Darkness Rising (Dark Angels 2)

Still, it made me wonder if the nanowire would work against him.

“How did you discover who Handberry was supposed to meet with?”

He smiled. “A good investigator never reveals his sources, but I will note that it cost me a crate of very expensive champagne.”

My cheeks dimpled. “I shall repay in kind, if you like.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice suddenly lower and a whole lot sexier, “I intend to extract their worth in another way entirely.”

That curl of heat in my belly got stronger. I grinned. “That could take more time than either of us has in our schedule.”

“Which only makes the thought all the more delectable.”

The man was incorrigible. And insatiable. Not that I was quibbling about either. “So who was he?”

“His name is Ike Forman. According to my source, he’s a thug with pretensions. He has a very upper-class attitude, but he fights dirty.”

Upper-class …

Excitement rolled through me. It sounded very much like the man the panther had described.

Meaning I more than likely had a name for the next person up the ladder—and was one step closer to discovering who the hell was sending these things after me.

Chapter Five

“I TAKE IT FROM YOUR EXPRESSION THAT THE name means something to you?” Lucian said.

“The name, no. It’s just that one of the half-shifters used very similar terms to describe their new handler. I’m betting it’s not a coincidence.”

“More than likely not,” he agreed. “I gather this means the half-shifters have attacked you again?”

“Yes. Did your source say anything else about Forman?”

“Not really. I simply asked if he knew anything about Handberry, as he represents the sort of clients that Handberry would associate with. Forman was the only name he could suggest.”

“If Forman has upper-class pretensions, why would he associate with someone like Handberry?”

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask Forman when you find him.”

“So you couldn’t get an address for the man?”

“No, but I daresay you’re resourcefu

l enough to get that information yourself.”

“I daresay I am.” Or, at least, Stane was.

“They’re calling my flight. I’ll see you in the morning?”

“You will.”

“And you’d better wear something you don’t value,” he warned, his eyes glowing, “because I have every intention of tearing it off you the minute we are alone.”

“I like the sound of that.”

He laughed, blew a kiss, and hung up, leaving me grinning like a fool as I fired up my bike and drove over to Stane’s.

I parked on a side street off West Street, away from Stane’s computer shop and well out of sight of any foot traffic coming from the Phoenix. Given the condition of Stane’s storefront, it was obvious that the club’s patrons didn’t mind doing a bit of damage as they stumbled home.