Praise for the novels of New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Gena Showalter

The Vampire’s Bride “Thanks to Showalter’s great writing and imagination, this story, reminiscent of a reality show with all-powerful gods pulling everyone’s strings, will really appeal.” —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

The Darkest Pleasure “Showalter’s darkly dangerous LORDS OF THE UNDERWORLD trilogy, with its tortured characters, comes to a very satisfactory conclusion.” —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

“Of all the books in this series, this is the most moving

and compelling. The concluding chapters will simply

stun you with the drama of them.”

—Mists and Stars

The Darkest Kiss “Anya is a fascinating blend of spunk, arrogance and vulnerability—a perfect match for the tormented Lucien.” —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

“If there is one book you must read this year, pick

up The Darkest Kiss … a Gena Showalter book is the best of the best.” —Romance Junkies

The Darkest Night “A fascinating premise, a sexy hero and non-stop action, The Darkest Night is Showalter at her finest and a fabulous start to an imaginative new series.” —New York Times bestselling author Karen Marie Moning

Catch a Mate “The versatile Showalter … once again shows that she can blend humour and poignancy while keeping readers entertained from start to finish.” —Booklist

The Nymph King “A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!” —New York Times bestselling author J. R. Ward

Playing with Fire “Another sizzling page-turner from one of the premier authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spellbinding story!” —New York Times bestselling author Kresley Cole

Animal Instincts “Bold and witty, sexy and provocative, Gena Showalter’s star is rising fast!” —New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

Jewel of Atlantis “Rich in imagery and evocative detail, this book is a sterling example of what makes romance novels so worthwhile.” —A Romance Review, 5 stars

Heart of the Dragon “Lots of danger and sexy passion give lucky readers a spicy taste of adventure and romance.” —RT Book Reviews

The Pleasure Slave “This couple is dynamite and Tristan’s intense sensuality will have you sweating.” —The Romance Studio

The Stone Prince “Sexy, funny and downright magical!” —New York Times bestselling author Katie MacAlister

Dear Reader,

I can’t tell you how excited I am that Playing with Fire is back in stores with a brand-new cover. Belle, Rome and the gang are some of my favourite characters. When they showed up inside my head, talking constantly, demanding I pay them some attention—I’m not crazy, Mom, I promise!—I couldn’t resist. And I’m glad! They made me laugh, they made me cry, they made me want to tear my hair out because they were so determined to tell their own stories, rather than let me lead the way. But that’s part of why I love them. They’re so real to me.

And maybe that’s why I couldn’t let them go when I wrote “The End” of Playing with Fire. I wanted to know what would happen to them after the happily ever after. Would they remain happy forever? Would another Scrim come along and make trouble for them? Would Belle maintain control of her powers? So I sat down and wrote book two of my Tales of an Extraordinary Girl series, Twice As Hot, which promises twice the danger, twice the excitement and twice the passion as Belle navigates her new job at PSI while trying to plan her wedding to Rome. Let’s just say sparks fly—literally. I hope you’ll join Belle on this all-new adventure, in stores soon!

Wishing you all the best,

Gena Showalter

Ordinary—adj [ME ordinaire, fr. L ordinarius, fr. ordin-, ordo order] 1: of a kind to be expected in the normal order of events: ROUTINE, USUAL. 2a: of common quality, rank, or ability. 2b: deficient in quality: POOR, INFERIOR. 2c: lacking in refinement. 3: Belle Jamison.

Résumé of Belle Jamison (First Draft)

OBJECTIVE:

To find an exciting, exhilarating career with the opportunity for advancement and a low rate of employee dismissals

EXPERIENCE:

• Five years Remmie’s Steak House—waitress

• Four and a half years Holiday Escape—maid

• May 18th—May 29th Harrison and Co. Books—dust patrol

• June 2nd—June 20th Kimberly Dolls—assembly line (heads)

• June 25th—July 3rd Rizzo’sGrocery—cleanup,aisle 5 •July 19th—August 1st Hot House Flowers—funeral arrangement specialist

• August 11th—August 13th Professional clown (independent contractor)

• September 5th—September 30th Cutter’s Gym—towel girl

• October 18th—October 31st Wisteria Elementary School—bus driver

• November 3rd—November 9th Donte Aeronautics—nuts and bolts finder

• November 10th—November 12th Jumpin’ Jive Pre-owned Cars—odometer tweaker

• November 22nd—December 1st Beauty and Beyond Salon—hair sweeper

• December 14th—February 5th Cybernet Telemarketing —hang-up preventer

• Two month sabbatical Professional loafer

• April 6th—present Utopia Café—coffee wench

EDUCATION:

• Graduate of Wisteria High School

• Head cheerleader for the Fighting Trojans (Go team!)

• Voted best dressed

• One week at Groomers ‘R’ Us

• Four weeks at LaVonda’s Divine School of Cosmetology

INTERESTS:

Long walks on the beach, sunsets, romance novels, cold winter nights, paychecks, fine dining, shopping, naps, playing the lottery, men in kilts/uniforms/calendars, and massages.

REFERENCES:

“If you do not enforce strict ‘attendance’ policies, Miss Jamison is the perfect candidate for your company.”

—Mr. Ron Peaty, Manager of Utopia Café

“Please give my friend a job. Please.”

—Miss Sherridan Smith, best friend

Résumé of Belle Jamison, aka “Wonder Girl” (Final Draft)

OBJECTIVE:

To kick major scrim ass; save the world from parasters; mentor my smart-mouthed sidekick, Tanner; track down the elusive Dr. Roberts; and, um, learn to control the flying dirt balls that keep mysteriously hitting any woman who checks out Rome.

EXPERIENCE:

• Many hours of (hot and heavy) practice with Rome, aka “Cat Man”

• Totally successful elimination of the evil scrim Pretty Boy

• Roasting marshmallows with my bare hands (and eyes) •Watering the flowers at my dad’s assisted living center (without a hose)

• Orchestrating a snowball fight in the middle of summer (Tanner so got his ass kicked!)

EDUCATION:

• The School of Rome

• Awarded straight A’s and aced all “extra credit” assignments

INTERESTS:

Long walks on the beach (with Rome), sunsets (watching them with Rome), romance novels (acting out the love scenes with Rome), cold winter nights (snuggling with Rome), Rome in kilts/uniforms/calendars (or nothing at all), and massages (given by Rome).

REFERENCES:

“If you’re looking for trouble, Belle is the girl for you. PS.—Hurt her and I’ll kill you.”

—Mr. Rome Masters, aka “Cat Man”

“Need a gal who can fry the bad guys but still give your hair the perfect blowout? Wonder Girl’s the one for you!”

—Miss Sherridan Smith, best friend

“You’ll never find a sweeter, harder-working gal than my baby Belle.”

—David Jamison, father

“Once you get to know her, she’s not a stranger.”

—Sunny Masters, friend and one day, perhaps, stepdaughter

“I predict she’ll do great things. Just don’t leave home without a raincoat, a fire extinguisher and moist towelettes.”

—Lexis Masters, aka “Know It All”

“I’ve never met a nicer, more wonderful woman—with such great cleavage!”

—Tanner Bradshaw, aka “Mr. Sensitivity”

In 2011, Belle Jamison returns in a brand-new adventure. Don’t miss twice the romance, twice the danger and twice the fun in TWICE AS HOT, coming soon from Gena Showalter! Turn the page for your sneak peek …

OKAY. HERE’S THE LOWDOWN. My name is Belle Jamison, I’m twenty-five and smart, depending on who—whom?—you’re asking. (Sadly, my teddy bear of a dad is the only one who would pipe up with an affirmative “She’s brilliant!”) I’m a former coffee wench (plus former bus driver, used car salesman, factory worker, maid and a thousand other menial jobs), now employed by the mysterious and shadowy PSI: Paranormal Studies and Investigations.

Oh, and I happen to control the four elements with my emotions. (If you ask my ultra-hot fiancé, Rome, he’ll tell you that control is relative.) Anyway.

Used to be, I was an everyday, average, normal girl. Normal and wishing for bigger and better. I should have known better. Sometimes you actually get what you wish for, and the results are not what you expected. I’d wanted excitement. And yeah, I’d gotten it. But that excitement came with a death warrant.

See, a few months ago, a crazy scientist secretly dropped a chemical into my grande mocha latte and that chemical … changed me. Belle Jamison, average no longer. Suddenly I could shoot fireballs from my eyes, freeze an entire room with a brush of my fingertips against a wall, cause a tempestuous rainstorm with my tears and start a level five tornado with only a thought.

At first, I was upset. I mean, really. Being able to destroy the entire world and everyone in it is a huge burden to carry. But that burden also brought the sexy and insatiable Rome Masters into my life, so I don’t begrudge it too much. Anymore. Plus, once I had a little influence over my abilities, people who pissed me off “accidentally” got their eyebrows singed, and that was pretty damn fun.

Sure, Rome once tried to kill me. Or, as he’d say, to “neutralize” the oncoming disaster and threat I’d become, as I’d had no control over my new abilities. Sure, I later accidentally-on-purpose Tasered the hell out of him. But now we can’t live without each other.

Some people hold hands to show their love; we draw blood. Or we would, if Rome was anywhere to be found.

“I swear, he has five seconds to call me or I’m going to torch his entire gun collection and use the melted metal to make a few necklaces. Maybe some earrings.”

My best friend Sherridan looked up from the romance novel propped against her upraised legs. She lounged on the couch, a vision of curly blond hair, big blue eyes more often than not filled with sadness nowadays and curves that went on for miles. I wasn’t jealous. Really. “He’s called you like four times in the past week. And seriously, you should be embarrassed. I’ve never met anyone who has as much phone sex as you two have.”

My eyes narrowed on her. “How do you know about the phone sex?”

“Duh. I pick up the phone and listen.”

I gasped, felt a spark of something hot inside my chest.

Sherridan laughed. “Kidding, I was only kidding. You’re, like, freakishly loud. Seriously, ear plugs don’t help. Cranking up my iPod to full blast doesn’t work. Despite myself, I’ve been really impressed with your skills.”

Color flooded my cheeks. This was the problem with roommates. “Rome was supposed to call me again last night. He didn’t. He hasn’t. That’s not like him. Do you think something’s wrong?”

“Stop worrying, “ she said with a wave of dismissal. “That he-man can morph into a jaguar, for God’s sake. He’s fine. He’s probably planning a surprise homecoming or something.”

My hand fluttered over the pulse hammering in my throat. “Really? You think?” Was that neediness mine?

“Of course.”

She sounded confident. But then, she hadn’t battled people more monster than human. People who could walk through walls, shift into creatures of the night and leap at you with fangs and claws bared—or simply speak with a voice that forced you to obey.

I had. Rome had. And I had no idea what he was up against this time …

About the Author

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author GENA SHOWALTER has been praised for her “sizzling pageturners” and “utterly spellbinding stories”. She is the author of more than seventeen novels and anthologies, including breathtaking paranormal and contemporary romances, cutting-edge young adult novels and stunning urban fantasy. Readers can’t get enough of her trademark wit and singular imagination.

To learn more about Gena and her books, please visit www.genashowalter.com and www.genashowalterblogspot.com.

Other Books By

Other sexy, steamy reads from Gena Showalter and MIRA Books

Atlantis HEART OF THE DRAGON JEWEL OF ATLANTIS THE NYMPH KING THE VAMPIRE’S BRIDE

Lords of the Underworld THE DARKEST NIGHT THE DARKEST KISS THE DARKEST PLEASURE THE DARKEST PASSION THE DARKEST LIE

Tales of an Extraordinary Girl PLAYING WITH FIRE TWICE AS HOT

More stunning tales from Gena Showalter

are out now …

INTERTWINED

UNRAVELLED

PLAYING with FIRE

Tales of an extra ordinary girl

GENA
SHOWALTER

www.mirabooks.co.uk

To Margo Lipschultz—who helped make this book

better than I ever could have dreamed.

To Diana Peterfreund (aka Brainstorm) and the

League of Extraordinary Gentlewomen (Dedicata,

Secret Narration Girl, Themia, Chaptera, Agentextra-

dinara (Deidre Knight), Blog Girl—who wields the

Sword of Buzzsteria—and Comedia). This mighty

team braves the wilds of Procrast Nation, constantly

fighting against the evil Blank Page, Fickle Muse

and Lord Lexicon, who taunts us with wrong word

choices. To all of you: Novelique salutes you.

And to my own super heroines: Jill Monroe, Kresley

Cole, P. C. Cast, Shonna Hurt and Michelle Quine.

CHAPTER ONE

ISN’T IT AMAZING HOW ONE seemingly innocent decision can change your entire life? For me, that decision came in the form of a grande mocha latte.

Allow me to explain.

The day began normally enough. Translation: I rolled out of bed thirty minutes late, rushed through a shower and hurriedly dressed in the standard black slacks and white button-up top every Utopia Café employee is required to wear. Unlike the other employees, I left the top three buttons of my shirt undone, revealing hints of the white lace (push-up) bra I wore underneath. Don’t judge. Some people are mammarily challenged and need a little boost. Anyway, if I showed a little cleavage my pervert boss wouldn’t care that I was late. Again.

He might even thank me for coming in at all.

Was it wrong of me to rely on the girls to get me out of trouble? Probably. Did I give a shit? Hell, no. In fact, I unabashedly adjusted them for ample display. I was single, twenty-four and determined to keep this job. Anyone who objected could blow me.

See, my dad suffers from massive heart problems and I’m the “responsible party” in charge of his bills, not to mention the one who finances his stay at Village on the Park, a nearby assisted living center. I would have loved for him to live with me (not that there’s enough space in my one-bedroom efficiency), but it’s best that he stays there. They have twenty-four-hour monitoring and make sure he takes his medications, which he “forgets” to do when left to his own devices.

Besides, he claims he’s never been happier. The women there are “silver foxes, “ he says, and eager for masculine attention. Dare I mention those silver foxes cost more than high-priced hookers because my dad is always popping the Viagra he buys from his friends?

I’ll do anything to ensure my dad’s happiness, though, the way he unselfishly ensured my happiness throughout my entire childhood. So I desperately need to keep my current job and get the one I’m interviewing for after my shift.

