"And what did you say that doctor's name was?"

"I didn't."

Max stirs, picking up a pillow and laying it back down.

He's irritated.

I can't say that I blame him. I just can't do anything about it. The way I usually work him out of a bad mood isn't an option at this particular time.

"Max, come on.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me. How's the job going? I heard about a big bust in Southeast last week. I figured it was one of yours."

He doesn't answer right away. I start to think he's not going to answer at all and then he exhales noisily and places his hand over mine. “The job is going great,” he says. “The bust was one of the biggest ever. Now there's only the money trail and we can wrap this thing up."

He shifts a little on the couch, raises my hand and brushes the palm against his lips. It's all I can do to keep from purring. Instead, though, I give him a little “go on” bob of my head.

He sighs and continues. “This afternoon I drove the boss over the border to visit his mama. When I dropped him off, he gave me five hundred bucks and told me to get laid.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wad of cash. “Hold this for me, will you?

If I go back with this, he'll know I didn't get laid. Of course, it looks like I'm not going to get laid anyway, so what difference does it make, huh?"

I give him the look. “So, that's the only reason you come to see me? Sex is the only attraction?"

He capitulates with a smile. “Not the only attraction,” he says. “But when I haven't seen you in two months and I don't know when I'll see you again and we only have a few hours ... Well, it's hardly enough time to enter into a comprehensive discussion of world politics, is it?” He leans toward me, his lips dangerously close. “But it's certainly enough time to explore other interesting topics.

Things like breasts.” His left hand cups my right breast. “Or thighs.” His hand moves down.

Then his lips move past my cheek and blow gently into my ear. “I could be very, very gentle, Anna."

My defenses slip away. Sex with Max is one of the great pleasures of my life. The fact that we see each other only sporadically, and always unexpectedly, adds to the delight.

But I can't do this now. I don't trust myself. Regretfully, I pull away. “Please, Max. I just don't feel well."

"Oh. Headache, huh?"

I nod and do the palm to the forehead thing again.

He laughs. “It isn't working, Anna,” he says. “You're the toughest woman I know. And you're wired for sex like nobody I've ever met. So, are you going to tell me what's really going on here? Or do I have to track down David and get the truth from him?"

It's an empty threat. Max's undercover work as a driver for one of Mexico's most notorious gangsters keeps him on a short leash.

In fact, his assignment is how we met. Not long after I got into the business, a skip I was working agreed to turn informant in exchange for a get-out-of-jail free card. The Feds became very interested when they learned the guy was a lieutenant in the gangster's mob. I arranged the deal and Max turned out to be the plant. So I know for sure he won't be making any unscheduled forays into LA.

And Max knows it, too, but I give him points for the effort.

When I don't respond, he sighs. “Okay. I give up. I don't know what's wrong, but I can't force you to tell me. I'm not buying this injured act, and I can't believe anybody could get the best of you and David. But I've trusted you with my life since the first moment I saw you. I guess I just have to trust that whatever is bothering you now has nothing to do with us."

It's a touching speech. I believe he believes what he's saying. I also know Max lies for a living, and his acting skills are what have kept him alive in some pretty tough situations. I wipe an imaginary tear from my eye.

We both start laughing at the same time.

"So,” he says, coming up for air. “Got anything to eat? I'm starved."

I take his hand and pull him toward the kitchen.

"I don't suppose you have anything from Luigi's,” he says, scanning the contents of my refrigerator. “I'd kill for a plate of his lasagna."

It's ten o'clock. Max left to pick up his boss, and I'm staring at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Do vampires really have to do their own dishes? I've never seen that in movies.

I rinse the dishes, load them into the dishwasher, and reach for the Cascade. The phone on the counter rings so loudly it makes me jump. The box slips from my hand, and before I can catch it, powder spills across the floor.

Shit. The second time today I've made a mess.

Do I have to avoid loud noises, too? Is that another vampire bogey?

Before I can say hello, he begins. “Anna, this is Grant Avery. Sorry to disturb you. Is your friend still there?"

Now I'm getting mad. “Doesn't anyone say hello anymore? And if you know I had someone here, then you know he's gone. So why are you asking?"

"Sorry."

His tone is unapologetic and quite insincere, but it's something else that triggers alarm bells in my head. “Avery, please tell me that you aren't having him followed."

There's a slight hesitation before he replies. “No, it's not Max we're having followed."

Max? He knows his name? The alarms are shrieking now. “Avery, can you read my thoughts over the phone?"

He starts talking in the same dry, academic pitch he used when explaining my new “gift."

"No, actually I can't,” he says. “Something about electric circuits that interfere. If you're wondering how I knew Max's name, it popped into your thoughts once or twice while I was there this afternoon."

For the first time, I'm disappointed to hear that he can't get inside my head. In fact, I'm fighting a wave of panic. “Can you come over now? Or can I come to you? We have to talk about Max."

"Well,” he says, “that's convenient because I have something to talk to you about, also. Would you like to come here?"

"And here is?"

"Do you know the Mount Soledad area?"

Everyone on the coast knows the Mount Soledad area. It's one of the most prestigious addresses in prestigious La Jolla. A vampire doctor. Figures that's where he'd live. “Want to give me the address?"

I reach for a piece of paper and write it down. “I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Good. And Anna?"

"Yes?"

"Wear something nice. I have some folks I'd like you to meet."

And he hangs up.

I replace the receiver, frowning at both the implication and inflection of his tone. I have a good mind to come as I am, in the scrubs he so graciously lent me when I left the hospital.

But on the other hand, maybe I'm about to meet some of my vampire relatives. First impressions are always important, aren't they?

For work, I drive a Ford Crown Vic, the same model as most cops and tricked out with a lot of the same gadgets. For pleasure, I drive a two-year-old, British Racing Green Jag XKR convertible. Between the car payment and insurance, I shell out what amounts to the mortgage on a small house each month. But it's my only luxury, and since I own the cottage outright, it's a concession I'm able to make.

As I pull into Dr. Avery's driveway, I'm sure that at least my car will fit in with this crowd. I park between a silver Lexus and a big Mercedes sedan. And did I say driveway? I climb out of my car and glance back along a tree-lined avenue that meanders about a half mile from a gated entrance to the front of the stone mansion.