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Harmony hadn't detected the subtle shift of power around her that normally warned her that a psychic was present. But she also knew that there were those who saw things, knew things, without ever tripping her defenses. She had a feeling Lance's grandfather was one of those people. She was beginning to wonder if Lance was, because he kept finding ways beneath her defenses. A look. A touch. A certain tone of voice. She had a terrible feeling that if she ended up staying there much longer, then walking away was going to kill her. It wasn't her way to form attachments or friends. The potential for heartache only grew. And within a week, the potential was getting seriously out of control here.
As the night deepened, Harmony used the darkness of her room to think. Stretched out on the floor, dripping with sweat from the crunches she worked through, she fought to clear her mind. To concentrate on the burn of her muscles rather than the arousal burning through the rest of her.
She could think through the workouts. Who had killed the bartender? Which enemy did she know would work to frame her rather than shoot her? She was accessible here. There was no way to hide from a sniper's gun, which meant it wasn't a Council-run operation. The Council wanted her, but not dead. She was of no use to them dead. If she was convicted of committing another murder, then as far as they knew, Jonas wouldn't hesitate to kill her.
She had made other enemies, of course. An assassin had a ton of those. But Harmony had been careful. The persona of Death was much different than the one she portrayed as Harmony. Harmony could walk down a city street, shop in the finest stores and have dinner in the best restaurants. Death had to use the cover of night and hide in the shadows.
Wiping the dripping perspiration from her eyes, she collapsed back on the carpet, breathing hard as she fought to catch her breath before beginning another set of the crunches.
Alonzo was in town. He knew of Death, but he didn't know Harmony. He would know there was a Breed on the force, but had he connected the two, he wouldn't be staging an elaborate frame-up. The bastard.
Besides, Alonzo could have no idea that she knew his secrets, his ties to the Council and the operation in France ten years before.
None of this made sense.
She frowned up at the ceiling, fighting to work through something that had no base. There was always a chance the murdered bartender was a freak occurrence, but Harmony didn't deal in coincidences. They didn't exist for her.
Nothing existed for her but Death.
The pain that clenched her chest at the thought of that nearly took her breath. She was twenty-five years old. Twenty of those years had been spent killing. She lifted her hands from the floor and stared at them, even in the near blackout of the room, she saw the blood. So much blood spilling through her hands, staining her soul and everything she touched.
Everyone she touched.
Oh God, what was she doing here? A half-hysterical laugh nearly passed her lips. What made her think she could do this? That she could ever have the freedom Jonas had offered her.
Six months. He knew she would never last six months. He knew her past would stalk her, find her, and she was terrified that was exactly what had happened. As she lay there, the sound of the doorknob turning had her jerking her gun from her side and coming to her knees, the safety clicking off as the door swung inward.
"Are you crazy?" she yelled at Lance furiously as she came to her feet in a surge of anger. "Don't ever do that. Never. "
He stood framed in the doorway, one hand braced against the jamb as he stared into the room. The light from the hall shadowed him, but she knew it clearly revealed her. Dressed in the snug cotton cami shirt and matching boxers, damp with sweat, no part of her body would be hidden from his gaze.
Her nipples pressed into the cloth and her clit throbbed in anticipation as she stared at him. Shirtless. God, couldn't he even wear a shirt? The only thing saving her from panting in lust was the fact that he was in shadow and she couldn't really see details. But she could smell. And the smell of him was off-the-charts hot. Desert heat and stormy winds. The combination had the glands at her tongue swelling further and the sweet taste of arousal spilling to her mouth.
Great. Just great, she thought. She had managed to keep this mating heat stuff under control for two days, just to be blindsided by a bare chest and the scent of him.
"Are you just going to stand there?" She stalked over to the nightstand, flipping on the light to at least give herself the advantage of seeing him. Unlike most Breeds, her night vision wasn't exactly exceptional.
Maybe she should have left the lights off.
He shifted as he watched her, hard chest muscles rippling, his abs tightening as the unbuttoned band of his jeans drew her eyes.
"You're soaking wet with sweat," he observed. "Is lying in here working out like a demon better than being in my bed?"
"Yes!" No.
His expression turned chastising as he wagged his finger at her. "Little girls who lie get their butts spanked," he warned her.
That did not turn her on. It didn't.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared back at him.
"I wouldn't try it if I were you," she grated out.
"What? Spanking you?" The crooked smile that tugged at his lips was one of pure lust.
"I promise, baby, you would enjoy it. "
She was two seconds from a true growl. And she so hated playing into the stereotype of the Breed.
