Looking for something to read in time for Halloween? May I suggest The Cold Fingers Collection by Amy Spector? Cold Fingers (Book 1) has one of my favorite prologues in the whole wide world. Awesome! 

The Cold Finder Collection

Love. Death. And everything in between.

Ten years ago, Cold Fingers introduced readers to Christopher Minnick—a reluctant hero with a sarcastic tongue, an oddly endearing circle of friends, and his fair share of hang-ups. Now, in celebration of its 10th anniversary, the complete trilogy is collected in one delightfully macabre box set.

Christopher’s life may not have been perfect, but his death is a pain in the ass.

Cold Fingers (book 1)

Christopher Minnick is at a bad place in his life. Turning thirty and newly out of the hospital, the last thing he wants to do is attend a birthday dinner, even one thrown in his honor.

When he is introduced to a friend’s godson, things just might be starting to look up.

Or are they?

Victor Polidori seems like the perfect man. He’s clever, attractive and interested. But, even as Christopher finds himself falling in love, there are some things that just don’t add up. And when bodies start disappearing, Christopher knows he needs to get to the bottom of it.

Will Christopher find his happily ever after or is it true what they say? All the good ones are either married or straight. Or they’re necrophiliacs.

Body of Work (book 2)

Life with Vic isn’t exactly what Christopher Minnick was expecting. His boyfriend has given him a new lease on life—literally—but he doesn’t have a job, Jessie thinks he’s a ghost, and there are only so many closets on hand for shoving Jonathan into. Now, with Lee back in the limelight, things just might become more than Christopher can handle.

Lee Hellstrom is hitting the big screen after more than three decades and, with the much younger Grant Cooper at his side on the red carpet, he plans to make a lasting impression. The only problem is that not all the attention Lee has drawn is good.

When Lee goes missing, it’s up to Christopher, Vic, and Grant to save the old man from a most horrible of fates.

Pretty Plastic (book 3)

Christopher Minnick is still not a zombie.

Three months after his run-in with the vampire Marcus Gråsson, Christopher’s ankle has healed but his life is anything but perfect. There are people watching the house. Flora’s worried about the scarecrow. And after an unexpected tragedy strikes, Christopher will need to figure out how to deal with the loss without tearing a rift between his brother and himself.

When Victor accepts a job with Pretty, a prestigious private hospital, to work alongside the handsome Austen Poole, Christopher ends up with one more thing to worry about. While it might seem like a dream job, there’s something not quite right in paradise, and when Vic starts acting strangely, Christopher will stop at nothing to get his man back.

When striving for perfection, you sometimes need to get your hands a little dirty.

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Paranormal Gay Romance: 61,660 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Excerpt:

(From Cold Fingers)

I’d just finished saying my goodbyes to Nathan and Amber, a couple with a shop just down from mine. I had promised to stop by the following week, to help them identify the age of what they thought was probably a Scandinavian trunk, when Lee came to stand beside me. 
 
“I’m glad to see you looking so much better. You had me worried there for a few days.” 
 
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I really did. It was nice to know there was still someone that worried after me. “I also really appreciate this evening. I had a good time, and I think I needed it.” 
 
He patted my shoulder before slipping into a long coat in a soft gray. It worked with his complexion and the silver of his hair. 
 
“I want you to take care of yourself, Christopher. You need to be with people, and none of this running yourself ragged at that little shop with what amounts to no help. You need money, you come to me.” I didn’t even know what to say. “And you come visit. I only have you and Binky now, you know. And don’t just text. I despise all these texts. People need in-person, face-to-face. It’s healthier.” 
 
I pulled Lee into a tight hug, thanking him again, before he headed out of the restaurant door and to the curb. Through the front window, I watched him claim his car from the valet, and waved when he held up his hand in a final farewell. 
 
He was probably the closest person I had in my life, more like family, really, than a friend. 
 
“Did you need a ride home?” 
 
I turned to give Vic a smile. “Thanks, but I just live down the street.” 
 
“Could I walk you home, then?” 
 
I almost said no. “Sure.” 
 
We said our goodbyes to the last few stragglers before pushing our way out onto the sidewalk. I pointed north, and we started in that direction. 
 
“So,” I began after a few moments of silence. “How is it that Lee dragged you out here this evening.” 
 
Vic laughed. “I asked to tag along, actually.” 
 
I turned to find him watching me, a smile on that lovely mouth. It was flattering really, and it had been a good long time since I had noticed anyone looking at me in that way. 
 
“Why in God’s name did you want to do that?” 
 
