He takes a minute to readjust the seat and steering wheel. While he's doing that, he says, "Is there something I should know about Tamara? She's not married, is she? Or divorced with ten kids? Not that I mind kids but I don't know what kind of father I'd be.

I've had friends with stepkids and it doesn't always work out well. 'Course, that-"

"Jesus, David." My voice is high-pitched and screechy. "This is a f.u.c.king first date. You don't even know the woman. I haven't known her for long. What if she's a flake? Don't you think you should go to lunch maybe or coffee before taking her out at night?"

David looks over with an expression that makes me want to smack him. He's trying hard not to laugh. "Go to lunch or coffee before taking her out at night? What are we, twelve? You want to come along to chaperone?"

Not a bad idea. Well, not coming along to chaperone exactly, but I could follow them. Make sure Tamara keeps her skin on.

David is eyeballing me again. "Come on, Anna. Spill it. You have something against Tamara? I suppose if you do I should hear it.

You certainly had Gloria pegged."

Now that I've decided on a course of action, I relax and smile over at him. "No. Get me to my car and you can go on your date.

It's a block or so from the Four Seasons. I'll direct you."

David drives with one eye on the road and one on me. I don't reverse myself often. It's amusing to feel his confusion. What wouldn't be amusing is Tamara turning into a werewolf and attacking him. I'm not sure how I'll tail them since he knows my car, but I'll figure something out.

We're about a block from my car when David slows the Hummer. "Holy s.h.i.t. Is that the Jag? What the h.e.l.l happened to it?"

His tone snaps me from my reverie. I follow his gaze.

I can't believe what I'm seeing.

The Jag is parked where I left it. Under a streetlight, a block from the hotel.

It's been trashed. The paint is scored with thousands of scratches, every inch of the body sc.r.a.ped and cut. Not even the windows escaped. The ones not shattered outright bear deep nicks and abrasions.

David's voice is hushed. "It looks like it was attacked by a pack of wild dogs."

I'm too stunned to respond, words just won't come, but I know he's right. It was attacked by animals.

Not dogs, though.

Wolves.

CHAPTER 50.

LIGHTNING FAST, SHOCK VEERS TO ANGER. "I'M GO-ING to kill her."

I didn't mean to speak the words out loud.

David is no longer looking at the car. He's staring at me. "Kill her? Kill who?"

I've stumbled out of the Hummer and am standing in stunned silence beside my car. I love this car. It was the first really nice car I ever bought-my dream car. Sandra trashed it. The musk of wolf hanging in the air confirms it.

David joins me at the front of the Hummer. "Anna? You know who did this? We'll call the police. Anybody this twisted should be locked up."

He's reaching for his cell phone. I grab his hand. "No police. I'll take care of this."

"Are you kidding? What do you mean, no police? I've never seen damage like this. I can't even imagine what was used. A trowel?

A knife? A bat? Jesus. You'd think someone would have noticed a car being vandalized like this."

David's outrage is escalating. So is my own; my insides are seething with it. Except that I know there's nothing the cops can do except take a report. It was Sandra and her pack. How they managed in daylight on a busy side street, I can't even imagine. I do know that if she's capable of the things I saw and felt last night, she's capable of creating the kind of glamour that would render her invisible.

David is waiting. What kind of explanation can I give him for not wanting to call the cops? I give voice to the first thing that pops to mind. "It's been a long day. What happened to my car is bad enough. Standing here for an hour doing paperwork is worse."

David doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't argue. I can tell by his expression that my outburst when I saw the car is replaying in his head. I can also tell that he's filing it away for a future conversation. He says, "What do you want to do?"

I'm suddenly conscious of tears running down my cheeks. Stupid. Crying over a car. I swipe at them with the back of my hand.

"Call a tow truck, I guess."

David has his cell phone out again. "I can do better than that. I have a friend who owns a body shop. High end. I'll call him. He'll come get the car."

"It's Sunday night."

"Doesn't matter." David is scrolling through his address book. "He and I played for the Broncos. If he's not in the hospital or dead, he'll come."

I rest my b.u.t.t against the side of the Jag, running a hand along the damaged door, listening to David's side of the conversation. In less than two minutes, he snaps shut his phone.

"He'll be here in twenty minutes."

Guess the football fraternity runs deep. I glance at my watch. I know in my gut that Tamara had a part in what happened to my car.

At least the one good thing that could come out of this would be David canceling his date. I give him a forlorn smile. "What about your date? Aren't you going to be late?"

David is on the phone again. "Hey, Tamara. David. Listen, I have to cancel tonight. There's been an accident. No. Nothing serious.

Can we postpone until tomorrow night?"

Evidently she agrees because he's smiling and nodding. "Great. Pick you up at seven."

He pockets the phone and joins me.

I've got a twenty-four-hour reprieve.

"Where does Tamara live?" I ask.

He looks surprised. "You don't know? She's staying with a friend at some doctor's house in La Jolla. Quite a place to hear her tell it."

Oh, yes. Quite a place. What David doesn't realize is that he's been there before. At Avery's house. That's where he was taken when Avery kidnapped and almost killed him.

It's where I'll go soon.

After I finish doing what I should have done this morning.

Read that d.a.m.ned chapter seventeen in Frey's book.

CHAPTER 51.

I'VE NEVER BEEN ONE FOR SMALL TALK. LUCKILY, neither is David. We stand together beside the Hummer waiting in silence for his friend. I don't know what he's thinking about. I'm thinking about the various, creative ways I will kill Sandra should the opportunity present itself.

