“Let me do the talking.” He got out and slammed his car door without waiting for her reply.

“Now, why would I do that?” His pain-in-the-fang partner stared at him from across the hood, one finely arched brow raised as if in flight.

Suppressing a growl, he rounded the bumper and stepped onto the sidewalk.  “Because, these are my people and I said so.”  Fists clenched, he reminded himself the supercilious woman falling into step wouldn’t be around much longer.

Known as the Dirty Harry of P.L.A.S.M.A, he never kept a partner long—they either died or defected to the other side.

“Your people?” She snorted for a few steps, then stopped.

He glanced at her slackened body.

Overcome, she laughed so hard tears rolled down her heart-shaped face and dripped into the peek of her exposed cleavage.  His groin tightened. Had the drop traveled the whole valley? He ripped his gaze away. This was no time to be aroused. Ignoring his libido, he stomped toward the bar. She wasn’t even his type.  Hell, she wasn’t even human.

Neither was he, but that wasn’t the point.

Her laughter followed him down the street like a disco tune—painful to his ears.

That’s it! He flew to her side in less than half a second. Wind from his hastening blew his hair into her face.  “Yes, my people. Do you have a problem with that, Ms. Katt?”

She didn’t flinch—didn’t blink. “I just can’t picture you having people. Who do you think you are, friggin’ Lord of the Fangs?” Amusement burst into her eyes, turning them a brilliant green. She slumped back against the closed pawn shop, the metal security door creaking under her shuddering weight.

“Great. I’m partnered with the feline version of Don Rickles.” He stared up at the stars. A lot of work needed to be done and he was losing the night sky.  His gaze bounced to the snickering woman. “This is good. This is very helpful. Yeah, you stay here and laugh.” Muttering a curse, he shook his head and proceeded to the pub without her. Even if she didn’t last long, you’d think P.L.A.S.M.A would’ve given him someone more useful than Chuckles the Cat.

Counting the burnt out streetlights, he strode down the sidewalk and reached number three when Kit appeared. Damn shifter. Even his extra sensitive hearing hadn’t picked up her approach.  He glanced sideways at her. “So, you decided to be an agent?”

“Hello…” She waved, then poked her chest. “Cat here. I’m curious. I want to see your people. They’re not aliens, are they?”

He scowled. “Why do I even bother?” Fingers clamping around the knob, he pretended the handle was her sexy, slender neck and yanked the pub door open.

“Hi, Pierce.”

“Hey, Pierce.”

Several of the patrons called out in greeting. He waved and scanned the crowd. No sign of Rudy.

“Hello, Pierce Divine.” Warmth wrapped around him in the form of a familiar-looking blonde. She kissed him deeply, holding his face, while her tongue searched his mouth for tonsils.

He let her look.

A throat cleared.  “Honey, despite the old adage, if you’re looking for money, that’s not where he keeps it.”

The blonde lifted her head, then stared at Kit. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d brought your dinner with you.”

His traitorous body heated at the thought. “She’s not dinner. She’s my partner.”

All bar activity ceased. Even the drunk, holding up the wall to his right, turned startled eyes on them.

“Wow, DeVein. You really know how to silence a crowd.” Kit hit his shoulder.  “I take it back. You do have a commanding presence. I’m just not sure what it commands.”

“Partner? I hope you have a will, sweetheart,” someone called from nearby.

“Yeah.” Another snickered. “Make sure your affairs are in order.”

Her head tilted.  “Nice people, DeVein. I’m feeling the love.”

“I give her a day.”