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  She smiled. “Or a Bloody Harry?”

  He glided toward her. Settling on the bed next to her, he held out the glass. “Would you accept?”

  The drink already moving toward her lips, she paused. “What?”

  “A Bloody Harry.”

  Unsure exactly what he was asking and afraid to guess, she pressed the glass to her lips and took a sip. She covered her confusion by placing her fingers against her damp mouth. “Delicious.”

  “Yes.” His gaze locked onto her, but he said nothing further.

  Even more flustered, she took another drink. “Really. This is the best Bloody Mary I think I’ve ever had. You should bottle them. Sell them in bulk.” The statement was inane, especially considering the wild lovemaking they’d shared the night before, but his question still made her nervous. Suddenly aware of her nudity, Lindsey pulled the sheets more securely around her and inched her body backward until her spine hit the headboard.

  A strange look passed over Harry’s face, but it was gone before Lindsey could discern its meaning.

  “I don’t think the world is ready for Bloody Harrys to go mainstream.”

  It was a strange comment, one she didn’t know how to respond to. She gave a nervous laugh and then shook the glass, causing the ice cubes inside to clink. “Well, this explains the line each night.” Falling further and further into awkwardness, she licked her lips and dropped her gaze.

  He took her now empty glass from her hand; again the ice cubes clinked. “Yes, I suppose it does.” He tipped the glass back and forth a few more times. “Last night. You didn’t tell me what happened. Brett found you outside the building, passed out.”

  She wanted to tell him about Karin but couldn’t shake the memory of her cousin’s voice in her head, telling her not to trust Harry. “I was going to meet Emilie—” She stopped, her hand moving to her mouth. “I stood her up.”

  “Emilie came in the bar after Brett found you. She knows you weren’t feeling well.”

  Lindsey lowered her hand. “That’s good.” She didn’t want Emilie to think she’d blown her off. Of course, if Lindsey had gone with Karin, the outcome would have been the same, but Lindsey hadn’t made that decision. The choice had been taken from her. Remembering the pricking feeling at her neck, she frowned. And a hand. Had there been a hand?

  “So is that it? You were just walking and passed out? Nothing else?” Harry’s questions jerked her out of her thoughts.

  She hesitated. She wasn’t sure herself what had happened. She’d met Karin, walked with the children and…the man who had stared at her when she was on the balcony. Was his the hand she’d felt?

  Karin’s face, Lindsey’s own face, flashed through her mind. Harry betrayed you.

  “Lindsey?”

  Trying to dislodge the uneasy feelings swarming around her, she shook herself. “There was a fight…on the street. A woman screamed.” She couldn’t tell him more, not until she sorted out what had happened herself and why Karin had warned her against him.

  “Yes, I heard about that.”

  Lindsey’s head shot up. “Did you hear? Was she…anyone hurt?”

  Harry’s gaze seemed to dissect her. He paused as if waiting for her to say something more. “No, no one was hurt. In fact, by the time the police arrived, there was no one around who had been actually involved in the fight. Did you see someone? The police might like to know if you did.”

  Lindsey hesitated. She hadn’t seen anything, and thus had nothing of value to share with the police. Plus, there was still Karin’s parting plea.

  Harry did seem to trust Rodrigue, and after speaking with Emilie, Lindsey had to believe the mysterious man was responsible in some way for her cousin’s disappearance.

  Perhaps that was what Karin was worried about, that Harry would reveal something to the other man.

  All boiled down, sharing the information she had wouldn’t help Karin, and if her cousin was right, it might harm her.

  She pulled in a breath and answered, “I didn’t see anyone. It just sounded like it was bad. I…panicked. That must have caused me to faint.” She didn’t look at Harry to see if he bought her response; she couldn’t.

  “Do you remember seeing Brett?”

  She frowned, then shook her head. Brett must have come by later. Which made her wonder how long she’d been out on the sidewalk.

