Gwen suddenly realized that she'd been shaking her head throughout most of this litany. She stopped abruptly and sent him a narrow-eyed glare. "What I am not is stupid. You're so full of s.h.i.t it's a wonder your eyes aren't brown."

"Would you care to test the truth of my claims?"

To her surprise, this notion held considerable appeal. h.e.l.l, she'd take just about any challenge that would prove Ian wrong and get him off her back, or better yet, out of her life.

"Maybe," she said cautiously.

"Repeat this: 'I will eat French fries no more. My oath on it, by moon and star, wind and word.'"

Gwen burst out laughing. She quickly caught herself and dialed it down to a grin. "That's got to be the most lame-a.s.s incantation ever created."

"Nevertheless," Ian persisted.

Her smile faded, and she shook her head. "It sounds too much like a promise. I don't make them often, but once they're made, they're kept."

"An admirable philosophy, and not at all surprising under the circ.u.mstances. Just repeat the words, then, with the a.s.sumption that they are nothing more than-what was it? A 'lame-a.s.s incantation'? Don't consider it a promise to me. I a.s.sure you, as far as I'm concerned you can eat as many of those culinary horrors as you're able to."

"Or how about this," she countered: "You hand over the salt, we forget this whole conversation ever happened, and everybody gets to live another day."

He smiled thinly. "As soon as you say the words, I'll leave."

"Oh. Well, in that case..."

She repeated the strange phrase, then glanced at Ian and lifted one eyebrow in inquiry. He swept a hand toward her plate, indicating that she should help herself.

Gwen picked up a particularly salty potato wedge and popped it into her mouth.

An acrid stench filled her nostrils-most likely because her tongue had inexplicably caught fire. Tearsrolled down her cheeks, blinding her, and her throat closed so tightly she couldn't draw breath. She palmed the table for her napkin. Someone took her hand, turned it over, and slapped the napkin into it.

She spat out the offending morsel. Instantly the burning sensation disappeared and the tension in her throat eased.

Gwen set down the crumpled napkin with shaking hands and backhanded tears from her eyes. "What the h.e.l.l was that?"

"An oath," Ian told her. "The Elder Folk are bound by them. Once spoken, they are almost impossible to break."

They sat in silence for several moments as Gwen sorted through the implications. Since the Big Issue was too weird to handle, she focused her attention-and her ire-on the more manageable one.

"Listen, a.s.shole, you said you wouldn't hold me to it! You said I could eat as many fries..."

Her voice trailed off as realization hit.

"As you were able to," Ian finished for her.

Gwen eyed the greasy, golden pile with longing. "What the h.e.l.l am I supposed to do now?" she mourned.

"I live on these things! Ah, son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

Ian rose, chuckling. "Call me, and soon. You have much to learn."

"Blow me," she invited coldly.

His eyebrows rose. "Apparently, you have more to learn than I thought."

With that parting salvo, he turned and wove through the gathering crowd. The evening mist had turned into a downpour, and people were pushing their way into the pub. Ian made his way through the standing-room-only crowd as easily as a fish pa.s.sing through water. Openings just seemed to happen as he approached.

"You didn't have to wait for me," Damian said as dropped back into his chair.

Gwen snapped her gaze back to her companion's face. "I didn't. Talking to Ian made me lose my appet.i.te."

"There's a first! You're not going to eat that?"

"Help yourself."

She barely had time to s.n.a.t.c.h up her burger before he took her plate and dumped its contents onto his own. She tried not to glare as he started to munch his way through the pile of fries.

"So, what's the story with that guy?"

"Pretty much what he said. I worked for him for a little while-long enough to figure out that whatever I am, he's one, too. But you already picked up on that."

Damian nodded, since his mouth was too full of fried potatoes to permit speech. He hastily chewed and swallowed. "So he's teaching you about that changeling stuff?"

"Something like that, yeah."The cop considered this, then frowned. "I don't like it. I mean, I can see how you'd want to know about this s.h.i.t. I just don't like this Forest guy."

"Who does? And to tell you the truth, I don't want to think about him right now." She reached for the ketchup and liberally anointed her burger. "You were asking about a prenup investigation for your sister?"

With obvious reluctance, Damian resigned himself to a change of subject. "Shawm's going to want details before she commits to the idea."

