Deadly Desire (Riley Jenson Guardian 7)

"Can I ask a question?" he said after a while, his voice several tones huskier than normal.

So much for being unaffected. "You can ask anything you want. Whether I answer is another matter."

What those strange bulges under your bodice, or is that a trade secret?

I smiled. A woman has to keep her holy water somewhere close and safe, because you just never know when another hellhound is going to pop out at her.

He snorted softly. You really are a most intriguing woman, Riley Jenson. It's a shame you work for who you do.

And why is that? I shook loose one of the scarves and tossed it lightly at his face.

He caught it with a smile, his nostrils flaring as he drew in the scents on it. Because you and I would make a rather good team.

No, we wouldn't. Were totally different.

We're both killers, Riley, whether you like to admit it or not.

That may be true, but I kill to save others. You kill for profit.

You kill because you like the kill. Admit it.

I kill because I've learned the hard way that others suffer or die if I don't, I don't deny I enjoy the chase, but the kill? Never.

I don't believe you. You re too good at what you do for it not to be enjoyable.

I opened my mouth to refute his statement, but the words never came out because the room suddenly got colder.

Colder in an all too familiar way.

Goose bumps raced up my arms and I looked away from Kye, my gaze doing a sweep of the room. There was no smoke, no insubstantial wisps, hiding in any of the corners, and yet there was no mistaking the fierce chill that suddenly rode the air.

There was a soul here somewhere, and it wanted to speak.

"What the fuck?" Kye said, his head suddenly whipping toward the right corner.

There was no soul to be seen there, yet it did seem to be the main source of the chill.

But how the fuck was he sensing it?

I glanced at him sharply, briefly stopping the dance then forcing myself to keep going as I remembered the watching cameras. What do you feel?

I don't know. He frowned. It feels like death. Cold, cold death.

And he should know, having dished it out often enough.

How the fuck are you feeling that? I wanted to grab him and shake him-hard-and finally get some answers out of the damn man. He wasn't clairvoyant-hell, he even admitted to not being telepathic-and yet here he was, telepathic one day and clairvoyant the next. He might be listed as having no psychic talent, but something sure as hell was going on. And maybe, just maybe, I knew what it was. Have you got some weird ability to siphon the talents of others?

He glanced at me, and though his expression had suddenly gone blank, he gave a short, sharp nod. Tell me what I'm-we're-sensing.

Tell me the fuck about your talent, I snapped back. Just how far does it extend?

He didn't answer. I clenched, then unclenched my fist. Tell me, Kye, or I will call in the Directorate and get your ass thrown in jail And trust me, it wouldn't even blow this operation wide open, because the Directorate has guardians who can seize control of every man and woman in this place, regardless of whether they were wearing wires or not. And they wouldn't even remember it.>A smile flirted with his lips, then he glanced past me. "There's a table available over there." He nodded toward the locked and guarded side door. It wasn't the only spare table, of course, but it best suited our purpose. "How about we take that?"

"Perfect." I tucked my arm through his, letting my hips brush against his as we walked. Tension rose between us-all sexual-until it fairly crackled.

The guard didn't even look at us as we stopped at the table. His scent said he was human, so he wouldn't overhear any conversations as long as we kept it low.

Like all the other guards in this place, he was wearing a wire, but there was also what looked to be a small two-way radio hanging around his ear. Every now and again he'd murmur something, and the camera would react by moving.