I stiffened as his gaze drifted over me, resting briefly on the pinky ring he had stolen from me and returned to prove he could, finally settling on my neck and the almost invisible scarring from my demon attack. "Ms. Morgan, I wasn't aware you could work for the FIB," he said by way of greeting, making no move to shake my hand.

"I'm a consultant," I said, ignoring how his liquid voice had pulled my breath tight. I had forgotten his voice, all amber and honey—if color and taste could describe a sound—resonant and deep, each syllable clear and precise yet blending into the next like liquid. It was mesmerizing in a way that only ancient vampires could match. And it bothered me that I liked it.

I met his gaze, trying to show a mirror image of his confidence. Jittery, I extended my arm, forcing him to respond. His hand came out to meet mine with the barest of hesitations. A stab of satisfaction warmed me in that I had made him do something he didn't want to, even if it was something this small.

Feeling cocky, I slipped my hand into Trent's. Though his green eyes were cold with the knowledge that I'd forced him into touching me, his grip was warm and firm. I wondered how long he had been practicing it. Satisfied, I loosened my grip, but instead of doing the same, Trent's hand slipped from mine with an intimate slowness that wasn't at all professional. I would have said he had just made a pass at me but for the slight tightening of his eyes, which spoke of a wary caution.

"Mr. Kalamack," I said, refusing to wipe my hand on my skirt. "You're looking good."

"As are you." His smile was frozen in place, and his right hand was almost behind his back. "I understand you're doing reasonably well with your little investigation firm. I imagine it's difficult when you're just starting out."

Little investigation firm? My unease flashed into irritation. "Thank you," I managed.

A smile quirking the corner of his mouth, Trent turned his attention to Edden. As the two professional men made polite, politically correct and hypocritical niceties, I glanced over Trent's office. His fake window still showed a live shot of one of his yearling pastures, the artificial light shining through the video screen to make a warm patch of glowing carpet. There was a new school of black and white fish in the zoo-size fish tank, and the freestanding aquarium had been moved into a recess built into the wall behind his desk. The spot where my cage had been held a potted orange tree, and the scent-memory of food pellets made my stomach clench. The camera at the ceiling in the corner blinked its little red light at me.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Captain Edden," Trent was saying, the smooth cadence of his voice luring my attention. "I wish it could be under better circumstances."

"Mr. Kalamack." Edden's sharp staccato sounded harsh against Trent's voice. "I apologize for any inconvenience incurred while we search your grounds."

Jonathan handed Trent the warrant, and he looked at it briefly before handing it back. "Corporal evidence leading to an arrest in the deaths known as the witch hunter murders?" he said, his eyes flicking to mine. "That's a little broad, isn't it?"

"Putting down 'dead body' looked crass," I said tightly, and Edden cleared his throat, the barest hint of worry we might find nothing staining his professional stance. I noticed Edden had fallen into a parade rest, and wondered if the ex–Navy SEAL even knew it. "You were the last person to see Dr. Anders," I added, wanting to see Trent's reaction.

"That's out of line, Ms. Morgan," Edden muttered, but I was more interested in the emotion that passed over Trent. Anger, frustration, but not shock. Trent glanced at Jonathan, who made the slightest shrug I'd ever seen. Slowly, Trent sat back on his desktop, his long, sun-tanned hands clasped in front of him. "I wasn't aware that she had died," he said.

"I never said she was dead," I said. My heart pounded as Edden gripped my arm in warning.

"She's missing?" Trent said, doing a creditable job of showing only relief. "That's good. That she is missing and not—ah—dead. I had dinner with her last night." The barest hint of worry flickered over Trent as he gestured to the two chairs behind us. "Please, sit down," he said as he went behind his desk. "I'm sure you have some questions for me—seeing as you're searching my grounds."

"Thank you, sir. I do." Edden took the seat closest to the hallway. My eyes tracked Jonathan as he closed Trent's door. He remained standing beside it, looking defensive. I eased myself down in the remaining seat in the artificial sun, forcing myself to the back of the chair. Trying for an air of nonchalance, I set my bag on my lap and felt in my jacket pocket for a finger stick. The prick of the blade zinged through me. I eased my bleeding finger into my bag, carefully searching for the charm. Now let's see Trent lie and get away with it.

Trent's expression froze at the clatter of my amulet. "Put your truth spell away, Ms. Morgan," he accused. "I said I would be happy to answer Captain Edden's questions, not submit to an interrogation. Your warrant is for search and seizure, not cross-examination."

"Morgan," Edden hissed, his thick hand extended. "Give me that!"

Grimacing, I wiped my fingertip clean and handed the amulet over. Edden stuffed it in a pocket. "My apologies," he said, his round face tight. "Ms. Morgan is tenacious in her desire to find the person or persons responsible for so many deaths. She has a dangerous"—this was directed at me—"tendency to forget she has to function within the law's parameters."

Trent's wispy hair rose in the current from the air vents. Seeing my gaze on it, he ran a hand over his head, hinting at irritation. "She means well."

How patronizing was that? Angry, I set my bag on the floor with a thump. "Dr. Anders meant well, too," I said. "Did you kill her after she turned down your offer of employment?"

Jonathan stiffened, and Edden's hands jerked as if he was trying to keep them in his lap and away from around my neck. "I'm not going to warn you again, Rachel…." he growled.

Trent's smile never flickered. He was angry and trying not to show it. I was glad I could paint the walls with my feelings; it was far more satisfying. "No, it's all right," Trent said, clasping his fingers together and leaning forward to set them on his desk. "If it will ease Ms. Morgan's belief that I'm capable of such monstrous crimes, I'll be more than happy to tell you what we discussed last night." Though he was talking to Edden, his gaze didn't shift from mine. "We were discussing the possibility of my funding her research."

"Ley line research?" I questioned.

He picked up a pencil, the motion as he twirled it giving away his discomfort. He really should have broken himself of the habit. "Ley line research," he agreed. "The vein of which has little practical value. I was indulging my curiosity, nothing more."

"I think you offered her a job," I said. "And when she refused to work for you, you had her killed, just like all the other ley line witches in Cincinnati."

"Morgan!" Edden exclaimed, pulling himself upright in his chair. "Go wait in the van." He rose, giving Trent an apologetic look. "Mr. Kalamack, I'm very sorry. Ms. Morgan is entirely out of line, and is not acting under FIB authority in her accusations."

I spun in my chair to face him. "It's what he tried to do to me. Why would Dr. Anders be any different?"

Edden's face went red behind his little round glasses. I clenched my jaw, ready to argue right back. He took an angry breath, letting it out at the knock at the door. Jonathan opened it, stepping back as Glenn came in, ducking his head briefly to Trent in acknowledgment. I could tell by his hunched, furtive expression that the search wasn't going well.