"I'll be right back. I just need to make sure he's okay." She stepped away from the table, her gaze glued to some distant spot to the east.

"Um, Hope? Cell phone?"

"Oh, right." She snatched her phone and notepad from the table and started jogging away.

"I didn't mean – "

Hope was already out of earshot.

"I meant, why not use your cell phone," Robyn muttered. "To call him."

She shook her head. Anyone else and she'd have wondered what the hell had just happened, but Hope… Hope was different. She hesitated to say that Hope lived in her own world, because that would make her problems sound worse than they were.

She hesitated even saying problems. Robyn thought of Hope's… issues more as eccentricities, like people who talked to themselves. The only lingering aftereffect of that teen breakdown was that every now and then, Robyn had the feeling Hope wasn't really there, that she'd slipped off someplace else. Her gaze would empty and she wouldn't hear what anyone said. Or, like now, she'd leap from "Oh, Karl can take care of himself" to "Oh, my God, I have to help him!"

But Robyn wasn't going to sit back and let her friend tear after a potential killer.

As she stood, she noticed a piece of paper on the ground. She picked it up. A printout of the photo Portia had taken. She pocketed it and took off.

Robyn was not an athlete. Had she dared take a fitness test, she suspected she'd score below average for her age, which was as good a reason as any never to subject herself to one.

When the wives of Damon's friends had urged her to join their softball team, she'd demurred until she felt like a snob and a poor sport. So she'd gone out for three games… and they'd discovered what a poor sport she really was, and quickly found a replacement.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd be good," they'd said before seeing her play. "Look how skinny you are."

She was not skinny, as she'd pointed out to Damon that night. She was average size. He'd pointed out that, in comparison to some of the other women on the team, she was indeed skinny, but that was beside the point. Just because she wasn't overweight didn't mean she was in good shape, a truth brought home once again as she huffed and puffed running after Hope.

By the time Robyn had made it around the ice cream stand, Hope was disappearing behind a strip mall. Then she'd zipped into an adjoining three-story walk-up lot, then behind that building…

Robyn slowed to catch her breath as she watched Hope's ponytail bob in the distance.

How the hell did Hope know where she was going? She hadn't stopped once to look around.

Robyn groaned and kicked it into high gear before she lost her friend completely. She made it around the next building as Hope was cutting through yet another parking lot.

Between the two parcels of land was a chain-link fence. Robyn ran toward it, expecting to see an opening when she drew closer. There wasn't one. The only way around was where the fence ended over a hundred feet away. Hope couldn't possibly have run that far so quickly.

The only option was… Robyn looked up at the six-foot fence.

No way.

Exactly how much of this sort of thing did a tabloid reporter do? Obviously Hope led a lot more adventurous life than Robyn had imagined. She felt a pang of something like envy.

As she jogged to the fence, she thought of how much Damon would have enjoyed this. But surprisingly, how Damon would have reacted hadn't been the first thing that popped into her head but, rather, that jab of envy, the fleeting thought that she wouldn't mind leading a more adventurous life.

Was that progress?

She paused at the foot of the fence, looking down to the distant end, then up. Hope was long gone. Time for Robyn to take a chance. Do something unexpected.

She grabbed the fence and started to climb.

Soon she was praying that the office behind her was empty and no one was watching her. At one point she was sure going around – even walking – would have been faster, but it was too late, and when she finally did touch down, the surge of adrenaline gave her a much-needed energy boost and she raced off in the direction she'd last seen Hope.

That surge didn't take her far. It couldn't. She ran around the next building and saw an empty parking lot. Beside it was an industrial complex, an interconnected maze of offices, quiet and vacant.

As she walked to the curb, a security car rolled past. The driver looked at her, but only nodded. Apparently, even in sweats, a ball cap and shades, she still didn't fit anyone's image of a thief, much less a fugitive.

Robyn headed into the complex, walking purposefully, a solitary worker putting in weekend hours. The lanes ahead snaked around the buildings and she followed them, looking and listening as she walked. Finally she heard the murmur of a man's voice. She darted to the nearest cover – a shadowy overhang. With her back to the wall, she crept along it until she reached the end and peered around.

Hope and Karl stood twenty feet away on a strip of grass between two buildings. The other man was nowhere to be seen. Hope had her back to Robyn, Karl gripping her upper arms, leaning over her. His voice was a soothing murmur, as if trying to calm her.

Even from where Robyn stood, she could tell Hope was shaking. Karl's grasp seemed to be the only thing keeping her from collapsing. After a moment, he straightened, eyes narrowing as he looked around. His lips parted, then a flash of annoyance as he swiped at his lip. Droplets of red splattered on white siding. Her gaze slid along the wall, seeing more crimson spots. Blood.

Karl shifted position into the light more. Blood oozed from his lip, more smeared across his face. His white shirt was dappled red.

Robyn looked from Hope, shaking with fear, to Karl, covered in blood.

Oh God, what had she done? She should never have let them get involved. It didn't matter that they hadn't asked permission. She let them get involved.

She squared her shoulders, ready to march over there and say "no more." She was going to the police. They couldn't stop her.

She lifted one foot, replayed her speech and realized how it would sound – as if she wanted them to stop her. And when they did, she could tell herself she'd tried – if not very hard – to do the right thing.

Doing the right thing meant doing it, not talking about it.

Robyn backed away from the corner.

Karl rubbed Hope's forearms as she shivered, caught up in the chaos still swirling around her brain.

"Ride it out," he said. "Stop fighting it."

"I have to get back to Robyn."

"You can't let her see you like this."

"I know," she said through gritted teeth. "That's why I'm trying – "

" – to fight it. And that's why I'm telling you not to. Robyn's in a public place, surrounded by people. Look after yourself first." He bent to her ear. "Enjoy it."

He was right, but that didn't make the advice any easier to take. She wanted to be able to say "sorry, bad timing," and move on.

Karl straightened, still rubbing her forearms as he looked around.

"Any sign of him?"

He opened his mouth to answer, then scowled and swiped at the blood dripping from his lip, drops spattering the wall beside them. The blow that split his lip was what had brought Hope running. She'd been talking to Robyn and seen the younger werewolf's fist connecting with Karl's jaw, blood spraying, Karl reeling back.

The vision came without any spark of pleasure, more like the blast of a warning alarm, shutting down common sense and sending her flying to his rescue even when she knew he didn't need it. She could only imagine what Robyn thought. Probably still sitting there, shaking her head.