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Humor lit in Scott’s canine eyes. He nuzzled my arm again, then leapt down from the strange bed.

Instead of Scott’s king-sized, rumpled satin sheets,, I lay wrapped in scratchy cotton. Clean, but still scratchy.

I frowned. “Where—”

Magic snapped through the air. Scott stretched his naked, now-human form and settled on the edge of the bed. “In one of our safe houses. One only Da and I know about.”

“Why—” I rolled my eyes at my own dimwittedness, pushing myself to a sitting position. “That building was locked down tight as Fort Knox. Magically warded out the wazoo.”

“Exactly.”

“Which means. .

“Someone betrayed us.”

I winced. If that was true, then he was related to the traitor. Only Murphy relatives dwelled in that building. Mostly Scott’s siblings, with a few cousins and in-laws tossed in. Surely it was one of the less savory in-laws. None of the blood relatives would ever even
think
about betrayal. Murphys stuck together through thick and thin. Kinda like cockroaches.

My body tensed when I thought about my own family. “Con and her parents?”

“Are in another safe house with Elle and Mac. I know you don’t like her, but she’ll keep them safe.

She’s become one of the best mercs we have.”

And, someday, I
really
wanted to hear how
that
came about. I forced my body to relax, releasing the breath I’d been holding. If Elliana were a part of the plot against me, she’d had plenty opportunity to betray me at the morgue. Besides, someone as cool as Mac would never have married a
complete
bitch.

Figuratively and literally speaking. “So, what do you think our next step should be?”

He did a double take. “Whoa, wait.
You’re
asking
me
what step to take next? Maybe that poison did more damage than we thought.”

I lobbed a pillow at him. “Hardy-har, funny man. Don’t suppose we’re near a Starbucks?”

“As it just so happens, there’s a Starbucks right across the street.”

Which meant the safe house wasn’t in the Belly. Mortal chains had not yet gotten the courage to move into the arcane zones of big cities. Eventually, though, their love of profit would outweigh their fear of the big bad magical types.

“Clothes?”

He jerked a hand toward an empty doorway. “Kiara packed you some stuff she thought would fit.”

I wiggled off the bed, feeling his eyes on me. I knew, without looking, that his eyes watched my every move. Lusting. Just as it should be, since my skin tingled just about any time I caught sight of his naked body.

I sauntered into the small, attached bathroom and closed the door with a thump.
The better to make him
wonder, my dear.
Once the door snicked shut behind me, I leaned back against the door and exhaled with the force of pent-up emotion. Longing so fierce it made my hands clench. The worst part of
that,
though, was that I didn’t even know exactly what I longed for. Not to go back and rewrite his tory. Even if Furies had that ability (which we didn’t), Scott and I were both different people now. And I liked myself just fine, thank you very much. Thorns and barbed wire and all.

Though gods knew I was sick and tired of feeling so damned lonely all the time. Sure, Scott had never told me he loved me back then, but things had been good between us—both in and out of bed. Other than the whole putting family-ahead-of-everything-else thing.

I shook my head and crossed the clean but uninspiring room to find whatever clothes Kiara had managed to scrounge up for me. Time enough to figure out what the hell—if anything—was bubbling up between Scott and me later. Right now, I had things to do and asses to kick. A large duffel bag sat on top of a battered hamper. I opened it, shuffling to put together an outfit. Though I
could
shift form and wear the magical uniform that came with the whole Fury gig, that would make me stick out like a sore thumb, seeing as how half of Boston had to be looking out for the city’s missing Chief MI. Besides, one gets tired of tight red leather after a while. Great for hiding bloodstains and looking badass, not so practical for everyday wear.

I set my selections on the chipped tile counter. I looked haggard in the fluorescent glow of the ugly seventies light fixture. Exhausted. I made a face, turning away from the not-so-pleasing sight.

The narrow, half-rusted shower stall beckoned, but I hesitated after cranking up the hot water.
Come
on.
It’s not like a Harpy’s gonna bust in again. Not with Scott keeping watch in the next’ room.
I gritted my teeth and stepped inside, closing the clear door behind me, keeping my back to the shower wall and my eyes wide open.

