The familiar sound hit me, and I jerked my gaze away, pretending to be looking at the flat-screen TV they had in here. Okay, so he’d been wearing a lot less just a moment ago, and I’d seen him just about naked in the shower, but something about seeing a guy hike up a pair of jeans followed by that distinctive sound of a zipper was so…very intimate. And the worst part? It was obvious he knew he was pushing my buttons.

Knowing it as well, Jenks sighed at me and continued arranging his hair. His long blond ringlets were oiled back just like Trent’s, and I wondered if there was some kind of hero-worship thing going on. Frowning, I set the bottle down. Trent was putting on his casual shirt over his skintight top, and I didn’t dare look at him as he got dressed, but his reflection caught my eye as he stretched, showing every lanky inch of himself. Damn it, seeing him getting dressed was almost more tantalizing than seeing him getting undressed might be.

“You look great,” I said, unable to stop myself. “You should wear thief more often.”

“How do you know I don’t?” Trent teased as he sat on a bench that was in here and began to put his shoes on. No laces. Slip on, slip off. Easy. The casual clothes over a black outfit, the scent-disguising salve, shoes too soft for any real use…it added up to a break-and-take. Sure, Trent had the look and the talk, but could he walk the walk? “Ah, Trent…,” I started, arms crossed as I leaned into the wall.

Trent looked up from his shoes. “Don’t worry. I’ve practiced this.”

“Nothing in that belt pack is lethal, right?” I persisted, wanting to go look. “Not that I care,” I said when he eyed me. “But if you’re caught, lethal usually gets you put in jail.”

Smiling faintly, he stood up and looked at himself. “And if it looks like a harmless prank, they let you go. I got that part. Thanks.” He buttoned another button to hide the black shirt underneath. “If they catch me, I’ll be dead, not in jail.”

I pushed away from the door frame. “Whoa! Hold on a sec. I told Quen I’d watch you. Just what are the risks here?”

Jenks clattered his wings, but I couldn’t tell by his worried expression if this was something he’d known about before or not.

“Quen puts the odds of my being successful at eleven percent,” Trent said, not meeting my eyes. “But with Jenks, I think it’s much better than that.”

“Eleven percent?” I echoed. The same odds Quen had had of surviving that experimental treatment last year, the same odds that Trent didn’t believe were really possible.

“My risk, not yours,” Trent said as he draped the utility belt around his slim waist and fastened it. I could tell he was nervous somewhere under that facade of calm he had developed in the boardroom. “It’s an elf quest, right?” he said, forcing a chuckle. “You’re not responsible for me once I hit Seattle. Quen knows that. I’ve already notified him. What happens to me from here on out is not your problem.”