Adrian looked up sharply. "You're talking as if you're still a member of the police force."

"Ever hear of a citizen's arrest?"

"You can't do that, either. I've explained why. My death will be yours, as well."

She rose to her feet and pulled her gun. "I'll take my chances."

The blond man carefully laid Erin Westland aside, his movements slow and tender. He was on his feet almost faster than Gwen's eyes could follow.

She fired, point-blank.

The pain in her ears was immediate and excruciating. The sound of the gunfire echoed back to her in short, sharp stabs, as if she'd fired in a bank vault.

Then Adrian plowed into her, knocking her flat onto her back. She fired again, but her arms were flung out wide and the shot rang harmlessly off into the empty warehouse.

He seized both of her hands and dragged them up over her head. He slammed her gun hand against the floor with numbing force. Gwen felt the crack of small bones, and nothing else. She tried to flex her fingers around her weapon but had no idea whether they were closing on steel or empty air.

She'd be willing to bet on the latter.

"How are you still alive?" she demanded.

Her question must have been spoken aloud, because Adrian sent her an arrogant smile. His lips moved for several seconds, but lip-reading wasn't among her skills, and all she could make out was the word "Qualities."

It wasn't possible that Adrian could stop a bullet. Was it? She knew that some people, some humans, had a stronger energy field than others. Frank Cross had never been able to wear a wrist.w.a.tch-the d.a.m.n things always stopped whenever he put them on. Was it possible that Adrian could generate an energy field with a stopping power that was greater than Kevlar? She wouldn't have thought so, but for two things: the man pinning her to the floor should be dead, and a high-pitched ringing in her head was starting to take the place of stunned silence. She wouldn't have been deafened by the sound of a bullet plowing into a vest.

Gwen gathered her thoughts and focused all of her energy into a single move, twisting her body under his.

He winced as her shoulder slammed into his chest, but he didn't loosen his grip on her wrists.

He pushed her back down on the floor and shifted his weight, pressing his knees between hers and forcing her legs apart. In another too-quick-to-follow move, he lifted himself into a kneeling position and slammed one knee up between her legs.White-hot pain seared though Gwen's lower body, as she knew it would. Any woman who thought only men could be hurt by a shot to the groin had never taken a direct hit. Back in juvenile hall, she'd taken a couple of shots and given back a few of her own. She knew only too well what it could do.

So did Adrian. He moved off her, confident that she would be out of the fight for a while.

Gwen curled up on her left side, breathing in shallow puffs and willing the pain to subside enough for her to finish this.

As Adrian kicked her gun well out of the way, she inched her hand into the pocket of her jeans and drew out Trudy's keys. There were three on the ring: car, house, and probably mailbox. She worked them in her palm so that a key protruded from between each of the fingers of her left hand. That was a slight problem. Naturally ambidextrous as a young child, she'd been pushed into favoring her right hand. It would probably be a good long while before she'd be able to pick up anything with her gun hand, but her left hand would have to do.

Andrian reached down and seized the wrist of her right hand and dragged her to her feet.

Gwen came up swinging.

Her roundhouse punch connected with his cheekbone with enough force to snap his head to one side.

The three keys raked across his face, carving deep, b.l.o.o.d.y furrows. As the Lexus key slid over his eye, there was a wet, sickening release. The key punched deep into the eye socket.

Adrian screamed and fell from her, clutching at his bleeding face.

Gwen willed herself to deliver a kick that would end the fight. But the room spun around her, and she was none too steady on her too-high heels.

She dropped to her knees, which in her opinion was better than falling on her face, and punched straight out from her left shoulder.

Again the makeshift weapon sank deep into flesh, and again her opponent shrieked in agony. Gwen rolled to one side to avoid his falling body.

She came up in a crouch, ready to throw herself back into the fight. But Adrian was finished.

Gwen waited until a soft groan announced his return to consciousness.

"You killed Erin," she said quietly.

He carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position, grimaced with pain at every move. "I've known for a long time that I would have to."

"But you were putting it off. Why?"

"Because I loved her," he replied simply. "And because she was the mother of my child."

"You didn't know that Patrick wasn't yours? That your son is out there somewhere, a changeling growing up with humans?"

"No. I had no idea." His eyes held hers imploringly. "Find him. You have to find him."

"Oh, I plan on it.""Swear it to me that you will restore him to our people. Swear it by the most powerful oath known to you."

"Forget it," Gwen said flatly. "I'm not promising anything until I have a better idea what I'd be getting the kid into."

"Surely he'd be better off among his own kind than among the human rabble!"

"Yeah? Was Erin? Would her adoptive parents have sent a hit man after her if someone decided she wasn't quite talented enough?"

"It is more complicated than you're trying to make it."

"I'll bet it is. If you guys get all Master-Race a.n.a.l about these f.u.c.king Qualities, how do you deal with physical imperfection?"

Adrian sent her a hate-filled glare. "You have not quite unmanned me. I will heal."

"I'm not talking about you, a.s.shole. Erin's son was born with an extra toe. Bet the big boys aren't going to be too happy about that s.h.i.t."

Horror and revulsion filled his eyes. "You're saying the child was imperfect?"

"That's what I'm saying, all right. Still want me to find him?"

"There's no need," he said dully.

"Why?" she persisted. "Because you don't want to acknowledge a son with a minor birth defect? Or because you know that kids like him wouldn't be allowed to grow up?"

His glare sent a wave of ice shivering down her spine and raised goose b.u.mps on her arms. It was quite simply the purest embodiment of evil Gwen had ever seen.

