Initially, when it had vanished, she’d considered resorting to her first plan: hopping in her car and running while the running was good. But somehow she just knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that running wasn’t going to accomplish anything. She wasn’t sure she believed its claim that it had no other Fae powers but the ability to sift place. She certainly wasn’t fool enough to think that, considering she was the only one who could see it, it had truly gone away and intended to leave her alone.

No, it would never have left her alone if it hadn’t been unequivocally certain of its ability to find her again. Which meant running would be a waste of time and energy best conserved for the battle to come. Besides, she’d reasoned, if she was going to stand and fight, she was better equipped to do it on familiar turf. Here at least, they were in her world, and she knew her way around.

Why hadn’t it hurt her? Why hadn’t it used its immensely superior strength to bully her, to bend her to its will? It could have so easily. She was stymied by its reaction, or rather, its lack of one. It could have done anything it had wanted to do to her as she’d sat there helplessly tied up, but it hadn’t even so much as uttered the slightest villainous threat.

It had vanished. Simply vanished. And it had been smiling. And that made her deeply, deeply uneasy. Like it had something far worse planned for her than mere force.

What could be worse than force?

Like waiting for the other shoe to drop, not knowing when or where it would come.

“O’Callaghan, where in the hell are the Brighton contentions?” her boss, senior partner Jeff Staller, demanded, looming over her tiny desk in her cramped cubicle strewn with files and law books and crumpled wads of legal briefs that just weren’t coming together. “That case was supposed to be filed last week. We’re never going to get a September hearing date now.”

Gabby’s head shot up. Startled, she almost knocked over her fourth espresso of the day. Bleary-eyed, she glanced at the clock. It was two-thirty already. “I’ll have it for you by four o’clock,” she promised.

“You were supposed to have it for me by four o’clock yesterday, but you didn’t bother coming back in to work after lunch. Reason for that?”

She kept her eyes trained on the clock, reluctant to meet his gaze, aware she wasn’t the most convincing liar. “I . . . uh, got sick. I got really sick. I had sushi for lunch.”

“You said you were going to Skyline for chili.”

Damn the man for having a mind like a steel trap. Didn’t he have anything better to do than remember where she’d said she was going to eat? She had muttered something about Skyline when she’d passed him on the way out, not wanting him to know she was interviewing around. Knowing he’d work her ten times as hard for it. Unless the firm one was interning for believed them an eventual hire, they were downright brutal with the workload.

“I changed my mind at the last minute,” she said glibly. “I’m sorry I didn’t phone in, but I was so sick I could hardly move. You know how food poisoning is.” She forced herself to tip her face up and meet his glowering gaze, knowing she looked a fright from lack of sleep and stress, and that the dark circles beneath her eyes would reinforce her lie.

“I’m lying and deceitful?” a deep, exotically-accented voice purred behind her. “Guess we have something in common, Irish.”

Her head whipped around. So there it was; the other shoe was dropping. Sprawled insolently on the file cabinet behind her was Adam Black, all preternatural insouciance and grace. Gone were the sexy faded jeans. Now it sported snug black leather pants and a black silk shirt, complemented by gold armbands and torque. New, very expensive-looking boots, too, she noticed, briefly distracted into wondering where/how it got its clothes. Probably just stole whatever it wanted, cloaked by the féth fiada, she thought disparagingly. Figured. Thief.

Still, it was impossible not to notice that he—it—looked Old World elegant and simply to-die-for. Careful, Gabby, could be prophetic.

“We have nothing in common,” she hissed.

“What?” Jeff said blankly. “O’Callaghan, what are you talking about?”

Gabby winced, turning back to her boss. He was frowning, his gaze darting between her and the filing cabinet. She cleared her throat. “You and I, I meant,” she blurted hastily. “What I meant was that you probably wouldn’t have even gotten sick, but my digestive system is really sensitive, it always has been. The least little thing sets it off, especially raw fish that hasn’t been properly prepared, and I should have known better than to trust sushi from a street vendor, but I was hungry, and it looked good, and, listen, I’m really sorry, but I swear it’ll be on your desk by four.” Breathe now, Gabby. She breathed and punctuated it with the brightest smile she could muster, which not only felt more like a grimace but came out rather lopsided as well.