Keri Arthur - Circle Of Death

Or was that merely cowardice speaking?

He touched her face, gently running a finger down to her lips. She resisted the urge to kiss his fingertips and moved her face away from the warmth of his touch. "This is neither the time nor the place, and I think we both realize that."

"But the minutes did pass by rather nicely, didn't they?" His voice was little more than a throaty growl and sent shivers of warmth running down her spine. "And you and I know it won't end here."

She glanced at him, more than a little scared by his words. Because deep down she knew what he said was true. As much as she might deny it, as much as common sense told her to go no further, she knew what had began here they would finish.

But what would happen afterwards? Surely a fire so quickly ignited would just as quickly be doused. It wouldn't last. Couldn't last.

Have fun and the future be damned, Helen would have said. Only she'd never been like Helen, as much as she'd tried. She couldn't disconnect her emotions from sex, couldn't have one without the other.

And the very fact that she was even thinking about such things when the man in question was very much a stranger scared the hell out of her.

"I can't play this game," she murmured, looking away again. "I just can't."

He touched her chin, gently bringing her gaze to his. "I never said it was a game, Kirby."

"But what else could it be? Once this case is solved, you'll be heading home, back to America, won't you?" He didn't disagree, just watched her with that all-too-knowing gaze of his. She pulled her chin from his grip. "You don't really want someone like me."

"You have no idea what I want."

Her gaze flashed to his. "That's right," she said, an odd surge of anger rushing through her, constricting her voice. "I don't. I know nothing about you, because you won't tell me. You want me to trust you, and yet you won't offer me the same."

"I have my reasons—" "Yeah, well, so have I. Now, let's get the hell off this balcony and out of here." Before she did something stupid—like give in to the desire to touch him again.

He studied her a second longer, then nodded. "Stay here." On hands and knees he moved back to the window. Pulling the sliver of metal from his pocket, he thrust it up between the windows, wriggling it around for several seconds. Then, as easy as that, he opened the window.

"Are you sure there are no alarms?" Surely it couldn't be that easy. Surely people wealthy enough to own a terrace in this part of Carlton would be wise enough to put in a security system.

"There's an alarm on the house two doors down from this one, and on the one three doors past Rachel Grant's. But there's nothing on the rest, which is why I retreated this way."

"Oh." He had to be a thief. Normal people didn't notice things like that. She certainly hadn't.

He climbed in through the window, then looked out. "You coming?"

She followed him through and looked around. She was oddly relieved to see it wasn't a bedroom, but some sort of sitting room. Antique looking furniture filled every corner, making the place look too crowded, too formal, for her liking.

"And mine," he said, catching her hand in his. "Come on, let's get out of here."

His fingers were warm against hers, the palms callused. Not what she'd expected the hands of a thief to be. "Won't the police question us when we leave?"

"They won't even see us if we do so quietly. We'll probably have to abandon the car for the moment, though."

"I don't think walking is a good idea." Especially if someone kept sending monsters after her.

He squeezed her fingers, then released them, working his magic on the deadlock barring their exit through the front door. He had it open in a minute flat.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Don't try to tell me you're a locksmith when you're not rescuing damsels in distress or tracking bad guys, because I just don't believe it."

He gave her that cheeky smile again, and her stomach did odd flip-flops. "You could say I've had a somewhat shady past. But it's all behind me, I promise."

"Yeah, it looks like it, too," she said dryly.

Smile widening, he placed a hand at her back, ushering her through the door. His touch burned into her skin, and for some reason, hurt. She frowned, flexing her shoulders, wondering what was wrong. Pain twinged, running down her spine like muted fire. Maybe she'd twisted something when the door had blown her off her feet. Maybe she hadn't felt anything until now because she'd been too scared for Doyle.

Or too aroused by him.

Swallowing the thought, she moved down the steps and into the street. A crowd had gathered around Rachel's gate, watching what was happening. An ambulance had pulled up, its lights still flashing as the two paramedics ran inside. But they were far too late to save Rachel—as she and Doyle had been far too late. She crossed her arms and shivered, remembering Helen's words. One more woman to go, and she had to save her. But how, when she couldn't even save herself? God, she was only here now because Doyle had rescued her.

His gaze swept her as he walked down the steps, flushing heat through her body. "Make it casual," he said and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they headed down the street.

"Where to now, Romeo?" she asked, voice tart. He might want casual, but right now, when her body still sung to the tune of his touch, casual was the last thing she wanted—or needed.

"Right now, we disappear into this mist and get as far away as we can. Then we catch a cab and head on over to the government facility that housed you and Helen."

She glanced up at him, startled. "Why?"

"Because the first victim, your friend, and you, all ended up in that place when you were eleven."

She frowned. "But that was years ago. What do you hope to find there now?"

He shrugged. "All I'm hoping to find at the moment is my friend, Russell, alive and unharmed."

She raised an eyebrow. If his friend was at the center at this hour, he obviously hadn't gotten in through any normal means. "He's a thief, too?"

"No. Actually, he's a vampire."

She stopped and stared at him. "A vampire?"

He glanced behind them, then nudged her forward again. "Yes. Vampire's aren't all bad, you know."

They weren't? She blinked several times. Lord, it was hard enough to believe vampires were real, let alone the fact that some of them were actually on the side of the angels. "But… they have to drink blood to survive. How can he be good?"

"He doesn't take human blood."

"So he dines on animals?" Somehow, she found that even worse.

He glanced down at her, an eyebrow raised. "You eat meat, chicken, and fish, don't you? What's the difference?"

He sounded so darn logical it was annoying. "But I don't actually kill them. They come in ready-to-eat pieces all wrapped in plastic. I don't have to think about where it comes from."

"Russ doesn't kill them, either. And it's mainly cows and horses he takes from."

"Oh." She wasn't entirely sure if that made her feel any better about meeting this friend of his. She frowned. "If he's a vampire, how did he get into the center? Don't vampires have a restriction when it comes to crossing thresholds? Or is that all a load of Hollywood tripe?"

"Tripe?" He grinned. "Now, there's an expression I'll have to use back home."

Right then, she didn't particularly want to think about him leaving her, let alone going back home to America and whatever life he had back there. She slapped him lightly in the stomach. "Just answer the damn question."

"Yes ma'am." He guided her across the street and into the park. "When the threshold in question is private—a home, for instance—the vampire can't cross it without invitation. But if the threshold is public—say, an office, hospital, or supermarket—then the vampire can cross as easily as anyone else."