  Harry placed his hand over hers. “Well, luckily, he was nearby. He carried you here and called me.”

  “I was near the bar.” And her own apartment. Why hadn’t Brett taken her there?

  As if reading her mind, Harry replied, “He didn’t want you to wake alone, and my apartment is close.”

  The last surprised her. She looked up. “Really?”

  Worry flickered behind his eyes. “Next door, actually. The entrance is hard to see.”

  “Next door?” There was nothing next door to her apartment. The only thing outside her door was a landing.

  Harry studied her for a moment; then he leaned forward so his lips almost touched hers. His breath smelled of mint. Her eyelids fluttered.

  “Right next door. I’m sorry I hadn’t told you before. I tend to be private.”

  She opened her eyes. His gaze was soft, and to her surprise, the worry was back. She placed her palm against his cheek. “I understand private.”

  For a second, he didn’t move; then, suddenly, without warning, he stood and walked across the room. “If you have time today, there’s something I want to show you—a hobby of mine that I hope you’ll enjoy.”

  Then he was gone, and Lindsey was left alone, unsure if she was expected to dress and leave, or what?

  A hobby? What type of hobby could Harry have? She couldn’t imagine him collecting stamps or painting or any of the other things people normally meant when they said hobby.

  But his statement meant he wanted to spend more time with her. That was enough to get Lindsey to her feet and to pull on her clothes.

  o0o

  An hour later, Lindsey stood in a completely padded room.

  Earlier, Harry had escorted her to a door off his kitchen which lead to the landing next to her apartment and told her he’d meet her back in fifteen minutes.

  Once he’d closed the door behind him, she’d stood staring at what appeared to be a blank wall. Even knowing the opening was there, she’d had a difficult time identifying the door’s outline. Molding had been used to cover all cracks; even the hinged side of the door had some kind of flexible strip over it that folded back when opened and snapped back into place when closed.

  She’d never seen anything like it.

  And the fact that it existed, that Harry felt the need to hide the entrance to his residence this completely, had disturbed her—reminded her once again of Karin’s words of warning.

  But, with little time to analyze anything before Harry was to return, she’d shaken off the unease and gone inside her apartment, where she’d donned pull-on shorts and a jog top with a built-in bra.

  Harry had told her to dress as simply as she could. She glanced down at the bleach-marked shorts. You couldn’t get much simpler than this.

  He entered the room carrying a stick, a big stick. With no explanation, he tossed it across the ten feet that separated them. She immediately jumped to the side. The stick, or, more accurately, a limb torn recently from some unfortunate tree, landed with a thud only a few inches shy of hitting her. Bits of bark and dust flew into the air.

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and stared in disbelief at the missile. What exactly was Harry’s hobby, and why in the hell did he want to share it with her?

  Harry stalked forward. Unlike her, he was dressed in his normal apparel, suit pants and a cotton dress shirt. He had, however, for the occasion loosened his tie. His shiny black shoes stopped just short of the fallen limb. She could only stare at them and wonder what the hell alternate reality she had fallen into.

  “The goal is to catch it.” He picked up the limb and returned to his starti
ng point.

  This time when he chucked it, she was ready. She spun out of its range, managing to put a good two feet between her and the object.

  Harry frowned. “You need to catch it. Then we can begin.”

  She widened her eyes. “This is your hobby?”

  “No.” He walked back to the limb and picked it up again. “Survival is my hobby, and I’m trying to teach it to you.”

  “Survival,” she murmured, grasping for what exactly he meant.

  He stood the limb on its end and stared at her. “Are you ready?”

  Shaking her head, she held up both hands. “I can’t catch that. It must weigh twenty pounds and it’s…pointed.” And dirty and completely insane—the action, not the stick, but perhaps the man.

  “On the street, you have to use whatever tool you can find. I could have brought better weapons, but the odds that a three-foot-long saber or even a reasonably heavy-duty baselard will just be lying around are highly unlikely.”

  “And I would care about this risk because?”

