Chapter 11

Author's Notes: My readers deserve an apology because of the delay. Life has kept me busy, but I'm slowly but surely getting back to writing. As always, my thanks go out to the Wrecking Kru for their support and love. And I'll freely admit I was listening to the rapping dog from the animated Titanic movie to set the mood for this scene. On with the show.

Jessica Delacourt had always hated parties.

She'd attended thousands of them over the years, declined invitations to thousands more, been conditioned, more or less, to engage in the juggling act of networking, espionage, chicanery, and false sincerity that came with every high-society event. But truly enjoy a party? It was one of the few tasks at which her younger sister Helene outshone her.

As she shook hands with yet another mid-level CCB functionary whose name she'd forget five minutes later, Jessica decided that wasn't so bad.

"Enjoy the evening, Monsieur Borz," she said, flashing as wide a smile as she dared. The dark-haired man beamed back, then moved off into the teeming crowd. Who knew if she'd ever see him again? She didn't suppose it mattered.

Her hands were beginning to ache, as were her ankles. Every step she took in the silver stilettos reminded her that she was not getting any younger despite her daily med-bay regimen. Every handshake made her wish she was secluded in her office, doing actual work, instead of fluttering around like some stupid magpie, making useless small talk.

Helene, my dear sister, this arena was created for you, not me. Somewhere, perhaps fifty feet away, the younger Miss Delacourt was entertaining a bevy of very admiring, very well-dressed, very rich men.

Jessica, however, was all business. The theme of this year's celebration…which an entire committee always spent weeks preparing in advance... was a masquerade in the time of Louis XIV. In a room full of elaborate hoop skirts, towering wigs, and diamonds, her own disguise was limited to an emerald eye mask. As always, she refused to leave her work entirely behind. Her comm was discreetly tucked behind one ear, and Agent Smith and his security team were only a whisper away in the event of any trouble. They might be needed, if any of the intelligence briefings were correct. Any assassin or sniper would have his pick of targets at the Fete: most of Elysium and Earth's highest-ranking officials and civilians, conveniently gathered under one roof for the night. Jessica had been so worried, she'd gathered every available field agent plus a few dozen retirees, stuffed them into designer suits, and made them attend, just to give herself peace of mind.

All except one. And hopefully, he's somewhere far away. Jessica dared not even speak Kruger's name silently in her mind, as if the mere thought could summon him.

It hadn't stopped her from imagining him tonight; out of the corner of her eye, Jessica could have sworn she'd that distinctive hawkish profile at least half a dozen times already. Just her imagination. She was being paranoid. Even five years after the Incident, she still had Kruger on the brain. Like he was standing over her, taunting, that raspy voice whispering obscene sweet nothings into her ear…

Jessica shuddered violently, and it had nothing to do with the gauzy, sleeveless Dior silver gown she wore. She took a warming sip of hot cider from a passing waiter droid. Kruger wasn't here. Couldn't be here. She'd given orders for him to be incapacitated if he came within five kilometers of the grand ballroom that night.

Among the richly bedecked crowd of partygoers, there were few, if any, who knew Agent 32 Alpha at all, much less as intimately as Jessica Delacourt did. They could live their fat, rich, happy lives without ever worrying about a nighttime visit from the face of evil itself. Worse, worrying that their children might receive such a visit.

She hadn't told anyone, not even Agent Smith, but Jessica had gotten wise to Kruger's nasty addiction a long time ago. Not long after the Incident, in fact, when Lorelei's night terrors began and the mysterious gaps in the security footage first appeared. There was no way to definitively prove it, nothing stronger than her own intuition, but Jessica knew that the two of them, the girl and the fierce, ageless mercenary, would always be connected.

Blood really is thicker than water, it would seem.

"You look glum. At least I'm not the only one," came a familiar voice, speaking French in a confidential, low tone and breaking Delacourt's silent meditation.

Perrine had silently edged in beside her, and there was no telling how long she'd stood there, waiting for the right time. She had a way of doing that, and Jessica always had to remind herself that the good doctor, like Kruger, was a Gen 1 agent with nearly two centuries of stealth training.

"It's not glum. It's…" Jessica tried to think of the right word.

"Pensive? Annoyed? Sulky?" Perrine smiled wryly. "It's so hard to tell with you." She wore a charcoal grey, floor-length satin gown more suited to a funeral than a celebration, and her hair and makeup were typically austere. No disguise for her, not even a mask. She, like Jessica, was also on duty this evening.

