I carefully opened the door. Like the corridor, the room—a bedroom—was a soft gray with white accents. The wall to my right was lined with built-in wardrobes, and there was an en suite to my left. A bed and a couple of bedside tables were the only furniture in the room.

Amanda lay fully clothed on the bed.

Not in it. On it.

And if she was breathing, I wasn’t seeing it.

Jackson, in here, I said telepathically, to avoid alerting Gale I’d found her.

I walked over and felt for a pulse. It was so slow, it could have been a vampire’s. I lifted an eyelid. Her pupils reacted to the light, but she didn’t stir.

She dead? Jackson came into the room and stopped beside me.

No. Unconscious.

It’s more likely she’s been placed into a hibernated state until Rinaldo has another mission for her.

He could have at least allowed her to undress and be comfortable.

I don’t think the comfort of others is all that high on Rinaldo’s list of priorities. Jackson’s tone was wry. We should probably use the time to search her apartment. I doubt she’ll cooperate when she wakes.

She can’t, not if Rinaldo has control of her mind. I hesitated, my gaze sweeping her length. Though there’d been no movement, no sign that she was, in any way, stirring, a sense of foreboding was beginning to pulse through me.

“I think we’d better—”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence, but that sense of foreboding sharpened abruptly. I spun around to see Gale standing at the door, his weapon out and aimed at the two of us.

He was going to shoot.

Amanda was awake, all right, and controlling him.

I swore, knocked Jackson out of the way, then flung a line of fire toward the gun and ripped it from the guard’s grip. It discharged as I did so, the bullet digging into the wall above the bed rather than into either of us. Quicker than a rattlesnake, Amanda was up and running. She didn’t get far—Jackson flung out one leg, caught hers, and brought her to a crashing halt face-first onto the carpet.

The security guard immediately threw himself at Jackson. As the two men fought—with Jackson trying to stop the guard rather than hurt him—I flung myself at Amanda, landing on her back just as she was trying to scramble upright. She went down with a grunt and swore violently at me. I grabbed a fistful of hair, yanked her head back, then wrapped a ribbon of flame around her throat, blistering her skin rather than totally severing her neck, as part of me longed to. And it wasn’t even the vicious part of me.

“Release him now,” I growled, “or I will burn off your face.”