Cat’s eyes, thought Hazard, recalling how the outside corners tipped upward ever so slightly. He hadn’t noticed that when she first stopped him in his tracks outside the ballroom. He’d been so taken, he noticed little except the color of her eyes.

And that she’d cast a spell on him.

In those few minutes or seconds, she’d held him bound to her, quieting everything around him and in him until there was only her, and the sudden, inexplicable willingness to grant her every wish.

She hadn’t made a wish, however. She’d walked away without a word of explanation or the slightest hint as to what she wanted with him. And he, hardened man of the world that he believed himself to be, had been left standing there, helpless to do anything but watch until she was out of sight. Only then did his head clear and his will become his own again. He hadn’t discovered what she was up to until later, when she used her magic to cheat him out of the pendant.

He was still chafing about the loss when he walked into the house . . . his house, the house he’d bought for one reason only, after coming to Providence for one reason only, and that was to get his hands on the pendant. And now, after all the searching and planning and waiting, he’d been tricked out of it by a damn witch.

He slammed the front door behind him and was immediately sorry; his head was throbbing and had been ever since their little standoff in the garage. Since before that actually; the first sharp pain came at that point in the auction when she had him rooted to the floor like a damn tree. Shrugging off his coat, he tossed it over the banister on his way to the bar in the study. The granite-topped bar was well stocked with the finest Irish whiskey money could buy, and nothing else. Whiskey was the only thing he drank, and no one else mattered since there was no one else around.

“You’re back,” exclaimed an eager voice behind him.

No one except Taggart, that is, and he wasn’t particular.

Damn. He tightened his grip on the bottle, sorrier still he’d slammed the door. He should have known better than to announce his return. A little self-control then might have bought him a few more minutes of peace now. Taggart would expect a full report on the events of the evening. And who could blame him? He was part of this; indeed, Hazard couldn’t have gotten this far without his useful connections and myriad skills.

Gabriel Hazard possessed all the knowledge of magic that a wealthy, highly motivated—some might say desperate—man could acquire over time, but no power of his own. Elden James Taggart was a halfling, his mother being human and his father fae; he had his fair share of power, but no money. The dichotomy made for a mutually beneficial association.

Of course Taggart had another good reason for sticking around and being helpful, but the less said about that the better.

He finished pouring and took a generous swallow before turning to face Taggart with a glower and a curt, “Yes. I’m back.”

“And celebrating, I see.” There was a trace of the back alleys of London in his speech as he grinned and nodded at the glass in Hazard’s hand, happily oblivious to his dark mood. “I’ll be glad to join you in toasting our success, but first I’ll see the prize.”

He looked around, still sporting that irritatingly bright smile. A few inches shorter than Hazard, he had a wiry build and medium brown hair and clever hands. Quick to laugh and slow to anger, he was the sort of man people didn’t notice, the sort who could easily get lost in a crowd, and that could be a great asset.

“Well, where is it?” he demanded.

Hazard took a gulp of the finest whiskey money could buy and found that tonight even it left a bitter taste in his mouth. “If you’re referring to the pendant, I imagine that at this very moment it is safe at home with the happy winner.”

“Right, safe as houses with the winner.” He chuckled and rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “Enough stalling. Let’s see this treasure we’ve chased around the world and back again to find.”

Hazard ground his teeth together. The mucker was going to force him to say it. He tossed back more whiskey. “I don’t have it. I didn’t win.”

The grin melted from Taggart’s face, replaced by a look of disbelief.

“Didn’t win? You mean you . . . didn’t win?” He appeared as flummoxed as if Hazard had just told him the world was flat after all, then his eyes went wide with shock. “You lost? How the bloody hell could that happen? You’ve more money than Zeus, for God’s sake. How could anyone possibly outbid you?”

“No one could. Not fairly.”

Taggart’s head jerked back and his voice lifted an octave. “Cheated? You let yourself be cheated out of it?”

“I don’t know as I’d say I let it happen, but yes, ‘cheated’ is as good a word as any.”

“How do you cheat someone at an auction? It’s all aboveboard and out in the open for all to see.”