Jessica couldn't argue. "I have so much on my mind," she admitted, dropping her voice by another half-octave. This was not the time or place to be overheard. Casually, the two women made their way to an empty spot next to one of the ice sculptures. "Is Lorelei enjoying herself? She dreads these events almost as much as I do."

Perrine frowned, then shrugged. "I've barely seen your niece today, apart from our regular session this morning. Agent Smith and his lieutenant are with her at the moment, so we know she's in good hands."

"I'm sure," Jessica said, off-handedly. Lorelei was comparatively low on her list of priorities, somewhere just behind her mental notes for the torus' upgraded plasma shield system at the moment. The two of them had barely spoken since their fight a few days ago. That was worrisome enough. "Does she…Lorelei…seem like she's out of sorts to you, or has she mentioned anything in your sessions?" She tried to sound as casual as she could.

"How so?"

There was no way of asking the question without disclosing the true motivation behind it, so Jessica kept playing it cool. "As if something is bothering her? Maybe at school, or a falling out with one of her friends?" Those were the things that got to me when I was her age, right? It was all so long ago that I hardly remember.

The dark-haired woman, much like her cohort Garrett Smith, never betrayed the slightest hint of emotion. The brief glint in her eyes might have been amusement, irritation, or simply a reflection from one of the thousands of hovering, ever-changing, multicolored LED lamps in the ballroom. She sighed. "Your niece is still a child, mon amie. She is going through what all girls do at her age. Anxiety about fitting in. Petty gossip and back-biting among friends. Perhaps even a crush on a boy that she won't let on about, who knows..."

Jessica shuddered again. That was a twist she'd never stopped to consider. Could Lorelei actually have developed feelings, even subconscious ones, for her nocturnal visitor? At the tender age of ten, no less? The thought was almost too horrifying to imagine. But then, Lorelei had followed Kruger into the belly of the beast once before, despite the dangers, the sentries, and the explicit warnings. A girl named for a legendary siren, drawn as if by a siren song herself. The irony was enough to make the Defense Secretary chuckle drily despite her initial revulsion.

"I certainly hope not. When the time is right, all of it will be carefully arranged. You know that as well as I," said Jessica, remembering how much she'd hated that part of her life. No doubt Lorelei would be just as reluctant, but they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

Perrine, who had never married and, as far as Jessica knew, never even had a serious partner of either gender, only gave that sphinx-like smile of hers. "No doubt it is important. Any candidates you have in mind?"The subject had never been addressed in their secret meetings, probably only because Lorelei was still so young.

That was fairly far down the list of priorities as well, and realistically at least five or six years away, but Jessica had given it a good bit of thought. Lorelei's superior genetics would prove dominant in any children she may eventually have, but that didn't mean she still didn't need the right suitor. Any potential mate would have to be from a suitable family, an elite even among Elysians, and he would have to help form a strong political alliance. It would also help if she actually liked him, since she might be with him for a century or more."Well, three, in fact. There's the President's great-nephew, Sanjay, though I always thought he was a bit of a milquetoast. Lorelei 's so strong-willed; she would walk all over him. But, she's good friends with his sister Anila already…isn't that strange how two siblings can be so different." She glanced over to where Helene held court, and frowned.

"Indeed. Go on."

"John Carlyle's youngest grandson, you know, that black-haired boy, Kieran. That would create even closer ties to Armadyne. He's clever enough, a tech genius, and of the right class, but I just don't trust him." Jessica's lips tightened with her candor. "Maybe I'm only imagining it. But Lorelei always makes excuses to be out of the house when any of the Carlyles are over."

Perrine, ever inscrutable, did not offer her own opinion of the Carlyle family, instead simply prompting "And the third?"

"You might say he's a dark horse, but you remember the Brazilian conglomerate CEO? Dos Santos?"

"How could I forget him? That gaudy barge of his, too? At least he finally went back to Mars, where he and his kind belong." Perrine gave a haughty sniff. The delegations from the Martian and asteroid mining colonies, spendthrifts all, loved to make an entrance and show off their wealth even more so than Elysians. A group of them, led by the president and CEO of their largest energy syndicate, had visited over the summer. "What was that boy's name, anyway? The handsome one?"

