Fiona was quiet for a moment, surprised by the tide of emotion that swept over her.

"David Du Lac. He'll make it fine. Mom and Dad went to him a few times over the years. God only knows all the places he's lived during his...existence, but no one loves this city more, and no one's better at creating new identities. We'll bring Abigail to him. He'll take care of everything."

Caitlin laughed. "And when will that be? After the funeral? Don't forget that everyone out there thinks you've stolen a corpse."

"No one thinks I've done anything," Fiona said firmly.

"People may know her corpse was stolen, but I wasn't seen."

"What about DeFarge?" Caitlin asked.

"No one saw him until he went to the morgue after the report that the corpse had been stolen and the attendant had been knocked out," Caitlin said. "Look, both of you, I beg--no, I demand--that you both show me some respect and faith here. I fought hard, really hard, to keep us all together--and I managed it. Now we're facing our first real crisis, so please, remember that I came through for you before and just trust me."

Both of them stared at her for a long moment. Then Shauna leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Of course. And we're here, ready to do our part," she promised.

"I love you, you know that," Caitlin said.

"Yes, I do, but how about some faith, too?" Fiona asked.

Caitlin nodded. "Right." She turned to leave, then paused at the door. "Vampires. It's just--well, vampires," she said, and walked out.

When she was gone, Shauna looked at Fiona. "I'm sorry. You know Caitlin adores you."

"Yes, I do."

"But--she really doesn't like vampires," Shauna said.

"I've noticed. Hey, kid, good work tonight," Fiona said.

Shauna grinned, but her grin faded quickly. "Thanks. I do think there are some scary times ahead."

"No doubt," Fiona agreed.

"Good night," Shauna said, then kissed her cheek again and left the room, closing the door quietly in her wake.

Fiona was exhausted, but she had been at the morgue. She was afraid she would never sleep with the smell of formaldehyde--real or imagined--in her nose.

She headed into the shower, turned on the spray and reached for the large container of coconut-and-almond shampoo.

The tropical scent rose around her, and she inhaled deeply as she massaged the shampoo through her hair, wishing that the pressure of her fingers could make the whirlwind in her mind come to a halt. Did she know that she had done the right thing?

No.

Would she feel any better now if she had been coldly efficient and dispatched Abigail and Billy both?

No, definitely not.

Admittedly they were stuck working around the disappearance of a corpse, but it could have been worse.

They could be dealing with a dead morgue attendant.

She rinsed her hair and groped blindly for the soap, then nearly screamed when the container of body wash was placed in her hand.

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped.

Jagger was standing there outside her shower, grinning in admiration.

He had no right.

She wanted to yell at him for scaring her, when she was already feeling like an incompetent fool.

She wanted to yell and scream and beat her fists against his chest.

Because she was afraid.

But more than all that, she wanted him there.

The water beat down. The steam rose.

He looked at her without moving. And then he spoke softly.

"I'm sorry, Fiona. I'm so sorry."

Had he really just apologized?

Suddenly her eyes were stinging.

To hide the rising tears, she turned back into the spray.

"All right, I understand," he said.

He was going to leave, she realized.

She groped blindly again, catching his arm, soaking the sleeve of his immaculate jacket.

"No, no...it's just my eyes," she said.

In a second, a dry washcloth was in her hands.

And then he was in the shower, naked and standing behind her, holding her close to him and whispering against her ear, above the rush of the water,.

"I really am so sorry."

She turned in his arms, as if she had been starving for years for a human touch. In a way she had starved, of course, because she had always been a Keeper, never allowed to forget her responsibilities.

And he wasn't human.

He was more than human. Better.

It was true that neither of them really understood the complete ramifications of the extraordinary lives they led. The secrets of heaven and hell were not in their possession. What they did know was that kindness and cruelty, good and evil, were natural attributes of all living things, represented in greater or lesser degrees in everyone.

But Jagger seemed to contain more of the best than anyone she knew, and his strength was greater because it could bend.

And the way he held her...

She turned into his arms.

"Forgiven," she said softly.