“Yes, and everything was going fine until . . . until I was incapacitated by a green-eyed witch.”

“Incapac—” Taggart broke off, his gaze narrowing. “What kind of witch did you say it was?”

“A green-eyed witch.”

“How would know what color eyes they were?”

“Because I saw them.”

“Thought you couldn’t see colors?”

“Well, tonight I did.”

Taggart’s eyes narrowed; he plucked at the front of his shirt. “All right then, tell me what color shirt I’m wearing. Or my socks . . .” He grabbed his pants leg and yanked it up a few inches. “What color are my socks?”

“I don’t know,” Hazard snapped. “I don’t see you in color . . . or anything else for that matter. Only her.”

“All of her?”

He shook his head, wishing he could hold on to and study the images that flickered in his mind and were gone, flashes of her hair like a swirl of sunset, and her dress, not blue, not green, but both, and dark as a midnight sea. “No. Not at first anyway, and never as clearly as I saw her eyes. The rest of her was . . . hazy and faded, like an old photograph. But her eyes . . . her eyes were . . . remarkable.”

“That’s bloody odd if you ask me,” declared Taggart.

It was odd. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen anything in color. He hadn’t been born color-blind; he’d chosen it. He’d taught himself not to see color by blocking it out bit by bit, day after day, willing the colors to fade and bleed together until the world around him was nothing but shades of gray. It hadn’t been easy, or quick. But he’d learned that a man could train himself to do almost anything if he had enough time and determination.

And his theory had been right; drained of color, the world around him was a little less tempting, his days a bit easier to get through. It worked well, until tonight, when he’d come face-to-face with the witch. Somehow she had reached inside him to undo what he’d worked so hard to do, and he didn’t like it.

“So just how did this green-eyed witch manage to incapacitate you?”

“With a spell of some sort. I’m sure of that much.” He scowled at the amber liquid in his glass, remembering. “She may have cast it earlier in the evening, but it didn’t take effect until the bidding had come down to only the two of us, and then she turned and stared at me, straight at me from all the way across the room. That’s when I felt it.”

“What? What was it you felt?”

He shrugged. “Something. My arms suddenly dropped to my sides and stayed there. I couldn’t raise them. I couldn’t move a finger or speak a word until the bidding was over and she’d been declared the winner. And then it was too late.”

Taggart pressed his lips together, his expression bleak as he mulled that over. Then he sighed. “All right, what’s done is done, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be undone. It may be this witch just got carried away. Happens all the time at auctions. People get caught up in the excitement of bidding and buy things they don’t even want. Bidder’s remorse they call it. You should have sought her out afterwards and struck a deal, made it worth her while to let you have the thing.”

“I tried. She wasn’t interested.”

“You should have tried harder.”

“I would have,” he retorted, “if not for being interrupted by a pair of warlocks. Black hats. Dark glasses. Power to spare. Sound familiar?”

Taggart paled. “Vasil’s dogs.”

He nodded, his gaze hard and pointed. “My thought exactly.”

Vasil was a loan shark who specialized in wagers of a mystical nature. If there was a mage duel or hellhound race happening anywhere in what was commonly referred to as “the otherworld,” the world of magic that existed alongside the everyday world of mortals, Vasil had a piece of the action. Taggart, who’d happily bet on which of two raindrops would hit the ground first, was a longstanding client. More than once Hazard had been forced to step in to cover his losses and save his hide from Vasil’s army of hired muscle.

“Did they . . . say anything?” Taggart inquired, the picture of innocence. “Mention what they were doing there?”

“They were there for the pendant. And they’d have gotten it if the witch wasn’t so powerful.”

“She bested them?” Taggart countered, clearly impressed.

“She conjured a protection shield. They ran.”

He snorted. “I’d like to have seen that.”

“They wouldn’t have been there in the first place unless Vasil gave the order. And as contemptible as he is, Vasil is no common thief. That means he must believe he has a valid claim on the pendant. Any idea why he would think that?”

“Maybe . . .”

“The truth,” Hazard ordered.

