Predatory Paranormal Bundle: When Darkness Comes, Darkness Dawns, Under Wraps & Predatory
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Synopsis
Never Tempt Fate It's been a hell of a day for Abby Barlow. In just a few hours, she's survived an explosion, watched her employer die, had a startling dream, and now she finds herself in a seedy Chicago hotel with the sexy, unearthly Dante, a man she both desires and fears. For 341 years, Dante has stood as guardian to The Chalice, a mortal woman chosen to hold back the darkness. A terrible twist of fate has now made Abby that woman. Three hours ago, Dante would have used all his charms to seduce her. Now she is his to protect. And he will do so until his very death. In this dazzling, sensual novel, Dianne Duvall beckons readers into a world of vampires, immortals, and humans with extraordinary gifts. . .where passion can last forever, if you're willing to pay the price. . . Once, Sarah Bingham's biggest challenge was making her students pay attention in class. Now, after rescuing a wounded stranger, she's landed in the middle of a battle between corrupt vampires and powerful immortals who also need blood to survive. Roland Warbrook is the most compelling man Sarah has ever laid hands on. But his desire for her is mingled with a hunger he can barely control. . . Sick of wrongful-death lawsuits every time a full moon comes around? Call the Underworld Detection Agency. As a human immune to magic, Sophie Lawson can help everyone from banshee to zombie transition into normal, everyday San Francisco life. With a handsome werewolf as her UDA boss and a fashionista vampire for a roommate, Sophie knows everything there is to know about the undead, the unseen, and the uncanny. . . Sick of wrongful-death lawsuits every time a full moon comes around? Call the Underworld Detection Agency. As a human immune to magic, Sophie Lawson can help everyone from banshee to zombie transition into normal, everyday San Francisco life. With a handsome werewolf as her UDA boss and a fashionista vampire for a roommate, Sophie knows everything there is to know about the undead, the unseen, and the uncanny. . .
Release date: June 4, 2013
Publisher: Kensington
Print pages: 352
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Predatory Paranormal Bundle: When Darkness Comes, Darkness Dawns, Under Wraps & Predatory
Alexandra Ivy
The nightclub near the University of Missouri wasn’t anything to brag about. Hell, it wasn’t much more than a leaking roof held up by four walls and a prayer. In the center was a cramped dance floor surrounded by tables and at the back a long bar ran the length of the wall. Up the narrow staircase you could find pool tables and a few old-time pinball machines, while in the back parking lot the dealers strolled from car to car, searching for shoppers interested in less legal means of intoxication.
A typical college hangout.
Seated in a booth nearly obscured by shadows, Angela Locke watched the crowd of college students bump and grind to a heavy beat that was making her eye twitch.
Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself, she sternly chided herself. She might be a few years older than most of the kids in the club, but that didn’t mean she was a complete party pooper. Right?
On cue she winced as two girls shrieked with laughter at a nearby table, the aggravating sound some sort of homing signal to the guys who eagerly crowded around their table.
Okay, this wasn’t really her scene.
She’d spent the majority of her twenty-six years in musty libraries or high-tech labs, which meant she was more comfortable with petri dishes and microscopes than the opposite sex.
Her dark thoughts were interrupted as she belatedly realized she was no longer alone.
Glancing up, she met Megan Wagner’s exasperated frown. The pretty, pleasantly rounded blonde was one of Angela’s few friends at the university. In the process of recovering from a disastrous marriage, the older woman was taking classes to earn her teaching degree.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Megan complained. “I didn’t bring you here to hide in the corner.”
Angela wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather hide in corners than park myself in the spotlight where everyone can see me sitting alone.”
Megan folded her arms under her ample bosom, her lush curves displayed in a tight red dress and her blonde curls allowed to fall freely over her shoulders.
“You wouldn’t be alone if you didn’t put out vibes that you’re—”
“A geek? A nerd? A first-class egghead?” Angela offered wryly.
“Unavailable.”
“Are you kidding?” Angela shot a glance down at her jade stretchy top that was scooped low enough to reveal the soft curve of her breasts and the too-tight jeans that threatened her circulation. “In this outfit I not only look available, I look like I charge by the hour.”
“It’s not your clothes. It’s your attitude.”
Angela blinked. Attitude? She didn’t know she had an attitude.
“What do you want me to do?”
Megan placed her hands flat on the table, eying Angela with the same stern expression she used on her students at the local preschool.
“Pay attention to the men who are here, not the one who isn’t.”
Angela tried to squelch the renegade blush that stole beneath her cheeks.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean that it’s all fine and dandy to moon over Professor Hottie, but what’s it gotten you?” A blonde brow arched. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”
Angela ducked her head, allowing her finger to trace the beads of moisture that trickled down her untouched drink.
Professor Hottie.
Or, better known as Dr. Nikolo Bartrev.
He’d arrived at the university six weeks before. A tall, dark stranger who’d been invited by the president to review their science curriculum. Angela didn’t know precisely what his work entailed, but she did know that one glance into those pale blue eyes and she’d been lost.
Head over heels in lust for the first time in her life.
A damned shame he didn’t return her aching need.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she muttered.
“And that’s the point,” Megan pressed. “He stops by your lab once a day—”
“Sometimes it’s twice.”
Megan snorted. “He makes a little chitchat and disappears.”
Angela hunched a shoulder. It was true enough.
The first time Dr. Bartrev had strolled into her lab she’d nearly had a heart attack. She’d just finished teaching a freshman biology class and he’d waited for the giggling girls to drag themselves past him before he slowly approached her desk.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but after a few minutes of questioning her about her research, he’d turned and left.
Just like that.
Since that day, he’d made a habit of stopping by when she was in the lab, sometimes discussing her research and other times just randomly discussing her day.
She assumed that he was cleverly extracting information from her to use in his assessment, but she didn’t have a clue what he was searching for.
And she didn’t care.
His fleeting visits were enough to make her giddy for the rest of the day.
“So?” she muttered.
“Has he ever revealed anything remotely personal about himself?”
Angela grimaced. After six weeks she didn’t know a damned thing about the man.
Well, she knew the precise scent of his warm male cologne. And the way his cashmere sweaters stretched over a wide chest and how his pants clung to his tight ass.
But anything about the man beneath the gorgeous exterior? Nothing. Nada. Niente.
“No.”
“Has he ever asked you out, even to lunch?”
