“I think we should find the boutique before I punch you in the nose,” she threatened.

“All right.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender before turning to stroll down the street. Well, stroll wasn’t exactly what he did. Like Fane, he was on constant guard, his eyes searching for potential enemies among the passing pedestrians and his body angled to make sure any approaching danger had to go through him first. A panther on the prowl. She smiled wryly. The Sentinel would be proud of her companion. Even if he’d rather have his tongue cut out than admit it.

And she wasn’t the only one to notice the potent appeal of his dangerous appearance.

A dozen female gazes were laser-focused on the hard muscles beneath his tight tee and faded jeans, while another dozen were lingering on the chiseled perfection of his face, which was kept from being pretty by the golden stubble on his stubborn jaw and the lethal shimmer in his hazel eyes. Even with the pale, satin smooth hair tumbled onto his brow there was no mistaking he was all male.

Ruthless, unattainable.

Perhaps sensing her growing annoyance at the female ogling, Duncan flashed her a wicked smile. “If you don’t shop, what do you like to do?”

She shrugged, forcing away her ridiculous stab of jealousy. Okay. Women liked to stare at Duncan O’Conner. Who could blame them? It certainly wasn’t worth ruining this rare opportunity to enjoy the city.

And, despite her grim duty to locate the dangerous necromancer, she intended to appreciate her time away from Valhalla.

“Different stuff,” she said with a shrug.

The hazel eyes studied her with open curiosity. “You don’t have a hobby?”

“Do you?”

“I work too many hours, but if I did have the time I’ve always wanted to coach Little League,” he answered with an easy frankness that she envied.

She was too used to keeping her thoughts and feelings to herself.

“Little League?” She lifted a surprised brow. “Really?”

“I love kids and I love baseball.” He shrugged. “It seems the perfect choice.”

Suddenly she had an image of him surrounded by rambunctious boys, his expression stern while his eyes twinkled with indulgent merriment.

“Yes,” she abruptly admitted. “It does.”

His gaze narrowed. “Are you mocking me?”

“No, not at all. I think you would make a great coach.”

His expression remained wary, as if not sure whether she was insulting him or not. “Because I still act like I’m five?”

“There’s that,” she teased.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “Anything else?”

A rare chuckle escaped her lips. He even sounded like a petulant five-year-old.

“Yes,” she murmured, deciding to put him out of his misery. “You’re also a natural leader without being overbearing. Your fellow cops obviously respect you. And you have a certain amount of charm when you aren’t being an ass.” She elbowed him in the side. “The kids would adore you.”

He reached to brush his fingers through her short, spiky hair. A silent thank-you for her belief in him.

“What about you, Callie?” he asked in a husky voice. “What makes you happy?”

She paused, truly considering his question. There were a lot of things she enjoyed. Being with her friends. Working in the garden. A quiet night in her apartment reading a good book.

“Spending time in the nursery,” she at last said, for the first time realizing just how much she depended on the pleasure she found surrounded by children.

“Ah.” He grinned in appreciation. “A sucker for the babies, are you?”

“Not just babies,” she corrected. “At Valhalla all children under the age of five spend at least a few hours every day in the nursery.”

He seemed fascinated by the glimpse into a world that was shrouded in mystery for most people. “Is there a particular reason?”

“To make sure they become accustomed to being with kids who aren’t like them. In such a confined space we can’t afford prejudices,” she explained without hesitation. It wasn’t a state secret. And besides, Duncan wasn’t just another norm. “It also helps them to learn to control their powers when they’re in public.”

“That’s what you meant when you said you had a lot of mothers?”

“Yes.” Warmth flowed through her at the memory of being surrounded by love. After seeing the trauma of children brought into Valhalla who’d been neglected and even abused, she understood what a gift her childhood had been. “High-bloods aren’t like most people.”

He ran his fingers down the center of her back, the light caress making her toes curl in her shoes.

“Actually, I pretty much worked that out for myself.”

