Dion Evans was one of her oldest friends. They'd met when they were both thirteen, in junior high, and had gone on to attend the same specialized private high school for powered kids on the outskirts of Seattle. He was a ridiculously good looking African-American man with a killer smile and a honey warm voice. He was a bit of a womanizer, and Bree was deeply grateful she'd never fallen for him, as she was pretty sure he made a much better friend than boyfriend.

They hugged each other h.e.l.lo, and he took off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks in the hall. He was wearing a maroon cashmere sweater and black jeans with a polished pair of black boots. They were having a last cold snap, and it was chilly enough out for winter coats and sweaters.

He leaned over and scooped up Hanroi, rubbing under the cat's chin vigorously. "Man am I hungry!" he exclaimed as he followed her back into the kitchen. "I had an early shift today, so I had lunch around eleven. Seems like eons ago." He put the cat down on the floor, then reached into the salad bowl and plucked a chunk of avocado off the top and put it into his mouth. Bree slapped his hand as he dove for a second. "Back, back I say!" she exclaimed. "Don't manhandle my salad. Dinner's only ten or fifteen minutes away. I'm sure you can survive until then."

"Any thing I can do to help? I'm all about getting the dinner train moving."

"You can set the table. I'm running way behind."

Daniel showed up shortly thereafter, and Dion let him in. Bree was just pulling the foil wrapped loaf of garlic bread out of the oven, when he came into the kitchen. He was definitely not the clothes horse Dion was. He'd come in his faded navy turtleneck cotton sweater and jeans. Daniel had a predilection for blue clothes, some kind of symbolic power balancing thing for all the fire in his nature. "Perfect timing," Bree told him as she pulled off her oven mitts and handed him the salad bowl. "Here, put this on the table, we're just about ready."

"Yes Ma'am!" he answered with a smile, and moved to obey her, nearly tripping over the cat, which had twined around his legs.

In just a few moments, the three of them were arrayed around the table in the small dining room between the kitchen and the living room. Steam from the boiling pasta had made it into the room and fogged up the window. Condensation was running in drops down the rectangular panes as they pa.s.sed around the salad, spaghetti with marinara sauce and garlic bread. Bree had bribed Hanroi to keep out of their way by putting some canned cat food in his food dish, so they were blissfully undisturbed by feline attentions. Dion poured out the Merlot Daniel had brought along, and soon they were tucking into dinner.

After some initial relaxed small talk as they all sated the worst of their hunger, Dion asked, "So what's with the meeting? I mean hey, I'm glad you're feeding me and all, but I get the feeling this isn't just a social occasion."

Daniel looked to Bree, clearly signaling her to start, and she put down her fork before replying. "Daniel and I did an exorcism on Sunday," she began.

"Right on!" Dion broke in with an electric smile. "Way to get back on the horse!"

Bree rolled her eyes at him while she took a sip of her wine. Dion had been pressuring her for months to get back to exorcisms. He was on the Seattle Powered Council, and one of his roles was coordinating taint clearings and minor exorcisms with power workers who were not Keepers. "Yeah, yeah, wonderful," she said with not a little sarcasm. "Anyway, the demon said something about a war coming. Daniel told me there have been wars with demon kind in the past, which I guess were pretty serious. We thought we should tell you about it so you can pa.s.s it on to the Council if you think it's important. And we were both curious as to whether any similar rumors have come your way."

Dion finished chewing the bite of spaghetti he'd taken while she was speaking, then replied, manner serious now. "I'm sorry to say this isn't the first I've heard of it. Possessions have been up for months, as you know. We were pretty sure it had something to do with plans the Keltoi have, a kind of diversion." The Keltoi were the American version of powered organized crime. "There was that big action they had planned with the heroin shipment that you two helped break up last fall. But there's been nothing major from them on our radar since then. Possessions went down for a bit, but they're back up. And yours isn't the only demon to talk about a war."

