Hello readers, I hope your holiday season is going well. Even if you don't celebrate. Anyway, as I've stated before I do not own anything except new characters and ideas. I don't make money from my writing and all rights go to the rightful owners.

I turned on my side and looked at him, barely able to see the outline of his profile in the darkness of the room, but every pore on my skin sensed his nearness. He was warm and alive, and an odd mixture of pain and ecstasy swelled inside me, because somehow he had become important to me, so important that the tenor of my existence had been irrevocably altered. I reached out and trailed my fingers lightly down his muscled arm, then withdrew the soft touch, because the feel of his skin made my heart lurch again.

I walked inside the bathroom and washed my face with cold water; feeling calmer now, though my hands were still trembling slightly. This was not me, not like me just to sleep with a man, but he wasn't just a man.

I heard him move from the bed as I finished dressing in the same black clothes, his body was clad in just boxers now. "It's only five in the morning."

I gave him a look, "I know, we need to get a move on. I don't want her in danger longer than necessary." He didn't say anything. He simply closed his fist in my hair and held my head back, and his mouth came down on my own. My world shuddered, then tilted off-balance. Standing there, my hands on his bare chest, and let him have my mouth as he pleased, unable to do anything except give him what he wanted. His mouth was hard, as I had known it would be. Hungry, as I had known it would be. He kissed me with the slow, hot skill of experience, his tongue on mine, the roughness of his faint beard scraping my softer skin.

I spoke, "I have to go alone for now, I am meeting an old friend and you will just bother her." using the most firm tone I possessed, his brow scrunched up in disapproval.

"No."

"You have no choice, Peace." I moved collecting my bag leaving him standing there.

"I will let you go this time but don't expect it again." the door shutting was his answer he was in no way my boss.

The sun was bright when I reached the restaurant, Jennifer was waiting for me inside. The tall blonde jumped up and hugged me enthusiastically, though it had been only a little over a month since I had left her place. "It's so good to see you! My first business trip, and it's to New Orleans. Isn't this a great place? I hope you don't mind sitting in the courtyard rather than inside. I know it's hot, but how often do you get to eat lunch in a courtyard in New Orleans?" she was like this in high school too, a fact Warren never knew was I had been best friends with her while they dated in school.

Now I smiled at the barrage of words. Yes, Jennifer was definitely excited by her new job. "Well, let's see. I'm twenty-six, and this is the first time I've eaten lunch or anything else in a courtyard, so I'd say it doesn't happen too often. But Jen, Layla was kidnapped her and William by Nova, we all know he/she isn't in the business of taking hostages."

Her face was pale, paler now than before, "They're after you, that would be the single reason why Nova would. Nova kills without thought, without hesitation. Layla was paired with Peace, but he wouldn't be a real target. It has to be you she is the only way to get you out of retirement."

"I guessed as much, we have been compromised. We have no clue how far it has reached, but I trust you we trained together, we are sisters." like that with those words she pulled her tracker out and tossed it and her two cells into the fire pit making it go higher and crackle.

"Nova is here as far as I understand, I had been keeping tabs but stay off his radar. If I had know he had Layla, I would have gone after her." she stressed this and I had no doubt it was fact we had been close growing up.

"I know, Jen. Look I have to get to her." my tone becoming defeated she took my hands. "Let me call my husband, Brice, well he might have heard more than me."

She made her call and now we wait to see what information he gets me.

We took our seats at one of the tables in the courtyard. Actually, it wasn't uncomfortably hot; there were umbrellas, and trees to give shade. I eyed the bag in Jennifer's hand. "I see you've been shopping. What did you buy?"

"A nightgown. I would show it to you, but I don't want to drag it out here in the middle of the restaurant." Oh nice.

Jennifer's eyes twinkled. "That kind of nightgown, huh?" I quipped.

"Let's just say it isn't a Mother Hubbard." she replied delicately, and we laughed. A smiling waiter poured water for us, the light tinkle of the ice cubes making me suddenly aware of my thirst, and how hot I had become on the walk to the restaurant.

I glanced around at the other diners as we sipped the cold water, and looked straight at Warren Peace.

My heart gave that immediate, betraying little jump. He was sitting, with another man whose back was to me, two tables over from me and Jennifer. His dark eyes gleamed as he lifted his glass of wine to her in a silent toast.

"That son of a bitch." I gasped making Jennifer look as well. Warren smiled at her. Jennifer smiled in return, a rather weak effort, then turned back to me with a poleaxed expression on her face. "Holy cow." she said in a dazed voice.

"What is Peace doing here?" she finished a tad of annoyance in her tone.

Scoffing now, "He is paired with me in finding Layla, but I left him in the hotel room. But he just refuses to leave my side."

