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before it, all underlined by utter confusion.
    â€œDetective Jarvis—”
    At the sound of Trent’s voice, the wings rising beyond his shoulders disappeared. Alex blinked, swallowed, and felt cold fingers of dread brush against a mind that terrified her with its sudden fragility.
    No. Not that.
    Never that.
    With careful movements defined by their very deliberateness, she took the keys from her pocket and replaced the cell phone in its case at her waist. Then, with equal precision, she locked away the image of a winged Trent with the memories and the gut-congealing fear with which she’d lived a lifetime.
    â€œWe have another body,” she said. “Staff Roberts wants us at the scene.”

SEVEN
    Christine Delaney pushed the buzzer for a third time and stood back to peer up at the windows of the stately home. Not so much as the twitch of a drape. She checked her watch again. Three o’clock. Exactly on time. So where the bloody hell was Arthur Stevens, overbearing parent extraordinaire? Christ, she detested the way the wealthy set figured the world would fall in with their own personal schedules.
    She scowled at the glossy black front door. She should never have agreed to drive all the way out to Oakville for the moron’s statement, just so the staff in his downtown office wouldn’t know about Daddy’s difficulties with his son. It would have been so much more sensible to have the Halton Regional Police Service do the interview for her. Oakville fell within their jurisdiction, after all. She gave a soft snort. Maybe she was the moron, not Stevens.
    She gazed down the long, empty sweep of driveway. Well, she was here now, so she might as well check around back to see if anyone was there. With a place this size, Stevens had to have hired help kicking around somewhere. Maybe they’d know when he was expected home.
    Heading down the stairs and across the lawn, she cursed as her designer shoes sank into the soft turf. Great. Now she’d have to have them cleaned, all because the mayor’s golfing buddy couldn’t let go of his adult son. Asshole.
    Speaking of the son, she still needed to get his side of the story, too. Daddy Stevens might not think it necessary, but Christine planned to err on the side of extreme thoroughness on this file. She had no intention of having it come back to bite her in the ass.
    She pulled out her cell phone, punched the Recent Calls button, selected Mitch Stevens’s name, and hit Auto Dial. If she could meet him on her way back to the office, her day might not feel like such a colossal waste. As she rounded the corner of the house, however, Mitch Stevens’s voice mail kicked in yet again.
    â€œDamn it, doesn’t anyone answer the phone anymore?” Christine waited for the tone and left another message, terser than the first two. She hung up as her shoe landed in something too soft to be lawn. Groaning, she froze. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
    She stared at the dog crap under her foot for a moment and then raised a baleful face to whatever deities might occupy the sky. “If you’re trying to tell me this case is a pile of shit, I already figured that out,” she muttered. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
    Â 
    ROBERTS TURNED AS Alex climbed out of her car. His forehead creased. “What happened to you?” he asked. “You see that ghost again?”
    Alex recoiled from her staff inspector’s ill-chosen words. Her hand, still quivering from its encounter with Trent, tightened its grip on the top edge of the driver’s door. “I’m fine.”
    â€œYou don’t look it.”
    Alex shrugged off his concern and reached into the car for the sunglasses she’d left on the dash. A hot wind, scented by exhaust fumes from the city four stories below, gusted across the rooftop parking lot and lifted the hair from her neck.
    Trent got out on the other side of the car.