It's late in the day on Wednesday already. This week is flying by. I'm flipping radio stations in the car, on my way to a meeting with a new client.

Gabe hasn't returned from Europe yet, and I'm getting antsy not knowing what he is. I've been wearing the pendant most of the time. I don't shower with it, and I don't wear it in the gym, but I figure those are reasonably safe times to leave it off. It's large enough that I am constantly aware that I have it on.

Adam stayed on my sofa Tuesday evening, but didn't seem to be in the mood to talk, so I worked on my laptop and read some of my novel before going to bed early. Normally I would have grilled him with questions, but I felt sort of bad about bringing up a topic that obviously still caused him some level of pain. His reprieve is over tonight. Under the circumstances, I can only be nice for so long.

Tuesday turned out to be a busy day for me. I landed a new client named Robert Thornton. He believes his wife is having an affair, and wants me to prove it. I spent several hours researching him, checking his and his wife's backgrounds, credit, and business information. Finding that he's legitimate and has the means to pay my fees, I agreed to meet him tonight at the Phoenix Museum of Art at six.

I usually choose public places to make the initial contact. I'm thrilled to have another job since business has been a little slow the last couple of months. I do have to pay my bills, and work has helped me keep my mind from obsessing on other things. It's the little normal things in life that I'm starting to appreciate.

On the way to my meeting I pick up some dry cleaning, return a book to the library, and have some large glossy prints made for one of my cases. When time permits, I try to order these prints online. The looks I get from the kids who run my prints in the copy store range from admirable from the guys and disgust from the girls.

I also manage to place a call to Russell to check in.

By the time I arrive at the museum it's 5:50 p.m. I'm right on time. There's a little time to view some of the exhibit before my client arrives.

For this meeting, I'm dressed in a pencil skirt, fitted blouse, and a cropped jacket. I'm wearing simple cream-colored heels, and my hair is piled in a fashionable but loose bun on the top of my head. The outfit is pulled together with some black-rimmed smart glasses and a briefcase. I always try to dress in a fashion that gives my clients confidence in my abilities. My look says I'm from their circle, which usually goes a long way toward helping them feel comfortable discussing uncomfortable topics.

I head in the direction of the Mysteries from Europe exhibit when I notice a curator roping off the exhibit.

"Excuse me, but I'm meeting someone at this exhibit. I thought it was open until nine," I say, pushing my glasses up on my nose and looking down at him.

At five-foot-nine, without heels, I'm as tall as most men. Add heels, and I'm usually looking down at them. It took me all of high school and part of college to learn how to walk tall and own my height.

"I apologize, but the exhibit has been reserved for a private viewing. We have several other wonderful exhibits that will be open until nine," he says.

"I still have ten more minutes." I give him a pouty look.

He steps back out of my way, and says, "Please hurry."

I give him a big smile and hustle into the exhibit. I meander through the rooms looking for any works that catch my interest. Museums are like ice cream for me. I could blow an entire day studying the art and history put on display in a single exhibit. It pains me that I can only breeze through this one.

Stopping in front of a painting by an unknown artist, I start to get lost in the details as I tend to do. The painting is called Lady MacKenzie and Her Son. It's a beautiful oil-on-canvas painting of a woman with dark hair wearing a lovely white dress, and a young boy dressed sharply for the day. It has a whimsical feel, and it's dated 1750.

I begin to wonder about the mother and child, and lose track of how long I've been standing there until a seductive voice from behind me says, "Hello, Sam."

I stagger and practically throw my briefcase—I'm that startled. Somehow I manage to catch myself before falling.

My blood runs cold as I look into the brilliant blue eyes of Zachariah. He smiles at me like we're old friends. I, on the other hand, am plastered against the wall trying to keep as much distance from him as possible.

"I'm sorry. Did I startle you? My apologies," he says, still smiling. A thin layer of perspiration has broken out over my entire body, and I start to shake.

"I'm meeting someone. They'll be here any minute, and the curator is waiting for me." I'm inching along the wall, trying to avoid priceless paintings, but refusing to take my eyes off of Zac.

"You haven't figured it out yet, Sam? I'm meeting you here. I borrowed Mr. Thornton's name to lure you here. I must say it was rather easy to do. I assumed you would bring Adam or your Hunter. I was simply testing your parameter of protection. Never in a million years did I expect you to show up alone, without your guard dogs." He keeps the distance between us, but moves as I move.

He's toying with me. He enjoys my fear—feeds off it.

I hate his beautiful face!

I imagine the pain and suffering he has caused countless others before me, and it makes me furious. I want to drive a stake right through his black heart, but by a stupid twist of fate I'm just another one of his victims. Nobody is coming to save me this time. Adam doesn't even know where I am. Gabe is out of the country. I'm sure the curator has either been persuaded that I left already or he's dead.

I hope he's not dead.

"What do you want with me, Zac?" I ask, standing taller.

I'm tired of feeding him my fear. If I'm going to die tonight, it's not without a fight. He seems to take notice of my change in posture and demeanor.

I glare at him with as much hate as I can imply. I reach down and take off my heels one by one. I toss the first, but hold on to the other. It's particularly pointy.

His eyes start to glow and his smile broadens. Not the result I was going for.

We have both stopped moving along the wall. I'm almost to the corner, anyway.

"What has Adam told you about me...himself...our past?" he asks as he sits on a bench.

I know this will be over more quickly if I run.

"Nothing. Only that he has been hunting you for a ridiculously long time. Why don't you tell me, Zac?" I sit on the opposite bench, as far away as possible.