Ten minutes later I entered the small apartment’s even smaller kitchen, feeling slightly ridiculous in the hot-pink, too-tight T-shirt with the phrase
Hot Stuff
scrawled across my chest At least the jeans were modest enough, just a touch too loose in the waist and flaring slightly at the legs.

Scott glanced up from the table, pausing in the act of sharpening a long, wicked sharp blade. “Nice shirt.”

I rolled my eyes. “You should see the socks. At least everything fits. Mostly.”

He flicked his wrist, and the blade disappeared somewhere inside the long trench he’d donned while I dressed. Amazing how many of those things he could hide all over his body: Though I suspected Warhound magic had something to do with it.

“So, I was thinking. .

I waved my hand. “Coffee first, thinking second.”

He grinned. “That was part of what I was thinking. We can shoot you up with caffeine on the way to see a friend of mine. One I think can help.”

I channeled Fury magic, modifying my features enough so others wouldn’t recognize me, but vanity refused to let me go so far as to become the mousy brown-haired woman I usually became. This time I opted for reddish-blond hair, light green eyes, and increasing my bust a full cup size. Just to see if he noticed. “Tell me about this friend
after
we get coffee.”

Laughter followed me into the dingy living room and out the apartment. Magic brushed against my skin when I crossed the threshold. Good, tight wards that had obviously been done by a pro. The Murphys may have chintzed on the luxury factor of this safe house, but no dime had been spared in magically securing it.

Scott wisely waited until I’d sucked down my first double shot of caffeine pick-me-up before resuming his earlier train of thought. The way his eyes kept wandering downward clued me in to the fact that he most definitely
had
noticed. “I know someone in the Bureau.”

My fingers clenched on the untouched coffee cup while I tossed the other in a corner trash can. “As in the
Federal
Bureau? As in the same feds who could be trying to kill me?”

“Chill. Harper’s straight as can be. Trust me. Besides, I doubt the FBI is involved with whatever secret agency is running the illegal cloning program. No way they could keep that under wraps very long. Plus, Harp’s not an actual agent. She’s a consultant specializing in arcane gangs. Her list of contacts is impressive. If anyone can help us narrow down where in Western Mass to start looking, it’s her.”

Something in his voice sounded odd, but I let it pass. Probably my overcaffeinated imagination.

“She meeting us somewhere other than Fed Central?”

“Yeah, outside Faneuil Hall.”

“You already called?”

“Yeah, while you showered.” He nudged me toward a subway station, the preferred mode of transportation for most people in Boston, whether arcane or mundane.
Much
cheaper than maintaining a car in the city. Parking cost a freaking arm and a leg. The T also came in handy for slipping around the city anonymously, a damned handy thing during investigations since Furies tended to stand out big-time in the daylight skyline. “Don’t freak out, Riss. Harp owes me majorly, and I
know
she can be trusted.

Besides, if you’d said no, I would have just called her back.”

I grunted and took another swig of coffee. “Fine, fine.” We just barely made it onto a train heading northbound before the doors closed. “So, what’s this not-a-special-agent like? I assume she’s arcane?”

He nodded. Made sense, seeing as how the FBI—like most federal law enforcement agencies—had yet to name a single arcane to an official position in their mortal bureaucracy. “Harper’s just—fantastic really.” His eyes went a little unfocused. “Your typical strong-as-nails, don’t-mess-with-me Puerto Rican who doesn’t take shit from anyone. Gives as good as she gets. Really turns heads, too. Brown hair and eyes, tall, with legs that just won’t quit.”

Silence reigned for several seconds as his words sank in. His eyes remained hazy, and a small smile turned his lips upward. And just like that, I knew. “You
slept
with her.”

He started, his eyes losing their glassy tinge and focusing on my face. “What?”

“Let me guess. Damsel in distress, hires you as a bodyguard, you save her life, screw like rabbits, and now you have her undying gratitude.”

A scowl—which appeared distinctly guilty, if you asked me—spread across his face. “This is ridiculous. You have no reason to thi—”

“Oh
please.
It’s written in your voice. Just admit it.”

