A part of me hated to do this. We’d just worked as a team. He’d just helped me.

But it had to be done.

“I’ll give you two choices, Kyrin. You can willingly go to the hospital to help Dallas, then the station house, where you’ll answer my questions. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do. Or I can shoot you here and now.”

“You’re not going to shoot me. You need me alive.”

I lowered the barrel to his leg. “Then I’ll simply incapacitate you.”

He gave me a languid grin. “As if a puny wound to the leg would even slow me. You’ve seen how quickly I heal. And do you really want to waste my blood?”

He stepped toward me.

“Stay where you are,” I shouted. I didn’t fire. Damn him, he was right. I wouldn’t shoot him. Why had I even threatened?

Slowly and leisurely, he closed the rest of the distance between us, and I let him come. Yes, I lowered my weapon and let him come. He stood in front of me for several seconds—an eternity, perhaps—without touching me. My breath became ragged as his energy surrounded me; my skin heated. I licked my lips. I knew what he planned to do. “What are you waiting for?” I growled. “Do it. I can’t stop you.”

“You don’t want to stop me.” His arms wound around me, and his mouth remained a whisper away. “Thank you for your help,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” I replied grudgingly.

His lips crushed mine, and his tongue swept inside my mouth. Our teeth scraped together with the force of his invasion. I welcomed him completely. I hated myself, but welcome him I did. As he’d walked toward me, need had grown inside me. Strong and hot—undeniable. He tasted of heat and passion. I pressed more deeply into him.

But I forced my hands to stay at my sides. I might enjoy his kiss, might crave it, but I wouldn’t allow myself to participate any more than I already was. Remaining still was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I hated him. I liked him. Hated. Liked.

He tore his mouth away and we stared at each other. “You risked your life, staying with me.”

“Yes, I did. For my reward I want you to tell me everything you know about Atlanna.” The words emerged breathlessly, I was ashamed to realize.

“You taste better than I dreamed, Tai la Mar.” Kyrin trailed feather-light kisses around my jaw. “Until next time.”

He, too, vanished.

I stood in shocked silence, trying to catch my breath and staring at the empty space where he’d been. I traced a finger over my lips and frowned. Obviously, he could transfer molecularly like Atlanna. The bastard. So why had he stayed at all? He could have left this scene anytime. Had he been trying to protect me?

I holstered my gun and shook my head. Would I ever understand these aliens?

The blare of sirens registered in my ears, and I sighed. I’d be here a while, explaining to New Chicago PD what had happened. Shit.

I didn’t allow myself to think about losing Atlanna or kissing and losing Kyrin as I drove home hours later. I didn’t allow myself to think about the strange…thing that had come over me and slowed down the world around me for those brief seconds. Thinking about it brought fear, waves and waves of fear because that kind of ability was unnatural.

Fear made a person weak. Made her lose focus.

I trudged inside my apartment and checked my messages. There were six from my dad.

“Where are you?” he asked in the first message. His voice was pleasant, almost like I remember it being when I’d been a little girl.

“Why aren’t you here?” he said in the second.

“Is this how you treat family?” he said in the third.

Pushing a series of buttons on the wall, I skipped the other messages, yet I couldn’t halt the deep pangs of regret already working their way through me. I shouldn’t care what he thought about me. He was an old, pathetic man, and I was a grown woman. I’d been on my own since the age of sixteen.

A small part of me, however, a part I despised, desperately craved his approval. Always had. I wanted the kind of approval he’d given Kane. The kind of approval he might have given Dare, if my brother had survived. The kind of approval I’d once had from him, but lost for some reason I’d never understood.

He liked to toss me a bone every now and then when I killed an other-worlder, but that was about it. Even then I only received a weak smile and an unemotional, “You did okay.”

“You need your head examined, Mia,” I muttered to myself as I picked up the earpiece. “Dad,” I told the speaker and listened as the systematic ringing began.

My stomach churned with dread as I placed the small, fitted receptor in my ear. I could face a group of treacherous aliens and smile. Sometimes I even anticipated a fight. But I could not face my father without becoming a little girl again: nervous, desperate. Sad.

