Then it was over, and she was trembling, sweating, her limbs so weak they seemed barely able to support her weight.
She took a deep, shuddery breath, and released it slowly.
"Sweet Lord, can it get any better?"
He dropped a kiss on her spine, then withdrew and turned her around. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close and said, "I sure as hell want to hang around and find out."
His words made her knees want to buckle. She somehow managed to keep them locked and closed her eyes, listening to the wild beat of his heart, knowing her own raced just as badly. The smell of sweat and sex stung the air, and her nose twitched. "I think I need a shower."
Yet she couldn't move. The odd weakness was still flowing through her veins, and she was feeling more and more tired.
"I think you need sleep," he said, his breath brushing warmth against her ear.
As if his words were a trigger, she yawned. "God, I thought it was usually the man who rolled over and went to sleep after sex."
His smile shimmered through her. "It's been a long, and strenuous, night." He pulled back, but kept one arm around her, supporting her. "Where's your bedroom?"
She waved weakly to her right. It seemed a huge effort to do even that.
"Then let's get you over there."
She nodded and walked towards her bedroom, only her feet didn't seem too inclined to follow directions, and she was stumbling more than she was walking. Only his grip kept her upright.
And through the midst of tiredness, alarm rose. This shouldn't be happening. Something was wrong.
She licked lips that suddenly seemed dry, and said, "Grey—" "Here's your bed. You'd better lie down."
"No. There's something wrong. Something's happening to me."
He pressed her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. "Nothing is wrong," he said, voice soothing. "You just need to sleep. To rest."
And suddenly she remembered the feeling that he had an ulterior motive for coming into her apartment. His insistence that they come here. That he come here.
It wasn't to love her. It was to stop her.
"How?" she murmured, the anger surging through her lost in her sleepiness and not showing in her voice.
"The coffee. I'm sorry, Eryn, but I can't let you near that place tonight." He brushed a kiss across her fingertips, then released her and stepped back. "Hate me if you will. I'd rather that than be faced with your death."
"You're damn well dead when I wake up."
He gave her a sweet half smile. "Better that than you dying. Sleep tight."
Bastard, she said again, but the words stayed locked inside. The last thing she remembered was watching him walk out the door.
Chapter Six
"Eryn!"
The voice was distant, but familiar. She murmured in annoyance, turning onto her side, wishing the sharp voice would just go away and let her sleep.
"Damn it, Eryn, wake up!"
"She can't hear you properly," a strange voice stated. "The drug is still in her system."
"Can't you give her something to counteract it?"
"I have, but it'll take a little more time."
"We haven't got time." Footsteps echoed, pacing from one end of her room to the other. To her sensitive ears, those steps sounded as loud as a herd of elephants.
She groaned and flung herself around, grabbing her spare pillow and dragging it over her head. Why wouldn't they just leave her be? She needed to sleep. Needed to forget.
Something stirred through her mind.
Forget?
Forget what?
Fury.
The need to chase, to bring down her quarry and get answers.
She frowned.
Chase who?
The man who'd betrayed her trust.
Grey.
Bastard.
With that word echoing through her mind, she flung the pillow off her head and sat upright.
And, at that point, realized there were men in her room.
Two of them, to be precise—one of whom she didn't know.
"Thank the Lord…" The elephant steps grew closer, and suddenly Jack appeared in her field of vision.
She blinked owlishly at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" he repeated, looking as frazzled as she'd ever seen him. "Don't you realize what's happened?"
She blinked again, remembering, then replied, in a voice low with anger, "Grey drugged me."
"Yeah, and it's now ten after ten. When you didn't report for work, we thought the worst."
"He didn't intend to hurt me." She reached for the glass she always kept on her bedside table, hoping the water would chase away the last cobwebs of sleep.
"We had no way of knowing that." He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the sheet, offering it to her. "So why did he drug you?"
She pulled the sheet up around her. She wasn't bothered by nudity and she didn't think Jack was, but she could hear other people moving about her apartment. Maybe he didn't want them finding excuses to catch a glimpse of the free breast show. "He wanted to stop me from going to the bar tonight."
"Why?"
"He said if I went there tonight, I'd die."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Do you believe him?"
"Do I believe that he believes he's telling the truth? Yes. If you're asking if I actually believe I'd die, then no. I can't see how the killer would get me past security and all of you."
"But why does he think you'll meet the killer tonight?"
"The government mob he works for has psychics on the team. They say seven people will die before the killer is caught. They even gave him the victims' names."
"You'd think having all that information he'd be able to stop the damn killer."
She grimaced. "The killer is a face shifter. Grey has the same trouble tracking him down as we did tracking Grey."
"So why didn't they watch the victims' apartments and vet everyone coming in or out?"
"Can you imagine the ruckus that would have caused if they'd stopped and questioned every single person coming in and out of the victims' apartment buildings? Besides, this is a secret government organization he works for. I don't think they'd be too happy with the sort of interest actions like that would raise."
Jack frowned. "You sure he's not just spinning you a line?"
"He's not. He gave me his full name, by the way. You can cross-check it against your search for high-society murders."
He dug an electronic notebook out of his pocket. "We came up with ten possibilities. Tell me his name and I'll cross-check now."
"Grey Harrison James McConnell—the third."
He grinned as he entered the name into the notebook.
"Now that's a moniker you could hang your hat on."
"Ain't it just." She finished her glass of water and put it back on the table. "If you're here, who's running the show at the bar?"
"Bob and Henry are watching the screens. They'll give me a call if they spot anything odd."
But how would they know, given no one had any idea what their killer looked like? Except maybe Grey, and he certainly wasn't telling.
Anger rolled through her. Damn it, he was going to get it when she saw him again. She'd trusted him, and he'd drugged her. The fact that he considered it for her own good was beside the point. She'd trusted him, let him into her sanctuary, and he'd gone and done that.
Disappointing, to say the least. And a sharp reminder that no matter what might be going on between them, he was first and foremost a government man.
"What about the two women I saw at the bar last night?"
"One of them was Genny Jones, as you suspected. We've got a team staking out her apartment building. The other woman we haven't been able to trace."
She frowned. "She'd have to have credit records, wouldn't she?" And all credit cards had photo ID's on them these days.