“I’m not sure. Not yet. I just need to know what can be done about catching somebody involved in selling their own kid to men for money.”

The revulsion in my voice is intemperate. I couldn’t control it if I wanted to. I keep seeing Trish’s shattered face.

Max sits up a little straighter. “Do you think that’s what happened to Barbara Franco?”

I hold up a hand. “No. I don’t believe Barbara was involved in kiddie porn directly, but she may have been killed because she knew someone who was.”

Max gets that stern cop look in his eye. “And you’re afraid Trish might be next? You need to go to the authorities with this,” he says. “I’m not kidding, Anna. This is serious business. And it involves the worst kind of scumbag-”

He’s gearing up for a lecture. One I’m not the least bit interested in hearing. “Listen, Max. I promise you. I will go to the authorities the minute I have something concrete. What I want you to tell me is what kind of evidence you’d need to put these people away.”

He’s frowning and glaring in that male authoritarian way that makes me want to smack the look right off his face. But that wouldn’t get me the answer now, would it? I smile and purse my lips and nod encouragingly at him.

His expression softens. “Computers,” he says. “These guys do big business on the web. They can try to delete their files, but there’s an evidence trail that can be recovered from the hard drive. That’s usually what puts them away.”

The good news and the bad news. I have a mental picture of that laptop flying from Ryan’s hand and bouncing off the wall of the garage to land in a crashing heap on the concrete floor. My bad. On the other hand, Ryan didn’t seem that disturbed by what I’d done. In fact, he said he’d be able to retrieve data from it. Is that possible?

“What happens if the computer is-say-dropped?” I ask.

Once again, Max is staring at me with cop eyes. “What computer are we talking about, Anna?”

“I’m just talking theoretically here. If a computer is broken, can you retrieve data from it?”

He nods slowly but with reservation, as if he’s afraid answering my question could be construed as encouraging behavior he doesn’t condone. “It’s possible. Depends on how badly it’s damaged and how good the guy is working on it.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Want to tell me why we’re having this conversation?”

But he’s given me what I need. Now it’s time to change the subject. “We don’t have to be making a baby to have fun with the process, do we?” I place my drink on the coffee table and slip the robe off my shoulders.

Evidently not. Max uncrosses his arms and watches. By the time I’ve lost the pajamas, the only hard drive he seems interested in is the one between his legs.

This time we go slowly. Long, lingering kisses. Fingers that coax and tease. When the tension gets too much, when we’re both more than ready, Max slides his hands under my bottom and I arch up to meet him.

I let Max do the work, move to his rhythm. I listen to his heart, see the pulse drumming at the base of his jaw. I lick at it, taste the salt of his sweat as it pools there. My mouth forms around the spot, sucking gently. Max groans and moves closer.

Suddenly Avery is there again. This time, his words send a shiver through me.Think of how good you can make it, Anna. It will be the most wonderful sex Max has ever had.

I touch the pulse point with burning fingers. Max’s blood rushes right there, beneath that fragile sheath of skin-a sheath I can easily pierce. My hands pull his head closer. He doesn’t resist. He’s hurtling past the point of return.

But I can’t do it. I can’t bring myself to drink from Max. If I do, I risk whatever tremulous hold I have left on what’s human inside me. And in the instant I realize that, I’ve lost him. I’m like a surfer who waits a second too long to make the cut. Max is swept away from me on the wave of his passion, and I’m left behind, alone, to watch.

Max is aware that our last coupling was not as satisfying for me as the first. The expression in his eyes makes it obvious that he’s afraid he has broken something in our relationship.

I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t tell him that what happened was not his fault. I can’t believe how close I came to-

I don’t want to think about that now, and I don’t want to tempt fate again. Instead, I smile and tell him I’m tired. Which is true. And that things will be different after a good night’s sleep. Which I can only hope is true.

He gets up and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. I collapse on the bed and wait for him to finish. Can’t share the bathroom anymore-especially one with large mirrors. Not when you’re a vampire. When the phone rings, it’s a little after ten.

It’s my mother. “Did I wake you?” she asks anxiously.

“No. I’m just lying here-resting. How was your dinner with Carolyn?”

“She never showed up.” Mom’s voice is a mixture of aggravation and concern. “We tried calling her, but there was no answer. Why would she stand us up? The dinner was her idea.”

After what I learned about Carolyn today, nothing she does surprises me. To my mother I respond, “Maybe she got called back to the hospital and didn’t have time to get in touch with you. I’m going to see her tomorrow. I’ll ask her what happened.”

“I got your note this afternoon,” Mom continues. “So I didn’t expect to hear from her at all, which is why the invitation came as such a surprise.” There’s a pause. “Any word on Trish?”

This is one of the things I hate most-lying to humans I love. It doesn’t get easier, and I see no way it will ever change. But I can’t share what I’ve learned with anyone yet, especially not my parents. “I expect to have some word soon, Mom. Please try not to worry. How’s Dad taking all this?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Not well. He acts like he doesn’t believe Trish is really Steve’s. But I can tell he’s scared to death for her.”

A thought strikes me. “Mom, did Carolyn leave Trish’s hairbrush with you?”

Again, a pause. In my mind’s eye, I see Mom walking into the living room, looking around. “Yes,” she says at last. “It’s here.”

“I’ll pick it up tomorrow. I think we should run that DNA test. You have one of Steve’s baby teeth, right? I remember seeing it in a scrapbook or something.”

The laugh is small and sad. “I have one of yours, too. The first you lost.”

I let a heartbeat go by before responding. “Will you leave Steve’s tooth with the hairbrush? I think they can get a DNA sample from it.”

It seems to take Mom a long time to answer. But finally she does, in a soft, firm voice. “I’ll leave everything on the dining room table in case we’re not here when you come. We’re returning to full schedule tomorrow at school and I expect it will be a long day.”

I promise to call her and check in and then we ring off. Max slips into bed beside me and we snuggle together under the covers. He falls asleep first and I disentangle myself from his arms and lay staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to dull the terrible anxiety I feel for a young girl I’ve known less than a day.

Wednesday

I awaken once, early, when Max gets up in response to the chirping of his cell phone. I drift back to half-sleep, aware that Max has gone into the bathroom and that he’s showering and dressing. Then he’s leaning over to kiss my forehead.

“I have to go,” he says. “I got a call. There’s been some trouble with Martinez’s extradition. They want me back in Washington.”

I struggle into a sitting position. “Is everything all right?”

But his eyes seem to be focusing on everything in the room but me.

“Max, is everything all right?”

His lips draw up and I imagine he thinks he’s smiling. But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes nor does it smooth the wrinkles from his brow. “Of course everything is all right,” he says a little too cheerfully. “Why wouldn’t it be?”