The Good, The Bad, And The Undead

making me cry in front of my father.'

A childhood anger flared from coals I had thought long extinct. 'It's your own fault. I told you to stop teasing her!' I said, not caring that my voice was louder than the surrounding water. 'Jasmin was sick. She cried herself to sleep for three weeks because of you.'

Trent jerked upright. 'You know her name?' he exclaimed. 'Write it down. Quick!'

I stared at him in disbelief. 'Why do you care what her name was? She had a hard enough time without you picking on her.'

'Her name!' Trent said, patting his pockets until he found a pen. 'What's her name?'

Scowling, I tucked a curl behind an ear. 'I'm not going to tell you,' I said, embarrassed that I had forgotten it again.

Trent pressed his lips together and put the pen away. 'You forgot already, didn't you?'

'Why do you care anyway? All you did was pester her.'

He looked cross as he tugged his hat lower over his eyes. 'I was fourteen. A very awkward fourteen, Ms. Morgan. I teased her because I liked her. Next time you recall her name, I would appreciate it if you would write it down and send it to me. There were long-term memory blockers in the camp's drinking water, and I would like to know if—'

His voice cut off, and I watched the emotion flicker behind his eyes. I was becoming good at reading them. 'You want to know if she survived,' I finished for him, knowing I had guessed right when his gaze went elsewhere. 'Why were you there?' I asked, almost afraid he'd tell me.

'My father owned the camp. Where else would I spend my summers?'

The cadence of his voice and the slight tightening of his brow told me it had been more than that. A thrill of satisfaction warmed me; I'd found his tell for when he lied. Now all I needed was the same for when he was speaking the truth, and he'd never be able to successfully lie to me again.

'You are as filthy as your father,' I said, disgusted, 'blackmailing people by dangling a cure within their reach and making them your puppets. Your parents' fortune was built on the misery of hundreds, maybe thousands, Mr. Kalamack. And you're no different.'

Trent's chin trembled almost imperceptibly, and I thought I saw a shimmer of sparkles about him, the memory of his aura playing tricks on me. Must be an elf thing. 'I will not justify my actions to you,' he said. 'And you have become very adept in the art of blackmail yourself. I'm not going to waste my time bickering like children over who hurt whose feelings over a decade ago. I want to hire your services.'

'Hire me?' I said, unable to keep my voice lowered as I put my hands on my hips in disbelief. 'You tried to kill me in the rat fights, and you think I'm going to work for you? To help clear your name? You murdered those witches. I'm going to prove it.'

He laughed, his hat shadowing his face as he bowed his head and chuckled.

'What's so funny?' I demanded, feeling foolish.

'You.' His eyes were bright. 'You were never in any danger in that rat pit. I was only using it to knock home your current sordid state. But I did make a few astounding contacts while I was there.'

'You son of—' Lips pressed tight, I clenched my hand into a fist.

Trent's mirth vanished and his head tilted in warning as he took a step away. 'I wouldn't,' he threatened, raising a finger. 'I really wouldn't.'

I slowly rocked back, my knees shaking in the memory of the pit. The gut-twisting feeling of helplessness, of being trapped and forced to kill or be killed, washed through me. I had been Trent's toy. Him running me down on horseback was nothing compared to that. After all, I had been thieving from him at the time.

'Listen to me really good, Trent,' I whispered, the thought of Quen forcing me to retreat until the concrete pressed cold into the small of my back. 'I'm not working for you. I'm going to take you down. I'm going to figure out how to tie you to every one of those murders.'

'Oh please,' he said, and I wondered how we went so quickly from a Fortune-twenty businessman and a slick independent runner to two people squabbling over past injustices. 'Are you still on that? Even Captain Edden realizes Dan Smather's body was dumped in my stables, which is why he sent his son to watch me instead of filing charges. And as for having contact with the victims, yes, I talked to them all, trying to employ them, not kill them. You have a very strong skill set, Ms. Morgan, but detective is not among them. You are far too impatient, driven by your intuitive skills, which seem to only work forward, not backward.'

Affronted, I put my hands on my hips and made a sound of disbelief. Who did he think he was, lecturing me?

Trent reached into a shirt pocket, pulling out a white envelope and handing it to me. Leaning forward and back, I snatched it, flipping it open. My breath caught as I realized it held twenty crisp hundred-dollar bills.

'That's ten percent up front, the rest on completion,' he said, and I froze, trying to look cavalier. Twenty thousand dollars? 'I want you to identify who is responsible for the murders. I've been trying to hire a ley line witch for the last three months, and every one of them ends up dead. It's growing tiresome. All I want is a name.'

'You can go to hell, Kalamack,' I said, dropping the envelope when he didn't take it back. I was angry and frustrated. I had come here with information so fine, I was sure I was going to get a confession. What I got was threatened, insulted, and then bribed.

Looking unperturbed, he stooped to pick up the envelope, smacking it against his palm several times to get the grit off before tucking it away. 'You do realize that with that little stunt you pulled yesterday, you are next on the killer's list? You fit the profile nicely, having shown yourself as proficient in ley line magic, and then adding our little tryst today.'

Damn. I'd forgotten about that. If Trent really wasn't the murderer, than I had nothing to stop the real one from coming after me. Suddenly the sun wasn't warm enough. I felt breathless, sick that I was going to have to find the real killer before he found me.

'Now,' Trent said, his voice smoother than the water. 'Take the money so I can tell you what I've managed to learn.'

Stomach twisting, I met his mocking gaze. I was going to do just what he wanted. He had manipulated me into helping him. Damn, damn, and double damn. Crossing to his side of the bridge, I put my elbows atop the thick railing with my back to Glenn. Sharps was deep underwater, only the lack of ducks to say he was here. Beside me stood Trent.

'Did you send Sara Jane to the FIB with the sole intention that Edden would involve me?' I asked bitterly.

Trent shifted, putting himself so near I could smell the clean scent of his aftershave. I didn't like how close he was, but if I moved, he'd know it bothered me. 'Yes,' he said softly.

In his voice was the sound of truth I had been waiting for, and a trickle of excitement pulled my breath tight. There it was. Now I had it. He'd never be able to lie to me again. Looking back over our past conversations in a new light, I realized that apart from the reason he'd given me for being at his father's camp, he never had. Ever.

'She doesn't know him, does she?' I asked.

'A few dates to get the picture, but no. It was a calculated certainty that he would be murdered after he agreed to work for me, though I tried to protect him. Quen is very upset,' he said lightly, his gaze on Sharps's ripples. 'That Mr. Smather turned up in my stables means the killer is getting cocky.'

My eyes closed briefly in frustration as I scrambled to realign my thinking. Trent hadn't killed those witches. Someone else had. I could either take the money and help Trent solve his little employment problem or not take the money and he'd get it for free. I'd take the money. 'You're a bastard, you know that?'

Seeing my new understanding, Trent smiled. It was all I could do to not spit in his face. His long hands hung out over the edge of the railing. The sun turned his tan a warm golden color that almost glowed against his white shirt, and his face was shadowed. Wisps of his hair moved in the breeze, almost touching my own wayward strands.

With a casual movement, he reached into his shirt pocket, and with our bodies hiding the action from Glenn, he extended the envelope. Feeling dirty, I took it, shoving it out of sight behind my jacket and into my waistband.

'Excellent,' he said, warm and sincere. 'I'm glad we can work together.'

'Go Turn yourself, Kalamack.'