Daniel leaned forward as he said, "Any word from the Ecclesias on this?" The Ecclesias was the highest legal authority for powered. As they were also the ones who monitored and removed power from emerging Demon Masters and Binders, essentially crippling all their magical abilities, and in some cases killing them, they were a group Daniel wanted fervently to avoid.

"Oh yes," Dion replied grimly. "Definite word to report any rumors, any further increase in demonic activity, and especially any signs of increased Keltoi activity. The way I've heard it, these so-called wars are almost always started by dark power users. There's usually some business or political power grab involved. It's a cla.s.sic case of making a deal with the devil at the cost of your soul."

"Then why do they do it?" Bree asked in frustration. "Why do the Keltoi keep falling for it?"

"Because there are always people who think they can manage demons," Daniel replied with a wry look at Bree. The irony of that flowed between them. Dion didn't know that Daniel was a Demon Master and Binder. Naturally, Daniel was guilty of exactly the same hubris, and Bree wasn't far behind him. Bree fidgeted uncomfortably with her fork at the thought.

"True enough," Dion replied, missing the interplay while his attention was on getting a bite of spaghetti wound around his fork. "And I'm sure some of them do manage demons well, at least for a time. In fact, I know they do. There are definite advantages to allowing demon possession. All that increase in power levels, the high pain threshold, the lack of inconvenient conscience. You can get a lot done if the subject retains some control, and the strong ones usually do for a time." He took a bite of the spaghetti, then leaned back in his chair, chewing.

"So how do we know there really is a war starting?" Bree asked.

It was Daniel who answered. "More possessions, like we're seeing. Quite a few Demon Masters deliberately call up far more demons than they have any hope of controlling. Keepers get overloaded, and there are more fatalities during exorcisms. And the demons get riled up somehow. They usually don't actively want to kill their hosts, but during these wars, it's as if they lose all sense of self preservation. The bigger ones like to feed on murder, but most cla.s.ses of demons are fairly satisfied with non-lethal violence. During a war, they all seem to want to kill people, even though as far as we can make out, they need people for food."

"And all those possessed people run around cause one h.e.l.l of a lot of trouble," Dion chimed in. "Normal cops see a big increase in a.s.saults, rapes, gang violence, normal guys suddenly killing their entire families, you name it."

"So when was the last one, the last war?"

"They tend to be somewhat localized," Daniel answered as he dropped his napkin beside his plate on the table. "The last one in the States was in the mid to late sixties. The last one in Europe was World War II."

"World War II?" Bree repeated faintly.

"Yeah, this ain't no light weight s.h.i.t we're talking about," Dion rumbled.

"It doesn't always go to that level," Daniel rea.s.sured Bree, "not by any means. But it can get very, very bad."

"And we're thinking it might happen here? In Seattle?"

"There is more activity here on the West Coast, by all accounts," Dion replied. "More in L.A. than here. There's a Keltoi leader down there by the name of Marton Varga who's taken over in a big way. He's consolidated most of the California Keltoi under his leadership, and he's been making some big moves."

"Did you say Varga? Marton Varga?" Daniel asked tersely.

"Someone you know?"

"If it's the one I'm thinking of, yeah. Someone I'm related to, actually." Daniel folded his hands across his stomach as he explained. "Varga was my mother's maiden name. I think Marton is a second cousin of some kind, a couple of times removed. I can never keep all those degrees of cousin straight. Anyway, that side of the family is from Hungary. I think I met him once when there was a big family reunion in Budapest. I was only a kid at the time, maybe nine or ten. He's five or six years older than me, so it's not like we hung out. I heard later on that his father was a Keeper who turned dark and went Keltoi, and they lived somewhere in California. So it could be the same guy."

"Well, you might be interested to know that Keeper intelligence has it that your old flame, Franchesca Gambrini, is involved with him."