  “Because, obviously, you are at risk. You were attacked once and close to the fight yesterday. Brett had told me I needed to do more to prepare you, and he was right. Now catch.” The limb sailed toward her.

  This time the thing almost struck her. She hopped out of the way, then jumped again when it crashed beside her.

  Harry twisted his lips to the side. She caught a flash of disapproval, and then, before she could register anything else, he had moved. He was almost instantaneously standing beside her, the limb once again in his hands.

  “Jump,” he yelled.

  “What—” she started to argue, but from the corner of her eye she saw the limb move. Again it was hurtling toward her, but this time it was guided by Harry’s hand.

  She didn’t curse and didn’t run. She didn’t have time. She jumped.

  The limb sailed smoothly through the air beneath her curled legs.

  “Good! Duck!”

  The limb moved again, this time slicing through space in a trajectory straight for her head. She jerked to the side, and the limb whooshed past her.

  “Excellent! Jump!”

  Harry repeated his crazed attack in quick succession until Lindsey was heaving for breath and sweat rolled down her chest.

  She held up one hand. “Enough.” She wanted out of the room, had wanted out of the room for some time, but Harry’s rapid-fire attack had given her no opening to leave. “I…appreciate you sharing with me, but I think I’ve had enough.”

  He lowered the limb, and she inhaled a relieved breath. “I appreciate you wanting to keep me safe. But I really don’t think, even armed, I could have fought off that teen the other night too much longer. He was young, male and strong—” And he’d been intent on killing her. A shiver passed over her.

  Dropping the limb, Harry took a step forward. “You are young and strong. Stronger than you know.”

  His gaze penetrated her, and for a second, she couldn’t move—for a second, she believed him. Then she laughed. “I’m just me—a five-foot-one couch potato.”

  His lips thinned; then he held out one hand. “Humor me. Try to learn a few things. What else do you have to do today?”

  It was a fair question, and the answer, Lindsey realized, was nothing. She could roam the streets to see if anyone saw Karin after Lindsey had passed out, but chances were good that would accomplish nothing.

  And Harry was right. She had been attacked, and unknown to him, more than once. Perhaps she’d escaped somehow, but when she was on the street with Karin, someone had grabbed her from behind. Perhaps that person had seen Brett coming, or perhaps once she fainted, she’d been no threat, but she’d still been assaulted, more than once.

  Rejecting Harry’s offer of some self-defense training would be stupid.

  She nodded and prepared to be attacked again.

  The next few hours passed quickly. Harry tossed her the limb, and she caught it. He lunged toward her, and she dodged. He swung at her head, and she bobbed out of his reach. She moved and she evaded, but she didn’t take an offensive stance herself.

  “Here.” He held a dull-tipped training blade toward her. “Stab me—in the heart.”

  Her gaze locked onto the weapon. Even with its dulled tip, it looked deadly. “No,” she responded.

  “Yes.” He grabbed her hand and forced her fingers to curl around the knife’s handle. It was heavy and warm from Harry’s touch. He wrapped his hand around her wrist and guided it to where his heart lay beating beneath his skin. “The heart. Always aim for the heart.”

  “But—” She hadn’t taken a self-defense course before, but she was fairly certain the usual line of defense was not piercing the attacker in the heart. “Don’t I just want to disable him and get away? Then I can scream or call 911.”

  “There is no disabling. If given the chance, you have to go for the kill.” Harry’s voice was cold and foreign-sounding, as if it came from some part of him she didn’t know, had never met. Again Karin’s warning shot through her memory, but again, she shook it off. Harry was teaching her to protect herself. If she had anything to fear from him, he wouldn’t be.

  “Will you remember that?” he asked.

  Her body cold, she nodded. She didn’t know that she could do it. History said she couldn’t, but confessing that to Harry would only get her an argument and more training.

  “Good.” He emphasized his point one last time by pulling her hand and the blade it held against his breast bone. “Here. One steady drive down with your hand. Don’t think about what you are doing. Just do it.”

