Donovan and Bradley are beginning to seriously piss me off. I'm getting tired of sneaking down stairways and hiding in bushes. I grab the coat and wig and head for the exit. It's time we got this thing settled.

The squad car is waiting for me right outside the underground entrance in back. The cop is leaning against the passenger side door, smoking a cigarette. He flips it away when he sees me approach.

I know what he is before he sends out a probe.

You must be Ortiz, I say, figuring Williams would pick a vampire cop to drive me. I extend a hand.

He grins and takes it. His handshake is firm and dry. He follows my glance to the smoldering cigarette. That's the best thing about being immortal. I'll never have to give up smoking.

I raise an eyebrow in reply. Not something I've given much thought to. He opens the door and I get in. Then I watch as he passes in front of the car to claim his place in the driver's seat. In human years, he looks to be in his late twenties, five foot ten, one hundred sixty lean pounds. He's cute more than handsome, with an aquiline nose, dark hair and eyes and olive skin stretched over high cheekbones. He pulls away from the curb and throws me a rueful smile.

Cute? No man wants to be called cute.

His tone makes me laugh. Something I haven't done much of in the last couple of days. He asks me where we're going and I give him Ryan's address. He lapses into silence, both external and internal. I haven't met too many vampires and wonder fleetingly if I should ask him about how he came to be. But instead, I sink back on the seat and close my eyes. I need to clear my mind. I have a feeling that meeting Ryan's parents and telling them what we've kept from them is not going to be pleasant.

When we pull up in front of Ryan's house, he's waiting at the door. Behind him, a couple stands watch with the worried look of concerned parents. I tell Ortiz to wait for us in the car and walk up alone, feeling curiously like I'm walking into a lion's den.

Ryan is frowning with anxious impatience. He introduces me to his folks in a perfunctory manner, clearly eager to be on our way.

Unfortunately, his parents have questions, and when they invite me inside, I follow them in.

Mr. and Mrs. North are in their late 40s, both tall and tan and dressed in his and her versions of the power suit. The living room they lead me into is furnished with Pottery Barn essentials - canvas covered couch and chairs, whitewashed occasional tables with wicker basket storage, ladder display units tucked beside windows with an impressive view of the city beyond the bay. The shelves are full of white-framed photographs of the family at play, artfully commingled with an impressive collection of seashells.

I barely have time to take it all in before Mr. North starts in. "We are not pleased with Ryan, Ms. Strong," he says. "Nor are we pleased with you. You have put a child in danger. He has information that should have been given to the police immediately. Instead, you told him to keep it to himself. Now that girl's mother is dead and she is missing."

At least they are not blaming Trish for her mother's death. Maybe they missed the press conference. "Did you know Trish well?" I ask.

Mrs. North waves a hand as if understanding the real meaning behind my question. "If you're asking if we believe she had anything to do with her mother's death, the answer is no. Trish's mother was not a nice woman. We were sorry when she took Trish out of school here and moved to East County. I think Trish felt safe with us. We were sorry to see her go."

Ryan is shifting from one foot to the other, his eyes on me and his fingers clutching the book bag with white-knuckled intensity.

I'm not the only one who notices. "Clearly, my son is anxious to get this over with, Detective Strong," Mr. North says. "But I want your assurance he is not putting himself in any danger."

I let the "Detective" Strong go. "Police Chief Williams has taken a personal interest in the case," I say. "He is meeting with us himself this morning. He is very impressed with Ryan. I can assure you, Ryan will be safe."

I offer my hand to his parents. Mrs. North takes it first.

"Find Trish, Detective Strong," she says. "She deserves better than she's been given."

Mr. North shakes my hand in turn, and then he gives his son a brief hug. "Take care of him, Detective Strong," he says to me.

Ryan squirms away self-consciously, embarrassed at the display of parental concern. I think it sweet, though telling Ryan that would no doubt add to his humiliation.

I feel their gaze on our backs as we make our way to the sidewalk and the waiting squad car. That wasn't so bad, though I hook an eyebrow at Ryan. "Detective Strong ?"

His mouth curves into a grim, tight-lipped smile. "When you said you would be picking me up in a police car, I kind of let them think you were a detective. It just seemed easier."

If that gets back to Williams, I'll never hear the end of it.

Ortiz takes us to the Mission Cafe and drops us in front. Williams's orders were for him to wait with us until he showed up, but I see no reason to keep him. Williams will be here in ten minutes, so I thank Ortiz and tell him I'll explain to the chief that I let him go.

At first, he balks. But I remind him that I'm a vamp and can take care of myself, and that he probably has more pressing matters to attend to - like keeping the streets safe for those who aren't and can't.

We have this conversation internally, Ryan standing outside the car waiting for me to join him. Ortiz finally agrees and I climb out, spying the coat and wig I'd rolled up and thrown into the back seat. I took them to prevent Bradley and Donovan from seeing them in Williams's office. But I certainly don't need to be hauling them around with me now. "Take those with you, will you?" I ask, motioning toward the bundle. "Leave them with Sergeant Harvey and I'll pick them up later."

He gives me a two-finger salute and pulls away.

Ryan looks toward the cafe. "What are we doing here?"

