why? But at least I have the pleasure of your company.”

He set down his case. “Lydia agreed you wouldn’t be restrained except when you’re being tested.”

“And those charming gentlemen from security?”

“Only when staff needs to come in here— and Lydia is looking into phones.”

“Phones? Bullshit, she’d listen in anyway. She’s stalling. No deal, Doctor.” She pulled a chair from the desk and straddled it backwards, Marlene Dietrich style.

“I don’t know the reason you agreed to all of this or even how you came to find us, but you must have a reason. If you don’t help us, how can we help you? I swear, I’ll continue to lobby for you and Kurt.”

She shook her head. “I doubt you have any influence after all.”

“I’m the best. They’re damn lucky to have me.”

“Your lack of false-modesty is refreshing. You’re brilliant, but full of hubris Doctor.”

“Hubris?”

“Tragic heroes suffer from hubris.”

“Right.”

“You had no idea what I meant. You have no idea what you’re up against— but you’re no coward. I believe you’ll fight for us but my problem still remains. Kurt’s on one side of the wall and I’m on the other.”

“Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Perhaps… ” She rose from her chair and went over to the desk to open a locked drawer. It amazed him how tiny she really was, no taller than his eleven-year-old twins. After rummaging for a moment, she pulled out a cream-colored envelope with the Genpath logo and brought it to him. “If someone could act as postman between us? Someone not enamored of the inscrutable Dr. Loy? I’d be distressed if our intimate missives were to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Deliver love letters between you? Fair enough. By the way, Lydia authorized me to obtain anything you and Kurt might need— at company expense.”

“This cell is hopeless. The sheets are cheap. Get new ones.”

“So much for resting on the soil of your homeland,” he muttered under his breath.

“I wouldn’t recommend the soil of Flatbush Avenue to anyone. Pima cotton.”

“Pima cotton?”

“Fine Egyptian cotton— three hundred threads per square inch at the very least. And drawing and painting supplies.”

“You’re an artist?”

“I’m a vampire. I paint in my spare time. Books, toiletries, clothes, lingerie. Send your girlfriend if you’re embarrassed.”

He ignored her remark. “So we’re on? You’ll answer my questions?”

She flipped her hair off her face. “Hmm… ”

“Who’s hunting you?”

“Who told you that?”

“Lydia. What did you do?”

Her face twisted into distaste. “First, I was born a girl.”

“Huh?”

She shrugged. “I have a habit of pissing others off.”

“That I find difficult to believe. So you are hiding out?”

“Nosy, aren’t you? Why are you haranguing me— aside from official snitch duty?”

“Seems to me we’re the ones who stand to profit most.”

Her eyes glazed over. “When the idols fall, we’ll dance on the ruins… ”

“Idols?”

She shook her head, her mind obviously having danced somewhere far off. Just whom was she dancing there with?

“All right Mia, I did my part. Promise to do yours.”

Suddenly she was back in the room. “Gee, heard that plenty of times before, usually after men buy me dinner.” Malice flavored her smile. “Just remember Doc, who ends up dessert.”

He shuddered at her gastronomical reference.

“I won’t tell anything until I know Kurt’s safe.” Her face set into cherubic resolve. “Bring me back his answer. Then we’ll talk.”

He stood up, placing her letter in his pocket. “Fine.”

“Don’t bother to read it. You won’t be able to— neither will Dr. Loy for that matter.”

Joe supposed they communicated in some kind of code unknown to mortals. “I’ve no intention of it falling into enemy hands.”

“Good. Get out.”

Joe let himself out and continued down the hall to the next cell. The huge guard nodded and grunted, moving aside to let Joe pass. Joe took a deep breath before he placed his palm in the reader of the inner door.

The male looked up but said nothing as Joe entered. A narrow beam of light from the lamp next to his chair carved his fine-boned face into an ivory mask. Large, haunted blue eyes regarded Joe impassively. His shape was that of a very young man but one undernourished. He sat upright, dressed in blue jeans, a soft button down shirt and sneakers, tawny blond curls clipped and combed. Long delicate fingers held a book.

Silent, shunning the fluorescent lights as Mia did, but in contrast to the way she paced like a caged animal about the perimeters of her cell, he sat in solemn stillness, a condemned man waiting for the hangman. Yet to Joe’s eyes, he