Can’t be late, can’t be late, can’t be late, I mentally chanted as I searched for my coffee-stained tennis shoes. I’ve spilled more cappuccinos on them than I’ve served to high-class snobs. Needless to say, I’ve served a lot of high-class snobs.

“Aha! Found you, you dirty little bastards.” When had I put them in the refrigerator? I tugged them on, shivering as my toes grew numb from the cold.

Meanwhile, the clock ticked away more precious minutes.

I hastily applied blush, mascara and gloss. You’d think the need for money would inspire me to wake up bright and early every morning no matter the circumstances, but you’d be wrong. I was too tired to do bright and early today, even for a stack of greens. Last night I’d bartended a bachelorette party until 3:00 a.m. Me, a girl who knows nothing about alcohol. Sex on the Beach—sure, with the right man. Fuzzy Navel—uh, shower, anyone? Tom Collins—who the hell?

Of course, I’d pretended to be the expert I’d claimed to be in the interview, mixing anything and everything I could get my hands on. My drinks hadn’t been the tastiest, but they’d certainly created the desired results. By the end of the evening, all of the women drunkenly swore they loved me and my “wicked nasty” concoctions.

The clock chimed the hour: 6:00 a.m.

“Damn it.” I rubbed my tired, burning eyes—then froze when I realized the mascara hadn’t dried. Freaking great. I probably looked like a boxer who’d lost the big match. As I scrubbed my face with a wet washrag, I watered my dry, brittle plants, multitasking to save time. What would it take to make the little green monsters thrive?

Finally ready to leave, I dug my keys out of the fishbowl. How many drinks had I sucked down last night? I didn’t remember dropping my keys in the water. At least the bowl was presently devoid of fish. Martin, my betta, had kicked it a few days ago. Natural causes, I assure you.

“I hope you’re rotting in the sewers,” I said, looking down. No way he’d made it into heaven. The little snot had hated me, had always fanned his gills and hit the glass whenever I walked into a room. He’d been a present from my last boyfriend, aka the Prince of Darkness. Was it wrong of me to wish the ex had died with the fish?

No time to ponder the ethics of that dream now. I needed to go. Dressed? Check. Shoes? Check. Keys? Check. Résumé? Check. I’d stuffed it in my work pants last night in preparation for an interview today. Ugh. Yet another menial job. If only I could crawl back into bed, snuggle under the covers and continue my X-rated dream about Vin Diesel and an easy-squeeze tube of chocolate syrup. Double yum! Something about that bald head drove me wild.

Stop daydreaming, woman. I trudged to the front door just as the phone rang. Sighing, I raced into my bedroom. Probably my boss, Ron, but I wanted to double-check just in case. A quick peek at caller ID revealed it was actually my dad. Late as I was, I didn’t even think about letting the machine pick up. I grabbed the receiver and held it to my ear. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Hey, doll. What’cha doing?”

“I’m headed off to work. Everything okay?”

“Fine, everything’s fine.” His deep, rumbling voice never failed to comfort me. “You work too hard.”

“Ah, but you know it’s what I live for, “ I said, and my voice held only truth. I’d never, never let this selfless man know I didn’t like my job(s). He’d go off and get one of his own, the old teddy bear. Anything to take care of me. No wonder I loved him so damn much. “I’m not happy unless I’m working.”

“Just like your mother, God rest her soul. Never did understand that mind-set, myself, “ he said. I pictured him shaking his head in wonderment. “I won’t keep you. I just got to looking through old photo albums of you as a baby. I know you visited the other day, but I still wanted to hear your voice.”

See? He’s a sweetie. “Now you’re trying to make me cry. But I’m glad you called. I missed you and your voice, too.”

He chuckled. “Aren’t we just a pair of mushy—”

“David!” I heard a woman call.

“Oh, hell,” he said to me. To the woman, he grumbled, “Not now, Mary. I’m on the phone with my best gal.”

“Did you or did you not kiss Janet in the gardens last night?” Mary demanded in the background.

“Double hell, “ my dad whispered. Then, “Oh, crap. I think she’s wheeling her chair into my room.” He paused. “I guess I should have resisted Janet’s invitation for a stroll.”

“I guess you should have, “ I said with a laugh.

“I have to go now. Love you, doll, “ he said.

“David!” Mary called, closer now.

“Love you, too, Daddy.”

We disconnected, and I stared at the phone for a minute, a smile hovering on my lips. Shaking my head, I rushed out of my tiny apartment with only one wistful backward glance.

“Let’s get this day over with, “ I muttered.

Outside, the dim spring morning proved wonderfully fragrant with the scent of magnolia, but oppressively hot, the air sticky with humidity. Ah, crap. I’d forgotten to bring a little towel to pat away any sweat. In a few minutes, my clothes were going to be plastered to my body. Oh, well. Nothing I could do about that now.

Not wanting to arrive at work hungry (hungry = bitchy and bitchy = fired), I stopped for a caramel glazed doughnut on my way to the bus station—and missed my bus. MARTA, Atlanta’s premiere miss-it-and-you’re-screwed transportation system, being what it was, the delay set me back another twenty minutes.

By the time I raced into Utopia, lines were long and winding. Customers were pissed about the wait and quite vocal about it. I yawned. I mean, please. Cry me a river, Richie Richersons. Jeez. Anyone who could afford a daily six-dollar cup of joe didn’t need to be complaining about anything.

Ron, my boss, spotted me and gave me a you-are-so-dead scowl.

I squared my shoulders, thereby tightening the material of my shirt, and offered him a chocolate sundae smile, smothered in whipped cream and cherries. Hmm, whipped cream. That would fit nicely in my Vin Diesel fantasy.

Ron’s gaze connected with the girls. He paled, looked away and crooked his finger in my general direction. Without glancing to see if I noticed, he pivoted on his heel, a silent command for me to follow him. Great. Freaking great. This didn’t bode well.

Breathing deeply of the cinnamon-and-vanilla-scented air, I passed several men and women who were using the tables as mini work spaces, their computers, faxes and shredders surrounding them. I stepped into Ron’s small, cramped office.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Pretty?”

“It’s Peaty, and shut the door, “ he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He plopped onto his chair, the cluttered desktop shielding his belly paunch. His black gaze remained lowered, not touching any part of me.

Shit.

Palms now sweating, I did as commanded. The smells of dust and cloying aftershave immediately assaulted me, wiping away any lingering hint of baked goods. Without waiting to be told, I claimed the only other seat in the room. A stiff, uncomfortable step stool I liked to call the Naughty Chair. File cabinets pressed close on both sides of me, making me feel pinned.

I studied Ron. He had thin lips, and right now those lips were pressed tightly together, barely visible slashes of pink in the contours of his rotund face. His sandy hair stood on end, as if he’d plowed his fingers through it one too many times. Lines of tension bracketed his eyes, and his brow was furrowed.

Ron had been pissed at me a lot these last few weeks, but he’d never radiated such disgruntled irritation. Such grim determination. I recognized the look, though. I’d gotten it from other bosses over the last year, right before they fired me.

I smothered a sigh. I hadn’t always been a bad employee. For nearly five years, I’d worked as a waitress during the day and a maid during the evening. I’d made enough to pay for my living expenses and support my dad, as well as build a nice savings account—a savings account I’d used up during my (forced) hiatus, aka the two months that it had taken me to land this job at the café.

Why couldn’t I hold back my restlessness anymore? Why couldn’t I quash my discontent, as I had for so many years, and stop sabotaging my only source of revenue?

Though I didn’t want to admit it, I knew the answer. I’d woken up one morning and realized life was passing me by, moving at high speed while I wallowed behind. Dissatisfaction had filled me—and had only grown since.

“I’m sorry for anything and everything I might have done, “ I said, when Ron opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re late, “ he growled. “Again.”

The fact that I didn’t utter, “Thanks for stating the obvious, “ should have earned me major good-girl points. “I know, and I really am sorry.” When his expression didn’t soften, when he still didn’t glance in my direction, my heart slammed against my ribs. “I worked another job late into the morning and had trouble waking up.”

He stared at the wall clock just behind my head and adjusted his chocolate-smeared tie. “While I like the image of you lingering in bed—”

Sick bastard. Gross. Just … gross. I might have thrown up in my mouth. And yes, I understand the irony here. You brought it on yourself, Jamison. What else did you expect, unleashing the girls like that? Suddenly hoping to hide them from view, I hunched my shoulders.

Wait, Ron’s mouth was moving. He hadn’t stopped talking.

“—that’s just not a good enough excuse. I mean, I can make an exception for it once, twice, but we’ve had this same conversation seven times now. And you’ve only worked here a few weeks.”

“I’ll be on time tomorrow, you have my word. I’ll go without sleep if necessary.” Did I sound as desperate to Ron as I did to myself? Probably. Damn it. I hated to let him see my desperation. Hated, hated, hated. The more desperate he knew I was, the more he could pull my strings and make me dance like a performing monkey.

He tapped a pen against his desktop. “That’s what you said last time. This is a small, independent operation, Belle, and we rely on our employees to provide superior service to keep us in business.”

“I do provide superior service, “ I gulped, adding, “when I’m here.”

Frowning, he dropped the pen and pushed a hand through his hair, causing more of the sandy locks to spike straight toward the ceiling. “You think you’re good with customers? Really?”

“Yes, really.” I knew what was happening here. He teetered on the brink of firing me and was simply trying to work up the courage to utter the words. And, I realized with shattering fear, I might not be able to talk him out of it this time. By this point in our previous talks, he was usually sending me on my way with a stern (but perverted) warning.

Had his irritation given him a supersonic determination no amount of sweet-talking persuasion could penetrate?

My eyes narrowed; my hands clenched into fists. I wouldn’t allow him to get rid of me easily. Somehow, some way, I was going to penetrate that wall of nefarious determination. I could not lose this job. Lately very few businesses were willing to take a chance on me, so I could only imagine how long it would take to land another.

“Stupid jobs, “ I muttered.

“What was that?” Ron asked, his gaze sharpening.

Had I said that aloud? “Oh, uh, nothing.” I straightened in the chair. “You were saying?”

He pushed out a sigh. “You have no people skills, Belle. Instead of smoothing ruffled feathers, you set them on fire.”

“I’m telling you, I’m a good employee, “ I said through clenched teeth. And that wasn’t a lie. Sure, I usually arrived late, always cussed, sometimes bitched and—and this is not an admission of guilt—(allegedly) borrowed from the stock room. But I worked weekends, holidays and overtime whenever possible. That counted for something, right?

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” Ron flipped open a file and ran a blunt-tipped finger down the front page. “Complaint—server is rude and pushy. Complaint—server made tea instead of coffee. Complaint— server is rude. Complaint—server is rude. Complaint—server is rude. Shall I go on?”

“I don’t let the customers yell and scream at me.” Indignation gave me a sense of bravery, and I sat up even straighter, shoulders squared. Did people have nothing better to do with their lives than complain about a lowly server? “That doesn’t make me rude, it makes me human.”

“Jenni doesn’t yell at customers even when they yell at her.”

“Jenni is a brown-nosing moron.”

Another sigh. “Belle—” Finally, his gaze landed on me and out of habit slid straight to the girls. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a dinghy in a tidal wave. “Uh, what was I saying?”

I almost grinned, every muscle in my body relaxing. Penetration complete. And so much easier than I’d anticipated.

Being looked at was far different from hearing his sex-offender voice comment about me lingering in bed. This I could handle. “I believe you were about to tell me to get to work and never be late again. I planned to respond by telling you that you’re the best boss in the world and I’ll make you proud.”

“Yes, I wanted to tell you to get to—” Eyes widening, he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant to say, “ he said, a stern edge creeping into his voice. But he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like brought down by a pair of pretty knockers. “I should fire you, you know. Hell, that’s why I brought you in here.”

“I know, “ I admitted softly. I didn’t mean to be such a disappointment to him. Honest. I just, well, I had always dreamed of being a— Wait. My eyebrows drew together. Even as a little girl, I hadn’t been able to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I still didn’t know. But being a peon stuck in a cycle of debt and endless servitude hadn’t been, and still wasn’t, part of my life’s ambition.

Don’t get me wrong. For my dad, I’d sign my soul over to the devil. Permanent ink. No “out” clause. Dad had toiled and slaved for years in construction, even when his weak heart caused him more pain than one person should ever have to bear. He’d worked so hard because he loved me, because he’d wanted me to have pretty clothes and take fun trips with my friends. But mostly because he’d wanted to make up for the car accident that had killed my mom when I was a toddler.

After I graduated high school, I had convinced him to quit, and I’d happily taken care of him ever since. I didn’t regret it; truly I didn’t, but my life had fallen into such a rut that sometimes I did wish for something extraordinary to happen to me. Something amazing, perhaps a little wild. What, I didn’t know.

I frowned. No more wishing for things I couldn’t have. From this point on, I would be a better employee. I would work harder, be less confrontational. Screw restlessness! Ron was giving me another chance, and I wouldn’t let him down.

“I swear, Belle, you keep my ulcer in fighting form, “ he said darkly. He reached into his desk drawer, withdrew a packet of Tums and popped several in his mouth. “Why can’t I be more like the Donald and just say it? You’re fired. Boom. You’re fired. So easy in theory.” He sighed yet again, this one a dejected exhalation that made his shoulders sag. “This is your last chance. If you screw this up—”

“I won’t. Swear to God.” I didn’t mention that I needed to leave a wee bit early today if I hoped to make my interview with Ambassador Suites, a nearby hotel. I’d bring up that little gem later. I’d double up my coffee-making or something to earn the early departure. “I’ll be so good you’ll nominate me for Employee of the Week. Maybe Employee of the Month.”

“Yeah. Right.” He popped a few more Tums and eyed the girls again. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Go. Open a register before I change my mind.”

Grinning, I blew him a kiss, bounded out of my chair and raced to the door. Thank God for perverts.

I SPENT THE NEXT SEVERAL hours being a good little robot, smiling a sunshine-and-roses smile and waving customers to my register like a Miss America contestant. All under Ron’s hawklike eyes. Once, I came close to bitch-slapping a woman who had the nerve to ask me if I moved that slow for everyone or if she was just special.