The light went right out of Daniel's face at the mention of Franchesca's name. She was a childhood friend and former lover of Daniel's, the crazy, demon burned ex-girlfriend from h.e.l.l, as far as Bree was concerned. She was pretty sure Daniel had finally seen her for what she was when she kidnapped their friend Kevin's son last fall as a way to get to Daniel, but she knew that Daniel was still very much pained by the path Franchesca had taken, probably not least because it was a path he could so easily have taken himself. And wasn't it a little creepy that Franchesca had ended up with a cousin of Daniel's? She had a very unhealthy obsession with Daniel, and Bree couldn't help but wonder if this was just another aspect of it.

Daniel's reaction wasn't completely lost on Dion. His features softened as he said, "Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, man. In any case, if a demon war is starting, it's starting there. But we're all worried that Seattle won't be far behind."

"Don't you think the powered community should know about this?" Bree asked.

"We don't want to start a panic," Dion began, but Bree interrupted.

"People need to review their defensive spells, get up to speed on personal wards. Maybe we can prevent some of the possessions that way. You know possessions of powered are way worse than possession of normals."

"It's a hard line to walk," Dion tried again, but this time Daniel interrupted. "I think she's right. There has to be a way to alert people without starting an all out panic."

"The Council is debating that now, as is the Ecclesias. And in the end, it'll have to come down from the Ecclesias, you know that," Dion finally finished with some show of irritation. "I share your concerns here, but you have to realize that harm can be done if everyone gets all paranoid. That can divide the powered community right when we should be pulling together."

Bree sighed. Dion was ultimately a political creature, and she was, in essence, too black and white in her opinions to be able to argue well with him in cases like these. To her, it was obviously right to warn people. She didn't have much patience for the political intricacies of how and why.

Dion gave first her, then Daniel a measuring look. "Do I have to ask you two not to go blabbing this around to all and sundry?" When neither of them answered right away, it was his turn to sigh. "Look, it won't be long before this comes out in the open. And it's not like there's not already rumors. All I'm asking here is that you not go around telling everyone to get ready for a war. Go ahead and tell folks about the increase in possessions. Daniel, you know more about defensive spells and warding than probably anyone I know. Feel free to help people you know get their defensive spells in order. Just keep in mind we don't know for certain that it's going to be war, so there's no reason yet to be saying there is one."

"Do you think there's going to be a war?" Daniel asked him directly. Bree watched as Dion's brows furrowed slightly and his nostrils flared, listened carefully to his tone of voice as he replied, "I'm not fully convinced of it, no."

"Did you just try to lie to me?" Bree said, voice rising as her Reader sense put together his tells.

"Honey, you know and I know that'd be a waste of breath with you going Reader on me like you just did. And don't deny it," Dion said with an exasperated look. "I said I'm not fully convinced, and I meant that. I don't think we've crossed the threshold into war, and we may not. And I sincerely hope we don't."

"Amen to that," Daniel murmured.

"So anyway, message received, thanks for the report, and thanks, Bree, for dinner. I've got to be getting on here in a minute, I've got a date."

"Dear Lord, don't you ever sleep?" Bree asked, her rising anxiety and irritation momentarily sidetracked into rueful amus.e.m.e.nt. "You must have gotten up at five for your early shift."

"I took a nap after work," Dion rea.s.sured her, getting to his feet. "A man needs to rest after saving lives all day." Dion worked as an paramedic when he wasn't up to his ears in politics. "And besides, you know I'm never too tired for the ladies."

Bree saw him to the door and hugged him goodbye. She returned back to the dining room to find Daniel clearing the table. They worked together quietly to clean up, interrupted periodically by Bree shooing Hanroi off the counters where he insisted on being. The kitten finally got bored with tormenting her and wandered off into the living room, probably for his evening nap.

Daniel did the dishes, and Bree dried and put away. They chatted about Dion, local powered politics, and a spell Daniel was currently puzzling over, both avoiding further talk of the possible upcoming war and the revelation about the involvement of Daniel's cousin and his ex.

