I swallow a few times to mollify my own temper. I really want to bounce his head off the wall. Instead, I count to ten before saying reasonably, "Think about it, David. She didn't ask how or when or where Rory was shot. She didn't so much as look at the picture. What is she doing now? Nothing. No temper tantrum, no tirade. Is that the Gloria you know?"

I shift my gaze to Gloria. Then there's the trivial matter of O'Sullivan blackmailing you this afternoon for s.e.x and suing you tonight for fraud. You can jump in anytime here, sweetie.

Gloria lowers her head, as if acknowledging my thoughts. Then she says in a subdued voice, "Anna is right."

David sucks in a breath, and Gloria raises a hand as if to ward off his protest. "It's true. I did know Rory was dead, but I swear, I didn't kill him."

She may as well have sucker punched him. He stares at her, uncertainty creeping like a shadow across his face. "How could you have known? When you called me, you said you'd just arrived in town. It didn't take me more than twenty minutes to get over here."

She looks at me, and there's an instant when I think she actually expects me to come up with an alibi for her. She's crazier than I thought. When the only response she gets is my staring back at her, she lifts her shoulders in a half shrug.

"I had a meeting with Rory early this evening. At his house. I know I shouldn't have gone. He sounded so angry on the phone. I thought if we met face-to-face I could-"

She stops suddenly, realizing that if she says any more, she might give away what Rory was demanding of her.

David asks the obvious. "Why would Rory be angry with you? Business is great. You're here whenever you're in town. What else did he want?"

"Yeah, Gloria," I chime in. "What else did he want?"

Gloria's eyes flash at me, but she focuses on David when she answers. "He didn't say on the phone. Only that it was important we meet. So I went over. The front door was open."

Gloria starts to pace, wringing her hands. "Unusual, the door open like that, but I rang the bell anyway. I expected the maid must be close by. When no one appeared after a minute or so, I went inside."

Gloria has graduated from hand-wringing to picking at the fabric of her dress. She's not looking at us, and her expression is tense, drawn. I have the fleeting thought that she might be making this up as she goes along. With Gloria, it's not easy to determine where truth stops and delusion begins. She's an actress. I wish I could crawl into that pea brain of hers and divine the truth, but she's not a vampire or a shape-shifter, so I can't. I push skepticism aside to catch the rest of the story.

"I called out to Rory. I thought I heard a noise from the den. When I went back there, I saw him. He was slumped over his desk.

There was blood everywhere. I panicked and ran out. I came straight here." Those big eyes fasten with fierce intensity on David. "I called you. I didn't know what else to do."

Sounds fishy to me, but when I glance over at David, his expression never waivers from anxious concern. He believes every word out of Gloria's mouth. He looks ready to scoop her into his arms.

If David weren't here, I'd ask her why she agreed to meet Rory, alone yet, considering what was going on between them. Instead, I ask the second obvious question. "Why didn't you call the police? Like any rational, normal person would have done?"

"I was scared." The words come quickly. She's answering my question, but her eyes never leave David's. She couldn't be holding his attention more fiercely than if he'd been hog-tied to the desk.

I don't know whether she's telling the truth or not, but I've had enough of the drama. Time to send David on his way so I can get some direct answers from Gloria.

"David, go home. Detective Harris expects Gloria and her lawyer downtown in half an hour. I'll stay here until he comes. Gloria, get your lawyer on the phone."

David takes an instinctive step toward Gloria. "I'm not leaving. I'm going with her."

I take a step, too, between them. "Did you not hear what Harris said before he left? He'll have you arrested. I don't think he was kidding. You p.i.s.sed him off."

David grabs my shoulders. "Then promise me that you'll go with her. Make sure she's not tricked into saying something incriminating."

"Her lawyer will be there. That's his job."

"I don't care. If you won't go, I will."

I remove his hands from my shoulders. "You can't help. If you'd stayed out of it when Harris was here, we wouldn't be having this discussion. Gloria will call her lawyer, and he'll protect her interests. That's what she pays him for, right, Gloria?"

We both turn toward the spot where until a minute ago, Gloria was pacing the carpet. Only now, there's no Gloria. The office door is open. I don't know how she did it, but like the alley cat she is, Gloria has managed to slink away.

CHAPTER 12.

"SHE LEFT?" DAVID'S VOICE RATCHETS UP TEN OCTAVES in astonishment. He takes two steps to the door, looks out.

"She's gone." He turns back to me, bewilderment settling like a thundercloud on his features. "Why would she do that?"

I look from the open door to David. Good question, but David is out the door before I can speculate. I'm right on his heels when his cell phone rings. That brings him up short. He looks at the number and snaps open the phone.

