“Do I need to remind you about the—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not deaf. First Samson, then Gabriel, now you. I know the rules. This is different.”

His friend raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“She knows who we are. She knew even before I met her.”

“What?” Disbelief and panic rolled off Thomas in spades.

“Okay, but this will stay between you and me. I’ll take care of this, but the others can’t find out. Are you with me?”

Their stares locked until Thomas finally nodded.

“She’s Edmund’s sister. The bodyguard who killed a client last month,” Amaury explained.

“Ah, shit!” Thomas jumped up.

“Exactly. She’s been snooping around. Thinks that Edmund couldn’t have done this, that he was coerced or something. Somehow she figured out what we are, and she’s blaming us. She wants revenge.”

How she’d figured them out, Amaury didn’t know yet. Frankly, he hadn’t even tried to question her, so obsessed had he been with getting her into bed.

“Shit, she could have killed you. Why didn’t she?”

Amaury could venture a guess. After all, the way she’d sucked his cock told him she wasn’t entirely unaffected by their encounter.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Thomas sounded skeptical and ventured another look at the spot where Amaury’s erection was tenting the sheet.

“Fine. There’s something going on between us, but it’s purely sexual.”

Who was he kidding? Whatever was between him and Nina went deeper than sex. Had it been merely sex, he would have fucked her in an alley and wiped her memory posthaste. That was the drill with all other women. Which reminded him: he hadn’t touched another woman since he’d met Nina.

“Amaury, you’re so full of crap.” He shook his head. “We’d better find her before she causes even more chaos.” Thomas used his gloved hands to loosen the silver chain and untied him.

Amaury stared at his injured wrists. They looked like a dog had chewed on them, the angry red flesh bleeding and only partially covered by skin.

“Fuck!”

“Serves you right.” Thomas’ reprimand stung even more than the effect of the silver.

“Help me find her, and I’ll take care of it. It shouldn’t be so hard. Log into the background checks. I’m sure Edmund’s file has something on her.”

Thomas pointed toward his injuries. “You’ll need blood.” He pulled out a flask from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and handed it to him.

Amaury hesitated, but took it. After the fiasco with Mrs. Reid he wasn’t prepared to put anybody else at risk. The guilt still gnawed at him. And his friend was right: he needed blood to heal.

He took several gulps and handed him back the empty flask. “Thanks. Let me get dressed. My computer is on. Can you start on it?”

“By the way, why didn’t you just break the wrought-iron bar to break free?” Thomas tilted his head to the bed.

Amaury followed his look and frowned. The headboard of his bed was an intricately woven iron tapestry. With his vampire strength it would have been possible to break it—not easy, but definitely doable. “It’s an antique. I bought it only a month ago.” There was no need destroying perfectly good furniture.

Thomas shook his head and headed for the door.

Amaury grabbed his clothes from where Nina had dropped them on the floor. Within seconds he was dressed. In hindsight, he was glad Thomas was the one who’d released him. At least he wasn’t as much of a stickler for rules as Ricky or Gabriel. And Samson would have really let him have it. He didn’t even want to think of Zane’s reaction.

By the time he entered the alcove in the living room which housed his little home office, Thomas had already pulled up Edmund’s background check.

“Here, next of kin. Nina Martens. Is that her?” His friend looked up from the computer.

“Yes, that’s her name. What’s her address?”

“None. Just a phone number. Local.”

“Can you find out where it’s registered?”

Thomas pulled up another window and started typing. Minutes passed. Amaury paced behind his friend.

“Would you stop that? It’s making me nervous.”

Amaury halted in midstride. “What’s taking so long?”

“Hmm.” Another minute passed. “Damn.”

“What?”

“It’s a cell phone. Registered address is a post box.”