He put cushions back on the sofa, righted the lamp, began picking up books and glancing at the t.i.tles as he replace them on the shelf. She read the cla.s.sics. Shakespeare, the Brontes, T.S. Eliot. That was in keeping with what he had observed about her. He knew she was intelligent. He believed her to be shy and uncomfortable around people. She barely talked to the customers at the bar where she worked but in a place that dark and that noisy, she didn't need to. When any of them paid her undue attention she would start fidgeting with the cross she wore, sliding it back and forth on its chain. A nervous habit, as if the clientele really were vampires and cross really would ward them off.

G.o.d, how frightened would she he if she knew what he really was?

She had surprised him, he thought, glancing through the open bedroom door to see that she had finished in there and was moving into the bathroom. When she'd grabbed the bat and challenged the intruder, he'd been surprised and pleased. He liked her even better for that. She'd been petrified, but ready to fight to protect her s.p.a.ce.

Fear wouldn't make her back down. It was a remarkable quality in a woman who kept to herself the way she did. And he wondered if he'd pegged her wrong. Maybe it wasn't that she was shy. Maybe she simply didn't like people.

She seemed to like him, though-a little too well, maybe, even though she thought it unwise.

He moved into the kitchenette and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher, knowing she wouldn't want to eat from anything the intruder had touched. He wasn't as certain about the food. Mary was not wealthy. Working a double shift at the bar to pay for rent and tuition, barely ever sleeping. She was majoring in English, hoped to teach one day. She baby-sat for some for the neighbors to earn extra cash, and when the bar's owner had been looking for someone to come in and clean the place on the weekends, she'd taken that job, as well. Her degree was slow in coming-she was twenty-seven now, and getting closer to the goal. She took only what cla.s.ses she could afford, one or two at a time, fitting them around her work schedule. She was between spring and summer session right now.

He knew a lot about her. He supposed he should have expected the courage, given the determination and rive she showed in pursuing her education. He hadn't.

He'd found it both surprising and endearing. And like everything else about her, arousing as h.e.l.l.

She came out of the bedroom as he stood with a box of macaroni and cheese mix in his hand. He held it up, brows raised in question. "What about the food?"

She shrugged. "Can't you just mutter over it? Work your mojo? Find out if he messed with it or something?"

"I read people. Not food."

She crossed the room, joining him in the kitchen, and he heard her thinking how much smaller it seemed with him in it, and that she didn't mind it, and then she thought about his hair again. She' been thinking about his hair a lot. It probably wasn't altogether wise for him to keep reading her thoughts, but he didn't want to stop. She pictured herself running her hands through his hair, and then she pictured it spread across her chest as he kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He almost groaned aloud. Then she forced her focus to the food on the counter.

"Lets throw away whatever's open, keep whatever's sealed," she said.

"Let's throw it all away just to be safe."

"I can't afford-"

"I can."

She lowered her head, wrestling with her values, telling herself she couldn't accept money from a man she didn't know. That it was wrong an somehow sleazy.

"Consider it payment for my room and board tonight"

Her head came up fast. "You really can't stay here."

"Sure I can."

"You won't fit on my sofa. You're too tall."

"Not an issue." He scooped the food into the wastebasket, then closed the cupboards. "Let's sit, so I can get rid of the doubts in your mind about me."

She shot him a look. "Reading my mind again, right?"

He felt a bit guilty. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to help myself. I'll stop if you tell me to."

She smiled at him. G.o.d, she really was beautiful creature. No bigger than a breeze, with those big jade-green eyes, and cheekbones sculpted by a G.o.d. "You don't need to apologize, Michael. I'm a total skeptic about this, in case you hadn't picked up on that already. Despite the little demonstrations you've been tossing out."

"I know you don't believe me. That's the first thing we need to get out of the way.

Come. Sit" He took her arm, led her into the living room and set her on the small, floral- patterned sofa. "Now, tell me to do something, but don't say it aloud. Just think it in your mind."

Her lips curved into a smile as the many voices of her own mind began to argue.

This could be fun.

Don't be an idiot. Tell him to get me a gla.s.s of water.

No, tell him to kiss me.

Honestly it's not going to matter what I tell him. I could tell him to carry me to the bed and undress me with his teeth, but he isn't going to hear any of it.

He held up a hand. "That's enough."

"But I didn't-"

He met her eyes. "Yeah, you did." Then he went to the kitchen, got a gla.s.s from the cupboard, filled it with water from the bottle in the fridge. He brought it to her but he didn't put it in her hand. He set it down on the maple coffee table instead. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he drew her to her feet, slid his arms around her waist and bent his head until his lips touched hers.

She shivered. She was mortified, realizing he had heard every single thought, yet her entire body quivered in antic.i.p.ation and need. He kissed her mouth. When she wished he would pull her closer, he did, and when she wished he would use his tongue, he did that, too. She was sweet and shy, embarra.s.sed and eager, nervous and frightened, but mostly she was hungry-for him.

He was beginning to think this little game had been a bad idea, because this had not been his intent. He hadn't come here to make love to her but that was exactly what he was going to do. And whether or not it was a good idea really didn't matter very much at this point.

He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, still exploring her mouth with his. Then he lowered her to the bed and bent over her, dragging his mouth away from hers, over her neck, to the top b.u.t.ton of the jade colored silk blouse. He kissed her flesh there, then freed the top b.u.t.ton of her blouse with his teeth. Kissed her again and undid another, then kissed her again there.

"No." She put her hands firmly on his shoulders and gave him a push.

Michael froze, fought down his rising pa.s.sion and slowly straightened away from her. "It's what you wanted," he told her.

