He lifted one eyebrow. "Now that you mention it." He pulled her to him and claimed her lips before she realized his intention.

The kiss was different than those she'd recently shared with Jeff. Her senses filled with the scent of woodsmoke and green forests, and the lure of darker, unknown places. Any thought of resistance faded.

They sank together to the gra.s.s. Gwen stripped off her shirt, hungry to feel his skin on hers. But in her building s.e.xual excitement was another note-something dark and fierce, alien yet disturbingly familiar.

She got the impression that every nightmare she couldn't quite remember was trying to push through a wall in her mind.

If this was the Quality, she wanted no part of it.

Gwen pulled away, chilled in a way that had nothing to do with the evening breeze on her skin. She rolled up into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around her knees. If she hugged herself hard enough, she could almost control the shaking.

Ian rolled to one side and propped his head up on one elbow. A casual pose, but Gwen detected a hint of worry in his eyes.

"Something was happening. Tell me about it."

"It wasn't good, but it was big."

"Perhaps a bit too much for a first manifestation. Our Qualities tend to manifest more powerfully around others of our kind. That's one of the reasons why we're rather widely scattered.""Put too many in the same room, we reach critical ma.s.s and blow up?"

"Not as such. But yes, it can be dangerous. That's why some of the young whose bloodlines are in questions are placed among humans."

Gwen's phone rang. Ian shook his head in resignation and got to his feet.

"I know," he said. "You've got to take this."

He picked up his discarded coat and shirt when did that come off, anyway?-and melted into the shadows beneath the old tree.

Gwen snapped her gaze away from Ian and clicked on the phone. "Talk."

"It's Tamar. That picture you sent to me rang a bell. Can you meet someone tonight? Right away?"

She reached for her tee shirt and rose to her feet.

"Just tell me where, and I'm on my way."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Gwen sashayed into the pool hall down by the river and presented her GiGi Silver ID at the door. The bouncer glanced at it and gave a skeptical grunt-most people thought twenty-one was a bit of a stretch for her-but he handed back the card and waved her into the room.

There was only one man in the room wearing a bright yellow shirt. He was a big guy, Latino. According to Tamar, he was on the same kind of hunt as Gwen. Two young cousins had disappeared and he'd followed their trail from Mexico to California, and from there to Providence.

The man gave Gwen an appreciative once-over as she strode over to his table, but his jaw dropped when she mentioned her name.

"You are she the holy sister sends?"

"That's right. You got a problem with that?"

He spread both hands, palms up, in an almost courtly gesture. "Forgive me, chica, but I was not expecting..."

His eyes slid over her, taking in her gel-spiked hair, her heavily made-up eyes and her crimson mouth, the snug black top and the even tighter black jeans (not to mention the wide strip of skin in between), the garnet stud on her belly-b.u.t.ton ring, the stiletto-heeled ankle boots.

"Me," Gwen summed up.

"Truly. The sister spoke of an... angel que se venga?"

An avenging angel? That was a little dramatic, even for Sister Tamar.

"My wings are at the cleaners. Sorry about that," Gwen said dryly. "And if I come as a shock, you're lucky the 'holy sister' isn't riding shotgun tonight."His dark brows met in a frown of puzzlement. Idiom overload was Gwen's guess.

Since he seemed a little uncomfortable with English, Gwen dropped into the street Spanish she'd picked up from the girls in juvenile. "Sister Tamar said you recognized the man in the sketch. Tell me where I can find the motherless f.u.c.k."

"Mierda! This is how the Spanish is taught in American schools?"

"Depends on where you went to school. This guy, did he have any girls with him? Two of them, blond.

Probably Russian girls, and about the age of the kids you're looking for."

"If I found any girlchild in the possession of such a man, would I leave her with him?" he demanded.

Gwen shrugged. "Some would."

His offended expression melted into something very much like sorrow. "That is truth. You don't know me, so how else could you answer such a question?"

"Glad we cleared that up. Where can I find this guy?"

"Do you know Atwell Avenue?"

Gwen nodded, and he gave concise directions from that main road to one of the less savory neighborhoods on the west side of I-95. When he finished, he gave her an uncertain stare.

"This man is a wolf who preys upon young girls. You will not go to him alone?"

"I'm thinking he'll be more likely to open the door to a client."

He nodded, clearly relieved by what he thought she was saying. "I would go with you, but this man, he knows my face."

Gwen saw no reason to point out that she could pose as a client as well as any man. A guy who sold s.e.x-especially someone who wasn't peddling his own a.s.s-usually wasn't too picky about whom he sold to.

"Thanks for the offer. I hope you find the girls you're looking for."

"And you as well, chica." He gave her a quick smile, little more than a baring of teeth. "Buena caza."

Good hunting.

Their eyes met, and a moment of perfect understanding pa.s.sed between them. The city was full of predators, but tonight, some of them would take a step or two down on the food chain. And neither of them saw a d.a.m.n thing wrong with that.

Gwen got to the pimp's house about five minutes too late. As she killed the lights on her Toyota, she noticed a skinny, furtive man climb the front stairs. The front door swung open and the Latino she'd seen in her vision ushered the client inside.

