“Where the fuck are you?” V snapped.

“That’s not important. I need a favor—”

“Oh, it’s not important. I’m on lockdown here—with Lassiter, P.S., who’s going to make me watch The Munsters all night long—”

“—I need to get into a locked facility—”

“—when I’m an Addams Family kind of male—”

“—and it’s got these card reader thingies—”

“—and more to the point, you’ve clearly skipped weapons inspection—”

All at once, they both stopped and barked, “Will you listen to what the fuck I’m saying!”

Then, also at the same time:

“You’re watching TV with Lassiter?”

“You’re trying to break into a building?”

Butch fought a wave of exhaustion. “Look, it’s not for business. I just need to get into this place, and you’re the only person who can help.”

“Where are you? And if you say not important again I’m going to punch this angel because he’s the closest thing to me.”

“Not important—”

Over the connection, there was a muffled OW! What the FUCK, V!

“God, that was satisfying,” V murmured. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Butch looked over the loading dock, locating the security cameras that were mounted on the corners of the bays and above each of the three doors. There was also a refuse bin the size of a railcar and an Iron Mountain records storage unit. Neither of which were going to be helpful.

He cursed. “Don’t you have a universal card or something? I don’t want to set off any alarms.”

There was a rustle, like the brother was getting off a sofa. Then, in a softer voice, V said, “What are you up to, cop?”

“It’s not about the war or anything.”

“Okay, hold on.”

Butch exhaled in relief—then jumped back as V materialized right in front of him. The brother was in leathers and shitkickers—great— except without a single weapon on him. Unless you counted his acid tongue, which was only material in an argument.

Then again . . .

Plus that hand of his. But still.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Butch snapped into his phone.

“Oh, sure,” V said bitterly into his own, “it’s fine for you to be in danger—”

“Get back home!”

“I thought you needed help, asshole—” V paused. Took his phone from his ear. Ended the call. “So, yeah, we’re face-to-face now. How ’bout we scream and yell at each other in person.”

Butch dropped his phone from his ear as well. “You’re not armed.”

“And your weapons haven’t been checked.”

“Touché. And at least you’re not in Little Mermaid PJs.”

“You’d be surprised at how sexy I look in them.” V assessed the back of the building. “So this is our target, huh.”

“There’s no ‘our’ in this.” When V started striding forward, Butch grabbed the guy’s bare arm. “This is too dangerous out here for you. Remember our little agreement?”

“You’d sense if there were slayers around. Are there?”

“Well, no. But there could be at any—”

“So this is our target.” V went over to one of the loading bays and jumped up onto the concrete lip that was chest high. After he inspected the linked panels, he nodded. “Okay, I think I know what to do.”

“I should never have called you.”

“Are you even serious? This is so much better—”

With that, V dematerialized in mid-sentence.

Standing by his little lonesome, Butch slammed one shitkicker into the pavement like a five-year-old. Then he froze, waiting to hear an alarm. Then he paced when nothing of the ear-plosion variety occurred.

The clunking sound of the bay’s sections going up was loud in the quiet, and V’s leather-clad legs and muscle shirt and bare shoulders were revealed inch by inch.

“—than staying home with that angel,” he finished as he leaned down and offered his palm. “I swear to God, it was going to be me or him.”

Butch grabbed onto the lead-lined glove and was hauled up into a receiving area that was every bit as grimy as the parking area. “I don’t get it. You could have just left the guy and gone back to the Pit.”

“Fritz is cleaning our place tonight.”

As V shuddered and eased the panels back down with a hand crank, Butch whistled under his breath. “Yeah, I’d pick Lassiter over that.”

“I swear, that butler would vacuum my backside if he got the chance.” Securing them inside the receiving area, V clapped his hands together. “So where are we going?”

Butch glared at his roommate. When V just stood there, patiently waiting, Butch resolved to learn breaking and entering skills from Balz.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he bitched.

“Is that a department here?” V drawled. “Or just a certain floor.”