Too fast she responded, "Not at all surprised."

"Spill." I snapped at her.

"He once called me your name during an intimate moment." was all she explained. The flamboyance of New Orleans suited Peace. He was wearing a lightweight, Italian-cut suit, and a light red shirt that flattered the olive tones of his skin. His thick black hair was brushed back from his face and secured with a bronze clasp at the nape of his neck. The tiny diamond stud glittered in his left earlobe. With the breadth of his linebacker's shoulders and the feline grace with which he lounged at the small table, he drew the eye of every woman in the courtyard. He wasn't pretty-boy handsome; his French ancestors had bequeathed him a thin, high-bridged Gallic nose, slightly too long, and a heavy beard that left him with a five-o'clock shadow even at lunchtime. His jaw looked as solid as a rock. No, there was nothing pretty about Peace. What he was, was striking, and dangerously exciting, with his bold, dark eyes and the lazy, sensual curve of his mouth. He looked like a man who was adventurous and confident, both in bed and out.

"Is something going on?" Jennifer asked, sneaking another look over her shoulder at her ex, and a smile spread across her face.

I made a dismissive gesture. "That has nothing to do with it. He wouldn't – "

"He is." Jennifer said with satisfaction, and I couldn't control a little jump as she looked around and saw Peace almost upon them, "Ladies," he drawled, lifting Jennifer's hand from the table and bowing over it with an Old World gesture that seemed entirely natural to him.

"You're like the fucking black plague." I snarled as Jennifer smiled once again, the man at the table was her own husband, Brice, who had changed since high school. Warren smirked, "Hence code name Death, now love you never told me you knew each other."

Jennifer answered, "Wasn't your business."

Warren gave her a look, "Was talking to Astraea."

Now all eyes are on me, "Like the lady said wasn't your business, we have been best friends since 8th grade. Now go so we can talk, Brice, you get me the information?"

"You haven't listened to my… suggestions yet." Peace cut in as Brice, dropped a paper on my table, I scooped it up setting it in my purse.

"I don't intend to, either. Go back to your table and leave me alone." I was heated and embarrassed.

"I'd planned on doing the first." He stood and trailed a long forefinger down my cheek. "There's no way in hell I'll do the last." He nodded to Jennifer and strolled back to his own table with Lash in tow.

Jennifer blinked, her eyes owlish. "Shouldn't I check him for wounds? You really had the knife out for him. What on earth has that dark-eyed piece of work done to make you so mad at him?" but she knew Warren.

"He is possessive like we are dating, he follows me."

"He has always liked you only your age kept him a bay. He is only like that to those he cares for."

We both laughed, and the waiter approached then to ask their preference for lunch. We both chose the buffet and went inside to make our selections. I was acutely aware of a dark gaze following my every move and wished Jennifer hadn't been so set on eating in the courtyard. I would much rather have been shielded from his view. The Court of Two Sisters was a popular restaurant, but New Orleans was larded with popular restaurants than again he was following me.

I lifted a bite of pasta salad to my mouth. Closing her eyes in delight. "Mmmm, taste this. It's wonderful."

Frustrated, Jennifer picked up her fork and tasted the pasta salad. She paused. "This is good. You're right, worrying about him can wait until after we eat." I chuckled.

After lunch, they parted company outside the restaurant, for Jennifer's hotel was in the opposite direction from where I had left our rental. It was even hotter now than it had been before, the mugginess making the air feel thick, hard to breathe. The smell of the river was stronger, and black clouds were looming on the horizon, promising a spring thunderstorm that would temporarily relieve the heat, then turn the streets into a steam bath. I speeded up her steps, wanting to be on her way before the storm broke.

As I drew even with a recessed doorway that led into a darkened, deserted shop, a strong hand seized her arm from behind and dragged her into the doorway. Mugged! she thought, and anger flashed through her, red-hot and reckless. She had struggled too hard for what she had to give it up without protest, the way the police advised. Instead my powers flared slamming the mugger back hard, the dust from the brick fell. I turned, my fist drawn back, and belatedly opened my mouth to curse. I had a blurred impression of height and wide shoulders, then I was jerked hard against him and my voice was muffled against an expensive, black-colored Italian suit.

"God Almighty." Warren groaned in pain, amusement was there too in rich in his deep voice. "You little wildcat." his head was bleeding at the small show of power.

Shock at his comment mingled with relief at his identity, and neither diluted my anger. Breathing hard, I shoved at his chest, freeing myself. "Damn you! I thought I was being mugged!"

Just a kiss, sweet and spicy at the same time, so hot it had seared me. His tongue, curling against mine in love play. The unreserved sensuality in the way he had sucked on my tongue. The press of his body, eager and instinctive. He wanted me, as fiercely as I wanted him.

