"She doesn'tlook like she's been dead long?"

I pointed to where Mme. Deauxville's arms were bound behind her back. "Rigor hasn't set in yet. If you look at the angle between her arms and her back, you'll notice it's closing as rigor starts to take hold. That means she's either been dead for more than twelve hours, and rigor is wearing off, or it's just setting in, which means she's been dead… oh, maybe fifteen minutes. But I don't have to tell you that—you're a cop."

"I specialize in finding lost items, not examining mur-der scenes," Drake said abruptly. "How do you know so much about the stages of decomposition?"

"The Detection Channel. I'm addicted to a reality forensic medicine show on it. It's really interesting.

They do autopsies and stuff. Do you know what happens to bones left exposed to the elements?"

"Yes, they turn brown."

"That's right. I thought you said you didn't work homicides?"

He scanned the room again, like he was looking for something he missed. He also totally ignored my last question, which .was fine with me, because I'd rather he answered the important one. "I arrived shortly before you did, five minutes at the most. My business with her is none of your concern. She was dead when I entered the apartment."

"Then you must have heard me ringing the bell."

"Yes."

"You didn't let me in!" I said, a wee tad bit more petu-lantly than I would have liked, considering he was still the number-one suspect for the murder.

He tipped his head back like he was smelling the air. "Would you have if you were in my place?"

"I suppose not. So, why wereyou meeting Mme. Deauxville?"

His brows pulled together in a frown as he turned to face me fully. "I think a more important question is why you insist on lying to me. You are a Guardian, and yet you deny the facts. You deny that a demon has been here. I can feel the very air soiled by its presence, yet you deny it?" He shook his head, moving slowly toward me. "Why a Guardian seeks to lie about something so simple as a demon summoning is beyond me. You will explain your-self now."

I took a couple of steps back, toward the desk. "See, this is where you're confused. I'm a courier—I just told you that. I don't have any kids, my own or anyone else's, for whom I'm acting as a guardian."

His frown deepened. "What?"

"I'm a courier.C-o-u-r-i-e-r. It means someone who transports objects. That's my job. At least itwas. There's no telling how Uncle Damian is going to react to my first delivery going to pot like this, but I have a feeling I shouldn't be planning on a raise and a promotion any time soon."

Drake moved around to the far side of the circle, his eyes puzzled as they watched me. "You smell as if you are telling the truth, but you know about the symbols of Ashtaroth. You knew the circle was closed, and not even I can tell if a circle is open or closed. In addition, you are familiar with the rituals for destroying a demon. Only a Guardian would know such things. What game are you playing?"

I spread my hands to show him that I was innocent of whatever it was he suspected me of. "What is it with you telling me I smell? I took a shower this morning! As for the rest of what you said, I'm just trying to do my job."

"Which is to deliver what?"

I shrugged, unwilling to tell him. Despite his badge and claims to the contrary, I didn't know hedidn't mur-der Mme. Deauxville. The intriguing air of danger that surrounded him certainly made it seem possible, not to mention all that double-talk about demons and their guardians. And then there was his obsession with smelling things…". It's just a small statue. Even if you're not a homicide cop, shouldn't you be, like, you know, examining the body and stuff?"

"I am questioning a suspect," he said, moving toward me. The calm part of my mind enjoyed watching how he walked, a sort of powerful glide, coiled strength implied, but not obvious in his fluid movements. "A statue of what? What is it made of?"

"Metal. It's of a creature, nothing special, nothing im-portant," I lied.

His head lifted again, and I could have sworn he was scenting the air. "Gold. The statue is of gold."

I ran for the chair, just barely beating him to it. "You know what? I think I need to see your badge again. You're not doing this questioning thing right at all. You should be asking me my name and where I'm staying and whether I knew Mme. Deauxville and stuff like that, not babbling on about demons and why someone would use the Circle of Ashtaroth to summon one of the demon prince's legions, and what the small, insignificant statue I brought is made of."

"For someone who professes not to be a Guardian, you appear very learned in demon lore," he said in sort of a low growl that sent shivers of mingled thrill and fear down my spine. With a move that was too fast for me to follow, he grabbed my arm and hauled me up to his chest, one hand clamped behind me, the other grabbing my hair and pulling my head back. "Very well. We will play this game as you demand. What is your name?"

"Aisling," I said before I realized what I was doing. My body—traitor that it is—thoroughly enjoyed being smooshed up against him, fully aware of the long hard lines of his body. After several seconds of numbed bemusement, the sane side of my mind regained control. "Hey! What do you think you're doing? You can't man-handle me like this! Let me go!"

"You wished for me to ask questions—I am simply granting that wish. Where are you staying?"

"The H6tel de la Femme Sans Tete. Let go of me!" "Not yet. Did you know Mme. Deauxville?" "No, I told you I was a courier. Stop holding me like this, it's not at all PC."

"Politically correct. Let mego."

His eyes narrowed on me. "A Guardian who claims she is not a Guardian, and yet who understands the steps needed to summon a demon. What a puzzle you present me. I believe it is a puzzle worth investigating." Instead of releasing me, he buried his head in my neck and drew in a deep breath.

"What on earth are you doing?" I shrieked, beginning to struggle in earnest despite the urge to go all girly on him.

"Memorizing your scent."

"What?" I shrieked again, then realized that it wasn't just my own voice that was echoing around the room— police sirens outside the windows were growing steadily louder.