“I didn't hurt you?”

“Don't be ridiculous. You know how much I liked it.” She reached out and rubbed his chest. She loved the prickly feel of hair against her palm. She loved the feel of him, the rough, smooth textures, the hardness. Jesus, how she loved that hardness. “It was just different.”

“I love the way you feel too. Different?”

She laughed. “How can you ask? I've never made love to anyone who knew what I was thinking every minute. It was incredibly exciting.”

“It could have gone either way.” His hand covered her hand on his chest, stilling it. “And I tried to block you out. I thought it would be fairer to you. It didn't work. The bond was too strong.”

“It didn't matter.” It was difficult to be critical at the moment, since this sexual encounter was probably the most intense she'd ever had. He'd known every thought, every emotion, and had been able to meet and escalate them to the height of sensuality. She could still vaguely sense him, but it was the shadow presence to which she'd become accustomed. “I may feel differently tomorrow, but tonight it was definitely a plus.”

“Too late. You can't back out now.” He pulled her closer to lie against him. “You're the one who seduced me. You even turned my own scenario against me. Now you've got to live with it.”

There was a note in his voice that made her stiffen. “What do you mean?”

“I told you I was a selfish bastard. I'm also chock full of the usual testosterone. I'm not giving this up.”

“That has to be a mutual decision.”

“You made your decision.” He was silent a moment. “I . . . like what we are together. I'm usually pretty much of a loner. I have trouble getting close, even in sex. I guess it's because my work forces me into an intimacy that's sometimes suffocating. But it's not like that with you. I felt—Hell, you know how I felt. So I don't care if your decision was based on pity or curiosity. I'm going to do everything I can to keep this happening.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“Don't sound so wary. I'm not going to try to force you.” He took her hand and pressed the palm to his lips. “But I learned a lot about you tonight. You can't blame me for using it to make the pleasure so intense you won't want to give it up.” His breath was warm on her palm, and every word was sending a ripple of heat down her arm. “You like this, don't you? Your palms are very sensitive.”

“I like it.” The heat was spreading throughout her body and her breath was quickening. “And I like having sex with you. That doesn't mean I'm going to let you dominate me. I can still take what I want and then walk away. So you just take your best shot, Silver.”

“Oh, I will.” He chuckled as he moved over her. “I can't thank you enough for the invitation. . . .”

The girl was alive.

Trask gazed at the picture of Carmela Ruiz in the newspaper in angry disgust. How the hell had she escaped Firestorm? He'd been sure that the fire would travel too fast for her to get away before the flames devoured her. He'd been wrong. She'd managed to get to the roof and somehow whipped up her courage to jump.

And Kerry Murphy had made sure that those firemen were there to catch her.

That didn't mean he'd failed and Kerry had won. The warehouse had still burned to the ground and he'd walked away free and powerful as ever.

Screw the warehouse. He wouldn't lie to himself. It had been Carmela who was to be the pièce de résistance of that delicious event, and she'd escaped. And it had been Kerry who'd called the firemen who'd saved her so she could claim the victory.

His hand clenched on the newspaper as fury tore through him. Calm down. It was only the opening gambit. No, it wasn't. He'd failed at that fire in Macon at her brother's house. Two failures chalked up to Kerry Murphy. It was an unbearable humiliation. No, he could bear it because it would only make him stronger and more determined.

But she had to be shown that he was the one with a power that could reach out and scar and twist her life. Carmela? Or go after Kerry herself? He'd have to think about it. He'd have to reconsider a good many things in light of this defeat. His priorities had been clear before Kerry came on the scene, and he'd allowed her to disrupt and disturb those plans. Should he ignore her and go on as if—

No! The rejection came with unexpected violence.

Very well, then certain adjustments might have to be made.

He reached out and punched in Dickens's number.

Dickens.” George walked out of the library as Kerry and Silver were coming down the stairs the next morning. He waved a sheaf of fax papers in his hand. “Donald William Dickens. Age forty-two, and every year after the age of ten devoted to petty and not so petty crime. Theft, rape, suspicion in two murder cases. According to the dossier the FBI managed to pull up, he grew up in Detroit and was associated with the Mafia for a few years, but then broke away and started to freelance. He's not supposed to be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he has the reputation of being very thorough and reasonably loyal to his employers.”

“The FBI had a record?” Kerry asked. “But how did Trask get hold of him?”

George shrugged. “Dickens spent twelve years in Asia involved in drug and artifact smuggling before he came back to the States. He had a lot of contacts in North Korea.”

“You're thinking he was a gift to Trask from Ki Yong?” Silver nodded slowly. “It's possible. Trask could have made the providing of help a part of his price.”

“Where is he?” Kerry said. “Now that we know who he is, can we find him?”

“We're trying,” George said. “Remember, he's a professional, and it won't be easy.”

“Nothing's easy,” Kerry said. “Do we have a photo?”

“I wouldn't fail you.” He handed her the sheaf of papers in his hand. “The second sheet down. The third is his rap sheet.”

Dickens was a heavyset man with bulldog jowls and unruly red hair sprinkled with gray. She handed the sheet to Silver. “Since he doesn't know that we know who he is, it should help.”

He nodded. “And Trask must have had him doing the legwork before he approached you. I don't think there's a question that he'll have him on your heels when he finds out that Carmela is still alive.” He glanced at George. “Is her rescue in the papers yet?”

“You've got to be kidding,” George said. “Pretty, homeless teenager rescued from a fiery death by our city's finest? It's a story made in media heaven.”

“Then Trask knows about it already.” Kerry had to make an effort to keep from shivering. It was stupid to feel this bolt of fear that had come out of nowhere. It wasn't as if she hadn't expected Trask to learn that he'd falled to kill Carmela. “You're sure Carmela is well guarded?”

“I'm sure.” Silver handed the sheaf of papers back to George. “But Trask may not think it's worthwhile to target her again. She was only a random victim.”

“Random.” The word left an ugly taste in Kerry's mouth. It was a cold word for a cold act. The idea of anyone casually choosing a victim as Trask had chosen Carmela was terrible. She moistened her lips. “Maybe you're right. But I'm not a random victim, and there's not a chance in hell that Trask won't go after me. And he'll probably need Dickens's help.”

“Probably.”

“So maybe we should make sure I'm accessible.”

“No way,” Silver said flatly.

“Wait a minute.” George's eyes narrowed on Kerry's face. “I don't believe she's talking about making herself a martyr. What do you have in mind?”

“Just moving around town a little. Dickens isn't going to show himself as long as I'm barricaded behind these walls. If I make a few trips, it will give him reason to follow me. And that will give Ledbruk's agents a chance to identify or apprehend him. Isn't that right?”

George nodded. “It makes sense.”

She turned to Silver. “And if we manage to identify him without him realizing we're doing it, we may be able follow him back to Trask.”