Bree was distracted by watching his profile as he worked. She couldn't help but admire the strong line of his nose, the little hollow below his cheekbone, and his long black lashes. His dark otter pelt hair was in need of a trim. She had a moment's fantasy of turning him to her and running her hands through it, and she shook herself a little to dispel the thought. Clearly, she retained a sort of helpless physical attraction for him, and she became hyper aware of it the rare times they were alone together. There was a way he held eye contact with her a little too long as they talked, a way his shoulder brushed up against hers as they maneuvered around the small kitchen, that told her he was feeling very aware of her too. A nervous sense of expectation started up in Bree, as if this were a date. She told herself not to be ridiculous, that she and Daniel had been so careful to keep things between them platonic, they were hardly going to change that on a sudden whim. Surely she was imagining things here.

A little silence fell as Daniel did the last of the dishes. He finished the final pot lid, pulled the plug on the sink, and rinsed his hands under the tap. He moved around Bree to wipe his hands on the dish towel laced through the handle on the refrigerator. Then Bree felt him move up behind her, felt the heat of his body approach just before he put a hand on her waist. She froze with the pasta pot in one hand, towel in the other. Slowly, Daniel moved her braid to one side with his other hand and lowered his lips into a gentle kiss on her neck. Bree opened her mouth on a little gasp and shivered involuntarily, but she didn't pull away. Daniel moved closer, pulling her against him with the hand on her waist, his other arm moving around across her shoulders and the top of her chest, imprisoning her as he kissed her neck again.

Bree let the pot fall to the counter, one hand still clutching the towel, the other bracing herself against the counter's edge. This can't be happening, she told herself. His kisses moved down her neck and across the top of the shoulder that was accessible above her sweater. Bree felt strangely immobilized, unable to speak, unable to act, either to push him away or pull him closer. Daniel's body shifted, and his attentions moved to the other side of her neck. Waves of electric warmth coursed down her arms and into her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. There was something about not having to look at him that made it possible to allow this. The hand at her waist glided forward across her stomach and began gently moving under her sweater. She gasped aloud as his warm hand made contact with her bare stomach, the tips of his fingers moving below the top edge of her pants. She had the nagging sense that she should put a stop to this, that she wasn't ready for this, but she couldn't make herself move away.

Slowly, Daniel began turning her to face him, and she felt the first stirrings of resistance. She was afraid to look at him. And she didn't look at him until he trapped her face between his hands. When she found the courage to raise her eyes, Daniel was gazing at her intently, holding her firmly in his grasp, but waiting for something. Her breath came fast as she allowed herself to really look at him, take him in. G.o.d, he was gorgeous. With a little sigh of surrender, she leaned forward, lips seeking for his, and that was apparently what he'd been waiting for. He met her in the kiss. It was slow, and deep, and didn't stop. Tongues twined, then darted, advancing, teasing, retreating. Daniel moved one hand around her back, up under her sweater, and pushed closer to her.

Bree finally came out of her strange pa.s.sivity, and her arms went around him. Their kissing gradually became more urgent, and their bodies moved against each other more, seeking, pressing. Bree felt shaky, excited, and wildly turned on. The voice of caution was getting louder in her head in response, but she pushed it away. She broke off the kiss, and exchanged a smoldering, s.e.xually charged look with Daniel. Then, resolutely, she began pulling his blue sweater off over his head. The white t-shirt underneath came half up with it, and as Daniel took on getting the sweater over his head, Bree's hands caressed his hard stomach. Daniel sucked in a harsh breath as she did so, then threw his sweater on the floor and pulled her urgently against him, kissing her again, her mouth, her neck, tongue dipping teasingly around and into her ear. Bree's cheeks heated with arousal, and her head was thrown back in surrender, hair escaping her braid in tendrils around her face. And desire was clear to see on Daniel's face as well. As he kissed her lips again, Bree started to feel the need to have even fewer clothes between them. My G.o.d, a tiny voice said in the back of her mind, are you going to have s.e.x with him right here in the kitchen? Right now? Rather than slowing her down, the little voice triggered a picture in her head that spiked her s.e.xual desire for Daniel further, if that was possible. She was pulling at him, pulling him closer by his arms, his shoulders, his waist, hands restless, wanting more of him. He obliged, hands slipping down her back to cup her a.s.s, pulling her against the swell of his erection.