You’re certainly a special pain in my ass, I’d wanted to say. But I didn’t. I restrained myself from violence (see “bitch-slap” comment above), consoled by the thought that such an evil witch would surely acquire deep, deep wrinkles and lose all her teeth and hair before she kicked it.

My friend Sherridan—the only friend I had, really, since she didn’t mind the fact that I had no free time—would have been proud of me for remaining silent and not launching myself forward, a catapult of retribution. When we were in grade school, she’d told me the devil on my right shoulder must have brutally strangled the angel on my left, destroying any hint of moral influence.

I plead the Fifth on that.

Speaking of Sherridan, she strolled into the café a few minutes later, spotted me and waved. She was talking on her cell. She was tall and gorgeous with blond curls and curves that went on forever, curves that were now encased in an emerald pants suit. She marched to me, bypassing the line to stand beside my register, and hooked her cell to her waist. “Hey, you, “ she said with a warm smile.

“Hey, back, “ I said, but kept my gaze on the customer and pretended to listen to her order. I loved when Sherridan visited me here. Technically, employees were discouraged from having guests, but lately it was the only time we spent together. “You look good.”

“Thank you.” She spoke over the frowning customer. “I’m showing a house later today and want to impress the buyer—who is half of the reason I’m here.” She clapped her hands in excitement. “I got us dates.”

“Dates?” Months had passed since I’d even thought the word, so it was foreign on my tongue. “Do you want cinnamon sprinkled on your half-caf?” I asked my customer.

“With twins, “ Sherridan said proudly. “Wealthy twins.”

“Yes, “ the customer said through tight lips.

Sherridan didn’t pause. “I think the older one likes me.” There was a twinge of uncertainty in her voice.

“I’m sure he does, “ I said. “You’re beautiful and smart.” Sherridan liked to pretend she was confident, but deep down she needed reassurance when it came to men. She tended to fall for them quickly, become horribly needy and unsure, and drive them away. “I’m working that night, though.”

Sherridan’s grin slipped a little, and she narrowed her silver eyes suspiciously. “I didn’t tell you—” her phone rang “—when.”

“Sometime today on that drink, “ my customer said, drumming her nails on the counter.

“Doesn’t matter about the day.” I turned, grabbed a carton of milk and poured a measured amount into the proper container. “I’m always working.”

“Leslie,” Sherridan said to her assistant, “this isn’t a good time. I’m in a meeting.” She ended the call. “Belle, can’t you take a day off? Just one? Please?”

A wave of longing hit me, but I didn’t speak for several seconds as the milk steamed, buzzing loudly. When that tapered to quiet, I said, “I wish I could, Sher, but I’m interviewing for a second job later and I’ll be working nights if I get it.”

“Not another one, “ she said with a groan.

“Hey, server girl. Can I get an ETA on my drink? I’m in a mad rush, and you’re taking forever.”

My gaze sought and met the opposition’s, my hazel against her brown. My impatience against her annoyance. She was a tall woman, tanned and toned, almost muscular, with leathery skin and hair as dark a brown as mine. But while my hair was long and straight (and, I like to think, silky), hers was short and frizzy, as if she’d left her perm rods in a thousand years too long.

“My name is not server or girl, “ I muttered under my breath. To her, I said loudly, “It’ll be done in a second, sir. Oops, my bad. I mean, ma’am.”

She scowled.

“Belle, “ Ron called warningly.

I gritted my teeth, nearly grinding them into powder, and prepared the stupid half-caf. All the while I chanted in my mind, I will behave myself. I will behave myself. I will freaking behave myself. On the bright side, at least Ron was overlooking Sherridan’s visit.

“Well, I should go before Super Curls throws a fit,” Sherridan said, ignoring my customer’s scowl. She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Call me if you change your mind about the twins. They have the cutest, tightest asses ever and if you married one—a twin, not his ass—all of your money troubles would be over.” With that, she was off.

I handed Super Curls the coffee, but didn’t get a thank-you.

“I’ll have a skinny venti vanilla, please, “ my next customer said.

“Sugar free?”

His face scrunched in disgust. “I said skinny, not tasteless.”

And so another hour passed unmercifully. I should have chucked my apron and left with Sherridan. “This isn’t what I ordered, “ I heard. “Your fingers touched the rim, so I need you to start over and make me a new, uncontaminated drink, “ I heard. “You call this an espresso? I’ve had stronger water, “ I heard.

Did I complain? Did I mix anyone a swirlie (aka spit in their drink)? No and no! The continued restraint cost me, though. My stomach was a clenched knot of pain. My skin felt too tight against my bones. A tic had developed under my left eye. My back throbbed, and my feet ached—and not from standing too long. I was used to that. The ache was because I hadn’t allowed myself to deliver a few much needed ass beatings.

If I didn’t get Employee of the Week after this. Wait. I decided I’d rather have a break.

When I sent my last customer on her way, I glanced over at Ron, who had stopped watching me long enough to turn his attention to a woman who looked like she’d walked straight out of an X-rated pin-up. She sauntered past him, her red spandex halter top and shorts revealing more T and A than a Penthouse centerfold—not that I’d ever peeked inside one of those magazines (cough, cough). Ron adjusted his belt. I snapped my fingers to gain his attention, but the woman’s thong-clad ass held him enthralled.

The bell above the door jingled, signaling the arrival of yet another group of patrons. Their eyes were feral, and I could tell they were desperate for their morning fix. If I didn’t act quickly, I’d be stuck here a minimum—minimum!—of twenty more minutes, and I just didn’t have another second of sweetness in me.

With a speed Superman would have envied, I began closing out my register.

“What are you doing?” Jenni, Employee of the Year— or, as I liked to call her, Bitch of the Millennium—demanded. She stood at the only other open register, a short, rounded-in-all-the-right-places blonde who drew male attention simply by breathing. She’d made her hatred of me known my first day on the job, tripping me every time I walked past her, handing me regular coffee when I asked for decaf.

Why she hated me, I didn’t know. Didn’t care, really.

“You’re smart.” I scratched my forehead with my middle finger, covertly flipping her off. “Figure it out.” With her infuriated gasp ringing in my ears, I strode over to Ron and tapped him on the shoulder.

He jumped and clutched a hand over his heart as he whipped to face me. “Jesus H. Christ!”

“No, I’m Belle, “ I said drily.

“What do you want?” he grumbled.

“I’d really like to take my first fifteen-minute break. If that’s okay with you, Mr. Pretty, “ I added sweetly.

“It’s Peaty.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Fine. Whatever.” His gaze slid back to the walking centerfold, now bending over to pick up the napkin she’d “accidentally” dropped, her shorts riding higher up her butt.

Shaking my head, I gathered the necessary items needed for a … hmm. What did I want? A mocha latte, I decided in the next flash. Yep. That sounded good. That’s what I’d have. If anyone deserved chocolate, it was me.

“You’re such a bitch, “ Jenni muttered, suddenly at my side to mix a chai tea.

“Your jealousy is showing, “ I uttered in a singsong voice. I poured two shots of espresso into my cup, then whole milk. I didn’t do skim. “If you’d stopped sneaking bites of muffins, éclairs and cake slices you might have realized someone was due to go on break.”

Jenni gasped. “I’ll have you know I have low blood sugar. I have to eat.”

“Right. I totally believe you and don’t think you’re delusional in the least.”

“You’re just begging for a piece of me, you know that?” she growled.

“I don’t know what gave you the idea I’ve lowered my standards, but I assure you, I haven’t. I want no part of you. By the way, you have a piece of dough stuck in your teeth.” Latte completed, I skipped to an empty table. As I sipped the hot, deliciously sweet liquid (perfectly prepared, thank you!) I stared out the large storefront window and grinned. Ah, my little interlude with Jenni had revived my spirits, chasing away the tension brought on by forced charm.

Across the way loomed a pretty, obviously well maintained brownstone with steel-enforced, tinted windows. The bushes surrounding it were expertly trimmed and hedged. Flowers bloomed prettily in the spring sun, a pink, red and gold rainbow of petals.

But there were no signs, no advertisements to be seen. Occasionally I’d spotted a car or two in the parking lot, as I did now, so I knew people worked there. But I’d never been able to figure out what kind of business it was, had never seen an employee entering or leaving.

The place intrigued me. Always had. I’d thought about sneaking over there late one night and peeking inside, but usually fell asleep before working up the strength to leave my apartment. Perhaps it was a—

I blinked. What the hell? A tall, lanky man in a lab coat suddenly barreled out the front door of the brownstone at top speed, his eyes wide and wild, his white comb-over flapping in the breeze. One minute he wasn’t there, the next he was. My back went ramrod straight, the movement swishing precious latte over the rim of the cup. I blinked again, as if the action could jump-start my brain into figuring out why he was running.

The man darted across the street, uncaring as vehicles honked and swerved to keep from hitting him. Two of the cars collided. Even from where I sat, I heard the squeal of tires and the grind of smashing metal.

My eyes rounded as two burly, scowling guys sprinted out of the brownstone, apparently giving chase to the harried, wreck-causing man—who was now racing inside Utopia as if his life depended on it.

The bell chimed and I shoved myself to my feet, spilling my latte further. I set the cup on the table and stared over at the man. Skin pale, features tense, breath emerging raggedly, he scanned the café wildly. His gaze bypassed me, then quickly snapped back. Across the distance, our eyes locked.

“Are you okay?” I called, projecting my voice over the inane chatter around us.

“Please, help me,” he choked out. He sprinted toward me, shoving people out of the way and babbling, “They weren’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to chase me.”

Some gasped. Some snarled, “Watch it.”

When the man reached me, he gripped my forearms. Sweat trickled from his brow; fear filled his dilated eyes. “You have to help me, “ he said between shallow pants. “They’re going to kill me.”

Kill? My mouth went dry; my blood mutated into ice, yet hot prickles slithered along my spine. “Stay here, “ I said. “No, hide. No, stay. Oh, hell. Do whatever while I call 911.” His clasp tightened on me, but I tugged free and shouted to the people around me, “Does anyone have a cell phone?” I’d given mine up as an extravagance I could no longer afford. “Anyone?” I leapt around the tables, but everyone purposefully avoided my gaze. “I won’t use up your minutes, I swear. This is an emergency.”

“I demand to speak with the manager, “ someone said, wanting, I’m sure, to complain about what had just happened and demand free service.

I rushed into Ron’s office and grabbed the phone. The 911 dispatcher answered after only two rings, and I explained what had happened. “A man was chased into this café, “ I rushed out. “He says someone’s trying to kill him.” As I spoke, a woman screamed in the background. A male groaned.

“Help is on the way, “ the dispatcher promised.

Heart hammering, I disregarded her plea to remain on the line, and tossed the receiver aside. I pounded back into the main area and skidded to a stop. I’d only been gone a moment, but the café looked like a natural disaster had struck. Tables were overturned. Chairs were strewn in every direction. Coffee slithered along the floor, a black river, with paper cups and napkins floating in it like dead bodies.

Shaking and scared, the café's patrons and employees huddled in a single corner. Only Ron seemed unafraid. His arms were wrapped around Jenni, and he was copping a feel.

The man in the lab coat had vanished. Was he hiding?

The two guys I’d observed chasing him were now in the process of calming everyone down. A third male, whom I hadn’t seen exit the brownstone, stood at the doorway, preventing anyone from entering or leaving. He was young, probably in his mid-thirties, tall and muscled, with blond hair and a face any male model would have envied. Perfect, chiseled and droolworthy. He watched the proceedings as if mentally cataloging every detail.

“Everyone take a seat, “ he finally said, his voice firm, no-nonsense. “Get comfortable. We’re going to be here awhile.”

“What’s going on?” I demanded, since no one else had spoken up. “Who are you?” Maybe I shouldn’t have drawn attention to myself, but there was no way in hell I’d just blithely obey, perhaps walking to my own death.

“CIA.” He frowned and flashed some sort of badge. “Now sit.”

CIA? My jaw performed a dance of drop and close, drop and close. I’d seen agents on TV, of course, but never in real life. Still, everything inside me screamed not to trust him. I mean, Lab Coat’s voice kept drifting through my head. They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me!

But … what if Lab Coat was an evil man who needed killing? Or what if Pretty Boy was lying and Lab Coat was really the good guy? What if I confused myself to the point of having an aneurism with all these internal questions?

Think, Jamison, think. Sit down. No, run. Sit. Yes, that’s what I’d do. No, no. I should run. As I continually changed my mind, my right foot moved back and forth while the left remained in place. Step, retreat. Step, retreat. Damn it! If I made the wrong decision, there was a very good chance tomorrow’s headlines would read: Local Idiot Found Dead. “Victim’s friend laments, ‘If Belle had taken a day off like I asked, she’d still be alive.’”

My eyes slitted. “What happened to that guy? The one in the lab coat?”

Pretty Boy crossed his arms over his chest and pinned me with a dark, almost hypnotic stare. “That’s none of your concern. Now, “ he said, speaking to the entire room, “I have questions, and you’re going to answer me.”

Those eyes … they were intense, commanding, a little scary. “I just called the cops, “ I gulped out. “If you hurt us, you’ll be thrown in prison and become Big Daddy’s bitch.”

His gaze flicked to one of Lab Coat’s pursuers, now our guard. He was a beast of a man, with a thick, black beard (were those peas between the hairs?) and more muscles than Arnold in his prime. “Take care of it.”

Take care of what? Beast radioed … the cops? He spoke too quietly for me to hear what he was saying. Meanwhile, the other guard ushered everyone into chairs. Everyone except me, that is. Maybe I looked menacing and they didn’t want to mess with me. Hey, it was a possibility.

But I didn’t understand why they were content to remain in here instead of chasing Lab Coat. Or had they caught him and ushered him away while I was on the phone? Why question us, then, if they already had him?

“That man is a dangerous criminal, “ Pretty Boy told me. He must have realized that I wouldn’t cooperate otherwise. “It’s in your best interest to help us.”

Dangerous criminal—the magic words of my capitulation. “All right, fine, “ I said grudgingly, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt. He had a badge, after all. “But if anyone pulls a weapon on me, I’m going PMS on their ass.”

