discharge.”
“I don’t know anything about partial discharge.” He met her eyes, trying to unnerve her, but she unnerved him instead. Blue specked the green of her irises, reminding him of the Aegean in the summer. He could pull off those glasses and—he stopped the thought. “For me, discharge is complete—or nonexistent. I don’t do anything halfway.”
This got her, and she started to laugh. The line in the middle of her forehead disappeared. He realized the ozone charge he’d first noticed was gone, too. Had he imagined it?
“You done trying to impress me?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” A smile played in her eyes, and the color was back in her face. “Did it work?”
“I’m impressed.” He shook his head. “But not by your encyclopedic knowledge of PD abbreviations.”
“What then? My fashion sense?”
He laughed again, although the way her red dress slid over her full breasts made a fashion statement of its own. “I’m impressed you didn’t spray me with mace or try some fancy kung fu on me.”
“Why?”
“You thought I was someone else coming out of that elevator, didn’t you?”
“I—”
He didn’t give her a chance to lie. “You’re right to be afraid of Erik Sutherland.”
She paused a minute as if considering something. Did she know something about him? “Who?” she said, finally. She looked as innocent as a newborn lamb, but he didn’t trust it. He’d learned enough about trust to sum it up in one word: don’t.
“Erik Sutherland. Dark-haired guy stands about a foot taller than everyone else—”
“Except you.”
He ignored the observation, but she was right. “He’s with a small auburn-haired woman.”
She nodded. “I saw him—them.”
“What’d you two talk about?”
“Talk?” Her eyebrows arched in surprise over the top of the dark rim of her glasses. “We didn’t…talk.”
Did they fuck? That didn’t seem likely. For one thing, this woman seemed too afraid. For another, Sutherland’s girlfriend rarely left his side. “You didn’t talk over the phone before the conference?”
“No.”
“Not behind the waterfall where no one was watching?” He nodded, trying to encourage her into confessing something, anything. He’d seen Sutherland looking at her, stalking her. He’d seen recognition between the two of them, hadn’t he? “You’d be surprised what the hotel staff pretends not to see. All I have to do is ask.”
She stepped back, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I like what you’re suggesting. Why would I lie to anyone, much less a cop?”
“People have all sorts of reasons to lie.” He should know. He’d been living a lie for nearly four millennia.
“Look.” Her voice tightened. “If you’re bringing me in for questioning or something, I’ll call my lawyer. Otherwise, leave me alone.”
“Did Sutherland tell you what his affiliation is? Where he works?”
“Good night, Mr. Atlanta.”
“Hold on.” He’d pushed her too far, and she’d leave now. His regret surprised him. “I’m just asking you what you talked about.” He held up his hands, wishing he could prove his good intentions.
“And I’m just telling you we didn’t talk.” She shifted the chain of her tiny purse higher on her shoulder. Her body language told him this conversation was over. “And if you wanted to know where he works, you should’ve looked at his name tag.” She shot him a crooked smile, turned, and walked down the hall. “Detective.”
“Very cute.” He hoped his words would stop her, but she kept right on walking. And he couldn’t help it then—he admired her fashion sense a second time. At least, he admired the way her dress moved over her delicious ass as she walked.
“Wait.” He let authority drip into his tone and took a business card from his wallet. He walked toward her as she retreated. “Take this.”
She stopped and turned, looking at his hand. “Why? You short on dates tonight?”
“If I were, would you call?”
She made an exasperated sound, but he could tell she was amused—which was a good sign.
“Take it?”
She did.
“Seriously? Erik Sutherland’s trouble.” He wished people still used the word “evil” without sounding dramatic. He wished he could tell her Sutherland was evil without sounding like a psycho himself.
“What kind of trouble?” She met his eyes. “Does he kidnap women from genetics conferences? Rape, murder, and pillage?” Her light tone quavered, belying something…Fear? An improbable belief that her sarcastic words were true?
“Nothing we can prove.” He couldn’t prove Akantha was dead, for example, not in a court of law.
“So, why’s he trouble?”
“He’s into drugs.”
“Drugs?” Her eyebrows dropped, and she shook her head. She didn’t believe him. What did she know?
“He might want to buy something from you. Equipment. Technology.”
“From me?” She shook her head. “That makes no sense. I don’t know much about drugs or equipment…unless he wants a GPS and a video recorder to cook up some crack.”
“That wouldn’t work so well.” He stared into her eyes a moment, and she didn’t flinch. What was her tie with Sutherland?
She shook her head and stepped back. “You’re worrying about the wrong woman,” she said. “I don’t have anything he wants.”
With her lush curves, he doubted that. “What are you doing at a genetics conference, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I study wild horses in Nevada. They’ve got a surprising breeding system—thus the genetics aspect—and I’m presenting the results tomorrow morning.”
“Interesting.”
She gave him that crooked smile again and held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Ann Fallon.”
Fallon. The name suited her somehow. So did the doctorate. “So you use the technology?” he asked, shaking her warm hand.
“Technology?”
“Genetics technology. Amplifying? Splicing?”
“You
