Brown eyes narrowing, Denon drew an obscenely thin cell phone out of a belt holster. His brown fingers hitting the buttons carefully, he appeared to scroll through a list of numbers. "You won't mind if I verify that."

I froze, not knowing if Trent would tell the truth. "Be my guest," I said boldly.

People were closing in around us. I could feel them. Glenn edged closer. "Rachel…"

My gaze flicked to his, and I felt small between the two black men. "Trent was with me," I insisted. But will he admit to that? I thought, cringing when I remembered how we had parted. Probably not.

"Mr. Kalamack, please," Denon said pleasantly, and I heard a woman's voice. "Of course, ma'am. This is Officer Denon from the I.S." Denon smiled at me as the call was put through. "Mr. Kalamack," he said cheerfully. "I apologize for interrupting your afternoon. I know you're busy, and this will only take a moment. I need you to verify that you were with Ms. Rachel Morgan this morning between seven and seven-thirty."

I swallowed hard, wanting my splat gun, tucked away in my bag. It was probably a good thing that Glenn had it.

Denon's eyes flicked to me. "No, sir," he said into the tiny phone. "Yes, sir. Thank you. You have a good day, too." Face empty of emotion, Denon snapped the phone shut.

"Well?" I asked. I was sweating. Even a human could see it.

"You act as if you don't know the answer," he said smoothly.

From behind me Glenn shifted. "Officer Denon, are you arresting Ms. Morgan or not?"

I held my breath. Denon's big hands clenched and released. "Not today," he said, forcing a smile. Exhaling, I tossed a strand of hair that had escaped Jenks's braid and tried to look confident.

"You're lucky, witch," Denon said as he rocked back a graceful step. "I don't know what star you're wishing on, but it's about to fall." And with that, he spun and walked away.

"Yeah, and angels cry when good men die," I said, wishing he would find a new book of cliches to memorize. Relieved, I reached for my shoulder bag, still in Glenn's possession. "Give me that," I said, yanking it to me.

The car Denon had gotten into drove away with a tiny squeak of tires.

Head down in thought, Glenn pointed me to an unmarked FIB car: big, black, and sporting blocky lines. "I'll get you home," he said, and I obediently headed for it.

"Trent told the truth," I said, our steps matching perfectly. "I don't get it. He could have gotten me in jail, then searched the church for the focus at his leisure."

Glenn opened the door for me, and I slipped inside, enjoying the courtesy.

"Maybe he's worried someone saw him," Glenn mused aloud, then shut my door.

"Maybe he was using Ceri and me as his alibi," I muttered as Glenn went around the front and got in. I grimaced, thinking, How sick is that? Using meeting a beautiful woman like Ceri as an alibi while one of your peons was shoving someone into a Dumpster for you. Glenn started the car, and we waited for the ambulance to leave before us, the lights off and moving slow.

"David won't be taking the blame for this," I said in determination, clutching my bag on my lap. Maybe Trent told the truth because he knew I had the focus with me, and if the I.S. got it, it would make his task to retrieve it a lot harder?

"I hope you're right." Glenn's voice was distant as he looked both ways before pulling out. "I really hope you're right. Because if Mr. Hue is officially charged with the murders, the I.S. is going to come after you for aiding and abetting, even with that alibi. David asking you for help looks really bad."

Settling myself into the leather seats, I put an elbow on the open window and stared at nothing. "Swell," I whispered to no one. My life sucks.

Twenty-nine

My eyes fluttered open when Glenn eased to a stop at a stoplight. Blinking, I realized I was almost home, and I sat up from my slouch. The day had gotten warm, and apparently I'd nodded off. Clearly, being knocked out for eight hours wasn't the same as sleep. Embarrassed, I glanced at Glenn, flushing when he smiled at me, his teeth a startling white against his dark skin.

"Please tell me I wasn't snoring," I muttered, never imagining I would have fallen asleep. I had only closed my eyes to gather my thoughts. Or maybe to escape from everything.

"You snore cute," he said, giving his unused ashtray a tap. "You two are funny."

Jenks rose from it in a puff of gold glitters. "I'm awake!" he exclaimed, tugging his clothes straight and looking charmingly wide-eyed as he arranged his shock of blond hair. He, at least, had an excuse, seeing as he was usually asleep this time of day.

The clock on the dash said it was a shade after two. After leaving David's, Glenn had first taken me to the FIB to make an official statement before the I.S. could choose the most inopportune time to get one from me. From there we went to pick Jenks up at the I.S. and physically drop off a copy of my paperwork, all nice and legal. We visited the morgue in there, too, which had left me depressed. I was sure Glenn had more to do than cart us around, but since I didn't have a valid license, I appreciated it.

David was still in custody. Jenks had overheard his interrogation, and apparently Brett had met with David yesterday to talk about Brett joining our pack. It was supposed to have been a surprise, which had me in tears when I found out. That's why Trent had targeted him. Trent was slime, and I cursed myself for letting some of the good things he did—like admit he spent the morning with me, for instance—cloud the fact that he was a murderer and drug lord. He only did something decent if it might be of some use to him, such as giving himself an alibi for seven to seven-thirty. Ceri had it right. The man was a demon in all but species.

Under some made-up point of law, the I.S. was detaining David without any formal charges. It was illegal, but someone in the basement had probably realized that the focus was out, seeing as a loner was turning human women into Weres. David was knee-deep in it. It would only be a matter of time before I joined him. Maybe if he was in I.S. custody, Trent couldn't kill him. Maybe.

I'm sorry, David. I never expected this to happen.

The cool shade of my street fell over me, and I gathered my bag onto my lap, feeling for the heavy outlines of the focus. Squinting, I realized there was a black van parked in front of the church—and someone was tacking a note on my door.

"Jenks. Look at that," I whispered, and he followed my gaze.

Glenn eased to a stop several car lengths back, and when I cracked the window, Jenks darted out, saying, "I'll see what it is."

The man with the hammer caught sight of us, and with a worrisome quickness he hustled down the stairs and into his vehicle.

"You want me to stay?" Glenn asked, shoving the car into park. He had a pencil in his grip and was writing down the plate number as the black van drove away.

The dust spilling from Jenks as he hovered before the note shifted from gold to red. "I don't know," I murmured. Getting out, I stomped up the stairs.

"Evicted!" Jenks said, his face white when he spun in the air. "Rachel, Piscary evicted us. He evicted us!"

My stomach going light, I ripped the paper from the nail. "No freaking way," I said, skimming the official document. It was blurry from being the second copy, but clear enough. We had thirty days to vacate.

They were going to tear the church down now that it wasn't sanctified, but the impetus behind it was Piscary.

Glenn leaned out the window. "Everything okay?"

"Rache," Jenks exclaimed, clearly terrified. "I can't move my family. Matalina isn't well! They're going to bulldoze the garden!"