“That’s it, baby doll,” he said, voice smoother than usual. He was laughing at me.

“Mmmm. Can I go now?” I said dryly, not liking the “baby doll” tag but letting it go.

Glenn searched out a key and hit it with a sound of finality. Leaning back, he laced his dark fingers over his middle like I’d seen his dad do. “Not until Jenks posts your bail.”

I groaned. Damn it, Ivy must have stopped at home first. One more thing to owe the pixy.

“He seemed proud to do it,” Glenn said. “You can wait here, or go to the basement with the rest of the felons.” His smile widened. “I vouched for you,” he added, then leaned forward to answer his phone, now humming on the interoffice line.

“Thanks,” I said sourly, slouching down as he took the call. How was I going to pay Jenks back? My share of the sale of my mom’s house had been keeping me afloat lately, but I didn’t want to tap into that to post bail. Robbie’s half had gone to his upcoming wedding, and I was living on mine. It was hardly the statement of independence I’d wanted, but things would pick up. They always did around spring.

“Who?” Glenn said into the phone, his voice rising in disbelief, and then both Glenn and I looked toward the attention-getting tap on his door frame.

“Trent Kalamack,” the feminine voice on the phone said clearly over the faint office noise, naming the trim figure in his two-thousand-dollar suit now silhouetted in the doorway, his arm slowly slipping behind him from where he’d confidently tapped on the door. Suave and self-assured, the man smiled faintly at the woman’s awe.

“Next time, call before you send someone up,” Glenn said as he stood.

“But it’s Trent Kalamack!” the voice said, and Glenn hung up on her.

My breath slipped from me, almost a groan. Trent Kalamack. The obscenely successful, smiling businessman, ruthless bio- and street-drug lord, elf in hiding, and pain-in-my-ass-extraordinaire Trent Kalamack. Right on schedule. “Why is it you show up only when I need money? “I sat straighter, but I wasn’t going to get up unless it was to smack him.

Trent still smiled, but the faint worry pinching his eyes tickled the back of my brain. Trent wasn’t especially tall, but his bearing made people take notice, as if his baby-fine, nearly white hair, devilishly confident smile, and drool-worthy, athletic physique gained from riding his prize-winning horses wouldn’t. All that I could ignore—mostly—but his voice … his beautiful voice, rich in variance and resonant… That was harder—and I hated that I loved it.

Trent was Cincinnati’s most eligible bachelor, still single because of me. He’d thanked me for that in a weird moment of honesty when he thought we might die in a demon’s prison cell. I was still wondering why I’d bothered to save his little elf butt. Misplaced responsibility, maybe? That I’d saved his life didn’t seem to mean anything to him, since he had tried to make my skull one with a tombstone not three seconds after I got us safe.