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move,” I said, the mechanics of their relationship suddenly clear. Lilla was the puppet master, and little Markie was her puppet. Whether she controlled him through simple feminine wiles or Arcadian mind control, I didn’t know. Didn’t care. “We wouldn’t want St. John to hear about your dealings with another man, would we?”
    Keeping her gaze locked on mine, Lilla rose, her movements slow and elaborate, somehow making the simple act of rising a seductive dance. Her eyelids lowered in an enticing, come-hither blink.

    “Please,” she said on a breathy murmur. “Follow me. We will chat somewhere private, just as you wished.”
    The music kicked up, filling the club with a syncopated beat and claiming the attention of the patrons. Lilla turned, flicking her luxuriant white hair over one shoulder, and strolled toward guarded double doors. Dallas followed right behind her, as if it were perfectly natural to follow a murder suspect wherever she might lead.
    Were they pumping drugs through the ventilation system? I thought sarcastically. Dallas wasn’t usually this foolish. Lilla was beautiful, yes, but the only thing worthy of such blind adoration was a giant vat of fresh, steaming synthetic coffee.
    Ever watchful and guarded, I remained five steps behind. When I found myself searching for the Arcadian male who’d caught my eye earlier—for reasons that had nothing to do with safety—my lips curled back involuntarily in a scowl. I was as bad as Dallas. I forced my gaze to focus straight ahead.
    We were led into an empty hallway and up a flight of creaking stairs. The long, narrow corridor we entered next had dancing nymphs painted on the walls and soft, wine-colored carpet. Finally, we entered a small office. There were no windows adorning the plain white walls. A desk crowned the center, and four chairs formed a half-moon at the front. The air was clean, devoid of smoke. In fact, the air smelled faintly of dried rose petals and lavender sachet, a scent any grandmother would have applauded.
    Lilla settled on the edge of the honey oak desk. No papers were on top, I noticed.
    “Would you like the door open or closed?” she asked. The seductress was gone, and in her place was a polite but formal hostess.
    “Closed,” I answered.
    “Excellent choice.” She pushed a small button on a remote control, and the door snapped shut, cutting off all traces of music. “We are more intimate this way.”
    I refused to have my back to the door, so I claimed the high-backed swivel chair behind the desk.
    Dallas stayed beside the entrance, just in case someone tried to enter—or Lilla tried to leave.
    “Well,” Lilla said with a little laugh. She hopped off the desk and eased into one of the seats facing me. She folded one leg over the other, the action slow and sensual. “You certainly have my full attention now.”
    I placed a voice recorder on the desk’s surface and pushed record. Then I waited, allowing silence to stretch around us like long fingers of ice. I wanted Lilla to wonder, even stress, about what I had to say. An old trick I’d learned my first year of duty.
    “I am patient,” she said with a knowing smile. “I can wait as long as you can.”
    Fine. “Did you murder William Steele?” I asked, my voice steady and clear.
    Her eyes widened, and I knew she hadn’t expected me to be so direct. “Wh—what?”
    “William Steele was found in an abandoned field, stripped and dead. We’re here to give you a chance to clear your name,” I lied. I truly doubted she could clear her name; she was involved somehow, some way, I just didn’t know the specifics. But I would. “So I’m going to ask one more time. Did you murder William Steele?”
    “No. No, no,” she said with a shake of her head. “I did not kill William.”
    “You’re going to have to prove that by giving me a detailed list of your whereabouts today.”
    “I would never hurt him,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Ever.”
    I