The Raven Master. Diana Whitney

      He gave a humorless laugh. “Goes hand in hand with cynical, insensitive and don’t give a rat’s ass about other people.”

      “Sounds like burnout to me.”

      “Any way you look at it, I screwed up, and you’re paying the price. You get killed, it’ll be on my conscience.”

      “Well, hey, don’t sugarcoat the possibilities.”

      “Do you want them sugarcoated?”

      “What I want,” she replied, “is Umer Lugo’s phone number. I want to know who hired him. Because while I’m ninety-five percent sure one of Frankie Maco’s family members is behind this, I’ve done other stories about a few other people who might not like some of the things I’ve said.” She waved her hand. “A lot of stories, actually. Anyway, my point is that knowledge is the key, and the key in this case is one Umer Lugo.”

      The beer she tossed him was ice-cold and medium dark.

      Marlowe let his gaze travel over her body. Shouldn’t, but it wasn’t as if he’d walked in unprepared.

      She was pretty, all right. Beautiful, if you liked moonlight blondes with mile-long legs, sultry blue eyes and a killer smile. Her hair was straight, shoulder-length and made him think of silk. The edgy razor cut suited her. It was also the only noticeable change she’d made to her appearance since leaving L.A. three years ago.

      “And now, he looks.” She pushed off gracefully from the fridge. “Don’t worry, Marlowe, I’m not going to seduce you. I only pull out the Mata Hari card when there’s a chance it’ll work. Guys who claim not to give a rat’s ass about people aren’t likely to succumb.”

      “You like positive, I like simple. Just so we’re clear.”

      “As Mississippi mud. Now, about Lugo.”

      He twisted off the top, drank deeply. “He said he’d be staying in the city until you got back. That might or might not be true.” Lowering the bottle, he asked, “Do you have a laptop?”

      “You dropped it by the front door.” She uncapped a bottle of orange juice. “Why would he hang around?” she mused. Then she considered. “How old is he?”

      “Fifty-eight.”

      “Muscular and tall?”

      “Five-six and stocky with a hump on his back.”

      “Charming. Do you have the name of his hotel?”

      “Give me five minutes on your computer and I will.”

      She started toward him, dangerous in a way only a man on the edge would understand. “And then?”

      Because he knew what she was thinking, he used the beer to cover a burgeoning smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, Darcy, but I’ve dealt with reporters before. I go in alone, you follow me. So we’ll save time and do this together.”

      Setting her tongue on her upper lip, she tipped her head to the side, strolled closer and assessed him from top to bottom. “You’re a man of mystery and surprise, Marlowe. I foresee all kinds of problems between us.”

      “I see them here and now.”

      Humor sparkled in her eyes. “You can drop the guard. I told you I wouldn’t play the seduction card, and I meant it.”

      Was he on guard? Maybe. Probably. Didn’t mean he had to ditch a rather intriguing situation. He just had to make sure he didn’t get tangled up in it.

      Taking another drink, he let his gaze slide over her face. “I’m not afraid of you.”

      The sparkle blossomed into a smile. “Oh, I believe that. Your kind isn’t afraid of any woman.”

      “I’m a kind?”

      “Very much so. You’re immovable, inscrutable, emotionally distant, and if I were a female rat, I wouldn’t even consider exposing my ass to you. Unfortunately, you’re also hot and sexy, and I’m going to guess chock-full of bad-boy vices. Makes you irresistible to a female like me. Therefore—” letting a sly look steal across her face, she hooked her finger around the front of his T-shirt and gave a tug “—my feeling is, we should get this out of the way now, before we move on.”

      A thread of amusement, mostly dark, wove through his system. “I’m not a gentleman, Darcy.”

      “Well, I’m shocked.”

      Eyes glittering, he let the darkness have its way, set the bottle down and trapped her jaw between the fingers and thumb of his right hand.

      “Lady, this is one mistake I’m going to enjoy.” Leaving no time for second thoughts, he covered her mouth with his.

      HE TASTED LIKE SOMETHING forbidden, something she should run from and not look back.

      He went in deep, and he savored. He made light and color shimmer to life in her head. When he finally stepped back, it took several long moments for the drumbeat he’d created in her blood to subside.

      Now that, she thought through a lovely warm haze, was a kiss.

      He didn’t say a word afterward, just stared into her eyes, then turned and walked out.

      Darcy knew his mind was working. On what, she wasn’t sure. But that was enigmatic for you.

      He returned a moment later with her laptop. The haze vanished when he told her where Umer Lugo was staying.

      It took them twenty-five minutes to reach their destination in Marlowe’s Land Rover. During that time, Darcy rattled off a dozen questions, most of them concerning the state of Lugo’s mental health.

      “The Declaration Inn.” She read the dimly lit sign from the parking lot off the westbound Interstate. “Aka the Bates Motel. I see five cars, three of them old and rusty, outside four doors. The only visible lights are in the lobby, and there’s no one behind the desk.”

      Marlowe surveyed the low structure as they got out of the car.

      “Question,” she said as they navigated the ravaged lot. “Why do you suppose Lugo is staying in a place like this?”

      With his fingers wrapped around her bare upper arm, Marlowe swept the line of doors. “I don’t know.” He glanced down when she turned her ankle. “You probably shouldn’t have worn heels.”

      “If I’d known about this parking lot, I’d have worn combat boots.” And full camo gear, she thought, although the pale pink dress that stopped just above her knees and crisscrossed in the back was definitely cooler. “I hope the manager isn’t a weirded-out mama’s boy.” She peered through the spotty glass. “Still no one in sight.”

      “Easier for us to find Lugo’s room and get inside.”

      “It’s a fine line between cop and crook, isn’t it?”

      “Ex-cop.”

      “And the line gets finer.”

      The lobby door creaked, but no bell announced them. In fact, the only sound came from a pair of droning flies and a whiny Merle Haggard song emanating from the dusty wall speakers.

      Steadier now on the cracked linoleum tiles, Darcy eased her arm free. In her mind, she was still going over a kiss that had left her breathless and oddly light-headed. At this moment, though, and given the circumstances, distance was more prudent.

      She ran a finger down the open register while Marlowe checked out the shadowy back room. “There’s someone named Jones in three,” she told him. “A double X in eleven and a squiggly line with two big rabbit ears in five.”

      “Anything that looks like Lugo?” Marlowe asked from the inner door.

      She ran the list. “Lucky number seven.” Then she glanced at the Peg-Board. “There’s no key.”

      Returning to