The vampire really needed to work on his poker face.

"He's got the flash drive?" Donovan Caine asked behind me. "You're sure?"

"Oh, I'm positive," I replied, never taking my eyes off the vampire. "Tell me where it is, Chuck. Now."

Carlyle's eyes flicked off to the left, as if searching for an acceptable lie. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Say you're right. Say I ... found the flash drive among Gordon's things when I was looking through them for the elemental. What's in it for me if I give it to you?"

"You get to die quickly, Chuck, instead of being tortured. That's all you get." He let out a low snort. "Not much in it for me, then."

I shrugged. "Depends on how much you like pain."

I pulled back and brought the tip of my knife up where he could see it. Then I leaned forward again and drew the blade down his cheek, not deep enough to break his skin, but enough for him to feel the cold metal.

Carlyle let out a soft laugh. "You don't have the balls to-" I cut him.

I carved a line from one side of his jaw, down his neck, and up to the other. The blade didn't sever his carotid artery, but the knife went in deep enough for him to really feel it. Blood oozed out of the wound and dropped like crimson tears onto the vampire's pinstripe suit. I'd just upped the ante in this poker game we were playing.

But Carlyle surprised me. He didn't start begging or pleading or sobbing for mercy.

Instead, the vampire clamped down a scream, his yellow fangs poking out through this lips, before his eyes shifted to the left again. I frowned, wondering why he was looking off to the side, instead of at me or the knife. Wasn't I scary enough for him?

Few things could be more important at the moment to the vampire than the blade I'd just dug into his neck. Precious few. So I turned and followed his line of sight to the fireplace. Hmm.

I used the vampire's pant leg to clean the blood off my knife and stepped away from him. Relief flashed in

Carlyle's eyes.

"Fuck," Donovan muttered, staring at the blood on the vampire's chest. "Did you have to cut him so deep? I thought you wanted answers out of him, not blood."

"I barely nicked him. He'll live. Watch him a minute," I told the detective.

Caine stared at me, then shook his head and took up a position in front of the vampire. Finn followed me back to the fireplace.

"What are you doing, Gin?" he asked in a low voice. "Checking out a hunch." I brushed my fingers against the stone fireplace. Behind me, Carlyle hissed with displeasure, but I tuned him out. Listening. Trying to sense any disturbance, anything out of the ordinary. There was a reason Carlyle kept glancing back here. I wanted to know what it was. But the stone's vibrations were low and muted. Like me, the vampire wasn't home enough to leave much of an impression in his house.

Still, I kept listening. And I realized there was something in the stone. A note of sly satisfaction. Anticipation. Pride. Eagerness. Centered in the fireplace and rippling outward.

Still listening to the stone, I trailed my fingers over the wall and walked closer to the center of the fireplace. It was beautifully constructed, made out of uneven slabs of blue and gray river rock fitted together to form an elegant arch, then the chimney itself. The construction was so perfect, so seamless, it could only have been achieved by magic, by another Stone elemental. It only took me a few seconds to spot the rune carved into one of the bottom corners. Two blocks side by side, with another sitting on top of them-a builder's rune. I made a note of the faint trickles of magic in the mortar that held the rocks together. Stones were the rarest of elementals, and it always surprised me to find another one, to see her work, to feel her power.

Then I concentrated, listening to stone, trying to find the exact source of the vibrations.

And I spotted one rock that was a little lighter, a little smoother, than the others, as if someone repeatedly touched it, rubbing it for good luck-or to open and close a secret compartment. The stone felt smooth and cool under my searching fingers.

There. A small metal button on the underside. I pressed up on it. Something clicked, and the rock shot out, revealing a space about the size of a safety deposit box.

"Got something," I said.

"What?" Finn asked, trying to peer over my shoulder.

I looked inside the space. A blue folder embossed with the words Halo Industries sat inside, along with a small flash drive. There were also some pictures of Gordon Giles naked, posing in various intimate positions with a smorgasbord of hookers, many of whom sported the heart-and-arrow rune medallion of the Northern Aggression nightclub. Black, white, Hispanic, human, vampire. I flipped through the photos.

