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for you, you know.”
    â€œI’ve heard that.” He smiled his unreadable smile again. “Worried that I might get fat?”
    She felt herself redden. It was impossible to imagine Cooper Boone putting on weight. He was as hard and lean and tough as a ghost-leopard.
    â€œI was thinking of your arteries, not your waistline,” she muttered, wishing she had kept her mouth shut.
    â€œSeeing as how you decided not to marry me, you don’t have any long-term interest in my cardiovascular system.” He paused, a fry halfway to his mouth, and gave her a polite, questioning look. “Or maybe you’re hoping that the grease will do me in?”
    She gripped the edge of the table with both hands. “Never mind. I’m here on business. Mind if we get to it?”
    â€œNo. Got to tell you, I’ve been damn curious ever since I got your call. Should I be touched that you kept my personal phone number all these months?”
    â€œIt was still in my address book,” she mumbled, deliberately offhand.
    Actually, it was still locked into her memory, along with so many other small details about Cooper, such as his bird-of-prey profile and the way he wore his dark hair brushed straight back from his high forehead.
    â€œOkay, so much for the warm reunion,” he said, biting off the end of the fry with strong, white teeth. “On to business. Why did you track me down here tonight?”
    She took a steadying breath. “I need a hunter.”
    A dangerous light came and went in his eyes. “Is picking up hunters for an evening of fun and games a new hobby for you?”
    She could feel the heat rising in her face and prayed that the weak illumination provided by the small candle on the table concealed her blush. It was no secret that a lot of women found ghost hunters extremely attractive prospects for occasional flings and one-night stands. Bars such as the Trap Door were popular stops for bachelorette parties and groups of single females out on the town in search of a little excitement.
    Because of the nature of their work—they were, in essence, primarily expensive bodyguards in the tunnels—hunters tended to be in great shape physically. But it wasn’t just their macho swagger and their rakish khaki-and-leather attire that drew the attention of women. Rumors abounded that ghost hunters were especially good in bed after they had de-rezzed a ghost. The hormone thing, Elly reflected.
    â€œHere in Cadence I prefer to date outside the Guild,” she said smoothly. “In fact, none of my friends know that I’m from a Guild family, and that’s the way I intend to keep it.”
    â€œAshamed?”
    â€œOf course not,” she shot back, infuriated by the accusation. “It’s just that when I left Aurora Springs I was determined to make it on my own without the help of my family or Guild connections. Oh, never mind, I don’t have time to explain. The important thing right now is that I need a hunter I can trust. I would also prefer one who is not affiliated with the local Guild.”
    â€œYou trust me?” he asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œGot to say, that comes as something of a surprise, given our personal history.”
    â€œYou and I certainly had our issues, Cooper. But I never, for a moment, doubted that you could be trusted. My father told me once that your word was good amber. I have no reason to believe otherwise.”
    The phrase good amber was an old one in the Guilds. Down in the catacombs everything depended on the quality of the tuned amber that was used to focus psi energy. Amber was necessary to navigate the endless, ancient tunnel complex. Badly tuned amber could lead a man or an entire excavation team astray, dooming those who relied on it to wander forever in the labyrinth belowground. Good amber was amber that could be relied upon when the going got rough.
    â€œTell me why you need a hunter,” he said.
    â€œI