“It’s one of the benefits of being a reaper rather than a humanoid.” His face was back to being its usual unreadable self, and while I’d expected it, I still hated it. He held out the phone. “Do you wish to answer this?”

“Who is it?”

He glanced down at the phone. “Jak.”

I groaned, but raised a hand, made a “give me” motion, then hit the RECEIVE button and said, “You’d better have a good reason for ringing me at this hour, otherwise I will have to kill you.”

His laugh was soft and teasing, but my hormones were too sated to react. “And here I was thinking I was the only one who woke up with a hangover.”

Hangover? I glanced at Azriel and he shrugged. I guess it was one way of getting around the whole memory problem—you simply gave them a reason not to remember every little detail.

“Well, it was a long night.”

“It sounds like you didn’t enjoy yourself,” Jak said. “I’m totally hurt.”

“Oh, I enjoyed myself.” More than he could ever imagine—only he’d had nothing to do with it. I glanced at Azriel as that thought crossed my mind, and caught the half smile that flirted briefly with his lips. “But I’m not enjoying this conversation. What do you want, Jak?”

He sighed dramatically. “And here I was thinking that after our dance, you might be a little less business, and a little more pleasure.”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“Jak, the reason you’re calling is…?”

He laughed. “Damn, but it’s fun baiting you. The reason I’m calling is that I found James Blake, the photographer Jacinta mentioned.”

“I’m surprised he’s not dead, like Logan and everyone else who could identify Nadler.”

“Yes—although it does lend weight to the theory that our face-shifter doesn’t believe his past is much of a threat to his future.”

“Which makes me wonder why we’re even bothering to follow up on these things.”

“Hey, we gleaned one vital fact yesterday—the real Nadler had a scar. Who knows what we may gain today?”

“I’m breathless with anticipation.”

My voice was dry and he chuckled softly. “I hope you remain that way until we meet. I’d love a repeat performance of last night.”

I ignored his comment and looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly eleven, which meant I’d had a whole two hours’ sleep. No wonder I felt like crap. “Where is his studio located?”

“He’s retired, so no studio. But he lives in Williamstown and he’s expecting us around lunchtime.”

If he was living in Williamstown, he had to have made a lot as a photographer, because that area—thanks to its proximity to both the sea and the city—wasn’t cheap. “I’ve got to hire a car, so it’ll probably be at least an hour before I can get there.”

“I’m already on my way, but I’ll grab some lunch to waste some time.”

“Don’t go question him without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said blandly. “I’ve sent you the address, too. I’ll be waiting in a—”

“Red Honda Accord,” I finished for him. He’d been driving them since he’d gotten his license, and I very much doubted it had changed.

He laughed again. “Yeah. See you soon.”

I tossed the phone back onto the bedside table, then sat up and hugged my knees close to my chest. “Just what sort of memory did you give Jak, exactly?”

Azriel shrugged. “You said to give him all the appropriate memories.”

“Meaning not just the dance, but the kiss?”

He eyed me. “Yes. That is what you wanted; is it not?”

“Well, yes. I mean, no.” I frowned. “I hadn’t actually expected you to go that far.”

“Then say what you actually mean.”

I snorted softly and climbed off the bed. “You’re a fine one to be telling me that, Azriel.”

He shrugged again, and walked across to the window to resume his usual position. The intimacies of the last few hours would have seemed like a distant memory if not for the ache in my body.

I studied the muscular planes of his back—planes I knew intimately now—for several minutes, then said, “So, we’re back to being formal, are we?”

“It is safer.”

“Safer for who?”

He glanced at me, blue eyes calm. Yet there was turbulence in him—I could feel it. “For you. If I am distracted, it could prove fatal—to both yourself and to my quest.”

“And the quest is all-important,” I snapped. Which wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t exactly fair of him to retreat like this, either.

Though why I was getting upset when I had been expecting it, I had no idea.