Gwen leaned back in her chair, relieved to be back on familiar, solid ground. "For some people, it's not much different from the credit checks her bank does every day. But if you're getting a bad feeling about this guy, your radar probably isn't picking up on his credit report. Personality glitches usually show up in how he relates to family and employees. I'll observe him, rind ways to talk to people who know him.

Ex-wives and old girlfriends are usually a good source of information."

"I'll bet. Problem is, Shawna's not about to listen to gossip. She likes data, you understand."

"And she'll get it. Tell your sister I confirm ID, check employment history, confirm school records, look into family history, and check for a police record."

"That last thing, I've already done."

"Yeah, I figured, but does Shawna know that?"

"Good point," he conceded. "Just so you know, she's also going to ask about your experience, maybe check some references."

"No problem. Not all precommitment checks are run on future spouses. One of my best clients is a corporate headhunter. She likes to run a thorough resume check before she recommends someone for a high-ticket job. Your sister can call her if she wants. I've also made 'discrete inquiries' for a university that wanted certain professors checked out before they got tenure-apparently it's pretty d.a.m.n hard to get rid of them, afterward. I've even heard from a couple of local politicians who wanted me to scope out the opposition."

This earned her an incredulous frown. "You do that?"

"You're kidding, right? The only time I worked for a politician was when some guy hired me to look into his own past. He wanted to see what an opponent might be able to dig up. Basically, he wanted me to test the locks on the family skeleton closets."

He let out a long, low whistle. "d.a.m.n! I can't decide if that's really smart, or really sleazy. He win the election?"

"He decided not to run. Let's just say my report made for interesting reading." Gwen paused for a grim smile. "I might not vote, but I occasionally do my civic duty."

"Why settle for 'occasionally'? You were on the job," he pointed out, "and you could be again."

Gwen noted the fervor in his eyes and suppressed a sigh. Damian was gung-ho about clearing her name and getting her back on the force. She'd put him off for over a week, explaining that she needed time to get her head around recent events. Since "recent events" included the death of Gwen's first partner, Damian had made an attempt at patience. At the moment, however, he looked to be running about a quart low on that particular virtue."I've got a job," she told him. "Or maybe you forgot hiring me a few minutes back?"

Damian heaved a sigh. "Can you meet Shawna tomorrow morning before she goes to work? Say, eight-thirty, at that coffee shop down by the waterfront walk?"

"That'll work."

"One more thing." A flush crept up his cheeks, adding an interesting richness to the dark color of his skin-and cuing Gwen in on what was coming next. "My sister doesn't know that we..."

"Danced the horizontal tango?" she suggested helpfully. "Had carnal knowledge of each other? Got the s.e.xual tension thing out of the way so we could get on with the process of establishing a working professional relationship?"

"Yeah, that. No offense, it's just that my family's kind of..."

He trailed off again, obviously expecting her to understand and fill in the rest.

But Gwen continued to regard him with wide eyes and a politely inquiring expression. She didn't have much use for social conventions of any sort, and saw no good reason to let him off the hook on this one-especially since this was the second time tonight the issue had come up.

"The thing is," he said hesitantly, "Shawna thinks-actually, most of my family thinks this way-that people should stay with their own kind."

"When you say 'own kind,' I a.s.sume you're talking about DNA?" Gwen inquired sweetly. "Can't bring a changeling home to Mama?"

Damian's face fell slack. After a moment he let out a rueful chuckle. "Puts an interesting new spin on that sort of thing, doesn't it?"

"I thought so." She leaned forward and whispered, "Oh, and Tyra Banks? Halle Berry? Beyonce?

They're all changelings, too. Sorry if that puts a dent in your fantasy life."

His wry grin acknowledged the hit. "You just got to go for the takedown, don't you? It must have d.a.m.n near killed you to pull up short on that groin punch tonight."

Gwen settled back in her seat. "It hurt," she admitted as she reached for her burger. "But strangely enough, I'm feeling much better now."

CHAPTER FOUR.

"Holy s.h.i.t," Damian said as he stared at the elaborate wrought-iron gate at the entrance to Sylvia Black's long gravel drive. His gaze flicked past it to the stately brick house, the sweeping hedge of white lilacs behind a sea of white tulips and irises. The rain had stopped, and a brisk wind was breaking up the clouds and sending the pieces skittering seaward. Dark cloud ribbons slid across a nearly full moon.

