“You know, this is bad of me to say, but I really hoped Brenda Marks did it. I would have loved to lock her away. But okay, she didn’t do it. A flesh peddler did. How has he stayed in the shadows so long? Why hasn’t someone talked? Like a resentful wife who’s been cheated on? Or children who walked in on their dad banging the weird chick in chains in the basement?”

“Fear. Bobby was keeping a journal. He bought Margarete for a limited time. Fell in love with her. Time was running out, so he bought her for a little while longer. He never met with the seller directly, everything was online and by phone. But there’s no website.”

“If there’s no website, how’d he learn where and how to buy her?”

“From a friend, but he didn’t put the friend’s name in his notes. Maybe to protect him.”

So that was a dead end. For now. “How was Margarete delivered to him? She wouldn’t have willingly walked to his door.”

“Marks wrote that a tall guy with more muscles than should be legal delivered her. Again, he didn’t mention a name. My guess is he didn’t know it, that the guy was there as more than a deliveryman, but to intimidate the buyer into staying quiet.”

“Makes sense.”

“Also, there’s a caveat to every buy. If you want to tell a friend so he can get a female—or male—of his own, you have to get permission. If you tell anyone without permission, or how or where you got your companion, you die. You tell anyone about the transaction, you die.”

“So who’s disappeared in the wealthier circles, like that up-and-comer Devyn mentioned? As quiet as this entire operation has been kept, there have to be more than two victims.”

“I’ll do a search.”

“Meanwhile, let’s deconstruct the night of the murder. No one could teleport into Bobby’s house. So someone had to either come to his door,” Noelle said after swallowing another bite of cheesecake, “or sneak in. Since there’s no sign of a break-in, I’m guessing the door.”

“I’m with you.” Wrong words, he instantly realized. He gulped, trying to swallow back his sudden rise of renewed desire.

Oblivious, she licked her fork like it was a lollipop. Or his cock. At the sight of that gorgeous pink tongue, Hector experienced full-on arousal, no more of that almost/maybe/could be shit—and there was no stopping it. That tongue had given him those same kinds of so-delicious strokes, and he wanted to feel all that wet heat between his legs again. And again.

He shouldn’t have messed around with her, he thought darkly. Resisting her had become a whole lot harder. In every way.

Heat sizzled along the veins in his arms, and he set his food aside.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, reading his approaching panic before he did.

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.” Mind, out of gutter. “So someone comes to Marks’s door and, late as it was, Marks had to know him or he wouldn’t have answered. The journal doesn’t mention an Arcadian, so it had to be Bruiser.”

“Maybe the Arcadian was with him, though.”

“No, wait. Bruiser was waiting with the shooter, remember? So Bruiser couldn’t have been the one to pick Marks up. The Arcadian appeared with Marks, so the Arcadian was the one to go and get him.”

“Could this Arcadian be so powerful that he can teleport past Bobby’s shields?”

He’d never heard of such a thing, but then, wasn’t he living proof that the impossible was always possible? “I’ll have our techs look into it.”

A knock hammered at the door.

Interruptions were standard; someone had something to ask at least once an hour. Hector didn’t bother checking his ID screen. Frowning, he punched the code to allow the intruder inside.

The block slid open, revealing a smoldering Dallas. The agent didn’t enter. He took in the intimate scene and stiffened.

Nothing’s happened, Hector tried to project.

“You’ve got a visitor,” Dallas said. “And you’re not going to believe who it is.”

His frown deepened. “Who?” He wasn’t expecting anyone.

“Not you,” Dallas said, motioning to Noelle.

“Her.” “Who is it?” she asked, confused.

“Me.”

A tall otherworlder Hector recognized but had never met stepped beside Dallas. He was eerily handsome, with pale skin and violet eyes. Strength radiated from his leanly muscled body, an electric pulse seeming to waft from him. An Arcadian. A football star.

Corban Blue.

Noelle might have claimed to like a man in uniform, but there was no way she would scoff at the perfect lines of the perfect pinstriped suit the perfect bastard wore. I will kill him.

“If you’re here to file a complaint about the rumors,” he growled, “you can—”

“I’m not.” That violet gaze remained on Noelle, probably memorizing every luscious detail.

“Oh … shit,” she muttered, sitting up straighter. Hector’s hands curled into fists. Maybe Corban wasn’t here to complain, but he wasn’t here to thank her, either. One harsh word uttered in Noelle’s direction, and Hector would lash out, no matter that he could lose his job. When it came to Noelle’s protection, he was finding that there were no lines he wouldn’t cross.

“Good to see you again, Elle.” There was so much husky promise in the guy’s voice, the air practically thickened with sensuality.

“Uh, you, too, Blue.”

See her … again? When had they last gotten together? And who the f**k did the ball player think he was, using a nickname with her? They were broken up. And why the hell was she uncomfortable? Nothing made Noelle uncomfortable.

He opened his mouth to question the Arcadian, but when Corban shouldered Dallas aside to crouch just in front of Noelle, Hector’s mouth snapped closed. His questions could wait. Rage blistered through him. He stood, intending to physically force the man to back off. Mine, she’s mine, and I do not share.

Corban grinned, unconcerned by the animal he’d provoked. “So. I hear we’re having twins.”

Twenty-nine

DALLAS PASSED HECTOR A few fingers of scotch before downing his own. They both needed the alcohol. For different reasons, yeah, but need was need.

The pair of them sat in a shadowed corner of Wonderland, Hector’s favorite bar. The tables were made of metal, but they were painted to look like tree stumps. Evergreen-scented bubbles sometimes cascaded from the ceiling and floated through the air. Weird music always played in the background, the beat fast and erratic, and when you studied the walls hard enough, you could see little fairies peeping out from lush green bushes. Fairies with fangs, always a nice combo.




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