“I was curious, mostly. I stopped by your hospital room a couple of times, but you were asleep.” I’d rather have not known that. “I happened to see your paperwork come through the ER. I figured there couldn’t have been too many Christopher Minnicks, and I’d heard Lee talk about you for years.” 
 
I found it odd that Lee had never talked to me about him. 
 
“So, you’re how he found out I was admitted? I’d wondered about that.” 
 
“Yeah, hope you don’t mind. I called him first thing.” 
 
I didn’t. It would have been another matter completely if he had somehow managed to contact my parents. We hadn’t spoken in years, and I was pretty sure they wouldn’t have come anyway, but it wasn’t something I wanted confirmed. 
 
“No. That’s okay. I would have told him myself when I was up to it.” 
 
We chatted a little more about nothing important, huddled into our jackets. Late September was still warm enough during the day, but in the evenings it had already started to dip into the fifties. As much as I hated anything over seventy-two, I hated anything under sixty even more. 
 
“This is me here,” I said, indicating the building just ahead. “It was very nice meeting you, Vic. Thanks for the company.” 
 
He held out his hand, and I took it, shaking and letting go. I almost convinced myself that this was all there would be, surprised at my own disappointment, when he asked, “Would you be interested in going out sometime? I’m on a two-week rotation, so I’m working nights for the next two weeks straight, but after? Would you like to maybe have dinner?” 
 
I smiled, taking a moment to answer. Not because I didn’t know what the answer would be, but so I wouldn’t come across too fucking eager. 
 
“Yes, I’d like that.” 
 
We exchanged numbers, me adding my number to his phone, him adding his to mine. It was exciting in a weird way, like all little firsts are when you meet someone you like, someone you could, maybe, really like. He snapped a picture of me to add to his contacts, and I made a goofy face, not comfortable with having a pale, overly thin, version of myself on his phone. 
 
We said our goodbyes again, this time exchanging a quick hug, and he watched me until I made it inside my building. What he thought he might be protecting me from, I didn’t know. He was only the slightest amount taller than my six foot, and no broader. If I had somehow gotten myself in trouble in the eight steps it took to reach my door, we probably would have both gotten our asses kicked. 
 
Still, it was a nice gesture, and I couldn’t stop myself watching from my apartment window until he was long gone. 

 

A couple of days ago, A Jumble of Emotions was released!!! It’s one of those stories that didn’t quite turn out the way I’d planned. For months, I’d had this idea buzzing in my head of a scarred character – we’re celebrating Scar Appreciation Day – who didn’t think he’d ever find someone because of how he looked, and an empath, who’s more focused on the inside of a person than the outside. 

A Jumble of Emotions has all that, but I gave my empath way more baggage than I’d planned to, and my idea of this caring character helping the other to accept himself turned into two more or less broken men fighting to find their way in life. 

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, only it’s not what I first planned to do. But that’s the curse of being a discovery writer – sometimes your characters run away with you. 

If you’re in the mood for an exiled werewolf, an overwhelmed empath, and a bit of a mystery with a little mobster involvement, then give this a go! You can read the first chapter below. 

A Jumble of Emotions

A werewolf exiled from his pack. An empath drowning in emotions. A missing girl binding them together.    

Talon Huxley doesn’t need a partner. As the only shifter working for Iniko Enterprises, he’s used to being alone. When a teenager goes missing, his boss pairs him with Alistair Sheehan, the reclusive empath they rescued years ago. The empath Talon can’t get out of his head.    

If Alistair had a choice, he’d never leave his apartment, but his bills don’t pay themselves. Shifters are rare, and Alistair has never met one before now. Talon is big, scarred, and terrifying. In other words, everything Alistair should fear, and yet he makes him feel safe.   

As they search for the missing girl, it becomes clear the case isn’t what they were led to believe. Someone is deceiving them, but Talon won’t allow anything to happen to Alistair. He’ll keep him by his side night and day. For the sake of safety, if nothing else.

Buy Links:

Paranormal Gay Romance: 66,094 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Alistair Sheehan did his best to keep his breathing even and regular. He was so focused on it, he didn’t notice when Saxon Iniko, his boss and savior, stopped talking. 

When the pulse thudding in his ears was all he could hear, he shook himself and looked at Saxon. “Sorry.” 

Saxon gave him a barely-there smile. “How much did you hear?” 

A blush threatened to heat his cheeks, but he pushed it down. He was an expert on suppressing his reactions and expressions. He didn’t blush. Often. “You said I’d be working with a partner.” 

