"Yes, but it wasn't successful."

Meaning whoever was responsible knew a thing or two about computers, because it wasn't easy to so completely erase information from a hard drive. "So who's your employer? And what does this have to do with Professor Baltimore's murder?"

He unwrapped another package, this time revealing thick slabs of corned beef on sourdough with a lavish helping of mustard pickle. Not my favorite, but given how much my belly was still rumbling, I wasn't about to be picky.

"Denny Rosen-the company president, not the gadabout son-employed me after getting little satisfaction from the team the investigation was handed over to."

Three guesses as to who that was, I thought, amus.e.m.e.nt running through me. "I don't suppose you know the name of the detective currently in charge?"

"Sam Turner." He paused, eyeing me. "You know him?"

"Used to." I shrugged and tried to ignore that tiny, insane fraction that wished I still did. "Good luck getting information about the case out of him. He's always been a clam when it comes to discussing any aspect of his work."

"I actually make a point of not talking to the cops. They tend to get antsy about private investigators snooping around their patch during an ongoing investigation."

"That's probably a good move." I licked the sweet pickle mustard off my fingers and said, "So why did Rosen point you in Baltimore's direction? I'm gathering he's not just doing it to p.i.s.s off his ex."

"He's not." He picked up his wine. "Although I suspect there is an element of that. They sure do seem to hate each other."

Well, given the rumors suggesting infidelity and theft of research on both their parts, I could understand why. At least they had good reasons for the hate, unlike a certain cop I knew.

"Rosen wasn't very forthcoming about what, exactly, Wilson was working on, but I gather it's something to do with finding a cure for some new kind of virus." Jackson picked up the wine and filled my gla.s.s. "He inferred Baltimore might be working on a similar project and therefore could be behind the theft."

"What's the bet Wilson's project has something to do with the virus the red cloaks are infected with?" I said heavily. It had to be. It was too much of a coincidence to be anything else.

"Rosen simply called it the NSV01 virus-"

"And Baltimore's virus was NSV01A. I doubt it was a coincidence."

"Highly unlikely," Jackson said. "Rosen didn't say what it was or who'd employed him to work on it. I suspect, given how clammy he got, that it was a deep-level government initiative."

I frowned. "The government has its own labs-"

"Yeah, but it's not always easy to keep research a secret inside those labs. Too much red tape, too many management fingers in the pie. It's far easier to have a black slush fund and get it done privately."

"It doesn't explain why they'd be coming after me, though. If they were the ones who beat Baltimore to death, they must know I can't tell them anything more."

"What if it wasn't the red cloaks who beat him up? What if it was someone else entirely?"

I frowned. "Mark was the most harmless guy in the world. I can't imagine someone having a reason to kill him other than wanting his research. And as I said, I don't think he was onto anything monumental before he died."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Let me get something." He rose in one fluid movement and walked up the hill to his truck. His strides were long and easy but nevertheless filled with a sense of heated energy. Much like the man himself, really.

He came back with a manila folder. This time, he sat down beside me, his shoulders pressed against mine and the heat of him flowing across my senses, a siren call to the fires deep within. I took a shuddery breath, trying to concentrate as he flipped open the folder, rifled through some paperwork, then picked out a photo. "You ever seen this man before?" he asked, handing it to me.

The photo was grainy and speckled, as if it had been blown up from a much smaller picture. The man in it had half turned from the camera, but he was obviously a big man, bald, with heavy brows and a beaklike nose that seemed to jut out over thin, humorless lips.

He wasn't anyone I'd seen before, and I said as much before adding, "Who is he?"

"Sherman Jones, a thug for hire and petty thief."

I handed him back the photo and then picked up my wine. It didn't do a whole lot to quench the awareness surging through me. "You think he beat up Mark?"

"This was snapped by one of the street security cameras just up the road from Baltimore's apartment." His voice seemed suddenly deeper, edged with a huskiness that spoke of desire. "According to one of the waitresses in the cafe across the road, he'd been hanging around the nearby bus stop most of the day."

