by Stacia Kane
She was glad she decided to wear Dante's dress. Her plain tan one would have been very out of place here, where most of the women were in ball gowns and glittering diamonds.
Brian didn't stop to gawk, taking her straight to the bar and ordering her a gin and tonic without asking. Megan didn't care. He had the same and they stood warily eyeing each other and sipping.
"So,” he said. “Power transfer."
She nodded, her eyes scanning the room. Someone in this beautiful building was planning a very ugly crime. She'd never dealt with anything like this before, she thought, then stifled a laugh. So far this week she'd dealt with demons, zombies, fiends, and witches. Now a spot of good old-fashioned murder was making her nervous?
"What was Art Bellingham doing there?"
At least she knew Brian wasn't involved with him. She hadn't gotten much of Brian's thoughts or feelings, but she'd gotten enough to know that. “He's ... he's powerful, somehow. And he's been harassing me."
"I guess that's why he's been calling me, too."
"Is that why you asked about him?"
Brian nodded. “I'm a curious guy. Why, did you think I worked for him?"
"I wondered."
"I guess I can't blame you,” he said. “But I don't work for anyone but Tremple Media, Inc."
"Good.” She wanted to ask him more about it, but she didn't want to draw more attention to Bellingham, either. She changed the subject entirely. “See any candidates?"
"Did you get anything more from the guy? You said young, did you feel how young? Or anything about her at all?"
Megan shook her head. “Although ... he was thinking very specifically about her watch. Maybe it has some significance?"
"I don't know. I don't think people wear wristwatches to balls."
She looked down. “You are."
"Yes, but I'm just a reporter who doesn't know what's appropriate."
"Anyway. That's all I have. We should start looking. He's waiting for someone named Drew, or someone named Drew is going to help him. You might see if maybe you overhear that name, if you can't read someone for whatever reason."
Brian nodded. “This wasn't how I planned to spend the evening."
"Me neither.” Megan finished her drink and set it on the bar. “But at least it's something to do."
She turned and set off into the crowd, with Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud trailing after her.
* * * *
"Megan, Megan! Come over here. I've got some people I want you to meet.” Richard Randall, looking natty as ever in his tux, waved at her from near the stage.
"Megan Chase, this is Charles Dunne, the head of the station.” He kissed her cheek, and she knew he was hoping to schmooze Charles into giving him a raise tonight. “Charles, this is our little demon slayer."
Megan ignored her twinge of irritation and pasted a smile on her face as she offered her hand. “Lovely to meet you."
Charles Dunne was wondering if the hair below her belt was the same color as the hair on her head. Scumbag.
"It's a real pleasure for me, Megan,” he said. He glanced back at Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud, obviously dying to ask about them, but Megan pretended they weren't there. “We're all very excited about your show, and the ratings forecasts look great. Everyone's talking about you."
Yeah, I know. “I'm glad the station is pleased.” Who was that man standing behind him? The young man holding the arm of a woman whose face was stretched beyond humanity by plastic surgery?
"In fact, since you're already doing the Hot Spot story, we've gained some national interest. How do you feel about television?"
"Um ... I own one.” The man and his date walked back towards the bar. Megan searched the crowd as unobtrusively as possible for Brian or Greyson, anyone who knew what to look for.
Richard and Charles were both chuckling, but Richard's eyes bulged slightly. Right. Not so flippant.
"To be honest, I feel like the radio show is enough for right now, especially since I'm not giving up my practice."
"Why? Why bother with the tedium of seeing patients when you can go on the radio once a week, go on TV once a week, and make twice the money?” He named a figure that made Megan's own eyes bulge.
"Just for going on TV once a week?” No! I'm not interested!
"You'd be bringing the demon slayer to our local news station, doing call-ins there and also giving your opinion on current events. You know, what demons drive the president, for example, or why you think this or that Hollywood marriage won't work out."
Ah. Never mind. “It sounds interesting,” she lied, “but I don't think—"
"You don't have to answer now. Just think about it. Talk it over with Richard. How's your interview going this week, anyway? We're very excited about seeing you in Hot Spot!"
Radio Counselor: Murderer, Friend Of Demons. “It's going great.” She stretched her lips into a smile. “The reporter is a very nice man.” Who invaded my head forty-five minutes ago and saw me having sex.
"Excellent. You know, when Richard came to me with this idea, I wasn't too enthused, but he was right. You're a lovely little spokesgirl for us, a pretty fresh face to bring our image up-to-date."
She didn't need Richard's warning look, but she wasn't going to stand there any longer and be patronized, either. Think of the contract you signed, the iron-clad contract. “I'm glad I can be of service."
The man and his date appeared near where Greyson stood deep in conversation with two other men. If she hurried, she could head them off.
"If you'll excuse me, though? I think I see—someone I need to talk to. Nice meeting you, Charles."
Richard didn't look happy, but Megan ignored him and sped away, her skirts swirling around her feet. The brothers followed her like the shark in Jaws, cutting through the crowd.
"Greyson.” She stared at the man and woman. “Nice to see you again."
If the demon was surprised, he didn't show it, instead taking her hand and leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek.