And suddenly, a sharply defined mental image intruded on Bree's mind. A memory of Daniel doing this to Franchesca. It had been last fall. He'd been demon possessed and was kissing Franchesca hungrily, pulling her against him in exactly this way. Bree had been tied to a chair at the time, helpless to do anything to interfere, sickened by the sight but unable to look away. A sensation of cold water pouring down her body washed over her at the memory, and before she was consciously aware of what she was doing, she started pushing Daniel away. It took him a moment to realize she was actually struggling against him, and she felt increasingly panicked when he didn't immediately release her. "Let me go!" she cried, when her lips were free of his. She got her hands between them and pushed hard at his chest.

He stepped back quickly then, a surprised look on his face. He still had one hand on her shoulder, and Bree roughly shook it off and took a few steps to the side, instinctively getting out of his reach.

"Bree, what is it?" Daniel asked, voice husky and full of confused concern.

She looked at him, and for a moment, a vision of how his face looked when he'd been possessed by Gelsenim was superimposed on him now, changing the stunned, half aroused look on his face to one of careless l.u.s.t and amused cruelty. She looked away, shaken by the image. A whole cascade of memories from that night intruded, of being beaten, of having to watch both her friend Kevin and Daniel hurt trying to rescue her, the moment when she realized Franchesca really meant to kill her. And worst of all, seeing Daniel possessed by a demon.

Daniel made a move toward her, all concern, and she flinched away further. He stopped and said softly, "Talk to me, Bree. Just tell me what's happening. Is it still too soon?"

She shook her head helplessly, and embarra.s.sed, frightened tears began swimming in her eyes. She knew what was happening, but she couldn't seem to speak. This was a flashback, like war veterans got. She used to get them after Seth died. Her muscles had tightened all over her body, and she began to shake.

"Oh G.o.d, I'm sorry, Bree, I'm sorry," Daniel said, hands half raised as if he wanted to pull her to him but uncertain if that was what she'd want. "I guess I shouldn't have pushed it. I didn't plan it or anything. I just, I don't know, I just..."

"That's not it," Bree managed to grate out. She wiped hard at her eyes, then reminded herself to just try to breathe. Daniel stayed silent then, a tall, fretful presence at the edge of her vision as she forced her breath to slow, her muscles to unknot. It gave her time to think about what she'd been doing. She had just been crossing a line with Daniel, an important line. This was not a man she could have casual s.e.x with. Whatever was between them, it was anything but casual. And no matter what her body wanted, in her heart, she was truly divided about him. As divided as Daniel himself. As she gradually got herself under control, she began to feel it was fortunate the flashback had occurred. She knew herself, and she would ultimately have regretted sleeping with him when her emotions about him were so confused.

When she finally felt she could speak, she said, "I had some kind of flashback there. Of when you were possessed."

"I'm sorry," Daniel repeated again. She dared a look at him, and she got another unpleasant jolt of memory. Her heart stuttered as she answered, "That's not your fault. But maybe it happened for a reason. I don't think I'm ready for this, Daniel. I don't think either of us are ready for it."

"Ah, h.e.l.l, I don't know, Bree," Daniel answered. He bent down and picked up his sweater. "I'm not sure I even know what ready looks like." He shoved his arms through the sleeves of his sweater, pulled it over his head, then tugged down hard on the bottom of the hem. His voice edged towards anger "Obviously, I'm not the healthy relationship poster child. What do I know."

"Daniel, look, I..."

