looked straight at him and never seen a thing. Nobody was looking but me, however, so I was the only one who saw him 'solidify.' It was like watching a computer sketch fill with color. One moment he was a chalk drawing. The next he was a stern, handsome gentleman admiring the greenery.

"Vayl—" I began, but Cole stepped up, yanking Vayl's sleeve so he would turn and face us.

"Who did this?" he demanded. "Who just killed that man while you stood and watched?"

"It was not my place to interfere—"

"Goddammit this is not a National Geographic special! You're not supposed to huddle in the bushes and film the lions killing the zebras. You're supposed to kill the lions."

"We are the lions," Vayl corrected, "and we must be extremely careful before we challenge another pride. The odds must be in our favor, yes?"

Cole looked ready to go caveman on Vayl's head. "Yes," I said, taking Cole's hand and squeezing until he turned his attention to me. "To kill from a distance," I shook my head, "that's badass power, Cole. You don't just jump in the path of that. Not unless you want to get seriously maimed."

"Who are you people?" Cole whispered.

Vayl and I shared a stony look and a chilling silence. Though John Q. Public knew we existed, he rarely wanted to be reminded. We were thinking Cole would feel the same.

A couple of E.M.T.s arrived and Charlie left on a mobile bed with his stunned family trailing behind. Umberto's manager finally convinced everyone to return to their seats, offering half off their dinners to keep them from bolting. It pretty much worked.

"Cole." I turned to him, took a deep breath and said a mental goodbye. "Get out." Get out, get out, get out—

"Now wait a minute," Cole and Vayl chorused, looking at each other with consternation as they realized they shared the same opinion.

"Have you ever fought a vampire?" I asked Cole.

"No, but—"

"Then there's no point in staying, is there? Get out while you still have your humanity."

"But what about—"

"We'll call you, okay?" I said, not meaning it, hoping I could talk Vayl out of using Cole's connections, tempting though they were. My little hike down memory lane had reminded me too well how much it hurt to lose good people, and the longer I knew Cole the more I knew he was good people. "Just, please, take off before the vamp that killed Charlie realizes you're with us."

He looked hard at me, trying to decipher my expression. "Okay, I'll go. As soon as you give me your number." I started to argue but, like a magician sliding an ace out of his sleeve, Vayl pulled out our business card and handed it to him.

Cole read it aloud. "Robinson-Bhane Antiquities—Specializing in 18th Century Rarities." He looked at Vayl. "I guess you can do that when you've had first-hand experience." Vayl didn't even raise an eyebrow. I'd begun to think nothing surprised him, not even being outed as a vamp by a P.I. who looked like he'd just jumped off his surfboard.

"Call us when you have made arrangements with Amanda Assan," Vayl said.

"I will," Cole replied, giving me an I-will-return look.

I nodded, hoping he'd pocket the card, forget where he'd put it and wash it along with his pants. Then all he'd have left of me would be a wad of crumpled paper with some blurry writing on it.

Before I realized what he was doing, Cole leaned in and stole another kiss. "I'll see you," he said, then he turned and left.

"I hope not," I murmured as I watched him walk out the door.

"Jasmine…" Vayl's voice had dropped and softened to the point where I barely recognized it.

"Vayl?" He looked like he'd woken up to find some vital body part missing.

He shook his head. "Is the vampire still with us?"

"Yep."

"Let us take a walk then, shall we?"

"Okay." We headed back to the table, taking the long way around the restaurant. As we walked, Vayl spoke in a voice that only just reached my ears.

"Perhaps you should get out as well."

It took every bit of focus I possessed not to keel over right then and there. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Your life, Jasmine. Your short, beautiful life." I recognized Vayl's expression. It said, If you're going to break my heart, make it quick. The last guy who'd shown it to me had been my high school sweetheart the night I left him behind. Though I could tell he didn't want to, Vayl kept talking, "You wish to protect Cole from the very thing that defines your existence. What does that say to you?"

"I define my existence," I told him through clenched teeth. "I choose to be here, now. Cole didn't have that choice. He just fell into it. That's a good way to drown." And he's already done that one too many times. Vayl let it go.

