“That’s my business.” Besides, I didn’t have a clue. “Are you J?”

“No.”

We faced each other for a long moment while his sharp eyes ran up and down the fitted pearl gray sheath I wore. His gaze finally made it to my face. “You don’t look like the usual customer.”

“I’m probably not the usual,” I admitted. “But I do need to see him as soon as possible.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” he admitted.

“Why don’t you tell me your name?”

He grinned. “Max.”

“Nice to meet you, Max. Now, why don’t you tell me what you do for the usual?”

His grin became a frown. “Well, J’s usual clients don’t look a thing like you. Your kind doesn’t bother with the downtown office. You just go straight up to his fancy office in the skyscraper.”

I repeated the other address I had, making the list of numbers a question.

“Yeah, that’s the place,” he said, suspicious again. “How come you didn’t go there?”

“This was the address I was given—by a very dependable source.”

“If you were up to any good, you wouldn’t be here.”

I pursed my lips. I’d never been much good at bluffing, but Alice hadn’t left me a lot of alternatives. “Maybe I’m not up to any good.”

Max’s face turned apologetic. “Look, lady—”

“Bella.”

“Right. Bella. See, I need this job. J pays me pretty good to mostly just hang out here all day. I want to help you, I do, but—and of course I’m speaking hypothetically, right? Or off the record, or whatever works for you—but if I pass somebody through that could get him in trouble, I’m out of work. Do you see my problem?”

I thought for a minute, chewing on my lip. “You’ve never seen anyone like me here before? Well, sort of like me. My sister is a lot shorter than me, and she has dark spiky black hair.”

“J knows your sister?”

“I think so.”

Max pondered this for a moment. I smiled at him, and his breathing stuttered. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give J a call and describe you to him. Let him make the decision.”

What did J. Jenks know? Would my description mean something to him? That was a troubling thought.

“My last name is Cullen,” I told Max, wondering if that was too much information. I was starting to get irritated with Alice. Did I really have to be quite this blind? She could have given me one or two more words.…

“Cullen, got it.”

I watched as he dialed, easily picking out the number. Well, I could call J. Jenks myself if this didn’t work.

“Hey J, it’s Max. I know I’m never supposed to call you at this number except in an emergency. . . .”

Is there an emergency? I heard faintly from the other end.

“Well, not exactly. It’s this girl who wants to see you. . . .”

I fail to see the emergency in that. Why didn’t you follow normal procedure?

“I didn’t follow normal procedure ’cause she don’t look like any kind of normal—”

Is she a badge?!

“No—”

You can’t be sure about that. Does she look like one of Kubarev’s—?

“No—let me talk, okay? She says you know her sister or something.”

Not likely. What does she look like?

“She looks like . . .” His eyes ran from my face to my shoes appreciatively. “Well, she looks like a freaking supermodel, that’s what she looks like.” I smiled and he winked at me, then went on. “Rocking body, pale as a sheet, dark brown hair almost to her waist, needs a good night’s sleep—any of this sounding familiar?”

No, it doesn’t. I’m not happy that you let your weakness for pretty women interrupt—

“Yeah, so I’m a sucker for the pretty ones, what’s wrong with that? I’m sorry I bothered you, man. Just forget it.”

“Name,” I whispered.

“Oh right. Wait,” Max said. “She says her name is Bella Cullen. That help?”

There was a beat of dead silence, and then the voice on the other end was abruptly screaming, using a lot of words you didn’t often hear outside of truck stops. Max’s whole expression changed; all the joking vanished and his lips went pale.

“Because you didn’t ask!” Max yelled back, panicked.

There was another pause while J collected himself.

Beautiful and pale? J asked, a tiny bit calmer.

“I said that, didn’t I?”

Beautiful and pale? What did this man know about vampires? Was he one of us himself? I wasn’t prepared for that kind of confrontation. I gritted my teeth. What had Alice gotten me into?

Max waited for a minute through another volley of shouted insults and instructions and then glanced at me with eyes that were almost frightened. “But you only meet downtown clients on Thursdays—okay, okay! On it.” He slid his phone shut.

“He wants to see me?” I asked brightly.

Max glowered. “You could have told me you were a priority client.”

“I didn’t know I was.”

“I thought you might be a cop,” he admitted. “I mean, you don’t look like a cop. But you act kind of weird, beautiful.”

I shrugged.

“Drug cartel?” he guessed.

“Who, me?” I asked.

“Yeah. Or your boyfriend or whatever.”

“Nope, sorry. I’m not really a fan of drugs, and neither is my husband. Just say no and all that.”

Max cussed under his breath. “Married. Can’t catch a break.”

I smiled.

“Mafia?”

“Nope.”

“Diamond smuggling?”

“Please! Is that the kind of people you usually deal with, Max? Maybe you need a new job.”

I had to admit, I was enjoying myself a little. I hadn’t interacted with humans much besides Charlie and Sue. It was entertaining to watch him flounder. I was also pleased at how easy it was not to kill him.

“You’ve got to be involved in something big. And bad,” he mused.

“It’s not really like that.”

“That’s what they all say. But who else needs papers? Or can afford to pay J’s prices for them, I should say. None of my business, anyway,” he said, and then muttered the word married again.

He gave me an entirely new address with basic directions, and then watched me drive away with suspicious, regretful eyes.

At this point, I was ready for almost anything—some kind of James Bond villain’s high-tech lair seemed appropriate. So I thought Max must have given me the wrong address as a test. Or maybe the lair was subterranean, underneath this very commonplace strip mall nestled up against a wooded hill in a nice family neighborhood.

I pulled into an open spot and looked up at a tastefully subtle sign that read JASON SCOTT, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

The office inside was beige with celery green accents, inoffensive and unremarkable. There was no scent of vampire here, and that helped me relax. Nothing but unfamiliar human. A fish tank was set into the wall, and a blandly pretty blond receptionist sat behind the desk.

“Hello,” she greeted me. “How can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Scott.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Not exactly.”

She smirked a little. “It could be a while, then. Why don’t you have a seat while I—”

April! a man’s demanding voice squawked from the phone on her desk. I’m expecting a Ms. Cullen shortly.

I smiled and pointed to myself.

Send her in immediately. Do you understand? I don’t care what it’s interrupting.

I could hear something else in his voice besides impatience. Stress. Nerves.

“She’s just arrived,” April said as soon as she could speak.

What? Send her in! What are you waiting for?

“Right away, Mr. Scott!” She got to her feet, fluttering her hands as she led the way down a short hallway, offering me coffee or tea or anything else I might have wanted.

“Here you are,” she said as she ushered me through the door into a power office, complete with heavy wooden desk and vanity wall.

“Close the door behind you,” a raspy tenor voice ordered.

I examined the man behind the desk while April made a hasty retreat. He was short and balding, probably around fifty-five, with a paunch. He wore a red silk tie with a blue-and-white-striped shirt, and his navy blazer hung over the back of his chair. He was also trembling, blanched to a sickly paste color, with sweat beading on his forehead; I imagined an ulcer churning away under the spare tire.