On the seventh ring, he barked a gruff hello.

“Hey, Dad. It’s me.” I winced at the neediness in my tone.

“Where have you been?” he asked, his unemotional self.

“I had an emergency at work.”

“You disrespected your brother by not attending his memorial. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know, but I’m trying to hunt down an alien serial killer.”

He paused. “Any leads?”

I couldn’t discuss the case with him, so I said, “Not yet.”

“Then we have nothing left to talk about, do we?”

Abruptly, the connection severed, and the dial tone buzzed in my ear. I held the small black earpiece in front of me for a prolonged, silent moment, blinking down at it. I shrugged off my hurt. Overall, not a bad conversation. He’d taken it better than I could have hoped. Pushing out a breath, I replaced the receptor back on its wall hook.

I padded a perfectly straight course to the kitchen. No obstacles slowed my progress. Instead of a couch, I had a desk in the middle of my living room, cluttered high with papers and books. And in the far left corner perched a small screen, always displaying the local news. Two barstools and a snack bar in the kitchen completed the ensemble. All brown, all bland.

And that was the extent of my furnishings.

I was rarely here, and besides, the only thing I did here was sleep and work, so why spend the time and money required to make the place cozy? This modest one-bedroom apartment had never felt like home, anyway—as if I even knew what home felt like. I’d never belonged as a young girl, had always been an outsider.

I readied my coffeemaker and set the automatic timer for three hours from now. I’d have a beer, catch some sleep, and when I awoke the coffee would be hot and waiting for me. I opened my fridge, and a list of needed groceries instantly printed from the side.

“I know. I know,” I muttered. I hadn’t had time to shop in a while. Yawning, I reached for a beer—but it slid across the distance and came to me instead.

Startled, I let go, and the glass shattered on the ground. I blinked down at the broken shards, liquid swimming in every direction. What the hell? First the slowdown at the shootout, and now this.

No, no. This had not just happened. I’d imagined it. I was tired, that was all. The bottle had not come to me. I hurriedly cleaned up the mess, not allowing myself to think about it anymore, and strode into my bedroom.

A vivid sapphire and emerald comforter topped the bed, and a three-tiered bureau was pushed against the north wall. The comforter was my only splurge. I stripped to my panties and fell onto the mattress.

When sleep claimed me, so did my dreams.

One moment my mind’s eye saw nothing; the next I saw a brilliant kaleidoscope of images. A woman’s face flashed before me—my face, I realized seconds later, though my hair continually changed colors. Red, white, yellow, brown. I was like a chameleon, and I didn’t understand the reason for the changes. Each time I almost grasped the answer, my ever-changing image floated away.

Then I saw my hero, Dare. His arms were outstretched as I ran to him for a hug. I was only six years old. He was ten. He caught me in his arms, and we both uttered carefree giggles as we toppled onto a cushion of bright green summer leaves. On impact, they propelled high in the air, then floated down around us, a multitude of colors.

“I love you, goose,” he said in that nurturing voice of his.

“I love you, too, Dare.” Anticipatory and smiling, I wiggled from his embrace and pushed to my chubby legs. “Find me, Dare. Find me.” My laughter trailing behind me, I raced into the nearby woods.

Though we’d played hide-and-seek a thousand times before, I always hid behind our towering oak, which boasted swaying branches and chirping birds.

I glanced over my shoulder as he skipped after me. He had just about reached me, had just about shouted, “Gotcha!” when the leaves scattered, disappeared, and my dream shifted. I was suddenly fifteen years old and being dragged down a dark stairwell, then a dirty hallway, by my dad. I was crying, screaming, “Please don’t do this, Daddy. Please don’t.”

“You need to learn respect, Mia.” His features remained indifferent as he jerked open the basement door and shoved me into the dark.

“I’ll be good,” I whimpered. “I promise.”

“This is the only way to learn,” he said. “You’ll thank me one day.” He slammed the door, cutting off all light. The click of the lock resounded in my ears.