Jessica knew immediately whom she referred to. "Rafael. Every bit as smooth and charming a scion as you'd expect from their family. Richer than Croesus, too." A few years older than Lorelei, perfectly bronzed to match Lorelei's platinum hues. To be sure, it would be an unorthodox choice, but Delacourt knew that if she could convince the Defense Council to approve the budget for a multi-billion credit shielding system, that would be easy by comparison. Rafael, at the moment, was her preferred candidate. If she married the young Brazilian one day, Lorelei would be a month's travel away, for sure…but she'd also be far, far away from Kruger. Jessica smirked as she took another sip of cider.

"Do keep me informed. We'll discuss this, I'm sure, in more detail as time progresses." Perrine's customary air of slight ennui had not left. "For now, I'll endeavor to enjoy myself. This is a party, after all. Won't you excuse me, Jessica?"

"Of course." She was secretly relieved. Keeping up a conversation with the doctor was often a one-sided affair, and she herself was no raconteur. "Until Tuesday, then."

Perrine melted into the crowd without another word, a grey dove in a sea of brightly colored plumage. That was the thing about CCB agents, especially the Gen 1's. One never noticed them until it was too late.

Jessica wouldn't miss her for the rest of the evening. She knew the psychiatrist was consistently irritated by Lorelei's stubborn and willful behavior, and she'd had to beg Perrine several times to keep on board the Project. She hoped she wouldn't need to do it again…but with Lorelei galloping toward puberty, it wasn't likely. She sighed.

The Fete was really only getting started, and luckily, so far, the only crisis had been some fool knocking over one of the ice sculptures. Perhaps it would be another few hours of smooth sailing. Maybe, thought Jessica, all the chatter and rumors had been just that…rumors.

She didn't hold out hope for that, either. Besides, Kruger was sure to make an appearance. He wouldn't pass up the opportunity to anger the authorities, openly disobey her orders, and go for the golden prize, all in the course of one night. He hadn't shown himself yet. But Jessica, like Kruger himself, was patient.

She waited.

~~s~~

"Fuck, man. You think it's a big deal?"

"Relax, boss. They got about three dozen more of these things. Nobody will miss it."

Drake had tried stepping in front of what had been an ice carving of a swan, directing guests elsewhere, and shoving chunks of it under a table, but it was no use. The thing was well and truly shattered into a million pieces. Several droids clustered around, removing it bit by bit to the kitchens. A few guests were pointing from across the room and whispering.

It had happened, of course, because he was bored. He, Crowe, and Tselios had been mostly standing in place all night. Nothing was happening. Since they were on duty, and the extensive open bars were off limits, Crowe had started reminiscing in a low voice about one of their old missions, back when they were still part of Kruger's squadron. In rough whispers, the two of them had begun discussing, then arguing about, body counts on a particularly nasty op in Libya. One thing had led to another. Even completely sober, they'd had it out, in their old friendly rivalry way, and Crowe had shoved him right into the fucking swan. After Tselios had finished laughing like a rabid hyena, Drake had swallowed his pride and embarrassment. He'd gotten chewed out pretty badly over his comm by the captain of their sector for that little maneuver. So much for being professional.

In a way, he wished Kruger were here. His old boss would liven up the place. In a room full of stuffed shirts, tight asses, and enormous egos, Kruger was a breath of fresh air. Stale beer and tobacco-scented air, but fresh air nonetheless. Drake found himself grinning at the thought of 32 Alpha crashing a party like this.

He gulped down more mineral water, wishing it were beer.

"Hey, boss. I got nothing to report over here. All clear," Tselios's voice came through his ear comm.

"Right. Just keep at it, and for fuck's sake, stay away from that blonde in the red dress," Drake admonished, knowing the younger man's weaknesses all too well.

Aside from the humiliation of being a glorified rent-a-cop for the night, he hated the dress code. He simply wasn't a suit and tie kind of guy. Not just that, but the CCB brass, in the interest of their employees blending in, asked that any agent with an "unusual" style change it for the evening. In the place of his usual Mohawk, Drake wore what Crowe had described as out of control, lumpy brown fungus, tamed only slightly with styling products. Apparently baldness wasn't considered unusual, so the pilot remained as he always did. He was still snickering about the whole affair.

"When your wife fucks you at night, does she disinfect herself afterward, boet?" Crowe had joked upon first seeing the new-and-improved full head of hair.

Drake didn't find it funny anymore. It was one thing if Kruger made him the butt of jokes, but Crowe? The original arse-head himself? It just didn't seem right.

