“The ink on your reprieve is still wet, and you can’t afford to test it yet.”

“Exactly.”

“Which is why you tried persuading Tristan to take care of the body.”

“No, I was trying to divert his attention from you.” He paused. “But yes, admittedly, I had a secondary goal in mind.”

“Okay, so why don’t we look after it now? Take out Tristan’s guard, and we can move the body someplace safer, to dispose of it later, plus we’ll have my gun.”

One side of his mouth twitched. “For an amateur, you’re remarkably good at this sort of thing.”

“It’s in my genes, remember?”

“But I suppose you want the guard disabled, not killed.”

“Preferably. I’m not ready to completely give in to the dark side yet.”

His smile broke through. “Let’s see what we can do then.”

I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes, and focused. The guard was a supernatural, probably half-demon. After a moment, I picked up his vibe, but it was too far away to be in the first office, with the body.

“He’s in the second one, isn’t he?” I whispered as Marsten returned. “The room we escaped from.”

Marsten’s brows shot up.

“Supernatural radar comes with my package.”

“Oh? But you didn’t detect me earlier.” He smiled. “Not even when you ran right into me.”

“I did. That’s why I ran into you.” I shook off the urge to explain. “I’m still practicing. The package doesn’t come with a user’s manual.”

“Well, it worked fine this time. He is in the second room. Replacing the vent cover. Cleaning up, it seems.”

“Good, then let’s—”

“I’ll look after him. You stay—”

He caught my expression and breathed the softest sigh. “Just stay clear then. As you said, I’m better equipped for this. Provide backup if you want but—”

“Don’t turn this into a hostage situation.”

“Exactly.”

Marsten started to leave, then wheeled back to me. “He’s coming.”

He held his finger to my lips before I could answer. His eyes narrowed as he tracked the footsteps. A moment passed, then he shoved me in the opposite direction, prodding me to the next adjoining hall. We barely made it around the corner before the guard stepped into the hall we’d vacated.

Marsten pressed me against the wall, still listening, body against mine as if he expected the guard to veer around the corner and open fire.

The footfalls grew softer. The guard was leaving. That would certainly make getting into the office easier.

Marsten started to pull away from me, then froze.

“Was it okay?” a muffled woman’s voice asked. She giggled. “I’m kind of tipsy—”

“It was great, babe.”

Marsten winced as he recognized the privacy-seeking couple from earlier. Guess they’d found what they were looking for.

A door opened less than ten feet away. Marsten swore and looked toward the corner, but it was too late to run—we’d risk being seen by the departing guard. But if we stayed here, the couple would recognize him, and if the man got belligerent again, the guard would hear—

Marsten’s mouth dropped to mine. He pushed me up against the wall, his hands wrapping in my hair and pulling it up to shield the sides of our faces. As he kissed me, I felt a stab of disappointment. His kissing was excellent, of course. Polished and perfect, just like the rest of him. For most women an excellent kisser is cause for celebration. But me? I prefer the ardent gropes and kisses of an enthusiastic, if less experienced, lover.

Behind us, the man laughed. “Looks like we aren’t the only ones looking for a little diversion. There’s an empty office right over there, guys.”

Marsten raised his hand in thanks. The couple moved on. I let the kiss continue for five more seconds, then pulled away.

“They’re gone,” I said.

Marsten frowned, as if surprised—and disappointed—that I’d noticed. I tugged my hair from his hands.

“Okay, coast clear,” I said. “Let’s go.”

He let out a small laugh. “I see I need to brush up on my kissing.”

“No, you have that down pat.”

“She says with all the excitement of a teacher grading a math quiz…”

“A-plus. Now let’s move. Before someone else comes along.”

We reached the office safely. This time, the door was locked, but Tristan hadn’t trigger-spelled it. He must have assumed we wouldn’t come back. The door lock was only for snooping partygoers or privacy-seeking couples.

Marsten gave the handle a sharp twist, and it snapped open.

“I’ll find my purse,” I said as we hurried inside. “You pull the body out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I flipped on the light and looked around. No obvious sign of my purse. It must have fallen—

“It’s gone,” Marsten said.

“No, I’m sure it just fell—” I glanced up to see him leaning over the desk. “You meant the body?”

A grim nod. He pulled the desk farther from the wall, then glanced at me. “Find your purse. I’ll find this.”

He leaped onto the desk, hopped into the gap behind it, bent and disappeared. I resumed my purse search. I looked under the desk, beside it, between the desk and filing cabinet—every place my purse could have fallen when Marsten yanked me off the desk earlier.

Marsten popped back over the desk, started to crouch, then noticed me watching.

“What?” I said when he paused.

“I have to sniff the floor.”

“Then sniff the floor.”

Again, he paused, as if trying to think of a dignified way to do it. I sighed, and turned my back to give him privacy.

A moment later, he said, “Nothing. They must’ve carried him out.”

“Meaning you can’t pick up the trail. Not of the security guard, at least. But what about Tristan’s guard?”

“Questionable. I can try, but it’s difficult to do in human form and without getting on the floor, close to the scent.”

“Which is a whole lot tougher to do in a semi-public place.”

He motioned for me to keep looking, and pitched in, checking the other side of the room.

He continued, “I’ll still try tracking. I know a few tricks.”

“Ah, so you did get your user’s manual.”

“Most werewolves do.”

“Oh, right. Most of you are hereditary. So your father…?”

“Raised me and taught me everything I needed to know about following a scent.” A quick grin. “Although there was usually a diamond or two at the other end.”

“Your father raised you to be a thief?”

His gaze chilled. “My father raised me to have a career suitable for a non-Pack werewolf who can’t stay in one place without being rousted by the Pack or his ‘fellow’ mutts.”

“The Pack doesn’t let—?”

He cut me off with a wave, his anger receding. “It’s not like that anymore. Not entirely. But in my father’s day, a nomadic life was a must, and thieving skills helped.”

“Tell you what, then. You don’t slam my mom for setting me up on blind dates, and I won’t slam your dad for teaching you to steal.”

He laughed. “Fair enough. No jabs against well-meaning—if occasionally misguided—parents. As for your purse…”

“It’s gone, isn’t it? Tristan or his guard found it when they were cleaning up, and they took it to erase any sign of me being here.”

“Most likely. As for the body, though—”

“Billy?”

The voice echoed down the hall. We both froze and turned toward the closed door.

“Billy? You down here?” Then softer. “Damn kid.”

It was a security guard, looking for his dead colleague. Marsten waved for me to get behind the desk, and we both jumped on it just as the door opened.

“You!” the guard said.

A flashlight beam pinged off our backs. Marsten slipped his arm around me in an awkward, interrupted embrace. We looked over our shoulders to see the same older security guard who’d “helped” me open the janitor’s closet. He speared Marsten with a glower.

“Get lost on your way to the bathroom again, sir?” he said. “This is bigger than that storage closet, but I’m sure the young lady would be more comfortable in a hotel. There are two right down the road.”