MacGregor gasped, rearing back. “Holy mother of God,” he breathed, his eyes as wide as the dog’s.

Lu cringed. “Sorry. Is it too much?”

“No, lass, just let me,” he cleared his throat. “Just give me a moment. It’s . . . a little . . .”

“Intimate,” said Magnus aridly, shooting her a disgruntled look.

“I’m not looking around or anything,” she assured Gregor softly, holding his apprehensive gaze, “I’m just there. Okay?”

After a moment, he nodded, adjusting to the sensation of having his mind invaded. “Bugger me, that’s strange,” he muttered.

Into his mind she said, All right, so, here it is. Let me know if you recognize it.

Lu formed a mental picture of the bunker, in as much detail as she could remember from the helicopter pilot’s purloined memories, focusing on the shape and size, turning it so he could see it from all sides.

“Holding cells,” he said aloud. He was silent a moment, then, “Administration in the bigger areas on the top three floors, security, command center, computers. Smaller blocks from level four down are the assets. The base floor is open . . . no compartments . . . might be storage.” He frowned. “It’s highly secured, though. Those look like airlocks at one side. Triples.” He closed his eyes, continuing on, his frown deepening as he concentrated. “And why would there be so many cameras?”

“Cameras?” said Lu, tensing.

“Those dots that look like rivets? There’s a single one in each of the other cells on the other floors, all in the same position on the ceiling. But the bottom floor has cameras all over the place. Floor, ceiling, walls . . . if this space is used for storage, they’re keeping a close eye on whatever’s in there. Prisons don’t invest that kind of mint to make sure the guards don’t walk off with extra toilet paper. It’s more likely that’s where they’re keepin’ their main asset.”

Magnus said, “How do you know this is a prison?”

MacGregor opened his eyes. “Been inside as many different kinds of jails as man has built,” he answered quietly, looking at Magnus directly. “You get a feel for ’em. But you know exactly what I mean, don’t you, lad?”

Lu was intrigued, especially by the tone of knowing in which he delivered the last part. She resolved to ask Magnus about it later. Right now she had bigger fish to fry. “We have to find this structure, Gregor. I know it’s in New Vienna, underground, but I just don’t know where. Do you?”

He turned his attention her way. “I surely don’t,” he said with real regret, and Lu’s heart sank. It lifted again when he amended, “But I know someone who might.”

“Can you take us to him?”

“I can,” he said, nodding, “but not now.”

“Why not?” said Lu and Magnus in unison.

“Curfew starts in fifteen minutes, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, consulting his gigantic gold watch. “Which leaves us just enough time to make it back to my place before the Peace Guard starts sweepin’ the streets. Your meetin’ will have to wait.”

Lu blew out a hard breath, and Magnus reached over and took her hand, knowing what she was thinking without her even having to form the thought in her mind.

Time wasn’t on their side. Waiting was the last thing they should be doing, but the sun would rise, and the clock would tick, and all they could do in the meantime was count the minutes until darkness.

Gregor’s “place” turned out to be a palace. Or at least a replica of one, constructed right in the heart of New Vienna, atop the ruins of a former church.

Built in the Romanesque revival style, it sported slim towers, ornamental turrets, gables, balconies, pinnacles, and copious sculptures of angels and saints, which Gregor explained with no hint of irony were his favorite parts of the property. The entire place was ridiculously ornate, and Lu told him so.

“Seriously, how much does it cost to keep this place clean?” she said sourly, eyeing the acres of dust-free carved-wood wall paneling, furniture, and screens.

“Who knows? Money isn’t one of my problems, lass,” said Gregor dismissively, leading them down a thickly carpeted corridor toward a suite of rooms where he’d said they could rest.

“Obviously,” Lu grumbled, thinking of the years of near-starvation she’d endured growing up in this very same city, while men like Gregor—criminals!—lived in such luxury.

“Life isn’t fair, princess,” he said, turning to fix her with a look. “It’s eat or be eaten. And I’d much rather be the one holdin’ the fork and knife than starin’ up from the plate.”

Thanks for that fantastic visual, she thought, disgruntled. She’d never look at food the same way again.

“Here we go,” Gregor said, rounding a corner and opening a door. Lu and Magnus followed, and she gasped at the grandeur that lay within. Her eyes went immediately to the enormous, four-poster bed in the corner. Just behind her, Magnus snorted.

Wanton wench.

Without turning, she gave him a swift kick in the shin.

“I’ll be back at sundown,” said MacGregor briskly, checking his watch. “In the meantime, I’ll try and find out what I can, and set up the meeting with my contact. If you get hungry, just dial nine on the house phone; it goes straight to the kitchens. They’ll bring the food up.”

“They?” said Lu.

Gregor waved a hand. “The wee kitchen elves, lass. Who else?” He turned and disappeared through the door.

“Alone at last,” said Magnus, his voice husky, and she turned to him with an eyebrow arched.

“And I’m the wanton one?” she teased.

His answer was a deep, hot kiss, his hands pinning her wrists behind her back, his body hard against hers, his passion edged with something like desperation. When he came up for air, Lu asked breathlessly, “Why did that feel like an end-of-the-world kiss?”

Something flashed in his eyes, there then gone. Then he picked her up, threw her over his shoulder, and loped over to the bed as she squealed and pounded his back in fake protest. He dropped her to the mattress, where she bounced, then stood staring down at her with eyes molten and dark.

Examining his face, she fell still. “Magnus, what is it? What’s wrong?”

He gave a barely imperceptible shake of his head. “Nothing could ever be wrong with you looking at me like that, angel,” he whispered.

She didn’t believe him. Something was suddenly, definitely wrong. She sat up, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t lie to me! What’re you thinking?”

He hesitated. Then, in a voice low and infinitely dark, he said, “I just feel like the luckiest man alive. And I want this to last forever.” He knelt down beside the bed and took her face in his hands. His eyes were so tortured it frightened her. “I want that more than anything else in the world. To be with you forever.”

“You’re scaring me,” she whispered back.

“Don’t be scared, angel. Everything’s going to be okay; I know it.” He pressed the gentlest of kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her chin, trying to calm her, but she’d begun to tremble.

“Magnus—”

“Shh,” he shushed her gently, kissing her again. He pressed her back against the bed, his kisses growing deeper, longer, his hands roving over her body. As always when he touched her, it was a sweet and wonderful homecoming, the best feeling in the world. It was so blissful, in fact, she heard music . . .

Magnus stilled. She opened her eyes and looked at him, hovering above her, his face flushed. “Is that music?” he said in a whisper, ear cocked toward the door.

“It is.” And not any music. Loud music, a throbbing, pulsating beat that vibrated the floor.

They both sat up. “Where’s it coming from, d’you think?” she asked.