"Where do they search?"

"Inside the house, and in the smaller buildings, too. Whenever we saw them, we stayed away, hid until they were gone. Then we went over their trail, but all we could smell was chemicals. Perfume or something like it, covering all other scents."

They had reached the ranch; before Willow raced away into the hills, Charlie fetched from the house some leftover roast and a bowl of fresh water. Willow drank and ate quickly.

"Must you go back alone? It's nearly dark."

"Our wounded aren't far away, Charlie Harper. And I'll be careful. I can smell danger, I can climb, and leap. And I have these," she said, baring her formidable claws and giving Charlie a little cat smile-and she streaked away past the barn and into the dusky woods, her pale shape vanishing among the thickening shadows.

Worrying because Willow was traveling alone, and puzzling over the prowler at the ruins, Charlie headed down the hills again. Was someone looking for the book? Or maybe for that hidden grave? Pulling into Clyde's crowded driveway behind Max's truck, she quickly grabbed her cooler and made for the front door, praying she could find Joe, and maybe Kit and Dulcie, could get them out without argument, and without anyone noticing.

Like the Firetti clinic, the Damen house had been remodeled from a small vacation cottage built during the early years of the last century, when Molena Point was a religion-based summer retreat. Only later had the artists and writers and musicians arrived, to change the persona of the small village from religious to more earthy pleasures. They, too, built cottages, enlarging the village, and now many of the old cottages housed restaurants and shops, or had been connected to become quaint motels. Designer Ryan Flannery had changed Clyde 's dumpy little cottage into a handsome dwelling.

First she had transformed the weedy backyard into a beautiful private patio, then had added the second story to provide a new master suite and study, with a deck over the garage and carport. It was here that Charlie found Joe Grey sitting at the edge of the deck washing his paws, looking down at the street, checking out the arriving guests.

"Why the frown?" Joe said softly, turning to look at her. "What's wrong?"

"Why aren't you down in the middle of the party?" she whispered. "In the middle of the food?"

Joe gave her a long, cool look. "Since when have I ever been, as you put it, in the middle of the party food? Don't you think-"

"Joe," Charlie said softly, "I need you to come with me quickly, there's been an accident."

Joe's yellow eyes widened with fear.

"No, not Dulcie or Kit-it's a feral." She knelt on the deck, facing him, speaking quietly. " Willow came to me tonight, in the barn. She brought a young, wounded tomcat-there was a battle up at the ruins. Stone Eye attacked them, and Cotton and Coyote killed him."

Joe looked surprised, then smiled with satisfaction. "Good for them! One less tyrant in the world."

"I took the hurt cat to Dr. Firetti." But when she told him what Firetti knew, Joe Grey's yellow eyes narrowed warily, and his sleek body went rigid with apprehension.

"He's always known," Charlie said. "He knew about Dulcie's mother." She reached to touch Joe's muscled gray shoulder. "He's never told anyone. Never! I believe him, Joe."

She couldn't read Joe's expression; it was a mix of cold feline suspicion and yet a flash of confidence, too, as if he wanted to trust John Firetti, as if he knew, deep down, that he could trust him.

"Firetti needs you, Joe. He needs blood for Sage's surgery-it has to be the blood of a talking cat, he told me your blood is different."

Joe looked at Charlie for a long moment, and now his uncertainty had nothing to do with trusting what Firetti had said. Blood? His blood? His stomach had gone a bit queasy, and his paws began to sweat.

Joe Grey had never in his life shrunk from a fight. He could whip any tomcat that challenged him, and could send most dogs running. But the drawing out of his lifeblood was another matter. He already felt violated. He envisioned Dr. Firetti shaving away his sleek gray fur to pale, naked skin, and sticking in a large and painful needle, and he didn't like the thought.

Seeing the fear in Joe's eyes, Charlie hid her amusement. "Firetti may need blood from all three of you," she said diplomatically. "But I know you'll be the bravest. I guess we'd better fetch Dulcie and Kit, though." She was guessing that the lady cats, like most women, would feel less stricken at donating a few drops of blood, but she couldn't tell Joe that.

"We're here" came a small voice from the roof above them. Looking up she saw two pairs of bright eyes fixed on her-green-eyed Dulcie, her dark tabby coat nearly invisible against the evening sky, and Kit's yellow eyes as round as twin moons, the tortoiseshell's darkly mottled fluff lost in the falling night.

"He knows?" Dulcie hissed at her. "Firetti knows?"

"Blood?" Kit said. "Our blood? Oh my…" But whether the tattercoat was frightened by the thought, or impressed with such an important mission, Charlie couldn't tell.

"If he needs us now," Dulcie said sensibly, "let's get on with it." And Charlie watched the two lady cats leave the roof, backing down the pine tree, their claws scratching away loose bark, watched them drop to the ground and race to her red Blazer, where they melted into the bushes, waiting for her to open the door.

Picking up Joe without ceremony, garnering an irritable growl, Charlie hurried down, taking the stairs two at a time, hoping she could get through the crowd without anyone stopping her-but from the living room, she heard Clyde's and Mike Flannery's voices.

Most of the party was crowded into the back patio, and she could hear only a few voices from the kitchen. But there by the fireplace stood Clyde and his soon-to-be father-in-law in deep and serious conversation. She set Joe down, giving him a look that said he'd better follow her. And quickly she slipped into the living room, snatched up her cooler, which she'd left by the front door, and carried it into the kitchen.

"Potato salad and shrimp dip," she told Ryan hastily, setting the carrier on an empty chair. "I forgot to shut the dogs in, I have to go back." And she was gone again out the front door, Joe at her heels, before anyone thought to ask questions.

Holding open the door of her SUV, she pulled out the lap robe and pretended to fold it, hiding the cats as they leaped inside. Backing out of the drive, she hoped Ryan and Clyde were too tightly strung over the wedding to have paid attention to her hasty behavior. They didn't need this added worry just now.

Well, but of course they were nervous, getting married was a big step. Clyde had been a bachelor for a long time, despite numerous involvements. And Ryan, having only last year broken away from an abusive marriage, was still gun-shy. But, They'll be good together, Charlie thought. They'll survive the wedding, get away by themselves, and that's all they need.

What worried her, as she headed toward Ocean and the clinic, was the changes this marriage would bring to the Damen household. Joe and Clyde had lived together a long time, a bachelor household, the two of them bantering and confrontational, ribbing each other and supremely comfortable in their abrasive relationship. Now, what was in store for the two hardheaded males who were so entrenched in their rough ways? And Ryan…though Ryan had grown up in a household run by three strong-willed men and had learned early to hold her own, she'd never lived with a smart-talking tomcat who was as strong willed as any cop.

Parking in front of the clinic, she and the cats headed for the door, the cats pressing close to her legs. Firetti let them in and urged them on through the empty waiting room to the surgery, where he lifted the three cats onto a table.