Or rather, to scrape her earlobe softly with his teeth. She shivered. His breath puffed against her cheek as he chuckled. “Nice to see you, too,” he said. “Have you met Hunter Kyle and his lovely mother, Julia?"
"No, I haven't.” Megan shook hands, her heart falling into her stomach. She read them both, just to be sure, but this was not her killer and his planned victim. This was a very nice divorced man whose socialite mother could afford both being on the charity board and remaking her face out of rubbery space-age polymers.
They chatted for a few minutes. Megan tried not to be rude but her nerves wouldn't allow her to stand still for long.
Greyson squeezed her shoulder. “Let's dance."
"I don't think—” she started, but he'd already taken her hand and was leading her out onto the floor, where quite a few couples already took advantage of the orchestra.
He spun her towards him, his arm going around her waist and pressing her close. She rested her hand on his shoulder, more because it was expected than anything else. “I don't want to dance right now."
"Then you haven't been paying attention. Look around us."
Almost every couple dancing consisted of an older woman and a younger man.
"Gigolos,” Greyson murmured in her ear. This close, the scent of his skin overwhelmed her. Her nipples hardened. She hoped he wouldn't notice it, but she knew he would. “Kept men. Young trophy husbands. If you were going to kill your wife, would you spend the evening ignoring her, or would you make sure everyone saw you showing her a good time, dancing and laughing?"
She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before. “I guess I'm not very good at this,” she said, as he edged her closer to one of the couples.
"I'm sure you'll get better. Oh, terribly sorry!"
He'd bumped into one couple, just long enough for Megan to get a quick read on them both. Nope. Not him.
"I don't need to touch them,” she said. “And if you try to touch them all, people
will leave the floor awfully fast to get away from the klutz."
"I know you don't need to touch them, but touching makes it easier, doesn't it? So you aren't using as much energy, you aren't lowering your shields very far. That way it won't be as noticeable."
"Noticeable to whom?"
"I told you, my boss is here tonight. So are a lot of other ... people, for lack of a better term. I'd rather they not know about this little rescue mission of yours."
"Could it be one of them?"
"No. You can't read them."
"But when we did the power transfer—"
He shook his head. His dark eyes were just a few inches above hers, serious and deep. “You still couldn't read me, or the brothers. We should definitely be looking for a human."
"Okay, I'll touch instead of reaching with my mind, but you better be the one who looks stupid, not me."
"Oh, of course.” He danced her off to the left. Megan managed to brush against a few more people. No. No. No. She giggled.
"What?"
"That man is wondering if the reason his wife likes to dance so much is because she enjoys stepping on his feet,” she whispered.
Greyson smiled. “Get ready for a spin.” He flung her out to his right. Megan stretched her arm out, grinning as if she was doing nothing more than dancing rather foolishly, and managed to touch another man, who was cheating on his wife with one of the men who ran the charity. Sleazy, but not a killer. She shook her head as Greyson spun her back into his arms.
"I don't understand it,” she said. “I know what I heard. I know what he was planning to do."
"Maybe they left already."
"No. He said two hours. We should have at least another half hour before they go.” She started to let go of him, but his hands did not loosen their grip on her waist. “Come on,” she said, refusing to struggle. “I need to try to touch everyone else in the room."
The music stopped.
"This is important to you, isn't it? You need to do this."
She nodded. Of course it was. How could she just let someone die?
"Go ahead,” Greyson said. “Just open up and see what you can get."
"What about everyone knowing what I'm doing?"
He smiled and leaned forward. His lips barely brushed hers. “Read,” he said, and kissed her.
Megan lowered her shields, aiming behind towards the rest of the dancers and the back wall where people were standing, but she only managed to get a few jumbled impressions before she lost herself in Greyson's kiss.
Both his arms encircled her, pressing her to him. Some vague part of her mind remembered they were in the middle of a ballroom where her employers and his could see them. The rest of her didn't give a damn where they were or what was happening, because her lips parted and his tongue dove in to caress hers, sending sparks of pure heat along her every nerve ending. With his tongue came the odd sensation of him in her head, then a rush of power. He didn't seem to be reading her, but enveloping her, pressing himself into her mind and imprinting his energy on hers. His mouth caught her soft moan of surprise and pleasure. Her body hummed with his flames, flowing through her, pure and intense, free of thoughts.
His fingers curled into the soft fabric of her dress just at the juncture of skirt and bodice. His erection pressed against her, and all she could think, not too coherently, was how badly she wanted him. How the normally insensate space between her legs was on fire with need. How if it wouldn't mean career suicide and more press than she could imagine, she would let him lift her skirt and take her right here on the dance floor.
Somehow her arms were around his neck, her fingers entwining in his hair as he kissed her harder. This had never happened to her before. She'd never been with someone she couldn't read, someone who forced her to leave her head and focus on her body. And, oh god, her body felt good. His body felt even better.
He pulled away, his breath ragged. His left hand cradled her cheek, his thumb hard under her chin. “Let me take you home, Megan,” he said. “Let me make love to you.” His lips traveled up the side of her neck to her ear, where his tongue darted out to lick at her earlobe. “I've waited, god I've waited, don't make me beg."
