“The Chief is waiting for you.”

I gather up my things, head up, and put a lock on my thoughts. I want to be careful what I reveal. At least at first.

Williams is waiting when the elevator door opens. He’s looking at the coat. “You need a better tailor,” he says. “That coat almost got you arrested for vagrancy.”

He turns and heads for his office. The enticing smell of fresh brewed coffee greets us at the door. He doesn’t seem to be probing my head, nor is his manner anything other than mildly curious.

I eye the pot enthusiastically. “Any chance I can have a cup of that?”

He looks at me, a quizzical half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and makes a go-ahead motion with his hand. “What did you do?” he asks as I pour a mug. “Spend the night on the streets?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“You have the same outfit on as yesterday.”

I take a deep, satisfying pull of the coffee before replying. “You sound like a detective. But no, I didn’t spend the night on the streets. Actually, I spent the night in my office. With Frey. You ever see him make the change?”

He shakes his head. “But I’ve seen similar. Don’t see any claw or bite marks, though, so I assume he behaved himself.” He settles himself into the chair behind his desk and waits for me to sit, too. “So why did you spend the night at the office? Why not your apartment?”

“Bradley and Donovan. They paid me a visit yesterday afternoon to convince me that Frey was a menace to society. They pulled out all the stops, including threatening to charge me as an accessory. Then they set up surveillance outside my building. Figured I’d run straight to Frey, I suppose, and warn him.”

Only maybe that wasn’t the reason, at least not for Bradley. I flash back on his phone conversation. He’s looking for the computer, not Frey. And he knows I can lead him to it.

How does he know that?

In the second I let those thoughts filter through, Williams is in my head.

What computer?

I tell him. All of it. Then ready myself for what will come because I’ve withheld important evidence.

Like in the park, though, Williams surprises me. His demeanor is more thoughtful than angry. He inclines his head and says,Predators use computers to lure children into meeting them. They keep their records on them. Getting our hands on it is a good first step.

I nod.Max explained that. The trail left on a hard drive.

Now a flash of aggravation.Max knows about this?

I shake my head.Not specifically. I just asked him some general questions. But what about Bradley saying Frey is just an excuse and that Donovan doesn’t suspect? Suspect what, I wonder?

We’ll have to ask him the next time we see him. But what we need to do now is get that computer and start a trace. Call Ryan. The sooner we do it the better it is for Trish.

He swivels the phone on his desk toward me and I dial Ryan’s number. He picks up, and I ask if he can meet me before school. He agrees.

Williams’s voice interposes itself in my head, telling me that he’ll send me in a squad car to pick up Ryan. I pass the information on to Ryan and ask, “Will your parents be home?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “They don’t leave for work until eight or so.”

“Good. It will give me a chance to meet them and tell them what’s going on. It’s time they know.”

There’s a brief pause, then he says, “Okay. But they’re probably going to be pissed.”

I can’t help smiling. “Probably. I’ll try to smooth things over.”

There’s a pause, then Ryan adds softly, “They don’t know what’s on the computer. I just told them it has to do with Trish’s running away. I couldn’t let them see-”

“I understand, Ryan. You’ve been a good friend to Trish. I’ll make sure they know that.”

We hang up and Williams again reaches for the phone. He dials a two-digit number and tells dispatch to send a squad car around to the back. He’s specific as to which squad car he wants. He’s just replaced the receiver when the phone rings. He listens, throws me a half-smile, and says into the phone, “Thanks, Sergeant Harvey. Give me five minutes and send them up.”

“Better take the stairs out of here,” he says. “Our favorite special agents are on their way up. Probably to complain about you.” He glances at his watch. “I’ll meet you and Ryan at the Mission Café in a half hour.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Donovan and Bradley are beginning to seriously piss me off. I’m getting tired of sneaking down stairways and hiding in bushes. I grab the coat and wig and head for the exit. It’s time we got this thing settled.

The squad car is waiting for me right outside the underground entrance in back. The cop is leaning against the passenger side door, smoking a cigarette. He flips it away when he sees me approach.

I know what he is before he sends out a probe.

You must be Ortiz,I say, figuring Williams would pick a vampire cop to drive me. I extend a hand.

He grins and takes it. His handshake is firm and dry. He follows my glance to the smoldering cigarette.That’s the best thing about being immortal. I’ll never have to give up smoking.

I raise an eyebrow in reply. Not something I’ve given much thought to. He opens the door and I get in. Then I watch as he passes in front of the car to claim his place in the driver’s seat. In human years, he looks to be in his late twenties, five foot ten, one hundred sixty lean pounds. He’s cute more than handsome, with an aquiline nose, dark hair and eyes and olive skin stretched over high cheekbones. He pulls away from the curb and throws me a rueful smile.

Cute? No man wants to be called cute.

His tone makes me laugh. Something I haven’t done much of in the last couple of days. He asks me where we’re going and I give him Ryan’s address. He lapses into silence, both external and internal. I haven’t met too many vampires and wonder fleetingly if I should ask him about how he came to be. But instead, I sink back on the seat and close my eyes. I need to clear my mind. I have a feeling that meeting Ryan’s parents and telling them what we’ve kept from them is not going to be pleasant.

When we pull up in front of Ryan’s house, he’s waiting at the door. Behind him, a couple stands watch with the worried look of concerned parents. I tell Ortiz to wait for us in the car and walk up alone, feeling curiously like I’m walking into a lion’s den.

Ryan is frowning with anxious impatience. He introduces me to his folks in a perfunctory manner, clearly eager to be on our way.

Unfortunately, his parents have questions, and when they invite me inside, I follow them in.

Mr. and Mrs. North are in their late 40s, both tall and tan and dressed in his and her versions of the power suit. The living room they lead me into is furnished with Pottery Barn essentials-canvas covered couch and chairs, whitewashed occasional tables with wicker basket storage, ladder display units tucked beside windows with an impressive view of the city beyond the bay. The shelves are full of white-framed photographs of the family at play, artfully commingled with an impressive collection of seashells.

I barely have time to take it all in before Mr. North starts in. “We are not pleased with Ryan, Ms. Strong,” he says. “Nor are we pleased with you. You have put a child in danger. He has information that should have been given to the police immediately. Instead, you told him to keep it to himself. Now that girl’s mother is dead and she is missing.”

At least they are not blaming Trish for her mother’s death. Maybe they missed the press conference. “Did you know Trish well?” I ask.

Mrs. North waves a hand as if understanding the real meaning behind my question. “If you’re asking if we believe she had anything to do with her mother’s death, the answer is no. Trish’s mother was not a nice woman. We were sorry when she took Trish out of school here and moved to East County. I think Trish felt safe with us. We were sorry to see her go.”