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moving aside to catch his wrist and flip him, gravity rushing up to meet two hundred pounds of flesh.
    She didn’t want to be a hero. She wasn’t Narc. But she stuck out a shield to protect his head when he fell, forehead first, onto the concrete.
    “Let’s talk about those cops.” Slight pressure on his wrist convinced Pavlic to drop the knife.
    “Okay, okay! Suka .” A mix of Spanish and Russian curses followed. “There’s dozens, okay? Hundreds. We’re talking brass.” He yowled with renewed pain.
    High-ranking cops covering Nicky’s death . Dread and bloodlust surged in bright waves, rage in a mood to party. “Names?”
    His wrist jerked in her hands. “They’ll fuck me up. You know it.”
    “I’ll fuck you worse.” A slight twist had him howling. That same dark satisfaction twisted in her veins while a voice, a weak faraway plea, whispered for her to stop.
    “Rook.”
    She froze under the shimmering darkness, her cloak beating around her legs. Mac Gamble stood less than ten feet away, arms crossed, eyes devoid of compassion. A long coat cut across his shoulders and dropped down to his feet, making him seem huge, a beast, a massive form emerging from the river. And damned if, under the mix of nerves and fear, Lana didn’t taste a small glimmer of joy.
    Her pulse stopped for a long shuddering second, then kicked into a gallop while she stood motionless, watching him move closer.
    She pictured his features, his hair cut short, the skull-trimmed look maximizing the harsh angles of his face. Firm sculpted lips did nothing to soften his expression, his wide jaw edged in flickering gold light. Creases around his mouth that deepened when he laughed. No doubt, the look he gave her out of those cool fathomless eyes could’ve cut granite.
    “This isn’t your business.”
    “You got my powers. Makes it my business.” Sandpaper voice lashed over her, dark, and delicious. Deadly.
    Mendoza whimpered at her feet.
    “Let go of him.” He jerked his chin at Pavlic. The Night Rook couldn’t see his eyes, but she remembered them to be as bright and sharp as emeralds.
    “We’re having a conversation.” She should’ve been sprinting down the docks instead of standing like a starstruck groupie, taking in his frame, those broad shoulders blocking out the river, his arms crossed at the chest.
    He would fight her . The thought sent a thrill down her spine.
    Mendoza jerked again. “You know who you’re dealing with? That’s Narc. San Mike’s hero, asshole.”
    “He’s not a hero now.” She couldn’t stop looking at Narc, craving his heat, the same as when he had been Mac Gamble, an Aikido instructor with a low voice and rare brilliant smile.
    “Neither are you.” His voice lashed out in a rope of silk, a rough-edged caress she had no business wanting.
    His cool, merciless gaze held hers, daring her to move, to flee, to stay and challenge him. Her pulse threatened to rip out of her veins.
    “My fight isn’t with you Narc.”
    Mendoza wrenched under her hold, beating at her with his free hand. His fist bounced off the thin level of power she kept around her skin, using the rest to form a barrier between herself and Mac, splitting her focus, gritting her teeth in effort to keep the energy in place.
    “Give me the cops you work for and it’ll be over.”
    Another hard desperate tug, while Narc—she had to think of him as Narc—pushed his weight at her shields less than three feet away.
    “The cops I work for? Dozens. You think I got everyone’s name?”
    A fist against the shield had the same effect as a punch in the gut.
    “I know how this works.” Mac’s voice snapped over her in a caress of pain and pleasure. “You’re fighting to keep focus. It’s not going to hold.”
    She had no control here, in the dark, trapped in a bubble of her own power. Three years since she’d seen him last. A lifetime since he breathed life back into her lungs, that low voice screaming for her in the burning