Her head snapped around. “What is it?”

“You can’t.”

Her forehead crinkled beneath the bill of her cap. “Can’t what?”

“Call 911.”

Her gaze turning wary, she twisted her arm to free her wrist and backed away. “Why? Are you wanted by the police?”

“No.”

Hell. What was he supposed to say? It had been so long since he had spoken to any human who wasn’t a cashier in a grocery store that he didn’t have an explanation readily available.

He couldn’t tell her the truth: that he was an immortal who had been led into an ambush by the vampire he had been hunting. She would think him insane.

Yet he had to tell her something.

What was that bullshit line Marcus fed his human friends?

“I’m with the CIA.” That was it. “If you call 911, you’ll blow four years of undercover work.”

“CIA?” she parroted doubtfully.

He didn’t blame her. It sounded ridiculous. How the hell did Marcus make that crap fly? “Yes.”

“Why would calling 911 blow your cover?”

“The men who tried to kill me think I’m an illegal arms dealer wanted by the FBI. If—”

“How do I know you aren’t an illegal arms dealer wanted by the FBI?”

Roland wanted to moan with frustration. Hunger and the need for blood twisted his insides into knots and the pain of his injuries constantly clawed at him, making it hard to think straight.

“If you’re asking if I have ID that proves I’m CIA, carrying that sort of thing around when I’m undercover isn’t exactly feasible.”

She nibbled her full lower lip. “I suppose that’s true.”

“If it will ease your mind, I’ll call my handler and he can confirm who I am.” Hopefully Seth, the leader of the Immortal Guardians, would catch on fast and play along. Or maybe come up with something better. Roland just wasn’t up to the task himself. “He’s going to have to send someone in to extract me anyway.” And would no doubt use this as an excuse to lecture him again about his refusal to have a Second.

Seconds (a rather outdated term, he supposed) were humans who protected immortals like himself during the day and generally came to their aid whenever they needed it. They and the rest of the human network Seth had fostered also helped hide the existence of immortals, vampires, and gifted ones from the general public by presenting facades of normalcy and providing a number of other services.

Seth required every Immortal Guardian to have a Second. Roland, however, steadfastly refused. It was the only issue over which he had ever butted heads with Seth, whom no one sane would ever want to piss off. The eldest amongst them, the immortal leader was so powerful he could walk in daylight without suffering any adverse effects at all. He possessed abilities the rest of them lacked that could make even Roland’s hair stand on end. And had. On more than one occasion.

When it came to this, however, Roland absolutely would not capitulate. Anything else Seth asked of him he would do. He owed the man a great deal and would not hesitate to die for him if need be. But welcome a Second into his home and give him his trust?

No way.

The dozen or more poor sods who had been sent to him over the years as his Second had all left … eagerly … of their own free will within twenty-four hours and damned near wet their pants in fear if they ran into Roland again later, so Seth had long ago stopped sending them.

The issue remained a contentious one, though.

Roland watched as Sarah crossed to the entertainment center and retrieved a black telephone. The cord trailing after her, she returned and set it beside him on the futon.

“No cell phone?” he asked curiously. It seemed as though everyone and their grandmother had one these days.

She smiled wryly. “No, I like my brain the way it is—tumor free—and plan to keep it that way, thank you.”

“The phone companies claim they’re safe.”

She snorted. “And cigarette companies claimed cigarettes were safe. I think I’ll listen to the neurologists who don’t profit from the product sales and stick to landlines.”

Fortunately, as an immortal, he didn’t have to worry about that sort of thing.

When he would have picked up the phone’s receiver, Sarah stopped him. “Use the speakerphone. I’ve seen too many news reports about criminals who posed as law enforcement officials to gain their victim’s trust and would like to hear for myself that you are who you say you are.”

That would make this a bit trickier.

Roland pressed the speakerphone button and dialed Seth’s cell number.

As he watched, Sarah knelt on the floor beside him, pulled off her baseball cap, and ran a careless hand through her hair. A lovely dark chocolate brown that contrasted vividly with her alabaster skin, it fell in shining, subtle waves down to her waist.