“So noted,” he said with a dry edge, completely unimpressed.

Thankfully, the table I’d occupied earlier remained upright. My latte sat on the surface, unharmed. I plopped down and lifted the cup to my lips, sipping. Warm and sweet—sweeter than it had been earlier, as if the chocolate had thickened. Mmm. I continued sipping, taking comfort from it.

Pretty Boy questioned us one at a time, writing names and answers in a notebook. How very detective he was. He asked everyone the same three questions: 1) What is your name and address? 2) Did you see the man in the lab coat? 3) Did he say anything to you or give you anything?

Pretty Boy spoke with me the longest and had more than the standard three questions for me. What had made me want to help Lab Coat—“the doctor,” Pretty Boy called him, careful not to use his real name. Did we secretly plan to meet later? Had I ever met with the doctor before this?

I didn’t bother lying. Actually, I wasn’t sure I could lie to this man. Every time he turned those intense brown eyes on me, I felt compelled to share my deepest, darkest secrets. Not in a girls’ sleepover kind of way, but an I’ll-die-if-I-don’t kind of way. Very weird.

And you know what? I didn’t get any answers to my questions. What was his name? Why were they chasing Lab Coat? What made the man so dangerous? Was Pretty Boy going to eat the chocolate éclair he’d pilfered from the fridge? I was starved.

Finally, Pretty Boy and his men left, followed quickly by the customers. I’d expected him to threaten us if we told the press or cops—or anyone, really—what had happened, but he didn’t. I’d expected the police to arrive (as promised), but they never did. I guess they really had been taken care of, which probably meant Pretty Boy was the CIA agent he’d claimed to be and Lab Coat actually was a criminal. I hoped I didn’t get in trouble for having tried to aid him.

Left alone at last, I helped Ron, Jenni and the rest of Utopia’s employees clean up the mess. Strangely enough, we worked in silence, not discussing the events. Maybe we were too scared. Maybe we were too confused. Maybe both. As I cleaned, I looked for Lab Coat but found no trace of him.

What a shit-infested day this had turned out to be. The only silver lining was when Ron decided to close the café for the rest of the day, giving me the opportunity I needed to escape to my interview—albeit late.

Maybe, if I was lucky, I’d be hit by a car and could sue for millions.

CHAPTER TWO

BY THE TIME I REACHED the Ambassador Suites—without being hit by a car, damn it—I’d successfully forced the day’s events to the back of my mind, to be considered and dissected later. Why not worry about it now, you ask? Because my head was about to explode into tiny Belle fragments, that’s why. A sharp ache pounded in my temples and beads of sweat dotted my skin. My stomach pricked and burned as if I’d swallowed a thousand acid-coated needles.

Hunger pains, maybe? No, surely not. I’d skipped lunch, true, but I’d skipped meals before and never reacted this way.

I stumbled into the hotel’s bathroom, the black-and-white-tiled floor spinning and making me dizzy. My eyes were normally hazel, a green-brown mix, but right now, in the mirror, they appeared a glassy emerald. Too bright. Dilated.

My hands shook as I splashed cold water on my face. But the liquid didn’t trickle down; my skin seemed to open up and absorb every drop. It happened so quickly I would have missed it if I blinked. My pores screamed in protest, burning, burning.

A moan slipped from my lips. What the hell was wrong with me? Had I picked up a vicious, fast-acting virus after leaving Utopia?

God, I hurt everywhere, the pain growing stronger with every passing second. My joints were swelling, and I was having trouble drawing in a decent breath. Straightening as best I could, I stared again at my reflection. Bruises had formed under my eyes and bright red spots of color painted my cheeks. My lips were pulled tight.

I looked liked a drug addict. In desperate need of a fix.

I could just imagine how a potential employer would respond to that: throw me out on my ass and post my picture all over the building with a notice that I was to be arrested if I set one foot inside the place ever again. Great. Freaking great.

A sudden cramp doubled me over, and I cried out. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. Gradually, the pain subsided. I straightened again, my ears ringing loudly as blood pounded through them.

“Holy hell.” Just get the interview over with so you can go home and rest.

Somehow, and God only knew how, I pulled myself together enough to walk into the interviewer’s office with my head held high and my shoulders squared. An older man with thick silver hair and a stiff brown suit sat behind the room’s only desk. He grinned when he spotted me, his eye crinkling at the corners. Kindness radiated from him.

“You must be Belle.”

“Yes.” I forced my lips into an answering smile. I wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade for long. I realized that when the interviewer—what the hell was his name?— shook hands with me. The feel of his palm against my too- sensitized flesh nearly dropped me to the ground, huddling in a fetal ball and crying for the mommy I hadn’t seen in more than twenty years. The contact, though brief, cut through me like a barrage of slashing knives.

“You’re a little late, “ he said, glancing at his wristwatch, “but I think there’s just enough time to get to know each other.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much. I had an unavoidable delay, but I promise you now, I’ll never be late again.” Hurriedly I unfolded my résumé from my pocket and handed it to him, careful not to touch him.

Ding, ding. Let the interview begin.

OKAY, SO I TOTALLY BLEW the interview.

My ears had rung too loudly, and I hadn’t been able to hear him. My joints had ached too fiercely, and I hadn’t been able to sit still. My mind had neared explosion, and I hadn’t been able to think of intelligent answers.

Disheartened and racked by intense, debilitating pain, I entered my apartment, tossed my keys onto the old brown shag carpet, locked the door and lumbered to my bedroom, stripping as I walked/crawled/begged God for sweet death. As I fell into the soft coolness of the bed, the entire horrific nightmare replayed in my mind.

Interviewer: My, but you’ve worked at a lot of jobs.

Me: Only recently. Before that, I was a maid—with the same hotel—for almost five years, as well as a waitress—for the same restaurant. But at each of my latest jobs, I assure you I’ve learned valuable lessons.

Interviewer: What, uh, did you learn at the Kimberly Dolls factory?

Me: I learned that it is not funny to put the Kevin head on the Kimberly body.

Interviewer: Hmm. And at the pet groomer?

Me: I learned that dogs and cats are to be respected and not shaved to resemble lions. In my defense, the lion look is very popular with certain breeds.

Interviewer: I see. I’m curious about something. Were you fired from each of these jobs or did you quit?

Me: I prefer the term “let go.” Fired just sounds so … mean.

Interviewer: Were you let go, then?

Me: Yes, but I can explain.

Interviewer: I’m listening.

Me: At Harrison and Co. Books, I completely misunderstood the return policy. A simple mistake, really, one anyone could have made. You see, I thought it would be totally fine to take the books home in my bag, read them and return them. You would have thought the same thing, wouldn’t you? That’s what return means.

Interviewer: Well, uh, hmm. What about Jumpin’ Jive Cars? Why were you let go from there?

Me: Well, that’s an interesting story. See, there was an unfortunate accident with one of the cars I borrowed. Totally not my fault. The lady in front of me didn’t signal, and you know how important it is to signal when changing lanes.

Interviewer: Yes, that is important.

Me: Just give me a chance, Mr. uh, uh—

Interviewer: Mr. MacDonald.

Me: I’ll be the best damn, uh, uh—

Interviewer: Maid.

Me:—maid you’ve ever seen. Maid! That’s excellent. I told you about my five years of experience, didn’t I? I’m great with people and even better with toilets, and that’s the Belle Jamison guarantee. There’s nothing more solid than that, Mr. MacRonald.

Interviewer: It’s Donald.

Me: Why, thank you, Donald. You may call me Belle.

Interviewer: That’s not—never mind. I have to be honest with you, Miss Jamison. We at the Ambassador are looking for someone more, well, grounded.

Me: I’m grounded. Totally. I spent most of my teenage years grounded.

Interviewer: Hmm.

Me: That was a joke. Promise. My dad didn’t have the heart to ground me, even when I deserved it.

Interviewer: We need someone levelheaded.

Me: I can be levelheaded. One time I was shopping with my friend Sherridan, who will kill you if you call her Sherry, and she wanted to buy this very pretty, very expensive blue dress. Blue is totally her best color and it looked killer on her, but she’d already maxed out her cards and didn’t have excess cash. I told her the dress made her ass look fat so she wouldn’t put herself into more debt. A gal doesn’t get any more levelheaded than that.

Interviewer: I’ll make a note of that. Meanwhile, it was nice to meet you. I’ll call you and let you know our decision.

Me: When? I really need this job. Really, really badly.

Interviewer: I’ll be making calls in a few days.

Me: Okay, great. I’ll keep my ringer turned on so you can reach me anytime. Really. Anytime is good. Well, except for tomorrow morning. I’m not feeling so great. And maybe tomorrow night won’t be so good, either. And Saturday. But other than that I’m completely reachable.

Interviewer: That’s … good to know. I’ll have security show you out.

YEAH, LIKE Mr. Donald MacRonald was ever going to call me.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch.” Groaning, I clutched a pillow to my stomach. I’d never been this sick. Not even the time Bobby Lowenstein planted a big wet one on me in the ninth grade and I woke up the next morning with lymph nodes the size of baseballs. Mono had sucked ass.

This sucked bigger ass.

Maybe I’d call Sherridan and make her come over and take care of me. As it was, I didn’t have the strength to go into the kitchen and get myself a glass of water and eight hundred Tylenol.

I whimpered as another wave of pain assaulted me. My blood heated to boiling, burning like lava in my veins before chilling to ice. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought something was alive inside me, clawing its way through my every cell. Slicing me apart and rearranging my organs.

Forget Sherridan. I needed a doctor.

I reached for the phone, but my arm dropped onto the bed, too heavy to hold up. A strange but welcome lethargy suddenly flowed through me, lulling me into darkness, away from the pain. My eyelids closed and a black web wove inside my mind. Morning. I’d feel better in the morning.

CHAPTER THREE

BY MORNING I WANTED to kill myself.

How many hours I drifted in and out of consciousness, I didn’t know. One minute I saw sunshine streaming in through my windows, the next moonlight. One minute I shivered from cold, the next I sweated profusely. Awake I hurt. Asleep I hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. Everywhere. I was dying. I knew I was. I, who had never fallen in love, never owned a cat—or anything but an obnoxious betta— and never really lived.

This was it. The end. And it wasn’t pretty.

You know how dying people claim to see a light at the end of the tunnel, or that their life flashes before their eyes? Lucky bastards! Why couldn’t I be one of them? Instead I heard Ron’s pervy voice tell me over and over that I was fired as I fell through a seemingly never-ending tunnel, the fires of hell licking at me on one side, snowballs slamming into me on the other.

In this strange la-la land, I’d watched my nightstand catch fire, orange-gold flames flickering toward the ceiling. Then I’d watched a rain cloud form above it and douse the flames completely. The hallucination had been so real I’d heard the crackle of burning wood, the patter of the water and the ensuing sizzle of dying embers. I’d even smelled the ashes.

Afterward, I’d spotted a dark angel/demon standing at the edge of my bed, watching me, waiting for me to die. His gaze had seemed to burn into me. Intense. Scorching. I had felt a strange sort of comfort in his presence, though, knowing I wasn’t alone.

Now that I was awake, I wanted him with me again.

“Angel, “ I croaked, my wild eyes feverishly searching for him in the darkness. I needed a glass of water, el pronto. I think something had died inside my mouth and rigor mortis had already set in. When I earned no response, I tried again. “Demon.”

Still nothing.

Had he left? Oh, he had. Bastard. He’d abandoned me.

I closed my eyes and a picture of him formed in my mind. He was severely hot—but he wasn’t handsome, if that made any sense. He looked savage and feral, like something you should fear, yet couldn’t because you wanted so badly to tame it. Hair as black as midnight framed his face, and his eyes were so blue they sparkled. I would have said they sparkled like sapphires, but there was a predatory glint in those eyes of his, dangerous and wild, nixing any thought of precious gems.

He was tall. Six-four was my guess. He’d been wearing black from head to toe, blending into the room’s shadows. The scent of blueberry muffins, ashes and untamed jungle had wafted from him. I rolled to my side, burrowing deeper under the covers as another black web formed in my mind. He had to.

I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing I knew, my eyelids were fluttering open and taking in the sunlight. A long while passed before I was able to orient myself. The room appeared hazy at first, everything slowly slipping into place as if someone had wiped my line of vision with glass cleaner. I saw my peeling ceiling … my yellowing walls … my brown shag carpet … my men’s loafers … my—Men’s loafers?

My eyes blinked open and closed, then traveled up a pair of black pants, a firm butt, a belted waist and a well filled out black shirt. Ah, the Angel of Death, I realized, relaxing a little. He hadn’t left me, after all. Once again he was standing at the side of my bed. He had his back to me as he spoke to someone on a walkie-talkie.

“Subject is roughly five-six, slim, straight brown hair, hazel eyes—mostly green. Full lips.” He paused. “Uh, really full lips. Small scar on left shoulder. No tattoos … unfortunately.”

Who the hell was “subject"? I wondered groggily. Me? It sounded like me. Maybe creatures of the other-world preferred to keep things all-business.

“Subject has stopped writhing, and her skin is no longer tinted green. The bruises under her eyes have faded. Subject seems to be on the mend.”

His voice was low and sexy. I might be weak, but I wasn’t dead—or was I? I shivered. My gaze swept over him once more. He was as deliciously tall as I remembered, and so wonderfully muscled I would have liked to wrap my hands (legs—whatever!) around his biceps. Obviously, he worked out. A lot. His shoulders were wide, his back broad and his ass total, quarter-bouncing perfection. I bet even Sherridan’s twins couldn’t compare.

“Are you God’s minion or the devil’s?” I asked, my voice weak and raw. I’d put my money on the devil. (If I had any money, that is.) God had probably banned me from heaven months ago, when I filled my ex the Prince of Darkness’s apartment with rotten fish while he vacationed with the girl he’d dumped me for. (One rotten fish for another, you could say. Not that anything could compete with Martin.)

The angel/demon spun around, and those crystalline blue eyes pierced me. Hot, so unbelievably hot. I sucked in a breath, my hormones sizzling to life despite my condition. Seduction and danger poured from him. He had golden skin, a chiseled face with the shadow of a beard, and shaggy, windblown hair. The black locks fell over his forehead, almost shielding the arch of his brows. His nose was slightly crooked—from being broken one too many times?