  “Are we done?” She was. The talk of attacks and killing had left her drained. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and pull the covers up over her head.

  He stared down at her. Then, with a sigh, he brushed her hair back from her face. “You have the night off. You have the next two nights off.”

  Two nights. She could use the break, but with her new relationship with Harry, she didn’t want to step on any toes. Besides, she still needed money. She expressed both.

  “No one will question why you aren’t working, and you have the apartment, food, clothes. What else do you need?”

  Nothing, but living off Harry’s largesse felt wrong. “I need to pay for myself.”

  “You’ve had a rough few days. You were attacked in my building, and you aren’t suing. Consider it repayment for that.”

  “Hazard pay?” She smiled.

  He tilted her chin up so her gaze met his. “Something like that. Trust me, you deserve it.” Then he lowered his lips to hers, and all thought she had of arguing flew from her mind.

  o0o

  An hour later, Lindsey rolled over in her own bed and stared at the now empty glass on her bedside table. After a relaxing post-workout massage, of sorts, from Harry, he had mixed her the drink, walked her back to her apartment, and tucked her into her bed. She’d fallen asleep almost instantly, but awoken just as quickly only a few seconds earlier.

  Something or someone was calling her. It was a strange thought, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was true. Something tickled at her brain, urging her to do something…go outside.

  She frowned. She was still so tired. She only wanted to sleep, but the nagging tickle refused to go away. In fact, each time she closed her eyes, it got stronger.

  Finally, deciding there was no beating the feeling down, she lowered her feet to the floor, picked up the glass, and walked into the main living area. There she paused.

  Maybe the voice was her own subconscious, reminding her of something she’d forgotten. Something obviously important.

  The only thought that came to mind was her cousin. Lindsey needed to find her and tell her about Harry. Tell her that she could trust Harry, that if Rodrigue had done something to Karin, Harry would help her.

  On the surface, the task didn’t seem that important, but her mind refused to settle, and soon her body joined the battle. She pace to and fro in the small spac
e until she was sure she would wear a line into the expensive antique carpet.

  Finally, deciding there was no help but to answer the call, she drained the last bit of liquid from the glass and left the apartment.

  Her feet heavy and her mind fuzzy, she stumbled down the stairs. At the door, she paused again. Stay inside.

  Harry had told her that before he left. She frowned at the idea. It seemed ridiculous now, especially when weighed against the almost pounding need to find Karin.

  Still though, she couldn’t quite make herself open the door. She raised her hand and then pulled it back. Raised it again and then turned to return to her bed.

  It was as if two very distinct and equally strong forces were battling for control of her actions. Finally, she could take it no more. She rushed forward, grabbed the door, and threw her body out onto the sidewalk. The concrete was cool under her palms, but the air was warm. She breathed in, and immediately the tug-of-war stopped, as if a rope jerking her back and forth had snapped.

  She’d made the right choice.

  She needed to find Karin, and she needed to do it now.

  o0o

  Harry strode into the bar. It was early, and Brett was alone, his Red Wing boots propped onto a table and a book in his hands.

  “Call Emilie. I need to talk to her.”

  Brett arched his brows and lowered his feet to the ground. “A bit early for the duchess, isn’t it?”

  “Lindsey is upstairs in her room, but I don’t want to leave her alone too long.”

  “You left her alone?”

  Brett’s disapproval was obvious.

  “I gave her this.” Harry pulled a vial from his pocket and placed it on the table. “Twice the amount I gave her before. It would knock out a human twice her size.”

  Brett twisted his lips to the side. “Nice.”

  “Necessary,” Harry replied. “Now get Emilie on the phone.” And he strode back to his office. The female vampire had done her part before. She deserved to know that. But it also hadn’t been enough. He was going to need her help again. She had ties—old ones, but still ties, to Rodrigue’s most trusted lieutenant.

  Harry needed her to call in those connections, and soon.