After we're together. I'll be there. . . .

The words struck her as almost unbelievably intimate. Or maybe it wasn't the words; maybe it was the memory of how she'd felt watching him sleep, his head resting against the trunk of the willow tree. She moistened her lips. “It will be that easy for you?”

“If you help me.”

“You didn't need help last night. You were totally in control.”

“And you resent it.” He sighed. “You can't have it both ways, Kerry.”

She looked away from him. “It scared me. I didn't know I was going to feel like that.”

“Go on.”

“I don't have to go on. You probably know how I—” Her glance shifted back to him. “I felt . . . connected. I felt part of you. You didn't tell me I'd feel like that.”

“It's different every time. I knew there would be intimacy. I warned you about it. I wasn't sure you'd feel the bond. I didn't know I'd feel it.”

“Well, I did feel it, dammit,” she said fiercely. “Will it go away?”

“Probably.”

“When?”

He shrugged. “I'm not sure.”

“Don't tell me that. Has this happened before for you?”

“Twice. When I first started experimenting. Not this strong. Weak. Very weak.”

“Who were they?”

“A ten-year-old boy and an old Italian lady.”

“And what happened then?”

“The old lady died a couple years later. Neither of them even realized the connection was there.”

“And the little boy?”

“It faded.”

“But didn't disappear entirely?”

“No, but it didn't interfere.” He scowled. “You're not the only one involved here. What do you want me to say? I'm not Superman. I don't know everything. Hell, I don't know a tenth of what's going on in your mind. As I said, everyone is different.”

“I don't want it to get any stronger,” she said through her teeth. “Make it stop.”

“I'll try.” He stared directly into her eyes. “But I can't promise. If that doesn't satisfy you, then you'd better opt out right now.”

It didn't satisfy her. But she wasn't about to opt out. She'd gone too far to back away now. “No.” She pulled her gaze away with an effort. “Just try to make it stop. It scares me.”

“You said that before.” He leaned forward and covered her hand with his. “It will be okay, Kerry. We'll find a way to make this work for you.”

His hand was hard and warm against her skin, and she suddenly felt secure and yet . . . not safe.

Disturbed.

Heat.

Oh, Jesus.

She moved her hand and got jerkily to her feet. “I've got to get dressed and go find Sam. He needs to go for a walk.”

“He's in the kitchen.”

“All the more reason to take him for a walk.” She headed for the bathroom. “He's probably been fed nonstop. I'll see you later.”

“Yes.” His tone was abstracted and so was his expression as he slowly rose to his feet. “Later.”

He knew what she was feeling. How the hell could he not know? Close. They were so blasted close that she couldn't take a breath without him knowing. She stopped at the door. “It doesn't mean anything. It's just this . . . togetherness—it doesn't mean anything.”

“I know that,” he said quietly. “You don't have to explain anything to me.”

No, she didn't, she thought in frustration. Because he knew her too damn well. “It will go away. I'll make sure of it.” She slammed the door behind her.

10

I've been having complaints about you, Dickens.” Ki Yong's voice was silky soft. “Trask isn't pleased with you.”

Dickens's hand tightened on his phone. “Then get someone else to do his dirty work. I don't like the idea of risking my neck to please that crazy son of a bitch.”

“You think he's crazy?”

“What do you think?”

There was a silence at the other end of the line. “You may be right. I've noticed signs of instability. But it's of no importance as long as he's kept under control. That's why I have loyal men like you to keep an eye on him.”

“They'll catch him. He takes too many chances. He doesn't give a damn about the risk as long as he makes his kill.”

“He's very clever. He has a chance of doing what he wants and surviving.”

“How many kills? He's lost focus. He took me off Raztov and put me on Kerry Murphy. And then last night he told me to scout around the wharf district for a deserted warehouse.”

“Indeed? How curious. I wonder what he could be planning.”

“Whatever it is, he doesn't give a damn whether I get stung.”

“I'm sure you're wrong. You know too much. He wouldn't want you caught.” He paused. “How much do you know, Dickens? Have you found out where we can find Trask?”

“How could I do that?” Dickens didn't try to hide the frustration in his voice. “When he wants to see me, he doesn't let me know until thirty or forty minutes before the meeting, and it's always a different place. Most of the time he communicates by phone. He's damn careful.”

“There must be some way to do it. If you could arrange a meeting with him on some pretext, I would be very grateful. And you would become very rich.”

“You've told me that before. He won't go for it.”

“Continue to try. The ideal situation would be to have him willing and cooperative, but I don't want him caught by the authorities. The simplest way to prevent that from happening is to take him off the scene.”

“Before he makes his kills?”

“I don't care about his revenge. I care about plucking the prize he's holding under my nose. I can do that if I can catch him.”

Dickens was sure Ki Yong could. In his dealings with the North Korean, he had always found him to be a cold-blooded son of a bitch. He could almost pity Trask if Ki Yong ever got the upper hand.

Almost.

“I'll do the best I can.” He was silent a moment. “He's got a bug in his ass about Kerry Murphy. I might be able to use her to get to him.”

“Kerry Murphy . . .” Dickens could almost hear the wheels turning in Ki Yong's mind as he went over everything Dickens had reported to him on the woman. “It's possible, I suppose. But there's really no revenge factor involved. Would there be enough emotion involved to spur him to an indiscretion?”

“How the hell do I know? But he took me off Raztov.”

“And that alone is enough to explore the situation,” Ki Yong said. “You may have hit on a way to benefit both of us, Dickens. Do keep me informed.” He hung up.

Dickens pressed disconnect and thrust the phone in his pocket. Arrogant son of a bitch. He disliked Ki Yong as much as he did Trask, but the Korean paid well and he'd rather deal with his icy ruthlessness than Trask's volatility. He could judge which way Ki Yong would jump, because he was always motivated by cool logic. Trask was brilliant, but vengeful men were often erratic, and Dickens distrusted unpredictability. Dickens couldn't see where Trask was leading him, and if he wasn't careful, the bastard could get him killed.

Like tonight.

He parked the car and sat there looking at the row of deserted warehouses that lined the street. Two were condemned, and he'd be lucky not to have the floor give way and send him crashing into the basement.

What the hell was he doing here, anyway?

Doing what that crazy bastard told him to do. He got out of the car and headed for the first warehouse. Get it over with and get out.

This couldn't go on. He needed to put an end to being at Trask's beck and call. He had to find a way to serve Trask up to Ki Yong on a silver platter, line his own pockets, and get out.

But to do that he might have to find a way to stake out Kerry Murphy for Trask. . . .

Why do you hate your father?” Silver picked a blade of grass and chewed thoughtfully on it.

“I don't hate him. I just don't like him.” Kerry looked out at the lake. “And you should know why I'm not fond of him. He stuck me in that asylum.”