“No.”
“Has he ever brought you anything? Flowers, candy, a bagel from the cafeteria?”
“No.”
“Has he tried to get his hand down your shirt?”
“No.”
Megan heaved a sigh. “Honey, that man ain’t interested, no matter how much you might want him to be.”
Angela lifted her head to meet her friend’s sympathetic gaze. “I know.”
The blonde grabbed the plastic sword that held a candied cherry from Angela’s glass.
“Then drink your gin fizz and give that nice stud muffin by the door a big smile.” She pointed the sword toward the delectable blond Neanderthal standing across the dance floor. “And remember—”
“Remember what?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Angela rolled her eyes. She had a mirror. She might not be the Bride of Frankenstein, but she was a long way from beautiful.
Average brown hair she kept in a ponytail. Average height with average curves. Average features that were pale from the hours she spent in the lab.
The only thing remarkable was the wide brown eyes that were heavily framed with dark lashes, but most of the time they were hidden behind her protective lab glasses.
In summation she was . . . average.
“It’s going to take more than one gin fizz to make me believe in fairy tales,” she retorted.
“Maybe a kiss will wake you, Sleeping Beauty.” Megan waggled her brows. “She was, after all, the first true wallflower.”
Angela gave a choked laugh. Her friend charged through life at full throttle.
“I wish I could be like you, Megan,” she said wistfully, thinking of all the nights she sat in her cramped apartment alone.
Always alone.
“Yeah, right,” Megan scoffed. “You’re a genius who’s only weeks away from receiving your PhD in molecular biology and I’m trying to struggle through my undergraduate degree.”
Angela shook her head. Because of finances Megan was forced to take night classes while she worked full-time, but there was no doubt her love for children would allow her to achieve her goals.
“You know you’re a fabulous teacher, not to mention . . .” Angela’s comforting words dissolved into a silent shock as her heart slammed against her ribs.
Oh hell.
“Hey, that was just getting good,” Megan grumbled. Then, noticing that Angela’s attention had strayed, she frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong? Did Professor Lewis get drunk again and take off his pants?”
Angela reached for her glass to take a deep drink of the gin fizz.
“He’s here.”
“Who?”
“Niko.” She grimaced as the overly sweet drink hit her empty stomach. “I mean, Professor—”
“Hottie?”
“Yep.”
Helplessly she watched his determined approach.
Oh . . . crap, but he was gorgeous. From the tip of his glossy dark hair that was threaded with hints of autumn fire and tousled as if he’d just run his hands through the short strands, to the tips of his Italian shoes.
His lean face was perfectly carved with a wide brow and narrow nose. His cheekbones were angular, hinting at his Slavic origins, and his jaw surprisingly stubborn with just a shadow of stubble from his heavy beard.
He wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination “pretty.” His features were too hard, too ruthless, for that. But there was something compellingly beautiful about his sheer maleness, and when he offered one of his rare smiles . . . well, there wasn’t a female on campus who didn’t do a little melting.
He was dark and broody and delectable. The sort of man who haunted the fantasies of every repressed virgin.
And if she’d caught sight of a menacing glint in the piercing blue eyes that spoke of hidden power and predatory danger, well, she’d convinced herself that it only made him more exciting.
“Okay, I have to admit he is lickable,” Megan grudgingly conceded, glancing over her shoulder. “Like a double-fudge ice cream cone.”
“Megan,” Angela protested, although she couldn’t deny the desire to tug off his blue sweater and gray Chinos to do a bit of tongue therapy.
Megan turned back to stab her with a warning gaze. “He’s also gay or married.”
Angela’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“Because he hasn’t tried to get you in bed.” Megan leaned toward her. “Don’t let him ruin your night.”
With a tug on Angela’s hair, that was for once left to brush her shoulders, Megan was disappearing toward the bar, leaving Angela alone to face the man now towering beside her table.
“Hello, Angela,” he greeted, his voice a dark velvet rasp that sent renegade shivers of excitement down her spine.
Oh . . . crap.
She licked her dry lips, trying to squash the embarrassing thrills of excitement.
“Dr. Bartrev,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music blasting from the overhead speakers.
With a fluid ease, he perched on the edge of the table, his hard thigh brushing her arm.
“I thought we agreed to Niko?”
Yeah. She was so not going down that road.
He was Niko in her fantasies. In real life . . . well, she needed to avoid making an idiot of herself.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said instead.
“I could say the same.” His brooding gaze shifted to the surrounding crowd that was amping up the loud factor with every round of tequila. “This isn’t your usual style.”
She shrugged. “Megan convinced me this was my last chance to get out and party before everyone leaves for spring break.”
“Ah.” The piercing blue eyes returned to study her upturned face. Angela shivered beneath the sheer intensity of that gaze. He had an uncanny habit of appearing completely focused on whatever he was doing. “A girls’ night out.”
“Something like that.” She managed a smile. Play it cool, Angela. It’s not attractive to drool all over the handsome professor. “What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I was concerned.”
She stiffened. “Concerned?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly struck by a terrifying thought. “Is there something wrong with my research?”
“Your work is flawless. As always,” he swiftly eased her fear, a strange edge in his voice although she was too relieved to notice. “It’s something we’ll discuss later.”
“Then what is it?”
He hesitated, almost as if considering his words.
“I heard rumors there was a stalker in the area.”
“A stalker?” She blinked in surprise. The small Midwest town had its share of petty crime, but violence was extremely rare. “In town or on campus?”
“The person has been seen on campus as well as in the surrounding neighborhoods.”
“I haven’t heard anything. Have the police been notified?”
“Of course.” His gaze swept down to her breasts that were on blatant display, and just for a moment she thought she might have seen a flicker of heat in the icy depths. Then, clearly unimpressed, he returned his interest to her flushed face. “You haven’t noticed anything unusual, have you?”
She shook her head, telling herself she didn’t give a damn. “Not that I can think of.”
“There haven’t been any strangers lurking around?”
Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Most people will tell you that I’m not the most observant person,” she said, recalling her mother’s resigned complaint that Angela could recite the periodic table when she was barely five, but didn’t know the name of one classmate. She hastily squashed the age-old pain before it could fully form. Her mother’s death last year meant that the older woman could no longer be disappointed in her only child. “Outside the lab I tend to be distracted.”
“What about when you’re home?” he demanded. “Have you seen anyone new in the neighborhood?”
