“I’m reasonably confident that it’s a master vampire,” he said, easing away from me.

“Which one?” I asked, disgusted with myself. Why was I doing this?

“I don’t know,” he admitted, flicking a bit of mortar off the railing to land in the water. “If I did, I’d have taken care of it already.”

“I just bet you would,” I said sourly. “Why not take them all out? Get it over with?”

“I can’t go about staking vampires at random, Ms. Morgan,” he said, worrying me because he’d taken my question seriously instead of the sarcasm it was. “That’s illegal, not to mention it would start a vamp war. Cincinnati might not survive it. And I know my business interests would suffer in the interim.”

I snickered. “Oh, we can’t let that happen, now. Can we?”

Trent sighed. “Using sarcasm to cover your fear makes you look very young.”

“And twirling your pencil in your fingers makes you look nervous,” I shot back. It felt good to argue with someone who wouldn’t bite me if things got out of control.

His eye twitched. Lips bloodless, he turned back to the large pond before us. “I’d appreciate it if you would keep the FIB out of this. It’s an Inderland matter, not human, and I’m not sure the I.S. can be trusted, either.”

I found it interesting how fast he had fallen into the “them” and “us” verbiage. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who knew Trent’s background, and I didn’t like the higher degree of intimacy it put between us.

“I’m thinking it might be a rising vamp coven trying to gain a foothold by removing me,” he said. “It would be a lot less risky than taking out one of the lesser houses.”

It wasn’t a boast—just a tasteless fact—and my lips curled at the thought I was taking money from a man who played the underworld like a chessboard. For the first time in my life I was glad my dad was dead and couldn’t ask me “Why?” The picture of our fathers standing before the camp bus intruded, and I reminded myself I couldn’t trust Trent. My father had, and it killed him.

Trent sighed, the sound both regretful and tired. “Cincinnati’s underground is very fluid. All of my usual contacts have gone quiet or dead. I’m losing touch with what’s happening.” He flicked a glance at me. “Someone is trying to keep me from increasing my reach. And without a ley line witch at my disposal, I’ve reached an impasse.”

“Poor baby,” I mocked. “Why not do the magic yourself? Bloodline too polluted with nasty human genes to manage the heavy magic anymore?”

The knuckles of his fingers whitened as he gripped the rail, then relaxed. “I will have a ley line witch. I would much rather hire someone willing than abduct them, but if every witch I talk to ends up dead, I will steal someone.”

“Yes,” I drawled caustically. “You elves are known for that, aren’t you?”