LITMIR.BIZ

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that wouldn’t.

      His grip didn’t ease. “I’m not concerned about an hour from now. I’m concerned about now. And why you haven’t activated the second amulet. The one that should be planted on your friend Ian Scott.”

      “How—” But Ana didn’t finish the question. She squeezed her eyes closed in understanding. “The car. The working Ian felt. That was someone checking up on me?”

      “An entirely necessary precaution, it would seem,” he said, and gave her a little shake before releasing her with a disdainful flick of his fingers. He turned away, withdrawing a folded handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his fingers.

      “But he’s an AmTech. He felt it. He knows we’re here—”

      “That was always a risk.” Lerche snapped the words. The modicum of security she’d gained at his distance evaporated. “Entirely on your shoulders, Ana dear. If you were trustworthy, we wouldn’t have risked exposure. As it is, it seems we had good reason.”

      “I just need a little more time!” she cried, trying and failing to soften the resentment threading her plea. She scrambled to find the right words, hoping to distract him. “He’s more sensitive about amulets than we thought—and besides, if I plant it on the wrong item of clothing, the amulet could sit in a closet for days.”

      “You’re cozy enough with him,” Lerche said, tucking the handkerchief away and squaring the lapels of his suit. “Carry the activated amulet on your person until you can make that decision.”

       But I—

      This time she managed to keep the words to herself—a protest at her loss of privacy would not be well received. It might even make him realize that such concern had caused her to delay in the first place.

      She’d wanted to talk to Ian Scott without being overheard. She’d wanted to connect with him her own way.

      Although she’d never expected to connect with him at all. Or to relax behind him on the motorcycle, clasping his hips as if such closeness was a familiar thing, or to respond so strongly to his presence.

      To his touch.

       Snow leopard.

      Surely she should have been frightened. More than just nervous and unfamiliar, but downright terrified of what he was and of what she’d seen him do.

       Snow leopard.

      And yet he’d been gentle with her. He’d been respectful. He’d been careful. And he’d allowed every decision to be hers.

      Not that she’d truly had a choice. The Core demanded of her to do this thing—to get close to him, to plant spy amulets on him, to learn of him what she could.

      You could have said no. In her heart, she knew that. No, don’t kiss me. No, don’t touch me that way.

      If she’d wanted.

      Lerche’s voice was a silky thing, all the more dangerous for it. “What are you thinking, my little Ana?”

      “About the best way to do what you’ve asked.” As if there was any other answer.

      His hand flashed out to pat her cheek—nigh on close to a slap, and enough to rock her head, jarring her vision. “You betray yourself, Ana. I haven’t asked you to do anything. I’ve told you what you’ll do.”

      She covered her burning cheek. “Of course,” she said, and hated that her voice wasn’t quite steady. “I misspoke.”

      He eyed her coldly enough so she knew she wouldn’t be forgiven that easily. “It’s fortunate for you that we don’t have the time to bring someone else up to speed on this operation. See that you do better this evening. Wear the amulet yourself until you have the opportunity to plant it to our advantage.”

      “Yes,” she said, forcing herself to drop her hand and stand straight but not facing him directly. Not a hint of confrontational body language. “Of course I will.”

      He smiled in tight satisfaction. The kind of smile that said he knew he was better than she was, that he was entitled to more respect than she was, that he was in control of his own destiny in ways she would never be. “I’ll be watching.”

      Only after he’d gone did she allow herself to explore her hot cheek and tender jaw, and wonder whether he’d gone so far that bruises would bloom beyond what she could hide with casual makeup.

      First step, an ice pack. She dumped ice into a zipper storage bag and wrapped it in a thin towel, curling up on the couch while she did the things that would calm her—thinking only of the cool relief of the ice and soft cushions of the couch and the quiet of this place. Reminding herself what the Sentinels were and why she did this—and of how much of that Sentinel other she could see in Ian at any given time.

      Of how easily he’d killed a man the week before.

      But somehow, as she dozed off, her thoughts wandered back to the forest that week earlier when Ian had heard the hiker’s peril. The way he’d bounded forward without hesitation. The way he’d flowed from one form to another, surrounded by a cloud of stunningly beautiful energies. How he’d done it for a stranger—and what would he do for one of his own?

      What would it be like to be with someone who cared that much?

      She didn’t heed Lerche’s voice in her head, so scornful that she’d already forgotten Ian’s true reasons for what hadn’t been a rescue at all—the excuse to turn loose his beast, a thing so fearsome that it had turned on the man he should have been saving.

      She thought instead of being allowed choices, and of respect, and of how deeply he’d responded to her without the hint of a harsh touch.

      She didn’t mean to fall so completely asleep with Ian on her thoughts, but she did. She woke an hour later with her jaw stiff and her body humming in memory of gentle hands and skillful mouth. She froze, making sure of herself—am I still alone?

      Silence. A clock ticking. A brief flurry of birds outside.

      No, Lerche hadn’t returned. Nor had anyone else made themselves at home here. Slowly, she unwound from her dreams, from the sensations.

      From the fantasy of being loved.

      And then she drew herself up and headed to the kitchen, dumping the bag of melted ice in the sink and heading to the bathroom to freshen up. Her cheek was no longer red, and she thought it wouldn’t bruise at all. Her jaw was a different story—pale impressions from Lerche’s fingers with the bruising coming up between them.

      She pulled out her makeup bag.

      * * *

      Ana had an hour before Ian arrived. It was long enough to ply her skills with powder and brush, and to dim the bright reflected sunshine of a late afternoon in the fall—angling the blinds, drawing the shades. She set the table so the remaining light would fall on his face and not hers, placing a half-full glass of iced tea as a casual claim to the correct seat.

      She might not have worried at all. When she opened the door to him, take-out bags in hand, she found an entirely different man than the one with whom she’d spent the morning. This one looked worn and pale and pained, and just a little bit baffled. She instantly forgot her concerns about hiding her bruises. She even forgot her mixed feelings about putting herself in the hands of a Sentinel for the evening—one who had been perfectly appropriate during their very public afternoon ride, but who might now reveal another side of himself.

      “Ian!” she said. “You look—” and then stopped herself. She’d learned that mentioning someone else’s condition tended to draw scrutiny to herself, and she didn’t want that.

      Besides, “You look terrible” didn’t seem like a great opening for the evening.

      But Ian just laughed, low as it was. “I do look terrible,”

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