"You're probably smart not to get involved with me." he interrupted. "I've got too much weird s.h.i.t going on. Including the thing that happened with the exorcism. I'm not even sure how safe it is for you to work with me anymore."

Bree started to get anxious again. This was all moving too fast for her. She wanted Daniel to pull back, yes, but not that far back. "We have a plan, Daniel, and I want to stick to it. I still want to meet on Sat.u.r.day and do the trial with Gelsenim, ask him to read you with me, see what we can find out."

"Yes, but how can you trust me? How can you trust that I can keep you safe with Gelsenim, keep control of him?"

"Well, I trust you for that," Bree answered quickly, unthinkingly.

Daniel shook his head sharply. "And not for much else. I know."

"C'mon, that's not what I meant," Bree protested.

Daniel shook his head again. "I think that is exactly what you meant. Look, fine. Let's stick to the plan and do that much. We can invite Kevin for back up on the wards, maybe bring Sophie and Bruce back in as well, get all the layers of protection we can arrange. And obviously, we're back to a professional working relationship. You don't have to spell it out. It's pretty clear that whatever it is that's between us, you can't trust someone like me. And I'm not even sure you're wrong in that. Now, if you don't mind, I think it's time for me to head home. Thanks for dinner." He gave her one last heated, hurt look, and stalked off toward the door.

Bree followed him, unable to think what else to say, able to get out only an entirely inadequate, "Goodnight!" as he went out the door.

She walked slowly back into her living room, and dropped down on the couch next to her dozing cat. He raised his head sleepily and emitted a questioning little trill at her, and she rubbed the top of his head with her thumb. "Oh Han," she sighed. "What am I doing with that man? What on earth am I doing?"

Unfortunately, Hanroi did not have the answer to that

CHAPTER FOUR.

Leander Rayne drove his black Saab onto the semi-circular driveway in front of Howard Scanlon's house on top of Capitol Hill, one of the only neighborhoods in Seattle with truly cla.s.sic old mansions. And Howard Scanlon's place was that, a mansion. Leander parked, turned off the car, and looked out the window at it. He was a Reader, and for him, the read started with the subject's chosen surroundings. The house was an early 1900's Tudor. It was three stories tall and half-timbered with the traditional cream colored stucco between the wooden beams. There was a square brick portico in the center, and he could glimpse a huge wood front door with leaded gla.s.s across the top. The landscaping consisted of neatly trimmed mature bushes, a patch of green lawn, and two dark urns on either side of door where the pointed green foliage of some spring bulbs could be seen peaking out. Here was a man, Leander mused, who liked to look like he had old money. He was cautious and wanted to be in control of how he was perceived. Leander looked forward to seeing if his initial impressions of Seattle's newest Keltoi clan leader were correct.

He got out of the car, taking care not to let his off-white linen suit jacket brush anything on his way out. It was too early in the year to dress in white, but Leander liked bucking traditions. He was wearing a pure white b.u.t.ton down shirt underneath and light khaki pants. He reached up and flipped a lock of his bright red hair out of his collar. A smile graced his lips as he considered the interesting challenge he was walking into.

As he began his leisurely walk to the front door, a flock of sparrows swooped in close over his head, turned in mid-air, and swooped close again. He paused, held up a hand to focus his talent, and murmured, "No, no, little loves. No landing on the white jacket." The birds made one last pa.s.s, then swerved to settle in one of the bushes next to the house's entrance, chirping a delightful serenade. He blew a kiss at the little flock and finished his walk up to the front door, located the doorbell, and rang it. He heard the dim echo of it somewhere in the house, and d.a.m.ned if a butler didn't open the door. Oh, he wasn't wearing a cla.s.sic butler outfit, but there was a diffidence to his bearing that marked him out to Leander as an employee.

"Leander Rayne here to see Mr. Scanlon," he announced himself.

