It happened the next morning while I was in the shower. One minute, I was humming tunelessly while washing my hair, and the next minute, I was on my knees screaming in pain. Skin peeled off and stuck beneath my nails as I clawed at the spot just above my heart. Twenty-six was too young to have a heart attack, but I didn't know what else would cause this level of agony.

Fiery cramps pulsed beneath my breast, mounting in intensity until I prayed to pass out, only to go away so quickly I almost passed out from the relief. On and on they came in waves until I woke on the bottom of the shower, the water pelting my face cold as ice, and a tenderness in my chest was the only evidence that I hadn't imagined the entire thing.

Legs wobbling like a newborn foal, I dried off and dressed. It took several tries to pull my jeans up, and a cold sweat covered my body by the time I dragged a pale pink cable-knit sweater over my head. Staring at my disheveled face in the mirror, I rubbed the sore spot beneath my breast with the heel of my palm and debated going back to bed.

But then Jac would win.

The thought was enough to put a spark back in my green eyes, and I applied a little extra makeup to hide the worst of my exhaustion and pain. It didn't matter how I felt as long as I could convince everyone else I was a badass.

Still, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell had happened. It plagued me the entire drive across Stone City. In reality, it could be a heart issue. Dumped at a fire station with my umbilical cord still attached, I knew nothing about my family's health history. Dear old Mom could have kicked the bucket while giving birth to me thanks to a weak heart, or maybe it was my father who died young, leaving her unwilling to raise a child alone. Both scenarios were unlikely and a far nicer story than I'd painted for myself over the years, but it wouldn't be a bad idea to schedule a physical just in case.

Laura Kincaid lived in a gated community on the east side of town. The guard didn't hide his disdain for me when he buzzed me through. I tossed him a cheeky grin that he didn't return and told myself I had every right to be in this neighborhood, even if some of these people made more in an hour than the entire value of my car.

I parked in Laura's driveway and ran a critical eye over the information I'd pulled on my client. Thirty-three. Unmarried. Highly successful tax attorney—bet Daddy dearest loved that. From what I could tell, her place in this neighborhood had come from a lot of hard work and sacrifice, but none of that information really helped me. I was more interested in the fact that Molly adopted her thirty years ago when she married Harold after the untimely death of his first wife.

"Exsanguination," I read aloud with a shudder.

The first Mrs. Kincaid was found in her bathtub, drained of all her blood. Coroner ruled it a suicide despite compelling evidence to the contrary, and Harold had an alibi—he was in Hawaii on a business trip. News outlets were divided on the story—some suggesting the Kincaid's old money was enough to hide the truth. It was no wonder the police were so keen to paint him as the murderer. One wife dying was a tragedy. Two suggested foul play.

Ringing the doorbell, I leaned against the wall and steadied my breathing. The ache in my chest was nearly gone, but I remained fatigued. If Cian popped out of the bushes right now, I would probably ask him to make it quick, but until then, I needed to put on a good show for Laura. Maybe the weakness would go away as quickly as the ache.

"Ms. Smith," Laura said as she opened the door. Her pale face was pinched as she stepped aside to let me enter, and she didn't say another word until we were seated in her parlor. "I didn't expect a visit from you so soon. Does this mean you've found something?"

"I actually have a few questions," I told her, looking around the room with interest. There wouldn't be many echoes—everything was too new and pristine. I imagined Laura rarely used this room, and if she did, it was for strangers, not close friends and family.

"Oh." She crossed her legs, exposing the red bottoms of her shoes, and bounced her foot as she waited for me to continue. "A phone call really would have sufficed."

No. Facial expressions revealed far too much crucial information, but I didn't tell her that. "I won't take too much of your time. I wanted to ask if you'd ever heard of a club called Indulgence."

She turned green but managed a blank expression. "I don't believe so. Why?"

"I ran into your father there last night, and they cater to a very particular crowd."

"I'm not sure what my father's predilections have to do with this case."

Laura was smooth. I'd give her that. Although she was nervous as hell—the twitching of her right eye gave her away—she somehow injected cool irritation into every syllable.

"Well, I might agree with you except for the fact that I don't really believe in coincidences, and it just so happens that I identified a suspect in your mother's murder—"

"Oh," she exclaimed, her spine stiffening. "That's excellent news."

"It is. Aside from the part where the murderer was at the club at the same time your father was at the club."

"That's stretching things a bit," Laura said snidely. "Why, if I go to the same grocery store as a hairdresser, it doesn't make me one."

"No, but keep in mind, I did say Indulgence attracted a certain type of individual, and it would be very easy for police to say your father hired this man to murder your mother." They wouldn't because they had no idea Cian existed, but Laura didn't know that. And I wasn't sure she truly cared about keeping her father out of jail. This was bigger than proving innocent. My gut insisted on it.

"I think you should go. I hired you to prove my father didn't do it. Not come in here and heap accusations on him."

Trying to look casual, I wiped at a bead of sweat on my forehead. "You hired me to find the truth, and now I'm asking you to give me an honest answer. Is your father human?"

"As opposed to what?" Laura snapped, jumping to her feet and running her hands over her blonde bob.

I held up my fingers and began ticking things off. "Shifter. Warlock. Fae. Vampire."

There was the reaction I was looking for. She swayed on her heels and sat back down. Some people would continue to deny it, but if I was right, she'd reached out to me for a reason. She knew who I was.