The words sent a sharp thrill straight through her chest and down still lower. “It's only been a week,” she murmured, trying to keep her thoughts straight. It wasn't easy, especially when he pulled her earlobe between his teeth and sucked it gently.
"It feels like forever,” he said. “Megan ... please.” He shivered slightly, as if it was an effort to say the word. Maybe it was. All she knew was his shiver sent an answering one through her own body.
"We haven't stopped the killer,” she said.
"Brian can do it."
"Brian thinks you're a dick."
"I don't care. Don't change the subject.” Then, in a different voice, “Hi, Brian."
Megan jumped back and almost stumbled. Greyson caught her. “How did you manage to live as long as you have without losing a limb? You're the clumsiest woman I've ever met."
"Flatterer.” Things were back to normal, it seemed, but she knew this was different. The urgency of his voice, the feel of his hands on her skin ... there was no going back and he knew it as well as she did. A new possessiveness transmitted itself in the way his hands rested on her waist as he pulled her to stand in front of him, the way he pressed her to him. Something had changed in that kiss. She'd given in, though she hadn't spoken the words. Maybe she never would. The outcome would be the same.
Brian had the grace to color slightly. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but I think I've found the guy."
"That's great!” she said, a little louder and more enthusiastic than she'd meant to. “Where?"
"Over there, in the corner,” Greyson said. “The blond guy."
Megan did a double take. “How do you know?"
"I read him. Through you."
"What? I thought you could only force thoughts on people, but can't read them."
Brian stepped closer. “Yeah, what?"
"I'm not psychic,” Greyson said. “You and Megan are. If I make close physical contact, I can use your skills with my power behind it. I read the whole room."
Megan pulled away and glared at him. “You could have done that right from the start.” She glanced at Brian, who looked as though he'd like nothing more than to put his hands around Greyson's throat. “You made us spend the last hour frantically reading the entire crowd, tiring ourselves out, when all it took was physical contact with one of us?"
"Close physical contact,” he said, stepping nimbly to the left as a dancing couple threatened to mow him down. “Would you rather I'd kissed Brian? You weren't exactly in the mood earlier."
"I'm not in the mood now,” she snapped, pulling away. It was a complete lie. Her body still throbbed.
He cocked an eyebrow. Damn him. Could he read her? Being in the dark like that made her twitch. It was unsettling.
Then again, everything lately was unsettling. What was one more thing on top of it?
Chapter Twenty
"What do we do now?” Brian asked. “I mean, we can't exactly go to the police, right?"
Greyson gestured over to the near wall, where Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud lounged, looking like vaguely threatening grandpas.
"Wait a minute.” Megan stepped away to look Greyson in the face. “Why not hypnotize him?"
"I'm sorry?"
She glanced at Brian, trying to gauge his reaction. This didn't seem like the type of plan he would be in favor of, but she couldn't think of anything else—save Greyson having the brothers kill the man, which she thought he might be planning but which she wanted to avoid.
"Can't you—I mean, especially if Brian and I help—get into his head? Make him cancel the plan?"
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea,” Brian said, taking a step back.
Megan caught his sleeve. “What do you want to do, Brian, let somebody die? Isn't this the lesser of two evils?"
"I'm just w
orried about what would happen if we accidentally do another power transfer, Megan."
"Oh.” Nothing like running into the field with all guns blazing, only to find the enemy wanted to negotiate instead.
Greyson shook his head. “I'd rather not, Megan. It's one thing to use my power through you the way I did it, but if I do this here—"
"If you do this here, what? Someone's life is saved?"
"Why don't we just have the boys beat the shit out of him?"
"I should have known,” she said, turning away.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her a couple of steps away. “What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, you don't give a damn if this woman lives or dies, you don't give a damn what I want. I'm asking you to do one thing for me, Greyson, one little thing.” She knew this wasn't fair—he'd done plenty for her, whether by choice or by order of his boss or some other reason she didn't know yet, but she owed him her life. “Why won't you do it? Why should I do something for you, something with you, if you don't even care enough about me to save someone's life?"
He stared at her, then shook his head. “Okay,” he said, glancing over to his right. Megan looked, but didn't see anyone she recognized. “Okay, I'll do it. For you."
"Thanks.” She smiled at him.
He nodded, but did not return the smile. “Let's go, then."
He took her hand in a warm, firm grip and led her off the dance floor. Just as well, since she'd caught a few annoyed looks from people trying to actually dance.
"You guys wait by the—ah.” He stopped. They all stopped, like a halted army.
A tall, heavy-set man stood in front of them, a wide white grin on his tanned face. Power rested easily on his broad shoulders, but Megan felt no particular vibrations from it at all. Which meant he was probably Greyson's boss.
He shook Greyson's hand, covering it with both of his. The diamond pinky ring on his left hand glinted at Megan.
"Grey.” Wrinkles formed at the outside corners of his eyes as he smiled. He was older than he'd originally appeared; Megan looked closer and saw gray sprinkled through his jet-black hair, and patches of skin showing through the hair at his forehead. “I was looking for you."