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though part of him was terrified. Dangerous, that’s what she was. Dangerous and so very, very tempting.
    She danced as if her feet didn’t touch the ground, all grace and ease. God, she was incredible. He could kiss her right there, not caring who saw, not caring if she slapped his face after. It would be worth it just to taste her lips.
    As though she could read his mind, she moved closer to him, their bodies touching. She really was a creature of flame—and she could burn him to ash if she wished. Molten eyes stared up at him, inviting and unashamed. A soft flush filled her smooth cheeks.
    “You’re beautiful,” Jack murmured. “The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. What’s your name?”
    She opened her mouth and made a terrible moaning sound. “Help me.”
    Jack awoke with a gasp, lurching upright in bed. He was drenched with sweat, heart pounding.
    “Jack?” came a sleepy voice. What was her name again? “What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing that concerns you,” he replied, throwing back the covers. There’d be no more sleep for him, and dawn wasn’t far away. He grabbed his trousers and pulled them on. “Nothing at all.”
    He left the house a few moments later and went to the small shed for his velocycle—a sleek two-wheeled vehicle that could weave in and out of traffic with ease and outrun anything that challenged it. A hat was useless on the bloody thing, so he tied a piratelike scarf around his head to keep his hair tamed and pulled on a pair of goggles. Then he started the machine and took off down the street as fast as the velocycle would go.
    St. Pancras station was busier than it had been a few hours ago but still relatively empty. Unfortunately, there were more staff than patrons. It didn’t matter—he knew how to get in now, having escaped it earlier. He easily found the door through which he and Toby had left, and he picked the lock to gain entry once more.
    Down dark steps he ran, down to that dank, bleak place where he had left the crate.
    Left her.
    He raced into the catacombs as if those hellish hounds were after him again. Or maybe the flames he felt were just remnants of his dream—of her.
    Jack stopped.
    The crate was gone. Frantic, panting for breath, his gaze scanned the area. This was the right spot. Wasn’t it? No, it was. It was. He had left it right here.
    There was nothing—not even an impression in the dust and dirt. It was as though he’d never been here—or something had taken care to make it look that way.
    Where had they taken it? Who had taken it? There wasn’t so much as a track—not even a footprint.
    Jack sagged against the rough stone wall, folding his arms over his chest. The scent of amber teased him like a cruel joke. Was it real or just his imagination?
    She was gone. Lost. Whatever happened to her now was out of his hands.
    And entirely his fault.
    * * *
    Payment from Abernathy arrived later that day via messenger. Jack didn’t even open it. He just tossed the package on his desk and poured himself a whiskey. He wasn’t much of a drinker, preferring to keep his wits about him, but this was one of those times that getting pissy-eyed drunk appealed to him.
    He had returned home from the station ill-tempered and guilt-ridden. The woman who had been in his bed was gone, leaving a thank-you note on his pillow. He tossed it in the fire without reading it, and then went to take a very hot shower. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw and the water turned icy. Only then did he dry off and pull on clean clothes.
    He still felt dirty. It wasn’t a feeling he liked. Wasn’t one he’d experienced in a very long time.
    He threw himself into work. Lots of business opportunities to investigate—legitimate ones. The average life expectancy of someone in his line of work wasn’t terribly long. Spending the rest of his days as a criminal wasn’t what he wanted. Making something of himself—something real and good—was the best revenge he could get on his father,