of the time these beings moved at what must seem a sluggish rate for them, probably in an effort to appear normal to the mortals around them.
Her thoughts on their speed and strength scattered as Vincent used the ends of the towel he'd wrapped around her to brush the drops of water from her face. It started out as an almost maternal action, but then his hands slowed and softened and she became aware that his eyes had settled on her mouth and stayed there. His expression stilled, becoming serious. It was an expression Jackie was not used to from Vincent Argeneau. He generally wore good humor and amusement like a uniform, but neither of those masks was on his face now. His expression was solemn, his eyes beginning to glow silver-blue with a hunger she didn't think had anything to do with blood.
Jackie found herself holding her breath. His body was a whisper away from her own and if she swayed just the teensiest bit forward, her breasts would brush his chest. The idea made a shiver of anticipation ripple down her back and that made Vincent blink and frown.
"Come, it's chilly tonight and you're cold." Vincent released her towel and took her arm to urge her toward the kitchen door. "Inside to warm up."
Jackie nodded and led the way, telling herself she was relieved he hadn't kissed her. All in all, this encounter had been relatively painless, nice even. She hadn't sensed his trying to read her thoughts, and he hadn't taken control of her and made her do anything she didn't want to do. Perhaps she had allowed her old fears to make her treat him unfairly. Maybe he was just as nice as Bastien. And perhaps all immortals didn't look down on mortals and set out to use and hurt them as Cassius had done. This was a huge admission for Jackie to make; it shook the foundations of a belief system she'd lived by for years.
Chapter Seven
"Perfect timing," Tiny announced as Jackie and Vincent stepped into the light and warmth of the kitchen. "I'm just taking out the first batch of cookies. By the time you change into dry clothes, they should be cool enough to eat."
Jackie smiled at Tiny and shook her head as he pulled a sheet of cookies out of the oven. The man had changed into cream-colored joggers and maroon slippers and was wearing the I'm the cook! apron again. He was six feet, seven inches and two hundred and eighty pounds of domesticity running about the kitchen in a pink apron and flowered oven mitts.
And he was her best friend in the world, Jackie reminded herself as the scent of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies hit her.
"Tiny, you're going to make me gain ten pounds on this job if you keep cooking like this," she complained, drawing her towel tighter around her.
"It's your fault," Tiny said with a shrug. "Your hinky feeling made me nervous and?
"Cooking relaxes you," Jackie finished with amusement.
"What hinky feeling is that, dear?" Marguerite asked, drawing Jackie's gaze to where the woman sat leafing through one of Tiny's women's magazines full of recipes. Seated at the table, she was a knockout in the short black dress she'd worn to go out with Vincent earlier and didn't look a day over twenty-nine or thirty. Damn, Jackie thought, there were some real benefits to being an immortal.
"Jackie sometimes gets these feelings," Tiny explained as he carried his tray of cookies to the cooling rack. "A sort of tension and anxiety just before something happens on a case. She had it earlier tonight."
"Before something happens?" Marguerite asked with interest.
"Usually something bad," Tiny muttered as he used a spatula to slide the cookies from the tray to the cooling rack before they began to stick.
"How bad?" Vincent asked with a frown of concern.
Tiny grimaced. "She had it the time I got shot."
"Shot?" Marguerite asked with alarm.
Tiny nodded. "We were working for Bastien. He suspected someone was sneaking out paperwork and samples of some of the different miracle medicines his scientists were working on."
Jackie grimaced as she recalled the occasion Tiny was talking about. Argeneau Enterprises was heavily into medical research. It could be a very lucrative field, especially if you saved on expenses by stealing someone else's ideas and research. That had been happening at Argeneau's and the Morrisey agency had been called in to look into it. This was at the start of her father's illness, when he'd