It took under a minute to get the vault closed up. I tugged the carpet square back over the cover and smoothed it down, turned sharply to find Saul just standing there, a line between his dark eyebrows, staring at me.

The urgency of a case heating up bit me sharply, right in the conscience. Goddammit, can’t this wait?

But no, it couldn’t. I braced myself and met the problem head-on. “Don’t worry about me.” There it was again—that sharp tone, the grating whine underneath it. “I did this job before you came along, Saul. If you’re aching to get back to the Rez, you can go. I wouldn’t hold it against you. God knows nobody else has ever been able to fucking put up with me.”

Jesus. I meant to say something gentler. Like I love you, don’t leave me. Or even just, I need you too much. I don’t care.

I did, though. I cared that the dark circles under his eyes were getting bigger, that his ribs were standing out sharply, and that his shoulders were hunched. Those were only the first few things in the long list of things I cared about when it came to him. It all boiled down to him maybe not wanting to keep banging his head on the steel wall I couldn’t figure out how to drop. The place in me where I’d been broken and remade, beaten until I turned strong. I’d figured he knew the way through the wall without my having to tell him. It was there every time I woke up next to him and my heart hurt because he was next to me, warm and breathing.

Because he knew me.

“Do you want me to?” His mouth pulled down at the corners, bitterly. “What did I do?”

Huh? I searched for a handle on my temper, didn’t find one. The rock in my throat turned into sharp ice edges. “You? You didn’t do anything, goddammit. If you’re trying to figure out how to gracefully get rid of me, Saul, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

I was lying. It wasn’t anywhere near okay. But I would say it was. For him.

“Jill…” He made a helpless motion just as my pager buzzed again. “I’m sorry.”

I had a sudden, violent urge to grab my pager, throw it across the room, and shoot the motherfucker for good measure. “Don’t be sorry. Look, I know something’s wrong. It’s been wrong since you came back. I’m sorry. I should have known it was too good to be true.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” There it was, a spark of anger. It was a relief—when he was angry, the twenty-pounds-underweight-and-unhappy-too wasn’t so visible.

I grabbed the file. He didn’t resist. “You don’t have to make any excuses to me,” I informed him. “No promises, no deals, no bargains. You said that the very first night. If you can’t stand me anymore, it’s okay. I expected it. Just go ahead and go. Find a nice tabby and raise a litter or three. God knows you’re domestic enough.”

“Are you insane?”

Holy hell and hallelujah. He’d actually shouted at me. No more moping; he was now officially pissed off.

I closed my eyes, the massive mental effort needed to think clearly dragging at every inch of my body. The shaking had me in its jaws and wouldn’t let go.

Zamba, Arthur Gregory. Some kind of beef with the Cirque, and his brother? Who knows? He found a bargain somewhere—probably voodoo. And the Twins, they specialize in androgyny. It would make sense, it would make a whole lot of sense.

He went to Lorelei, Lorelei brokered a deal. Now that the Cirque is back, Lorelei was a liability, and her death would serve as fuel, and payment for the loa too. As well as the deaths of Zamba’s inner circle. The possessions could be aftershocks or for some other part of Zamba’s plan.

And once the possessed had died inside their violated bodies, they were easy meat for reanimation, and payment for the loa. Zamba was mortgaging herself to the hilt for this, whatever it was. Revenge?

Probably.

There were things I had to do. I opened my eyes, found I was staring at the ceiling. The acoustic tiles all but vibrated until I realized my goddamn eyes had fucking flooded. I couldn’t blame it on the dust in the air. Everything shimmered as I blinked, trying to get them to reabsorb the water. “I’m not crazy. I’m just saying that if you can’t bring yourself to touch me anymore, something’s obviously very wrong. You’re torn up over your mother, I know. I understand. But don’t kill yourself staying with me because you think you have to. If you have to cut me loose and go back to the Rez, if this isn’t what you need or want, you’re free as a fucking bird. I can’t keep you, Saul. I won’t keep you.”

My pager quit buzzing. I tipped my chin back down and got a good look at him.

Saul stared at me as if I had indeed lost my mind. His mouth opened, then closed. I clutched the file to my chest like a schoolgirl with her books.

“I’ve got to go,” I finally said. It sounded very small in the stillness. “I’ve got to figure the rest of this out. Any moment now it could blow sky-high.” Knowing pretty much who I was dealing with gave me more to work with. The other big question—why—could be attacked now, and wrestled to the ground. Not to mention pistol-whipped and shot, if the occasion called for it.

I was so tired it didn’t even sound like a relief.

“Jill—” Saul had finally found his voice.

If he was going to tell me that he wanted to go back to the Rez, I was going to start screaming. I couldn’t afford to lose it now.

People were counting on me. A whole city full of them. My people, in my city.

“Save it.” The words were a harsh croak. “Do what you’re gonna do, Saul. If you’re going to leave me in the dust, make it quick and clean. If you ever loved me, do it that way. Don’t drag it out.”

I stamped past him, every string in my body aching to stop and touch him, throw my arms around him, and maybe engage in some undignified begging. Screw the entire city, screw everything. I didn’t care as long as he stayed with me. As long as there was a chance.

But. One teensy-tiny little but.

I’m a hunter. It’s that simple.

If Zamba-Arthur or whoever it was kept killing Cirque performers, things were going to get sticky. There’s very little a really motivated voodoo queen can’t do to you, and she’d already hit the hostage, too. Perry was there, but if she found some way past him—or if he decided it was too much trouble and some chaos served his ends—well, it would be party time for the entire Cirque and I’d have Perry and a renegade fucking voodoo queen to deal with.

Big fun.

It meant a lot of innocent people dead or maimed. It meant hellbreed thinking they could slip the leash and make trouble in my town. It meant years of steady work keeping things under control wasted.

It meant more victims.

And there was just no fucking way I was going to stand for that.

No matter what I stood to lose.