“You have beautiful hair,” he told her as she picked up one of the discarded towels and pressed it to the stab wounds in his abdomen.

A masculine throat cleared. “Roland?”

That could not possibly be a blush he felt climbing his cheeks at the sound of the immortal leader’s deep, accented voice. He hadn’t blushed since his days as a squire. “Yes.”

“What—are you high? You just told me my hair is beautiful.”

From the corner of his eye, Roland saw Sarah unsuccessfully attempt to stifle a smile. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he grumbled.

“Uh-huh. So, what’s wrong?”

Sarah leaned forward to whisper, “How does he know something is wrong?”

Seth answered for him. “Because he only calls me when he’s desperate. Who is that you have with you, Roland?”

“Sarah,” she answered for him.

“That explains the caller ID.”

“Who might you be?” she asked.

“Seth.”

“And what is the nature of your relationship with Roland?”

There was just no way this was going to go well.

“I suppose you might call me his boss,” Seth said slowly. “Why?”

“Something has come up,” Roland interjected before Sarah could ask any more questions.

“Clearly,” came his dry reply. “Are you injured?”

He glanced down at himself. “Yyyeah. A little bit.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. “A little bit?” she repeated incredulously. “There are two-foot-long spikes sticking out of your hands!”

“Actually, they’re more like a foot and a half.”

“Roland, are you all right?” Seth asked, concern coloring his voice.

“Yes.”

“No, he isn’t,” Sarah insisted. “He needs medical attention but he doesn’t want me to call 911.”

Seth, Roland thought, if you can hear me, I told her I’m a CIA agent working undercover, posing as an illegal arms dealer, and can’t call 911 because it would blow four years of undercover work.

Several seconds of silence ticked by while he waited and hoped for a response.

That is so weak.

Both relieved and astounded that Seth could truly read his thoughts over long distance (the man was just too freakin’ powerful), Roland responded rather belligerently, Well, it works for Marcus.

Marcus doesn’t tell mortals he’s CIA. He leads them toward drawing the conclusion themselves.

“Have you taken this woman into your confidence, Roland?” Seth spoke aloud.

“I have. She saved my life.”

“Then you have the CIA’s gratitude, ma’am. However, I must ask that you comply with his wishes. If you call for an ambulance, the police will get involved and four years of undercover work will go down the drain.”

Disbelief washed across her pretty features. “Did you not hear me mention that they drove metal spikes through both of his hands?”

“Roland, explain.”

He drew in a deep breath, wincing at the pain in his cracked ribs. “I was tracking a potential buyer”—vamp—“and was basically led into an ambush that included six of his colleagues.” There were seven vampires plus two human minions. I took out four of the vamps and seriously injured two others before they staked me to the ground and left the minions to guard me until the sun rose. Had Sarah not come along when she did and freed me, I’d be toast.

“An ambush,” Seth muttered thoughtfully.

“It was a very well-orchestrated attack.” Have you ever heard of vampires doing such?

No. I’ve seen them travel in pairs, occasionally even threes, but—because of the madness that gradually afflicts them all—most prefer solitude.

“Something isn’t right, Seth. I don’t think this was an isolated incident.” The last vamp standing took a sample of my blood. It seemed to be the entire purpose of their attack. They knew who I was, that I was an immortal, before I ever confronted the bait vampire. How is that possible?

Were it another immortal, I might think you had simply been careless. But I know how paranoid you are and how meticulously you guard your privacy. The fact that so many vampires are living together—let alone investigating, plotting, and planning attacks—is unheard of.

“I would join you and get to the bottom of this, but I can’t,” Seth said, his voice grim. “I have a situation here that requires my full attention.”

Roland was not surprised. The leader of the Immortal Guardians frequently had his hands full. “No problem. I’ll look into it myself.”

“Um, hello?” Sarah called. “Are you people insane? You aren’t going to be able to look into anything at all if you bleed to death on my futon.”

How bad are your wounds?

I’ve stopped the bleeding, but they aren’t healing. I could really use some blood.

Too bad you don’t have a Second who could bring you some.

Roland ground his teeth. “What is David’s number? I’ll call him and see if he’ll let me borrow Darnell for a few hours.”