"Gloria? Why the h.e.l.l did you-"

He stops, listening, frowning. After a minute, he shuts the phone without saying another word. He looks at me. "That was Gloria."

"No kidding. What did she say?"

"She's leaving town. She told me she'd be in touch soon. To stay out of it."

He yanks out his wallet and starts rifling the contents.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He doesn't answer until he finds what he's looking for. He holds up a business card. "Gloria's lawyer. I'm going to call him."

"For Christ's sake, she said to stay out of it. Let Gloria call her lawyer. She's the one in trouble."

David isn't listening. He's already at the desk phone and punching in the digits. I listen to the one-sided conversation.

"Hal? This is David Ryan. Yeah, I know. Long time. I'm calling because Gloria's going to need you. Oh, you're not? You're in Florida? It's three hours later there than California? Sorry. Um, do me a favor. If Gloria calls, will you tell her to get in touch with me? Well, yes, it could be serious, but Gloria should be the one to tell you about it. I'm sure she'll be in touch. Thanks, Hal. Sorry, again, about the time thing. Yeah. See you."

David sets the receiver down. "He's not in town." He pa.s.ses a hand over his face and slumps into Gloria's desk chair. "Why did she take off? And where is she going?"

The answer that springs to mind-to h.e.l.l, probably-is not going to help David. Nor is pointing out that Gloria is not behaving like the innocent she proclaimed herself to be.

I take his arm, pull him to his feet and steer him toward the door. "Come on. No use hanging around here. Let's go back to your place. We can have a drink and wait for her to call. As soon as she calms down, you know she will."

David nods glumly. We're heading toward the bar and the exit when we hear the commotion. It's coming from the parking lot outside. It's loud enough that it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on.

The press has gotten wind that billionaire Rory O'Sullivan was found dead in his home and that his partner, Gloria, was here at the restaurant. There's a cacophony of shouted questions. At first, I think they must have waylaid Gloria on her way out.

Until a familiar voice calls for quiet. Detective Harris' voice.

David plunges ahead, almost shoving me out of the way in his haste to see what's going on.

Harris is standing outside the back door, his hand on Gloria's arm. Video cam lights turn the dim parking lot into day, casting harsh shadows on his face. He must have been waiting for her to come out. If she was alone, he probably intended to follow her or to convince her to accompany him to the station voluntarily. Two police cruisers block the entrances to the parking lot.

David makes a move to push through the crowd. I grab his arm. "You want to make things worse? You know how Harris feels about you. Stay here."

Surprisingly, he heeds my advice. He shifts from one foot to the other, though, like a racehorse ready to break from the starting gate. One crook from Gloria's little finger, and he'll mow down everything in his path to get to her.

Harris is taking questions from the press, mostly giving pat cop-speak answers that imply Gloria is simply coming to the station to answer questions. O'Sullivan was her business partner. She's not been implicated in any wrongdoing nor is she a "person of interest." This is all routine. The press will be kept informed of any breaks in the case. Now, good night.

Gloria stands beside him, mute, subdued. When she sees David and me standing at the back of the crowd, she looks away quickly, not meeting our eyes. I feel David tense beside me.

Harris ushers Gloria to one of the waiting patrol cars. She doesn't resist. Camera strobe lights break the midnight gloom like a hundred rising suns. David stands beside me, his rage burning nearly as hot.

"That b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he says. "He waited for her."

I wish I could say something to ease David's concern. In truth, what Harris did is exactly what I would have done. Exactly what David and I have done in pursuit of a bail jumper. Waited to catch Gloria alone. Waited to get her away from David, her human pit bull. I watch the car pull away, followed by a dozen media vans. I hope Gloria's smart enough now to lawyer up before she answers any of Harris' questions. I saw him in action. He's one savvy cop.

I've never seen David so distraught. I don't know what to do to help him. Part of me doesn't want to. A day ago, I thought he and Gloria were quits. It galls me to acknowledge he hid the fact that he'd been calling her and begging her to get in touch with him.

Should I tell him the reason she contacted me today? That she wanted me to act as go-between and convince Rory to stop blackmailing her for s.e.x?

Which would mean telling David that Gloria had slept with Rory.

How bad could that be?

The look on David's face answers that question.

He's watching the departing cop car, too, his dejection so intense I feel it like an ache in my own heart. Tempting though it is, I'm not cruel enough to add to his misery.

At least not tonight.

"Go home, David. There's nothing more we can do. Gloria will show up on your doorstep as soon as she's released. You know she will. Where else would she go?"

