“I didn’t say that. It might be awkward.”

“But you’re not sure Caleb won’t hurt me.” She was staring curiously at her. “You’re not entirely sure of anything about him, are you?”

“I know he wouldn’t hurt Toby.”

Margaret just looked at her.

“Look, he’s a little like you.” Margaret was still staring skeptically at her, and Jane knew she’d have to try to elaborate. “He has a kind of talent. He can control the flow of blood in people around him.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. He can just do it. It’s a gift passed down through his family. I could ask the same of you.”

She shook her head. “No one in my family was able to do what I do. I don’t think they ever tried.” She thought about it. “Flow of blood … that could be bad or good.”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve seen the bad.”

Shrewd Margaret. So young, so shrewd.

“I’ve never seen him hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it.”

“Perhaps he didn’t let you see it. You said he inherited the talent from his family. Families teach their young. What do you know about them?”

“Nothing.” Caleb never talked about his home or his relations. “He lives in Scotland most of the year. He has a place in Italy. Haven’t I told you enough?”

“No, you’re skirting around trying to not tell me something. I think I should talk to him.”

“He doesn’t like to discuss—” She drew a deep breath. Just tell her and put that curiosity to rest. “He comes from a very ancient family originating in a village in Italy. Back in medieval times, they were known as the Ridondo family, and there were all kinds of stories in their village about their supposed dark powers. Not pleasant stories.”

Margaret started to chuckle. “Vampires?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Caleb is not a vampire.”

“Though that could be where the vampire legends originated.” Margaret was looking intrigued. “How cool.”

“Not cool at all.”

“Yes, it is. I wonder how that blood thing works.”

“Don’t ask him,” Jane said dryly. “He might show you.”

“But you just said he was no danger.”

“Is that what I said? I believe I said he was no danger to Toby.”

Her face was lit with eagerness. “You know, I’ve always been curious about vampire bats. I’ve never been able to merge with them. They’re too single-minded.”

“Merge? Is that what you do?”

“Sort of,” Margaret said vaguely. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Like Seth Caleb. I’m asking you to take my word for it that he had nothing to do with hurting Toby and not start questioning him.”

She was silent a moment. “I’ll take your word. And I won’t question him … anytime soon.” She added brusquely, “But if he has nothing to do with it, then all this has to be about you.” Her tone was no longer amused or speculative. “Find out who did it and keep him from doing it to Toby or some other dog.” She put up her hand as Jane opened her lips to speak. “I can’t talk any more now. I have to get back to Toby.” She started back up the path toward the hospital. “I just had to tell you what you have to do. You say you’re grateful to me. Prove it. Keep Toby safe from that ugly man.”

“Was he ugly? How do you know?” Her brows rose quizzically. “Did Toby tell you?”

“No, Toby thinks all humans are beautiful. But he doesn’t know about ugly souls.” She stopped at the door and looked back at Jane. “You’ll do this for me?”

“No,” she said quietly. “I’ll do it for me and for Toby.”

“Good.” Margaret’s face lit with a luminous smile. “That’s how it should be.” The harsh bulb above her surrounded her with a glow that should have been stark and unflattering but somehow wasn’t. She looked soft and young and appealing, as if even that unkind glare couldn’t alter that essential effect. “Why don’t you come in and stay with Toby and me? He’s still under sedation, but I think he’d like to have you with him.”

“Think? You don’t know?”

“Of course not. He’s out cold.” Margaret giggled, and suddenly she looked more like sixteen than twenty. “You’re making fun of me.” She opened the door and stepped aside for Jane to enter. “Because I make you a little uncomfortable, and you don’t know how to treat me. You half believe I helped Toby, but you’re not quite sure. Devon was like that for a long time.”

Close. Except how could Jane be uncomfortable with the kid in leather sandals and jeans who could accept being the butt of jokes and suspicion and giggle about it? “How do you want me to treat you?”

“As a friend.” Margaret’s voice was wistful. “That would be nice. The other trainers and techs like me, but they think I’m kind of strange.”

“You are strange.” Jane smiled. “But I know a lot of strange people, and it doesn’t get in the way. We could work through it if you don’t mind me asking you questions. I’m very curious.”

“Sure.” She grinned. “I don’t have to answer all of them. I probably won’t. Everyone deserves their privacy.” She added impishly, “Even Seth Caleb.” She turned to Devon as she came into the room. “You go rest and get a cup of coffee. Jane and I will watch over Toby. I’ll call you if I see him doing anything that worries me. You know you can trust me.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” Devon wearily rubbed the back of her neck. “Thirty minutes. No more.” She headed for the door to the waiting room. “And yes, I can trust you.”

“See?” Margaret murmured as the door closed behind Devon. “No one knows more than Devon how strange I am, but she still thinks I’m okay.” She went over to Toby and stroked his head. “And this one agrees with her.”

Jane was beginning to see that Margaret was a strange and somehow wonderful mixture of strength and vulnerability. She was beginning to wonder what experiences had created that unique blend. “I can see that he does.” She smiled and tapped her own breast with her index finger. “This one agrees with her, too.”

Lake Cottage

Atlanta, Georgia

A BANGING ON THE DOOR.

Eve was abruptly jarred from sleep.

What the hell?

She sat upright in bed and looked at the clock.

Don’t open the door.

Joe’s words came back to her even as she swung her feet to the floor.

But what if it was the policeman who had been cruising the area?

The banging increased in volume.

One way to find out. She checked her phone and retrieved the telephone number for the policeman Joe had hired. Ron Hughes. She dialed quickly.

He answered on the first ring. “Hughes. Is everything okay, Ms. Duncan?”

“You tell me. Is it you that’s been banging on my door?”

“Hell, no. I’m about six miles from your place making the circle from the highway. I’ll be right there. Don’t answer the door.” He hung up.

And she had no intention of opening that door. But she wasn’t going to cower in this bedroom, either. There was desperation, maybe even violence, in the force with which those blows were being struck against the front door. If it was desperation, it could be that someone had had an accident in this torrential rain and needed help. If it was violence, she wanted that violence to have a face she recognized. The person on the porch might very well take off when he saw the patrol car coming down the road. For good or ill, she had to know who it was out there.

No problem. The two picture windows on either side of the door had drapes that she could pull a little aside so that she could see who was standing in front of the door. She thrust her feet into slippers, shrugged on her robe, grabbed her gun from the bedside table, and left the bedroom. The next moment, she had reached the front door.

The banging continued.

She moved to the far right side of the door and carefully drew the red drapes the tiniest bit away from the window.

She stiffened with shock.

The next moment she was at the front door, turning off the alarm.