“No.” She frowned. “Shouldn’t the police be asking these questions?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They didn’t want to spook the students so I agreed to do a bit of discreet investigating for them.”
“Oh.” It seemed weird to have a visiting professor investigating a potential stalker, but what did she know? “I’m sorry I can’t help.”
He reached into his pocket to pull out a pen, scribbling on a piece of napkin.
“Here,” he murmured, folding the paper before he lightly pressed it into her unresisting fingers.
Angela’s heart slammed against her ribs as pleasure exploded through her. Her head might warn her to stop weaving futile fantasies about this man, but her body hadn’t received the memo.
His fingers were hot—shockingly hot—against her skin. A branding heat that sent darts of excitement to the pit of her stomach.
And his scent was wrapping around her like a cloak of invitation.
“What is it?” she husked, becoming lost in the astonishing blue of his eyes.
“My phone number.”
“Phone number?”
“I want you to call me.”
Her heart gave another stuttering leap. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“I . . .” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “When?”
“The very minute you notice anything out of the ordinary.”
Shit. She came back to earth with a resounding crash.
The stalker. Right.
She lowered her head, determined he wouldn’t guess her flare of humiliation.
“Okay.”
“If you notice anything,” he insisted. “No matter how small.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
Without warning his hand was cupping her chin, tilting her face up so he could study her with a faint frown.
“You promise?”
There was another jolt of sensation before she was pulling free of his destructive touch and rising to her feet with a stubborn expression.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Angela—”
“I need to find Megan.”
Standing near the railing of the second floor of the nightclub, Nikolo studied the throng of people that moved below him.
College students jerked and hopped around the dance floor while townies and aging professors lined the bar at the back.
Over and over, his gaze skimmed the swarm of norms before returning to the slender brunette who’d moved to a front table with her friend.
He didn’t worry about the aggravating scientist catching sight of him. He couldn’t actually make himself invisible, but he could . . . convince people not to notice him.
It was a talent of most Sentinels. Along with heightened senses, predatory instincts, and a cunning patience that would allow him to track his prey from one end of the world to other if necessary.
He also had the ability to sense when a high-blood was near.
Of course, the public was far more accustomed to the Sentinels who performed as guardians to high-bloods. Those Sentinels were raised and trained by monks in mysterious arts that were never spoken of outside the monasteries. They were also heavily tattooed to protect them from being controlled by psychics or attacked with spells.
They were lethal beasts, but they were also ridiculously noticeable in a crowd.
Massive killers tattooed from the top of their bald heads to the tips of their toes tended to attract attention.
Which is why the Sentinels also needed hunters who could travel unnoticed.
Hunters like him. Oh, and the man currently standing a few feet away.
Never allowing his gaze to stray from Angela Locke, he gave a tiny motion of his hand. All high-bloods understood you didn’t approach a Sentinel when he was locked on his prey.
Bad, bad things could happen.
“Arel,” he murmured, recognizing the scent of the fellow Sentinel.
The younger man stepped forward, the flashing strobe lights shimmering over the honey highlights in his light brown hair and turning his eyes to molten gold.
Most humans dismissed Arel as a charming playboy. A role he performed with consummate skill. But those trained to look beneath the surface could detect the muscles honed to lean perfection beneath his casual T-shirt and faded jeans, and the ruthless determination that simmered deep in the gold eyes.
“Dylan?” Arel murmured softly.
Niko grimaced at the mention of the female high-blood they’d been hunting for the past six weeks.
“Still in the wind.”
“Are you positive she’ll show up here?”
Niko didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And you’re always right?”
“Always.”
Arel snorted. “You know you’re an arrogant SOB, don’t you, Niko?”
Niko shrugged. Yep, he knew. But his confidence wasn’t just conceit.
From the second Dylan had murdered her two guards to escape from Valhalla, he’d dedicated every waking moment to studying his prey.
He knew the day and hour Dylan had been born. He knew that she’d been less than a week old when her parents had left her in the field outside Valhalla. He knew that she nursed a bitter fury at having been abandoned by her family despite her welcome among the high-bloods. Perhaps because she was one of the unfortunate freaks that had been born with a mutation that left her with startling crimson eyes and large black spots on her skin, like a cheetah. Unlike many high-bloods she’d been unable to pass as norm, which only increased her resentment.
Or maybe she’d just been born a psychopath.
Being given special powers didn’t mean that a person was automatically a superhero.
High-bloods possessed all the usual failings of norms. Only they could do a hell of a lot more damage if they weren’t contained.
Which was where Niko and his fellow Sentinels came in.
He shrugged. “I know what she’s going to do before she does,” he said.
“And you think because she’d been searching through Calder’s files on your scientist that she’s coming here?”
“Yes.”
Niko had been baffled at first when he’d discovered that Dylan had been sneaking into the Master of Gifts’ office. Calder and his order were dedicated to tracking down those high-bloods who either didn’t realize they were “special” or were trying to pass as normal. Like a Sentinel they possessed the ability to sense talents, even latent talents, although they used their skills to convince high-bloods to join with their brethren at Valhalla, or in one of the many compounds located around the world. While Niko . . . well, his duties weren’t quite so nice.
At last he’d put together the reasons for Dylan’s late-night visits to Calder’s office.
And it had everything to do with Angela Locke.
“Not that I’m questioning your conclusion, amigo,” Arel said in dry tones, “but why is she currently on a killing spree through Texas?”
“She’s trying to disguise her true purpose and throw us off her trail.”
“For six weeks?”
“She’s always been patient.”
“True.” Arel’s features hardened, his charming smile replaced by a cold hatred. Both Niko and Arel had reason to want Dylan tracked down and destroyed. The sooner the better. “She must have planned her escape from Valhalla for months.”
“Years,” he corrected.
“We can’t keep cleaning up her kills, Niko.” Arel grimaced. “There have been five more. Plus the losses we suffered—”
“I know how many she’s killed,” Niko interrupted. He couldn’t discuss Fiona’s bloody murder.
Not yet.
“Then you’ll understand that I was sent by the Tagos to warn you that you have until the end of the month,” Arel said, referring to the ultimate leader of the Sentinels. “After that he wants you on the trail in Texas.”
Niko shrugged, unperturbed by the warning. “Dylan will be here before then.”
Arel snorted. “You’re good, but you’re no psychic. How can you be so certain?”
