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The door swung open before he hit the bell. Xavier was on the other side, all big and bleached-out looking. “You’re late.”

“And you said we’d be meeting alone.”

“Worried you can’t handle company?”

“Depends on what kind it is.”

Xavier stepped to the right. “Why don’t you get in here and find out?”

Van stayed on the mat. “Just so you know, I told my brother I was coming here. Address and everything.”

“Which brother, the older or the younger?” Xavier smiled as Van narrowed his eyes. “Yes, we know about them. As you say, their addresses and everything.”

Van put his hand into the pocket of his parka. The nine-millimeter he was packing slid into his palm like the thing was finding home.

Money, think about the money.

After a moment, he said, “We going to get down to it or keep yakking it up in this draft?”

“I’m not the one on the wrong side of the door, son.”

Van came in, keeping an eye on Xavier. Inside, the place was cold, like the heat was down low or maybe the house was abandoned. The lack of furniture suggested the latter.

When Xavier reached into his back pocket, Van tensed up. And what came forward was a weapon of sorts: ten perfectly crisp hundred-dollar bills.

“So do we have a deal?” Xavier asked.

Van looked around. Then took the money and stashed it. “Yeah.”

“Good. You start tonight.” Xavier turned and walked to the back of the house.

Van followed, staying on high alert. Especially as they went down into the basement and he saw six more of Xavier standing around at the bottom of the stairs. The men were all tall, pale-haired, and smelling like old lady.

“Looks like you’ve got a few brothers of your own,” Van said casually.

“They’re not brothers. And don’t use that word around here.” Xavier glanced over at the hardasses. “These will be your trainees.”

Moving under his own steam, but watched by a nurse in full hazmat dress, Butch got back into bed after having had his first shower and shave. The catheter and the IV were out and he’d managed to suck back a good meal. He’d also slept soundly for eleven out of the past twelve hours.

Man…he was beginning to feel human again, and the speed with which he was rebounding was a gift from God as far as he could tell.

“You did well, sire,” the nurse said.

“Next stop, the Olympics.” He pulled the sheets up himself.

After the nurse left, he glanced at Marissa. She was sitting on the cot that he’d insisted be brought in for her and her head was bent over the needlepoint she was doing. Ever since he’d woken up about an hour ago she’d been acting a little strange, as if she was on the verge of saying something that she couldn’t quite manage to let out.

His eyes went from the bright crown of her head, to her delicate hands, to the peach gown that overflowed her makeshift bed…and then he eased his stare back up to the bodice of the dress. There were dainty buttons going all the way down the front. Like a hundred of them.

Butch shifted his legs around, feeling restless. And found himself wondering how long it would take him to slip each of those pearls loose.

His body stirred, the blood pooling between his legs, making him swell up hard.

Well, what do you know. He really was better.

And man, he was a sonofabitch.

He rolled away from her and closed his eyes.

Trouble was, with his lids down, all he saw was him kissing her on Darius’s second-story porch last summer. Oh, shit, he remembered it clear as a photograph. He’d been sitting down and she’d been between his legs and his tongue had been in her mouth. They’d ended up on the floor when he broke the chair—

“Butch?”

He opened his eyes and jerked back. Marissa was right in front of him, her face on his level. In a panic, he glanced down to make sure the sheets hid what was doing between his thighs.

“Yeah?” he said with so much gravel he had to repeat himself. Christ, his voice box always had rough edges, his words perpetually a little hoarse, but if there was one sure thing that made that worse it was thinking about getting naked. Especially