I smiled slowly, and flared my nostrils as his desire surged. Such a sweet, sweet scent. "Why don't you take a seat on the chaise lounge, and we'll find out."

"It looks rather skinny," he said, barely even glancing at it.

"But it's perfect for what we need." I added telepathically, "And if you don't sit soon, they may think something is wrong."

As he sat down, I muted the lights and turned up the music. With the erotic, exotic music filling the silence, I walked over and straddled the lounge-and him.

"Now I see why it's smaller." A smile teased his luscious mouth as he lay back on the lounge and watched me with hungry eyes.

"It would be awfully hard to be sexy when a normal chaise lounge is considerably wider," I agreed, and slowly began to move in time to the music, my dance as sensual and erotic as the music.

I was only straddling his legs at the moment, allowing him plenty of time to admire my body and movement. As the tempo of the music increased, so did mine. Little by little, I edged my way up his body toward his crotch.

"Can I ask a question?" he said after a while, his voice several tones huskier than normal.

So much for being unaffected. "You can ask anything you want. Whether I answer is another matter."

What those strange bulges under your bodice, or is that a trade secret?

I smiled. A woman has to keep her holy water somewhere close and safe, because you just never know when another hellhound is going to pop out at her.

He snorted softly. You really are a most intriguing woman, Riley Jenson. It's a shame you work for who you do.

And why is that? I shook loose one of the scarves and tossed it lightly at his face.

He caught it with a smile, his nostrils flaring as he drew in the scents on it. Because you and I would make a rather good team.

No, we wouldn't. Were totally different.

We're both killers, Riley, whether you like to admit it or not.

That may be true, but I kill to save others. You kill for profit.

You kill because you like the kill. Admit it.

I kill because I've learned the hard way that others suffer or die if I don't, I don't deny I enjoy the chase, but the kill? Never.

I don't believe you. You re too good at what you do for it not to be enjoyable.

I opened my mouth to refute his statement, but the words never came out because the room suddenly got colder.

Colder in an all too familiar way.

Goose bumps raced up my arms and I looked away from Kye, my gaze doing a sweep of the room. There was no smoke, no insubstantial wisps, hiding in any of the corners, and yet there was no mistaking the fierce chill that suddenly rode the air.

There was a soul here somewhere, and it wanted to speak.

"What the fuck?" Kye said, his head suddenly whipping toward the right corner.

There was no soul to be seen there, yet it did seem to be the main source of the chill.

But how the fuck was he sensing it?

I glanced at him sharply, briefly stopping the dance then forcing myself to keep going as I remembered the watching cameras. What do you feel?

I don't know. He frowned. It feels like death. Cold, cold death.

And he should know, having dished it out often enough.

How the fuck are you feeling that? I wanted to grab him and shake him-hard-and finally get some answers out of the damn man. He wasn't clairvoyant-hell, he even admitted to not being telepathic-and yet here he was, telepathic one day and clairvoyant the next. He might be listed as having no psychic talent, but something sure as hell was going on. And maybe, just maybe, I knew what it was. Have you got some weird ability to siphon the talents of others?

He glanced at me, and though his expression had suddenly gone blank, he gave a short, sharp nod. Tell me what I'm-we're-sensing.

Tell me the fuck about your talent, I snapped back. Just how far does it extend?

He didn't answer. I clenched, then unclenched my fist. Tell me, Kye, or I will call in the Directorate and get your ass thrown in jail And trust me, it wouldn't even blow this operation wide open, because the Directorate has guardians who can seize control of every man and woman in this place, regardless of whether they were wearing wires or not. And they wouldn't even remember it.

Hell, I could probably do it if I put my mind to it-Jack kept insisting I'd be one of the strongest telepaths he had if only I'd apply myself a little more.

Which is precisely why I didn't. I didn't want that sort of power. What I had was scary enough.

For the longest of moments, Kye didn't answer. When he finally did, it was flatly, grudgingly, done. I'm what you call a sipher. If I'm in the presence of another person with a psychic talent, that talent becomes mine for as long as I am with them.

So when you're with me, you're telepathic.

And I can shadow, because that is also a psychic talent-one that is very handy when stalling vampires.

Which is why he was such a skilled hunter of vampires. Most vampires wouldn't expect a werewolf to be able to shadow, and by the time they heard the rush of life and realized Kye was near, it was already too late.

And now you're sensing the soul?

Is that what it is?

Yes, I snapped, stripping off several scarves and tossing them across his face. And hang onto your hat, because its about to get a whole lot worse.

And with that, I reached out to the soul and said, Who are you?

The chill got fiercer, until it felt like fingers of ice were creeping into my soul. I didn't know why it always felt like these souls brought the chill of the underworld with them. Maybe it was because they were trapped between two worlds, neither here nor in heaven or hell-or wherever else souls went to.

Something stirred against the soft, golden light infusing the corner-a wisp of thicker air that held no shape and couldn't even be defined as smoke.

Billy. Billy Cardwell, it said, the insubstantial voice young and confused.

I continued dancing, only half concentrating on the music. Another scarf went. Kye caught it and tossed it to one side, his gaze heated and expression intent. He looked for the world like a man who was enjoying his dance, but I knew the only thing he was intent on was listening in on my conversation with the soul.

Do you know what happened, Billy?

The soul stirred softly, a wisp with no features and no body that gently rotated.

She went ballistic, he answered. She attacked me.

Do you know why?

For a moment there was no answer, but the energy continued to build in the air, giving the soul the strength to speak.

She kept screaming "the bitch. I'll get the bitch for this."

Had she meant the teenager who hadn't shown up? Or me? What time was this?

He didn't answer for several seconds, then said, I had the room booked for seven-thirty, so it was just after that.

So the rage-and Billy's subsequent murder-had definitely happened before she'd gone on to slaughter Jason Burke and his lover. Meaning her rage, or her need to tear, had not been assuaged with Billy's death. Or maybe we were simply dealing with a mind that wasn't exactly chummy with sanity. Is that all?

The energy in the air was still building, until the small hairs along the nape of my neck were standing on end. Only then did the words come again.

She said something about no one stopping her from making them all pay.

Thank you, Billy. I hesitated, then added, It's safe to move on now. Well take care of her for you.