“Fine. It so happens I did run into Vasil not so long ago, and I guess it’s possible I could have mentioned that I expected to be coming into a certain valuable piece he might find interesting.”

Hazard folded his arms and said nothing as Taggart shifted his gaze to the ceiling and his weight from one foot to the other.

“All right, all right,” he said finally. “I suppose I might have let slip a bit about the pendant, or maybe even offered it to him, you know, to settle a few outstanding debts.”

“Let’s see if I’ve got this straight. When you say you ran into him you mean that Vasil tracked you down, and by offered you mean you promised it to him.”

“Only after you were done with it,” Taggart hurried to add. “You can bet I made that clear right up front. I didn’t think you’d mind since if everything went right, which I was sure it would, you’d be standing there with the pendant right now and we could finish this business and you wouldn’t be needing it again, now would you? How was I to know you’d come out the loser?”

Loser. The word rankled. He could live with defeat if he was beaten in a fair fight, but this hadn’t been a fair fight. It never was with magic.

“You’re right. You couldn’t have known ahead of time that I would lose. And neither could Vasil,” he added, thinking aloud. “He assumed I’d come away with the pendant, and he didn’t trust you to deliver. He sent the warlocks to take it from me; the witch just got in the way.”

“Didn’t trust me to deliver,” Taggart muttered under his breath. “And after all the business I’ve given that sod through the years.” He shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. “All right then, spilt milk and all that. What’s our next move? Find the witch and get it back, right? It’ll take some doing, but with the right supplies and a little time, I’d venture I could work a spell to turn the tables and incapacitate her.”

Revenge would be sweet, he thought, entertaining a vision of those green eyes flashing up at him, temper heating her cheeks and pulling her full bottom lip into a pout. Maybe too sweet.

“Tempting,” he said to Taggart. “But no. Let Vasil make the next move. He and his henchman can have the pleasure of dealing with the clever little witch. Once they’ve managed to take the pendant from her, Vasil can name his price for it and I’ll pay.”

Taggart’s brows lifted. “You’d rather do business with Vasil?”

“Any day. Vasil can be bought. I’m not so sure about the witch.”

He was recalling the way she’d looked when she told him that the pendant wasn’t for sale, with her shoulders squared and her chin high, determined and magnificent. For a heartbeat of time, his resentment had slipped and instead of a deceitful witch, he saw before him a beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or ever hoped to see, in fact, and something wild inside him had responded fiercely. It was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time and hadn’t expected to feel again. The witch had found her way past defenses he’d thought impenetrable, and that was another good reason to do business with Vasil instead.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking about how the warlocks would respond to such a show of spirit on her part. Violently no doubt; the image wasn’t pretty. He pushed it away and reached for the whiskey, pouring some for Taggart before carrying the bottle with him to a high-back leather chair by the fireplace.

On the way by, he flipped the switch that started flames dancing in the hearth, fed not by wood but a stream of gas. It wasn’t a proper fire; a fire ought to smell of wood that you carried and arranged yourself, carefully placing the logs so that the hardest woods, those that would burn longest, were on the bottom; elm and hickory to start, with birch and poplar next, or maybe maple. Pine went last, placed on top for a fast burn that would give off sparks to ignite the rest. That kind of fire would burn through the night and warm a man body and soul. What flickered before him now wasn’t a real fire anymore than this was a real home or his was a real life. But it warmed well enough and tonight he’d settle for that. He’d become very good at settling.

“To victory delayed,” he said, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “When this is done, your debt will be paid, I’ll have the pendant and Vasil will no doubt have pocketed an outrageous profit. Everyone wins.”

Everyone except the witch, and she wasn’t his problem.

And if the warlocks should inflict any damage while retrieving the pendant, well, that wasn’t his problem either. Any bumps and bruises she suffered wouldn’t be on his conscience.

He tried not to think about the long flawless line of Eve Lockhart’s throat and the pale curve of her shoulders. That was her name, Eve Lockhart; he’d troubled himself to learn that much, and he knew that a few minutes at the computer would reveal a great deal more. Research was simply another kind of hunting, and it never failed to amaze him how a few of the right keystrokes could unlock worlds of secrets. He could easily learn a few of Eve Lockhart’s secrets before the night was through if he were interested. Which, he reminded himself, he was not.

