Free Dates From Hell by Kelley Armstrong

nervous energy and conflicted thoughts to sate me for a week.”
    Oh joy, Ivy thought sourly. She took pride in suppressing her emotions, and that Mia not only felt them but was sopping them up like gravy wasn’t a pleasant thought.
    “Why am I here?” Mia asked, pale hands holding her tiny blue-beaded purse on her lap.
    Ivy gathered herself. “Ms. Harbor,” she said formally, seeing Mia grimace when Ivy made an effort to calm herself. “I’d like to thank you for coming to see me. I have a few questions that the I.S. would be most grateful if you can help me with.”
    A sigh came from Mia, chilling Ivy—it sounded like the eerie moan of a lost soul. “Which one of my sisters killed someone?” she asked, looking at the tear in its evidence bag.
    Ivy’s prepared speech vanished. Relieved to be able to sidestep the formalities, she leaned forward, the flat of her forearms on the desk. “We’re looking for Jacqueline.”
    Mia held out a hand for the tear, and Ivy pushed it closer. The woman let go of her purse and took the bag, slipping a white nail under the seal.
    “Hey!” Ivy exclaimed, standing.
    Mia froze, looking at Ivy over her sunglasses.
    Breath catching, Ivy stopped her vamp-fast reach for the evidence bag and rocked back. The woman’s eyes were the shockingly pale blue of a near albino, but it was the aching emptiness that halted Ivy. Unmoving, her heart pounded at the raw hunger they contained, chained by an iron-laced restraint. The woman was holding a hunger whose depths Ivy had only tasted. But Ivy had learned enough about restraint to see the signs that her control was absolute: her lack of emotional expression, the stiffness with which she held herself, the soft preciseness of her breathing, the careful motions she made as if she would lose control if she moved too fast and broke through the envelope of her aura and will.
    Shocked and awed by what the woman confidently contained, Ivy humbly sat back down.
    A smile quirked Mia’s face. The snap of the seal breaking was loud, but Ivy didn’t stop her, even when she shook the tear into her palm and delicately touched it briefly to her tongue. “You found this at the crime scene?” she asked, and when Ivy nodded she added, “This tear is not functioning.” Ivy took a breath to protest, and Mia interrupted, “You found this in a room stinking of fear. If it had been working, every wisp of emotion would have been gone.”
    Surprised, Ivy struggled to keep her emotions close. That the room reeked of fear when she entered hadn’t made it to her report. Since she had contaminated it, it seemed pointless. That might have been a mistake, but amending her report to include it would look questionable.
    Mia dropped the tear back into the bag. “It wasn’t Jacqueline who killed. It wasn’t any of my sisters. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you, Officer Tamwood.”
    Ivy’s pulse quickened. Thinking Mia was protecting her kin, she said, “The man admits to killing the victim, but doesn’t know why he did. Our theory is Jacqueline left the tear knowing there was the chance domestic violence would cover her crime. Please, Mia. If we don’t find Jacqueline, an innocent man will be sentenced for murdering his wife.”
    The crackle of the broken seal was loud, and Ivy wondered what the black crystal tasted like. “A tear older than a week won’t function as a conduit for emotions,” Mia said. “And while that tear is Jacqueline’s”—she tossed the bag to the desk—“it is at least three years old.”
    Wondering how she was going to explain why the original seal was broken, Ivy frowned. This had been a waste of time. Just as well she hadn’t told Art about it. “And you know that how, ma’am?” she said, frustrated. “You can’t date tears.”
    From behind her black glasses, Mia smiled to show her teeth, her canines a shade longer than a human’s. “I know it’s at least that old because I killed Jacqueline three years ago.”
    Smooth