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knuckles, that makes me feel treasured. It sounds corny, but I love him so damn much.
    "I miss you too, baby. I know you hate when I ask, but any idea when you might be coming home?" He yawned.
    "Don't be silly. I don't hate when you ask that, but I don't have an answer. I hope we'll be done by the weekend. You know I'm going to jump your bones as soon as I hop out of that jet."
    He laughed. "Good. I could do with a bit of bone jumping. Oh, I checked on Casper. Her pet door keeps getting stuck, so I left her in the house for tonight. Is that okay?"
    The last few months my protector of a cat and supposed witch's familiar had been noticeably absent. When I lived in Manhattan, London and Paris, she never left my apartment or my side when we were home. Guess she feels like we are safer in Texas.
    "She'll be fine. Her boyfriends in the neighborhood might not be happy, but they'll get over it."
    That made him laugh.
    "Well, I'll let you get some rest. I love you, Sam. Sleep well."
    "I love you too. Don't go looking for trouble," he warned, but his tone was playful.
    Now that made me laugh, because trouble almost always finds me.
     
    1 A.M.
    Someone just knocked on the door, but by the time I got to it no one was there. Weird.
    I put a new ward on the door to keep the unwanted out. Now back to those sexy, sexy dreams involving Sam and a bottle of Hershey's syrup. I love making a sundae out of that man.

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Chapter Four

     
    Saturday, 10 A. M.
    La Guardia tarmac
    Spells: 5
    Tired, traveling witches: 1
    Dead guys: I (Dammit. Should have killed them all.)
Last night is a bit of a blur.
    We ended the meetings on Friday, and from what I could tell everything was copasetic. Everyone cooperated, there were even policy changes enforced and each country promised to donate large amounts of food and funds. All in all, very productive. And I hadn't heard any more weird messages about someone wanting to kill people.
    So last night, Zane had everybody who stayed in town to a club for a private concert. My God, that man is hot. I mean it. I swear, even some of the straight guys were drooling.
    Anyway, he sang a couple of tunes and then let the house band keep the party going. There was great food and drinks flowed freely. Fun, fun, after a tough week.
    I planned to head home, but the prime minister asked me to stay on at least one more day. He had something important he wanted to talk to me about.
    After the debacle with Zane the other night, I wasn't sure I should go. But Zane begged and I'm a wuss, so there I sat.
    He wore a yellow velvet suit with no shirt underneath. He should have looked like a chicken, but it was so tight and sexy. I don't know many men who could get away with that sort of thing.
    I'd forgotten how mesmerizing his voice could be, especially in a live performance. After he finished singing, he came to the table where the prime minister and I sat.
    "Well, luv, having a good time?"
    I raised my glass to him. Diet Coke and bourbon, the best thing ever for tight shoulders and a tough week. That's not true, sex is the best thing. Bourbon is a close second. "I am, thank you. I like your suit."
    He laughed. "What, this old thing?"
    I rolled my eyes, and wondered what his zillion-dollar designer would say about that.
    "Bronwyn, Zane has something he'd like to discuss with you." The prime minister came to the club in casual attire. Well, casual for him. A black pinstripe Armani, with a blue shirt. But he didn't have a tie on. I tried to think back and remember if I'd ever seen him without a tie in public. Nope. I'd seen him without a shirt once after he'd been poisoned and I had to heal him, but we were in the privacy of his hotel room at the time. He kind of reminds me of Hugh Grant, but so much more stuffy.
    I turned my attention to the rock star. And in that moment the confidence fell from his face.
    "What is it?" I urged.
    Zane stared at his kicky little boots for a full minute. "I think someone is trying to kill me."
    "Oh.