“Yes, Talon Huxley. He’ll be the leading officer on the case.” 

The walls were crawling closer, and Alistair blew out a shuddering breath. 

Saxon winced. “What’s the problem here, Alistair? Start with the biggest one. I’m aware there are a few. Do you know who Talon is? I know he looks…” His sentence died out when Alistair shook his head. 

“You don’t know who he is?” 

Another headshake. Alistair had worked for Iniko Enterprises for four years, though he seldom came to the office building, and he never worked with anyone other than Saxon—which Saxon was fully aware of. 

Saxon had saved him, though Alistair hadn’t grasped it at the time. The human police had been searching for Buster Hilford for months. The media had named him the Ridgestone Photographer, though Alistair hadn’t had a clue. He hadn’t been paying attention. So stupid. 

He had no idea how the people working for Saxon had found him, but they had. One night, they’d kicked the door in and had saved him from certain death. 

Alistair had been too overwhelmed to understand what was going on but retained a vivid memory of the gorgeous black man in an immaculate suit walking into that room of pain and shame. When he was a few steps away from where Alistair was huddling naked in a corner, he’d flashed fangs. 

A vampire. 

Alistair had all but blacked out. Hilford—simply thinking about him had cold sweat beading Alistair’s skin—was human. A big one, but still only human. And if a human could hurt him as much as he had, then what a vampire could do was beyond comprehension. 

Saxon had crouched in front of him and called for someone to get him a blanket. He’d said something else, but the buzz in Alistair’s ears had blocked it out. He’d seen his lips move but had been unable to take in anything else. Then he’d wrapped Alistair in an itchy Afghan and led him out of his prison and taken him directly to what looked like an underground hospital. 

It had been one for supernaturals, not an ordinary hospital. 

A few days later, he’d shown up again, wearing another perfectly fitted suit and a soft expression. Alistair hadn’t believed it. Soft expressions were always false. Alistair was sure of it then, and he was mostly sure of it now, except… It had been four years, and Saxon still had done nothing to hurt him unless it was what he was planning on doing now. 

When he’d come to the hospital four years ago, he’d asked what Alistair’s plans were. Since Alistair never believed he’d leave the torture chamber alive, he didn’t have any plans. 

Saxon had offered him a job at Iniko Enterprises. 

Alistair had turned it down. A job. He hadn’t believed him, had been convinced it was a trick, a way to get Alistair to be alone with him, and then it would start all over again. 

The blessing with vampires was also the problem. Alistair was an empath—a flawed one, but it was the closest explanation anyone could give to his species. He’d gotten the tattoos at sixteen like every other empath. It was so humans—and other species, but humans vastly outnumbered everyone else—would feel safe. Bold, black lines in geometrical patterns from his cuticles halfway up his forearms. Characteristic. Easily recognizable. 

All empaths had them. It was the law. They should be visible at all times—no gloves for empaths in the winter. People had the right to know their privacy could be violated at any second. 

Alistair had no idea what would happen if anyone figured out what he was. Saxon knew, and on his darker days, Alistair was sure he’d use it to blackmail him one day. On his good days, he hoped he’d found a place where he could live his life unnoticed. 

“Alistair.” Saxon didn’t raise his voice, but there was an edge to it, making him believe he might have been trying to reach him a few times without luck. 

“Sorry.” He didn’t look at Saxon. 

A sigh. “Talon will be calling the shots, okay? I trust him, and all you have to do is follow his orders. Do you think you can?” 

Fuck, had he said what they were supposed to do? 

Saxon rounded the desk and came to stand next to him. “Alistair.” 

Normal empaths wouldn’t have known what he was feeling, but this close, Alistair could sense the worry and frustration. Normal empaths would have to put their palms on Saxon before they could get a read. When Alistair put his palms on anyone, he transferred his emotions to them. Only through his palms, though. If he rested the back of his hand against Saxon’s skin, he could read every emotional response in him. 

Vampires were tricky. It was hard for him to get more than snippets of their emotions without touch. Saxon had played guinea pig a few times simply to see what he could do. Not many would subject themselves to it, but Saxon was interested in how Alistair’s skill worked, and since Alistair hadn’t spent any time around other supernaturals—apart from other empaths—he hadn’t known. 

Humans he could read without touching, and he could channel it into another person. They’d get Alistair’s emotions too, so he seldom did it. 

Being around vampires was both freeing and scary. It was disturbing not to know exactly what they were feeling, but it was also what made it possible for Alistair to stand here and be alone in his head. 