"It crossed my mind. That's not the same thing."

He nodded, conceding the point. "You're right. A pa.s.sing thought is not the same thing as real wanting. But it felt like real wanting when you thought it."

She stared up at him. She was still lying on the bed, was her blouse unb.u.t.toned and her desire shining in her eyes. "It was," she whispered. "I'm trying to balance it with common sense. This isn't me, Michael. I don't act this way."

"I never ever once thought you did."

She nodded. "It's too soon."

Leaning over her, he gently b.u.t.toned her lose gripped her shoulders and helped her sit up.

"For what it's worth, you've convinced me. I believe you now. And I'm going to take you up on that offer."

He lifted his brows. 'To undress you with my teeth?" He knew that wasn't what she meant, but he couldn't resist.

"To stop eavesdropping on my every thought."

"I was afraid that was what you meant." He sighed, showing his disappointment.

"Al right. I knew better, I just-your thoughts were so flattering."

"It's not fair. I can't read yours." And it was a good thing, because a second ago he'd been thinking things that would either have driven her wild or scared the h.e.l.l out of her. And he didn't want to scare her. "Trust me," he said. "You'd find mine flattering, too."

She smoothed her hair and got to her feet. "So are you ready to show me what's in the briefcase of yours?"

He nodded, took her hand, drew her back into the living room. Even though leaving bedroom was the last thing he wanted to do.

Chapter 4.

Four missing-person reports-photocopies, taken from various police departments-lay across her breakfast bar. There were names typed across the tops, and they all had three-by-five snapshots attached with paperclips: Samantha Carlson, Vivian Marie Patinski, Kathy Somerfield, Cynthia Stone.

Mary looked at the typed pages and tried to ignore the pretty, smiling faces of the women, the life in their eye. "New Jersey, Vermont, Ma.s.sachusetts, Connecticut-they all vanished from different states"

"All in the northeast," he said. "As in Maine."

"Okay. So he's a traveling stalker/"

"Read the reports."

Swallowing heard, she tried to focus on the pages instead of on the intensity of Michael's gaze or the disturbing tingle generated by his nearness. And then she didn't have to, because he narrated for her, maybe too impatient to wait.

"All four of them reported anonymous phone calls and feelings of being watched for a week or two prior to their disappearances. Each of them reported a break-in. Each of them vanished during the full moon."

A little shiver raced up her spine.

"Did they find... any of them?"

He lowered his head. "He dumps them in various places. Samantha's body was found by some fishermen in Crosswicks Creek. Vivian turned up in a city dump, underneath a mound of trash. Kathy ad Cynthia are still missing."

She pressed her lips together and looked again at the photos. Then she glanced at their birthdates. "All under thirty."

"That's not all they have in common, Mary."

She closed her eyes, not sure she wanted to know this, but certain that she had to.

"They all share a very rare blood antigen, known as belladonna. You have it too."

She looked up at him fast. "How do you know that?"

He held her gaze. "The same way I know so many things about you. I feel you, Mary. Sometimes it's like I'm inside you." She closed her eyes, suppressing a shiver. She had expected his so-called evidence would expose him as a fraud, or maybe a sincere but misguided do-gooder.

Instead, he was convincing her. "How were they...?"

She didn't have to finish the question. "It's not important how they died. Only that they were killed in the same manner."

"The two that were found, at least."

"All four," he said. "But there are only autopsy reports on the two that were found."

Her gaze shifted to the brown leather case, which lay on the counter, its flap open. Then corner of a manila envelope was visible inside. Then Michael took the case, on the pretense of returning the police reports to it. He closed it and set it beside him. He really didn't want her to know how the women had died which told her it must have been horrible.

"Did you try to warn them, too?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly. "I didn't know about them until after they were killed.

And then not from a vision but from casual conversation among... some of my peers."

"Your psychic friends?"

"He tried to smile. "Something like that. I heard about these four women, murdered, all of them bearing the antigen. I don't expect you to understand why, and I can't explain it to you, but among people like me, this was a topic that generated a lot of discussion and concern."

"People like you..."

"And then I saw you-in a dream. I felt you. And I knew you'd be next."

"How did you know where to find me?"

He looked at the floor, gave his head a shake. "It's difficult to explain. Besides, I'm afraid you already think I'm deluded."

"So you have nothing to loose."

He drew a breath. "Once I had seen your face, sensed your aura, even though it was only in a dream, I was able to home in and track you down.'

"Kind of like a bloodhound on he gets the scent?"

"Something like that."

She licked her lips and wondered why she wasn't afraid of him. He could be the killer, for all she knew. But if he was, why was he trying to warn her? And how had he managed the trick of calling her on the cell phone while sitting beside her in the car?

Tricky. But not impossible. There were deices, recorders, timers. She'd seen her share of spy films. And yet she wasn't afraid of him. He was odd. Different. She'd never met a man like him. But there was no sense of fear. Which might be exactly what he wanted.

Want it or not, though, there was no way he could held responsible for the storm of desire raging inside her. No way. That was all her. He couldn't have planned that.

He was watching her now, studying her face. Then he nodded toward his coat, which hung on a rack just inside the apartment door. "There's a gun in the left pocket of my trench coat. Extra bullets in the right. I brought them for you, to protect yourself."

She blinked. "I don't... like guns."

"I don't, either, but we're talking about your life here. Go on, take it. And while you're there, search the other pockets. a.s.sure yourself that I'm not hiding any other weapons."

Pursing her lips, she slid off the stool and went to the coat, doing what he told her. The gun was a small black revolver. The bullets were in a red-and-white box. The other pockets were empty.