When she went around the corner, she stopped abruptly, almost running into him. He'd rested his body against the wall and underneath a golden light, back stiff, as if there was something bracing his spine. He had a strange electric air about him, a secretive smile that made her wonder why he was so...ecstaticwasn't exactly the word-too optimistic. But then again, she couldn't define Lonigan for nothin'.

"You looking for a private conversation or something?" she asked, a tiny pulse wavering in her neck.

"I know what did this to your partner."

That beating in her neck seemed to stop.

She advanced a few inches, but stayed near the corner and the safety of the exit doors. "How do you know?"

"I just do." Matt looked at her cheek again, and a muscle started to twitch by his jaw. He seemed as angry as she was.

Dawn responded to their shared, heightened emotion, grabbing at it like it was an outcropping on the face of a cliff, one that would hold her up and take her to another level where she could see a little more clearly.

"He did this to you," he said, his voice gravelly as he moved a hand toward the bandage that covered her st.i.tches.

Was he remembering what "happened" to his parents?

Right. Before he could lay a hand on her, she lifted her chin, avoiding him. He hesitated, the same look in his eyes that she'd seen back at the Cat's Paw-the indecision, the battle for control.

But then, in spite of her blow-off, he made his choice. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

d.a.m.n him and his insistence on being a nice guy. His politeness made her the loser in their control game.

Easily giving in, she shuddered, rubbing her cheek against the heel of his palm.

But...Kiko. She shouldn't be out here fooling around with Matt while her friend was suffering. s.l.u.t.

She backed away, leaving him miffed. Leaving her a pained mess as her right side began to thump under the ice packs.

"I've been wondering, Matt. I looked into your parents. Puttered around the Internet, tapped into databases to read more about it. But...weird. The only match I found was in a comic book story." His brows came together, but then he laughed, the sound short and knowing.

"You think this is funny, Bruce Wayne?"

"You don't believe me."

"You're making it hard."

"Did you ever stop to think that I might've changed my name after the murders?"

Hope flinted against her doubts.

He reclined against the wall. "Did you ever stop to think that I didn't want to hear my given name again? h.e.l.l, Dawn. Just do another search, but use the name 'Destry' this time."

Before her remorse fully hit, Matt gave her a yearning glance, as if her suspicions didn't mean squat. But maybe this went along with his entire "question what's going on" thing. Maybe that's why he was being so accepting of her skepticism-because he'd encouraged it in the first place.

He'd placed his fingertips on her jawline, turning her bandaged cheek toward him. His breath warmed her, ruffling her hair as he tenderly inspected her.

"It's nothing I won't live through," Dawn said.

"I want to kill this thing. Where did it go afterward?"

"Not sure yet, Matt. Do you have any ideas?"

"No." Now he was stroking her temple with his other hand, running the pads of his fingers over her skin, as if mapping her journeys through all the bruises and cuts that had come and gone. He floated his fingers over her long earring, pausing. Then her lips.

Needing something to help keep her standing, she reached out to grab his arm with her left hand, but the gun was in it.

"You can put that away when you're around me," he whispered.

He unthreaded her fingers from around the weapon, slid the metal against her waist as he stored it in her jacket pocket.

The strum of fantasy played her, pulsating low and deep. After seeing Kiko, she needed a human touch, the rea.s.surance that life was still available. That's why Matt's proximity was pulling her in, making her feel, even for a second, that she didn't need to worry about a thing.

"I'm going to make sure you never get hurt again, Dawn," he said. "Can you trust me to do that?"

She wanted to say yes, but Dawn wasn't built that way. All her life she'd depended on herself and on her talent for mothering Frank. Trust in anything else wasn't easy.

"And why should I trust you and not Limpet?" she asked.

"Because you alreadydon'ttrust Limpet."

Somewhere, an ambulance wailed, headed for the ER. It brought Kiko back to her full-force. She shuddered.

