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believe me?”
    “Oh please. Do I look that naïve? Although it is a very original idea for a career. And fairly entertaining. So tell me. What did he do?”
    “Who?”
    “The fellow we’re assassinating. I assume it’s a fellow. We aren’t going after a woman are we?”
    “
We
aren’t doing anything, Doctor Findlay.”
    “Oh no. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight, you’re sadly mistaken.”
    Sasha felt warmth pumping through her entire body, carrying emotion she’d thought long-lost and buried. She could feel heat even in her toes. It was more than frightening. It was damn near terrifying.
    “I mean honestly. Let’s recap, shall we? I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what decade this is. I don’t know who you are – or what you might be; why I’m here with you; where my clothes are. And finally – and this is very important: I am definitely dreaming. Anything else is an improbability of universal proportions. Hmm. I should’ve put that conjunction of words in my dissertation. I might have gotten a better grade.”
    He’d ticked each point off on newly elegant fingers. She was so grateful she hadn’t looked higher than that, allowing him to glimpse what might be on her face and in her eyes that she had to blink away an instant rush of actual tears. Stupid Sasha. Stupid man. Why hadn’t she just killed him when she’d found him?
    Because he’s your mate
. And nobody chooses that. He probably thought her scowl was over his list of items. She hoped so.
    “So. Who are we killing?”
    “Richard Cunningham.”
    “From the sitcom? I’m really loving this dream.”
    He grinned at her and Sasha could kick herself for looking. A black-and-white documentary of World War Two was playing on her 60-inch screen. There wasn’t much sound, though. She moved her gaze to it as if fascinated.
    “So, tell me. What did poor Cunningham do to get himself on a hit list anyway?”
    “He owes the wrong people. And then, he tried to romance the funds from the wrong family’s daughter.”
    “Sounds like a complete fool. He has my sympathy. Can’t we just rough him up a bit? Maybe beat some funds out of him?”
    “
We
are not doing anything.”
    “So you say. But continue. Please. I’m totally entertained, and since all you’ve got playing is the History Channel, it appears I have to find my own entertainment. Speaking of…why are we watching the History Channel?”
    “I’m looking for errors.”
    “Errors? They thoroughly research every point. At least I think they do. For the sake of argument, let’s just say they do. Everything on the History Channel is thoroughly researched before they air it. That’s a good way to stay out of litigious law issues, you know.”
    “They still get some things wrong.”
    “And you would know this…how?”
    Sasha set her teeth. “Because I lived some of it.”
    “Oh. Right. I forgot. The vampire thing. You’re immortal, too, then? Lived through some of history’s most poignant moments? How much history are we talking, anyway?”
    “I don’t want to talk about me.” If he studied body language, he’d know she didn’t want to re-live one moment of the beating and raping and killing of her family. Or the ancient Slav vampire who’d saved her, by cursing her to this. It was in every line of her taut frame.
    “Of course not. It’s always what you want. Never what Doctor Findlay wants or needs. I don’t know why I ask. It must be hidden masochistic tendencies that started manifesting the moment I entered this dream-state. That’s it.”
    He’d ticked off points on his fingers again, but only used three this time. Sasha moved her gaze up the immaculate shirtfront, perfectly shaped features, looked into what were warm light blue eyes, and felt her entire body react with the most horrid jerk. There wasn’t any way to hide it. She was caught. Netted. Getting reeled in. There was nothing she could do about any of it. Certainty filled her. It was complete