The witch didn’t warrant his concern, and she certainly didn’t need his protection; she’d proven she could take care of herself. Look how quickly and efficiently she’d managed to conjure a protection shield strong enough to keep both of them from being shredded and send the warlocks into a full retreat.

He swirled the liquid in his glass and stared at it. Why had she bothered to protect him when she could just have easily conjured a shield for one and left him to fend off the attack on his own?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was laying claim to the pendant as quickly and simply as possible, and that meant not tangling with the witch. She’d managed to manipulate him with her magic . . . twice. He’d be a fool to risk it happening again. Let her try her hand with the warlocks; she was more than a match for them.

Unless, of course, they brought along reinforcements. Or took her by surprise. Which was entirely possible since she had no way of knowing their assailants had been sent by a brutal and tenacious loan shark who would keep sending them until he got what he was after. She wouldn’t know to take extra precautions or to watch her lovely back, unless someone warned her. And again, not his problem.

There was a time when he would have made it his problem without a second’s hesitation. Witch or not, she was still a woman and that used to mean something to him. She was a woman facing something bigger than she was, in what promised to be an unfair fight. Once upon a time that would have been more than enough to send him charging to her rescue no matter the odds, no matter the cost.

Once. But not now.

That time, and that man, no longer existed.

There was a flutter of awareness along her spine and a quick stirring in her blood and Eve knew. Instinctively. Irrevocably.

Gabriel Hazard had entered the building.

And that, she told herself, was as far as he was going to get.

The WWRI studio and offices occupied the top three floors of the Pelham Building. Like anyone entering without an employee ID, Hazard would have to stop at the front desk so the security guard could check for his name on the day’s list of approved visitors. When he didn’t find it, he would call to get her okay before allowing him up.

She wouldn’t give it.

I’ll be in touch. Those had been his parting words to her last night, and she had no doubt he’d meant them. She just didn’t know where, or when, to expect him. Considering how many questions and suspicions she had about him, Eve wouldn’t go so far as to say she was prepared for their next meeting, but she’d thought about it long into the night—at least for as long as she could keep her eyes open—and had decided on a few ground rules.

If he showed up at work, her first objective would be to keep him from traipsing through the newsroom, attracting attention and inviting speculation. Hazard wasn’t the type to go unnoticed. She also wanted to avoid being alone with him in her office, hoping to preempt another incident like the one in the parking garage. The smart thing to do was to go down and meet him in the lobby where there were always plenty of people coming and going, and where she could walk away whenever she wanted to.

Those who dealt in magic—both light and dark—sought to avoid exposure. Not out of fear; a mortal was no match for a mage, even one with minimal skill and power, and whoever had attacked them last night was definitely not in the minimal weight class in either category. Discretion was simply a matter of convenience. The less drabs knew, the less chance there was of them getting in the way and causing complications or unforeseen consequences. It never ended well when mortals tried to interfere with the intricate and arcane world of magic.

Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the oversized map of Rhode Island hanging across from her desk and waited for the phone to ring. The map was dotted with Post-it notes and colored pushpins relating to stories she was currently working on, but work was far from her mind at the moment. She felt anxious, which she supposed was normal under the circumstances. More troubling was the other feeling that had bubbled to life in the pit of her stomach when she realized Hazard was there, a feeling of anticipation bordering on outright excitement. She was like a jittery sixteen-year-old, perched on the edge of her seat, heart pounding, palms sweaty, waiting for her date to ring the doorbell.

It was ridiculous. Hazard was not a date; for all she knew, he wasn’t even human. At least not entirely.

A minute passed. Then another.

Eve rolled a pencil beneath her fingertips, counted to ten and wondered what on earth was taking so long.

Maybe there was a backlog of visitors in the lobby. It was Monday morning after all. Mondays were always busy.

Any second now the phone would ring.