“Spring break starts at the end of classes tomorrow,” he said, his gaze narrowing as he watched Angela being led to the edge of the dance floor by a blond jackass who obviously ate steroids like candy. No mere mortal had those kinds of muscles without pharmaceutical help. He didn’t like the way the bastard was staring at her overexposed breasts. In fact, he might very well find a way to make Blondie disappear if he laid a hand on the vulnerable female. “It will be the perfect opportunity to make Angela Thorne disappear.”
“It’s a little late for her to try and be subtle, isn’t it?” Arel demanded.
“She wanted to attract attention to draw us south. Now she’ll want to fly below the radar. She won’t want us knowing that she has the scientist,” he pointed out, his tone absent as his attention remained homed in on the female who was moving with a surprising grace. “Besides, it’s far more difficult to disappear when you have a hostage.”
Easily sensing Niko’s distraction, Arel leaned against the railing.
“Is she the real deal?”
“Yeah, she’s the real deal.” Niko forced himself to shift his attention back to his companion. Until Dylan was dead he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Especially not by this particular female. “Calder intended to bring her to the compound after she graduated.”
“Why wait?”
“He wanted the female to enjoy being normal for as long as possible.”
Arel gave a grunt of laughter. “He’s always been too softhearted for his own good.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.”
“While you’re a coldhearted Sentinel who’s willing to use an innocent female as bait for a psycho killer.”
Arel’s words rasped a raw nerve that Niko didn’t even know he possessed until he’d crossed paths with the pretty young scientist who’d slayed him with one shy smile.
Dammit.
Angela Locke was a pawn.
And like any pawn she was supposed to be expendable.
So why had he spent the past six weeks imagining her stretched beneath him as he taught her the true meaning of biology?
He swallowed a low growl. “I get results.”
“True enough . . .” Arel’s words ended with a low whistle as the frantic music ended and Angela turned to reveal her slender curves so shockingly revealed by those too-tight jeans and the shirt that should be illegal. Damn, Megan. It had to be her influence. “Hellooo. You didn’t say anything about her being a beauty.”
“Because it has nothing to do with the job,” he snapped.
Arel smiled with a slow anticipation. “Hey, if you don’t want to bed her, I will.”
Niko hissed at his unexpected surge of fury. He was never possessive of women. Not even when they were his lovers.
It had to be this job.
He was . . . on edge. Anxious to find Dylan and make her pay for what she’d done to Fiona.
That had to be it.
Feeling the weight of Arel’s all-too-knowing gaze, he sent his fellow Sentinel a scowl.
“Don’t you have someplace you have to be?”
A mysterious smile played around the younger man’s lips. “Yes, but I don’t mind changing assignments.”
“Go away, Arel.”
Arel chuckled before he placed a hand on Niko’s shoulder. “Take care. I’ve already lost two friends. I won’t lose another.”
Usually the small apartment three blocks away from the campus was a place of peace for Angela.
Not that anyone else would share her opinion.
Most people would shudder at the worn furniture that she’d picked up at second-hand stores and garage sales. Not to mention the bedroom that was overflowing with unpacked boxes from her mother’s house. Boxes that were filled with painful memories she wasn’t prepared to open.
And oh yeah, a kitchen that had become a mini-lab with microscopes, petri dishes, test tubes, and three small fridges that contained her current experiments.
Hardly the palace most women dreamed of.
But for Angela it was far better than a palace.
It was her safe haven.
The moment she closed the door she could forget the day, along with the frustrating challenge of trying to fit in a world that always seemed slightly out of focus.
Today, however, there was no peace as she shut and locked the door.
Pacing across the living room, she peeked through the curtains at the empty street below.
It had started this morning.
She’d spent the entire day with the sensation she was being watched by some unseen lurker.
And she laid full blame on the shoulders of Dr. Nikolo Bartrev.
Not because of his abrupt arrival and equally abrupt departure from the club last night, although the aggravating man had taken away any hope of enjoying the night. Oh, she’d gone through the routine for Megan’s sake. She’d danced, she’d sipped her gin fizz, and laughed on cue, but the evening had gone flat.
No, she was used to wishing for things she could never have.
It was his warning of a mysterious stalker that had her jumping at shadows.
Seeing nothing but the usual joggers and occasional car drive past, she gave a shake of her head.
What had she expected?
A stranger wearing a hockey mask and lurking on the sidewalk?
Or maybe a car in the parking lot with a sign that said STALKERS “R” US?
“This is stupid,” she muttered, stepping away from the window and heading into the kitchen.
Spring break had officially started. Classes were out, the majority of the students were even now fleeing town for warmer climes, and she would have a blessed, uninterrupted week to work on her private research.
No doubt Megan would toss her hands up in defeat, but as far as Angela was concerned she’d rather be concentrating on her work than wasting her days on an overcrowded beach.
Okay, maybe if the beach included Professor Hottie she might consider—
Entering the kitchen, Angela came to a halt, a strange sense of alarm tingling down her spine.
Someone had been in here.
She didn’t know exactly how she could be so certain. Perhaps the microscope had been shifted ever so slightly. Or maybe there was a lingering scent she didn’t quite recognize.
Whatever the cause, her vague unease became full on, adrenaline-charging alarm as she whirled around, intent on fleeing the apartment.
A wise decision that came too late.
She barely managed a step before the door was blocked by a slender figure.
Angela’s heart slammed to a halt as she took a swift inventory of the intruder.
The stranger wasn’t much taller than her, and was dressed from head to toe in black. Black leather pants. Black turtleneck sweater. Black ski mask.
Good grief. Did stalkers have a uniform code?
She swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh, sternly reminding herself that she was in danger.
Despite the fact the intruder was more or less the same size as herself and clearly female, she wasn’t fooled. Beneath the tight clothes she could make out hard, lean muscles that warned the intruder could tie Angela into a painful pretzel.
Or worse.
“Who are you?” she managed to croak, her mind sluggishly trying to shift through her limited options.
No. Not limited.
Nonexistent.
Her cell phone was in her purse that she’d left in the living room. There was no doubt a knife was tucked in her silverware drawer, but it was across the room. And there was nothing close enough at hand to use as a weapon.
For now her options were talking her way out of danger or hoping for a miracle.
Neither seemed likely.
Casually leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb the intruder revealed she was in far better control of her nerves than Angela.