We made it back to our seats with no extra-sensory alarm going off in my head. "The vamp must be in the bar," I said as we sat, hoping my businesslike tone would calm us both. "Move in, or wait?" I itched to deliver some old-school violence to Charlie's killer's table. Action, that's what I needed. All this thinking was driving me nuts. But I knew what Vayl would say.

"Wait."

We waited. We made small talk. We ate. It's all part of the job, in the end, and we try to do the job well.

Now that I knew the vamp's scent, I could differentiate it from Vayl's much better than I had at first. It stayed in one place for another thirty minutes. Then it moved. We'd already paid the check, so we moved too. Still we almost blew it. Like most vamps, this one came with an entourage, and the last of the group was stepping into a glistening black limo when we reached the parking lot.

One of the first lessons I learned at the absence of my father's knee was that life isn't fair. Sometimes innocent little kids get stuck with dads who keep leaving and moms who hand out far too many whippings. And sometimes those are the very kids who grow up to learn that everybody leaves sooner or later, by chance or by death, and it's never fair. So, though it wasn't fair at all, it was still true that the one guy still standing outside the limo possessed the ability to spot federal agents at a distance of 50 yards. Apparently he also possessed the ability to deal with them, because he motioned for his three buddies to leave their seats and join him. They headed our way, the four of them stopping with about 15 paces left between us—what I like to refer to as dueling distance.

It felt like the O.K. Corral on steroids. There they stood, making a formidable first impression even without the Tech-9s they held casually at their sides. I felt my skin tighten in alarm at the ease with which they carried those deadly weapons. These were guys who would shoot first and ask questions never. Why was I ever scared of the monsters I thought were under my bed? I wondered. These are the real bogeymen.

Despite the crisp January breeze, the goon who'd spotted us wore a sleeveless gray T-shirt, exposing massive tattooed biceps. Beside him stood a tall, red-headed man whose mustache grew down either side of his lips to his neck and further south until it disappeared into his chest hair. He had that look in his eye that said, I've hilled things with shovels and enjoyed it.

A bright red scar split the third man's right cheek into halves, the knife that had caused it also leaving behind one milky white eye to remind its owner to dodge a little sooner next time. The fourth man had Chinese eyes, a Russian weightlifter's physique and an American biker's goatee. He grinned, revealing a couple of gold teeth, and pointed a long, sheath-covered fingernail at my chest.

"You got a problem?" he drawled, obviously expecting me to pee my pants before falling to the ground and groveling like an unworthy subject of the Emperor. And that was all it took. A new, screw-you attitude took precedence, trampling my fear under its boots. A highly dangerous approach, I still found it much easier to bear.

"Well it all goes back to my childhood…" I began, but the emergence from the limo of a black, high-heeled pump attached to a shapely, stockinged leg interrupted me.

"I don't like the looks of this," I murmured to Vayl.

He just grunted. He centered on the show now as a second leg joined the first. Silver sequins glittered as moonlight hit the hem of her knee-length dress. One elegant hand came out to grasp tattooed dude's paw and the rest of her finally appeared.

"Hey, look Vayl," I murmured, "it's vampire Barbie."

From her waist-length platinum hair to her surgically enhanced boobs, she looked like she'd been plucked from some Hollywood director's fantasy. The neckline of her dress plunged so deeply I hoped she'd used the extra-strength lingerie tape. Her huge violet eyes slanted just slightly, enough to give her the exotic look of some Sheik's plaything.

"Get a load of this," I said, "perfect makeup, perfect nails, perfect figure—it makes me want to shove her head-first into a steaming pile of horse crap. Why is it you can never find a mounted policeman when you need one?"

Vayl had no answers for me. At all. He'd gone still as a billboard photo.

"Do you know this woman?" I asked him. When he didn't answer, I shook him. He looked at me, his eyes blank. Dead.

"Who is she?"

"Liliana. My late wife."

Chapter Ten

Not a day goes by that I don't miss my Granny May. Mom, well to be honest, I'm kind of relieved she's gone. But her mother's passing still gets to me, even after three years. Sometimes I want to see her so badly it's a physical pain. Now I just wished she was here to prop me up, because damned if I didn't feel dizzy.

I watched Vayl watch Liliana approach us and totally failed to figure out how he felt about it. I, on the other hand, felt very clearly that the world had just begun to spin in the opposite direction. "Your… late… wife?" I whispered.