His naiveté touches me. I don’t have the heart to remind him that the videos are already out there. The best we can hope for is that they will get lost in the sea of porno available on the Net and eventually fade away.

The hallway is empty when we leave the apartment. I lead Ryan to the stairway at the end of the hall. We make it to the garage without incident.

My “other” car is a Ford Crown Vic. It’s the same model most cops use. Ryan climbs into the back and I throw an old blanket over him. I keep a few tricks of the trade in the trunk, a long brown wig, a pair of oversized glasses with tinted frames, a straw sun hat. I put them all on. Instant disguise.

When we exit the garage, the Blues Brothers are parked right across from the Jag in that same old Fair lane. I should have asked them what kind of budget their department has to make them drive an old car like that. Or maybe driving something so unorthodox is their clever idea of concealment. It certainly isn’t your typical cop car.

I’ll have to ask them the next time we run into each other. This time, however, the car is the only clever thing they have going. They don’t give me more than a passing glance when I cruise by.

When we’re safely away from the apartment, I ask Ryan for his address. He doesn’t live very far from the cottage. In fact, he lives on the bay side of Mission, maybe two miles away. I drop him off about a block from home, in front of the Mission Cafe.

When he scuttles out from under the blanket, he does a double take at the way I look. Then he grins. “Pretty good disguise. You must have to sneak away from guys a lot.”

Since I’m not sure what he means, and I’m very sure I don’t want to, I let it pass.

“Remember to be careful, Ryan,” I tell him as he gets out of the car. “Keep those dogs of yours close.”

The grin vanishes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home all night. With the dogs. Be sure to call after you talk with your friend.”

I nod that I will and watch until he’s turned the corner. Then I reach for my phone.

When I try to contact Williams at his office, I’m told he’s already left for the day. Probably tired of being hounded by reporters after Mrs. Bernard’s press conference. There’s no answer at Frey’s, either.

I’m debating whether I should check in with my mother when the phone rings. I glance at the caller ID.

“Good timing, Mom. I was just about to call you.”

“I’ve been trying to call you all afternoon. Your phone has been off. The police were here, Anna.”

Her tone is accusatory and her speech clipped, as if she’s biting off each word to control her anger.

I try to diffuse the hostility with curiosity. “About Barbara?”

“And about Carolyn. Why didn’t you tell me Trish’s mother was killed?”

I close my eyes in exasperation. “I should have, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“The police think you are involved. You and Daniel Frey. And a teacher told me he saw you and Frey leave school together this afternoon. Was he right?”

There’s something about my mother’s disapproving tone that makes it impossible for me to lie to her-at least to lie to her about this. “Yes, I was with Frey this afternoon.”

She sucks in a breath. “Does he know where Trish is? Do you?”

God, now what? If I tell her the truth, she’ll make me go to the police. If I don’t, she’ll detect it with her mother’s intuition and I’ll be in worse shit with her than I am now.

“Mom, I can’t answer that. Not yet. You have to give me a little time to work this out.”

“Work what out?”

“Please. Just trust me. You know I would never put a child’s life at risk. I’ve talked to the police. They don’t believe I’m involved anymore.” A half-truth. The Feds think I’m involved big time. Which makes me add, “You may hear from a couple of Federal Agents.”

Another quick intake of breath. “You mean the two from the FBI?” She says it more like a statement than a question.

I grit my teeth. “They’ve already been in touch with you?”

“Oh yes. Agents Donovan and Bradley visited me at school. They have the impression that you and Frey are lovers. Want to clarify that for me?”

I rub a hand over my face. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“I’m sorry, too, Anna. I’m beginning to regret letting you get involved in this at all.”

The disappointment in her voice makes me cringe. There’s a long moment of silence before she speaks again.

“I’m giving you twenty-four hours. Get Trish back by then, Anna. I don’t care how you do it. But I want to see that child safe and in our home where she belongs. Do I make myself clear?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She doesn’t have to. She breaks the connection and leaves me scalded by the heat of her command.

Chapter Thirty-Five

My life has been reduced to a string of deadlines, the latest imposed by my own mother. The fact that she didn’t ask about whether or not I started the DNA testing attests to how angry she is with me.

It’s a little after six, and foot traffic is picking up on Mission. From my parking space, I watch people drift into the Mission Café, mostly couples holding hands and smiling at each other in quiet contentment. Loneliness settles around me like the shadows from the dying sun. I’ve never had a typical boy-girl relationship. When I was younger, I never wanted one. And being around David and Gloria and seeing how crazy they make each other confirms that I certainly don’t need that kind of aggravation now. My motto has always been when you have the itch, find a guy and scratch it. Max fills the bill. He drops in, we fuck like bunnies for a day or two, and he’s gone.

Perfect for both of us.

Or so I thought.

When did Max start wanting more? What did I miss?

The blare of a horn snaps me back. I glance over my shoulder and a guy in a FedEx van holds up two hands in a “what gives?” pantomime. I’d forgotten that I’d pulled into a loading zone.

Good timing, I say to myself, steering away from the curb. These are not thoughts I need to be having.

Time to weigh my options. I could go back to the apartment and call it a night. God knows I’m weary enough. Or I could go to a bar for a beer. But that would mean getting hit on, or worse,not getting hit on. I couldn’t handle it either way.

That leaves only one other choice. I hang a U and head for the office. I’ll check telephone messages and mail and pretend I still have a day job. If I’m lucky, there’ll be beer in the fridge and I can sit on the little deck outside our office and watch the sunset. If I try hard, I might be able to remember how it was when all I had to contend with were human concerns.

David’s Hummer is not parked in his designated space. I didn’t expect that it would be at six thirty, and yet I feel a pinprick of disappointment. I can’t believe it’s only been a couple of days since I’ve seen him. It feels much longer than that.

I lock the Ford and pocket the keys, slinging my purse over my shoulder. At the horizon, low clouds hover just over the water. There are a lot of people on the boardwalk, normal, human, strolling south toward SeaportVillage, the lilt of music and the rich smell of grilling fish and barbecue drawing them as powerfully as the promise of a spectacular sunset.

For an instant, I’m tempted to join them, to lose myself in the crowd and pretend I’m one of them. But only for an instant. I’m not one of them and it’s no use to pretend. I heave a sigh and head for the door.

I have the key out and ready. Since our office is located on the water side, I make my way around to the back, steps muffled by rubber soles on the wooden deck. As I round the corner, an electric jolt of warning brings me to an abrupt stop. The door to our office yawns open.

The hackles at the back of my neck stand straight up and I’m instantly alert. The vampire swallows up the human side of my nature in one gulp. With a low growl, I give the door a gentle push and let it swing open.