Around humans, he drowned. When he was close to Saxon, he could read his most immediate reactions, but they didn’t invade him. 

Saxon held out his hand. “If you want.” 

Alistair looked into his eyes. It wasn’t the first time Saxon had offered despite there being nothing around that he wanted to read, but it was a rarity. Alistair blew out a shuddering breath and slid his palm over Saxon’s. His excess emotional load trickled into Saxon, giving Alistair some room to breathe. 

Saxon didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t grimace, didn’t do anything except hold on to Alistair’s gaze. 

Normal empaths read emotions through touch. Alistair picked them up through the air and filled his core with them until he was unable to breathe. It overwhelmed him, suffocated him, crippled him unless he either could isolate himself or transfer it all to another living being. 

It was illegal for empaths to touch without consent, and no one wanted to subject themselves to Alistair’s brand of touch. Though they didn’t know what his touch did. Only Saxon did. Or maybe the people who had rescued him did too, he wasn’t sure. 

Alistair shivered as the overwhelm slowly trickled out of him and into Saxon. 

Then there was a knock at the door, and a massive man with big scars running down one half of his face walked in. Scars that had to have been made by claws. 

Claws. 

It was a miracle his eye was intact. It must’ve hurt like hell. He must’ve been terrified. 

Alistair couldn’t breathe, and the man stumbled to a stop as he looked at them. His gaze zeroed in on Alistair’s hand in Saxon’s, and Alistair yanked it away. 

Shifters didn’t come down from the mountains, but maybe this man had gone there and been attacked. 

Saxon sighed. “Talon. While I appreciate you knocking this time, I would appreciate it more if you waited to enter until I told you to come in.” 

* * * * 

Talon Huxley stood frozen, one foot inside Saxon’s office, the other still in the corridor. He’d been told to be here at ten, and it was three minutes past. He’d been prepared for a sigh and Saxon looking exasperated, not to walk in on Saxon holding hands with an empath. 

With the empath. 

Images flashed before Talon’s eyes. He hadn’t been there when they’d gotten Alistair Sheehan out, but he’d seen the photos that triggered the process of freeing him. He’d helped track the address down, though Vera was the star there. She was awesome at tracking things online. 

The Ridgestone Photographer—media was so stupid to give serial killers nicknames—had already killed eleven young men. He grabbed them, drugged them by slipping something into their drinks, and took them to his house. They hadn’t known he’d kept them in his house until they found Alistair, but the police had found human remains buried all over his back yard. 

The fucker grabbed the young men, and shortly after photos and short clips showed up on different porn sites. 

One photo here and one photo there. One clip here and one clip there. 

Nothing suspicious to begin with, then the uploads grew more and more violent. Talon believed the bastard got a kick out of shocking people, because you could scroll the photos with a sense of unease, and then—bam!—a headless body. 

The human police were looking for him, and while they’d kept an eye on the investigation, it wasn’t until a photo of an empath showed up that Saxon had ordered all hands on deck. 

And good thing he had. Alistair wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t, and Hilford most likely would’ve kept on killing until someone else caught him. 

Talon couldn’t look away from Alistair. He couldn’t name the emotions welling up inside him. He’d seen this man naked and beaten, had seen him tied to some fucking spanking bench or whatever they were called. Exposed. Vulnerable. Powerless. 

He averted his eyes before any of it would show on his face. 

It had been years ago. Talon was unsure of how many—three, four? 

He looked at Alistair again. His gaze was fixed on the floor, so Talon looked at Saxon and got a glare in return. 

“Alistair, this is Talon Huxley.” Saxon gestured at him, and Alistair nodded at the floor. 

“Talon, Alistair Sheehan. You’ll be working together on this case.” Saxon walked in behind his desk and picked up two folders, then he took one in each hand and waved them slightly, indicating he wanted them to take them. Talon stepped forward, closed the office door behind him, and walked over to grab his copy. Alistair remained unmoving. Saxon lowered the folder to the desk. 

“There is a missing girl. Human. Her dad is paying us to find her.” Saxon focused on Talon. 

“Who is she?” 

“Fourteen.” 

“Who, not how old.” Talon tightened his hold on the folder. 

“Emma Perfetti.” 

Talon’s pulse picked up. “Related to Leandro Perfetti?” 

A nod. 

Talon growled. “We’re working for the mob now?” 

Saxon shrugged. “With. And we work with whoever pays us.” 

“Are you serious?” He couldn’t be serious. 

Saxon met his gaze and held it. “They’re not asking us to kill someone for them, we’re not acting as debt collectors or pushing any of their products or anything.” 

