“He handled the finances for the show, didn’t he?” Johnson asked shrewdly.

“Yes, he did,” Gregori answered easily. “Peter was a full partner with Savannah. He earned it, too.”

“Were there any problems with the books?” Johnson slid the question in, watching their faces.

Savannah looked so pale and filled with sorrow, he felt as if he was tormenting her. No emotion showed on Gregori’s face, and Johnson knew nothing he said or did would change that. “I am independently wealthy, Detective, with more money than I can possibly use in a lifetime. Savannah did not even need the income from her show. If there was ever a discrepancy, and I certainly do not know of one, I am certain, as is Savannah, that it would be an honest one. Peter made good money from the shows and would have no need to doctor the books. I am sure you can easily check his bank accounts and our books. You are certainly welcome to do so. Peter Sanders was not a thief.”

Savannah lifted her chin. “Peter would never have stolen anything. And if he’d ever needed money, all he would have to do is say so. We would have given it to him, and he knew it.”

“It was just a thought. There’s no evidence pointing in that direction, but we do have to cover every possibility.” Johnson raked a hand through his hair. He hated upsetting the woman. “Sanders was in charge of your security arrangements?”

“We had a man for that,” Gregori said smoothly. “Peter gave him his orders and kept him informed of the schedule so the man could do his job.”

“Could Ms. Dubrinsky have been the target of some psycho fan?”

Savannah made a muffled sound, tearing at Gregori’s heart. Beneath his massaging fingers, she was beginning to tremble. “There is always the possibility, Detective. She has at times received some very perverse fan mail. Peter and Roland, the security man, protected her from most of the unpleasantness. But if there had been any threatening mail on this tour, Peter would have informed me immediately.”

Johnson had no doubt Gregori was the type of man to be involved in every aspect of his wife’s life. “Do you recall any strange incidents that stick in your mind?”

Savannah shook her head.

“What about any odd, unexpected noises that night?”

Instantly Savannah remembered the vampire’s hideous laughter. Gregori intervened immediately. “My wife is very shaken up, Detective, and we still have to make the arrangements for Peter. Her crew is waiting for us also.”

“So are the reporters.”

Gregori’s silver eyes glittered a warning. “She will not be talking to reporters. This is difficult enough for her.”

Johnson nodded. “We’ll try to sneak you out the back. But those folks have been camped out on our stairs ever since we ID’d the body.”

Savannah winced visibly. “Piranhas,” Gregori observed.

“They’re like vampires,” Johnson agreed. He didn’t see Savannah shudder. “Once they sink their teeth into a story, they never let go. One in particular, from out of town, has been driving us all crazy. We actually caught him trying to sneak into our files in an attempt to read our reports. He also tried to bribe someone in the coroner’s office for information.” The detective was aware he was giving out information he should not have been, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It flowed out of him like water.

Gregori lifted his head, dark hair spilling over his forehead. All at once he looked like a predator, dark and dangerous. Johnson’s heart took another hard thud, and for an instant he could have sworn he saw those silver eyes flame a fiery red. Gregori gave the impression of a beast with sheathed claws, waiting, stalking prey. Johnson shivered, then blinked. When he looked again, the man’s face was as impassive as ever, the eyes reflecting back his own image. There was a certain masculine beauty to that harsh, cruel face. Johnson shook his head to dispel the image of a stalking wolf from his mind.

“Which reporter was that, Detective?”

“I can’t really divulge that information,” Johnson said warily. There was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he wasn’t going to be responsible for some reporter winding up in the hospital. He had no doubt that anyone tangling with Gregori would come out on the short end of the stick.

Gregori smiled at him, a flash of gleaming white teeth. The silver stare fixed on David Johnson’s tired eyes. That silver gaze was all at once hot, like molten mercury. Johnson felt himself falling forward, unable to look away. Gregori pushed into the man’s mind, past the thin barrier of protection, and searched the memories there. Satisfied he had what he needed, he removed the man’s memory of any conversation pertaining to the reporter and implanted the certain knowledge that Savannah and Gregori had cooperated fully and had nothing to do with the Peter Sanders’ death.

Johnson blinked and found himself standing, shaking hands with Gregori and smiling sympathetically at Savannah. Gregori’s muscular frame dwarfed her slender one as her husband swept her protectively beneath his shoulder. She offered Johnson a wan smile. “I wish we’d had a chance to meet under different circumstances, Detective.”

“David,” he corrected gently, doing his best not to stare.

Gregori nudged Savannah out of the office. “Thank you for being so careful with Savannah’s feelings.”

Johnson led the way through a maze of rooms to the back stairs. “If you think it will be necessary, I could have a couple of my men keep an eye on Ms. Dubrinsky for a few days.”

“Thank you, Detective, but that will not be necessary,” Gregori declined softly, a hint of menace in his velvet voice. His hand found the small of Savannah’s back. “I protect my own.”

The staircase was narrow and dusty, the carpet worn through in several places. The couple moved down it together in perfect synchronization, like a pair of dancers. Gregori caught at her before she could push open the door. “Someone is outside.”

Savannah glanced at the cruel edge to his mouth. “We don’t know who it is, Gregori,” she cautioned softly.

“Scanning is easy enough,” Gregori answered. “That reporter is dangerous, Savannah. He is more than a simple nosy newspaperman.”

“You read that detective’s mind, his memories, didn’t you?” Her fingers curled around his thick wrist, her enormous blue eyes fixed steadily on his face.

Gregori didn’t flinch from the accusation. He didn’t pretend to look repentant. “Of course I did.”

“Gregori,” she said softly, “you have that look about you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What look is that?”

“Like you’re really hungry and you just discovered lunch.”

He smiled in answer, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “Be very careful with this one, Savannah. He is not going to just let it go.”

She shrugged carefully. “So let’s give him what he wants, and maybe he’ll leave us alone.” She was afraid she knew what Gregori had in mind. If the reporter couldn’t be controlled, if he became a threat to their race, Gregori would have no choice but to destroy him. She couldn’t bear the thought of any more needless bloodshed; she wanted a peaceful co-existence with the human race.

“We will try it your way,” Gregori conceded, his stomach churning. Why did he give in to her nonsense? Her eyes, large and sad, defeated his good sense every time.

Savannah pressed a fingertip to his lip, tracing the hard edge until it softened, and he took her finger into his mouth in a slow, erotic caress. He needed that connection with her always. She was so young, the ugliness of his life so far removed from her. How could she understand his need to ensure that such ugliness never touched her?

She smiled, a small, secret smile he felt he would never understand. He knew the earth, the wind, the shifting water, fire, air, even space itself. He could command them all, but Savannah eluded him. Completely eluded him. Why did it matter so much that she understand? Wasn’t her safety the most important thing in his world?