The one face he desperately sought in the crowd hadn't made an appearance yet, only increasing his agitation. He felt like a boy waiting on Christmas Eve; he hadn't been this nervous for a long time. There was no way to safely send a message through to her private channel, as all communications in and out of here would be monitored, but Drake was still doing a double-take any time he saw someone who even slightly resembled Lorelei Delacourt. Most every girl her age he saw was in some sort of frilly dress. That wasn't the little meisie's style. No, she'd go for something unusual….but what? Drake didn't know enough about what ten-year-old girls did or didn't do. He was going only by what he knew of her. And the last time he'd seen her felt like a century earlier.

Come on, girl. I've been waiting five years for this. Don't fucking let me down.

"Hey, boss. Jones and du Toit are up here right now. You wouldn't believe what they're doing," Tselios' deep voice came through the comm again.

"Shut up. Keep your eyes open," Drake warned, even though he was curious. The flamboyant but deadly husband and wife duo, also from the old country, were always popular topics of conversation in the agents' clubs. They wouldn't be stuffed into designer finery, keeping quiet and obeying the rules. They did what they wanted, wore what they chose, tossed around expletives like dice: in short; they just didn't care about established authority. Even Kruger admired them for that.

There was also Kruger himself to consider. Drake knew there was something going on between his old boss and the Delacourt girl. Kruger would turn up sooner or later; this opportunity was too golden for him to miss. But where? And how? He might don a disguise or he might, like Jones and du Toit, simply attend as himself.

Golden. Yet another blonde head passed by. There were enough of them up here on the torus to start their own offshoot colony. This one was too old.

"Come on, little meisie," Drake said under his breath. "Where are you?"

~~s~~

"Burn, baby, burn!" crowed Anila Patel.

"Where'd you hear that?" Lorelei asked her friend. She was right behind her in line.

"I don't know. One of those silly old Earth songs, I guess," the pretty raven-haired girl answered in her gentle lilt.

The three of them had met up in the little room, with its chute leading directly to the incinerator. It had become a tradition of sorts at these galas. They were peeling off their uncomfortable garb and throwing it inside to be burned. All except Esme, who stood frowning in the corner, arms crossed across her chest.

"We're going to get in so much trouble for this," she sniffed. Out of the three girls, she was the only one who had stayed in the outfit she'd arrived in, a confection almost as absurd as Lorelei's dress.

Anila, who now wore a shimmering turquoise and gold sari more suited for an older girl, shrugged. "They won't notice, let alone wonder about us. You know why I love these nights? Mother and Father couldn't care less what I'm doing. I don't feel like a goldfish in a bowl for once. Besides, if they were so inclined, they could always find us by our citizen markers. But they won't. They're too busy talking to other grown-ups."

"You said it!" agreed Lorelei, who was tugging on her child-sized camos and boots from the duffel bag she'd smuggled in. The frosted pink atrocity her mother had picked was surely a pile of ash by now. It had been so easy. She'd begged her handler for the night, Agent Hightower, to use the bathroom, and he'd agreed. That was fifteen minutes ago. Nobody, not even Mr. Smith, had come looking for her. It was exhilarating.

Esme, though, wasn't convinced. "I don't know how I let you two drag me into this," she sighed, even though she was always playing the role of sidekick to the more adventurous pair of Lorelei and Anila. "What's that on your face, anyway?"

"Oh, this?" Lorelei casually stroked the bottom part of her face, now painted with her mother's stolen mascara. "Don't I look great? Just like a real agent!"

"Do real agents have mascara on their chins?" Anila asked drily.

"No, silly! A beard!" said Lorelei, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a ten-year-old girl to sprout one. "You know, all those high-level agents have one. The ones that are top-secret."

"Your Agent Smith doesn't have one," Anila pointed out, "and besides, if they're so secret, how does anyone know what they look like?"

Lorelei had to stop and think about it. She stroked her chin, which left black smudge marks on her fingers. "I saw some of their dossiers when I snuck into Aunt Jessica's meetings. They're all really tough, and a lot of them have beards." That seemed like a reasonable explanation. She didn't want to tell her friends about all the times she'd hacked into Elysium's central servers; there were secrets she kept even from them. "Mr. Smith is his own man. Besides, he has dreadlocks, which is kind of cool. How many agents have those, do you think?" she wondered aloud as she finished buttoning up her camo tunic.

"None that I know of. Can we get out of here? Someone's going to walk in on us," Esme said. She was shaking all over. Her parents, both researchers, were low on the Elysian totem pole, though they were much more strict than most.

