Arms swinging, I waved across the park to Jonathan, standing sullen by the Gray Ghost Limo in the sun. Clearly unhappy, he raised his wrist and spoke into his watch. My stomach tightened as I imagined Quen watching me from the trees. I forced my pace to a sedate saunter as I went to the public rest rooms, my vamp-made boots silent on the walkway.

For bathrooms, they were elegant, speaking of a more gracious time, with the ivy covered stone and cedar shingles. The metal shutters and doors lent themselves to the permanence of the structure as much as the fading perennials smothering it. Sure enough, I found Glenn inside the men's room, his back to me as he stood on the toilet with a pair of binoculars, watching Trent through the broken window. The bridge was within his view, and I felt better knowing he would be watching me.

"Glenn," I said, and he spun, almost slipping off the toilet.

"God bless it!" he swore, giving me a dark look before returning his attention out the window. "What are you doing here?"

"And good morning to you, too," I said politely, wanting to smack him a good one and ask why he hadn't stuck up for me yesterday and kept me working. The room reeked of chlorine and had no partitions at all. The ladies' bathroom at least had stalls.

His neck tensed, and I gave him credit for not looking from Trent for even a moment. "Rachel," he warned. "Go home. I don't know how you found out Mr. Kalamack was here, but if you go near him, I'll give you to the I.S. myself."

"Look, I'm sorry," I said. "I made a mistake. I should have stayed put until you said I could enter that crime scene, but Trent asked me to meet him here, so you can go Turn yourself."

Glenn lowered his binoculars, his face slack as he looked at me.

"Scouts honor," I said, giving him a sarcastic salute.

His eyes went distant in thought. "This isn't your run anymore. Get out of here before I have you arrested."

"You could have at least gotten me in to Trent's FIB interview yesterday," I said, taking an aggressive step forward. "Why did you let them shut me out? This was my run!"

His hand rested on the two-way on his hip, right next to his weapon. His brown eyes were angry with a past incident that didn't include me. "You were ruining the case I was building against him. I told you to stay out, and you didn't."

"I said I was sorry. And there wouldn't even be a case if it wasn't for me," I exclaimed. Frustrated, I put my hand on my hip and raised my other in an angry gesture, jerking to a halt as someone came in. It was a frumpy looking man in a frumpy looking coat. He stood in shock for three heartbeats, running his eyes over Glenn in his expensive black suit standing on the can to me in my leather pants and jacket.

"Uh, I'll come back," he said, then hastened out.

I turned back to Glenn, having to tilt my head at an awkward angle to look up at him. "I can't work for the FIB anymore, thanks to you. I'm informing you of my meeting with Trent as a courtesy from one professional to another. So back off and don't interfere."

"Rachel…"

My eyes narrowed. "Don't mess with me, Glenn. Trent asked for this meeting."

The faint worry lines around Glenn's eyes deepened. I could see his thoughts warring among themselves. I wouldn't have bothered telling him at all except he probably would have called in everyone from his dad to the bomb squad when he saw me with Trent.

"Are we clear on this?" I asked belligerently, and he stepped off the toilet.

"If I find out you lied to me—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." I turned to go.

He reached for me. I felt his hand coming and jerked away, spinning. I shook my head in warning, but his eyes were wide at how fast I had moved. "You just don't get it, do you?" I said. "I am not human, this is Inderland business, and you are in way over your head." And with that thought to keep him awake at night, I strode back out into the sunlight, trusting he would keep an eye on me and not get in my way.

My arms swung as I attempted to dispel the last of the adrenaline, and my skin seemed to prickle as Jonathan's eyes fell on me. Ignoring him, I tried to spot where Quen had hidden himself as I made my way to the concrete bridge. On the other side of the twin ponds was Trent upon his blanket. He still had that book in his hand, but he knew I was here. He was going to make me wait, which was fine by me. I wasn't ready for him yet.

Deep in the shadows of the bridge ran a wide ribbon of fast water connecting the two ponds. My foot hit the bridge, and the puddle of purple amidst the current shuddered.

"Heyde-hey," I said, stopping just shy of the bridge's apex. Yeah, it was kind of stupid, but it was the traditional greeting between trolls. If I was in luck, Sharps would still have possession of this bridge.

"Heyde-ho," said the dark puddle of water, pulling itself up in a series of ripples until a dripping, craggy face showed. Algae grew on his otherwise bluish skin and his fingernails were white with the mortar he scraped from the bottom of the bridge to supplement his diet.

"Sharps," I said, truly pleased as I recognized him by his one white eye, blinded by a past fight. "How's the water flowing?"

"Officer Morgan," he said, sounding tired. "Can you wait until sundown? I promise I'll leave tonight. The sun is too bright right now."

I smiled. "It's just Rachel now. I quit the I.S. And don't move on account of me."

"You did?" The puddle of water sank back down until only a mouth and good eye showed. "That's fine. You're a nice girl. Not like the warlock they have now, coming at noon with electric prods and clangy bells."

I winced in sympathy. Trolls had extremely sensitive skin that kept them out of direct light most of the time. They tended to destroy whatever bridge they were under, which was why the I.S. continually chased them out. But it was a losing battle. As soon as one left, another took his place, and then there was a fight when the original troll wanted his home back.

"Hey, Sharps," I said. "Maybe you could help me."

"Anything I can manage." A purple-hued, skinny arm reached up to pick a grain of mortar from the underside of the bridge.

I glanced at Trent, seeing he was making motions to head my way. "Has anyone been around your bridge this morning? Maybe leaving a spell or charm behind?"

The puddle of oily water drifted to the opposite side of the bridge and into a patch of dappled shade where I lost sight of him. "Six kids kicked rocks off the bridge, one dog took a leak at the footing, three adult humans, two strollers, a Were, and five witches. Before dawn, there were two vamps. Someone got bit. I smelled the blood that hit the southwest corner."

I looked over, seeing nothing. "No one left anything, though?"

"Just the blood," he whispered, sounding like bubbles against rocks.

Trent had stood and was brushing his pants off. My pulse quickened and I pulled the strap to my shirt straight under my jacket. "Thanks, Sharps. I'll watch your bridge if you want to take a swim."

"Really?" His voice took on a hopeful, incredulous sound. "You'd do that for me, Officer Morgan? You're a damn fine woman." The smear of purple water hesitated. "You won't let anyone take my bridge?"

"No. I may have to leave quick, but I'll stay as long as I can."

"Damn fine woman," he said again. I leaned to watch a surprisingly long ribbon of purple slip out from under the bridge and flow around the rocks to the deeper pool of water in the lower basin. Trent and I would have a good measure of privacy, but a troll's territorial drive was so strong, I knew Sharps would keep an eye on me. I felt unjustifiably secure with Glenn on one side in the men's bathroom and Sharps in the water on the other.

Putting my back to the sun and Glenn's eyes, I leaned against the railing of the bridge to watch Trent stride over the grass to me. Behind him on the blanket he left an artfully arranged set of two wineglasses, a bottle packed in ice, and a bowl of out-of-season strawberries looking as if it were June, not September. His pace was measured and sure on the surface, but I could see it was fraught with nervousness beneath, giving away how young he really was.