In response, Matt kissed her forehead. As he brushed his lips to her brow, she felt the heat of his smooth chin on her mouth, smelled the warm, spiced scent of him. He kissed his way down her nose, then her uninjured cheek, to her lips. Dawn bunched his shirt in her left hand, pressing closer.

Blood churned in her lower belly, urging her to force him against the wall and increase the tempo of their interaction. But this man didn't respond to that-she'd tried shortcuts to intimacy before and had come up empty with him.

But what else could she do? There was too much emotion here to deal with. How could she plug up all the holes in her soul with something she didn't know how to manipulate?

As he kissed her, a low sound of confusion stuck in her throat. But she was still lured, sucking his lips against hers, long and slow pulls of longing. He was being careful not to hurt her, edging his fingertips along her cheek, her neck. There, he traced the center of her throat, the sensitive line that dipped to the cove between her collarbones. His fingers traveled to a vein, stroking her as if it could be as damp and primed as the swollen flesh between her legs.

"I really don't know what to do about you," he said between kisses.

"Tell me about it." Breathless, she rested her forehead against his jaw as he ran a hand up and down her back. Soothing; the cure for her ills. "You're throwing me into a tailspin here."

The siren was getting closer. Kiko.

What the h.e.l.l was she doing?

Reluctantly, she inched away, holding up her hands and turning around. "It's time for me to get out of here."

"Dawn."

The timbre of his voice jolted her with dark familiarity.

Thrown for a loop, she rounded on him, finding that his intensity level had ratcheted to the extreme. His body was as tense as rope strung between a dangling victim and the savior who was trying to pull him back to safety. His eyes had gone wide, hunter-hot.

Now this was the type of man she understood. Dangerous. Animal desire. They were on her terms now.

With two long steps she went back to him, using her good arm to pin him against the wall. She rocked her body against his, grinding herself against his groin, biting at his neck in the sheer desperation to get Kiko's pain...Frank's pain...herownpain out of her mind.

"Dawn," he said again, ragged and excited.

"I came to you," she said, dragging her lower teeth against his throat. "Just like you wanted-willing and ready."

He tasted so good; warm against her tongue, with that tinge of spice...

When he buried a hand in her hair, she knew she had him. As the siren filled her ears from around the corner-a place of refuge and safety only a few steps away-she bit into him, making him grunt and dig his fingers into both of her arms. As she gasped, he lifted his hands in apology for getting carried away.

But she didn't care. She bolted him against the wall with the plane of her left arm, then slipped that hand toward his back to arch him against her. Her bent cravings were proof that he really was like all the other men she'd been with-conquerable, easy to leave behind.

But then her fingers found something unexpected at his spine, something that felt like a blade in a sheath.

Whip quick, he grabbed her hand, then glared at her, his blue eyes full of wrath."That's enough," he said.

At his rejection, she didn't feel anything. She'd already closed herself off from giving a c.r.a.p. That's how prepared for his d.a.m.ned chivalry she was.

"You get a rise out of taunting me?" she asked. "What was back there, Matt? What's-"

As she reached for his spine, he maneuvered out of position. Within a few breaths, he'd regained the composure of the gentleman she'd come to expect...and resent.

The struggle of regret had fallen over his features, softening them, making him look like he'd gone thirteen rounds and lost in the end.

"This isn't the way I want it." His laugh was serrated. "I don't know-maybe I'm the only guy left on earth who needs something meaningful, but I'm not going to change. Instead, I'll wait. And if I'm waiting into next week, next month, next year, I'll do it."

"You're nuts. You've known me for, like, what, a couple of days? And-"

"I know you better than you can ever imagine."

She froze. "What?"

Laughing dryly, he rested his hands on his hips. "I mean I've had access to files, Dawn. I've done surveillance on you, watched your films, talked to people you've known. And, bit by bit, I...I liked what I found."

Another ambulance siren shot through the night with red panic. Dawn felt the wail in her veins.

"That sounds bad," Matt said, shaking his head in embarra.s.sment. "d.a.m.n, the last thing I want to do is scare you."

