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thought of any of them as individuals. Damned inconvenient to start doing so now. They were a job. A mission he dispatched with cold precision. They departed from his life almost as quickly as they entered it. He made certain of that. He had to. But for some reason, he felt in no rush to get rid of Kit March. Something stopped him from closing in on her now—while she slept, at her most vulnerable. She intrigued him, and he wanted to know more about her.
    He stared up at the darkened room, the unmoving blinds covering the window. Ten thirty and she was already in bed? Alone.
    He thought about the date she had left at the restaurant. Sacrificed in pursuit of a kill. A story he knew well. He had lived it for years. The job came first. Always.
    Still, he couldn’t imagine her suffering an empty bed. Her small size might make her look delicate and subdued, but a moment in her company had dispelled that notion. She was tightly wound, a fireball of energy, with green eyes that gleamed with light, like a shock of sunshine on dew-dappled grass. Passion hummed through her.
    Watching her in action tonight, he’d seen that she could handle herself. And yet she walked a dangerous line. Strong women fell victim to lycans all the time. One slip and she could become a lycan’s plaything. A risk he could not take. For her sake—and the world’s.
    With that thought, he dragged a hand over his jaw, determined to forget how she intrigued him, and committed to remembering his purpose.
    Sebastian would never let a pretty face distract him. In many ways, his brother was stronger than he.
    Rafe drew a deep breath. He would convince Kit March and her brother to give up this hunting business and lead a quiet life. A safe life away from NODEAL, EFLA, and cities where concentrated populations of lycans thrived. And if she refused…
    Make no mistake. He would do what he had to do.
    A subtle change in the air made him sit straighter in the seat. He scanned the neighborhood, the house, the window of the room where she slept. The skin of his face grew tight and itchy as awareness slid over him with the insidiousness of creeping fog.
    He was no longer alone on the street.
    Â 
    She moved silently over the dark street, walking a brisk, determined line to the parked vehicle, ready to tell whoever lurked there to get the hell off her street.
    She kept her gun tucked at her side, close to her bare thigh, all the while scanning the street, making sure none of Gideon’s neighbors were out and about.
    He lived in an older, more established neighborhood in Houston’s university section. Most of the residents were elderly. Quiet and retiring, in-bed-by-nine types. Still, it wouldn’t do to frighten some blue-haired old lady out walking her dog.
    Finger poised over her trigger, she stopped at the driver’s-side window and found the seat…empty.
    The hair on her nape tingled. She pivoted, gun clasped tightly in both hands.
    â€œLooking for me?”
    Kit spun around, leveling her gun squarely on Rafe Santiago. “You.”
    He swiped the gun out of her hand. She reacted, throwing a punch. He caught her fist in his hand the moment before her knuckles made contact with his face.
    â€œYou need to work on your approach. I heard you coming like a herd of elephants.”
    â€œI wasn’t going for discretion,” she bit out, struggling to wrench her fist free of his bruising grip. “I came out here to tell you to leave me the hell alone. Take your stakeout somewhere else.”
    â€œThat’s not likely to happen.” His fingers tightened around her hand. Hard enough to make her wince.
    â€œNo?” She cocked her head to the side and gave up on freeing her hand. Instead, she threw her head forward and crashed it into his face, willing to endure the headache, knowing he would suffer more.
    He dropped his hold on her fist.
    She jumped back a step and backhanded him across the face. The sharp sound