"Know of him. We're not friends or anything. Why?"
"He was in your home earlier. I caught him coming out of a window with a pocket full of underclothing." The creep had been going through her clothes? Just the thought of it made her want to throw up again. “I hope you smacked him one."
A smile touched his lips. “I told him I'd kill him if I found him near the house again, but the creep insisted it was his place."
"Then I'm moving out.” Though what other place in this Godforsaken town was likely to be any safer from Kinnard's prying fingers?
She studied the night beyond the walls. Pale yellow light flickered from a half dozen windows along the street below them, but a brighter light, more white than yellow, was a lone beacon two streets away, on what was the edge of the remaining buildings. Was that where the rangers lived? Would a ranger's house provide any sort of safety from Kinnard's inquisitiveness?
And if it did, as instinct suggested it might, how could she get Michael invited inside?
"If Dunleavy did invite you here to exact revenge,” he commented. “It might not be wise to remain alone."
She raised an eyebrow. “You're offering to move in with me?"
"I'm here to find a killer, not baby-sit."
"Then what are you suggesting? That I move in with another man?"
"No."
It was sharply said, and she smiled. The magic might have forced his memories away, but his territorial instincts were well and truly intact.
"What then?"
He thrust a hand through his dark hair, and she noted the blood on his shirt again. “You're still bleeding."
"It is of no consequence—"
"You were shot with silver,” she cut in. “That wound needs special attention."
"And how would you know I was shot with silver?"
"I know a lot more than you do right now, vampire. Instead of trying to get rid of me, you might want to sit down and listen."
"What I need to do right now is to get downstairs and see what Dunleavy has done."
"Then I'll come with you."
He raised an eyebrow. “Can you stomach a return to that room?"
"No. But I want to question the woman who found the victim."
"Why?"
"Because I want to find out what form Dunleavy was wearing when he entered that room.” She turned and carefully made her way down the stairs.
"Dunleavy's not a shapeshifter. He's a vampire.">She smiled, remembering another time, another place, when she'd echoed those exact same thoughts and actions. Something flickered in his eyes, and just for a moment, she thought she saw a touch of recognition. Then the spark died, leaving only normal concern.
But perhaps there lay part of her answer—by following patterns of the past and forcing memories to surface, maybe she'd undermine the spell set on him.
"Damn it, woman, will you answer me?"
Her gaze jumped to his. The concern in his eyes was stronger. As much as the spell was trying to force him to, he wasn't treating her as a stranger. “Can't you smell the blood?"
"Its sweetness rides the air,” he said. “But right now, the source of that nectar is not my major concern." His words made her heart do strange things. Lord, how she loved this man. “I'm okay. I just need a drink."
"Then you shall have it."