Demons of Good and Evil by Kim Harrison

            “Perfect,” I said as she reached into the pocket of her sweatpants, and I let go of David’s hand to take the tuft of silver fur. “This is great,” I said, the rough hair bumpy in my grip. “Find Walter, find his magic user, find the countercurse.”

            “Hot damn on a stick!” Jenks flew up and down, and then his expression hardened as his gaze went to the door. I turned, shocked to see Doyle standing in the doorway, his muscle-bound, thick-chested presence a threatening silhouette.

            “Rachel Morgan,” the I.S. detective said, his low voice seeming to drift in behind me as if to push me closer to him. “You aren’t proposing to make an illegal finding charm, are you?”

            “Hey, Doyle.” My fist closed on the fur, hiding it. My voice was casual, but it was hard when his scrumptiously deep, sex-incarnate voice was swirling around in my brain. Doyle was a high-blood living vampire and looked it from his elegantly scarred skin to his perfect physique. It meant he had lots of potential, tons of drive, and a dangerous amount of sexual attraction. Unfortunately he was also a dime a dozen in Cincinnati, and without an undead sponsoring him, he was continually overlooked and passed over. And of course, he blamed me.

            Trent cleared his throat as the I.S. detective pushed in, his dark eyes touching on everyone before settling on Glenn—with attitude. “Why is the FIB here?” Doyle said.

            Jenks bristled. “Because unlike you, David has friends,” he said, his wing pitch rising.

            Doyle’s insincere smile widened to show his short but very sharp canines. “I have friends,” Doyle said, voice rumbling. “And you have no business here. This is an Inderland matter. No humans needed.”

            I took a breath, my words catching when Trent touched my elbow and nodded at Glenn. The FIB detective wasn’t backing down. His time dating Ivy was standing him in good stead, and his relaxed tension screamed confidence.

            “I’m the FIB’s Inderland specialist,” Glenn said. “All I need is someone to ask me.”

            “Ah, I ask,” I said quickly. “I’m asking.”

            Doyle shrugged, his good-natured smile covering a hard anger. “Taking over for your daddy, mmmm? Up a little past your bedtime, aren’t you?”

            Glenn smiled to show his flat, even, human teeth. “I get more done after dark.”

            “Me too,” Doyle said insincerely. “Morgan, I believe this is yours.”

            I fumbled to catch my phone as he tossed it at me, relief warring with suspicion. “Thanks,” I said as I unlocked it to see that everything was as I’d left it.

            “Ms. Castle?” Doyle gestured to the door. “You are the head alpha of the Black Dandelions at the moment, are you not? A word?”

            Cassie touched David, bending to whisper something in his ear. It hit me hard, and my protective streak flared. “She’s busy,” I said. “Talk to me. I was there.”

            Doyle’s smile widened. “If I want your deposition, I’ll get a warrant and drag you in.”

            “It’s okay, Rachel,” Cassie said, and I exhaled, ticked. “I’ll be right back,” she added as she moved around the bed, touching the peak of David’s feet in passing.

            That last had been whispered to David, and I felt that Gordian knot about my chest tighten as her hand slipped away and she turned to Doyle, her expression a mix of hope and fear.

            “Stay out of this, Morgan,” Doyle warned me, his threatening bulk huge next to Cassie’s diminutive height. “Those were not Cincy Weres. Which means they were probably new packs drawn in by the focus and were simply figuring out where they stood.”

            “You seriously think that was an alpha challenge?” I said. “That was an attempted abduction. If I hadn’t been there to stop them, David might be dead right now.”

            “Rache . . .” Jenks muttered, and I flushed, following his gaze to Cassie. Her eyes were wide, and she was blinking fast, trying not to cry.

            “Oh, God, Cassie, I’m so sorry,” I said as I reached for her, but it was too late.

            Doyle’s hand was surprisingly gentle as it landed on Cassie’s shoulder. “We know about Vincent,” he said as he drew her off. “He’s been in Cincy for a week.”