It had to, because there was no way she had imagined or misread what she’d felt. Hazard was close by; the hair on the back of her neck was sure of it. To convince the rest of her, she closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts of everything else, and sure enough, she felt it again, the same buzz of warmth and heightened awareness she’d felt a few minutes ago, only stronger now.

A quick knock made her jump and swivel around in her chair.

Hazard was standing in the doorway holding a bouquet of red roses, lots and lots of roses, enough, it seemed to Eve, to deck a parade float or the winner’s circle at the Kentucky Derby. The long stems were wrapped in dark green tissue and tied with a wide ribbon in a paler shade of green.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, the words at odds with his dry and distinctly nonapologetic tone.

“You didn’t. I just closed my eyes to . . . think. It helps me concentrate.” Ignoring the silent, sardonic lift of one dark brow, she glanced at the roses. “Are those supposed to soften me up?”

“Would it work?”

“Definitely not.”

“Then no. Actually, they’re more of a ruse. May I come in?”

She wanted to say no, but she knew the newsroom staff well enough to know that the arrival of an attractive man bearing roses, lots and lots of roses, would have them already craning and straining to see and hear as much as they could. Since her goal was to reveal as little about her dealing with Hazard as possible, she reluctantly waved him in.

“How did you get past the security desk?”

“I told the guard it was the six-month anniversary of the day we met and that I wanted to present you with a suitable token of my affection. Hence a hundred and eighty roses.”

She quickly did the math. “One for every day of the six months. How wildly romantic of you.”

“The guard thought so too. Turns out he’s a sucker for romance. He said you’re a very nice lady and that he couldn’t remember you ever getting flowers at work before. I think pity may have factored into his decision to allow me in unannounced so I could surprise you.” He held the monster bouquet out to her with a faintly mocking expression. “Surprise.”

“It certainly is,” she said, folding her arms across her chest in a show of nonchalance. Inside she was bristling. So she never got flowers at work. Big deal. That was no reason for some busybody guard to go discussing her floral history with a complete stranger. “But you know what’s even more surprising? The fact that you would throw away whatever a hundred and eighty long-stem roses cost these days on a stupid ruse.”

He shrugged. “It worked. I’m standing here instead of being relegated to a few hurried moments of your time in the lobby. Educated guess,” he offered in response to her quick look of surprise. “Although it would help if I actually could read your mind. Then I’d know if the roses also succeeded in underscoring the point that when it comes to getting what I want, money is of no consequence.”

“Consider it underscored.”

“Good.”

“And in the interest of expediency, you should know that when it comes to refusing to sell the pendant to you, money is even less of a factor now than it was last night.”

It was Hazard’s turn to be surprised.

“Duly noted,” he murmured, glancing around for a place to put the flowers and settling on the top of the small file cabinet in the corner. “Although expediency doesn’t matter to me nearly as much as results.”

“Well, it matters to me. I get paid to report the news. And since money is very much of consequence when it comes time to pay my bills, I should get back to earning it.”

“I promise not to take too much of your time,” he told her, settling himself all comfylike against the deep window ledge, one leg hitched up so that his coat fell open, revealing a white shirt open at the throat and loosely tucked into a pair of impeccably tailored black slacks.

He seemed bigger than she remembered, his shoulders broader, his thigh distractingly well muscled. And with the morning sun slanting across his face, he also seemed harder somehow. It wasn’t a matter of lines or creases, but attitude. He might be younger than she was, but she’d bet he’d packed a lot more living into his years.

“So, what’s changed since last night?” he asked.

“I’ve learned a few things about the pendant that I didn’t know. When I got home, I showed it to my grandmother and she recognized it right away.”

His expression didn’t change, but the wariness that flickered in his eyes wasn’t lost on Eve. “Recognized it in what way?”

“From an old painting of one of our ancestors in Ireland,” she told him, filtering the details she shared. “It turns out the pendant has family associations that go back generations. I guess you could call it a long-lost family heirloom.”

“And you knew nothing about it when you decided to bid?”

Eve shook her head. “Not a thing. I just knew I wanted it. Now that I do know, of course, there’s no way I could part with it.”