I frowned. "But if you know about this Jones person, the cops surely would, and they'd have interviewed him already."

"They would have, if they could find him. He disappeared not long after this picture was taken."

"Before or after Mark's murder?"

"After."

I finished my wine and held it out for a refill. Too much more and I'd get tipsy, but after the events of the last few days, that might not be a bad thing.

"And no body has been found, I take it?"

"No. However, Jones wasn't the type to completely freelance. I have it from a good source that he had several regular employers, including this man."

He held out another photo. This man had a thin, pockmarked face, small, beady eyes, and dark, greasy hair. He reminded me of a rat. "Who is he?"

"Marcus Radcliffe the third. He owns a chain of secondhand stores that are little more than a front for a roaring trade in black-market goods and information."

"You've talked to him?"

"Not yet. He tends to be surrounded by some rather large goons, has high-level lawyers on call, and he can smell a cop-or a PI-a mile away."

"Meaning you've hit a wall information-wise?"

"Not exactly. I've now got you."

"Maybe."

He grinned. It was s.e.xy as all get-out, but also very confident. "Your turn, my dear."

I told him the little I knew, all the while trying to ignore the hunger in his eyes, the feel of heat barely restrained that flowed over my senses every time he moved.

When I finished, he said, "Given the research of both men has been taken, it suggests they might have had some sort of breakthrough."

"Yeah, but the question is, how would the people behind the murders have known?"

He shrugged. "Rosen told me Wilson presented weekly reports; it's possible someone, somewhere, talked."

"Maybe, but that doesn't explain what happened to Baltimore. Trust me. No one would risk Lady Harriet's ire by indiscreetly talking." I pursed my lips, my thoughts going a mile a minute. "Could the labs be bugged?"

Jackson shook his head. His auburn hair, I noticed idly, gleamed like fire in the sunlight. "Rosen apparently doesn't trust his ex as far as he could throw her. He has a team of specialists who sweep the labs weekly."

Well, at least Lady Harriet wasn't that paranoid. She had them swept only every other week. I downed more wine, then said, "So basically, we're as stuck for ideas as the cops."

His sudden smile was blinding in its intensity. "We're stuck? Does this mean you've forgiven my initial lie and are now intending to help me on my quest?"

Did it?

I hadn't meant it that way, but now that I'd said it, it was tempting. Very tempting. And it wasn't as if Sam was going to give me any answers.

"I don't know," I said, honestly enough. "I'm not sure it would be wise for either of us to tangle with the things that are carrying the virus."

"Can the virus affect nonhumans? Rosen gave me the impression it was human only."

I hesitated, but it wasn't like I hadn't already told him enough to get us both into trouble. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying went. Besides, he needed to know what he might be dealing with. "From the little I've been told, it very definitely affects humans and vampires. Some s.h.i.+fters seemed able to escape the virus as long as they s.h.i.+ft immediately after being infected, but it's too new for anyone to be certain. Until we know for sure, I don't think you should be taking any unnecessary risks."

"Oh, I don't plan to when it comes to those things." He frowned. "What about phoenixes?"

I shrugged. "I'm spirit, not flesh, so any virus or drug that does get into my system will be burned away when I resume my true form."

"Handy trick."

"And one that doesn't stop me from getting hurt or dying before my time," I said, voice dry. "A phoenix making it through a full hundred years of life is something of a rarity."

"So how many lifetimes have-" He paused, listening intently for several seconds; then his gaze hit mine, sharp and intent. "Do you want to be found right now?"

Confusion swirled. "What?"

"There's a helicopter on the way. It's a fair bet that, given we've eluded your police tail, it's someone looking for you. So, make your decision. Come with me and not be found until you wish to be, or stay here and return to the safety of your police followers."

I stared at him, tossing between the insane need to know what was going on and the desire to stay safe.

"Decide, Emberly. We're running out of time."