"He's innocent," she whimpered. "Being a vampire doesn't make you a bad person."

"Is your family line born or made?"

"Born. We're one of the oldest left, but we're outcasts because of our refusal to take part in the more lurid practices. My mother was a daughter of a rival clan, and she was killed because they marked her as a traitor for marrying my father."

"Did Molly know?"

Laura wilted into the divan. "I didn't think so, not for a long time. In fact, I always assumed it's why she left my father, because she found out the truth. A week ago we were having lunch together, and she admitted that she'd always known what we were."

That was interesting, and in line with the echo. Cian called Molly human but also mentioned she was using a glamour. At the very least, she was a human with knowledge of the supernatural community.

"Did she tell you how she came to have that knowledge."

"She was off that day. Very jittery—like she kept looking around as if someone was going to sneak up on us. When I asked her why she was telling me this now, she told me to tell my father she loved him, and that she left for his safety. It was time for her to disappear again, and maybe if the fates were kind, they would find one another again."

"But Molly was human. Your kind lives for centuries."

The woman before me shook with suppressed sobs. "That was what I thought too, but she seemed so certain she might still be around. I told my dad about it the next time I saw him, and he got upset. He went to Indulgence to see his new fiancé—" Laura rolled her eyes. "Jessica is half the woman Molly was. Twelve hours later, Molly was dead. The police blamed him, but I know it wasn't him. I think whoever she was hiding from found her, and I refused to let my father take the fall. He loved her."

I patted her knee. "I believe you."

She squeezed my hand and smiled weakly through her tears. "I wanted to be upfront with you about everything, but I didn't know how much you knew. It's frowned upon to tell humans too much. In fact, that was another thing I considered—that Molly was killed by some elitist who still believes humans should be in the dark about all the different species. But your name came up again and again."

The doorbell rang, and she withdrew her touch, wiped her face, and stood. "Let me see who that is. I'm not expecting anyone."

Her heels clicked down the hallway as I went over everything she said. Had Molly's cover already been compromised, or had Harold let something slip while he was at Indulgence that pointed Cian in her direction? Or perhaps it was a combination of the two. Either way, a conversation with Harold was in order. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't think to warn her until I heard the rumble of Cian's sinful voice.

I scrambled to the doorway and peaked around the frame. Laura stood in the doorway, blocking his entrance to the house. Her knuckles were white on the door as she asked him who he was, but as a born vampire, it was unlikely she didn't know he was an Andarien. You made it a point to recognize sharks when swimming in the ocean, and the Andarie were Great Whites.

"I wanted to express my sympathy about your mother, Molly," Cian said. "And I had a few questions to ask you."

"I'm sorry. I'm not really feeling up to talking to anyone right now."

Laura tried to shut the door, but the Andarien barreled inside. "It would be in your best interest to answer my questions."

She hissed at him as he pressed her into the wall, and I could see her fangs protruding over her bottom lip. Any other day, such a sight would scare the shit out of me, but with Cian taking up all the air in the house, her fangs came across as threatening as a box of puppies.

"Did Molly ever mention having other children?"

Laura's mouth fell open, and I cursed internally. I'd forgotten to ask that, but then again, this stupid brute had interrupted my interview. I would've gotten to it. Eventually.

"No," the vampire replied, her fangs receding as she shook her head. "Never."

"Don't lie to me," Cian growled, putting his arm against her throat. The veins in his throat bulged as he glared at her. "I can taste them."

Tears fell down her face, streaking her makeup and creating black splatters on her cream silk blouse. "Daddy mentioned it once in passing. She had a child she gave up for adoption, but that's all I know, I swear."

He lifted his arm and stepped back. Scrubbing his hand through his hair, the tension leaked from his body. "I appreciate your cooperation in this matter." I snorted—like she had a choice, and then I slapped my hands over my mouth in horror before retreating into the parlor. "Who else is in the house?"

"T-the private detective I hired to solve Molly's murder." I couldn't blame her for answering honestly. No need to piss him off when he would know she was lying anyway, but I really wanted to punch her in the face right now.

All hope that he would leave faded when two sets of footsteps sounded down the hallway. There was nowhere to hide in this room—Laura's style leaned toward minimalist—and I didn't have the energy to make a run for it. Besides, it wasn't certain he would recognize me. I'd only had the faintest impression he'd seen me in the echo—which made no sense because it was nothing more than a replay of events that had already happened, and last night, I'd been wearing a mask and so little clothing I very much doubted he paid too close attention to my face.

Not helping, I thought to myself. Just imagining Cian thinking about my bare skin made my traitorous blood sing. There was nothing to do but take a seat and attempt to look completely casual and in control.

"Cian Bastion," Laura stuttered when they entered the room. She gestured at me. "Meet Bria Smith."

The Andarien froze, looking at me as if he'd seen a ghost, all the blood draining from his stupidly beautiful face. It was the same shocked expression he wore in the echo, right before Jac pulled me out of it. For one fleeting moment, I felt powerful for having that effect on him, but it went away as soon as he drew himself up to his full height, his muscles straining against the green henley he wore.

"What the fuck kind of sick joke is this?" He demanded. "Who gave you that glamour?"

I pointed at my face. "I was born this way?"

"Who are you?"

"She just told you." It was official—I was a fucking idiot with a death wish. Well, in for a pound... "But I know who you are. You're Molly Kincaid's murderer."