"Now that's the Anna I know and love. You should be happy. I do see Gloria for what she is. I've always seen Gloria for what she is. What you don't seem to understand is that it didn't matter. I love her." He stops.

"I loved her. Past tense. It's over now."

"Then why did you leave?"

He doesn't answer for so long, I start to think he isn't going to. I'm about to ask if he's still on the line, when he says quietly, "Because I can't be around you right now."

"Around me? What the f.u.c.k does that mean?"

This time, there's no hesitation. "It means I don't want to see your smug face every time something about Gloria is on the news."

He's biting off each word and spitting it at me. "You won't miss a chance to rub in what an idiot I've been. I can't take that right now."

His outburst stuns me into silence. Not that what he says isn't true. I have hated every minute he and Gloria have been together.

I've also let him know that I've hated every minute of it. This is the first time he's acknowledged my antipathy. Always before he's ignored how I felt about Gloria or made excuses for her. I'd begun to think the stars in his eyes made him deaf, dumb and blind to any criticism of his egocentric girlfriend.

"Do you know," he says after a moment, "that I've asked her to move in with me a dozen times? She always had an excuse why she couldn't. A long-term modeling a.s.signment. A new film. The restaurant. For the first time, I realize it was something quite different. She didn't want to be tied down to me. She wanted to be free to pursue other interests. Explains why she wasn't around when I was in the hospital, why she didn't come to see me when I was released. She was too busy with Rory."

He's probably right about that. At least the timing is right.

I don't know what to say to David to make the truth less painful. I'm almost sorry I tracked him down. For the first time in our a.s.sociation, I'm unsure how to proceed. I don't want to make him feel any worse than he already does and I don't want to antagonize him further. I'm sure as h.e.l.l not going to tell him what I'll be doing for the next few days.

I clear my throat. "Um, David? I'm going to let you go. You take as much time as you need. Don't worry about the business. We don't have anything lined up. If a job comes up, I'll handle it. You do what you need to do."

The laugh that comes across the line this time is harsh with sarcasm. "What do you know?" he says. "Anna Strong, tongue-tied.

Don't believe that's ever happened before. Well, I'm glad you've given me permission to take a leave of absence. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to hang up. I'd appreciate it if you don't call here again. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to see you.

Is that clear enough?"

It's obviously a rhetorical question because before I can respond one way or the other, the line goes dead.

CHAPTER 15.

WELL. I STARE AT THE PHONE IN MY HAND. I guess he's serious. There's a gnawing in the pit of my stomach that is as surprising as it is unexpected. That David would be angry and hurt at Gloria's manipulation is understandable. That he would be so p.i.s.sed at me is unacceptable. I'd march myself right up to that d.a.m.ned cabin if I didn't have Gloria to take care of first. After that, regardless of what he said about not wanting to see me, he and I are going to have a talk.

The phone rings again. Once more, it's a number I don't recognize. When I open the connection a voice asks "Anna Strong?"

before I have a chance to say h.e.l.lo.

The voice is a purr, soft, seductive. A tingle of excitement races up my spine. "Sandra?"

Her laugh is as melodious and s.e.xually charged as the voice. "I'm flattered. You have been looking forward to my call."

My heart is pounding and my palms start to sweat. She doesn't say expecting my call, she says, "looking forward to." Truth is, I was looking forward to it. A thing that makes no sense and one I'm certainly not going to admit.

"Culebra said you'd be in touch." I hope my tone conveys nothing but casual indifference. Jesus, what kind of power does she possess to cast a spell over a telephone line? It has to be a spell. Nothing else can explain the wild physical reactions I'm experiencing. Heat rippling under my skin, a body aching to be touched.

"And you know why?"

Her words bring sanity rushing back. "Yes, you're Avery's widow. Listen, we have no quarrel. I am willing to relinquish his holdings. I don't want anything to do with his estate. If you've talked with Culebra, you know I've not set foot in his house nor have I made any attempt to claim his property. If you need me to sign something, I will. Have your lawyer send it over."