Great, Iniko Enterprises were now working with drug dealers, weapon smugglers, traffickers, murderers. “But we’re working for the mob.” 

“We’re looking for a missing girl. They suspect Sidorov, but they can’t search their territory for her. It would lead to war, and they obviously can’t go to the human police.” 

The Russian mafia and the Italian mafia, with a missing girl between them. Great. 

“Saxon.” Talon did nothing to hide his exasperation. They worked both human and supernatural cases at Iniko Enterprises, but they didn’t work with the fucking mafia. 

“I owe him.” 

Talon gaped. “Who?” 

“Leandro Perfetti. He helped me once. Now he’s calling in the favor. We’re treating it like any other kidnapping case. We do not care what the girl’s father does for a living.” 

Fine. “What do we know?” 

“It’s all in the folder. I’ve booked tickets. You’re flying out to Wingsby tomorrow morning.” 

“Wingsby?” 

“It’s where she was taken from, and it just so happens Sidorov is in town. Rooms are booked for you at the Seven Seas Hotel, but you’ll be staying in a safehouse nearby.” 

A barely audible whimper sounded from Alistair, and Saxon winced. Then he took a deep breath and focused on Alistair, who still had his gaze glued to the floor. “There is a fundraiser tomorrow night. Andrei Sidorov will be there, as will you. Alistair will be a waiter, and you, Talon, will be there without being seen.” 

Talon couldn’t read Saxon’s expression, had never seen him look like he did now, but he would bet it had something to do with the rapid breathing coming from Alistair. Fuck. 

“What will we learn from a fundraiser?” Maybe focusing on the job would help him calm down. 

“Hopefully something to go on.” 

“Saxon.” Alistair’s voice was nothing but a whisper. “I can’t.” 

“One hour. The story is you’re covering for a woman named Madison who had to… do something. It’s in the folder. You’ll walk around with a tray of champagne flutes, nothing else. Madison will be back before the food is served. You’ll zigzag through the crowd, see what you can pick up on. It’s only a quick recon mission to get the feel of the mood.” 

Alistair shook his head. 

“You’ll need to conceal your hands.” 

“What?” His head flew up, and he gaped at Saxon. “It’s illegal. I can’t do anything illegal.” 

Saxon held his gaze. “I’m your boss. I’m telling you to conceal your hands.” 

The conflict was easy to see on Alistair’s face, and his scent soured. It had already had an acid tinge to it, but now it grew worse. “But… It’s illegal.” 

Talon had heard louder whispers. 

Saxon raised an eyebrow. “It’s your job. You’re doing it for the greater good.” 

Talon held in a snort. 

“Are you unable to follow orders, Alistair?” 

Normally, Talon would’ve laughed, but the way Alistair crumbled in front of his eyes turned the laughter into unease in his belly. What the fuck was going on? 

“No, sir.” 

Sir? They were not an organization where anyone called anyone else sir. It didn’t matter that Saxon was the boss, the owner, the one in charge. He was not sir to anyone. 

“Good. Then go home, read up on the information in the folder, and Talon will pick you up at eight tomorrow morning.” 

Alistair nodded, grabbed the folder Saxon held out anew, and scurried out of the office. The moment the door closed, Saxon groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. 

“What the fuck?” 

Saxon pulled out his chair and more or less collapsed into it, then he gestured for Talon to sit as well. He walked over to the chair in front of the desk across from Saxon and sat. 

“I hate doing that.” 

“Doing what?” 

It took a couple of seconds before Saxon looked at him. “Using his nature against him.” 

Talon didn’t understand. “Care to elaborate?” 

“Alistair is an empath.” 

Clearly. “I know.” 

“Empaths live to serve.” He waved his hand before Talon could say anything. “Not in some weird self-sacrificing way, or maybe a little self-sacrificing… sometimes a lot self-sacrificing, but it’s not the total power exchange D/s thing some humans appear to think.” 

Talon stared at him, which made Saxon groan again. 

“He wants to do the right thing, is driven to do the right thing. The moral thing. The thing that pleases the people around him. An empath is at their happiest when the people around them are happy. What we witnessed here was a battle between following the law and following his boss’ demands. We know the law trumps whatever I say, and on some level, he knows it too, but he wants to please me—again, not in some warped sexual way.” 

Talon nodded, not sure he understood, but maybe. Or maybe not, since he still couldn’t grasp what Saxon was saying. 

