“Cam, answer the door! Margrit, you’ve got to-”
“What?” Margrit demanded. “I’ve got to what, Cole? You think I can explain this? You wouldn’t believe me if I tried,” she repeated under her breath.
“Open up!”
“Goddammit, Margrit!”
The pounding on the door receded, leaving only the sound of her heartbeat crashing in her ears. Cameron bolted for the door again. Margrit wet her lips, looking beyond Cole at the tall gargoyle. There was a peculiar mix of hope and determination in his eyes, a look she knew startlingly well. Not because of him, but because of the men and women she’d worked with. It was an expression of desperation, the open, raw acknowledgment that he was playing his last card. If she didn’t take his hand now, he would be lost.
“Do you trust me, Margrit?”
The words echoed in her mind, bringing chills. She hadn’t heard him ask the first time, though now, with them repeated, it was as if they’d been tattooed on her skin, waiting for her to notice their strength. The question cut through the shouting and the too-loud drumming of her heart, making a place of silent stillness inside her, the world around her fading away. Margrit licked her lips again, painfully aware on a courtroom-lawyer level that it was a tell, revealing her fear and uncertainty to anyone who wanted to read it. Alban held himself terribly still, a step beyond Cole, letting her study the fine lines of his human face and the desperate hope in his eyes.
He had let her go, more than once. Had saved her from the speeding car and had let her walk away from him despite her refusal to help. His hands, when they’d danced, had been sensual, not threatening.
And he had watched her for years, maybe keeping her safe. A jolt of curiosity shot through her. Was Alban the reason she felt inexplicably safe in the park every night? She was wary, even frightened, but beneath caution lay a certainty as solid as her heartbeat. Idiot, she thought, but she met Alban’s eyes. “I-”
Cameron yanked the front door open, flinging herself out of the way as two armed police officers crashed through, taking in the narrow hallway and the layout of the apartment with a glance. One of them sighted the trio on the balcony and barked, “This way!”
Cole spun to face the officers, hands lifted, the phone still clasped in one. Margrit heard Tony shout, “Surrender!” both from the phone and in an echo from below.
Alban’s lips curled in a snarl, his humanity suddenly lost. “Tomorrow,” he growled.
The word was almost lost beneath cops shouting, “Put your hands up!” Margrit threw a panicked glance at the police officers and lifted her arms, her gaze snapping back to Alban.
“Who’s on first,” he said. “After sunset.”
Then he leaped, an astonishing burst of motion that flung him from Margrit’s balcony to the next one up, kitty-corner. Another leap brought him to the seventh floor, then to the eighth, as Margrit gaped after him. The cops burst onto her balcony, weapons cupped, but Alban disappeared over the rooftop, and Tony barked an order against shooting. One of the cops lowered his weapon, staring toward the empty sky. “What the fuck was that?”
“Margrit?” Cole’s voice was filled with fear and confusion. “What…”
She looked at him helplessly, spreading her fingers. One of the cops grabbed her arm, twisting it down behind her back. Margrit let him turn her without struggling, wincing at the cold bite of metal snapping around her wrist. “You’re coming down to the station to answer some questions about some murders, lady.”
The ride to the station was conducted in infuriated silence, Margrit’s only statement being that she wanted her lawyer. Tony, swearing, made the call from the station, while she was herded unceremoniously to an interrogation cell. She sat down in the chair provided, fully aware that its front legs were subtly shorter than its back legs. Just enough to keep her off balance, literally, her thighs forced to keep her aligned. It was one of a hundred tricks to make suspects uncomfortable and on edge. Margrit pressed her cold fingers against her eyes, the cuffs gone now that she was confined in the cell. The minutes stretched out, her thighs trembling slightly with the effort of keeping herself level, but she disregarded the temptation to get up and pace. She wanted to project tired impatience and a willingness to cooperate, not the image of a caged animal.
Tony finally stalked in and slammed the door, frustration and anger radiating with every move he made. Margrit watched the muscles in his tense shoulders bunch and release, adding to their breadth. If it weren’t for the anger and agitation, he would be beautiful in motion, but instead he paced as if it were he who’d been arrested.
Not like Alban, Margrit thought wearily. The gargoyle’s movements were graceful. Inhumanly graceful. She huffed a breath of semiamused dismay and slid down in the chair.
It seemed to trigger a reaction. “What the fuck is going on, Margrit? What are you doing with this guy? Is it some kind of-what is it?”
“Counsel would advise me not to answer that, Tony, and I’m not going to.”
“Come on, Margrit, this is me and you, not-”
“No.” Her voice was sharp. “Me and you happen outside of interrogation cells, Tony. Right now anything I say can and will be held against me.”
“I don’t really believe-”
“Good. I mean, the worst you could get me for is co-conspirator…” Worst. As if that didn’t carry a twenty- to-life sentence itself. “But you obviously know that’s patently ridiculous, because you haven’t arrested me for anything. What do you want?”
Tony stopped pacing and leaned across the table, hands planted like concrete struts against the metal. “I want you to tell me what you know about this guy.”
“I don’t know anything.” She couldn’t tell him what little she did know, couldn’t possibly. It wouldn’t be Ryker’s Island, if she did; it would be Bedlam. “His name is Alban Korund. He says he hasn’t killed anyone. He also said he’s been stalking me for three years. If anything, I’m more like a potential victim than a helper in this case. That’s all I know.” Who’s on first after sunset, Alban had said. What the hell did that mean? “Are you going to arrest me?”
“Don’t tempt me.” Tony straightened again. Margrit pushed back in her chair, feeling the faint strain in her thighs from keeping steady in the slanted seat.
“If you don’t arrest me, Tony, there’s nothing stopping me from walking out of here.”
“Except the fact that you yourself just said you’re a likely victim in this case.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Margrit stood up. “You don’t believe I’m your murderer, Tony, or even that I’m in cahoots with him. I swear to God, I never saw the guy before three days ago-”
“Sit!” Tony swung back to her, barking the order. Margrit set her teeth together and stayed on her feet. “How’d he get on your balcony?”
“The same damn way he got off it! He’s got pogo sticks in his shoes, I don’t know! Jesus, Tony! I didn’t invite him into the fucking house! Ask Cole and Cameron!”
“Your answers don’t match up, Margrit.”
“Yes, they fucking do.” Exhaustion swept over her, taking away the last adrenaline brought on by the near arrest, and leaving her tone flat and tired. “You watched him go bouncing over the goddamn building like some kind of blond Spider-Man, just like the rest of us did. I don’t know how the hell he did it, but if I was in it with him, wouldn’t I have gone with him? He keeps coming after me because he says he thinks I can help him. I swear to God I don’t know why he thinks that. I haven’t encouraged him. Who the hell tipped you off, anyway?”
Tony gave her a sullen look. “An anonymous caller, not that it matters, since I was three blocks away, anyway.”
“An anonymous caller. What a lucky break for you. You got to show up with the troops in tow instead of all alone to find your girlfriend two-timing you with a murderer. Jesus, Tony, is that what you think?”
He stared at her. “Is it what I should think?”
Margrit stared back, then flung her hands up. “For God’s sake. Yes, Tony. I’ve had two dozen boyfriends in the time we’ve been off. Why do you think we never stay together for more than a couple months? I get bored and start looking for new meat.” She dropped her arms, staring at him. “Is that what you want to hear? Does that make it all better somehow?”
Disbelief and betrayal warred for dominance in Tony’s eyes, and his color was high from emotion. Margrit groaned. “Don’t be an idiot, Anthony. Are you sure you want to try to make it work, if that’s how much you trust me?” So much for them not happening inside a police station. On the other hand, arguing about their personal