He fixed stubborn eyes on the floor. I jiggled my foot. Loudly. Finally, he gave in. “Fine. We slept together. Once.”

“I
knew
it!” Funny how, for once, being right didn’t fire its usual satisfied glow. Another few minutes passed in silence. I tried to pretend I didn’t care, tried to pretend that jealousy tinged with Rage wasn’t eating a hole inside me. And of course, failed miserably. “Did you screw her before or after we broke up?”

He shot me a
Go to hell
look. “You may not be a Hound, but you sure are a bitch.”

The train screeched to a stop at the Park Street Station and I floundered for an answer. Before I managed to come up with one, Scott stormed off the train, coattails nearly catching when the doors slammed shut. One stop early.

A lump settled in my throat. He’d actually left me alone. Knowing that Harpies were out to kill me, not to mention psycho Sidhe who were supposed to be extinct. That bastard left me.

No shit he left you. You as good as called him a liar and a cheat. You
are
a bitch.

Part of me wanted to deny that, to rant and rave and call Scott nasty names and curse his antecedents.

But I couldn’t.

“Fuck.” I earned a dirty look from the elderly woman across from me. Visions of my grandmother danced in my head. “Sorry.” She harrumphed and went back to her knitting. Yeah, add some wings and a set of Fury tats and she’d be the spitting image of Grandma. Other than the fact that slumbering Grandma was probably twice this woman’s age, yet didn’t look much older than me.

The train squealed into Government Center minutes later. I jumped off and scurried up a flight of stairs, searching the crowd for Scott’s familiar face. No such luck.

My fists clenched. For a moment I’d been sure he would be waiting out here for me: My lips trembled, and anxiety I hadn’t felt since I’d been a flimsy mortal clawed at my insides. Coffee burned the back of my throat as the urge to gag hit. I managed to hold on to the contents of my stomach— barely. This time I’d gotten so far in over my head, no way I could do this without him. I ‘forced myself to take in slow, even breaths as my heartbeat accelerated.

Wait. Faneuil Hall. Even he’s pissed at you, he won’t stand up this Harper chick.

That calmed my skittering pulse and had me trotting down the huge-ass staircase that led to State Street. I crossed against the light, earning several dirty looks and even dirtier gestures from passing motorists, but I made it safely across the street and to the busy plaza surrounding my destination. Faneuil Hall.

I jammed my hands in my pockets and stalked the crowds of manic tourists mixed with harried businesspeople on the way to work. Too bad Scott hadn’t been a bit more specific than “Faneuil Hall.”

The historic shopping center was always packed, even this early in the morning. The scents of gourmet coffee and fat-laden pastries warred with the less tantalizing odor of unwashed bodies and the occasional whiff of sewer. I kept my eyes peeled for a brown-haired, brown-eyed Latin American woman with legs that “wouldn’t quit’ face glued into a scowl every time I thought of the distracted way Scott had described her.
I wonder if his eyes would go all fuzzy like that if he described
me
to another woman.
My fingers jerked at that thought, and I stared down at my newly shifted Fury claws in surprise, since I hadn’t consciously unsheathed them.

A brunette dressed in a snazzy skirt and tailored blouse drew my attention. She wore three-inch stilettos and I grudgingly had to admit she had some killer legs. She tapped her stilettos on the cobblestones and frowned down at her watch, glancing back over her shoulder to a nearby alleyway from time to time, making it obvious she expected someone to appear from that direction soon.

My body froze when a familiar figure trotted out of that alley and straight up to the woman. “Hey, Harp.” She flashed a megawatt smile showing off dazzling white teeth. Hounds really went in for that.

The woman—Harper— wrapped her arms around Scott and the two kissed. The way their lips locked and their bodies writhed was in no way platonic.

Coffee bubbled in my stomach again, but I shoved it down and took off in the opposite direction. Tears stung,

but I forced them away, too. Scott had made his choice. I’d shoved him into it two years ago.

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Riss, I’m sorry.”

Hands reached out to steady me. My thoughts slowed to a crawl as I tried to reconcile the Scott standing before me with the one playing tonsil hockey several dozen yards away.

Scott’s hands tightened on my wrists. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“More like the Angel of Death.”