Grinding his molars, Butch glanced around. Thanks to the glowing “EXIT” signs over the various doorways into the building proper, he was able to assess things well enough. Not that he was inspired. Other than rolling bins for FedEx boxes and a long stretch of counter that looked like a processing station for mail, there wasn’t much to go on.

He’d been hoping for a map mounted on the concrete wall or some shit. Hey, the folks who worked here had to know where they were going with the envelopes and the packages, right?

“I need to find the basement,” he muttered as he headed randomly toward one of the doors. Before he went more than two steps, he held out one of his forties. “Take this. I know I’m not going to get far trying to make you leave.”

“It’s like you know me or some shit, true?”

“Shut up, V,” he said as they set off together.

They had made love the second Syn had come to see her at nightfall.

Is that the right past tense? Jo thought as she hit her direction signal and then put her hand back in Syn’s.

Or was it more like, they’d had sex. They’d fucked. They’d screwed. They’d banged, boinked, bumped uglies . . .

Whatever the grammar, whatever the vernacular, they most certainly had been together. Pretty much all over her apartment. But she’d promised herself that enough was enough. Given Syn’s . . . issue . . . she just couldn’t bear being so selfish as to expect him to service her sexual needs like a stud and get nothing out of it for himself.

And the aftermath for him was so much worse than just nothing.

Next to her, in her passenger seat, he repositioned himself gingerly, and the wince that hit his face told her everything she needed to know about how uncomfortable he was.

So, no, she had not intended to get intimate. All she had wanted to do was see him. Smell him. Hold him—and all of that had happened the moment he had come through her door.

Followed by more of same. Just with a lot less clothing on.

“I can’t believe you’re willing to go on another of these wild-goose chases with me,” she said.

The way he squeezed her hand was getting to be familiar. “I’m off-duty tonight so there’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

Before she could think of something to say to that, he leaned into her and whispered, “I love the way you’re smiling right now. You’ll have to tell me exactly what you’re thinking about later.”

“Okay and now I’m blushing, too.”

“Good.”

Except then he moved stiffly again, pulling the seat belt out from his chest and realigning his hips with a hiss.

“Syn, are you all right—”

“Perfect in every way. So where are we going?”

Jo shook her head, but let it go. Having a conversation with only one person participating was difficult, and clearly, he was in asked-and-answered territory when it came to his discomfort.

God, she hated it, though.

“Well, as you know . . . I’m just so sick of these memory lapses I’ve been having.” She debated about whether or not to tell him about her trip to see her father, but like that was relevant? More to the point, she wondered if there was any way to volunteer the visit for her amnesia. “It’s a long story, but apparently, I came out to this abandoned outlet mall a couple of nights ago. Bill, my friend, talked to me while I was there, and also on my way home, except I have no recollection of leaving my apartment. Driving anywhere. Seeing anything or doing anything.”

“Bill is the one who is mated? Who you work with.”

“Yes. He and his wife just lost a pregnancy.”

Syn’s frown was deep. “For that, I am sorry.”

“Me, too.” Jo leaned into the windshield. “So yeah, I want to come here and check the site out. The turnoff should be right—yup, here we are.”

Heading up a rise in the road, she braced herself for a headache— and sure enough, as she made the final turn and a darkened stretch of one-story shops came into view, the pain hit her right in the frontal lobe.

“You don’t have to do this,” Syn said grimly.

“I have to do something.”

As she let her car roll to a stop, she knew—she knew—she had been here before. Done this before.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, “it’s like someone keeps getting into my brain and stealing things from me.”

“Park your car over there.”

“Where?”

“Behind that lean-to, and make sure you turn it around so it’s headed out. You never know.”

“Oh. Of course.”

As Jo did as he suggested, she decided there were distinct advantages to having a trained killer around.

When they got out of the Golf, she was further impressed by Syn’s direction. Her car wasn’t big, and the lean-to, which was a bus stop that had been Adirondack-ify’d, was the perfect cover for it. No one would know they were here—and he was right. If they needed to get gone in a hurry, all she had to do was put that sewing machine engine in drive and hit the gas.