Whips, leather, masks. Giles had been a little more serious about his prostitute predilection than Fletcher's file had let on. I turned one of the photos sideways. More flexible, too.

"What did you find?" Donovan Caine rumbled. "The jackpot."

I plucked out the flash drive and showed it to Caine and Finn, then stuffed it inside my jeans pocket. I passed the folder to Finn, along with the pictures of Giles.

Finn rifled through them and let out a whistle. "Gordon was into some hard-core stuff. Take a look at this, detective."

Donovan Caine turned away from the vampire and stepped toward us. Behind him, something flashed in

Carlyle's eyes. I felt a small bit of magic spark to life in the room.

And that's when the vampire made his move.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Metal. The vampire must have had a small, elemental talent for manipulating metal.

That was the only way to explain the sudden surge of magic-and why his silverstone handcuffs popped off like they were plastic toys. I'd checked them myself. The chains had been as solid as my knives.

Carlyle leaped to his feet. Donovan Caine saw the motion too late. He'd just started to whip around and go for his gun when Carlyle put both hands onto the detective's back and shoved him. Vamps weren't as strong as giants and dwarves, but Carlyle had more than enough strength to lift Donovan off his feet and send him flying across the room. The detective's flailing arms caught Finn in the chest. Finn went down like a sack of potatoes and started coughing from the force of the blow.

Donovan Caine didn't stop until he crashed into the stone fireplace.

Charles Carlyle bared his fangs at me and darted out of the room.

"Stay here!" I yelled, although I doubted Finn or Caine were paying any attention.

"I'll get him!"

No time to check on either man. I leaped over Finn, who was still coughing, and sprinted through the house. Ahead of me, Carlyle's footsteps smacked on the floor, followed by the sound of the front door banging against the wall. The bastard was outside already. Fuck. I couldn't let him get away. The first thing Carlyle would do would be to call the Air elemental and tell her that Finn and I were still in town-and working with Donovan Caine. I didn't want that to happen. Not until I knew exactly what was on that flash drive-and which James sister moonlighted as a sadistic, magic-using bitch.

I ran out the front door, jumped over the steps, landed on the lawn, and hustled down to the street. My head snapped back and forth, and my eyes scanned everything in sight. Streetlights, parked cars, trees, shadows, other houses on the block. No sign of Carlyle anywhere. Which way had he gone?

Only one way to tell for sure. I dropped to one knee and put my free hand against the concrete sidewalk. The stone felt cool and porous under my fingers. Its murmurs whispered of the steady drone of traffic, the hum of lawn mowers, the laughter of the neighborhood kids. Typical suburban sounds. I concentrated, listening harder, going deeper, using my magic to sift through the vibrations. There. A fresh note of panic, starting here and scurrying to the right.

I tightened my grip on my knife and headed that way. I kept on the grass to the right of the sidewalk, not wanting the echo of my boots on the concrete to drift to Carlyle's ears and alert the vampire that I was still behind him. Let the bastard think he'd lost me. Let him slow down.

Because that's when I'd kill him.

The street split two ways, with one road continuing in a straight line in front of me and the other curving to the left before bending back to the right. Nobody ahead of me. My head whipped around, and I saw a glimmer of white before the darkness swallowed it up. I smiled. Those pinstripes in Carlyle's suit were better than road flares.

But I didn't run down the street after him. Instead, I sprinted forward, darted past some prickly holly bushes, and cut through someone's yard. I picked my way quickly, but carefully, through the lush grass, not wanting to trip and break my ankle on some stray toy that had been left on the lawn. Houses loomed two stories high on either side of me, their dark windows resembling giant, black eyes tracking my progress. I ducked under a clothesline and vaulted over a low picket fence into the next neighbor's yard. Getting in front of the vampire.

I repeated the process twice more, before the silver street glimmered in front of me.

