“Nick is fine.” I pulled my hands down before they could play with my hair. “I’m watching his apartment while he’s away on business.” I looked out the window, reaching behind me to pull the shawl back up over my shoulders. He could sling mud better than the best rich-bitch at school. “We need to discuss what it is I’m supposed to be protecting you against.”

From the driver’s seat came Jonathan’s snort. Trent, too, chuckled. “I’m not in need of protection,” he said. “If I was, Quen would be here. You’re a semifunctioning decoration.”

Semifunctioning … “Yeah?” I shot back, wishing I could say I was surprised.

“Yeah,” he said right back, the word sounding odd coming from him. “So sit where you’re put and keep your mouth shut.”

Face warming, I moved so that my knees almost touched his thigh. “Listen to me, Mr. Kalamack,” I said sharply. “Quen is paying me good money to keep your ass above the grass, so don’t leave the room without me and don’t get into my line of sight with the bad guys. Got it?”

Jonathan turned into a parking lot, and I had to brace myself when he applied the brakes too sharply. Trent glanced at him, and I watched their gazes lock through the rearview mirror. Still angry, I looked out to find ugly piles of snow a good six feet high. We were down by the riverfront, and my shoulders tensed at the gambling boat with its stacks steaming slightly. Saladan’s gambling boat? Again?

My thoughts went back to my night with Kisten and the guy in a tux who had taught me craps. Shit. “Hey, uh, do you know what Saladan looks like?” I asked. “Is he a witch?”

The hesitancy in my tone was probably what caught Trent’s attention, and while Jonathan parked in the long spot reserved for a car of this length, he eyed me. “He’s a ley line witch. Black hair, dark eyes, my age. Why? Are you worried? You should be. He’s better than you.”

“No.” Crap. Or should I say craps? Grabbing my clutch purse, I slumped back into the cushions when Jonathan opened the door and Trent got out with a grace that had to be practiced. A blast of cold air replaced him, making me wonder how Trent could stand there as if it was summer. I had a feeling I’d already met Saladan. Idiot! I berated myself. But showing Lee I wasn’t afraid of him after his failed little black charm would be extremely satisfying.

Becoming eager for the encounter, I slid across the bench seat to the open door, jerking back when Jonathan slammed it in my face. “Hey!” I shouted, adrenaline making my head hurt.

The door opened, and Jonathan gave me a satisfied smirk. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said.

Past him was Trent, a tired look on his face. Holding my borrowed shawl close, I watched Jonathan as I slid out. “Why, thank you, Jon,” I said brightly, “you freaking bastard.”