The best way to get there, I supposed, was the way we had gone when we'd been eleven. There was a road from the old house to the lake, but I could hardly take that route. From my younger days of roaming and spying, however, I knew the land as well as I knew my own face. I drove to a secluded spot close to the old shack where the grounds man lived, but when we reached the last curve before the shack would come into view, I stopped the car and sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel. I couldn't bring herself to drive around the curve. The shack had probably fallen in by now, but that wouldn't ease my memories. I didn't want to see it, the land or house my mother died in, didn't want to relive the memories of that night.

Well, delaying wouldn't accomplish anything except putting off getting Layla, and I was already starving. We got out of the car and locked the doors, and dropped the keys into Warren's pocket. Brush grew thickly along the sides of the road, now little more than a track as the vegetation gradually reclaimed the land. We had to pick our way around some briar bushes, but once into the woods, it was fairly easy to walk. I picked up a stick, in case I came across a snake, but wasn't at all afraid. I had grown up in these woods, played in them, hidden in them while playing hide and seek.

"You okay love?"

"I grew up in these woods, on this land was the house my mother died in. I never wanted to come back."

"Nova took her here, to add to your guilt?"

"I would assume so."

The familiar scents washed over me, fresh and powerful with spring, and I stopped for a moment to absorb them. My eyes closed so I could concentrate. There was the rich brown scent of the earth, the fresh verdant of leaves, the spicy golden scent of pine sap. I inhaled that last with a little shiver of recognition. Warren's scent contained a hint of that golden spice. I would love to have him naked and at her disposal, so I could explore all the shadings of his scent. She would absolutely wallow on him, drunk with delight –

My eyes popped open and Warren was staring right at me. The telltale waning of my body told me where that particular fantasy had been going. It was coming back here that had done it; in her mind, the smells of the forest were inextricably linked with Maxville: the hope of seeing him, the fizzing joy of seeing him walking the halls.

Resolutely I walked on.

The walk to the lake wasn't a long one, about twenty minutes. The forest had changed, of course; time didn't stand still with trees any more than it did with people. We had to pick our way around obstacles that hadn't been there before, and old landmarks were missing, but still I knew my way with the accuracy of a homing pigeon.

We approached the summerhouse from the angle I always had, from the back and right side. From there we could see the dock, and a corner of the boathouse. Once I had prayed to see mom there one last time, to say I was sorry.

Time had laid its hand on the summerhouse, too. It wasn't dilapidated, Layla had kept it up, but an air of disuse had fallen over it. Things that had regular human use wore a certain sheen of accomplishment, a sheen that the summerhouse no longer possessed. There was a subtle reverse of order. Before, the grass had always been neatly manicured, and though the yard wasn't overgrown with weeds now, it still showed a certain roughness that said it had been over a week since the grass had been cut. On the other hand, the summerhouse had always been littered with the flotsam of human habitation, and now it was too neat, without the activity that had kept it cluttered and alive.

Warren went up the back steps, the same steps where Layla and I had crouched to listen to Granddad talking to mom. The screen door to the porch wasn't latched, and creaked a little as I opened it. The sound made me smile, so woven was it into the days of her childhood.

"After I'll come and fix this back up." whispering as Warren smiled taking my hand once again into his stronger one.

For all the difficulties, I hadn't had a horrible childhood. Much of it had been downright enjoyable, rich with fantasy, especially the long hours spent exploring the woods. I had waded in creeks, in oceans, caught crawdads and fish with my bare hands, marveled at the delicate tracery of a leaf held up to the sun. I had never had a bicycle, but she'd had fresh air and blue skies, the anticipation of turning over a rotting log to see how many insects and worms it hid, a shell with stunning markings. She had eaten wild berries straight off the bush, crabs Layla and I caught ourselves, found the occasional arrowhead, and painstakingly constructed my own bow and arrow from a green limb, old fishing line, and sharpened sticks. The joys of all those things had created a reserve of strength for me to draw on when times were bad.

The boards of the porch creaked beneath his feet as she crossed to the back door. In the old days, there had been several rocking chairs scattered about the porch, for the enjoyment of fine summer nights. All swimming and fishing paraphernalia was supposed to have been kept in the boathouse, but somehow bits of it had always been lying about on the porch: an inner tube that needed patching, a fishing rod, an assortment of lures, hooks, and floats. Now, however, the porch was empty, no longer a place for rowdy kids.

A tall man stood the bank on the other side of the boathouse, watching us with narrowed dark eyes.

For an instant they stared at each other across the small expanse of water.

Warren moved to cover me, "It was a trap."

"It was, I am so sorry Warren." but we either would fail or win that was our only choice now.

From behind me a failed voice echoed, "How does it feel to be home?"