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asked if you liked the flowers.”
     
    She takes a deep breath, prepared to re-hash the same conversation she’s had with him any number of times.  “They were very pretty, Lance.”
     
    “White roses, your favorite.”  He seems so sure of himself that Elyse doesn’t bother to correct him.  They were Lance’s favorite flowers, not hers. He’d just decided that they should be what she liked.  His controlling nature had even stretched to believing that her preferences always fell into line with his.
     
    “They were pretty, Lance.  But we’ve talked about this before.  You can’t keep sending me gifts.  We’re not together anymore.”  Her tone is soft but firm, she had learned the hard way that she had to be straight with him.  He would cling on to anyone branch of hope that she gave him, so she’d stopped giving him any at all.
     
    “Things change, Elyse.  We’re so right for each other; you can’t deny that.”  He leans forward, covering her hand with his and tightening his grip so she would have to yank hers away hard to get away from him.  “I would never treat you like Fletcher, with such little respect.  I know you like no one else, Elyse.”
     
    She feels her stomach roll at his contact.  No matter how much she tries to forget the way he had touched her that night when he had tried to…  Anyway, it was useless, it always brought her back to that moment in her house, when panic had set in as she had realized what was about to happen.  From the outside, Lance would seem like a catch to most women, tall, attractive, rich, smart, but Elyse knew him too well.  She’d seen the dark side of his nature, and now he just made her feel sick.
     
    “Whatever happened between Dane and me is between us.  It doesn’t concern you, Lance.”  She pulls her hand out from under his, clasping her hands underneath the table and striving to keep her voice from shaking.
     
    “He’s not right for you, Elyse. Surely you can see that?  He’s dangerous.  Do you know about the things he does?  The things they all do?”  Lance lowers his voice, looking around to check that no one is within eavesdropping distance.
     
    The hairs on the back of Elyse’s neck shoot up.  “What do you know about that, Lance?”  The wheels in her head start turning as Lance’s eyes flick down to the notes by his hand.
     

 
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    “I know enough, and the more I learn, the more I know that these aren’t people you should be around, Elyse.  They’re dangerous criminals who need to be put away for a long time.”  Lance’s voice is still quiet, but the self-righteousness burning in his eyes is enough to drive home his words.
     
    “What are you up to, Lance?”  Elyse swallows hard, connecting the dots in her mind even as he opens his mouth.
     
    “You didn’t really think you were the only person MacIntyre would put on this story, did you?”  He gives her that indulgent look that makes her want to slap him.
     
    Elyse’s mind races back to that morning in her editor’s office when he had dangled the exposé in front of her. 
     
    “Do you want the job or not, Powell?  If you don’t, there are other ways to get into the Demons that don’t involve you.  I’m not really the type to put all my eggs in one basket.” 
     
    He clearly hadn’t been bluffing; he’d covered his bases, bringing Lance in to infiltrate the Demons through The Shop—in case she couldn’t deliver the goods and vice versa.  Elyse knows that she should feel vaguely offended that MacIntyre hadn’t trusted her enough to do the job, but any hurt in her pride is outweighed by the larger problem at hand. 
     
    “You’re writing the story.”  She looks between Lance and his notes, wondering how she could have been so stupid to think that his job at The Shop could possibly have just been a coincidence.  “I didn’t even know that you were working at The Gazette .”
     
    “No reason for you to