My words tumble out like debris on a flood-swollen river.

She laughs and says, "Please, Anna. Slow down. You are right. We have no quarrel. Still, we must meet. Are you free tonight?"

My thoughts flash on Gloria. I don't know where my investigation will take me, but surely I should be free for a few hours this evening.

A few hours? What am I thinking is going to happen when I meet Sandra? Will we need a few hours? To do what?

Get a d.a.m.ned grip. Once more, I slip into brusque mode. "I have work today. I can make some time tonight. Where shall we meet?" An echo of last night. Your place or mine?

"At Avery's." It's not a suggestion. Immediately, my hackles go up. "No. Not there."

The laugh again, infectious, bright, but this time with a sharp edge. "I'm afraid it must be Avery's, Anna. Shall we say nine o'clock?"

My heart is doing that wild tattoo thing against my ribs. Memories of what happened in Avery's house turn into a black serpent of despair that slithers up my spine. Still, I find myself saying, "All right. Nine o'clock."

"That's a good girl." The purr is back. "Have a good day, Anna."

She cuts the connection.

"That's a good girl"? I wouldn't take that condescending c.r.a.p from a friend, let alone a stranger. I don't know what kind of magic this were-woman is working, but before we meet face-to-face, I'm d.a.m.ned sure going to find out.

I stare at the telephone, feeling like a boat loosed from its mooring. What did I agree to? And why in the h.e.l.l did I? For six months I've resisted every effort on Williams' part to get me back into Avery's house and in two seconds, Sandra got me to agree to meet her there.

s.h.i.t. I have to go see Gloria. First, I have to see someone else. I'm pretty sure I'll catch him at home. He's a teacher and he doesn't drive. Where else would Daniel Frey be this early on a Sat.u.r.day morning?

CHAPTER 16.

DANIEL FREY LIVES IN MISSION VALLEY IN A large, upscale condo development overlooking the city. It's a gated community and I lean out the car window to ring his unit.

In a moment he answers with an abrupt, "Yes? Who is it?"

"What kind of greeting is that?"

"Anna?" A pause. "You're here to see me?"

"No. I'm here to see your neighbor. The cute old guy. Of course, I'm here to see you. Are you going to buzz me in or what?"

There's another pause.

"Frey, what's going on? Why aren't you buzzing me in?" No answer. Another pause. Then, finally, the gate swings open.

I punch the accelerator and speed through before he changes his mind. What was that all about? I know I haven't seen him since we stopped a demon raising last Halloween, but we parted on good terms. I saved his life, for Christ's sake. Well, technically, an empath saved his life. I saved his a.s.s, though, which allowed the empath to save his life, so that should count for something.

By the time I reach his door, I've worked myself into a pretty good sense of indignation. My finger is about to hit the doorbell when the front door swings open. Frey greets me with a frown and steps outside, pulling the door closed behind him.

"This really isn't a good time, Anna," he says.

For a minute, I'm too distracted by what he has on to be irritated by the less-than-hospitable greeting. He tries to pull a white terry robe closed, but he's not quick enough and the robe isn't big enough to keep me from seeing what he's wearing underneath.

Frey is a shape-shifter whose other form is panther. His human job is teaching, at my mother's high school, in fact. It's how we met. He's in his forties, tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a face that reflects humor and intelligence. He's a conservative dresser, leaning toward slacks and open-neck polos. So to find him in a pair of baby blue pajamas with black cats stenciled all over them provokes an openmouthed gape.

His mouth forms a thin, rigid line. "What's wrong?"

Astonishment is giving way to an irresistible urge to laugh. Not the right reaction if I want his help. I swallow hard and struggle to erase the smile off my face.

The effort is not lost on Frey. His frown deepens. "Well?"

"I need to do some research. I figured your library would be the place to start."

"Research about what?"

"Your cousins."

"Cousins?"