“Hello, Belle. Glad to see you’re awake.”

The sound of my name on his soft, kiss-me lips was intoxicating. I fought the urge to reach out and trace my fingertips over that dark stubble dusting his jaw. I fought the urge to grab him by the neck and kiss the breath out of him. I fought the urge … oh, hell. Come to Momma. I tried to reach out, but my arms were too weak and remained at my sides.

Maybe that was a good thing. He was the first man to enter my apartment in, well, too many months to think about (without crying), so I probably would have done a poor job of pouncing/licking/consuming him.

“Don’t be afraid. If you’ll answer some questions for me, I’ll leave you alone, “ he said. “Sound good?”

Okay, so he wanted to get away from me as soon as possible. I had to look like total crap. Before he escorted me through the gates of eternity, maybe he’d let me shower, brush my teeth, apply ten pounds of makeup, slip on a red teddy and mist myself with pheromone perfume. Not that I wanted to impress him or anything. Really. A girl just needed to make a good impression her first day in the afterlife.

“You falling asleep on me again?” he asked.

“No questions, “ I said. I’d answered enough of those when Pretty Boy had interrogated me. As I struggled to sit up, the ache in my head roared to full life. I groaned and flopped against the pillow. “I hate to break it to you, but you totally suck at your job. Don’t just stand there looking sexy, take my soul already.”

“Subject awake but not lucid, “ he said to the walkie-talkie. For a second, only a second, I thought I heard the beat of his heart. Steady at first, then gaining in speed. Or maybe that was my heart.

“If I’m asked to give an evaluation on the other side, “ I said, “you’re going to score real low.”

“You must be thirsty.”

The moment he spoke, I realized just how dry my mouth was. “Yes, “ I rasped.

“Subject is thirsty, “ he said, then hooked the walkie-talkie, or whatever the hell it was, to his waist. He disappeared. That was the only way to describe it. He moved so silently, so quickly out of my room, he was like a puff of smoke. There one moment, gone the next.

He returned as quickly as he’d left and offered me a glass of water. I tried to sit up, but the feat proved impossible. Reaching out, he anchored his free hand under my neck and gently lifted my head to the glass. I drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing my throat, my stomach, moving through my overheated blood.

Calluses covered his hand. My skin began to tingle. Umm, nice. So nice. My increasingly heavy eyelids fluttered open and closed as he eased me back onto the pillow and set the water aside. “Your evaluation scores just increased, “ I said hoarsely. Sleep. I’d sleep a little longer.

“We really do need to talk.” He gave my shoulder a soft shake.

My brain wasn’t functioning at optimal levels, but common sense finally slipped past the thick labyrinth of stupidity blanketing my mind. I jolted into total wakefulness. Could a hallucination help me drink a glass of water? Would an apparition have calluses? Would a messenger of death be able to physically touch me? No, no and no.

The stranger standing in front of me was very real.

Panic washed through me. “Get out, “ I demanded, my alarm making my voice scratchy. “Right now.” I wore nothing more than the flimsy bra-and-panty set I’d worn under the Utopia uniform I’d stripped out of, and though my comforter shielded me from view, it could be ripped away at any moment. In my weakened condition, I wouldn’t be able to fend him off if he decided to attack me.

“Relax.” His voice was so soft and soothing, I barely heard him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Liar! Why else would he be here? My panic doubled, and I groped the bedsheets for a weapon. Of course I found nothing more menacing than a few feathers from my pillow. Like those would stop a freaking dust mite.

The man crouched beside me, putting us at eye level. I studied his eyes so I could give a description to the cops, not because they momentarily hypnotized me. His irises were a work of art. Dark blue branched from his pupils and blended with the lighter blue.

“I need to ask you some questions, Belle.”

“And I need you to leave, “ I said, weak but determined. “Now.”

Ignoring my demand, he asked anyway. “Do you know how you got sick?”

“I don’t have any money, and my husband will be home at any minute.”

“You don’t have a husband. Baby, stop and think for a minute. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so by now. I’m with the CDC, and I just need to know about your illness.”

I shook my head to clear it, trying to understand. “Centers for Disease Control?” Okay, that made a little sense. And he had had plenty of time to hurt/molest me, but he hadn’t. Still. How had he gotten inside my apartment? How had he found out I was sick? How did he know I wasn’t married? “Do you have any ID?”

He flashed a badge, and the action reminded me of Pretty Boy. “Believe me now?” he asked.

“Maybe, “ I whispered. “What’s wrong with me? Am I going to die?”

“There’s a chance.”

There was a chance? Seriously? My stomach bottomed out, and my jaw fell open. Why couldn’t he have lied to me and let me have a few minutes of blissful ignorance? “You’re really with the Chronically Diabolic Cockwad association, aren’t you?” I muttered.

His lips twitched. “Yes, maybe I am, at that.” He held up the walkie-talkie again. “Subject is alert and talking, lucid at last. Do you know how you got sick?”

Silence.

“Belle, do you know how you got sick?”

“What, you’re talking to Subject now?”

“Yes.”

I shrugged, the action only a slight lifting of my shoulders. “The normal way, I guess. A naughty little virus entered my body and started playing Russian roulette with my immune system.”

His brows cocked. “Subject is exhibiting a strong sense of humor.”

“Subject is getting pissed.” I used the last of my strength to knock the walkie-talkie out of his hand. My arm collapsed at my side as the stupid black box landed on the floor with a thump. “What kind of virus do I have? How long do I have before I … you know, kick it?”

“Kick it?” His lush, kissable lips dipped into a frown as he bent to pick up the box. “Do you know anyone else who has this type of sickness?” he asked, ignoring my questions. “Someone you’ve been in contact with in the last few days?”

Someone I’ve been in contact with. Ohmygod! I sucked in a breath. Sherridan. And my dad. Had my dad contracted this horrible, probably-going-to-kill-me disease? I’d visited him just two—or was it three?—days ago. He’d seemed fine, but with his weak heart he wouldn’t be able to fight off an infection this strong. I bit back a sob, my throat burning.

“I need to call my dad, “ I cried, “and find out if he’s okay.” I dragged myself to a sitting position, wincing as a tide of pain rolled through me. I stretched out my arm, the phone so near, yet so impossibly far. Couldn’t … quite … reach … Desperation flooded me, so intense I shook with it. “If he’s hurt—” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Get over here, you stupid thing.

The phone flew at me on a mighty gust of wind.

As the force of the wind hit me, I was thrown backward. My body clanged against the headboard and the phone soared past me, past the bed, and thumped onto the carpet. Even the CDC man was knocked on his ass. Shocked, I looked at the phone, looked at the charred nightstand, looked at the phone, looked at the man. Wait. Charred nightstand? It had really burned? And where had that wind come from? Where the hell had that wind come from?

Confusion, shock and disbelief rocked me, feeding off each other, almost rendering me speechless. Almost. “Did you see that? Did you feel that wind?”

“Subject just asserted prototype four, “ he said into the walkie-talkie. A scowl darkened his features as he pushed to his feet. “I really wish you hadn’t done that, Belle.” He sounded resolute. A little angry. Completely menacing.

“Done what? I didn’t do anything. Am I going crazy?” I covered my mouth with a shaky hand. “That’s it, isn’t it? The illness is making me insane.” I paused. “Do you know if my dad’s okay? Have you heard if David Jamison is sick?”

“Damn it.” The man tangled a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Why the hell did you have to do that?” he said. “Why couldn’t you just have been sick, like I hoped?”

“I don’t understand. What are you talking about? What just happened?”

“Let me break it down for you, baby. You drank the formula, and now I have to neutralize you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

NEUTRALIZE ME? I blinked, the words registering like a flashing red light. Neutralize me!

The sexy man stalked toward me as he withdrew a syringe from his shirt pocket. His expression was detached as he uncapped the needle. My eyes widened in horror. I held out my hands, palms facing him in an effort to ward him off. A rush of adrenaline whipped through me.

“Stop!” I shouted. “Don’t come any closer.” What had I done to make this man want to hurt me?

To my shock, he stopped dead in his tracks. He frowned. Slowly, so slowly, he pushed his hands against the air, as if he were a mime trapped in an imaginary box. His features crinkled in confusion, and he pushed again, only to be blocked again. He scowled, anger chasing away his confusion.

Short locks of his hair billowed around his temples—more wind? In my room?—and he slammed a fist into the air. Bang. Bang. The sound reverberated in my ears. My mouth fell open. He had hit a solid object—a solid object I couldn’t see. An invisible wall? No, not invisible, I realized in the next instant, my shock increasing. The air had somehow solidified, become dappled; opalescent waves rolled through it, rippling, sparkling with dust.

That wasn’t possible. That simply wasn’t possible. As I watched, the man threw his shoulder against … whatever it was, rattling its very foundation. What. The. Hell? I’d never seen anything like it, never heard of anything like it. Was I hallucinating, after all? No, no. That couldn’t be right. This felt real. That meant the air was stopping him, really stopping him.

“Drop the shield, Belle.” His tone was flat, as flat as his eyes.

Shield? “Drop” it? That meant he thought I was controlling it. Was I? Impossible. No freaking way. Except, there was a strange sensation in my hands. An unnatural warmth. A bone-deep tingling. I’d never experienced either one before today. “If I do, “ I said, trying to sound confident, “you’ll neutralize me.”

“We’ll talk, “ he said.

“Hell, no. You’re not with the CDC, are you, you liar?” Escape, I thought then. This was my chance to escape.

If I changed my body position, would I accidentally disrupt the … shield? I didn’t know, but I kept my hands lifted and out as I scanned the bedroom. Though I hadn’t noticed before, there was a black, ashy film over the carpet and the walls. They must have burned with my nightstand. “What did you do to my room?” I demanded.

“I didn’t do anything.”

The room doesn’t matter. I looked around again, this time doing what I should have been doing the first time: finding a means of escape. The double windows led to a fire escape, but there was a broken ladder and a fifty-foot drop. No thanks. The air vents weren’t big enough to fit a poodle through, much less a woman. No again.

My only other option was the door. The door he’d shut, I realized. The door his big, menacing body now blocked. I’d have to get around him, as well as the shield.

Somehow I scrambled out of bed without the use of my hands and with a body weakened from sickness. The action was almost too difficult for me, but I managed, slowly scooting to the edge of the mattress. The man watched through slitted eyes as I stood. Wobbled. Righted myself.

“I’m not letting you leave, “ he said.

“You might not have a choice.” I tried to scream for one of my neighbors, but the action caused my stomach to cramp, and I doubled over. Fighting past the pain, I quickly straightened and inched a step to the right. Instinct demanded I run, but I didn’t have the strength. Already my legs shook and my unsteady knees threatened to collapse.

“Plan to walk outside in that?” His frighteningly electric-blue gaze swept over me, lingering on my breasts, between my legs, but his expression remained detached.

He did it on purpose, I knew, to rouse a sense of self-consciousness in me and keep me planted here. But I could have been naked, and I wouldn’t have cared. People could look at me all they wanted, as long as I was safe.

He wasn’t done, though. He looked me over again, abandoning the detachment in favor of heat. White-hot, exquisite heat. He licked his lips. “Nice outfit, “ he said, “but I liked you naked better.”

As a shiver coasted along my spine, I paused and flicked a glance down at myself. Cool air kissed mile after mile of bare skin. Okay, I wasn’t in the bra and panties I remembered. I now wore a skintight white tank that stopped at my belly button and heart-covered bikini panties. I liked you better naked. I almost—almost—leapt across the room and slapped him. He had undressed and redressed me while I was asleep and vulnerable. The bastard.

“Go to hell, “ I told him, moving another inch. Surprisingly, the shield moved with me, forcing the man to shift to the side, slightly away from the door. Maybe I was controlling it. But how?

I moved another inch. Another. Then … nothing. Though I wanted to keep moving, my body was suddenly petrified, bringing me to a halt. I drew in a shallow, panting breath. Move. You can do it.

“You leave this apartment, “ he said, “and you’re dead.” His tone was no longer cold, but as hot as his expression had become.

“Judging by that needle clutched in your hand, I’m dead if I stay.”

“I’m the least of your worries, Belle.”

“Excuse me if I disagree. Dead is dead.” Move! One shaky leg managed to slide forward. Long pause, deep breath. Step. Pause. Another step, another pause. Good. You’re doing good. But I knew, deep down, that I’d never make it out of the room at this rate.

Very deliberately, making sure I watched him, he capped the needle and placed it in his shirt pocket. All innocence, he held out his hands, palms out. “Listen to me, Belle. I’m all you’ve got right now.”

“Save it. I don’t know why you’d want to hurt an innocent, sick woman, but—”

“You haven’t been sick. You’ve been changing.”

I managed yet another inch, but my arms shook more with every second that passed; my knees knocked with such force my entire body vibrated. Stay strong.

“I’m not going to hurt you, “ he soothed.

“Yeah, right. I watch TV, you know. Every homicidal killer says that, especially when they’re holding a syringe.”

“I happen to mean it.”

Yeah. Sure. He didn’t deny being a killer, I noticed. “I bet the CIA and FBI are looking for you. You’re probably known as the Phantom Needle and you’ve done this to hundreds of women.”

“Think about what you’re saying. Please. You would have heard about something like that on the news. I’m a government agent.”

I shook my head and fought a wave of dizziness. “You targeted me because I was sick and too weak to fight you.”

“Then why didn’t I hurt you while you were sleeping?”

Good question, and one that gave me pause. “Why do you want to inject me? What were you going to inject me with? And don’t say medicine. I won’t believe you.”

A muscle ticked beside his left eye. Instead of answering, he asked me a question of his own. “How do you think you’re able to erect that air shield? I know you’ve never done anything like that before.”

I managed one more step before my body once again froze in place. This time, however, I couldn’t force myself back into motion. My muscles were like stone, heavy and hard. I ground my teeth together in an attempt to draw on a reservoir of strength I simply didn’t have.

I wasn’t going to escape, I realized with despair, and there was nothing I could do about it. A sense of helplessness bombarded me. Infuriated me. Scared me.