“Would you believe a friend?”
“No.”
A nonchalant shrug. “Then let’s say I’m a potential customer.”
“Customer?” Angela frowned before she gave a small gasp of understanding. “Oh. I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”
The woman adjusted her black glove. Preparing for violence?
“I rarely make mistakes,” she drawled. Her voice was oddly beautiful. Almost hypnotic.
Angela licked her lips, flicking a brief glance toward the expensive equipment that was piled on the kitchen table.
“I know it must look like I manufacture drugs, but I’m just a scientist,” she said, her palms damp. Had the temperature gone up? Or was it sheer terror that was making her feel as if her sweatshirt and jeans were smothering her? “There’s nothing here that will get you high.”
“Just a scientist?” The stranger gave a chiding shake of her head. “Now, now, Angela. There’s no need for such modesty. You’re already considered the brilliant star in the world of genetics.”
Angela took a shocked step back. “You know me?”
“Of course. I’ve been following your career with breathless anticipation.”
Okay. The whole encounter had just shifted from scary to terrifyingly creepy.
“Who are you?” she repeated the question that had never been answered.
The intruder straightened, taking a step into the kitchen. “A
A typical college hangout.
Seated in a booth nearly obscured by shadows, Angela Locke watched the crowd of college students bump and grind to a heavy beat that was making her eye twitch.
Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself, she sternly chided herself. She might be a few years older than most of the kids in the club, but that didn’t mean she was a complete party pooper. Right?
On cue she winced as two girls shrieked with laughter at a nearby table, the aggravating sound some sort of homing signal to the guys who eagerly crowded around their table.
Okay, this wasn’t really her scene.
She’d spent the majority of her twenty-six years in musty libraries or high-tech labs, which meant she was more comfortable with petri dishes and microscopes than the opposite sex.
Her dark thoughts were interrupted as she belatedly realized she was no longer alone.
Glancing up, she met Megan Wagner’s exasperated frown. The pretty, pleasantly rounded blonde was one of Angela’s few friends at the university. In the process of recovering from a disastrous marriage, the older woman was taking classes to earn her teaching degree.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Megan complained. “I didn’t bring you here to hide in the corner.”
Angela wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather hide in corners than park myself in the spotlight where everyone can see me sitting alone.”
Megan folded her arms under her ample bosom, her lush curves displayed in a tight red dress and her blonde curls allowed to fall freely over her shoulders.
“You wouldn’t be alone if you didn’t put out vibes that you’re—”
“A geek? A nerd? A first-class egghead?” Angela offered wryly.
“Unavailable.”
“Are you kidding?” Angela shot a glance down at her jade stretchy top that was scooped low enough to reveal the soft curve of her breasts and the too-tight jeans that threatened her circulation. “In this outfit I not only look available, I look like I charge by the hour.”
“It’s not your clothes. It’s your attitude.”
Angela blinked. Attitude? She didn’t know she had an attitude.
“What do you want me to do?”
Megan placed her hands flat on the table, eying Angela with the same stern expression she used on her students at the local preschool.
“Pay attention to the men who are here, not the one who isn’t.”
Angela tried to squelch the renegade blush that stole beneath her cheeks.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean that it’s all fine and dandy to moon over Professor Hottie, but what’s it gotten you?” A blonde brow arched. “Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?”
Angela ducked her head, allowing her finger to trace the beads of moisture that trickled down her untouched drink.
Professor Hottie.
Or, better known as Dr. Nikolo Bartrev.
He’d arrived at the university six weeks before. A tall, dark stranger who’d been invited by the president to review their science curriculum. Angela didn’t know precisely what his work entailed, but she did know that one glance into those pale blue eyes and she’d been lost.
Head over heels in lust for the first time in her life.
A damned shame he didn’t return her aching need.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she muttered.
“And that’s the point,” Megan pressed. “He stops by your lab once a day—”
“Sometimes it’s twice.”
Megan snorted. “He makes a little chitchat and disappears.”
Angela hunched a shoulder. It was true enough.
The first time Dr. Bartrev had strolled into her lab she’d nearly had a heart attack. She’d just finished teaching a freshman biology class and he’d waited for the giggling girls to drag themselves past him before he slowly approached her desk.
She hadn’t known what to expect, but after a few minutes of questioning her about her research, he’d turned and left.
Just like that.
Since that day, he’d made a habit of stopping by when she was in the lab, sometimes discussing her research and other times just randomly discussing her day.
She assumed that he was cleverly extracting information from her to use in his assessment, but she didn’t have a clue what he was searching for.
And she didn’t care.
His fleeting visits were enough to make her giddy for the rest of the day.
“So?” she muttered.
“Has he ever revealed anything remotely personal about himself?”
Angela grimaced. After six weeks she didn’t know a damned thing about the man.
Well, she knew the precise scent of his warm male cologne. And the way his cashmere sweaters stretched over a wide chest and how his pants clung to his tight ass.
But anything about the man beneath the gorgeous exterior? Nothing. Nada. Niente.
“No.”
“Has he ever asked you out, even to lunch?”
“No.”
“Has he ever brought you anything? Flowers, candy, a bagel from the cafeteria?”
“No.”
“Has he tried to get his hand down your shirt?”
“No.”
Megan heaved a sigh. “Honey, that man ain’t interested, no matter how much you might want him to be.”
Angela lifted her head to meet her friend’s sympathetic gaze. “I know.”
The blonde grabbed the plastic sword that held a candied cherry from Angela’s glass.
“Then drink your gin fizz and give that nice stud muffin by the door a big smile.” She pointed the sword toward the delectable blond Neanderthal standing across the dance floor. “And remember—”
“Remember what?”
“You’re beautiful.”
Angela rolled her eyes. She had a mirror. She might not be the Bride of Frankenstein, but she was a long way from beautiful.
Average brown hair she kept in a ponytail. Average height with average curves. Average features that were pale from the hours she spent in the lab.
The only thing remarkable was the wide brown eyes that were heavily framed with dark lashes, but most of the time they were hidden behind her protective lab glasses.
In summation she was . . . average.
“It’s going to take more than one gin fizz to make me believe in fairy tales,” she retorted.
“Maybe a kiss will wake you, Sleeping Beauty.” Megan waggled her brows. “She was, after all, the first true wallflower.”
Angela gave a choked laugh. Her friend charged through life at full throttle.