"Right this way, sir," the butler answered, opening the door wider and gesturing him into the wood paneled entryway. There was a round table in the center with an impressive floral arrangement on it, flowering spring branches intermixed with expensive, not yet in season parrot tulips. The butler led him around the table and toward a door to the right, underneath the rising line of a grand staircase leading to the upper floors. A short hallway ended in a huge, gorgeously appointed kitchen which somehow gave the impression that it was seldom used. He could see a dining area to the left with a grand bank of windows taking in a view down the hill to Lake Washington and the Cascade mountain range in the distance. There was another hall off the kitchen that led back to a home office. The door to it was open, and the butler waved Leander in and closed the door after.

Howard Scanlon was sitting on a buff colored, velvet brocade couch, a gla.s.s of orange juice in one hand and a newspaper spread across his lap. He was a tall man, taller than Leander, which became apparent when he put down his gla.s.s and got up to shake hands. He had iron grey hair, bright blue eyes, and a long face with heavy features. Leander judged him to be in his late fifties. He immediately read something careworn in the old guy's face, something beyond the doubtless stressful transition to taking over as Chief of his clan. He had one of those overly hard grips during the shake, and Leander gave back what he got, teeth bared in a smile.

"Mr. Rayne. I've heard so much about you. Please have a seat." Scanlon waved him to a chair across from the couch. There was a big desk in one corner, and Leander noted with interest that he was being treated more as a guest than an employee. He'd pictured standing in front of a big, imposing desk like that while he got his orders. Maybe that last job his did for Marton had finally gotten him some respect with the upper tier.

Leander had been briefed on Howard Scanlon's talents, which was part of why he'd been looking forward so much to the meeting. Scanlon was a low power Demon Master, a high power Caster, reputedly very knowledgeable in the dark lore, and best of all, a high power Reader, not only of talents and energy, but that rarest kind of all, a Reader of tells. As Leander settled into the chair, he deliberately tried to think something uncharitable about the man in front of him. He hadn't had someone this skilled to test himself on in a while. While he was casting about mentally for something really petty to focus on, Scanlon was talking.

"You come highly recommended by Marton Varga," he was saying, as he sank back into the couch and reached out to retrieve his gla.s.s of juice.

"I've been with Marton for five years now," Leander replied easily. The big nose? Or should I focus in on the ridiculously faux European decor?

"I understand Marton discovered you, that you didn't grow up in a Keltoi family. You were an orphan, I believe?"

Leander's attention abruptly focused back in on Scanlon. He wasn't best pleased with the direction the conversation was heading. "All true. Marton's been very good to me. And I've been very good to him in return."

"Yes, I heard about the San Pedro job. Nice work."

Good save, Leander praised himself. They were successfully off the subject of his less than flattering life story and on to his work reputation.

"That's the job that made Marton think of you for something I've got going on. It's fortunate for me this came up when you were at loose ends and could use some time out of reach of any intended reprisals."

Intended reprisals was putting it mildly, Leander thought wryly to himself. He had actually been worried he wouldn't make it out of that gig alive. But he had no intention of showing in his manner just how grateful he was for a paying job so far away from L.A.

Suddenly, something Marton had said to him came back to mind. Something about Scanlon's son being killed recently. He'd heard the guy had been something of an embarra.s.sment. Not very high power and something of a f.u.c.k-up. Leander gleefully imagined the humiliation an uptight, high power Keltoi would feel with a son like that. He felt the edge of his mouth begin to quirk in an involuntary smile.

"Yes, the timing is fortuitous," he agreed, a beat late, having been distracted by picturing Scanlon's son. "I'm interested in hearing more about the job."

Scanlon shifted slightly on the couch, and took a slow sip of juice as Leander answered him. Then he crossed his leg, ankle on knee, mirroring Leander's posture, and his mouth compressed slightly while he deliberately met Leander's eyes. Leander read discomfort in the tells, including the discomfort Scanlon felt in knowing he was facing another high power tells Reader. Conversations could get very complicated very quickly when two such powered were in the same room. Leander's delight in the situation moved up a notch.