“I mean that ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t born to high-blood parents,” she said, relieved when her voice was steady. No need feeding his outrageous ego with the fact he could make her melt with one careless touch. “So they’re brought to us as abandoned babies or as children who can no longer live with their biological families. They need the reassurance they’re wanted and valued by their new community.”

He came to an abrupt halt, swinging her until they were face to face. “My ma is going to love you.”

Her heart missed a beat at his unexpected words. “Because I enjoy children?”

“Because she was forever taking in stray chicks despite our constant protests the house was about ready to bust at the seams.” His gaze swept over her upturned face with a piercing intensity. “She’ll be delighted to meet a fellow mother hen.”

His mother . . . The woman who no doubt thought no one was good enough for her baby.

Certainly not a freak from Valhalla.

Aaaaand cue panic.

She pulled away, waving an unsteady hand toward the door on the corner that was shaded by an elegant ivory canopy. “I think that’s the place.”

With a heavy sigh, he reached down to brush her lips in a brief kiss.

“Someday,” he murmured against her lips.

Duncan leashed his impatience. Baby steps, he silently told himself. If I rush her, I might lose her. And he wasn’t prepared to risk that.

Instead he led her into the chichi store, surprised when she pulled away to wander through the racks of clothing that cost more than he made in a year.

Maybe she liked shopping more than she was willing to admit. With a shrug, he turned to watch the silver-haired woman wearing a discreet black dress cross the plush ivory carpet, her thin face pinched as if she’d caught a foul odor.

Duncan hid a wry smile. He wasn’t the sort of cop who got off on busting the balls of perps. He did what had to be done, no extracurricular activity included.

But he couldn’t deny a very human anticipation in pissing off this sour-faced female. There were few things that peeved him as much as someone thinking a few bucks in the bank made them better than others.

“May I help you?” she asked in tones that indicated he needed to return to the gutter he crawled out of ASAP.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his badge to flash it with a feral smile. “KCPD. I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

The woman gave a small gasp, her hard blue eyes shooting around the empty store as if afraid someone might overhear them. “I can’t imagine what questions you could have for me.”

Duncan replaced the badge with his phone, flipping through the images until he found one of Leah he’d pulled from the Rabbit Hutch’s Web site.

“I need you to tell me if you’ve seen this woman in your shop.”

She glanced at the picture, her lip curling in disdain at Leah’s flashy makeup and revealing outfit. “Certainly not.”

A cold anger sliced through him. The bitch. Whatever Leah’s career choice, she’d been a young woman who deserved a far better fate than she’d been given.

“How many employees do you have?” he growled.

“I have two assistants, but I’m Victoria, the owner of this boutique, and if the store is open, then I’m here.” Her lips thinned until they were nearly invisible. “If the woman was a customer I would recognize her.”

“You know every customer?”

“Naturally.”

Duncan snorted, skimming his thumb over the screen of his phone to bring up Calso’s image.

“What about this man?”

Her pencil thin brows arched in surprise. “Mr. Calso?”

“He’s a customer?”

“Unfortunately no.”

“But you know him?”

“Our paths have crossed at various charity functions,” she said in haughty tones. Translated . . . this woman hung on the fringes of Kansas City society in the hopes of luring them into her shop. “He’s a prominent businessman who has always been very generous in giving to those less fortunate.”

“Yeah, I bet,” he muttered. Nothing like tossing a few dollars at a charity to gain the goodwill of a city.

“I don’t understand,” she snapped. “Why are you here?”

“Duncan.” Callie’s voice floated from the corner of the showroom. “This looks similar.”

Turning his head, he watched as the diviner held up a pair of stretchy pants and tiny top that looked remarkably close to what Leah had been wearing.

“Smart girl,” he breathed in low tones before turning back to carefully monitor the older woman’s expression. He didn’t think she was involved, but he treated everyone as a suspect until they were proved innocent. He was a cop, not a judge. “How many of those have you sold?”

Victoria gave an impatient wave of her hand, the diamonds that were crammed onto her knobby fingers nearly blinding as they caught the overhead light. “I don’t discuss my customers—”

“You can discuss your customers or I can get a warrant and start hauling them down to the station,” he warned, his expression grim. “Your call.”