Angus set down his bottle and yanked the photo from Gregori's grasping fingers. His heart stammered and lunged up his throat. No wonder Gregori was panting like a hound dog. She had creamy pale skin that contrasted dramatically with her rich brown hair. Her eyes were a golden-brown that glimmered like amber. There was a sharp intelligence in her eyes. A strong will. A fierce passion that marked her as a warrior.

"She's the one," he whispered.

Connor shook his head. "We canna be sure until we catch the slayer in the act."

Angus set her photo down. Her eyes seemed to be following him, calling to him. "We'll catch her. Tonight. Connor, you take the northern half of the park, and I'll take the southern half."

"I'll come." Gregori took a swig from Angus's bottle. "I can spot a good-looking babe a mile off."

"Hey." Angus grabbed his bottle back. He'd been so intent on Miss Wallace's photo, he hadn't seen Gregori nabbing his Blissky. "And what will ye do when a black-belt slayer knocks ye down and whips out her wooden stake?"

"Oh, come on, dude." Gregori straightened his tie. "No woman wants to kill a sharp-dressed man."

"Angus is right." Connor gathered up the profiles and photos and closed the folder.

"Ye're no' prepared to fight a slayer. Stay here and tell Roman what we decided to do."

"Damn." Gregori tugged at his shirt cuff. "Not fair."

Angus removed a pewter flask from his sporran and filled it with Blissky. "'Twill be a long night. This will keep me warm."

"I'll fetch my claymore, and we can go." Connor headed for the door.

"Wait." Gregori's mouth twitched. "You two guys are going to Central Park in the middle of the night, wearing skirts?" He laughed. "No one's gonna believe you're looking for a woman."

Angus glanced down at his kilt. "I dinna bring any trousers."

Gregori snorted. "You mean you own some?"