Chuckling, she kissed him. "Sweet dreams, wolf."
Chapter 38
The Information Merchant walked to his meeting in a deserted boathouse off a private marina with steady steps. Perhaps other men might have had concerns about coming to such an isolated area to meet individuals who'd already proved willing and able to kill, but he was a high-level telepath. He could and had crushed human minds with a single focused thought.
And, he was an information seller. That was his trade, and people paid him well for it. Clients seldom wanted to kill the golden goose. If they did, they'd discover their mistake. Reminded, he pressed a preprogrammed code on his organizer, utilizing the wireless link to his home computers, then slid it into his pocket.
Taking a last look around the dark, fog-shrouded street, he opened the small side door and walked in.
The bullet hit him hard, shoving him against the wall.
Staring down in disbelief at the . . . dart lodged in his chest, he attempted to gather his psychic resources for a deadly blast.
Only to find his mind mired in ice.
"Consider the experiment successful, gentlemen." A voice from the shadows. "We're all still alive."
The Information Merchant gripped the dart and tugged it out. "Why?" The agony of the loss speared down his spinal column, spread through his nervous system.
"You know the answer - information. Unfortunately, you know too much."
Steps coming in his direction.
Then a burst of pain inside his heart and everything stopped.
Chapter 39
Just after nine the next morning found a sleep-deprived but otherwise happy Mercy sitting across from Hamilton, the SilverBlade sentinel she'd had some fun with many, many moons ago. Staring at him, she suddenly realized he was a very good-looking man. Okay, she'd known that already, but only as an adjunct to his strength and speed. But today, she really saw his face - the chiseled planes, the luscious sun-kissed skin that had come by way of a Mediterranean ancestor, the vivid topaz eyes and jet-black hair.
"Why are you looking at me like I'm a bug?" he asked, passing her the files he could've as easily e-mailed.
It was a big, giant hint. But he hadn't acted on it, which made Mercy suspicious. "I just realized how beautiful you are."
He went red. Bright red. "God damn it, Mercy!"
"Sorry." She grinned.
"No, you're not." Rolling his eyes, he leaned back in his chair. "I don't suppose your pack has anyone else like you?"
"No, I'm one of a kind." She stared at him. "Are you trolling for women?"
"Would you shut up?" But he was laughing. "No, but I'm keeping my eyes open - I'm getting antsy to settle down."
"That's an oxymoron." Flippant words but her mind was connecting the dots. "You came back to see if I was your mate?"
He shrugged. "We had good chemistry and we're friends. I figured it couldn't hurt to come have another sniff - you know what I mean so stop gagging - and make sure. I can see I'm too late."
Mercy got a very bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. "And you know this, how?"
"The scent layer's new, but it's unquestionably there. You're marked, babe." He grinned. "Does the poor man know what's in store for him?"
Mercy's intestines tied themselves into a giant knot. It wasn't surprising that Hamilton had picked up the scent layer faster than those in her pack. They knew how much time she and Riley had to spend together, probably figured it was a surface layer of contact. But she'd showered this morning after Riley left, then slicked pretty-smelling body cream over herself. And if Hamilton could still sense Riley . . .
No need to panic, she told herself. Lovers often wore layers of scent that made it clear who belonged to who - females and males both. "What's the scent layer like?"
Hamilton gave her a keen glance, then whistled. "You didn't know."
"Answer the question."