"You are the most d.a.m.nably curious thing I have ever encountered that didn't meow and chase mice," he hissed. "It gives me some small measure of satisfaction to know that you will go to your death tormented by a hundred unanswered questions."

Gwen glanced around pointedly. "It's just you and me, pal, and I don't think you're up to dealing death at the moment."

"You're still determined to turn me in to the human authorities?"

"d.a.m.n straight."

"Then your intention has sealed your death. The rest is simply a matter of time."

Gwen gestured to Erin Westland's body. "Why are so you worried about being arrested? You've already bought yourself a certain death by killing her."

"Not if you're a Black Arrow."

Something flashed in his eyes, something dark and shining with malice. Gwen understood the impulse that prompted that look-understood it far better than she wanted to. Adrian Archer knew that he was dead, and he was going to inflict as much pain on her as he could while he was still alive.Conflicting impulses raged through her. On one hand, she burned to end this, to silence his taunts. But as he'd pointed out, there was so much she needed to know.

"I'll bite. What's a Black Arrow?"

"An a.s.sa.s.sin, sanctioned by the Elder Council to mete out punishments duly approved by the royal court."

Gwen's head swam with the implications. The Elder Folk had a royal house? With their own branch of a.s.sa.s.sins? What the h.e.l.l were these people?

His smirk celebrated her dismay, and his eyes shone with eagerness to deliver the next blow.

"Let's hear it," she said.

"Your parents were not killed in the car crash. Oh, they were definitely in bad shape when I found them, but they were still very much alive. I killed them both, as I was ordered to do. I killed the baby, too, even though that wasn't part of my a.s.signment. And why not? It was pleasurable at the time, and all the more so now, having met you. Would you like to know precisely how the real Gwenevere Gellman died?"

Gwen leaped at him in a sudden rush that sent them both rolling to the floor. She straddled his body and gripped his throat with both hands. Pain seared up her right forearm. Gwen ignored it and tightened her grip, then shook him hard enough to thump his head painfully against the floor.

"Who gave that order? And why? What did my parents do?"

"So curious," he said with malevolent satisfaction. "So many unanswered questions."

Something in his smile changed, something in his eyes telegraphed his intention. Gwen caught the glint of metal in her peripheral vision and dived to one side.

A thick ripping sound followed her as her ancient leather jacket took one final scar. Fire seared across her lower back as she kept rolling, leaving a trail of blood on the warehouse floor.

She scrambled to her feet. Incredibly, Adrian did the same. He came at her in a rush, knife held high.

Gwen dashed toward him and seized his wrist with both hands before he could begin the downward slash. She pushed his hand higher and slammed her body into his. He grunted in pain from the impact.

She twisted hard, putting her back to him while still holding onto his wrist, and continued the motion to bend sharply at the waist.

Adrian flew over her and landed hard on his back. Air wheezed out of his lungs in a powerful, painful gust.

Gwen let go of his wrist and danced out of reach. But he kicked out hard, deftly hooking one of her booted feet.

She went down, and suddenly Adrian was on top of her. He lifted the knife high.

Again she seized his wrist. They struggled and rolled, fighting for ascendancy.

Suddenly Adrian went limp, leaving Gwen atop him, their hands entangled around the hilt of the knife.

"I know who killed Frank Cross," he said. Then he tugged down hard, pulling the knife into his heart.Gwen rose and stood over the bodies for a long time, wondering what the h.e.l.l to do with them. If she called the police, she was as good as dead. On this matter, if no other, she believed Adrian told the truth.

She could call Ian Forest. He was very, very good at making bodies disappear. But how would he react if she told him she had two Effing bodies ready for disposal? Ian had been pretty gung-ho about getting rid of Edmonson for killing Elder Folk, and it was possible he would take the same view here. Sure, he seemed very interested in getting into her pants, and he seemed to take his role as mentor seriously, but what did that mean? h.e.l.l, Adrian had loved Erin Westland, but that didn't stop him from putting an arrow through her heart.

Who, then?

An echo of Jason Cross's words, so unexpected at the time and so deeply felt, came to her mind: I can live with that.

She pulled her cell phone out of the pocket of her coat and dialed his number.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

Gwen and Jason stood on a hill overlooking the farm in Smithfield. A waning moon shone overhead, but whatever power it held over Gwen was lost in the welter of emotions that stormed through her.

"I still can't believe you agreed to help me do this," she murmured.

Jason turned his calm brown eyes to her. "Like the old saying says, 'A good friend will help you move; a great friend will help you move a body.'"

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Who said that? Mark Twain or Oscar Wilde?"

He smiled, remembering the reference to an early conversation. "It's usually one or the other."

She reached for his hand, and their fingers entwined. "Seriously, why are you doing this?"

"Those visions of yours were pretty convincing. You showed me enough to make me glad the two people we buried under those trees are no longer among the living."

"Is it really that simple for you?"

A bleak expression flickered across his face. "Nothing is simple, Gwen. I believe what I saw because I know a few things about visions. You know that my mother was part Narragansett?"

"Sure. Frank mentioned that."

"I've always been deeply interested in that part of my heritage, and I've studied some of the old ways. I know holy men and women who seek visions through meditation aided by drumming or dancing."

"Or mushrooms?"

"Different tradition," he said. "But I've seen people in a vision state, and I've had a few of my own. Yours are different from any I've experienced. I don't know anyone else who is powerful enough to share a vision with another.""So you believe what I told you."

"Yes. And I believe what you did was right."

"Don't you want to know why I have visions like that?"

He sent her a faint smile. "I figure that you and I are truly related. We probably have a common ancestor a few generations back."