Trent's fingers touched me, and I yelped in surprise as a surge of ley line energy rose through me and into him. The car swerved and Trent's fingers jerked away. The necklace hit the carpeted floor with a tinkle of metal. Hand to my throat, I stared at him.
He had put himself into the corner. The amber light from the ceiling glinted to make shadows on him. Eyeing me with a look of annoyance, he scooted forward and scooped the necklace from the floor, jiggling it until it hung properly across one hand.
"Sorry," I said, heart pounding and my hand still covering my neck.
Trent frowned, meeting Jonathan's gaze in the rearview mirror before gesturing for me to turn back around. I did, very conscious of him behind me. "Quen said you've been working on your ley line skills," Trent said while he draped the metal over me again. "It took me a week to learn how to keep my familiar's energy from trying to equalize when I touched another practitioner. Of course I was three at the time, so I had an excuse."
His hands fell from me, and I settled into the supple cushions. His expression was smug, his usual professionalism gone. It wasn't any of his business that this was the first time I had tried to spindle line energy in me as a matter of convenience. I was ready to bag it. My feet hurt, and thanks to Quen, I wanted to go home, eat a carton of ice cream, and remember my dad.
"Quen knew my dad," I said sullenly.
"So I hear." He looked not at me but the passing view as we made our way into the city.
My breath came faster, and I shifted in my seat. "Piscary said he killed my dad. Quen implied there was more to it than that."
Trent crossed his legs and unbuttoned his suit coat. "Quen talks too much."
Tension pulled my stomach tight. "Our fathers were working together?" I prompted. "Doing what?"
His lip twitched, and he ran a hand across his hair to make sure it was lying flat. From the driver's seat, Jonathan coughed in warning. Right. Like his threats meant anything to me?
Trent shifted in the seat to look at me, his face holding a shade of interest. "Ready to work with me?"
I cocked an eyebrow at him. Work with me. Last time it was work for me.
"No." I smiled though I wanted to step on his foot. "Quen seems to blame himself for my dad's death. I find that fascinating. Especially when Piscary claimed responsibility."
A sigh came from Trent. His hand went out to steady himself when we eased onto the interstate. "Piscary killed my father outright," he said. "Your father was bitten while trying to help him. Quen was supposed to be there, not your father. That's why Quen went to help you subdue Piscary. He felt he needed to take your father's place, seeing as he believes it was his fault your father wasn't there to help you himself."
My face went cold, and I pushed myself back into the leather seat. I had thought Trent had sent Quen to help me; Trent had nothing to do with it. But a niggling thought surfaced through my confusion. "But my father didn't die of a vampire bite."
"No," Trent said carefully, his eyes on the growing skyline. "He didn't."
"He died when his red blood cells started attacking his soft tissues," I prompted, waiting for more, but Trent's posture went closed. "That's all I'm getting, isn't it?" I said flatly, and the man gave me half a smile, charming and sly.
"My offer of employment is ever open, Ms. Morgan."
It was hard, but I managed to keep a somewhat pleasant expression on my face as I slumped in the seat. I suddenly felt like I was being lulled, lured into places that I once vowed I'd never go: places like working for Trent, sex with a vampire, crossing the street without looking. All of them you could get away with, but eventually you were going to get blasted by a bus. What in hell was I doing in a limo with Trent?
We had passed into the Hollows, and I sat up, taking more interest. The holiday lights were thick, primarily green, white, and gold. The silence stretched. "So-o-o, who is Ellasbeth?"
Trent shot me a poisonous look, and I smiled sweetly. "Not my idea," he said.
How very interesting, I thought. I found a nerve. Wouldn't it be fun to stomp on it? "Old girlfriend?" I guessed brightly. "Live-in? Ugly sister you hide in the basement?"
Trent's expression had returned to its professional emptiness, but his restless fingers were ever-moving. "I like your jewelry," he said. "Maybe I should have had Jonathan put it into the house safe while we were gone."
I put a hand to his necklace, feeling it warm from my body. "I was wearing crap, and you know it." Damn it, I had enough of his gold on me to make a set of false teeth for a horse.
"We can talk about Nick, then." Trent's soothing voice carried a derisive edge. "I'd much rather talk about Nick. It was Nick, wasn't it? Nick Sparagmos? He's moved out of the city, I hear, after you sent him into an epileptic seizure." Hands clasped at his knee, he gave me a telling look, pale eyebrows high. "What did you do to him? I never could find that out."
"Nick is fine." I pulled my hands down before they could play with my hair. "I'm watching his apartment while he's away on business." I looked out the window, reaching behind me to pull the shawl back up over my shoulders. He could sling mud better than the best rich-bitch at school. "We need to discuss what it is I'm supposed to be protecting you against."
From the driver's seat came Jonathan's snort. Trent, too, chuckled. "I'm not in need of protection," he said. "If I was, Quen would be here. You're a semifunctioning decoration."
Semifunctioning… "Yeah?" I shot back, wishing I could say I was surprised.
"Yeah," he said right back, the word sounding odd coming from him. "So sit where you're put and keep your mouth shut."
Face warming, I moved so that my knees almost touched his thigh. "Listen to me, Mr. Kalamack," I said sharply. "Quen is paying me good money to keep your ass above the grass, so don't leave the room without me and don't get into my line of sight with the bad guys. Got it?"
Jonathan turned into a parking lot, and I had to brace myself when he applied the brakes too sharply. Trent glanced at him, and I watched their gazes lock through the rearview mirror. Still angry, I looked out to find ugly piles of snow a good six feet high. We were down by the riverfront, and my shoulders tensed at the gambling boat with its stacks steaming slightly. Saladan's gambling boat? Again?
My thoughts went back to my night with Kisten and the guy in a tux who had taught me craps. Shit. "Hey, uh, do you know what Saladan looks like?" I asked. "Is he a witch?"
The hesitancy in my tone was probably what caught Trent's attention, and while Jonathan parked in the long spot reserved for a car of this length, he eyed me. "He's a ley line witch. Black hair, dark eyes, my age. Why? Are you worried? You should be. He's better than you."
"No." Crap. Or should I say craps? Grabbing my clutch purse, I slumped back into the cushions when Jonathan opened the door and Trent got out with a grace that had to be practiced. A blast of cold air replaced him, making me wonder how Trent could stand there as if it was summer. I had a feeling I'd already met Saladan. Idiot! I berated myself. But showing Lee I wasn't afraid of him after his failed little black charm would be extremely satisfying.
Becoming eager for the encounter, I slid across the bench seat to the open door, jerking back when Jonathan slammed it in my face. "Hey!" I shouted, adrenaline making my head hurt.
The door opened, and Jonathan gave me a satisfied smirk. "Sorry, ma'am," he said.
Past him was Trent, a tired look on his face. Holding my borrowed shawl close, I watched Jonathan as I slid out. "Why, thank you, Jon," I said brightly, "you freaking bastard."