“No.” Her reaction upstairs had been incited by shock at his callousness—she didn’t have a problem working with the grisly find on her own. “I’ll take the best photographs I can, given the condition of the victim, and I’ll mostly work off them. But I want to use the microscope on the tattoo itself, too, make sure I don’t miss any fine details.”
More at ease now, she slid out the slim digital camera she’d tucked into the side pocket of her laptop bag. “A pathologist should examine the head before we consider removing the skin.” She clicked on the camera. “Have you got someone asking around the tattoo parlors?” If they lucked out, she might have a clean photograph to work from.
“Yes.” Snapping on a glove to replace the one he’d removed, he pulled the head out of the bag and stretched the skin tight over the man’s cheekbone as she took a number of highresolution shots from different angles. “That should do for now.” As he put the head down onto a tray and got rid of the trash bag, she set up her laptop and transferred the photos onto the hard drive.
Her body alert to his every small movement, she was aware of Dmitri placing the head in the freezer, stripping off his gloves, and cleaning his hands. So when he appeared beside her chair without warning, the emotion he awakened was so bone-chilling, so vicious, parts of her mind just shut down. And when he lifted her hair off her neck to touch the sensitive skin of her nape, she—
Noise. A shattering metallic crash. Words.
The next thing she knew, she was standing several feet from Dmitri, a tall stool with legs of beaten steel lying on its side between them. A line of blood marked his cheek, but his eyes were focused on the door at her back. “Out!”
Only when the door shut did she realize that someone had attempted to intervene. Sweat dampened her palms, beaded on her spine. Remember, she told herself, remember. But the time was gone, a black spot drenched in the panic that was a vile taste on her tongue. “I hit you.”
Raising his hand, he rubbed a finger on his cheek, came away with a dark red slick on his fingertip. “Something about me seems to make women want to use knives.”
Oh, God. She looked down, realized she was gripping a blade in her hand, the tip wet. “I don’t suppose you’ll accept an apology.” It came out calm, her mind so shocked it was numb.
Sliding his hands into his pockets, Dmitri said, “No, but you can pay for your crimes later. Right now, I need what you can give me on this.”
“I want to consult some of the texts at the Academy library,” she said, forcing her brain into gear, though her hand refused to release the knife she’d apparently pulled from the sheath on her thigh.
“Fine. But remember, little rabbit, not a word to anyone.” He moved close enough that the dark heat of him lapped against her in a quiet threat that made her glad for the blade. “I am not a nice man when I’m angry.”
She held her position, a ragged attempt to erase the humiliation of the panic attack. “I’m fairly certain you’re not a nice man at all.”
His answer was a slow smile that whispered of silk sheets, erotic whispers, and sweat-damp skin. The unhidden intent of it had her heart slamming hard against her ribs. “No,” she said, voice raw.
“A challenge.” He wasn’t touching her and yet she felt caressed by a thousand ropes of fur, soft and lush and unmistakably sexual. “I accept.”
Dmitri made the call an hour later, having had to deal with another matter in the interim. “Sara,” he said when the Guild Director answered her cell.
“Dmitri.” A cool greeting. “What do you need?”
“To know why the hunter you sent me just sliced my face.” The wound had already healed, but it made the perfect opening gambit.
Sara sucked in a breath. “If you’ve done something to her, I swear to God I will get my crossbow and pin you to the side of the fucking Tower.”
Dmitri liked Sara. “She’s being chauffeured home as we speak.” The blood debt was between him and Honor; it would be settled in private. “I gave her a human driver.”
Sara muttered something under her breath. “She’s the best person for the task.”