“I wish I could be like you, Megan,” she said wistfully, thinking of all the nights she sat in her cramped apartment alone.
Always alone.
“Yeah, right,” Megan scoffed. “You’re a genius who’s only weeks away from receiving your PhD in molecular biology and I’m trying to struggle through my undergraduate degree.”
Angela shook her head. Because of finances Megan was forced to take night classes while she worked full-time, but there was no doubt her love for children would allow her to achieve her goals.
“You know you’re a fabulous teacher, not to mention . . .” Angela’s comforting words dissolved into a silent shock as her heart slammed against her ribs.
Oh hell.
“Hey, that was just getting good,” Megan grumbled. Then, noticing that Angela’s attention had strayed, she frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong? Did Professor Lewis get drunk again and take off his pants?”
Angela reached for her glass to take a deep drink of the gin fizz.
“He’s here.”
“Who?”
“Niko.” She grimaced as the overly sweet drink hit her empty stomach. “I mean, Professor—”
“Hottie?”
“Yep.”
Helplessly she watched his determined approach.
Oh . . . crap, but he was gorgeous. From the tip of his glossy dark hair that was threaded with hints of autumn fire and tousled as if he’d just run his hands through the short strands, to the tips of his Italian shoes.
His lean face was perfectly carved with a wide brow and narrow nose. His cheekbones were angular, hinting at his Slavic origins, and his jaw surprisingly stubborn with just a shadow of stubble from his heavy beard.
He wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination “pretty.” His features were too hard, too ruthless, for that. But there was something compellingly beautiful about his sheer maleness, and when he offered one of his rare smiles . . . well, there wasn’t a female on campus who didn’t do a little melting.
He was dark and broody and delectable. The sort of man who haunted the fantasies of every repressed virgin.
And if she’d caught sight of a menacing glint in the piercing blue eyes that spoke of hidden power and predatory danger, well, she’d convinced herself that it only made him more exciting.
“Okay, I have to admit he is lickable,” Megan grudgingly conceded, glancing over her shoulder. “Like a double-fudge ice cream cone.”
“Megan,” Angela protested, although she couldn’t deny the desire to tug off his blue sweater and gray Chinos to do a bit of tongue therapy.
Megan turned back to stab her with a warning gaze. “He’s also gay or married.”
Angela’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”
“Because he hasn’t tried to get you in bed.” Megan leaned toward her. “Don’t let him ruin your night.”
With a tug on Angela’s hair, that was for once left to brush her shoulders, Megan was disappearing toward the bar, leaving Angela alone to face the man now towering beside her table.
“Hello, Angela,” he greeted, his voice a dark velvet rasp that sent renegade shivers of excitement down her spine.
Oh . . . crap.
She licked her dry lips, trying to squash the embarrassing thrills of excitement.
“Dr. Bartrev,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the music blasting from the overhead speakers.
With a fluid ease, he perched on the edge of the table, his hard thigh brushing her arm.
“I thought we agreed to Niko?”
Yeah. She was so not going down that road.
He was Niko in her fantasies. In real life . . . well, she needed to avoid making an idiot of herself.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said instead.
“I could say the same.” His brooding gaze shifted to the surrounding crowd that was amping up the loud factor with every round of tequila. “This isn’t your usual style.”
She shrugged. “Megan convinced me this was my last chance to get out and party before everyone leaves for spring break.”
“Ah.” The piercing blue eyes returned to study her upturned face. Angela shivered beneath the sheer intensity of that gaze. He had an uncanny habit of appearing completely focused on whatever he was doing. “A girls’ night out.”
“Something like that.” She managed a smile. Play it cool, Angela. It’s not attractive to drool all over the handsome professor. “What are you doing here?”
“Actually, I was concerned.”
She stiffened. “Concerned?”
“Yes.”
“Why?” She sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly struck by a terrifying thought. “Is there something wrong with my research?”
“Your work is flawless. As always,” he swiftly eased her fear, a strange edge in his voice although she was too relieved to notice. “It’s something we’ll discuss later.”
“Then what is it?”
He hesitated, almost as if considering his words.
“I heard rumors there was a stalker in the area.”
“A stalker?” She blinked in surprise. The small Midwest town had its share of petty crime, but violence was extremely rare. “In town or on campus?”
“The person has been seen on campus as well as in the surrounding neighborhoods.”
“I haven’t heard anything. Have the police been notified?”
“Of course.” His gaze swept down to her breasts that were on blatant display, and just for a moment she thought she might have seen a flicker of heat in the icy depths. Then, clearly unimpressed, he returned his interest to her flushed face. “You haven’t noticed anything unusual, have you?”
She shook her head, telling herself she didn’t give a damn. “Not that I can think of.”
“There haven’t been any strangers lurking around?”
Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Most people will tell you that I’m not the most observant person,” she said, recalling her mother’s resigned complaint that Angela could recite the periodic table when she was barely five, but didn’t know the name of one classmate. She hastily squashed the age-old pain before it could fully form. Her mother’s death last year meant that the older woman could no longer be disappointed in her only child. “Outside the lab I tend to be distracted.”
“What about when you’re home?” he demanded. “Have you seen anyone new in the neighborhood?”
“No.” She frowned. “Shouldn’t the police be asking these questions?”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They didn’t want to spook the students so I agreed to do a bit of discreet investigating for them.”
“Oh.” It seemed weird to have a visiting professor investigating a potential stalker, but what did she know? “I’m sorry I can’t help.”
He reached into his pocket to pull out a pen, scribbling on a piece of napkin.
“Here,” he murmured, folding the paper before he lightly pressed it into her unresisting fingers.
Angela’s heart slammed against her ribs as pleasure exploded through her. Her head might warn her to stop weaving futile fantasies about this man, but her body hadn’t received the memo.
His fingers were hot—shockingly hot—against her skin. A branding heat that sent darts of excitement to the pit of her stomach.
And his scent was wrapping around her like a cloak of invitation.
“What is it?” she husked, becoming lost in the astonishing blue of his eyes.
“My phone number.”
“Phone number?”
“I want you to call me.”
Her heart gave another stuttering leap. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“I . . .” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “When?”
“The very minute you notice anything out of the ordinary.”
Shit. She came back to earth with a resounding crash.
The stalker. Right.
She lowered her head, determined he wouldn’t guess her flare of humiliation.