He didn’t answer. No surprise there. I grabbed some clothes and headed into the bathroom to shower. Once I was dressed, I closed my eyes and imagined a face with freckles and brown hair, but left my eyes their natural color. The magic swirled around me with far less enthusiasm than ever before, which could only mean that I was near the end of my reserves. I needed a break from it, and I needed some decent sleep—not that I regretted the lack of it last night, even if this morning’s remoteness took some of the shine off it. Grimacing, I headed out of the bathroom, picked up my phone and purse, and said, “I’m guessing I’ll meet you there?”

“You will.”

He didn’t turn around. Didn’t kiss me good-bye. I flexed my fingers, resisting the urge to smack some sense into his thick head, then swung around and headed downstairs to arrange for a rental car.

In less than twenty minutes I was on the road. There wasn’t that much traffic around, so it didn’t take me long to get to Williamstown. Once there, I parked the little Daihatsu on one of the side streets just down from Blake’s and climbed out.

The day was hot, and the sun shining with a ferocity that had me sweating in an instant. I pulled off my light sweater and shoved it back into the car, suddenly glad I’d put on a tank top underneath it. It didn’t take me long to find Jak—the red Honda stood out like a sore thumb on a street lined with demurely colored Mercs, Volvos, and Audis. While the relatively small size of the surrounding houses gave no hint that this wasn’t one of your more run-of-the-mill neighborhoods, the lineup of cars on the street certainly did.

Jak climbed out of the Honda and gave me a decidedly leisurely once-over. His gaze, when it finally rose to meet mine, was heated and hungry. My hormones thought about doing a little quickstep, then decided it involved too much effort.

“You,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble that was easy on the ears, “look mighty damn fine. I do prefer your normal hair color, though.”

“I’m only wearing blue jeans and a white tank,” I said dryly, stopping several feet away from him. Even so, his hunger washed over me, warm and enticing. “And what you prefer is not something I ever consider when I change my look.”

“A sad but true statement. But just to let you know, a tank with no bra underneath is eminently exciting to any male.”

Except if he’s a reaper, I thought snippily. I motioned to the white weatherboard house a few doors down from where he’d parked. “Shall we proceed?”

“If you’re intent on being all business, then I guess I have no choice.” He stepped back and waved me forward. “Which does not mean I cannot enjoy the view from behind. Those jeans are fetchingly tight around your ass.”

I snorted softly and just kept on walking. The picket gate creaked as I opened it, and the garden beyond was filled with ornamental grasses and purple flax plants rather than flowers—what I’d call a man’s garden rather than a woman’s.

I walked up the steps, scanning the entrance for some sort of doorbell. There was nothing, so I rapped my knuckles on the glass door.

Only when I did, it opened slightly. And the minute it did, I smelled the blood.

Fuck.

“The source of that,” Jak said grimly, “is more than just a paper cut.”

“Yeah.” I pushed the door all the way open. Several rooms ran off the long central hallway, but the door at the far end was closed. The blood scent seemed to be coming from that direction—certainly there was nothing out of place in the hall itself.

“Should we go in or call the cops?” Jak said.

I glanced at him, eyebrow raised, and he grinned. “Okay, okay, we both know I want to go in and investigate, but I thought you might prefer to call the cops.”

“Given that we don’t know yet what we’re dealing with, I think investigating is a better option.”

His grin grew. “I’ve always loved the way your mind works. And the body isn’t half bad, either.”

“Umm, blood? Possible dead body and front-page article?” I reminded him.

“Oh, yeah. Right.” He became all business in an instant.

I shook my head and stepped forward cautiously. Sunlight filtered through the open doorways on either side, crisscrossing the hall and lending the honey-colored floorboards a richness they might not otherwise have had. The first room was a living room, but there was nothing out of place in it, or in the two bedrooms that followed. Every room was as neat as a pin—there weren’t even dust motes dancing in the sunbeams.

But the blood scent was getting stronger the closer we got to the closed door at the far end of the hall, and tension slithered through my body.

If that scent was anything to go by, whatever awaited in the room beyond was bad. Real bad.

I licked my lips, then carefully pushed the door open with the tip of my shoe. The scene that greeted me froze me on the spot.

Because the room beyond was a kitchen that was a smaller version of my mum’s.

And just like my mum, James Blake had been totally and absolutely ripped apart.