“Please, just talk. About anything. Tell me about the houses, how you’ll get them built, what materials you’ll use. Whatever you want.”

“Eric…” It was almost a whisper.

“I need to hear your voice.”

Iona went silent a moment, and then she began to talk. What she said was innocuous, about load-bearing walls, roughing in plumbing, the problem of basements in the desert. Eric only half heard it. The music of her voice, the dulcet syllables, floated through him and eased the pain that continued to beat at him.

Talking to her through a cell phone was nowhere near as good as having her next to him, where he’d be able to inhale her clear scent, to cover himself with her warmth.

Eric listened until the pain began to recede. When it finally faded enough for him to take a regular breath, he thanked her quietly and hung up the phone.

Iona stared at the phone a long time after Eric clicked off. His voice had been so weak when she’d answered. He’d sounded almost panicked.

She’d never seen Eric anything but strong and certain, but he’d been rasping, barely able to talk. Had he lost a fight, had another Shifter hurt him? The Collars were supposed to keep Shifters in check, but Iona had seen firsthand how “tamed” they really were.

Iona hit the Callback button on her phone. Eric’s rang on the other end. And rang and rang. No voice mail, no Eric picking up. Damn it.

Why should she be so worried about him? Eric drove her crazy. He was pretty much stalking her, talking about bringing her in and slapping a Collar on her, scent-marking her, mate-claiming her, whatever that entailed. Iona should not only be glad he didn’t pick up the phone, she shouldn’t call him at all.

If only he hadn’t sounded so broken…

Going out to Shiftertown herself to see if he was all right wasn’t an option. The Shifters would smell her a mile away.

Call the cops? No, that would bring trouble to Shiftertown, and maybe Eric was only exhausted from a hard day of being Shiftertown leader.

Cops. Hadn’t Eric’s sister married a cop? Eric hadn’t given Iona the details, but Iona had read a newspaper story about Diego Escobar, a cop who’d quit his job and started a private security company after he’d moved to Shiftertown to live with his Shifter mate.

A computer search now led Iona to a Diego Escobar in Las Vegas running a private security firm with his brother, cryptically called DX Security. Their website had nothing but a banner and a phone number on it.

Iona dialed the number.

“DX Security,” a male voice answered. He sounded tough, deep-voiced, exactly the kind of person you’d want if you needed someone or something protected.

“Can I speak to Diego Escobar?”

A hesitation. He must be looking at the caller ID, which would show her personal number and no name. She’d known better than to use a company phone.

The man spoke again. “What do you need, Ms. Duncan?”

Iona jumped. All right, so they were good. “To speak to Mr. Escobar.”

“Is this about the housing?”

Word traveled fast. Duncan Construction had been granted the contract for the Shifter housing only this morning.

“No. It’s not.” And I’m not about to explain to a complete stranger who I am and why I’m calling.

Iona was about to hang up, deciding this a bad idea, when the man said, “Hold on.”

The next voice she heard was smooth and rich. “Ms. Duncan? I’m Diego Escobar. What can I do for you?”

“Check on your brother-in-law,” Iona said.

“What?” Diego came alert, curiosity giving way to wariness.

“I just talked to Eric,” she said. “He sounded bad, and now he won’t answer his phone.”

Silence. Oh, for a webcam. She’d love to know whether he stared into space or was busily looking up information about Iona Duncan of Duncan Construction.

“Sounded bad, how?” Diego’s voice betrayed no worry, but then, he wouldn’t be good as head of a security company if he let himself sound anxious.

“Weak, tired. Not like himself.”

More silence. Iona wished she could see what he was doing on the other end of the line.

“Ms. Duncan?”

“Still here.”

“Thanks for calling,” Diego said. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Good. Thanks. I just wanted to…”

“Yeah?” He sounded impatient, ready to go.

“Nothing. Thanks. I hope he’s all right.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. Good-bye, Ms. Duncan.”

She echoed his good-bye and hung up.

There. She’d done something about it. Diego Escobar was Eric’s family, and he’d make sure all was well.

But Iona was restless. She told herself it was none of her business whether Eric was running around, healthy and fine, or passed out in his bed. The only thing she should be concerned about was having to work with him to build the houses.

So why did she itch to jump in her truck and charge to Shiftertown to see if he was all right?

Iona tried to get back to work. She had accounts to go over and bills to pay, but she found herself sitting at her desk with her fingers unmoving on the keyboard, staring at the numbers on the screen without seeing them.

“Iona, I found the shoes.” Nicole breezed in with a big shopping bag, talking before she even got inside the door. Nicole was a younger version of their mother, with her same dark brown hair, blue eyes, compact body, and round face. “I was going to get the ones we saw at the bridal store, but then I walked by this boutique, and they had the perfect shoes in the window. They’re not really wedding shoes, but I don’t care. I fell in love with them.”

Iona got up and walked around the desk, forcing herself to pay attention. “Doesn’t matter. For your wedding, you should have what you love.”

The shoes were gorgeous, high-heeled white Mary Jane’s with tiny pink rosettes across the straps, the exact color of the flowers Nicole had chosen. Nicole held up one shoe, cradling it in her hands.

Any other time, Iona would be all over them, but worry about Eric was distracting her. “Nice,” she said.

Nicole’s face fell. “You don’t like them. I knew I should have bought the satin ones—I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll take them back…”

“Nicole. Nikki.” Iona stepped in front of her sister and rubbed her shoulders. “Stop it. I love the shoes. Really. They’re great.”