The first chapter is devoted to the history of lycanthropes, as the book refers to them (the word itself coming from the Greek—lykos, wolf, and anthropos, human). Roots that reach back into prehistory. It is believed that young warriors of many Indo-European civilizations went into the wilderness to live as wolves wearing animal skins and eating raw meat as a test of strength and courage. A closely related tradition was that of the “berserkers” or bear people, who fought with wild, unrestrained aggression in battle. Losing control of their animal aspects was often blamed for acts of horrifying violence.

Still, it was thought that a physical transformation of man into wolf or bear was impossible—that the human body of a werewolf would be at rest while the animal form prowled. Some medieval records dispute that and give accounts of werewolves being killed before a complete transformation. The creature might have human hands or feet covered with hair.

Not a pretty image. I wonder if it’s true. I’ve only dealt with shape-shifters to this point. Does Sandra change completely or is she half beast, half woman?

The rest of the chapter explains the many theories of how a transformation takes place, though none of them involve the moon. Most have to do with charms and potions and belts of animal skins. Nothing that is of interest or could be of help to me if things go badly between Sandra and me tonight.

Nor is there anything that points to Sandra being particularly dangerous. Is Frey overreacting?

Maybe the next two chapters and chapter seventeen will be more to the point.

I glance at my watch the same instant my cell phone rings. It’s after ten so this must be Gloria.

“How did the hearing go?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

She sounds tired. “I take it that means you made bail?”

“Yes. I had to relinquish my passport, though, and put two of my houses up for collateral. Barely covered the twenty million. With all that, the prosecutor still wasn’t happy. Wanted me held without bail.”

Imagine that. “You were charged with murder, Gloria.”

“Thanks for reminding me, Anna. I’d forgotten why I’m in this shit hole.”

Well, well. The bitch is back.

“I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

I disconnect before she can make another smart-ass remark. Maybe I’ll get lost on my way to the jail and let her cool her heels for a while. I’m on the clock now, at two hundred an hour.

GLORIA IS WAITING ON THE STEPS OF POLICE PLAZA when I pull up. I don’t blame her for waiting outside. I’d be outside, too. Jail stinks.

I start to honk my horn to get her attention when a young guy comes streaking around the corner and bounds up the stairs. Late for a court hearing, maybe?

Except that he doesn’t head toward the door. He heads for Gloria. Straight for Gloria.

I slam the car in park and jump out. The expression on his face, desperation, anguish, stirs the hair on the back of my neck. I let the adrenaline kick in and race after him.

There’s a long, sloping expanse of grass between the curb and the stairs. Gloria is standing at the top. I open my mouth to shout a warning when she spies the kid and does something so completely unexpected it brings me to a dead stop.

She opens her arms.

The kid falls into them and starts to sob.

Gloria sees me at the bottom of the stairs. She straightens up and gently pushes the kid away. She’s whispering something to him, right at his ear, something my vampiric hearing can’t pick up. He turns and looks at me. Then as quickly as he bounded up the stairs, he’s running back down. Like a jackrabbit avoiding a fox, he makes a wide arc around me. Before I can put out a hand to stop him, he darts away.

It only takes me a nanosecond to decide not to go after him. I’ve filed his image in my head. I’ve seen him before.

I join Gloria at the top of the stairs staring in the direction of the now departed young man.

“Who was that?”

When she fails to respond, I turn to look at her.

“Gloria? Who was that? Not a reporter. He’s too young to be a reporter. He was upset. You hugged him. He’s not another boyfriend, is he? Somebody else you’ve been cheating on David with?”

A thundercloud of anger sweeps across her face. “He’s a kid, Anna. Barely fourteen. No, he’s not a boyfriend.”

“Then who is he?”

“He’s a friend. That’s all I’m going to say. Can you please get me the hell out of here? I want to go home. Take a long, hot shower. Then we can talk about what you’re going to do to find Rory’s killer.”

She’s already three steps ahead of me, running down the stairs in her haste to get to my car. Or to avoid answering any more questions about the mysterious young man. I’m not sure which. Not that it matters. I have a clear image of the kid’s face in my memory. I know I’ve seen him before. It’s the only reason I didn’t stop him or press her for answers. I’ll get those on my own.

The kid can run, Gloria, but he can’t hide.

Not for long. Not from me.

WHEN WE’RE IN THE CAR, IT SUDDENLY OCCURS to me that there were no paparazzi at the courthouse. A bloody carcass doesn’t attract vultures faster than a celebrity in trouble attracts the media. I half turn in the seat to look at Gloria.

“How’d you pull it off?”

I don’t have to explain what I mean. She waves a hand. “My lawyer let it leak that I’d be arraigned at one this afternoon. Oops.”

I have to admire his ingenuity though I pity the guy who walks out of the courthouse on a pandering charge and has a hundred flashbulbs go off in his face. I crank over the engine.

David’s place has always been home to Gloria in San Diego. Since she knows better than to think I’d take her there, I ask, “Where are you staying?”

“I thought I’d stay with you.”

The ten thousand reasons why that is not going to happen bubble to my lips like a geyser ready to spew. Luckily, I stifle the eruption when I realize she’s kidding. I know she’s kidding because she’s staring at me with a “gotcha” smirk on her face.

“I have a suite at the Four Seasons,” she says.

“I should have guessed. Where else would you stay but the most expensive hotel in San Diego?”

She ignores the sarcasm, rests her head against the seat and closes her eyes. I accelerate away from the curb. At least she’s riding in front with me. If she’d gotten into the backseat, I might have been tempted to kick her skinny ass right out of the car.

She’s quiet on the ride to the hotel. I use the time to concentrate on that kid and where I’ve seen him before. It won’t come. I’m not worried, though. I know I’ll remember. Something will trip the memory and his identity will float to the surface of my subconscious like pond scum.

The Four Seasons is San Diego’s newest and finest. We pull up to the front entrance and a valet is there to open my door before we’ve come to a complete stop. Another valet is at Gloria’s door, gushing like an excited schoolboy when he recognizes her. He either doesn’t know or doesn’t care that she’s coming from a night in jail. He rushes past us to open the door to the lobby. Gloria sweeps past him like the queen with her livery.

I follow after getting the valet ticket. No one rushes to open the door for me. I’m only her driver.

Gloria is at the front desk, collecting messages and her key. At least she waits for me to catch up before starting for the elevator. She goes straight to the elevator cordoned off with a red rope. A uniformed bellboy opens it for her and we pass into a car with only two stop buttons. PH1 and PH2. She inserts a key card and hits PH2.

The elevator whisks us up in perfumed silence and whispers to a stop. The door opens into the suite’s marble foyer. It’s a setup I’ve only seen in movies. There is a fountain, lots of greenery, and a carved, twelve-foot-high double door. She opens it with the same key card she used in the elevator and steps aside so I can go in first.