He blinked at me, startled.

"What can you tell me about Dr. Paul Flemming?" I asked.

He stared, his gaze narrowing. "I do not know this name."

He could say that, but his expression told me otherwise. His lip twitched, his eyes were accusing. He looked like someone who had decided to lie.

"I saw your name on a list in his laboratory."

"I know nothing," he said, shaking his head. Quickly he drained his glass, slammed it on the table, and pushed his chair away.

"Please don't go. I just want to talk." This strange, lurking figure raised so many questions. At this point I didn't even care what he told me, just as long as he said something. A flash from the past, a story, an anecdote. The sweeping words of advice and judgment the old often seemed to have ready for the young. I didn't care. I wanted to find a crack in that wall.

He turned to me, looming over my chair, his lips curling. "I don't talk to anyone."

I met his gaze, my own anger rising. "If you don't want to talk to anyone, why do you even come here? Why not drink yourself to death in private?"

He straightened, even taking a step back, as if I had snarled at him, or took a swipe at him. Then he closed his eyes and sighed.

"Here, it smells safe. For a little while each day, I feel safe."

I resisted an urge to grab his arm, to keep him here. To try to comfort him through touch, the way I would have if we'd been part of the same pack. But we weren't a pack. He was a stranger, behind this wall he'd built to keep the world out, and I didn't know why I thought he'd talk to me. Just because I was cute or something.

"Why would you be afraid of anything?"

Slowly, a smile grew on his ragged features, pursed and sardonic. "You are young and do not understand. But if you keep on like this, you might." He brushed his fingers across the top of my head, a fleeting touch that was gone as soon as I'd felt it, as if a bird had landed on me and instantly taken flight again.

"You are young," he said, and walked away, settling his coat more firmly over his shoulders.

His touch tingled across my scalp long after he'd disappeared out the door.

I had a show to put on tonight, like I did every Friday. I asked Jack for a cup of coffee. Something to keep me awake for the next ten hours. I took out my notepad on the pretense of planning tonight's show—though really, the day of the show was far too late to be planning it. Good thing I'd been cornering hearing participants like Jeffrey Miles and Robert Carr and convincing them to appear on the show. The rest of it I'd have to wing. Not too different than usual, come to think of it.

"He's right, you know." Ahmed appeared. He slipped into the chair across from me. I hadn't heard him, and the whole place smelled like werewolf so my nose hadn't sensed him. He'd stalked quietly, like he was hunting. Today, he wore a woven vest over his shirt and trousers. The vest gave him that same man-of-two-worlds air that the robe had.

I didn't want to talk to him. He might not have had any obligation to help me with the mess at Smith's caravan, but he hadn't even made an effort, and I wasn't in the mood to be lectured by him now.

I just stared at him.

"There is much to fear in the world. Trouble finds you when you get too involved. That is why the Nazi keeps to himself."

"Fritz," I said. "His name's Fritz."

Ahmed had said that this was a safe place, a place with no alphas, no rivalries, and no need to fight among ourselves. But that didn't mean he wasn't in charge, watching. Or that he didn't have clear ideas of how things should be run. And according to him, you stayed safe by keeping to yourself and not getting involved.

I'd stuck my neck out too many times to take that attitude. I tried to keep from tensing up defensively. He wasn't challenging me. There was nothing wrong with what I was doing.

"He is little more than a crazy old man. He has his rituals, his drinking, because they fend off his memories. But everyone else remembers for him, and do not speak to him because of it. I tolerate him here because he is harmless. He is to be pitied for the ghosts he carries with him."

I was about ready to scream with all the double-talk and hints of what people weren't telling me. "What did he do? He won't tell me. You call him the Nazi, which implies so much. But I want to know, exactly what did he do?"

He shrugged. "The time and place he comes from say much, do they not?"

"You say you remember. That everyone remembers. Do you really, or have you just made something up and figured it's close enough?"

He was a German soldier from World War II. Everyone else just filled in the blanks. But did that really make him a war criminal? I'd probably never find out for sure.

Ahmed's brow furrowed in a way that was admonishing. Here it came, the I'm older and wiser than you so sit down and shut up speech. It was like having a pack alpha all over again.

"Kitty." He spread his hands in a gesture of offering. "I don't want to see you get in trouble."

"Neither do I! But I'm getting tired of everyone hiding things from me."

"Perhaps they do not hide things from you—they hide things out of habit. Many of us would prefer to keep this world hidden. We owe nothing to anyone. That is the secret to a contented life. Don't become indebted to anyone."

"So you build an oasis and lock out the world, is that it? It means you don't have to go out of your way to help anyone." I had to get out of here before I said something I would regret later. "I'm sorry, I'd really like to talk more, but I have to get going. I've got the show tonight."

"I'm sure I do not have to tell you to be careful." I'd been hearing that a lot lately. If it weren't for all the people telling me how much trouble I was potentially getting into, this trip would be a breeze.

"I'm being careful. There's some hell of a tale behind Fritz, and I'm just trying to find out what it is."

As I reached the door, he called out, "Hey, tonight, I'll listen to your show. I'll turn on the radio in the bar so everyone can listen."

No pressure or anything. "Thanks. That'd be cool."

Jack gave me a thumbs-up on my way out.

Chapter 10

"Welcome back. If you just tuned in you're listening to The Midnight Hour. I'm Kitty Norville. For the last hour I have a new topic of discussion, something I'd love to get a little perspective on. I want to learn something new, and I want to be surprised. I'm going to open the line for calls, and I hope someone will shock me. The subject: the military and the supernatural. Does the military have a use for vampires, lycanthropes, any of the usual haunted folk? Are you a werewolf in the army? I want to hear from you. Know the secret behind remote sensing? Give me a call."

Considering how little time I'd spent on it, the show came together nicely. I'd taken advantage of the collection of interesting folk who'd gathered for the Senate hearings and spent the first hour of the show doing interview after interview. The trio from the Crescent played music, and Robert Carr came in and chatted about werewolves.

But for the last hour I opened the floodgates. I was sure someone out in radioland had some good stories to tell.

"Ray from Baltimore, thanks for calling."

"I can think of plenty of military jobs that are just perfect for vampires. Like submarine duty. I mean, you stick somebody on a sub for three months, cooped up in a tiny space with no sun. That's, like, perfect for vampires, you know? Or those guys who are locked up in the missile silos, the ones who get to push the button and start World War III."

That "get to" was mildly worrying to say the least. "There's still that food supply to contend with," I said. "It's always been a big limitation on anything vampires accomplish in the real world. I can't picture any navy seaman being really anxious to volunteer for the duty of 'blood supply.' Though it may be a step up from latrine duty."