Was she scared? Or was he truly the most dangerous man she'd ever known?

The vibration of her phone shook her.

Thankful for the interruption, she answered it, turning her back on him, wanting to talk about this now while not really wanting to.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Where are you? Are you okay?" It was Breisi.

"I'm just outside the exit." As Dawn walked into view again, she looked over her shoulder, preparing to make her apologies to Matt.

But he wasn't there. Gone.Pffft.

Scanning around and finding no sign of the PI, Dawn turned toward the entrance where Breisi was standing.

She tucked away her phone, hands shaking. Where had he gone? Now that he'd made that confession, it seemed more important than ever to keep tabs on him. She wasn't sure if that was because he'd unsettled her or turned her on. G.o.d, she was a sick pup.

Really.

Jerking her head toward the parking lot, Breisi said, "Let's go."

"Where?"

She was already heading for the car. "Robby came home." TWENTY-FIVE ANOTHERRISING.

AT3:15AMPacific Time, an Internet broadcast aired to an audience of millions. TV executives would have died for numbers like that.

But Tamsin Greene actuallydid.

Worldwide, screens revealed the beautiful, ultra-famous woman who had recorded her first CD at age fifteen. Her voice had been hailed by critics and fans alike, her star shooting into the night sky so rapidly that films had followed, as had champagne-filled hot tubs, Grammy and MTV Video Music Awards, and a thousand fan sites devoted to her majesty.

Now, at twenty-six, Tamsin was still perfection. Her skin was smooth and dark, her eyes almond-shaped and almost black in hue.

Her midnight-dark hair was short, sophisticated, and seductive, revealing a lovely nape and curls gelled to the skin of her sloped cheekbones.

As she sat in front of a computer camera in what was obviously her plush,InStylebedroom, Tamsin allowed the tears to fall. She was wearing a creamy satin sheath. A candle burned next to her, making her sadness gleam. Her newest CD, released three days ago, emoted softly in the background.

"Before I start, I want to thank my fans, especially if you ever came to my website to check up on me. I love each and every one of you sincerely, truly, deeply." She looked down, toyed with something off-screen. "And if you really love me, you'll tune out now, understand? But if you're one of those people who slows down on freeways to get a good look at an accident, then stay where you are, because you're the reason I'm doing this."

She held up a scalpel. It snapped like a deadly bite in the candlelight. Her voice took on the same edge.

"I'm talking to you, the paparazzi. You chased me with cameras. You made me less than human. Yes, I knew what I was getting into when I started in show business, but I never realized it would ruin my life. So in honor of you, the sc.u.m of the industry, I'm going to do something that'll make you hate me for all time. No exclusive pictures, no more hunting me down the streets and to the gates of my house in your cars just for a picture. You can gape all you want now, but you won't profit from it."

She got up, took the candle. With her trademark grace-like sand rolling over itself in a soft wind-she moved to her bed and set it on fire. As flames licked at the comforter, she returned to her seat.

"This is a condemnation of what the media has become, and I hope when you leeches watch this, you'll realize what kind of damage you did to me and to many other celebrities. And in your quest for a taste of fame, I hope a little part of you dies right along with me."

The fire spread.

She held up the scalpel, paused, then smiled, her lips quivering as her dark eyes overflowed with tears.

The flames whooshed, gaining in destruction, eating their way around the room.

"As for the rest of you, I love you. Remember that. Bless you all."

Then, with fluid violence, she slit her throat, the skin yawning open as blood gushed downward.

Tamsin Greene gurgled, clutched at the computer camera in tragic appeal, then slumped to the floor, ripping the camera from its holder. On computer screens all over the world, the blurred image trailed her fall, completing the awful arch of a swan song as she crashed to her death.For several horrifyingly peaceful moments afterward, the stoic eye of the lens recorded the fire as it grew, as it swallowed everything in view, as it obliterated her home.

As it continued to record the blood-curdling last moments of a beloved star's mortal life.