“You drank the formula, “ he said. “Whether you know it or not, you drank it. You have powers now. Powers a lot of people want to exploit.”

“What formula? I didn’t drink anything. I swear.”

“Denying it doesn’t change the facts.”

“I didn’t!” As I shouted, my knees gave out. I collapsed onto the floor, yet somehow managed to keep my arms up. But the shield began to shimmer, no longer quite so solid. My heart tripped against my ribs, speeding up, then skipping a beat altogether. “I didn’t,” I cried weakly.

“You work at Utopia Café, do you not? A café that sits across from an unmarked building. A brownstone.”

I paled, I know I did. My mouth went dry. I didn’t nod, but then, I didn’t have to. He knew about me. Had he followed me? Watched me?

Never taking his gaze from mine, he backed away from the shield, from me, and eased into the green velvet recliner in the corner of the room, unharmed by the fire that had evidently decimated my nightstand. I usually read books in that chair (when I had a rare, spare moment), sprawled out in my nightgown, bundled in thick covers.

I’d never again view that chair as a relaxant, though. He made it appear decadent. A place for carnality. His big body lounged against the curves, his legs stretched out in front of him. You can sit on my lap, his expression seemed to say. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. I’ll pleasure you.

Liar!

I might have believed him, if not for the needle sticking out of his pocket. Not to mention the unnerving intensity in his eyes. They were predator eyes. Eyes that watched and waited for the perfect time to strike.

“Release the shield, Belle. It’s draining you. Release it and talk to me.” Pause. “Please.”

The “please” didn’t sway me. But I was too weak and my arms hurt too much and death was beginning to look like a holiday. Really, he could kill me now and he’d only be putting me out of my misery.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, drew in a deep breath and felt my arms fall to my sides. A part of me kind of expected the air shield to remain in place, to prove I wasn’t the one controlling it. It did remain for a few seconds. Then it wavered again, like waves in an ocean dancing over a beach, only to disappear altogether.

For several minutes, I tried to pull myself up and out of this defeatist position. For several minutes, I failed. I ended up staying on the floor, leaning my forehead against the side of the bed. The coolness of the sheets helped alleviate the feverish burn of my brow.

My shoulders slumped as I gazed at the man. He didn’t pounce. He remained where he was, utterly relaxed. “Want some help?” he asked.

“Don’t come near me.” I panted with exhaustion. God, why couldn’t I sound strong? Menacing?

His dark eyebrows arched, but he didn’t comment. Didn’t point out that he could now do whatever he wanted to me. A long while passed, each minute more painful than the last.

“You wanted to talk to me, “ I said, just to fill the deathlike silence that had enveloped us, “so talk. You mentioned a formula. Does this formula have a name? What was in it?”

“I can’t answer those questions, “ he replied.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Won’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s classified.”

“Let’s see, “ I said, not bothering to raise my head. “I almost died from a formula you said I drank. You tried to ‘neutralize’ me because of it. And now you’re telling me I don’t need to know exactly what it is I allegedly consumed?”

“I’m not going to tell you specifics about the formula itself, but you can ask me something else.”

Fine. I would. “When did I supposedly drink this formula?” Let’s just see if he could formulate a believable answer.

His lips pulled downward in a tight frown, and he regarded me silently. I found his stare unnerving and strangely arousing. I knew I shouldn’t be able to experience any type of arousal in my condition, especially toward this man. And this was the second time he’d made me feel this way! Had he shot me full of some kind of aphrodisiac while I slept? I wouldn’t put such a lecherous act past the needle-wielding, clothes-changing bastard.

“Do you recall a man in a lab coat who stormed into the café a week ago?” he asked.

A week had passed? A whole week? The news hit me hard, dizzying, upsetting. So much time had passed, completely unnoticed by me. But despite the time lapse, I recalled that day very well. Lab Coat had swept into Utopia, created havoc, then left me and everyone else to clean up after him.

“Yes.” I gulped. “I remember.”

“That man is a scientist who ran off with a top-secret experiment, and he poured it in something you drank.”

“That’s impossible. That’s stupid. That’s—a mocha latte, “ I whispered, dazed. Dear Lord. After the chaos at Utopia had died down and Pretty Boy had begun questioning everyone, I’d chugged my too-sweet latte. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Now … I just didn’t know.

“We weren’t sure he’d given it to you. We hoped he hadn’t, of course. Then you didn’t show up for work, which led us to check on you here, where we discovered you were sick.”

“We?” I asked, the word barely audible. There were more men out there like this one? More men who thought I needed neutralizing?

“My employer and I.”

My blood ran cold. Was Pretty Boy his boss? If the CIA wanted me dead, I sure as hell was going to end up dead. “Do you work for the CIA?” I croaked.

“Hell, no. I actually don’t work for the CDC, either. I work for an agency that you’ve never heard of. Paranormal Studies and Investigations. PSI. We’re like ghosts. To the rest of the world, we don’t exist.”

So why tell me? I feared the answer: I’d soon be dead and couldn’t tattle.

Okay. Did Pretty Boy work for this same agency, then? That guy had been Freaky with a capital F. I could totally believe him capable of ordering my death. Wait. Did I even believe this man’s story? He’d already proved to be a liar, saying he was with the CDC when he wasn’t.

“You said the formula was changing me. What kind of changes?”

“Do you really need to ask? You called forth the wind. You commanded the air to solidify.”

“I didn’t call it, “ I protested. “It just came.”

“Did it?” His lip curled on one side, giving him a sardonic edge.

“Yes.” The word held a layer of uncertainty.

“If everything goes as we think, you’ll soon have power over the four elements. Air, fire, earth and water.”

My eyes rounded. “You’re saying I’ll have powers? Superpowers?” No way. Now I knew he was lying to me.

“No.” He gave one jerky shake of his head. “I’m saying you do have superpowers.”

I rubbed my temple, trying to subdue a sudden ache. “I hope you realize how insane you sound. Superpowers are for movies. Superpowers are for comic books. They are not for real life or average girls who can’t hold on to a job.”

“Tell that to your superpowers,” he said drily. “And FYI, you’re not average anymore.” As he spoke, he shifted in the chair.

I scrambled backward. Not that I got far.

“Whoa. Easy.” Slowly he lifted his hands, showing me he held nothing. “I was just getting more comfortable.”

I relaxed against the mattress again, saying weakly, “I don’t want you to get comfortable. I want you to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

“Sorry.” Amusement dripped from his tone. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Because you have to neutralize me?”

“Yes.”

I’d expected him to deny it, and that he hadn’t, that he’d flat-out admitted he still planned to neutralize (kill?) me, should have panicked me. It didn’t. He hadn’t hurt me yet, and I wasn’t going to allow myself to worry until he came at me again.

Besides, I did not want to believe him; I couldn’t believe him. That would mean I had superpowers. That would mean I had erected that air shield. That would mean something terrible truly had been done to me.

“I wish I could give you an antidote, “ he said, “but we don’t have one. Yet.” At least he sounded genuinely apologetic this time.

“There’s no need to hurt me. Honest, I’m not a threat to anyone.”

He snorted. “Very soon there’s every possibility you’ll be able to control the weather. You’ll be able to start fires without any provocation. Cause floods, tornadoes. How is that not a threat?”

“I’m not going to do any of those things, “ I ground out.

“You will. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

“How do you know that for sure?” I had to make him realize exactly how foolish he sounded. “You said it was an experimental formula. That means you can’t be one hundred percent sure of anything.”

“Let’s just say I’ve spent a lot of time with human lab rats and I know when trouble is coming.” He paused, his eyes growing dark. “The man who has done everything in his power to control the formula will want to experiment on you when he discovers you actually drank it.”

“Is he your boss?” Was he talking about Pretty Boy, as I’d suspected? “Because if he is, you can tell him I didn’t drink a formula, I don’t have powers and I need to be left alone.”

“Hell, no, he’s not my boss. And I can’t ‘tell’ him anything. He runs OASS, Observation and Application of Supernatural Sciences, a nongovernment agency that’s PSI’s biggest rival. Just so you know, PSI is the home of the good guys.” His brows quirked, and he grinned slowly. “Well, the better guys, at least.”

If I’d had the energy to throw my hands in the air, I would have. I had to be the last sane person in the universe. “This is crazy!” I said. “You’re an ass, he’s an O-ASS. You’re all asses!”

“Time will prove the truth of my words, “ he said with utter confidence.

A tremor slithered along my spine. His unshakable assurance did more to convince me than anything else had. Time would reveal the truth, and whether I totally believed his claim or not, I needed to be prepared for whatever was revealed. I might not believe this one hundred percent, but he certainly did.

“What—what kind of experiments are we talking about here?” I asked.

“Let’s see. He’s skinned people so he could later coat their bodies with metal, making them impenetrable. He’s cut off their arms and replaced them with weapons. He’s injected people with poison, hoping their bodily fluids would contain those poisons and kill anyone they kiss, anyone they screw. Oh, here’s one you might enjoy—he’s even fed people an experimental formula to give them powers over the four elements. Everyone—but one—who’s taken it has either frozen to death or burst into flames.”

God. Was he trying to warn me that I, too, would either freeze or burn? “I don’t want to die, “ I told him. “And I don’t want to be a human lab rat. I’m a person.”

There was a brief flash of guilt in his eyes, then nothing. No emotion. “That’s not for me to decide.”

My chin trembled, and my eyes burned with moisture. “Why are you telling me all of this? If you had stuck with the CDC story, I might have cooperated with you.”

“You deserve the truth, “ he said gently. “Or at least as much of it as I can tell you.” His features softened, completely at odds with the underlying meaning of his words. I deserved the truth, but he was still going to hurt me.

So much for not worrying until he came at me. I tried to stand, tried to push myself up and run, but every ounce of my being protested and I ended up slumped over again. Fear beat through me. There had to be—ohmygod. My gaze was focused on my hands, which were folded in my lap. My eyes widened, becoming impossibly round. No. No, no, no. I blinked, but there was no change.

Ice crystals had just formed on the tips of my fingers. I’d watched them, watched the crystals form out of nothing, simply crystallizing from my skin. The cold didn’t bother me, didn’t affect me at all.

In that moment, I believed him. I believed everything he’d said, without any hint of doubt. I would control the weather, he’d said. Rain, snow … sleet. I would cause floods, fires and tornadoes, he’d said. People wanted to experiment on me, he’d said. Ohmygod!

“What’s your name?” I gasped, hoping to drown out thoughts of ice and experiments. I rubbed my hands together for warmth and managed to melt the ice. I didn’t tell him what had just happened.

“That’s not important.”

“I disagree. I like to know the names of the men who want to kill me. It’s one of my little quirks.”

His lips twitched. “Rome. My name is Rome.”

An exotic name for an exotic-looking man. I frowned. Considering the reason he was here, I had no business thinking of him as “exotic.”

“I don’t want superpowers, Rome. I don’t want to be in this situation, “ I added desperately. “Help me get my normal life back. Please.”

“I can’t. I told you that. The scientist who created the formula, maybe.” He shook his head. “Even then it’s doubtful.”

“I’m willing to try.”

“Too bad. Dr. Roberts is missing and no one has been able to find the crafty bastard.”

Dr. Roberts—I committed the name to memory. That harmless-looking man in the lab coat was the one ultimately responsible for my predicament. He deserved a horde of killers chasing him. “Tell me something. If you and your boss are the good guys, how can either of you consider hurting me? Destroying me?”

His lips lifted in a smile completely devoid of humor. “We do what we must to keep the world safe. That’s our job. Sometimes good people do bad things, even unintentionally, and they must be stopped. If you’re left on your own, you could cause one disaster after another. Hurt millions of people. Destroy—”

“I told you, “ I interrupted, determined to make him believe me. “I would never do those things.”

“You wouldn’t mean to, but.” He left the rest unsaid. “What’s more, you could end up in the wrong hands. Enemy hands, and you could be used against us.”

My eyes closed briefly, opened, then closed again, opened, and I stared at the carpet. My remaining strength (not that there had been much) abandoned me with lightning speed. Black stars winked over my vision, interlocking and slowly weaving together to form a solid wall I couldn’t penetrate.

He’d won. Rome had won. Any moment now I would sink into total oblivion. He’d be able to do whatever he wanted to me then. Kill me. Neutralize me. I tried to fight the seductive call of sleep, but it proved increasingly potent. How could I do this? How could I fall asleep amid such danger?

If he possessed any type of remorse, any guilt, any hesitation in doing his job, I had to bring that into focus now. Before it was too late.

“Rome, “ I said, the word nearly undetectable. “Please don’t hurt me. You won’t only kill me, you’ll kill my father. I’m all he’s got. I pay his bills. He’s too weak to work. Without me, he’ll lose everything, will be destitute. Homeless … dead. Have you ever had anyone depend on you for their survival?”

Something almost tender flashed over his face, as if he was thinking of someone.

Maybe I imagined it, maybe I didn’t. Either way, I didn’t have time to think about it. Darkness consumed me in the next instant.

CHAPTER FIVE

I SNAKED IN AND OUT of turbulent dreams—dreams that were hauntingly vivid. A knife flashed through my mind, its sharp tip glistening silver, then crimson. A huge black cat growled from the corner of my bedroom before leaping and attacking—me? Did it attack me?

Panic was beyond my grasp. At least I felt no pain.

The images were disjointed, seeming to happen all at once, yet an eternity apart.

I struggled against the violence, determined to tamp it out, but I had no control over the situation. I was completely vulnerable. Utterly helpless.

Rome’s rugged face suddenly loomed over me, hazy, blurred. He appeared resolute and a little sad. “I’m sorry, “ he said, his voice penetrating and chasing away some of the darkness.

“Don’t hurt me, “ I pleaded.

“If I don’t, someone else will and they won’t be merciful.”

“Please.”

“I must.”

“No.”

Pause.

He lifted tendrils of my hair and sifted it through his fingers. “You’re as innocent as Sunny, “ he said gently. He sighed.

“Who’s—” I felt a sharp sting in my arm and jerked. A burning river entered my bloodstream, racing through me. A drugging peace followed the burn, settling over me, infusing every part of my body.

