"When it comes to partners like Kincaid, I'll make the decision and you'll abide by it," Jonas said calmly.

He reached for another slice of pate on toast.

"Dammit, Jonas, who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?"

"I'm the man you sleep with these days. That gives me all kinds of rights."

He could tell his imperturbable attitude was getting to her. Verity's eyes were glittering more brilliantly than the jewel on her forehead.

"Jonas, this is an asinine argument to be having right now."

"I couldn't agree more. Let's skip the argument and have something else to eat."

"How can you eat after talking to that man?"

"It's simple. I just put this cracker into my mouth and chomp down with both sets of teeth. Works every time."

"Jonas, that's the man in Caitlin's painting. Don't you understand? He's the one who... Oh, my God, the painting," Verity gasped.

"What about it?"

"I just realized. It's unprotected upstairs. Caitlin locked the door to her studio but that's the only precaution she took. But what if you're right and he is suspicious? What if Kincaid snuck up there and destroyed it before he walked into the party? That would explain why he was late arriving tonight."

"Verity, be reasonable. How would he know where the painting is or what Caitlin painted in the first place?"

"He knows there's a painting for sale and he must remember this house. In fact, it must look very familiar to him, because Caitlin admitted she never changed a thing in it. He'd know his way around the place. If he's at all suspicious about what's going on here tonight, it would be perfectly reasonable for him to sneak a look at Bloodlust. After all, tiiis whole get-together is focused on that painting."

"Your logic is unassailable," Jonas admitted dryly. "But what makes you think he could sneak up those stairs and find the room she uses as a studio with all the people coming and going around here?"

"I told you, he knows this house. He'd remember the back staircase. He'd know the big corner room on the third floor would make an excellent studio. The light would be perfect up there. Lord only knows how much else he'll remember." With sudden decision, Verity picked up her velvet skirts. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"To check on the painting," she hissed impatiently.

Jonas swore softly. "Not so fast. I'll go. You're staying here in the crowd."

"No, I'm not. I'll come with you. I want to see if any-thing's been done to Bloodlust."

"I'll check it out and report back to you. Word of honor."

"Jonas," she began in that tone of voice that told him she was about to put her foot down, "I said I'm coming with you and I mean it."

Jonas sighed and tipped up her stubborn little chin. He looked down into her defiant gaze and deliberately pitched his voice to a low and dangerous level. It was time she learned there were limits to the kind of orders he would take from her. He had been indulging her far too long.

"Listen closely, Verity. You're not leaving this room. I will check on Bloodlust for you but you will stay right here with all these people until I get back. I'm not taking any chances this evening. This subject is not open for further discussion. We are not voting on who gets to go upstairs and who doesn't. I'm making the decision and you will follow orders."

"Your orders?" she sputtered. "What makes you think I'll follow orders from you?"

"If you don't, I swear I will turn you over my knee and paddle you in front of all these nice people." He didn't make a threat out of it. He made it sound like a promise.

Verity was so shocked that for a few critical seconds she couldn't find any words to fling at him. Jonas nodded once, satisfied that his message had been received and understood. He released her chin.

"I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to keep your mouth shut around Kincaid. You get too chatty when you get mad." He stepped into the crowd before she could recover.

Sometimes you had to get firm with a tyrant. History showed it didn't pay to appease one. Little tyrants turned into major nuisances if given a chance.

The hall outside the kitchen was empty. The light had been turned off. Jonas surveyed the narrow, shadowed staircase and decided Verity was right. It would be relatively easy for someone to make his way upstairs without being noticed, if he knew about the back stairs.

Reflexively he touched the hilt of the aluminum dagger and then dropped his hand in disgust. It would have been worth his life for a Renaissance lord to carry a fake. Jonas's hand moved under the black cloak to check the utilitarian knife that hung over his hip.

Theoretically there was no need for concern. Kincaid was safely occupied in the main salon. But Jonas was aware of a frisson of uneasiness as he loped swiftly up the stairs to the third level of the house.

The hall at the top was empty and dark. He made his way through the shadows, listening to the splatter of rain on the skylight overhead. One quick look at the painting would reassure him and he could then reassure Verity.

The door to the comer room where Caitlin practiced her art was still locked. Jonas tried it and knew a strong sense of relief when the knob failed to turn under his fingers. It didn't prove that Kincaid hadn't been inside, but it was an indication that all was still safe.

It wouldn't hurt to be certain. Besides, Verity would want to know if he had checked the painting itself, not just the lock on the door. Tyrants could be extremely demanding.

Reluctantly Jonas slipped the thin aluminum dagger out of its sheath and inserted the tip between the door and its frame. He had heard that a credit card worked well on this kind of simple household lock but he hadn't carried plastic for nearly five years.

The dagger point did the job just fine. The lock gave way and the knob turned in Jonas's palm. He slid the fake weapon back into its sheath and stepped into the darkened room.

Something moved in the shadows and Jonas froze. A small pocket light switched on and he automatically looked away from it, trying not to let himself be temporarily blinded by it. The light revealed a gun locked in a beefy fist. It was pointed at him.

"Hold it right there. One move and I'll blow you away. There's a silencer on this. No one downstairs will hear a thing."

Jonas surveyed the dark, solid shape in front of him. He couldn't make out the features, only a general impression of size and strength behind the glare of the small flashlight. The hick accent was grating on the ears but there was no doubt the gun was rock steady. The man seemed quite comfortable with it.