Sylvia's white garden was luminous in the faint, dappled light.

"'This is where you live?"

"Sort of. I have an apartment over the garage-that little building over there. I help with security.""How'd you score this gig?" he demanded.

"It's a long story, and not really mine to tell. Let's just say that my landlady has a colorful past."

"Sounds like another tale for us to swap at the old cop's home. Before you go, I got something for you."

Damian leaned over and popped the glove compartment. He fished out a computer disc in a plain white paper sleeve and handed it to Gwen.

"Here's a copy of the files my friend recovered from your old hard drive. We've got to talk about this someday real soon."

"Sure."

"Soon," he emphasized. "I know there's a lot on your mind, but cases get colder as time goes by, not easier."

Gwen wanted to argue, but d.a.m.n it, the kid was right. She slumped back into her seat. "I'm listening."

"Quick recap," he said. "Captain Walsh said you'd requested a personal leave, when he really a.s.signed you to shadow Tiger Leone. The preliminary report you sent him before you went undercover was deleted, but not gone, you understand. When they tossed your old computer, I took it and had the hard drive stripped. The files on that disc prove you were doing exactly what you were told. Walsh is owned."

Gwen brandished the disc. "It won't be enough."

"It will get people asking questions," he argued. "The rest will come out."

"Yeah, but after how many more people get f.u.c.ked over? If you like your job, remember what happened to me and think long and hard before you take on Walsh."

Damian's face hardened. "You lost your job, sure, but two others died. Maybe three, if you count Frank Cross."

For a long moment Gwen stared at the young cop, too stunned to comment. She had good reason to know that Captain Dennis Walsh was a lying sack of s.h.i.t, but a cop killer?

As far as she was concerned, Wallace Edmonson had killed Frank. Walsh was connected to Edmonson somehow, but she'd never considered the possibility that the captain was responsible for Frank's death, or for the two cops killed in the nightclub bust. She'd spent fifteen years as a cop, fifteen years taking part in something she considered flawed but basically decent. No matter how badly that had ended, a part of her didn't want to believe any cop, including Walsh, could be that twisted. Cop-killing police captains were movie monsters-celluloid nightmares about as likely as werewolves and zombies.

On the other hand, the official ruling on Frank Cross's death was bulls.h.i.t. Gwen would bet her life on that. Yet Frank's autopsy showed he was well over the legal limit, and Kate Myers, the medical examiner, had a sterling rep. When Gwen heard the results, she'd a.s.sumed that the killer had forced the alcohol into Frank somehow, but maybe the explanation was a lot simpler: Maybe Kate had lied.

She had been pretty nervous the first time Gwen talked to her, and totally freaked out by the B and E at the morgue that resulted in the mutilation of two dead cops. Since the pattern cut into their bodies was identical to the torture-tracks left by a trio of serial killers in Edmonson's employ, Gwen had figured the threads all tied together. But maybe Kate Myers was a loose thread, one left dangling when Edmonson disappeared.And since the autopsy results and the fingerprint evidence were telling the same story, maybe someone in the police department was attached to Frank's death by yet another thread.

"If Walsh is dirty," she said slowly, "no one in vice is safe until this thing is over."

"There you go. Why do you think I keep trying to get you in on this?"

She conceded that with a curt nod. "I a.s.sume you've been doing more than just nagging me to get off my a.s.s. Bring me up to speed."

"Now you're talking. That club that was raided? Winston's? Leone had two other clubs, and someone's still running them. I know for a fact they're still selling s.h.i.t."

That didn't surprise Gwen. Tiger Leone had worked for Edmonson. Both men were gone, but that didn't mean the operations would automatically shut down.

"I went to one of the clubs, checked out the local talent," Damian went on. "You remember Jackie Teal?"

"One of Tiger Leone's girls. She snuck out the back the night Winston's was raided. Pretty girl-a Janet Jackson type."

"Right down to the malfunctioning wardrobe. Jackie's dancing at Extreme, a t.i.tty bar not far from the Foxy."

Something in his face set off warning bells in the back of Gwen's mind. "You wouldn't happen to know if she's doing any private dancing on the side?"