What the h.e.l.l? I thought, and fell on the side of insanity.

CHAPTER 6.

We were deep in the trees by the time the helicopter clattered overhead. It swept over the meadow several times, then moved on, doing similar checks of nearby areas.

"You're not going to be able to hide a red pickup in the trees for very long. Sooner or later, they will spot it."

"I know." He was outside, leaning against the roof of his branch-covered truck, his gaze on the skies. "And I don't think we should evade them for long. I just wanted time to plan."

"There's no need to plan," I said bluntly. "Our next step is obvious. We have to find and talk to this Marcus Radcliffe the third."

He looked at me. The smile that teased his lips was decidedly s.e.xy. "At the risk of repeating myself, where the h.e.l.l have you been all my life?"

"Enjoying a peaceful life," I said. "And given they're probably trying to pinpoint us through our cell phones right now, shouldn't we get moving?"

"Yep." He jumped into the truck, started it up, then drove through the trees and out onto the road. Once there, he floored it. Within no time, we were back on the Calder Freeway cruising toward Melbourne.

"Okay, as I said earlier, Radcliffe is a hard man to get close to. He does, however, have two vices-gambling and women. He's a regular at Crown's VIP gaming lounges and always finishes the night with a lovely lady on his arm."

"I am not going to be one of those lovely ladies. I don't mind investigating bad guys, but I'm not going to bed them."

"And I wouldn't ask you to," he said, his annoyed tone softened by the amus.e.m.e.nt teasing his lips. "Especially not before I've had a chance to do so."

I smiled. "And here I was thinking that particular goal had gone out the window."

His gaze came to mine, and the rawness of desire so evident in those green depths had me struggling to breathe. Pinp.r.i.c.ks of sweat broke out across my skin and the flames within surged, eager to taste the heat of him, to draw it deep inside and savor its sweetness.

"Trust me," he said softly. "That particular goal is stronger than ever."

I resisted the urge to fan myself and pulled my gaze away from his as I tried to get my breathing under control.

"So how are we going to separate Radcliffe from his people?" I hesitated, and grinned as I added, "Or should that be, how am I going to separate him?"

"I suspect all you'll need to do is wear something s.e.xy and offer him a room number. It's happened before, from what the croupiers have said." He grimaced. "Of course, the problem with that is that we first have to get you away from your police tail."

"Let me worry about that," I said, knowing our biggest problem wouldn't be me escaping a tail, but rather surviving the explosion of anger from the man who would undoubtedly be waiting when I returned home. "Let's just concentrate on the finer details of ensnaring Radcliffe."

Jackson pulled to a stop outside the Ascot Vale railway station and gave me a somewhat dubious look. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive you home?"

I shook my head. "I know Sam. He'll drag you away, lock you up, and interrogate the s.h.i.+t out of you. And that won't be at all conducive to our plans."

"But he can't legally retain me for too long, not without charging me."

"The law doesn't actually define what is a reasonable amount of time here in Victoria," I said, "and, as I said, Sam's not regular police. He's part of some sort of special unit. I suspect the restraints on what they can and can't do are somewhat lax."

Especially given they were apparently killing the red plague people w.i.l.l.y-nilly and had threatened to do the same to anyone who knew too much about them.

Jackson still didn't look happy. I leaned across the seat and kissed him. It was meant to be just a short, friendly peck, but it turned into something a whole lot more fiery.

"d.a.m.n, woman," he said, his breathing harsh on my lips. "We really need to find some time for ourselves."

"Tonight." I quickly opened the door and got out of the truck before the urge to do more than just kiss him became too hard to ignore.

He drove off fast-as if he, too, needed to get away before he gave in to what burned unsatisfied between us-and I made my way home.

Sam was waiting near the front doors. No surprise there.

"Just what the f.u.c.k did you think you were doing?" he all but exploded the minute I got close. "Losing our tail was bad enough, but then to take out the red cloak like that-"