Frustrated, he clenched his long thin hands tight.

“Go ahead, elf-boy,” I seethed, feeling the line energy I had spindled in my head earlier almost spill over to fill my body. “Give me a reason.”

The sound of a closing door jerked our attentions to the second-story walkway. Jonathan visibly hid his anger and took a step back. Suddenly I felt really stupid on top of the table. Trent came to a startled halt above us in a dress shirt and pants, blinking. “Rachel Morgan?” he said softly to Quen, standing beside and a little behind him. “No. This isn’t acceptable.”

Trying to scrape something from the situation, I threw one hand extravagantly into the air. Putting the other on my hip, I posed like a prop girl showing off a new car. “Ta-da!” I said brightly, very conscious of my jeans, sweatshirt, and the new haircut I wasn’t particularly fond of. “Hi, Trent. I’m your baby-sitter tonight. Where do your folks hide the good booze?”

Trent’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want her there. Put on your suit. We leave in an hour.”

“No, Sa’han.”

Trent had turned to walk away, but he jerked to a stop. “Can I speak to you for a moment,” he said softly.

“Yes, Sa’han,” the smaller man murmured deferentially, not moving.

I hopped off the table. Did I know how to make a good first impression or what?

Trent frowned, his attention going from an unrepentant Quen to Jonathan’s nervous stance. “You’re both in on this,” he said.

Jonathan laced his hands behind his back, subtly shifting himself another step from me. “I trust Quen’s judgment, Sa’han,” he said, his low voice rising clear in the empty room. “I do not, however, trust Ms. Morgan’s.”

Affronted, I huffed at him. “Go suck on a dandelion, Jon.”

The man’s lips twitched. I knew he hated the shortened name. Trent, too, wasn’t happy. Glancing at Quen, he started down the stairway with a fast, even pace, half dressed in his dark designer suit and looking like a cover model for GQ. His wispy blond hair had been slicked back, and his shirt pulled slightly across his shoulders as he descnded to the lower floor. The spring in his step and the glint in his eye told me more clearly than anything that elves were at their best the four hours around sunup and sundown. A deep green tie was draped casually across the back of his neck, not yet fastened into place. God help me, but he looked good, everything anything of the female persuasion could ever want: young, handsome, powerful, confident. I wasn’t pleased that I liked the way he looked, but there it was.

Question high in his expression, Trent shook his sleeves down and buttoned the cuffs with a preoccupied quickness as he came down the stairs. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, making an intriguing sight. His head came up as he reached the lower landing, and he paused for a heartbeat when he saw the window.