It was deliciously erotic, making love in the water, the slickness of soap lubricating their flesh, the steam hot and luxurious, and his hands...

Touching her. Holding her. Making her feel as if she were completely savored and cherished, as if he worshipped every part of her.

His lips, hot and slick. His tongue, teasing.

His whispers echoed in the close confines of the shower....

He held her against the tile, oddly cool against the heat, and the complex mix of emotions and sensations seemed to heighten every touch, every movement. When she fell against him in release, she could still feel his lips against her shoulder, his arms around her, his body against hers. She reveled in the security of his support and her immersion in another--a man, no matter that his heart didn't beat.

He fumbled for the faucets, turning the water off at last, and lifted her easily to the bathroom rug, following her out and wrapping a large fluffy towel around her, then reaching for one for himself. She smiled as she met his eyes, longing to tell him how glad she was that he had come, how much it meant to her that they stood together. And more than anything, how it made her tremble to realize that he was willing to ask her forgiveness when he felt he'd been wrong.

He pulled her to him, cradling her against him, and looked into her eyes.

"It's frightening, what we've done," he said.

She nodded, then grinned slowly. "Yes, but I realized we only had one other choice. A dead morgue attendant."

"True."

"Where are the young lovers?"

"Sound asleep."

"What if they wake up?"

He laughed softly, gently stroking her wet hair.

"Billy is back in the frat house. And I took Abigail to David Du Lac, who welcomed the challenge and is ready to forge ahead. He thinks we made the right decision, said we did what was right."

"There will still be hell to pay," she said.

"I know."

"My sister broke up a fight tonight between Mateas Grenard and a werewolf named Louis Arile."

Jagger was quiet. "And unless I catch this killer quickly, we're going to see a lot more of the same."

"My sisters are up in arms."

"I tried to make a hasty exit and not get you in trouble with them."

"Excellent work. But they're not fools."

"Of course not. They're Keepers."

"I'm so worried about this. We can't let it come to another war."

"We won't."

"Then..."

"Then," he said, pulling her closer to him by tugging on the towel, "we learn to make each precious moment that we have alone together count."

She smiled, closing her eyes, savoring the simple feel of being close against him.

"Even the seconds..." she murmured.

"Exactly."

He lifted her, his eyes locked on hers, his every movement both romantic and excruciatingly sensual as he carried her to the bed and laid her on the mattress, then moved the towel as if he were unwrapping something exquisite and fragile. He made her skin burn with the intensity of his gaze before his lips skimmed her body with a slow, liquid touch that burned and yet was still somehow tender, awakening an array of incredible desire. She lay still for a moment, in simple awe of the way he could make her feel, and then she burst to life, desperate to return every caress.

The sun was coming up when at last they lay exhausted and spent, entangled in one another's arms.

Fiona drifted to sleep on a dream more wonderful than any other.

When she awoke, he was gone.

Only mist and memory remained beside her.

But even they were beautiful, and more than she had ever dreamed she would find.

There were certain matters of police procedure that Jagger had to follow--no matter what he knew to be true.

The dorms had to be searched. All the dorms in the city, all the frat houses--even all the sorority houses. With the new morgue attendant being a college kid, the police had immediately theorized that the corpse might have been stolen as some kind of sick college prank.

There was also no way to keep the media from becoming a major presence. And once they got wind of the fact that the missing body looked like the stereotypical victim of a vampire attack, the less responsible papers ran with the story.

Has beauty arisen?

Co-ed, drained of blood, seems to have walked out of morgue!

To make matters worse, a recent cable documentary had focused on vampire cults in the city of New Orleans. One group in Uptown that had been given special attention had taken to walking reporters around their communal home, explaining their rites--and need for blood.

Jagger hoped against hope that the entire city hadn't seen the show. He hadn't, but Tony had, and happily told him all about it.

His first order of business once he became aware of what was happening had been to send a couple of black and white cruisers out to protect the residents of the house. Didn't those idiots realize they were courting an attack?

He was in his office, having just arranged a press conference for early that afternoon, when he received a call from August Gaudin.