“Okay.”
“If you notice anything,” he insisted. “No matter how small.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
Without warning his hand was cupping her chin, tilting her face up so he could study her with a faint frown.
“You promise?”
There was another jolt of sensation before she was pulling free of his destructive touch and rising to her feet with a stubborn expression.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Angela—”
“I need to find Megan.”
Standing near the railing of the second floor of the nightclub, Nikolo studied the throng of people that moved below him.
College students jerked and hopped around the dance floor while townies and aging professors lined the bar at the back.
Over and over, his gaze skimmed the swarm of norms before returning to the slender brunette who’d moved to a front table with her friend.
He didn’t worry about the aggravating scientist catching sight of him. He couldn’t actually make himself invisible, but he could . . . convince people not to notice him.
It was a talent of most Sentinels. Along with heightened senses, predatory instincts, and a cunning patience that would allow him to track his prey from one end of the world to other if necessary.
He also had the ability to sense when a high-blood was near.
Of course, the public was far more accustomed to the Sentinels who performed as guardians to high-bloods. Those Sentinels were raised and trained by monks in mysterious arts that were never spoken of outside the monasteries. They were also heavily tattooed to protect them from being controlled by psychics or attacked with spells.
They were lethal beasts, but they were also ridiculously noticeable in a crowd.
Massive killers tattooed from the top of their bald heads to the tips of their toes tended to attract attention.
Which is why the Sentinels also needed hunters who could travel unnoticed.
Hunters like him. Oh, and the man currently standing a few feet away.
Never allowing his gaze to stray from Angela Locke, he gave a tiny motion of his hand. All high-bloods understood you didn’t approach a Sentinel when he was locked on his prey.
Bad, bad things could happen.
“Arel,” he murmured, recognizing the scent of the fellow Sentinel.
The younger man stepped forward, the flashing strobe lights shimmering over the honey highlights in his light brown hair and turning his eyes to molten gold.
Most humans dismissed Arel as a charming playboy. A role he performed with consummate skill. But those trained to look beneath the surface could detect the muscles honed to lean perfection beneath his casual T-shirt and faded jeans, and the ruthless determination that simmered deep in the gold eyes.
“Dylan?” Arel murmured softly.
Niko grimaced at the mention of the female high-blood they’d been hunting for the past six weeks.
“Still in the wind.”
“Are you positive she’ll show up here?”
Niko didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“And you’re always right?”
“Always.”
Arel snorted. “You know you’re an arrogant SOB, don’t you, Niko?”
Niko shrugged. Yep, he knew. But his confidence wasn’t just conceit.
From the second Dylan had murdered her two guards to escape from Valhalla, he’d dedicated every waking moment to studying his prey.
He knew the day and hour Dylan had been born. He knew that she’d been less than a week old when her parents had left her in the field outside Valhalla. He knew that she nursed a bitter fury at having been abandoned by her family despite her welcome among the high-bloods. Perhaps because she was one of the unfortunate freaks that had been born with a mutation that left her with startling crimson eyes and large black spots on her skin, like a cheetah. Unlike many high-bloods she’d been unable to pass as norm, which only increased her resentment.
Or maybe she’d just been born a psychopath.
Being given special powers didn’t mean that a person was automatically a superhero.
High-bloods possessed all the usual failings of norms. Only they could do a hell of a lot more damage if they weren’t contained.
Which was where Niko and his fellow Sentinels came in.
He shrugged. “I know what she’s going to do before she does,” he said.
“And you think because she’d been searching through Calder’s files on your scientist that she’s coming here?”
“Yes.”
Niko had been baffled at first when he’d discovered that Dylan had been sneaking into the Master of Gifts’ office. Calder and his order were dedicated to tracking down those high-bloods who either didn’t realize they were “special” or were trying to pass as normal. Like a Sentinel they possessed the ability to sense talents, even latent talents, although they used their skills to convince high-bloods to join with their brethren at Valhalla, or in one of the many compounds located around the world. While Niko . . . well, his duties weren’t quite so nice.
At last he’d put together the reasons for Dylan’s late-night visits to Calder’s office.
And it had everything to do with Angela Locke.
“Not that I’m questioning your conclusion, amigo,” Arel said in dry tones, “but why is she currently on a killing spree through Texas?”
“She’s trying to disguise her true purpose and throw us off her trail.”
“For six weeks?”
“She’s always been patient.”
“True.” Arel’s features hardened, his charming smile replaced by a cold hatred. Both Niko and Arel had reason to want Dylan tracked down and destroyed. The sooner the better. “She must have planned her escape from Valhalla for months.”
“Years,” he corrected.
“We can’t keep cleaning up her kills, Niko.” Arel grimaced. “There have been five more. Plus the losses we suffered—”
“I know how many she’s killed,” Niko interrupted. He couldn’t discuss Fiona’s bloody murder.
Not yet.
“Then you’ll understand that I was sent by the Tagos to warn you that you have until the end of the month,” Arel said, referring to the ultimate leader of the Sentinels. “After that he wants you on the trail in Texas.”
Niko shrugged, unperturbed by the warning. “Dylan will be here before then.”
Arel snorted. “You’re good, but you’re no psychic. How can you be so certain?”
“Spring break starts at the end of classes tomorrow,” he said, his gaze narrowing as he watched Angela being led to the edge of the dance floor by a blond jackass who obviously ate steroids like candy. No mere mortal had those kinds of muscles without pharmaceutical help. He didn’t like the way the bastard was staring at her overexposed breasts. In fact, he might very well find a way to make Blondie disappear if he laid a hand on the vulnerable female. “It will be the perfect opportunity to make Angela Thorne disappear.”
“It’s a little late for her to try and be subtle, isn’t it?” Arel demanded.
“She wanted to attract attention to draw us south. Now she’ll want to fly below the radar. She won’t want us knowing that she has the scientist,” he pointed out, his tone absent as his attention remained homed in on the female who was moving with a surprising grace. “Besides, it’s far more difficult to disappear when you have a hostage.”
Easily sensing Niko’s distraction, Arel leaned against the railing.
“Is she the real deal?”
“Yeah, she’s the real deal.” Niko forced himself to shift his attention back to his companion. Until Dylan was dead he couldn’t afford to be distracted. Especially not by this particular female. “Calder intended to bring her to the compound after she graduated.”
“Why wait?”