But instead of hurtling into the road, I slid behind a large rhododendron and peered at the area. My blood roared in my ears, and I drew in deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart. The rush receded, and the sounds of the night washed over me. A whip-poor-will crying in a tree. Wind ruffling the grass and making a porch swing creak. A few bugs droning, despite the chill that had settled over the benign landscape-Smack-smack . Smack-smack.

Footsteps off to the left coming my way, moving slower than before.

I palmed my other knife and moved forward. Several steps led from the house down into the yard, and I crouched on the far side of them, letting the concrete shield me from sight. Then I raised my head until I could just see over the lip of the steps.

Ten ... twenty ... forty-five ... The seconds slid by; a minute later, Charles Carlyle shuffled into view. The vampire might be strong, but his stocky body was built for short bursts of energy, not an extended run. He was already winded. Thanks to the streetlights, I could see the flush in his face, muddying his cheeks. Good. Tired men were easier to kill.

Every few steps, the vampire glanced back over his shoulder, but he never looked left or right or scanned the shadows around or in front of him. He wasn't expecting me to come from any other direction. Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy.

The next time the vamp turned his head, I darted forward. A four-foot-high fence butted up against the street, and I ducked down behind it. The gate lay to my right.

Someone had forgotten to latch it, and the night breeze had pushed it open even more. Perfect.

The sound of the vampire's footsteps grew louder, and I realized Carlyle was talking to himself in a soft voice. "Stupid, arrogant bitch," he muttered, passing the gate.

"Thought she'd torture me. Hah. Old Chuckie C. showed her who was boss. Stupid bitch-"

My first knife slashed into his leg, severing his hamstring so the bastard couldn't run again. Carlyle had just started to scream when I popped up from behind the fence and used my other knife to cut his throat. A fountain of blood spewed out of the deep, lethal wound, spattering me and the fence.

Carlyle stumbled back, his wounded leg gave out, and he stumbled into a car before bouncing off and crumpling to the sidewalk. One hand clutched at his leg. The other tried to slow the blood gushing out of his neck.

I came around the fence and stood over him, a bloody knife in either hand. The vampire's eyes widened, and he tried to drag himself away. But he'd already lost too much blood. Carlyle managed to pull himself forward about two feet before his wet hand slipped off the wound in his neck. Arterial blood coated the sidewalk like black varnish.

I used the toe of my boot to turn the vampire over onto his back, then crouched down beside him. "Don't say I didn't keep my promise, Chuck. I'd told you that you'd die quick." The vampire tried to gurgle something at me, but the effort was just too much for him. The sound snuffed out like a candle and died. A few seconds later, Carlyle did the same.

I waited until I was sure he was dead, then got to my feet. My eyes scanned the surrounding houses, but no lights snapped on. No curtains twitched. Nobody opened their front door. No one had heard the vamp die, but I still had to do something with his body. My gaze flicked to the fence. I didn't think the owner would appreciate finding blood spatters all over that in the morning.

So I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and hit one of the numbers stored in the speed dial. It rang three times before she picked it up.

"Hmph?" Sophia Deveraux answered with her usual greeting.

"It's Gin," I said. "Good news. I've changed my mind about not needing your services.

How fast can you get over to Northtown?"

For once, luck smiled on me. Sophia Deveraux was in the area and arrived about ten minutes later, pulling up to the curb in her vintage black convertible. I eyed the car.

With its long body, fins, enormous trunk, and creamy white interior, it looked more like a hearse than a classic car, especially this late at night. I showed the Goth dwarf the blood on the fence and the bush I'd dragged Charles Carlyle's body behind.

"Do you think you can clean this up before one of the neighbors wakes up and sees you?" I asked in a low voice. "Or do I need to stay and help you with the body?" Sophia grunted and gave me a sharp look. "Sorry. Just thought I'd ask." While the dwarf got to work, I jogged back to Carlyle's house. The front door was still open. I stepped into the house, quietly shut it behind me, and headed toward the game room.

"Why isn't she back yet?" Donovan Caine's rough voice drifted down the hall to me.

"Because killing people takes time, detective," Finn replied. "She probably had to chase the bastard a few blocks before she caught up with him."