"Look, Wrath, I don't want to be arrested tonight." Like she'd ever thought those words would come out of her mouth? "Let's just keep going. Before someone finds us."

She turned, but he took her arm in a sure grip.

"You don't know this yet," he said grimly. "But you are mine."

For a split second, she swayed toward him.

But then she shook her head. She put her hands up to her face, trying to shut him out.

She felt marked, and the crazy thing was, she didn't really mind. Because she wanted him, too.

Which was not going to win her any prizes in the mental health department.

God, she needed to take another shot at the last couple of days. If she could only go back forty-eight hours, back to when she was sitting at her desk with Dick doing his leering-boss routine.

She'd do two things differently. She'd order a cab instead of walking home, so she never met up with Billy Riddle. And the instant she went into her apartment, she'd pack some clothes and go to a motel. So when this leather-clad, drug-lord lothario came looking for her she wouldn't have been found.

She just wanted her pathetic, boring life back. And how ridiculous was that? Considering she'd thought that getting out of it was the only way to save herself only a little while ago.

"Beth." His voice had lost most of its edge. "Look at me."

She shook her head, only to have her hands peeled back from her eyes.

"You're going to be okay."

"Yeah, right. There's probably a warrant being issued for my arrest at this very moment. I'm running around in the dark with the likes of you. And this is all happening because I'm so desperate to know my dead parents, I'm willing to put my life in danger on the remote chance I could learn something about them. I'm telling you, it's one hell of trip from where I am to 'okav.'"

His fingertip stroked down her cheek. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

She rubbed her forehead, wondering whether she was ever going to feel normal again. "God, I wish you'd never shown-up at my back door. I wish I'd never seen your face."

He dropped his hand.

"We're almost there," he said tersely.

Butch gave up trying to stand and sank to the ground.

He sat there for a while, just breathing in and out. He couldn't seem to move.

It wasn't because his head hurt, although it did. And it wasn't because his legs felt weak, although they did.

He was ashamed.

Getting beaten by a bigger man wasn't the problem, although his ego had certainly taken one on the chin.

No, it was the knowledge that he'd screwed up and endangered a young woman's life. When he'd called about the weapons pickup, he should have had two officers waiting for him at the door to the station. He'd known that suspect was especially dangerous, but he'd been sure he could handle it himself.

Yeah, well, he'd handled jack shit. He'd had his ass kicked. And now Beth was in the company of a killer.

God only knew what would become of her.

Butch closed his eyes and put his chin down on his knee. His throat was killing him, but it was his head that he was really worried about. The damn thing wasn't working right. His thoughts were incoherent, his cognitive processes shot to hell. Maybe he'd gone without oxygen long enough to get brain-fry.

He tried to pull it together, but only managed to sink deeper into the fog.

And then, because his masochistic side had terrific timing, the past reared its thorny skull.

Out of the messy jumble of images clanging around his mind, one popped forward that brought tears to his eyes. A young girl, no more than fifteen. Getting into an unfamiliar car. Waving at him from the window as she disappeared down their street.

His older sister. Janie.

Her body had been found in the woods behind the local baseball field the following morning. She'd been raped, beaten, and strangled. Not in that order.

After she'd been abducted, Butch had stopped sleeping through the night. Two decades later, he still hadn't picked up the habit again.

He thought of Beth, looking over her shoulder as she'd run away with the suspect. The fact she'd disappeared with that killer was the only thing that got Butch to plant his feet on the ground and drag his body toward the station.

"Yo! O'Neal!" Jose came pounding down the alley. "What happened to you?"

"We need to get out an APB." Was that his voice? It sounded hoarse, like he'd been to a football game and screamed for two hours. "White male, six-six, two seventy. Dressed in black leather, wearing sunglasses, shoulder-length dark hair." Butch threw out a hand, steadying himself against the building. "Suspect not armed. Only because I stripped him. He'll be restocked within the hour, no doubt."

When he stepped forward, he swayed.

"Jesus." Jose grabbed his arm, holding him up.

Butch tried not to lean on the guy, but he needed the help. He couldn't make his legs move right.

"And a white female." His voice cracked. "Five-nine, long black hair. Wearing a blue skirt and a white button-down." He paused. "Beth."

"I know. She called." Jose's face tightened. "I didn't ask for details. From the sound of her voice, she wasn't about to give me any."

Butch's knees wobbled.

"Whoa, Detective." Jose hoisted him up. "We're going to take this slow."

The instant they came through the station's back door, Butch weaved. "I need to go look for her."

"Let's just chill on this bench."

"No…"

Jose loosened his hold, and Butch went down like a piano.

Just as half the freaking precinct came up in a rush. The fleet of concerned guys in dark blue and badges made him feel pathetic.

"I'm fine," he snapped. Then he had to put his head between his knees.

How could he have let this happen?

If Beth turned up dead in the morning…

"Detective?" Jose got down on his haunches, putting his face in Butch's line of sight. "We've called an ambulance."

"Don't need one. Is the APB out?"

"Yeah, Ricky's doing it right now."

Butch brought his head up. Slowly.

"Man, what happened to your neck?" Jose breathed.

"It was used to hold my body off the ground." He swallowed a couple of times. "Did the weapons get picked up from the address I called in?"

"Yeah. We got 'em and the cash. Who the hell is this guy?"

"I have no fucking clue."

Wrath walked up the front steps of Darius's house. The door swung open before he could reach the brass handle.

Fritz was on the other side. "Master, I didn't know you were-"

The doggen froze as he saw Beth.

Yeah, you know who she is, Wrath thought. But let's be cool.

She was jumpy enough as it was.

"Fritz, I'd like you to meet Beth Randall." The butler kept staring. "You going to let us in?"

Fritz bent down low and bowed his head. "Of course, master. Ms. Randall, it is an honor to finally meet you in person."

Beth seemed taken aback, but managed a smile as the doggen straightened and moved from the doorway.

When she stuck her hand out, Fritz gasped and looked to Wrath for permission.

"Go ahead," Wrath muttered as he shut the front door. He never could understand the strict traditions of the doggens.

Fritz reached out reverently, clasping her palm in both of his and dropping his forehead to their joined hands. Words in the old language were spoken in a quiet rush.