"I saw you hurt him," she said, and she sort of threw the words at me like she had the word gigolo.

"He doesn't see it that way."

"He doesn't know any better," she said.

I smiled and fought the urge to give one of those laughs that is half nerves and half exasperation. "You want to save him. You want to ride in and save him from a life of degradation."

She didn't say anything, just glared at me.

"Anita, we need to go, now," Zerbrowski yelled. He was standing in the open door of his car.

I glanced back at Arnet. "I thought Nathaniel needed saving once, too, needed me to fix him. What I didn't understand is that he isn't broken, well, not more broken than the rest of us." And that was probably more truth than I owed Detective Jessica Arnet. I left it at that, and jogged for Zerbrowski's car. He asked me how it had gone with Arnet. I told him it could have gone better.

"How better?" He asked as we eased past the news van and a crowd of gawkers.

"Oh, like the Valentine's Day Massacre could have been a better party."

He gave me a look. "Jesus, Anita, it isn't enough that you and Dolph are pissed at each other, you've got pick a fight with Arnet?"

"I didn't pick a fight with either of them. You know I didn't pick one with Dolph." We were easing past the tape and barriers that the uniforms had moved for us. The television crew had the camera pointed straight at us. Great. I resisted the urge to give them the finger, or something else equally childish.

"I shouldn't have said that about Dolph. I know you didn't start that."

"Thanks."

"What's eating Arnet?" I

"If she wants you to know, she'll tell you."

"You're not going to tell your version first?"

"No one ever believes my version, Zerbrowski. I'm f ucking coffin bait. If you'll fuck vampires, you'll do anything, right?" And just like that, I started to cry. Not loud, but tears, real tears. I turned away and stared out the window. I had no idea why I was crying. Stupid, so stupid.

Did I really care what Arnet thought of me? No. Did I care if she trashed my reputation to the rest of the squad? Yeah, I guess I did. Shit.

Zerbrowski was either so astounded that I was crying that he didn't know what to say, or he was treating me like he'd treat any other cop. If they don't want you to see them cry, you don't see it. Zerbrowski drove to the Church of Eternal Life, concentrating on the road like a son of a bitch. I stared out the window the entire time, and cried.

64

The parking lot was full, and I mean full. So full that Zerbrowski parked in front of the church in the fire only zone. We had Marconi and Smith in a car behind us, along with two marked cars. Apparently, Zerbrowski had been planning our strategy while I was trying to fix things with Arnet. Apparently, Abrahams or Arnet had been left in charge of the murder scene. I was betting on Abrahams. I wouldn't have left Arnet in charge of a little league team tonight. Of course, I might have been a little prejudiced right that moment.

He had two uniforms station themselves at the doors, and he told them to get their holy items out. "Nobody leaves, unless you clear it with me, is that clear?" It was clear. I suggested that there was another door at the parish hall entrance, and since we had enough manpower to cover it, Zerbrowski just nodded and said, "Do it." It was like he was channeling Dolph, but it worked. Everyone just did what he said.

Marconi shook his head and said what I'd been thinking. "Commanding presence tonight, Zerbrowski."

"You're just jealous that he's better at channeling Dolph than you are," I said.

Marconi smiled at me and gave a nod. But his hand was at his belt, and he was moving his gun a little more forward. Sometimes the more jokes you do, the more nervous you are.

Smith was new enough that his eyes were all sparkly, and he was almost vibrating with eagerness, like a dog straining at a leash. He hadn't been a detective for a month yet, and that can make you eager to prove yourself. I hoped not too eager, since I'd recommended him.

Zerbrowski noticed and gave me a nod, like he'd keep an eye on him. He asked my advice about only one thing. "Do we go in bold, or quiet?"

I thought about it for a second, then shrugged. "They know we're here, Zerbrowski, at least the ones near the back."

"They can hear us?"

I nodded. "But let's ask an usher near the back to get Malcolm's attention. Being polite doesn't cost a thing."

He nodded, then went to the big, polished, wood doors. Before he could push them open, a man opened them from inside. He was young with short brown hair and glasses. I'd seen him before on another case. His name began with a B , like Brandon, or Brian, or Bruce, or something. Bruce, I thought. He eased the door shut behind him, before we had more than a glimpse of people turning to stare. His brown eyes were still lovely behind his glasses, and there was still healing bite marks on his neck. It was as if no time had passed, but it was nice to know that he was still among the living.

"You are interrupting our worship service?" His voice was soft, measured.

"You're Bruce, right?"

His eyes widened just a little. "I'm surprised you remembered me, Ms. Blake."

"Marshal Blake, actually," I smiled when I said it.

His eyes did that little widening act again. "Do I say congratulations?"

"Is he stalling?" Zerbrowski asked.

"Not in the way you mean," I said. "He doesn't want us to interrupt the services, but I don't think he'd deliberately hide a murderer."

That got me another eye widening. "Murderer? What are you talking about, Ms. Marshal Blake? We of the church do not advocate violence in any aspect of our lives."

"There's a dead woman in the home of one of your members who would argue that, if she could," Zerbrowski said.

A pained expression crossed Bruce's face. "Are you certain that it is the home of one of our members?"

We both nodded.

Bruce looked down at the ground, then nodded, as if he'd decided something. "If you will remain near the back of the church, I will tell Malcolm what has happened."

Zerbrowski looked at me as if to ask if that was okay. I shrugged and nodded. "Sure."

Bruce smiled, obviously relieved. "Good, good, please keep your voices low. This is a church, and we are having services." He led the way through those highly polished doors. The uniforms stayed outside, but Marconi and Smith followed us in.

There was no vestibule inside the doors. The doors led directly into the nave, so we were just suddenly facing pews packed full of congregation members. The vamps close to the doors were already glancing our way.

Bruce motioned for us to stay where we were, then walked wide around the pews up the side underneath the red and blue abstract stained glass windows. Where there should have been saints or the stations of the cross, or at a least a cross or two, there was nothing but the bare white walls. I think that was why the church always looked unfinished to me, naked like the walls needed clothes.

It's never comfortable for me to be standing in front of a group of people unexpectedly. To be on display, especially when it's a potentially hostile group. Zerbrowski had his smile in place, the good-to-meet-you smile. The one that I'd finally realized was his version of a blank face. Marconi looked bored. A lot of cops perfect that I've-seen-worse boredom after a few years on the force. Smith's face was all shiny with excitement like a kid on Christmas morning. He was looking around at everything and totally not bothered by the staring crowd. I guess most cops don't get to see inside the Church of Eternal Life much, or see hundreds of vampires in one place at one time. Hell, even I didn't usually see that many at one time in one place.