“He wanted the female to enjoy being normal for as long as possible.”
Arel gave a grunt of laughter. “He’s always been too softhearted for his own good.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.”
“While you’re a coldhearted Sentinel who’s willing to use an innocent female as bait for a psycho killer.”
Arel’s words rasped a raw nerve that Niko didn’t even know he possessed until he’d crossed paths with the pretty young scientist who’d slayed him with one shy smile.
Dammit.
Angela Locke was a pawn.
And like any pawn she was supposed to be expendable.
So why had he spent the past six weeks imagining her stretched beneath him as he taught her the true meaning of biology?
He swallowed a low growl. “I get results.”
“True enough . . .” Arel’s words ended with a low whistle as the frantic music ended and Angela turned to reveal her slender curves so shockingly revealed by those too-tight jeans and the shirt that should be illegal. Damn, Megan. It had to be her influence. “Hellooo. You didn’t say anything about her being a beauty.”
“Because it has nothing to do with the job,” he snapped.
Arel smiled with a slow anticipation. “Hey, if you don’t want to bed her, I will.”
Niko hissed at his unexpected surge of fury. He was never possessive of women. Not even when they were his lovers.
It had to be this job.
He was . . . on edge. Anxious to find Dylan and make her pay for what she’d done to Fiona.
That had to be it.
Feeling the weight of Arel’s all-too-knowing gaze, he sent his fellow Sentinel a scowl.
“Don’t you have someplace you have to be?”
A mysterious smile played around the younger man’s lips. “Yes, but I don’t mind changing assignments.”
“Go away, Arel.”
Arel chuckled before he placed a hand on Niko’s shoulder. “Take care. I’ve already lost two friends. I won’t lose another.”
Usually the small apartment three blocks away from the campus was a place of peace for Angela.
Not that anyone else would share her opinion.
Most people would shudder at the worn furniture that she’d picked up at second-hand stores and garage sales. Not to mention the bedroom that was overflowing with unpacked boxes from her mother’s house. Boxes that were filled with painful memories she wasn’t prepared to open.
And oh yeah, a kitchen that had become a mini-lab with microscopes, petri dishes, test tubes, and three small fridges that contained her current experiments.
Hardly the palace most women dreamed of.
But for Angela it was far better than a palace.
It was her safe haven.
The moment she closed the door she could forget the day, along with the frustrating challenge of trying to fit in a world that always seemed slightly out of focus.
Today, however, there was no peace as she shut and locked the door.
Pacing across the living room, she peeked through the curtains at the empty street below.
It had started this morning.
She’d spent the entire day with the sensation she was being watched by some unseen lurker.
And she laid full blame on the shoulders of Dr. Nikolo Bartrev.
Not because of his abrupt arrival and equally abrupt departure from the club last night, although the aggravating man had taken away any hope of enjoying the night. Oh, she’d gone through the routine for Megan’s sake. She’d danced, she’d sipped her gin fizz, and laughed on cue, but the evening had gone flat.
No, she was used to wishing for things she could never have.
It was his warning of a mysterious stalker that had her jumping at shadows.
Seeing nothing but the usual joggers and occasional car drive past, she gave a shake of her head.
What had she expected?
A stranger wearing a hockey mask and lurking on the sidewalk?
Or maybe a car in the parking lot with a sign that said STALKERS “R” US?
“This is stupid,” she muttered, stepping away from the window and heading into the kitchen.
Spring break had officially started. Classes were out, the majority of the students were even now fleeing town for warmer climes, and she would have a blessed, uninterrupted week to work on her private research.
No doubt Megan would toss her hands up in defeat, but as far as Angela was concerned she’d rather be concentrating on her work than wasting her days on an overcrowded beach.
Okay, maybe if the beach included Professor Hottie she might consider—
Entering the kitchen, Angela came to a halt, a strange sense of alarm tingling down her spine.
Someone had been in here.
She didn’t know exactly how she could be so certain. Perhaps the microscope had been shifted ever so slightly. Or maybe there was a lingering scent she didn’t quite recognize.
Whatever the cause, her vague unease became full on, adrenaline-charging alarm as she whirled around, intent on fleeing the apartment.
A wise decision that came too late.
She barely managed a step before the door was blocked by a slender figure.
Angela’s heart slammed to a halt as she took a swift inventory of the intruder.
The stranger wasn’t much taller than her, and was dressed from head to toe in black. Black leather pants. Black turtleneck sweater. Black ski mask.
Good grief. Did stalkers have a uniform code?
She swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh, sternly reminding herself that she was in danger.
Despite the fact the intruder was more or less the same size as herself and clearly female, she wasn’t fooled. Beneath the tight clothes she could make out hard, lean muscles that warned the intruder could tie Angela into a painful pretzel.
Or worse.
“Who are you?” she managed to croak, her mind sluggishly trying to shift through her limited options.
No. Not limited.
Nonexistent.
Her cell phone was in her purse that she’d left in the living room. There was no doubt a knife was tucked in her silverware drawer, but it was across the room. And there was nothing close enough at hand to use as a weapon.
For now her options were talking her way out of danger or hoping for a miracle.
Neither seemed likely.
Casually leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb the intruder revealed she was in far better control of her nerves than Angela.
“Would you believe a friend?”
“No.”
A nonchalant shrug. “Then let’s say I’m a potential customer.”
“Customer?” Angela frowned before she gave a small gasp of understanding. “Oh. I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”
The woman adjusted her black glove. Preparing for violence?
“I rarely make mistakes,” she drawled. Her voice was oddly beautiful. Almost hypnotic.
Angela licked her lips, flicking a brief glance toward the expensive equipment that was piled on the kitchen table.
“I know it must look like I manufacture drugs, but I’m just a scientist,” she said, her palms damp. Had the temperature gone up? Or was it sheer terror that was making her feel as if her sweatshirt and jeans were smothering her? “There’s nothing here that will get you high.”
“Just a scientist?” The stranger gave a chiding shake of her head. “Now, now, Angela. There’s no need for such modesty. You’re already considered the brilliant star in the world of genetics.”
Angela took a shocked step back. “You know me?”
“Of course. I’ve been following your career with breathless anticipation.”
Okay. The whole encounter had just shifted from scary to terrifyingly creepy.
“Who are you?” she repeated the question that had never been answered.
The intruder straightened, taking a step into the kitchen. “A
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