Hearing that galvanizes him into action. The last glimpse I have of my partner is David in the front seat of his Hummer, pulling out of the parking lot, cell phone at his ear. There's no doubt in my mind that he's calling his own lawyer, ordering him to get his a.s.s down to the police department to protect Gloria.

I turn to go back into the bar. When I arrived earlier, this lot had been full. I had to park my car in the street, on Broadway. Cutting through the bar is the shortest route.

It's been a h.e.l.l of a long day. Both the blood drive that drove me to Culebra and the s.e.x drive that brought me back here are gone-dissipated like rain on a parched desert floor. All I want to do now is go home and go to sleep.

Hey, good-looking. I've been waiting for you.

The intrusion of a strange vamp voice in my head brings me to a stop. The bar is still crowded, but the happy-hour martini mob is long gone. The crowd now is young and raucous. The smell of beer and pot is not as strong as it was in Beso de la Muerte, but it's there. If Detective Harris had the nose of a vampire, this place would have been slated for a raid by the vice squad.

I look around. Where are you?

Over here. In the corner.

I follow the direction of the voice. There's a man, a young man, standing by himself in the shadows. He has wavy brown hair, shoulder length, so soft looking and shiny my fingers itch to run themselves through it. I can't quite make out his face, but he's dressed in jeans and an open-neck polo, and I let my eyes drift from broad shoulders to a narrow waist. Farther south.

Every nerve in my body starts to vibrate.

Who are you? Are you working for Williams?

He smiles and steps into the light. The face of an angel.

Who's Williams? Culebra sent me. He thought you might need a-distraction tonight.

Whoa. Suddenly, fatigue and lethargy are gone. Blood starts pounding, sending such a strong current of desire through me, my knees go weak.

The angel senses my reaction. Was Culebra right?

G.o.d bless him, I respond. Your place or mine?

CHAPTER 13.

MORNING AT THE COTTAGE IS MY FAVORITE time. Sipping a cup of fresh-brewed coffee on the deck outside my bedroom is my favorite way to pa.s.s the morning-even a dark winter's morning like this one. It helps, too, that I'm blissfully sated from a night of blood and s.e.x. It could be storming outside and I'd still be purring.

I reluctantly sent Culebra's "distraction," Lance, on his way a few moments before. Turns out he's an underwear model for Jockey and has an early morning photo shoot up the coast in Malibu. Seeing him in and out of underwear last night answered one of life's biggest questions. Are those bulges in the magazine ads real? I'm happy to report that they are-at least Lance's is. No padded jock straps necessary for that guy.

Turns out, too, that Lance has a last name, Turner, and a brain as agile as that lean, athletic body. He made me laugh, and he made me sweat. I'd like to see him again.

I'll have to find some appropriate way to thank Culebra.

Glowing from the infusion of healthy vamp blood, second only to a human's in restorative powers, and feeling comfortable in my skin for the first time since the fiasco with Gloria started, I sink into a deck chair and take in the view.

I live in Mission Beach, steps from the boardwalk. I was a soph.o.m.ore in college when my grandmother died and left me her fifty- year-old cottage. I've lived here ever since, though I had the place rebuilt after the fire Avery set destroyed it a while back.

I love it here. Sometimes, in the summer, it's a bother to be interrupted by some half-drunk partier, leaning on the doorbell to ask to use the bathroom. When I was human, I'd threaten to call the cops. As a vampire, all I have to do is show my true face and I never have a repeat offender. Never.

In winter, however, it's different. I think it's odd that winter in San Diego is considered the off-season. True, there is the overcast and the fog, a blending of shades of gray that often makes it hard to determine where the sky ends and the ocean begins. But the air temperature seldom dips below sixty and while the water isn't warm, it attracts a better surfing crowd. Not the sun-worshipping, hard-drinking, noisy, young hordes of summer, but a mature, serious, respectful group who honor the ocean rather than attempting to beat it into submission with their boards.

Wow. I hold the warm cup in both hands and press it against my forehead. That was almost poetic. Must be a combination of the fog rolling in picturesque swirls off the water and the calm that comes from a satisfying night of s.e.x.

I know this glow won't last long. Williams said the were Sandra was coming to see me. Then there's David and his angst. I don't want to think about what kind of mood he's going to be in. Hopefully, if he comes into the office, it won't be with Gloria in tow.

The telephone rings as I'm about to go back downstairs for a second cup of coffee. It's my cell phone. I grab it up and keep going, glancing at the caller ID. I expect to see our office number or David's cell number, but instead it's one I don't recognize.

"h.e.l.lo?"

There's a moment of silence before it's broken by a breathy, "Anna?"

Great. Gloria. I resist the urge to disconnect and turn off the phone. "What do you want?"