Affronted, I put my hands on my hips and made a sound of disbelief. Who did he think he was, lecturing me?

Trent reached into a shirt pocket, pulling out a white envelope and handing it to me. Leaning forward and back, I snatched it, flipping it open. My breath caught as I realized it held twenty crisp hundred-dollar bills.

"That's ten percent up front, the rest on completion," he said, and I froze, trying to look cavalier. Twenty thousand dollars? "I want you to identify who is responsible for the murders. I've been trying to hire a ley line witch for the last three months, and every one of them ends up dead. It's growing tiresome. All I want is a name."

"You can go to hell, Kalamack," I said, dropping the envelope when he didn't take it back. I was angry and frustrated. I had come here with information so fine, I was sure I was going to get a confession. What I got was threatened, insulted, and then bribed.

Looking unperturbed, he stooped to pick up the envelope, smacking it against his palm several times to get the grit off before tucking it away. "You do realize that with that little stunt you pulled yesterday, you are next on the killer's list? You fit the profile nicely, having shown yourself as proficient in ley line magic, and then adding our little tryst today."

Damn. I'd forgotten about that. If Trent really wasn't the murderer, than I had nothing to stop the real one from coming after me. Suddenly the sun wasn't warm enough. I felt breathless, sick that I was going to have to find the real killer before he found me.

"Now," Trent said, his voice smoother than the water. "Take the money so I can tell you what I've managed to learn."

Stomach twisting, I met his mocking gaze. I was going to do just what he wanted. He had manipulated me into helping him. Damn, damn, and double damn. Crossing to his side of the bridge, I put my elbows atop the thick railing with my back to Glenn. Sharps was deep underwater, only the lack of ducks to say he was here. Beside me stood Trent.

"Did you send Sara Jane to the FIB with the sole intention that Edden would involve me?" I asked bitterly.

Trent shifted, putting himself so near I could smell the clean scent of his aftershave. I didn't like how close he was, but if I moved, he'd know it bothered me. "Yes," he said softly.

In his voice was the sound of truth I had been waiting for, and a trickle of excitement pulled my breath tight. There it was. Now I had it. He'd never be able to lie to me again. Looking back over our past conversations in a new light, I realized that apart from the reason he'd given me for being at his father's camp, he never had. Ever.

"She doesn't know him, does she?" I asked.

"A few dates to get the picture, but no. It was a calculated certainty that he would be murdered after he agreed to work for me, though I tried to protect him. Quen is very upset," he said lightly, his gaze on Sharps's ripples. "That Mr. Smather turned up in my stables means the killer is getting cocky."

My eyes closed briefly in frustration as I scrambled to realign my thinking. Trent hadn't killed those witches. Someone else had. I could either take the money and help Trent solve his little employment problem or not take the money and he'd get it for free. I'd take the money. "You're a bastard, you know that?"

Seeing my new understanding, Trent smiled. It was all I could do to not spit in his face. His long hands hung out over the edge of the railing. The sun turned his tan a warm golden color that almost glowed against his white shirt, and his face was shadowed. Wisps of his hair moved in the breeze, almost touching my own wayward strands.

With a casual movement, he reached into his shirt pocket, and with our bodies hiding the action from Glenn, he extended the envelope. Feeling dirty, I took it, shoving it out of sight behind my jacket and into my waistband.

"Excellent," he said, warm and sincere. "I'm glad we can work together."

"Go Turn yourself, Kalamack."

"I'm reasonably confident that it's a master vampire," he said, easing away from me.

"Which one?" I asked, disgusted with myself. Why was I doing this?

"I don't know," he admitted, flicking a bit of mortar off the railing to land in the water. "If I did, I'd have taken care of it already."

"I just bet you would," I said sourly. "Why not take them all out? Get it over with?"

"I can't go about staking vampires at random, Ms. Morgan," he said, worrying me because he'd taken my question seriously instead of the sarcasm it was. "That's illegal, not to mention it would start a vamp war. Cincinnati might not survive it. And I know my business interests would suffer in the interim."

I snickered. "Oh, we can't let that happen, now. Can we?"

Trent sighed. "Using sarcasm to cover your fear makes you look very young."

"And twirling your pencil in your fingers makes you look nervous," I shot back. It felt good to argue with someone who wouldn't bite me if things got out of control.

His eye twitched. Lips bloodless, he turned back to the large pond before us. "I'd appreciate it if you would keep the FIB out of this. It's an Inderland matter, not human, and I'm not sure the I.S. can be trusted, either."

I found it interesting how fast he had fallen into the "them" and "us" verbiage. Apparently I wasn't the only one who knew Trent's background, and I didn't like the higher degree of intimacy it put between us.

"I'm thinking it might be a rising vamp coven trying to gain a foothold by removing me," he said. "It would be a lot less risky than taking out one of the lesser houses."

It wasn't a boast—just a tasteless fact—and my lips curled at the thought I was taking money from a man who played the underworld like a chessboard. For the first time in my life I was glad my dad was dead and couldn't ask me "Why?" The picture of our fathers standing before the camp bus intruded, and I reminded myself I couldn't trust Trent. My father had, and it killed him.

Trent sighed, the sound both regretful and tired. "Cincinnati's underground is very fluid. All of my usual contacts have gone quiet or dead. I'm losing touch with what's happening." He flicked a glance at me. "Someone is trying to keep me from increasing my reach. And without a ley line witch at my disposal, I've reached an impasse."

"Poor baby," I mocked. "Why not do the magic yourself? Bloodline too polluted with nasty human genes to manage the heavy magic anymore?"

The knuckles of his fingers whitened as he gripped the rail, then relaxed. "I will have a ley line witch. I would much rather hire someone willing than abduct them, but if every witch I talk to ends up dead, I will steal someone."

"Yes," I drawled caustically. "You elves are known for that, aren't you?"

His jaw clenched. "Be careful."

"I'm always careful," I said, knowing I wasn't a good enough witch to have to worry about him "stealing" me. I watched the rims of his ears slowly lose their red tint. I squinted, wondering if they were a little pointed or if it was my imagination. It was hard to tell with the hat he had on. "Can you narrow it down for me?" I said. Twenty thousand dollars to sift through Cincinnati's underworld to find out who wanted to put a crimp in Mr. Kalamack's day by killing his potential employees. Yeah. That sounded like an easy run.

"I have lots of ideas, Ms. Morgan. Lots of enemies, lots of employees."

"And no friends," I added snidely, watching Sharps make serpentlike humps like a miniature Loch Ness. My breath slipped from me in a slow sound as I imagined what Ivy was going to say when I came home and told her I was working for Trent. "If I find out you're lying, I'll come after you myself, Kalamack. And this time, the demon won't miss."

He made a scoffing bark of laughter and I turned to him. "You can drop the bluff. You didn't send that demon after me last spring."