“So I pushed. He doesn’t do well in crowds. Hates them. Would avoid them till the end of days, but again, he wants to do what I tell him to do. I need you to keep an eye on him at all times.” Saxon grimaced. “There are mental issues.” 

“Mental?” 

Saxon slumped in his chair. “I don’t know it all. I’m forcing him to see a therapist monthly. He has been going for four years now, and there’s been progress. A lot of progress. But he freezes, he panics, he—” He waved a hand in front of his eyes. “—disappears. Closes off.” 

Great. Talon sighed. “His hands. Do you want him to touch people when he’s there?” 

Saxon held his gaze for a long time. “He doesn’t have to.” 

“But you want him to.” 

“No. He doesn’t need to touch them, he’ll read them anyway.” 

Talon frowned. It was not how empaths worked. 

“I made you the leading officer, but if you abuse it, I’ll pull you so fast you don’t know what happened to you.” 

Abuse it? “What do you mean?” 

“He will follow your orders because I’ve told him you’re his superior.” 

Talon nodded. 

“He’ll follow them whether he wants to or not because he can’t help himself.” 

Using his nature against him. A bitter taste spread in Talon’s mouth. “He’s unable to say no?” The photos he’d seen years ago flashed before his eyes. He’s unable to say no. 

“He might object verbally.” He gestured at the spot where Alistair had been standing. “But if you push, he’ll fold. He doesn’t want to conceal his hands. He doesn’t want to deceive anyone, and he’ll see it as deception.” 

This time, Talon snorted. Insecure fucking humans forcing people to follow their rules. 

“But he’ll also want to do what you tell him to.” Saxon rubbed his eyes. “And he’ll be an emotional mess because of it.” 

“Great.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

“Why is he on the case?” Talon always worked alone. 

Saxon hesitated, and for some reason, it had a shiver travel Talon’s spine. 

“He can blend in, and he can pick up on things neither you nor I can. Sidorov, if it is Sidorov who has taken Emma, won’t respond well to a werewolf sniffing around their business. Alistair, though, is a harmless human they won’t notice.” 

Talon studied him. Vampires were much better at lying than humans were, or rather, they were more in control of their reactions, which meant he had a harder time scenting a lie, but he was almost convinced Saxon was withholding something from him. “He’s not human.” 

“With enough concealer on his hands, no one will be able to say he’s not. He smells human, right?” 

Talon inhaled. He hadn’t reflected on how Alistair smelled. There was the cold scent of vampire and… yes, human, but most of all, the room reeked of fear and panic. It set him on edge. 

He focused on the lingering scent of Alistair. Maybe there was a subtle difference, but unless he ran his nose over Alistair’s skin, he didn’t think he’d noticed if he hadn’t seen the tattoos. 

“We all know the stats when it comes to kidnapping. The first seventy-two hours.” 

“How long has it been?” And they wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, wouldn’t lay eyes on anyone from the Sidorov family until tomorrow evening. 

“She disappeared from a coffee shop yesterday.” 

“Yesterday.” 

“Perfetti waited for a message, a threat, a ransom to pay, but there’s been nothing. He called me around midnight, collecting on his favor.” 

So much time had passed already. 

“If they wanted her dead, I think she’d be dead already.” 

Talon nodded. Maybe she was, but the body hadn’t been found. “But wouldn’t Sidorov make a demand?” 

Saxon quirked his lips, making the tips of his fangs visible. “I fear he would have.” 

“So we don’t know it’s him.” 

“No. Perfetti believes it is, but it doesn’t fit. Whatever parts of the market they’re fighting over, there would be a demand for Perfetti to step back, drop a deal, or whatever, in exchange for the daughter. Staying quiet doesn’t fit my image of Sidorov.” 

“Any other leads?” 

“No. Focus on the fundraiser first, see if Alistair picks up on anything—” 

“Emotions.” 

Saxon nodded. “Yeah, he doesn’t read minds.” 

“Even if he picks up on distress or whatever, we don’t know if it has anything to do with the case.” 

“True, but it’s a starting point. Get him in front of Sidorov and go from there.” 

Great. 

Saxon’s gaze bore into his. “Whatever happens, keep your temper in check when around Alistair.” 

What? 

“No violence. None. I don’t know how well he can read you. Me, he has to stand close to be able to pick up fragments, touch to get a real read. Maybe shifters are the same, I don’t know. Once he calms down in your presence, you should ask him. It’s good for us to know.” 

There was a swoop in Talon’s belly. He’d always found the humans’ distaste for empaths ridiculous, but to think Alistair could read his every emotion if they were in the same room was disturbing.