So cold.So dark. Both consumed me almost instantly, and my chest suddenly felt too tight. I couldn’t draw in a breath. My heart was pounding frantically, near bursting from the strain. “I’ll be good,” I cried to the door. “I’ll be so good.”

I sank to my knees, the cold wall at my back. Tears froze on my cheeks, and the stale, dusty air stung my nostrils. I wished my mom were here, or Dare, but they were both gone. They’d both abandoned me, though in different ways. Right now my only companion was a single rickety chair, visible for the few seconds the door had remained open. I was going to die here, my mind screamed; the darkness was going to swallow me whole.

As my body shook with terror, the room’s only exit suddenly twisted, and my dream shifted again.

In the next instant, I was sixteen and holding an overnight bag. I stood over Dare’s grave. The moon was high, the air warm. Fireflies flickered overhead, and crickets sang a chorus of hosannas around the headstone. Colorful faux flowers bloomed all around my feet, in direct contrast to my mood.

“I will avenge your death, Dare,” I vowed. “I’ll avenge your death and make Dad proud. You’ll see.”

I slowly cracked open my eyes, only to realize I was panting, sucking in breath after breath as if I couldn’t get enough oxygen. Sweat soaked my body, causing the blankets to stick to my skin.

Dreams usually had that effect on me, and I hated it.

With a conscious effort, I forced my breathing to slow and my bones to relax. I cast a glance at my wall clock. The numbers flashed 5:39 P.M. I had time to clean up and do a little research before my dinner with Jaxon.

I lumbered from the bed and only tripped twice on my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, showered, the dry spray doing nothing to wake me.

When I emerged, the scent of freshly brewed synthetic coffee filled my nostrils, strong and intense. I donned the same type of clothing as yesterday—well-fitted black slacks, black button-up shirt, boots, and a black leather jacket. My pants possessed a Velcro strip down the outer seam, allowing easy access to the weapons strapped to my thighs. Of course, I also had guns and knives strategically tethered to the rest of my body.

I twisted my hair in a ponytail, frowned when several locks slipped free, then retied the band with a scowl. Sometimes I yearned to hack off every freaking strand, but I always stopped myself before actually applying the scissors. It was the one feminine aspect of my life, and I just didn’t want to give it up.

Dressed now, I trod into the kitchen and quickly drained two mugs of coffee. I poured myself a third cup and carried the steaming liquid to my desk. I logged onto my computer by voice recognition and fingerprint ID. Mandalay had mentioned that neither Kyrin nor Atlanna were in a database, but I checked again anyway.

When I typed in Atlanna’s name, information about the lost city of Atlantis filled the screen instead. Atlanna’s namesake, perhaps? I scrolled, found the most intriguing articles, and uttered a single command: “Print.”

Holding the papers in my hand, I read, “At the beginning of history, Zeus, the god of gods, granted his brother, Poseidon, the city of Atlantis. This island lay outside the pillars of Hercules, a meeting point of all the worlds’ oceans. For many generations, Atlanteans flourished in wisdom and riches, and the lands overflowed with food and wine. Yet these great warriors and scientists did not remain content with what they had, and greed soon grew in their hearts. They began to invade other lands, hoping to enslave foreign citizens. War reigned supreme. Zeus was angered by the constant battling, and rightly blamed the Alanteans. He hurled a great lightning bolt from the sky into the heart of the city. The land rumbled and shook, and in minutes, the ocean swallowed every rock, hollow, and denizen.”

Brow furrowed, I placed the article beside my coffee mug and frowned. Was Atlanna like these Atlanteans? Was she greedy for slaves? If so, where did the babies come in? Did she want to raise them and make her own army?

That sounded so far-fetched.

To sell them, perhaps? I sat up straighter. Now that made sense.

“Fertility,” I said to the computer, recalling that that had been a common thread in all of the cases. Seconds later, several sites popped onscreen. I printed each page and discovered that Rianne Harte, the lab tech, had been trying to gain government support for fertility drugs to help increase the number of children alien women could bear. Alien women, not human.