Lorelei, false beard and all, clapped a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I think it's somewhere down the incinerator." Esme made a noise that was somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. "I blame you if we get caught."

"What's that on your shoulder? Is that some super-secret agent code too?" Anila asked, pointing to the embroidered patch with its silhouette of a four-legged, horned animal.

Lorelei froze. Part of her wanted to tell her friends her deepest, darkest secret of all: the strange connection between her and the hooded man. How she had come to dread his nighttime visits but also, in some twisted way, craved them just as much. How she'd been breaking into that huge, silent house with its planes and angles of glass for years now, and the way it reminded her of him. How she'd arranged a secret meeting tonight between her and Agent Drake…which she still fully intended to keep. Her thoughts ran in a hundred directions, and finally, after a moment, came back to the question at hand. The oryx. Lorelei made up a lie on the spot, the way she'd come to do, and hoped it sounded casual.

"Oh, that. It's just like Orson. You know, the stuffed toy I have?"

Anila snorted in jest. "Not only do you dress like a boy, you still play with dolls at your age. I'm embarrassed to call you my friend," she said with mock solemnity, then flashed a grin.

"Come on, then. This is a party, right? Let's have some fun!" Lorelei, among her feelings of excitement and joy, couldn't help but feel that tiniest bit of something else. Like she was being watched…as if somehow, even in this place, the dark man was there, waiting for her.

Then, as quickly as it had come, she dismissed it. She walked confidently through the door.

I'm ready for anything…even him.

~~s~~

Garrett Smith stood in a shadowed, forgotten corner of the ballroom: silent, unmoving, a panther observing some poor, unsuspecting prey. One of the first things he had learned as an agent was economy of motion. Never make any movement that isn't absolutely necessary, his training sergeant had repeated over and over. Then, you may truly become invisible. You won't even need a cloak or one of those lab-made creations. People only see what they want to see.

How right that man, now long dead, had been, Garrett thought. I am invisible.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of partygoers had passed him by that evening, barely acknowledging his presence as he made his rounds. That was the way he liked it, whether working or at leisure. He was long-accustomed to being a curiosity on the largely lily-white torus, like a freakish attraction in an Earthbound carnival tent. He heard the whispers, noticed the raised eyebrows, smelled the fear and apprehension seeping through their pores. Though he was one of the few remaining first-generation agents, highly decorated and a member of Secretary Delacourt's innermost circle, to them, he would only ever be a useful servant.

Which was just one more complication in the relationship he'd developed with Lorelei.

Garrett involuntarily flinched, like a horse feeling a gnat on its flanks. He knew more about the girl than she probably knew about herself. In the five years he'd known her, he'd seen dossiers and files and images that would give less hardened men nightmares. He'd been to the lowest levels of the torus' bowels and witnessed firsthand all that had been necessary just for her to exist. On his "special assignments," he'd been forced to eliminate possible threats on Earth, people who'd heard rumors of the Project and couldn't be allowed to live and share those secrets. He knew about all the blood on Delacourt's, not to mention his own, hands.

And yet, he'd come to care for the girl anyway.

He felt an ironic smile twisting his mouth upward. Lorelei had that effect on him. Though Garrett had never had daughters, he imagined they might have been like her if he had. He always looked forward to their training sessions, and found himself wryly amused by her antics. She was everything her Aunt Jessica, and her mother, were not: wildly creative, empathetic, mischievous. Uncontrollable. In most ways, she hardly seemed a Delacourt at all, and Garrett had known most of them personally.

I wonder where she got that trait?

Five years he'd spent teaching Lorelei, training her, helping her to calm those inner storms. Even against her aunt's wishes, he'd walked with her through those murky dreamscapes as well as the sims. He'd seen that dark, hooded figure…and knew him for who he really was. Lorelei had once been so terrified of him that she'd been unable to think properly. It was his job to help her overcome it, and Garrett liked to think he'd succeeded. In some ways, he had, beyond anyone's expectations. Lorelei had learned to still her mind, think before she acted; she'd even become a sure shot in the sims. But he knew better. Until she knew the truth-the entire truth, not just her aunt's sanitized version-the girl would always be troubled, searching for those missing pieces of her life. The dark man in the cowl would still be there, waiting for her in the real world as well as the surreal. It was why he'd begged Jessica not to wipe her niece's memories following the Indicent. Garrett, of all people, knew what terrible damage lies, or even half-truths, could inflict.