Maybe if I keep him talking another opportunity will present itself.

"I was wondering about that. He enjoys painting me in a bad light, I'm afraid. I'm sure he didn't tell you that he stole my one true love from me," he says, watching me.

I can't help but study his face. It's hard to believe something so beautiful could be so evil.

"He poisoned her mind against me, and married her to seal the deal." His beautiful face is twisted in hate now, and I can see the murderous rage boiling under the surface.

I think it's too late to change the subject now.

"No, he never told me that. That's a pretty shitty thing to do. Were the two of you friends?" I ask, keeping my face blank.

He seems confused by my words, but his face is more thoughtful than it was a moment earlier. He continues to watch me, study me.

"Are you toying with me, Sam?"

"What do you mean? I asked you an honest question. Do you think Adam and I are friends? He is a big bully, and I wouldn't put it past him to steal your girl from you. I could totally believe that," I say, raising my brows in a knowing fashion.

I stand and walk over to one of the paintings and act like I'm studying it. It horrifies me to turn my back on him, but I play my part.

"Are you trying to convince me that you are not intimate with Adam?"

I give him a disgusted look. "No, we are not intimate! I don't even like him. He practically killed me the first night we met. I have never once asked him to invite himself into my home or my life. He does what he wants, when he wants, and to hell with everyone else," I say passionately.

Most of it is true, so it isn't that hard of a part to play. I'm actually breathing hard when I finish my rant, and I'm sure my face is a mask of pure pissed-off.

He isn't completely sold, but he is intrigued. Zac continues to watch me closely, his elbows on his knees, and his fingers steeple, as if in thought.

"I was curious as to why you were in the company of a Hunter. I thought it odd that Adam would allow it. Actually, you caught my interest because over the years I've not known him to keep any woman's company beyond a single evening. I couldn't help but notice that he seems infatuated with you. And you don't even like him. That's rich!" He claps his hands together like a child. "Unfortunately, I've no need for my original plan if you are not in love with one another, but if he fancies you, he will still feel the loss all the same. I was hoping to cause him greater pain, but your untimely death will have to do for now," he says.

With those final words, I know my life is forfeit. Before I have time to think about the horror that awaits me, he moves. In a blur of motion, he's on me, but just as quickly Zac flies across the room and smashes into the opposite wall. The impact leaves a huge hole that barely missed two precious works of art. Zac is lying on the floor, and seems dazed by the blow. Shaking his head, he glares at me with enough venom to make my legs buckle.

I look around for my rescuer, but there's no one. He narrows his eyes at me as he rises from the rubble. Zac stands, adjusts his leather jacket, and runs his fingers through his hair. He walks a few steps closer to me, but stops about fifteen feet away. He's still trying to slay me with his eyes, but takes time to brush drywall powder from his shoulders.

I'm too afraid to move, and I don't understand why he hasn't killed me yet.

"You have an uncommonly powerful charm, Sam. Where did you get it? It's priceless, and there are only six in existence that I know of. How would someone like you come across something of such great value? No Hunter would ever part with it, so how did you acquire it?" he asks, hate and loathing behind each word.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say, but my hand has found the pendant, and I clutch it for dear life. He's afraid to come closer, I realize. I take a single shaky step toward him, and he backs away. The pendant feels warm and alive in my hand. I can feel its power like a tangible presence. Zac hisses and backs away further when I take two more steps in his direction.

"We are not finished. This is not over, Sam. I simply have more opportunity to plan our time together. I will take my time with you, and we will share such exquisite pain before you die...or not. Maybe I'll keep you forever. I promise to be with you soon," he says, and then he's gone in a blink of an eye.

I hate when they move like that, but I'm so relieved that I cry out. I begin shaking violently and slowly slide down the wall. Tears are running down my face and I can barely see. I crawl on the floor to my briefcase, and with shaky hands pull my phone out. It takes me a minute to be able to find Adam's number. My strength is sapped, and my hands won't stop trembling. He answers before I hear the first ring.

"Samantha! Where are you?" His voice is hard with lots of edges, but I can hear the thread of concern under it all.

"I...Phoenix Museum..." I barely whisper. I'm certain he can't hear me.

"I'm coming for you," he says, and I let the phone slide from my fingers.

***

I don't know if I pass out after the phone call or simply lose track of time. No one enters the exhibit that I'm aware of.

The next thing I know Adam is there, and he scoops me up and carries me. I can't imagine what we must look like to other visitors. My head is buried against Adam's chest until he places me in the passenger side of my car moments later. He closes my door, gets in the driver's seat, and starts the car. His face is a mask of fury, but he doesn't speak to me.

***

The drive home is a blur and I don't remember the details. I'm not even sure how we arrive at my condo but we're here. Adam lays me on the bed and covers me with the bedding. I think I'm in shock. I can't speak, and I don't want to. I feel...numb. My body can't seem to stop shaking and it's taking all my reserves to continue.

He sits on the edge of my bed and moves my hair away from my face. He leaves his hand on my head for a few moments, and I think it feels nice.

He reaches over, turns off the bedside lamp, and starts to rise.

Grabbing his hand in desperation, I say, "Don't leave." My voice sounds so small and distant, I can almost believe it belongs to someone else.

He settles back down and continues to hold my hand while gently stroking my hair. After a long while, I feel my body begin to let go of the tension. Once my body stops convulsing, the tears flow freely. I don't know how long I hold Adam's hand, crying until the peace of sleep finally claims me.