"I could scream for help, you know," I told him.

"No one would hear you over the noise," he answered. "I'm going to get at the truth if it takes me all night. When did you last see Hope?"

"Oh! The faery?" Sarah asked, clasping her hands together. "I can't believe I forgot about her! Portia said she saw her while I had run to town to get my camera. That would be about two—"

"Sarah." I cocked an eyebrow at her.

"I was just trying to be helpful."

I ignored that and leveled a long, hard look at the man sitting across from us. My first impressions of strength had not diminished at all by exposure to him. His face was all hard angles, high cheekbones and a blunt, square jaw doing as much as his obsidian eyes in imparting a sense of ruthless purpose. His skin was darker than that of an Anglo-Saxon, a warm, rich color that hinted at an exotic heritage. Gleaming black hair swept back from a widow's peak that no doubt had women swooning to run their fingers through the silky black curls. For a moment my fingers itched to do just that, but the thought died just as quickly as it had been born.

"If I answer your questions, will you leave?" I asked with a resigned sigh.

"Portia! You don't have to be rude!"

I gave her a look that should have made it clear what I thought of such a ridiculous statement, but years of close acquaintance have made Sarah immune to such things.

"I begin to think that there might be more here than I anticipated," the man answered. "But I will swear to you that I mean you no harm."

I hesitated a moment, weighing my options. It was true that the noise from the busy pub below would drown out any screams for help that we might make, but we weren't completely helpless. There was the fact that we were two against his one. If push came to shove, I could fling myself at the man while Sarah made her escape to bring help…except I wasn't so sure that in her present hypnotized state of mind she would run for help.