And there was another elephant in this particular room. Like it or not, Lorelei was permanently bound to Agent Kruger, even if she only subconsciously realized it. No memory wipe or course in deep meditation would ever change that. They were bound not just by their very DNA, but by a deeper, stranger connection no one, not even Jessica, could have anticipated.

It should have been me. I should have given her that last piece of the puzzle. I told Jessica from the start that she was making a grave mistake…and she still went ahead with it.

"Agent Smith?" Hightower's voice over the comm was nervous, agitated. "Sir, we have a problem."

They were words Garrett never liked to hear. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly. "Go ahead, 782 Ypsilon. I'm listening."

"It's Syren. I've lost contact."

Out of all the possible things Hightower could have said, this was by far the worst. Garrett felt his pulse increase. "Last visual contact?"

He could almost hear the younger man's apprehension. "Ten minutes ago, when she went to the washroom. Never came out. Completely gave me the slip." A pause. "I'll keep looking, but I don't want to alert Briseis until we're sure," he added, using Secretary Delacourt's code name.

Garrett was one of the few people who knew that Lorelei's citizen marker was a false one; it wouldn't come up on any known tracking device. Her decoy's would, however. The girl who looked so much like Lorelei…her friend, Esme, who, unbeknownst to her, had been created for that specific role. "And her marker is negative, no doubt. Where's Naiad? They're probably close together." He was already in motion, ready to go in whatever direction he was needed.

"Sir, they're not. Naiad and Calypso…" Anila Patel, Garrett knew, "are together in sector 17-C, next to the dessert bar. Syren isn't. No telling where she's gone."

The big man hurried along, ignoring everything except the task at hand. Lorelei Delacourt had been off-grid once before; hundreds of agents had been enlisted to make sure that never happened again. And he didn't intend to let it. "Don't panic, Hightower. Think about all the places she might be. She can't be far away," he assured his subordinate.

Outwardly, he was the picture of calm, just like always. In his mind, Garrett just knew that somehow, however illogical it might be, that C.M. Kruger had something to do with all of this.

~~s~~

"Hey, Stocks! Long time, no see, bru."

"Thought they'd lost you in Indonesia, eh?"

"Jones and du Toit are gonna shit themselves when they see you've turned up."

Kruger had no idea what sort of man Agent Stocks was, other than what he'd read in the dossier, but apparently he was popular; at least a dozen of the South African agents' contingent had recognized him already. He'd only nodded and continued on his way; from the recordings Kruger had heard, his own reedy timbre was nothing like the other man's. The few times he'd paused to admire his reflection, he marveled at the subtle change in his physical appearance, even if he was the same old Kruger just beneath the neatly combed hair and smooth skin. Face-changing apps had been perfected even if the voice-changers had not. Besides, he thought wryly, I'd never be able to pull off a Durban fancy-boy accent. The boys from the old country would know, even if none of these other Elysian fuckers might.

These parties were just as lavish as the ones in agents' private clubs. Any delight a man could want, from droplets of floating delicacies to elaborate, holographically projected scenes of the most exotic places left on Earth. Even some call girls of a much higher caliber than even he was used to. So far, Kruger had managed to ignore all of them. He'd come here for a singular purpose, and as yet, no sign of her. Sure, there were plenty of blonde girls; he was convinced they cloned them up here. Still, no golden prize.

He sniffed the air again, searching desperately for that particular scent signature. Years ago, as part of his bio-upgrades, the Elysian techs had honed his sense of smell to a sharpness just below a bloodhound's. If she were anywhere around, Kruger knew, he'd be able to tell. And she had to be. The little meisie thought she was meeting Drake.

What a surprise she'd get.

The thrill of getting a fix right here, in front of everyone, was even more exhilarating than his nighttime excursions. And, Kruger thought, if I don't get one pretty fucking soon, I'm gonna start withdrawals. It had been nearly two weeks. No drug, not even the purest cocaine, had ever given him that same high as the otherworldly connection he had with the girl. And to think he'd discovered it completely by accident. She may have been an annoying chatterbox when she was awake. When she was asleep, she gave him a high that practically sang through his veins. What would the difference be when she was conscious, fully aware of his presence?

Kruger's nostrils flared. There was a trace of her, however faint. She'd passed through this way; the trail was perhaps ten minutes old. He wheeled about and followed, every step bringing her essence a little nearer. He could taste her already.

"Come and get some sweeties, girl. I promise you're gonna love them," he purred, not even trying to disguise his rough accent. "It won't hurt. Much."

To Be Continued