"The were side of the family."

The brows draw together. "Shape-shifters are in no way related to weres. They are pack animals, dangerous in and out of their animal bodies." He looks at me and for the first time, something besides aggravation touches his expression. "Anna, you want nothing to do with weres. Hasn't Williams ever told you that?"

"No. He had his chance, too. I saw him last night. Anyway, I've got no choice in this. I need to know what magic they possess.

What spells they can cast. I need the information before tonight."

He glares at me, a dark intensity shadowing his eyes. "What happens tonight?"

"I have to meet with a were. It's business."

"What business could you possibly have with a were?"

Frey and I used to be able to read each other's thoughts, the way I can with vamps. That changed when I stupidly bit him once, and fed from him, which broke that connection. I see in his expression that he wishes he could crawl into my head right now and pry the information out of me. I also see deep concern and a dawning realization that he may be able to do something to stop me.

"Frey," I say with a warning shake of my head. "You can't stop this. Don't try. No tricks. I know you think you would be protecting me, but believe me when I say if you do anything to try and prevent this, I'll be angry. More than angry. I'll be downright p.i.s.sed. We both know that wouldn't be good."

He continues to stare at me, the internal debate obviously still raging. He, too, has the ability to cast spells. I have firsthand knowledge. He cast one on me a while back. Judging from that experience, though, I know he has to be present to invoke it and to keep the object of the spell under its control. Unless he plans to stay with me all day and night, I don't think he can really do anything to prevent my meeting with Sandra.

Still.

"If you want to help, let me use your books. Find out how to protect myself. Doesn't that make sense?"

The debate comes to an end. His expression is still anxious but he does swing open the door.

His sartorial taste isn't the only thing that's changed.

The last time I was in Frey's home, the decor was minimalist to say the least-the walls, the carpet, the furniture, all the same color-gray. There were no pictures on the walls, no knickknacks on the tables, not a single book on the smooth, marble block that serves as a coffee table.

That was then.

Today the walls are alive with colorful works of art-bold landscapes done in great slashing strokes of green and yellow and red.

The furniture has been rearranged, not symmetrically, but cl.u.s.tered in front of the fireplace. Throw pillows tumble over each other and spill onto the floor. A stack of books and a fan of magazines battle for s.p.a.ce with a huge bouquet of violet lilies on that same marble coffee table.

It takes me a minute to absorb it all.

"Wow," I say, turning to Frey, "when you redecorate, you don't fool around, do you?"

"But he does fool around with the decorator."

The voice comes from behind me, startling me into whirling around. I never heard her approach, never sensed the presence. She must have come from outside, the balcony. "What are you, a cat?"

She smiles. "Sorry. I should have made more noise."

Frey moves around me to stand beside the woman. She's tall, only an inch or two shorter than his six feet, and willowy thin. She has light brown hair drawn back from her face. Her eyes, blue, cool, are carefully hooded as she looks at me. She's pretty in an edgy way, velvet over steel.

She's dressed in a pair of pajamas that match Frey's-only hers are pink with little black cats-and, oh, a couple of other major differences: her top is low-cut, revealing a curve of breast, and her pants ride low on her hips, exposing a tanned stretch of trim abdomen. No robe for this one. She's immodesty personified.

Makes me see Frey in a new light. He and I had s.e.x. Once. It was pretty d.a.m.ned good, too, but if this is Frey's girlfriend, he must have talents he hid from me.

She's watching me, a half smile playing on those full lips. It hits me then. She's reading my thoughts. s.h.i.t. She's a shape-shifter, too.

She now knows everything that's gone through my head in the last few minutes. Too late now to close the conduit.

You might have let me know.

She laughs. Why? This was so much more fun.

Are you a panther, too?

No. She links her arm through Frey's. A tiger.

Figures. I knew she had to be some kind of cat.

Frey is looking from one of us to the other. "This isn't fair," he says. "I can only hear one side of the conversation."