I lifted my hands, and the shadows rose with them, roiling around me, an inky oblivion, deeper and more satisfying than the shallow dark rendered useless by the infrared lighting grid I could feel overhead, blazing beyond the visible spectrum.

The darkness was cool and quiet. It was peace given form and function. I could feel it with every cell in my body, deep into the marrow of my bones. Into my soul. The darkness was mine to command.

Until half a minute later, when Kori Daniels stepped out of it and onto my right foot.

“Ow!” I laughed as the pointed toe of her dress shoe ground into my foot, and she stepped back immediately.

“Sorry!” she whispered, and I felt rather than saw her trip over her own shoes in the absolute darkness. I reached out for her instinctively, but let go as soon as she’d regained balance. “You did this?” she whispered again, from inches away, and I realized that if I couldn’t see her, she couldn’t see me.

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit, that’s incredible,” she breathed. Something moved between us, and it took me a moment to realize she was spreading her arms in the shadow I’d made, like a child in the rain. “It’s like finding a watering hole in the desert. A shadow on the sun.”

“Yeah, except I didn’t find it. I made it.” Couldn’t hurt to remind her how valuable I was.

I began to let the darkness go, a little at a time, and slowly light filtered in again from the hallway, feeling much brighter than it should have, after the absolute darkness. “That was impressive,” she said, when she could see well enough that her gaze met mine in the shadows. “No wonder Jake wants you.”

“He’s not the only one,” I said, and her brows rose in interest as she stepped back and glanced around at the unoccupied bedroom.

“Oh? Who else is courting you, Mr. Holt?”

“Ruben Cavazos, most notably,” I whispered, following her toward the door. “Along with a couple of the smaller syndicates on the West Coast.”

“Cavazos.” She practically spit his name, stepping out of the first of her shoes. “You don’t want anything to do with him.”

I laughed softly and tried not to notice the shape of her calves as she took off the second shoe. “I’d hardly expect you to endorse the competition.”

Kori straightened, holding both shoes by the straps in one hand. “He fucking shot me.”

“Cavazos shot you?” I could hear the surprise in my own voice.

Instead of answering, she pulled the left shoulder strap of her dress down to expose a puckered scar on her shoulder, still pink and fresh. “Two months ago.”

“What happened?”

“Clash of the titans.” Barefoot, she peeked into the hall, then gestured for me to follow her. “Everyone fights for one side or the other.”

“Are we sneaking?” I whispered, nodding at her shoes, wondering if I should take my own off.

“Nah. There’s no one in this wing. I just hate heels.”

I followed her down the hall and around the corner to the right. Three doors later, she turned left into a room with a billiard table in the center of the floor and a full-size bar along one wall. “Close the door,” she said over one shoulder as she dropped her shoes on the floor and headed for the bar.

I pushed the door closed softly, then crossed the room and took a seat on the center bar stool while she took up the position of bartender.

“What’ll it be?” She leaned forward with her elbows on the polished dark wood surface of the bar.

“Scotch?”

Kori rolled her eyes. “Of course you drink Scotch.”

“Are you calling me a stereotype?”

“Not yet, but if you don’t pull some surprises out of your hat soon, I suspect that moment is coming.” She dug beneath the bar and came up with a single short glass while I tried to decide how to respond to such a challenge. She wasn’t ready for any of my real surprises, and she never would be. Which was why I couldn’t get emotionally involved. Why I had to keep telling myself that she was just a hammer. A hammer with really nice legs, and eyes the color of good caramel, and…

Focus.

“Creating darkness wasn’t enough of a surprise?”

She laughed. “It was a start. Ice?”

“Four cubes.”

Kori scooped ice into the glass and set a half-full bottle of very expensive Scotch in front of me. I held it up, examining the label, reluctantly impressed with Tower’s taste. “How much trouble will we be in if we get caught?”

“We’re not going to get caught. If we hear footsteps, you make it dark, and I’ll make us disappear.” She produced a bottle of Grey Goose from beneath the counter, then circled the bar to sit on the stool next to mine. “There’s snack mix if you want, but you’re gonna have to serve yourself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“This.” She twisted the lid off the bottle and gulped from it once, twice, three times, without flinching.

“Rough night?” I asked, thinking about what I’d overheard.

“Any night that sees me in three-inch heels and sequins is a rough night.” She set the bottle on the bar, the cork stopper still clasped in one hand. “But I’ve certainly seen worse.”

I watched her, and after nearly a minute of staring off into space, she turned to face me. “What?”

“You drink like a man.”