Down, down I sank into another realm of darkness, a spiraling void. There were no solid anchors. No sense of time or place. Thankfully, the dreams were held at bay, evaporating as if they’d never existed. I floated over a blanket of clouds.

Then … nothing. Yet … everything.

How much time passed, I didn’t know. I only knew pricks of light soon began to invade my mind. With the light came strength, and my eyelids fought to open. I needed to wake up; I knew I did. Something called to me. Beckoned. I stretched my arms over my head. My back arched, popping each vertebra of my spine. It felt good to move.

The scents of frying bacon and scrambled eggs blended with the sugary sweet fragrance of syrup, wafting to me like a summoning finger that promised to lead me straight into paradise. My mouth watered.

As I forced myself to full wakefulness, I gazed around the bedroom. Confusion seeped slowly into my consciousness. I don’t know what I expected to see, but what I saw wasn’t it.

A faux marble armoire rested against the far white wall. But … I didn’t own an armoire. Sheer dark blue curtains draped the only window, curtains that should have been green. The old, ratty quilt I’d bought at a garage sale swathed the bed in a multihued sea of colors, but this mattress was different, softer than mine. Overhead, a ceiling fan whirled slowly, providing a light but welcome breeze.

I didn’t have a ceiling fan in my room.

Where was I? In the last glimpse I’d had of my bedroom, black, ashy smudges had layered the carpet and walls. These walls were bare, peeling but clean. I shook my head, and my gaze landed on a junglelike corner of thriving plants, brilliant green and dewy. My plants were dry, nearing death.

Obviously I’d been moved. The man, the one who’d wanted to neutralize me, had brought me here. Yes. Rome was his name, and that’s what he’d done. Too bad he hadn’t been a dream. His harsh, savagely sensual face was too vivid in my mind; his threats still rang in my ears. My fingers still trembled from having held him off.

Shouldn’t I be dead? I glanced down at my hands, turning them in the light. At the very least, shouldn’t I have awakened in a laboratory, strapped to a table, with evil scientists doing things to my body they wouldn’t do to farm animals? Instead, I felt well-rested and clean. I even tasted mint, as if someone had recently brushed my teeth. My hair and skin smelled fragrant, like jasmine body wash. I did not want to contemplate what that meant.

Get up, Jamison. Get out of here before Rome returns. Yes, yes. That’s exactly what I needed to do. I threw a leg over the side of the bed.

“Good. You’re awake, “ a cold, hard voice said from the doorway. “Not trying to escape, are you?”

Gasping, I whipped my head toward the speaker, my leg dangling guiltily in front of me. Rome filled the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He wore another black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, the button at his collar undone. Black slacks hugged lean legs.

He could have been a businessman if it hadn’t been for his I’ve-seen-the-worst-the-world-has-to-offer eyes, with those taut, determined lines around them. The gun holster hooked to his shoulder didn’t help the image, either.

“Me?” I gulped. “Try and escape? Never.”

“Liar, “ he said, yet there was no heat in his tone. “Now that you’re up, we’re going to eat breakfast and talk.”

Eat? Talk? But. “Why aren’t I dead?” My blood chilled. “Ohmygod, you’re one of those crazy people who enjoys fear. You’ll probably tell me all the ways you want to hurt me, making me scream and squirm for mercy, before you render the final blow.”

He frowned, the action so menacing it propelled a shiver down my spine. “Don’t scream. Don’t even think about screaming. I’ll have to knock you out, then knock out the neighbors.”

I gulped at his fierceness. There was a silver lining, though. He’d said “neighbors”—that meant other people were around.

“You have five minutes to get your sexy ass in the kitchen, “ he said, turning.

Sexy? I nearly gasped. My mouth did fall open. He thought I was sexy when he’d only seen me at my worst? I quickly quashed the surge of pleasure that knowledge brought, and cursed myself for being a sex-starved idiot. “Did you take advantage of me while I was sleeping?”

He paused and flashed an are-you-kidding-me look over his shoulder. Then he strode away, disappearing down the hall and leaving me alone in the room. “Five minutes, “ he called.

Or what? I wanted to shout, but I was having trouble catching my breath. “Damn sickness, “ I muttered, because I refused—refused!—to blame my breathlessness on Rome.

I would not be attracted to the man who wanted to kill me.

Even I had standards.

Escape, dummy. Escape! He’d left me alone, the idiot. Well, not alone, but close enough. If I could get out of the apartment/house/wherever I was, I could get help from one of the neighbors. I scrambled from the bed, a little shaky, but stronger than I’d been since getting sick. I wore a tank top and panties (different ones than before, damn it!), which meant the neutralizing bastard had changed my clothes yet again.

First stop: bathroom. I found it easily, since it branched directly from the bedroom, and I took care of urgent business. After that, I raced to the closet. The opportunity to escape ticked like a time bomb in my brain as I grabbed the first pair of jeans I found and tugged them on. They were mine, obviously brought from my home. Actually, several items from my closet hung on the hangers.

As I hastily jerked a T-shirt over my head, my stomach growled. How long had it been since I’d eaten? The bacon-scented air smelled so good. I hated to admit it, but that smell nearly tempted me to forget about something as minor as my own impending murder, and stroll into the kitchen, sit down, and gobble up breakfast.

Why did Rome want me to eat, anyway? To poison me? “Most likely, the diabolical fiend.” Or maybe he didn’t plan to let me eat at all. Maybe the food was for him, and I was supposed to watch him eat it.

The man was an enigma, that was for sure, and I didn’t know what to think of him or his actions. Past, present or future. He hadn’t killed me when he’d had the chance. He hadn’t done anything damaging—that I knew of.

“Three minutes, “ Rome called from the kitchen.

“Go fuck yourself, “ I whispered. I grabbed the tennis shoes that rested on the shoe rack and tugged them on. They were mine, so they fit perfectly. I sprinted to the window, pushed away the curtain and took stock.

Okay, so. I was inside a tall, red brick building. Another red brick structure was right across from it. I glanced down, saw that the fire escape had a workable ladder, and grinned with relief. When I noticed people strolling on the street below, I almost clapped. Excitement rushed through me. Once I got outside, I could scream for help.

My fingers curled over the bottom of the window frame and shoved upward. Except … the window refused to open. “Amph.” I put all my muscle into lifting the glass. Nothing happened. “What the hell?” I growled softly.

“I secured the lock, “ I heard. “Same with the rest of the windows. Same with the front door.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, tamping down a scream of fury. His tone was laced with humor and held a splash of smug superiority. How had he known what I was doing, anyway? He couldn’t see me. Did he consider me so lame that he didn’t even have to check on me? Well, I’d show him.

Maybe I could throw something at the glass, shattering it, then leap outside. I only needed a few seconds, just long enough to get someone’s attention so they could call the police.

“If you’re thinking about breaking the glass, “ he called, “you should know it’s thicker than normal and requires major force to render the slightest crack. If you’re thinking about waving to someone below or across from us, you should know the glass has a film on the outside that prevents anyone from seeing in.”

I didn’t doubt the truth of his words. At closer inspection, I could see the density of the glass and the glint of a shade. “Thanks for the news flash, “ I said between clenched teeth.

“You’re welcome.”

Bastard. Come on, Jamison. Think! There had to be something I could do.

You have power over the four elements, he’d said. I didn’t feel any different, didn’t feel like a powerful being. But I’d already seen the proof. I’d caused ice to form on my fingers. I’d held the man at bay with some sort of air shield. Did I still possess those abilities?

Not knowing what else to do, I backtracked several feet from the window and held out my arms. I’d show that bastard what happened when he messed with a pissed-off woman. (I hoped.) I’d blow the whole freaking wall off, then climb down. (I hoped.)

“Wind, “ I said softly, not wanting to snag Rome’s attention. “I summon you.”

A few seconds passed. Nothing happened. Not even a slight breeze.

“Wind, “ I repeated with a little more volume. “I summon thee to thy master.” A little dramatic, but … shit. Again, nothing. “I command wind to blow through that fucking wall!”

Once more, my efforts were not rewarded. Why wasn’t this working? It had worked before. When I realized what I was doing, thinking, I shook my head. God, here I was, accepting the fact that I had powers. Who’d have thought I would ever end up in this situation? Ordinary Belle Jamison?

“You won’t be able to do it.” Rome’s voice flowed like warm honey from directly behind me.

I drew in a sharp breath and stiffened. He’d moved so silently, I hadn’t heard him approach. Now his warm exhalations caressed the back of my neck. He was so close I could feel the heat of his body seeping through my clothes.

I gulped but didn’t turn to look at him. Probably lack of courage on my part, but I chose to think of it as prudence. “If you strike me from behind, “ I told him, “you’re nothing more than a coward.”

“For the last time, if I had wanted to hurt you, I would have done so already. Now, put your arms down and we’ll go into the kitchen to have our chat.”

“Hell, no.” Maybe I should have tried to run away just then. Maybe I should have turned around and kneed his balls into his throat. Oh, wait. That wasn’t a bad idea. I spun, raising my knee.

Rome gripped my shoulders, twisting me back to the window before I could do any damage. He pinned me in place. “I don’t think so. I didn’t hurt you, so you’re not going to hurt me. Understand?”

My gaze narrowed on the glass. “Why didn’t you hurt me?”

He ignored my question. “You ready to eat?”

“No, I’m ready to leave you.” At my sides, I shook my hands, increasing their blood flow. Wind, come on!

“Fine.” He sighed. “Keep trying. Failure will be good for you.” He released the pressure on my shoulders, and I was able to hold my palms out in front of me. “You’ll realize that you can’t get away from me, no matter how hard you try, and we can get down to business.”

My eyelids squeezed tightly, and I visualized what I wanted: a gusting, torrential wind. Hard, pounding. Several seconds passed as I waited for something, anything. Was a slight breeze too much to ask for? Obviously. I got zilch. Nada.

“I told you.” He tsked with his tongue.

“I hate when people say that.” Irritation swam through me. Irritation and powerlessness, frustration and humming thrums of awareness of him—which only increased my irritation. “I wouldn’t be standing here trying to blow this window to smithereens with my bare hands if it weren’t for you.”

He chuckled, a tender purr at odds with everything I’d come to think about him. “Stubborn, “ he said.

“Determined.” How dare he laugh at me? Tendrils of fury began to replace my other emotions, burning them away. “Look, I’ve been threatened, taken against my will to an unfamiliar apartment and infected with some sort of formula. And there’s no end in sight! I’ll try to escape if I damn well—” My fingers caught fire and I screamed.

“Wonderful, “ he said drily.

“I’m on fire. I’m on fire!” Panicked, I waved my hands through the air. The flames only intensified. If I hadn’t already been convinced I had powers, I would have believed it then.

Rome sighed. “Stop wiggling and take stock. Does it burn you?”

His words penetrated my mind, and I stilled. The panic receded (slightly), as did the flames. The dying fire produced heat on my skin, I realized, but somehow not enough to burn me. “No, “ I said, shocked.

He reached around me, running his fingers down my arms to my now-extinguished hands, then tracing a fingertip over each nail bed. A delicious shiver stole over me, warm and erotic, enough to lick tiny embers of sensation over my skin. Hot, like the flames. Maybe hotter.

“You’re a menace to yourself, not to mention the rest of the world. No wonder the paras want you.”

“Excuse me. The what-a’s?”

“The paras. Para-agencies.” When I made no reply, he added, “Agencies that deal with the paranormal, like PSI.”

“Whatever. Those agencies can go to hell, “ I said, returning my attention to my hands. There were no burn marks, not a hint of redness. What struck me most, though, was how delicate they appeared next to Rome’s. While mine were slender and olive-toned, his were thick and strong. A lovely tawny color. My nails were a little scraggly—I hadn’t had the time (or inclination) to file them lately. His were perfectly buffed, obviously well maintained. Scars laced his palms.

“How did I start that fire?” I asked. “That was—that was …”

“Dangerous.” He let out another sigh. “You’re going to be more trouble than I anticipated.”

“You don’t know how I did it either, do you?” I felt like crying. “I set my fingers on fire, damn it. I don’t want to do that ever again. Not ever!”

“But you will. You’ll do worse before the day is out, I’m sure. These new abilities have already found their place in your chemical makeup. They’ve already changed you. While you slept, they were erratic and uncontrollable.” His words were whisper-soft, a caress that traveled along my spine. “Now …”

“Now?” I prompted, my stomach twisting painfully.

“Now you must wield them, not they you. You must dominate them or they will consume you.”

I tried to turn and look at him, but he stopped me by resting his chin on top of my head. Fine. He didn’t want me to move, I wouldn’t move. “How do you know they’ll consume me?” I asked, remaining in place.

“Maybe I’ve been where you are.”

My mouth fell open, and I instinctively tried to glance at him again. He applied more pressure to my head, keeping me immobile. “You can control the four elements, too?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate.

I bit the inside of my cheek at such a cryptic nonanswer. He’d been where I was, yet he hadn’t experienced the same thing. How? Why? I despised this puzzle; I needed answers. Rome was the only person I knew who understood what was happening to me. And so, unfortunately, this government agent who’d threatened to neutralize me was also my only link to sanity. And I didn’t even know his last name.

“Help me understand, Rome. Please.”

No response.

Tears gathered in my eyes as wave after wave of helplessness bombarded me. “I won’t let you kill me, and I won’t let you take me to a lab. I didn’t ask for this to happen to me.”

“But it did happen.” His fingers became steel shackles on my wrists. “And just so you know, I didn’t keep you alive—” He cut himself off. “I didn’t keep you alive to watch you escape.” A note of warning dripped from his voice.

Before I had time to act, before I had time to protest, he had my arms anchored behind my back, wrists tied together. The cord he bound me with was cool and firm, unyielding—and foreshadowed malevolence.

My heart slammed against my ribs. “Let me go! What are you doing?”

He gripped my shoulders and whipped me around, finally letting me see his face. His gaze pierced me with a fierceness that somehow managed to shock, frighten and rock me all at once. It darted over me, hungry, reading me, perhaps, before it went flat again, the light in it suppressed as quickly as it had flared.

“Your five minutes are up.”