David's friend is punctual. He turns out to be another example of that rare and remarkable American breed: the giant pro football player. He's a good four inches taller than David, outweighs him by seventy-five pounds. He's dressed in jeans that fit too well to be anything but custom tailored and a tee under a denim jacket. His hands are encased in leather driving gloves and his feet in reptile-skin boots. He walks like the Hulk. Must have been a defensive end.

David introduces him as "Charmer Moss."

"Charmer?" I say, returning a firm handshake. His hand is the size of a dinner plate. "For real?"

He smiles. His skin is rich dark mahogany and the contrast of perfect, white teeth in the handsome face is dazzling. "My wife says that's more my mother's editorial comment on my father than any reflection on me."

"What do you think?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. My father died before I was born."

He looks past me to my car and the smile fades. "s.h.i.t. What the h.e.l.l happened to your car?"

David and I watch as he surveys the damage. He makes a complete circle of the car. "Never seen anything like this. You get caught in a dust storm? Sometimes high wind and sand can scour the paint right off a car."

I wish it were something as simple as a dust storm. "No. No dust storms. Can you fix it?"

That brings back the smile. "Didn't David tell you? I can fix anything. If it's cosmetic, the way it looks, I can repaint and replace the windows. Only take about a week. Do you need a loaner? I've got a sweet '69 Mustang convertible you can have for the duration."

"s.h.i.t," David says. "I'll take the Mustang. Anna can drive my Hummer."

"In your dreams. I spent the afternoon driving that colossus of yours." I turn to Charmer. "I'll take the Mustang."

He returns to the cab of the tow truck and comes back with a clipboard. He asks and I answer insurance questions, give him my personal information, and arrange to be at his shop tomorrow morning to pick up the Mustang. David says he'll bring me to the shop himself before going to the hospital for Gloria.

"So you're still seeing her, huh?" Charmer says. He gives David a sideways squint. "Heard she got herself in some trouble." David looks down and away. "Yeah. You might say that."

He doesn't elaborate, and, living up to his name, Charmer doesn't push. His mama would be proud.

I get my purse and Gloria's things out of the trunk. I slip the ignition key off the key chain, and David and I stand aside as Charmer maneuvers the tow truck into position and starts the Jag. I don't realize I've been holding my breath until he drives the Jag up onto the bed. The engine sounds fine. At least that's something. Charmer secures the car and in another ten minutes, he's on his way.

"Nice guy."

David nods. "The best. It's early yet. Want to get some dinner?"

My automatic response to human offers of food revs up to spout the usual litany of excuses why I can't. Except for one thing.

David is right about it being early. I'm not about to give him a reason to call Tamara back tonight because he's free sooner than he expected. Especially with no way to keep an eye on them.

"Sure. I ate a late lunch, so I'm not particularly hungry but I could use a beer."

He smiles. "Good. It's been a while since I've been to Luigi's. It's in your neighborhood. How about it?"

Great. I nod and attempt a smile back at him. Now let's hope I can restrain from projectile vomiting at the smell in the one Mission Beach restaurant whose motto is "If you don't like garlic, go home."

My plan is to keep David occupied until it's too late for him to consider contacting Tamara. I figure until ten or so. Then I'll read that last chapter in Frey's book.

When I face Sandra the next time, I'll be prepared.

To do that, I have David swing by the office on our way to Luigi's. I tell him I want to pick up the papers Jamie's office faxed to me yesterday.

Yesterday? Has it only been one day?

He waits for me in the car while I run inside. I do grab the papers along with Frey's book and stuff them in a briefcase. Then we're off to a place that used to be my favorite eating joint.

Luigi's is a block from my cottage. It's small, dark, cramped and always busy. The owner is not Italian at all, but Greek. He's a short, middle-aged guy with a penchant for long-sleeved designer shirts and well-pressed jeans. He runs his place like a general commanding troops. But Ted can cook. His meatb.a.l.l.s are world renowned-at least to hear him tell it-and I can personally attest that there are none better in San Diego. I've eaten my fair share.

Before the vampire thing turned garlic into a weapon, that is.

Ted is behind the bar when David and I walk in. He does a double take and slams a gla.s.s down on the counter so hard, it shatters.

He snaps his finger to the barkeep to clean up the gla.s.s and stomps out to meet us, scowling.

"So. You aren't dead, after all. Figured you had to be, it's been so long since you dropped by. So what was it? Amnesia? You forget your friends in the neighborhood now that you have a fancy office downtown? You find another place that feeds you better than Luigi's?"

He looks like he's winding up for a long tirade. I can't speak the smell is so offensive. At the moment I think I'm going to have to run out or puke all over his Gucci loafers. He takes David's arm in one hand and mine in the other and steers us to a booth by an open window. It's already occupied, mind you, but that doesn't stop Ted from shooing the couple out, gathering up their dishes, and plunking them down on a table in the center of the place. They're too stunned to object. Even if they did, Ted wouldn't care.

He's a force of nature. His place, his rules.

David and I slide in. Neither of us has spoken a word. Ted's storm pa.s.ses as quickly as a cloudburst, and by the time he's signaled for the busboy to wipe down our table and bring setups, he's beaming at us.

"How about a nice Chianti?" he says. "For the antipasti. Then I'm going to cook something special for you. You two leave everything to Ted."

He heads for the kitchen like a robin after a worm. At least here by the window, I can smell fresh air. I scoot as close as possible to it and gulp down the nausea. What I do to protect my friends. This is not going to be fun.

CHAPTER 52.