The next half hour pa.s.sed in frustration and fury as Gwen waited for the man to complete his purchase.

As soon as he sauntered out, she was out of the car and heading for the front door.

The pimp stared at her, first in surprise, then calculation. "What do you want?"Gwen tossed her head in the direction the John had taken. "Same thing he wanted."

A leer spread across the man's face, and he cupped his groin with one hand. "I can help you with that."

"Chicks, not d.i.c.ks," she said succinctly. "Are you selling, or aren't you?"

"A little girl like you is buying?" he said, eyeing her skeptically.

"It depends. Do you have a girl who does hard tricks?"

His eyes widened. "How hard?"

"No bruises, no blood." Gwen shrugged. "Or very little."

"No problem. For that, two hundred for an hour."

She pulled several fifties from her leather bra. When he reached for it, she s.n.a.t.c.hed it away. "An hour,"

she said coldly. "In an hour's time, I'm coming down the stairs and walking out of this house. If I don't, some very bad boys will be coming in to get me."

His eyes lifted over her shoulder, scanned the street. No watchers were in evidence, but then, they wouldn't be.

"An hour," he agreed, and reached for the money. This time, Gwen let him take it.

She walked up the stairs and into the door on the left. A pale-haired waif sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Gwen without surprise. Without emotion of any kind. But when their eyes met, Gwen got a vivid mental image: The blond girl down in the bas.e.m.e.nt of this house, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to dig a grave in the hard-packed earth.

Gwen looked around for something to write on. There was no paper anywhere, but a big oval mirror was strategically positioned by the bed.

Sick b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

She took her lipstick from her purse and drew a simple picture of a nun-just a smiley face surrounded by the folds of an old-fashioned wimple, shoulders, and a necklace with a cross. She sent a questioning look at the girl. After a moment, she nodded.

Gwen drew three small stick figures with skirts. She pointed to one of the figures, then to the girl, signaling This is you.

Again the girl nodded, and interest began to replace the dull, dead look in her eyes.

Using a corner of the sheet, Gwen erased the second stick figure. She drew it again, close to the smiley-face nun, then drew a circle around them both. She added a pair of vertical lines coming down from the circle, and connected them with a curved base. The drawing was crude, but it was recognizable as a tower. A safe place.

Gwen tapped the stick figure who'd found safety with the nun. "Irena."

A smile burst over the girl's face like a sunrise, and she said something in Russian that sounded like a brief, fervent prayer of thanksgiving. She touched her heart, then reached for the stick figure that represented her."I am Marina," she said carefully.

"h.e.l.lo, Marina. My name is Gwen. How much English can you speak?"

The girl considered. "Some of it."

"Fair enough. Listen, I'm going to take you to Irena. Somewhere you'll both be safe."

Marina tapped her ear and shrugged helplessly.

"Great," Gwen muttered. She regarded her lipstick. It was getting low-definitely long past time to wind up this conversation.

She drew an arrow from the Marina figure to the tower, then stood and held out her hand.

The girl rose slowly and took the lipstick from Gwen's hand. She smeared the third figure, added a pair of triangles to represent angel wings, and turned mournful eyes to Gwen.

"I know," she said softly. She erased the picture with the sheet, then held out her hand again. "Let's go."

Marina's small fingers curled around hers, and she followed Gwen down the stairs.

The man met them at the foot of the stairs, his face twisted in a scowl. "You rented the little b.i.t.c.h, that's it.

You thinking about buying, I'm gonna need to see a lot more money than you put down."

Without letting go of Marina's hand, Gwen leaned to one side and snapped off two quick kicks-the first into the pimp's face, the second catching him in the solar plexus. He folded, clutching his gut and wheezing.

A cry burst from Marina-a banshee howl of rage and pain. Suddenly she was on him like a small fury, pounding him with her fists. Gwen let her get in a few satisfying shots, then stepped in and delivered a roundhouse punch to the side of his jaw. He went down and showed no sign of getting up anytime soon.

Gwen crouched beside him and took out his wallet. It held several hundred, including Gwen's fifties. She took out the wad and handed it to Marina.

"For you and Irena."

The girl was still trembling with wrath. It took a moment for her to focus on the money, and on Gwen's meaning. Her face hardened, and she shook her head adamantly.

Gwen could respect that. Come to think of it, she wouldn't have taken it either. She pocketed her two hundred and put the rest back.

She led Marina to the front door and pointed to the battered Toyota. "You go ahead. Lock the door.

You'll be safe, and I'll be there in just a minute."

Maybe the girl understood, maybe she was only too happy to leave her captor. She ran out to Gwen's car and flung herself into the backseat.

Gwen looked around for something resembling a rope. The room on her right was a sitting room, furnished decades ago with a cheap pair of chintz-covered chairs and a sagging sofa. Faded drapes framed each of the two windows, tied back with a triple tier of satin ropes ending in unraveling ta.s.sels.

Gwen yanked off the satin ropes and dragged the pimp over to the banister. She propped him in a sittingposition and tied him securely in place.

That accomplished, she slapped his cheeks until his eyes fluttered open. When they focused, Gwen rose and stepped away from him.

And Remembered.

She brought to mind Marina's last memories of Anya, and willed them to fill the room.