“I’ll pay you ten times the auction price,” he stated in a cool, no-nonsense voice.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Fifty times.”

Eve rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry. No.”

“One hundred times. I’m offering you a hundred times what you paid. You do realize how much that is?”

It took her a little longer to do the math this time. When she finished, she stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious. Think about it; you could quit your job.”

“I like my job.”

“You’d never have to worry about paying bills again.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t say I was worried. And even if I was drowning in debt I could never sell the pendant knowing it would break my grandmother’s heart. When she saw it, she was like a kid on Christmas morning.”

He didn’t even attempt an understanding smile. He just looked annoyed, and impatient, and the way he pressed his lips together made Eve think he was biting his tongue to avoid saying something he would later regret. Straightening from the window ledge, he moved unhurriedly across the office, taking his time checking out the impressive collection of framed certificates and awards hanging on the wall and paying particular attention to the one that meant the most to her. It was one Rory had made for her when she was in the first grade; in painstakingly drawn letters and a rainbow of bright colors it proclaimed her “The World’s Best Aunt.”

Finally, he turned toward the desk, glancing first at the photo of Grand, Chloe and Rory taken last summer on the beach in Newport, and then at her.

“I was wrong,” he told her. “I assumed that if I kept increasing my offer that eventually I would reach a figure you couldn’t resist. But you’re not interested in money.”

“Oh, I’m interested,” she countered, visions of Jimmy Choos and trips to Europe and Rory graduating from an Ivy League college dancing in her head. “Very interested. It’s just not the most important thing in the world to me.”

“I see that now.” He reached for the photo. “This is what’s important to you. Family. Your grandmother and your sister, Chloe, and niece . . . Rory, isn’t it?”

Eve stiffened, unsmiling, her gaze sharp. “That’s right. You know an awful lot about my family.”

“Only what’s a matter of public record, and not for any nefarious purpose.”

“Then why?”

“Because the most important thing in the world to me is that pendant . . . your newly discovered family heirloom. I’ve spent several fortunes and more of my life than you can possibly imagine searching for it. I came here to make a deal with you, and I wasn’t about to come without arming myself beforehand with as much information as possible. That’s just good business.”

“Fine. But I’m the one you’re dealing with, not my family. Leave them out of this.”

“It’s not me you should be worried about. You said the pendant has family associations; it also has other, darker associations that you know nothing of. There are others who do. And that can be very dangerous. As long as it’s in your possession you’re at risk. And so is your family.”

“Are you talking about the men who attacked us last night?”

He shook his head. “The warlocks won’t bother you again. I can promise you that.”

“Warlocks. So that’s what they were. I wondered.” She eyed him uncertainly. “How do you know they won’t come back?”

“Because I know the man who sent them. Unlike you, money is what matters to him . . . all that matters. Before I came to see you I paid him a visit and made it worth his while to keep his lackeys away from you.”

“Why would you do that for me?” she asked, not sure whether she should be appreciative or suspicious.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he returned, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug. If a shrug could be elegant, his was. “I did it so they wouldn’t get in my way again. But there are sure to be others who may not be so easily dealt with.”

“Thanks for the warning.” She managed to sound more confident than she felt as she stood and reached for the photo he was still holding. She put it back where it belonged. “I’ll be sure to lock my doors.”

“You’ll need to do more than that. A protection shield like the one you conjured last night would be a good place to start.”

“The one I conjured? I had nothing to do with it.”

“I was there. Remember?”

“So was I. And the only conjuring I saw was coming from you and the warlocks.”

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence as he studied her, his gray eyes narrow and frankly skeptical. He ended it with a smile that barely lifted the corners of his mouth.

“Far be it from me to call a lady a liar.”

“How gallant of you,” she drawled, hoping he caught the touch of sarcasm in her voice. “I’ll walk you out.”

For a second she thought he was going to ignore the sledgehammer hint that it was time for him to go. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his coat and handed her his card.

“Call me when you change your mind,” he said.

Eve dropped it in her purse without looking at it.

“Thanks,” she said.

Don’t hold your breath, she thought.