CHAPTER SIX

FASTER THAN I COULD OFFER up a prayer of “strike this bastard dead” I was trussed up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey and tossed over Rome’s shoulder. While he had me in such an undignified position, he tied my ankles with the rest of the cord.

“Put me down this instant!” I shouted, attempting to knee him in his midsection.

“Stop wiggling.” He purposefully bounced me on his shoulder, cutting off my air when my stomach hit the sharp edge of his collarbone.

When I could breathe again, I muttered, “You’re squashing my kidneys and my pancreas! Do you know how dangerous that is? Put me down before I sink into a coma.”

“If you can point to exactly where your pancreas is located, I’ll do as you so sweetly asked.”

“It’s—oh! Damn you. Put me down right now. I do not want my face in your ass.”

He chuckled, that deep, seductive sound all the more potent because this time it held rusty layers of disuse, as if he didn’t allow true humor in his life very often.

Keeping his stride smooth and easy so I didn’t bounce on his shoulder again, he sailed down the short hallway and into the kitchen. He plopped me onto a bar stool. Without the use of my hands, I teetered precariously and almost tumbled to the floral linoleum.

“Now we eat and talk.” He moved to the other side of the counter, heaping a plate with scrambled eggs and bacon.

I glared over at him, ignoring my grumbling stomach. “We were talking. There was no reason to tie me up like this.”

“There was every reason.” His gaze veered pointedly to my bound hands. “Call me silly, but I’d rather not be roasted alive.”

I took some comfort in that and grinned smugly. “Afraid of me, Rome?”

He snorted. “Afraid of your inability to control yourself, more like.”

Score one (or twelve million, but who’s counting?) for Rome. I lost all sense of superiority, and my shoulders slumped. He was right. If I could catch my own fingers on fire without any provocation—that I knew of—what else could I do? I hated having powers.

The moment the thought filled my head, I blinked. Powers. Me. Would I ever get used to those two words used in conjunction?

“You’re as likely to harm yourself as me, “ Rome said. He set the plate between us, scooped a portion of eggs onto a spoon and offered me the bite. “Open.”

“Like hell—oomph!”

The moment I opened my mouth, he shoveled in the spoon. The jerk. The bast—Oh, this tasted good. So good. The taste exploded on my tongue, the flavor more defined than anything I’d ever experienced. I closed my eyes, enjoying the buttery delight. He’d seasoned them just right. Killer, neutralizer and master chef. Odd combination.

He cleared his throat, gaining my attention. His eyes were on the food, not me, so I couldn’t read the emotion there. Like I could have, anyway.

“I have a proposition for you.” His voice was a little scratchy.

I swallowed and opened my mouth for more. If the eggs were poisoned, I’d willingly die. His brows arched. “Bite, “ I said. “What kind of proposition?”

The heaping spoon trekked back to my mouth. I kind of liked being fed—and I didn’t like that I liked it. Especially by this man. I frowned at him, just to make a point.

“The kind where I help you, then you help me.”

Another bite. “Help me how? By putting me out of my supposed misery? By helping me save the world from my evil self?”

A flicker of anger sparked in his too-blue eyes, lighting them up. They quickly darkened again. “Will you stop that already? I didn’t kill you, and I’m not going to.”

“You came at me with a needle.”

“I didn’t use it on you.”

“Yes, you did. I remember a sting in my arm.”

He rolled his eyes. “I gave you a sedative to help you sleep. You were tossing and turning.”

“That doesn’t negate the fact that you did, in fact, try to neutralize me.”

“Are you this unforgiving with everyone?” He stuffed a piece of bacon into my mouth. “A man makes one little mistake and you hold it over his head for eternity.”

I nearly choked and had to force the chunk of salty meat down my throat. Once I regained my breath, I gasped, “One little mistake? Did you just say one little mistake? Is that what you said?”

“Yeah.” His expression was deadpan, with no flicker of emotion—which I absolutely hated and which he was so damn good at. I scowled while he put a bite of egg into his mouth and chewed.

How could he remain so unreadable? He was like a light switch. If he wanted me to know his thoughts, he showed them to me. If he didn’t, well, I got nothing.

“I’m finding it hard to believe you consider trying to kill me a little mistake. Little is forgetting to put the toilet seat down. Little is leaving your socks on the floor. Little is putting a dent in my car and pretending you didn’t do it.” I was growling by the time I finished my diatribe.

“Are you thirsty?”

I blinked over at him, momentarily rendered speechless. “That’s your response to me? You ask if I’m thirsty?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He pushed to his feet and strode to the olive-green cabinets that perfectly matched the outdated green striped counter. At least this room didn’t boast the same peeling yellow paint as the bedroom. Instead it had green polka-dotted wallpaper.

With the familiarity of a man who knew his way around, he reached inside and withdrew a glass. “Is this your place?” I asked.

“Hardly.”

“Then whose is it? Does the owner know you’re a criminal and holding me against my will?”

“For the moment, this is our place.” He paused, his expression mocking. “I feel warm and fuzzy all of a sudden. I just realized it’s like we’re on a secret honeymoon.”

Honeymoon of horror. “Did you kill someone to get this dump?”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Do you think this poorly of everyone or am I just lucky?” He procured a carton of orange juice from the fridge and poured some into the glass, the pleasant gurgle of cascading liquid the only sound for a moment.

I could have said the obvious: I only think poorly of those who want to neutralize me. Instead I asked, “How long was I out after you stuck me with that needle?” effectively changing the subject. I didn’t really want to know what he’d done with the apartment’s owner.

“A little over twelve hours.” Instead of bringing me the drink, he gazed down at it, his hands circling the sides. I saw only his profile, so I couldn’t read his expression. Not that he’d have one. I’d never met anyone who could mask emotions as quickly as he could. “Would it help if I apologized?” he asked.

I blinked. “For trying to kill me?”

“Trying to neutralize you.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not, but would it help?” he pressed. His gaze remained on the glass.

I didn’t have to think about my answer. “No.”

“Then I won’t bother.”

My jaw tightened, almost snapping. “Why did you spare me? You still haven’t answered that.”

Ignoring the question yet again, he finally turned toward me and closed the distance between us, eyeing me determinedly. “I’ll tell you this. If I’d been totally serious about hurting you, you’d be dead. I could have broken that shield if I’d put any effort into it. I could have sliced your throat while you slept. I could have pumped you full of drugs and done anything I wanted to you.”

I shuddered. Yes, he could have done all of those things. He hadn’t. “Why didn’t you?” How many times would he force me to ask?

He shrugged, but the action lacked animosity. “Open.”

Obediently, I parted my lips. The cool glass touched the edge of my mouth a second before a rush of tangy juice slid down my throat. The vibrant flavor awakened more taste buds. God, I’d never had such a delicious meal.

Rome set the cup aside and spooned up a dripping, syrupy bite of pancake. “That other agency I mentioned before—OASS, the non-government-sanctioned one—won’t hesitate to take you down. They’ll strike first and ask questions later.”

I swallowed, the food suddenly tasting like lead. “While I think it’s great that the man assigned to kill me—”

“Neutralize you, “ he interjected through clenched teeth.

“Whatever. It’s the same thing. And while I—”

“It’s not the same thing. I only meant to knock you out.”

“Yeah, but you wanted to knock me out for, like, ever.”

He uttered a frustrated sigh. “I never planned to kill you.”

Another bite. “Okay, then. Once you knocked me out for most of eternity, what did you plan to do with me?”

His cheeks darkened, and the fine lines around his eyes tightened. “I planned to put you into a coma—uh, deep sleep, and take you to my boss so he could experiment on you, then put you to work for him or lock you up. There. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

I didn’t know whether he meant the words in truth or in jest. Either way, they sucked. “What made you change your mind? And don’t sidestep the question this time.”

“I checked. You weren’t lying about your dad.” For some reason, he sounded accusatory. “You pay for his stay at the assisted living center, and he can’t leave it because of his regimented medications.” Rome shrugged. “There’s more to it than that, but I’m not going to discuss it with you right now.”

Did I believe him? Did I believe that he now meant me no harm? “If you’re so big on keeping me alive now, prove it. Untie me.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But—”

He cut off my words by stuffing more pancake into my mouth. “You have no idea of the damage you can do. Your inexperience is dangerous.”

I forced the food down my throat. “Inexperience? Uh, hello. In case you were wondering, this isn’t a new job I applied for. No one has experience with this.”

His gaze narrowed on me. “You’re likely to get more experience than you’re prepared for if you don’t learn to slow down on the emotional trigger. Have you noticed that bad things happen when you get mad?”

“Are you saying the fire is caused by anger?” I ran my tongue over my teeth. “Well, anyone would be quick to respond with fury if they woke up half-naked with a hired goon at the foot of their bed.”

“Hired goon.” He laughed. “I like that.”

“Excellent, “ I said drily. “Then you’ll probably like Rat Bastard, as well.”

He didn’t lose his amusement. “All I’m saying is that your emotions go unrestrained. You don’t try to tamp them down in the least.”

“I do, too! If I didn’t, I’d have fed you your balls at our first meeting.”

“Ah, that kind of sweet talk really turns me on.” Another grin, this one slower, more leisurely, spread over his features, softening his expression, making him look all the sexier, and giving him a charm I found irresistible.

I stiffened, not liking how attractive I found him. How stupid could I be? Apparently the more time I spent with him, the lower my IQ dropped. My eyes narrowed, and I worked at the cord binding my wrists, doing my best not to let him see my arms wiggle.

“Just so you know, “ he said, feeding me another spoonful of eggs. His countenance lost all traces of humor; his eyes went flat. “I’m not the only hired goon to show up at the foot of your bed. Someone broke into your apartment last night.”

“What?” My back straightened.

“He tried to steal you from me.” Rome’s voice deepened, became utterly menacing. “I knew more like him would come, so I got you out of there as quickly and quietly as possible and brought you here.”

I paused, my blood chilling at the thought of the danger I’d encountered and hadn’t known about. I didn’t doubt for a second that Rome was telling the truth about this. My dreams, I realized, hadn’t really been dreams. They’d been real. Too real. I’d seen a man come at me with a knife.

But he hadn’t killed me because … because … The answer clicked into place. Rome had killed him first. Rome had protected me. Up to this point, I’d been able to use sarcasm and humor to mask my fear; I couldn’t now. This was real, in-your-face death. It couldn’t be undone. Wasn’t pretend.

“He tried to stab me, “ I whispered, going pale. “I remember seeing his weapon.”

Rome blinked in surprise. “No. He tried to kidnap you. He tried to stab me. You know an awful lot for someone who was supposedly asleep.”

“I only saw bits and pieces, but I thought … I thought it was a dream.”

“No, no dream.” He pinched a bite of eggs. “What else did you see?”

“There was a jaguar there. I saw—” My brow furrowed. “Surely I’m wrong. Surely there wasn’t a wild animal in my apartment.”

“No, of course there wasn’t,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re blending your dreams with reality.”

But the sights, the sounds had been so real. So vivid. Uh, hello. If a jungle cat had been there, there would be signs. Like a gnawed-off arm. “Who was the man?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“I didn’t care to stop and ask his name. All I know is that his boss, Vincent, won’t be pleased with the failure. Vincent will send more agents, and honey, trust me when I say you do not want them to capture you. I’ve seen what Vincent does to his victims. He’ll test you, painfully, cruelly, in ways even my boss has outlawed. And then, if you’re still alive, he’ll force you by whatever means necessary to work for him.”

Terrifying words, but Rome wasn’t finished. “And don’t think you can lie to him, tell him you’ll work for him and escape. His power is making people tell the truth. No one can lie to the man. No one. And it’s not because some women find him attractive, “ he added drily.

Attractive. Pretty Boy. Vincent. It made sense. I’d wanted to tell Pretty Boy all my secrets, I recalled. The pulse in my neck hammered wildly. “Isn’t that what your boss wants to do to me? Test me, then make me work for him?”

“Not painfully, and not by force. You’ll either do what he wants or be imprisoned like the other naughty supernatural beings.”

“What kind of supernatural beings are we talking about?”

“Shape-shifters of every kind. People who can walk through walls or suck the soul right out of you. I believe I mentioned the people whose bodily fluids are so toxic they’ll kill you if they even breathe on you. Shall I go on?”

I shook my head. All of those things, creatures, living weapons … yet … “Why haven’t I ever heard of these people before, Rome? Why does no one know of them?”

“PSI is damn good at its job, that’s why. We make sure the world remains ignorant about the paras. About scrims. About all of it.”

Dear God. “Scrims?”

“Scrims are supernatural criminals. Vincent is a scrim because he inflicts unnecessary pain, he kills when he could lock away, and he enjoys doing it. But he also captures and controls other scrims—in fact, he’s captured more than anyone else and any other agency, so the government caters to him. They allow him to live, turning a blind eye to his experiments.”

It was too much to take in, almost unbelievable. “Are … are scrims born or made?”

“Some are born, some are made. The more experiments are done, the more scrims are born. It’s a vicious cycle.” His expression softened. “What I told you about the prison is true, too. Château Villain, as we’ve affectionately dubbed it, is very real, and you won’t like it. A sassy little thing like you would end up as Venom’s bitch.”

“Venom?”

“She used to work for Vincent. Her saliva has deadly toxins, and if she kisses you …”

I swallowed.

“Vincent is one of the reasons PSI exists. Fixing the catastrophes he and his brotherhood of assholes cause is a full-time job.” Rome canted his head, considering me. “Do you remember that big warehouse fire in Chicago last year? The one that killed forty-two people and was blamed on faulty wiring? Lie. Vincent was testing the four-elements formula. Like I told you, several people burst into flames.”

I shuddered, and felt the vibration to the bone. “Why does he want people to control the four elements? Why kill them for it?”

“Think about it. He can cause a drought, then, if the price is right, he can save everyone with a rainstorm. He’ll make money from it, exploit it, kill people with it. Control people with it.”

My God. My mouth dried a little more with every word Rome spoke. If my hands hadn’t been bound, I would have covered my ears so I wouldn’t have to hear anymore. There was a villainous world out there I’d once thought could never touch or affect me. How wrong I’d been. I mourned the loss of such innocence.

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