Move, Riley. Quinn's voice was edged with concern. The cops will be up on that roof soon.

I'm aware of that. I headed for the stairs. How'd you do?

He'd disappeared by the time I got up there.

I went down the stairs even faster than I'd come up, and a whole different set of muscles woke to protest. No clues as to how?

He left some feathers and the weapon behind.

So the second shooter was a shifter—not that that gave any clue as to identity. My filler had been contracted to hit me, not Hunt.

Hunt was a deliberate shot, not an accident.

I pushed my way out of the stairwell. The guard spun and opened his mouth to speak, but I took control of his mind and made him look past me and see nothing. So, we were both targets simply because we were both at the one spot. The question is, why did they want Hunt dead?

And how did they know you were here, let alone that it was you under that disguise?

I don't know. I just don't know.

The front doors swished open. Lights flashed across the darkness, streaking it with blue and red. Men in white and blue stood around the taxi and Mrs. Hunt, while a gathering crowd looked on in horror.

Awareness prickled across my skin, then Quinn was beside me, a shadow who suddenly found substance. He wrapped his hand around my arm and guided me to the right.

Where are we going?

'You re going to the airport. I'm going to follow Mrs. Hunt.

Jack, won't be happy.

Jack is not my boss, and we need to know what the hell is going on. If Mrs. Hunt is a replacement, she'll know something. Or somebody. I intend to find out which it is.

Be careful.

In these matters, I always am.

He stopped by the car and opened the door. Then he pulled me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that was wild, erotic, and a very unapologetic affirmation of what he wanted. And what he intended to do when we had more time.

I opened my eyes, stared into his. Saw the desire. Saw the determination, burning bright.

This vampire would not give up, would not go away. No matter what I did or said. He was playing for keeps. For real.

Which meant he still wasn't understanding that I was a wolf, with a wolf's needs, and that we could never be what he wanted us to be, no matter what might lay between us.

"Quinn—"

"Mrs. Hunt is leaving," he cut in harshly, making me wonder if he'd read my mind and was simply delaying the moment of truth. "We'll talk another time."

He kissed me again, no less fiercely than before, then pushed me into the car and slammed the door shut. By the time I'd twisted around to look at him, he was gone.

Chapter Ten

The Rocker was filled with teenagers half my age, all of them bopping to music that was painful to my cars. I could see why the Rocker's traditional weekend crowd had fled—the crap they were playing now was nothing like the good old-fashioned rock and roll this club had built its reputation on. But then, I guess they had to do something to attract the next generation of wolves through the door.

Misha sat on a stool at the far end of the chrome and red lacquer bar. He wore dark jeans and a black T-shirt, and both accentuated the whiteness of his lean body. As I stood there staring at him, the urge to turn and run hit me. I didn't want to do this. I really didn't.

Not because of the sex. As I'd said to Quinn more than once, sex was part of a werewolf's nature, and we didn't hold it in the same reverent regard. Even though I didn't particularly want to mate with Misha, I would, and I'd more than likely enjoy it.

No, what disgusted me was the fact that I'd been left no choice in the matter.

If I was a guardian and this was just a part of my job, it would have been okay. If I'd walked in here knowing I'd been offered this assignment and had willingly chosen to do it, I would have had no problems. But I didn't have the choice, no matter what Quinn said. Misha seemed to be the only one who knew what was going on, and to get that information and get my life on track, I had to do this. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. Two very different things.

And it hit me then that part of me had already accepted the reality that one day I would become a guardian. That one day, I'd be doing this out of choice rather than need.

I closed my eyes, sickened not so much by the thought, but the tremor of excitement that ran through me. I didn't want to become a killer. Didn't want to become my brother. But the part of me that had always rejoiced in the danger of being with Talon was dancing at the thought of becoming a guardian and facing danger on a regular basis.

Maybe Jack was right. Maybe he did know me better than I knew myself.

Taking another deep breath, I pushed the thoughts aside, and made my way through the crowd.

Tapping Misha on the shoulder, I said, "I believe we had a date."

His icy gaze slid down my body. I'd changed into jeans and a black crop top, but had left Liander's other improvements in place. There was no recognition in Misha's eyes as his gaze met mine then slid away. "I believe you're mistaken."

"So you've decided you don't want kids any more?"

His head snapped around, and his gaze narrowed. "Riley?"

"The one and only." I plopped down on the stool beside his and ordered a beer.

"Why the disguise?"

"Why not? Especially when you haven't exactly proven you can keep me safe."

"Have you been attacked recently?"

I snorted softly. "Twice, actually."

"What?"

The surprise in his voice seemed genuine, but I wasn't about to be taken in by it. Misha could act the pants off just about anyone I knew. "Once with orsini, once with a paid hitman. It's pissing me oft, Misha."

"The bastard," he muttered. "Obviously, he needs a little reminder that I mean what I say."

"Obviously, because he ain't taking a blind bit of notice of your threats at the moment. And keeping me safe was part of our deal, remember?"

"I remember," he said, voice hard. "And I'm trying."

"Well, try a little harder or the damn deal is off." I paused and thanked the bartender as he brought over my beer. "I want to know how he's tracking me, Misha. Tell me that, or it ends right now."

Jack would have a fit if he heard either of the threats, but hell, Jack didn't have his life on the goddamn line.

"You're bugged."

"Rhoan checked for bugs. We didn't find any."

"You wouldn't find these. They're new."

"Stolen from the Landsend Military Base, perhaps?"

He smiled. "Perhaps."

"I want you to find it and take it out."

He nodded. "I don't want you dead, Riley. Believe that, if nothing else."

Oh, I believed it. He wanted a kid out of me first. "So, tell me, why was Martin Hunt shot?"

"Not here. Wait until we're upstairs."

"Upstairs might not be any safer."

"But they have voice screens active up there. At least what we say can't be overheard once we're in one of the zones."

"Unless people can read lips."

A smile touched his thin mouth. "I think it'd be a bit obvious if someone was up there simply to read lips."

True. The Rocker wasn't like the Blue Moon. The dancing on this level was actual dancing, not the wolf kind, simply because the Rocker had a wall of windows that looked out onto the main street. And while werewolves didn't mind doing it in public, humankind sure did get upset about seeing it.

Nor did it have private rooms. Here at the Rocker, the choice on the upper floor was a communal one, the options as simple as beds, sofas, or beanbags. "I thought you said your followers had given up watching you here?"