THE HOUSE WAS ADOBE and looked old or genuine, not that I was an expert, but there was a feel to the house of age. We unloaded my luggage from the back of the Hummer but I had eyes mostly for the house. Edward's house. I'd never really hoped to see where he lived. He was like Batman. He rode into town, saved your ass, then vanished, and you never really expected an invitation to see the Bat Cave. Now here I was standing in front of it. Cool.

It wasn't what I'd pictured. I'd thought maybe a high-tech condo in the city. LA maybe. This modest appearing adobe house hugging the land was just not what I'd had in mind. It was part of his secret identity, his Tedness, but still, Edward lived here, and there had to be more reason than just Ted would have liked it. I was beginning to think I really didn't know Edward at all.

The light over the front door switched on, and I had to turn away, shielding my night vision. I'd been staring right at it when it glared to life. I had two thoughts: one, who had turned on the light; two, the door was blue. The door was painted a blue-violet, a rich, rich color. I could also see the window nearest the door. Its trim was painted the same vibrant blue.

I'd seen it at the airport, though with more flowers and an addition of fuchsia. I asked, "What's with the blue door and trim?"

"Maybe I like it," he said.

"I've seen a lot of doors painted blue or turquoise on a lot of houses since I've been here. What gives?"

"Very observant."

"A failing of mine. Now explain."

"They think witches can't cross a door painted blue or green."

I widened my eyes. "You believe that?"

"I doubt most of the people who paint their doors believe it anymore, but it's become part of the local style. My guess is that most people who do it, don't even remember the folklore behind it."

"Like putting out a jack o' lantern at Halloween to frighten the goblins away," I said.

"Exactly."

"And because I am so observant, who turned on the porch light?"

"Either Bernardo or Olaf."

"Your other backups," I said.

"Yes."

"Can't wait to meet them."

"In the spirit of cooperation, and no more surprises, Olaf doesn't like women much."

"You mean he's gay?"

"No, and implying that to him will probably mean a fight, so please don't. If I'd known I'd be calling you in, I wouldn't have called him in at all. The two of you in the same house on the same case is going to be … a fucking disaster."

"That's harsh. You think we can't play nice together."

"I'd almost guarantee it," he said.

The door opened, and our conversation cut off abruptly. I was wondering if it was the dreaded Olaf. The man in the doorway didn't look much like an Olaf, but then what does an Olaf look like?

The man was six foot, give or take an inch. It was hard to tell his exact height because his lower body was completely covered by a white sheet that he had clutched in one hand at his waist. The sheet spilled around his feet like a formal dress, but from the waist up he was anything but formal. He was lean and muscular with a very nice set of abs. He was tanned a lovely even brown, though some of that was natural color because he was American Indian, oh, yes, he was. His hair was waist length falling over one shoulder and across the side of his face, heavy and solid black, tusseled from sleep, though it was early to be in bed. His face was a soft, full triangle, with a dimple in his chin, and a full mouth. Was it racist to say that his features were more white than Indian, or was it just true?

"You can close your mouth now," Edward said near my ear.

I closed my mouth. "Sorry," I mumbled. How embarrassing. I didn't usually notice men this much, at least men I didn't know. What was wrong with me today?

The man folded the sheet over his free arm until his legs showed and he could come down the two steps without tripping. "Sorry, I was asleep, or I'd have come out to help sooner." He seemed perfectly at ease in his sheet, though he was going to a lot of effort to spill it over the same arm that was holding it in place, so he could grab a suitcase.

"Bernardo Spotted-Horse, Anita Blake."

He was holding the sheet with his right hand, and he looked mildly perplexed as he dropped the suitcase and started the process of switching everything to the other hand. The sheet slipped down in front, and I had to turn my head away, fast.

I kept my head turned because I was blushing and wanted the darkness to hide it. I waved my hand vaguely behind me. "We'll shake hands later when you're wearing clothes."

Edward's voice. "You flashed her."

Great, everybody noticed.

"I'm sorry," Bernardo said, "truly."

"We can get the luggage," I said. "Go get a robe."

I felt someone move up behind me, and I wasn't sure how I knew, but I knew it wasn't Edward. "You're modest. I expected a lot of things from Edward's descriptions but not modesty."

I turned around slowly, and he was standing too close, invading the hell out of my personal space. I glared at him. "What were you expecting? The Whore of Babylon?" I was embarrassed and uncomfortable and that always made me angry. The anger showed in my voice.

The half-smile on his face faded round the edges. "I didn't mean any offense." His hand came up as he said it, as if he'd touch my hair.

I stepped back out of reach. "What's with the touchie-feelie routine?"

"I saw the way you looked at me in the doorway," he said.

I felt the heat ride up my face, but I didn't turn away this time. "If you want to come to the door looking like a Playgirl centerfold, don't blame me for staring. But don't make more of it than it is. You're nice eye candy, but the fact that you're coming on this strong isn't flattering to either of us. Either you're a whore, or you think I am. The first I'm willing to believe. The second I know isn't true." I walked up to him now, invading his space, the blush gone, leaving me pale and angry. "So back off."

It was his turn to look uncertain. He stepped back, put the sheet into as much of a cover as it could be, and bowed. It was an old-fashioned, courtly movement, as if he'd done it before and meant it. It was a nice gesture with his hair spilling all around, but I'd seen better. Not for six months, but I had seen better.

He raised up, and his face was solemn. He looked sincere. "There are two kinds of women that hang around with men like Edward, like me, that know what we are. The first are whores, no matter how many guns they own; the second is strictly business. I call them Madonnas because they never sleep with anyone. They try to be one of the guys." The smile played along his lips again. "Forgive me if I'm disappointed that you're one of the guys. I've been here for two weeks, and I'm getting lonely."

I shook my head. "Two weeks, poor baby." I pushed past him and grabbed my overnight case. I looked at Edward. "Next time remind me about everybody's little foibles."

He raised his hand in a Boy Scout oath. "I have never seen Bernardo do that with any woman at first meeting her, I swear it."

My eyes narrowed, but I looked into his eyes, and believed him. "How did I get the honor?"

He picked up my suitcase, and did smile. "You should have seen the look on your face when he came down the steps in the sheet." He laughed and it was very masculine. "I've never seen you that embarrassed."

Bernardo came up next to us. "I really, honestly, didn't mean to flash you. I just don't wear anything to bed so I threw this on."

"Where's Olaf?" Edward asked.

"Pouting that you're bringing her in."

"Great," I said. "One of you thinks he's a Lothario, and the other one won't talk to me. That's just perfect." I turned and followed Edward toward the house.