I usher him inside with a hand on his elbow. "Chief Williams thought it best to meet at a safe location."

One of the waiters indicates that we should seat ourselves. I steer Ryan to the back wall and we take a table with a clear view of the front. "Want something to eat?" I ask Ryan. "Great French Toast."

He looks at me like I'm slow-witted. "I know," he says. "I practically live next door to this place, remember?"

"Sorry. You're right."

But when the waiter comes to take our orders, he only asks for a glass of orange juice and I order coffee. The waiter looks a little surprised. Nobody comes to the Mission Cafe for just coffee and juice. It's the best breakfast place in town and one of the eating places I miss the most. This and Luigi's near the cottage. Oh well. Those days are gone.

I tell him that we're waiting for someone and that eases the uncertainty from his expression, however temporarily. Williams is sure to disappoint him, too.

Ryan hasn't let go of the book bag since we left the house. "You can put that on the seat next to you," I suggest.

But he shakes his head. "No. It wouldn't be safe."

"Ryan, we're in a public place. I'm here. I wouldn't let anyone take it."

"You're a girl," he says. "You might not be able to stop it."

I start to smile, to crack a remark about how he seems to have forgotten how I handled Cujo, but I don't. He's far more agitated than I've ever seen him. "Has something happened?"

He leans across the table. "I think someone's been following me," he whispers.

"What?"

"There was a guy outside my house last night. He stood across the boardwalk, by the dock on the bay. He thought no one noticed, but I saw him. He was looking at my house."

"Are you sure? Until this morning, I don't think anyone knew about you, Ryan. I didn't tell anyone and I'm pretty sure Trish didn't. Mr. Frey knew nothing except your name and that you helped Trish run away."

Ryan shakes his head stubbornly. "I didn't imagine it. He was there."

"Can you tell me what he looked like?"

Ryan looks around as if to assure himself that we can't be overheard. He glances over his shoulder, toward the door and freezes.

"That's him," he gasps, the color draining from his cheeks.

I follow his gaze.

Special Agent Bradley is standing at the door to the cafe. He's talking to the waiter, his eyes sweeping the interior. When he spots us, he smiles and points.

"There they are," he tells the waiter in a low voice.

I listen carefully for the rest.

"My family is right there."

I can hear Ryan's heart pounding in his chest. My own heart is doing the same thing. His family? I have a very bad feeling as I glance at my watch. Williams is ten minutes late. When I left him, Donovan and Bradley were on their way up. What's Bradley doing here now?

I look over at Ryan and motion for him to come sit beside me, leaving the opposite chair for Bradley.

Ryan gets up and moves stiffly around the table. I put my arm over his shoulder and squeeze. "It's all right. I know who this is." It's only half a lie.

But Ryan hears the unease in my voice. He lowers the book bag so it's out of sight under the table.

Bradley approaches. I figure his wide smile of greeting is deceptive, aimed more at anyone who might be watching than Ryan and me. I'm proven right when he takes the seat opposite me at the table and the smile vanishes. He reaches across and takes my hand.

"We should be going, Anna," he says, squeezing. "I have a car waiting out front."

I pull my hand back. "I don't think so. Chief Williams is joining us. He would be upset if we left before he got here."

The waiter approaches with a coffee pot and an extra cup. Bradley waves him off with a frown that leaves no question as to its meaning - leave us alone. The waiter backs off.

Bradley leans toward me again. "Williams isn't coming," he says. "He sent me. I'm supposed to bring you and the boy back to his office. He and Donovan are waiting for us there."

Ryan is watching Bradley. "Who is he?" he asks me.

Bradley answers the question himself by producing his badge and ID. "FBI, son," he says. "Special Agent Bradley. I understand you have evidence we can use to put some very bad men behind bars. Anna, here, has been helping us. Now it's time you showed us what you have."

Ryan shifts in the seat, hands out of sight under the table. "Why were you at my house last night?"

Bradley nods, a smile of approval touching his lips. "You'd make a good field officer, Ryan," he says. "I didn't think anyone saw me."

"You haven't answered his question," I interject. "Why were you at his house?"

The smile evaporates when he looks at me. "Routine investigation. We found out where Trish went to school before she moved. We got a list of her friends. When you gave us the slip yesterday, we spent some time checking names on the list. I got Ryan. When I was convinced Trish wasn't with him, I moved on."

It sounds so simple. And logical. I feel Ryan relax as he slumps a little, tension draining from his shoulders and neck.

I feel no such relief. Something is wrong. Williams would never have sent Bradley to meet us without getting in touch first. Especially after our conversation this morning.

I pull out my handbag and wallet, extracting a twenty. "Ryan, will you please go pay our bill?" I put my hand on his under the table and gently pull the book bag out of his grasp. "Then we'll go with Agent Bradley."

Bradley straightens in his seat and reaches across to stop Ryan. "I'll take care of the bill," he says quickly. "You two stay here."

He jumps up and makes his way to the cashier. I turn to Ryan and put as much intensity as I can into my voice and expression. "You have to get out of here. Now."

His face colors and his mouth opens.

"Don't ask questions and don't argue." I'm grasping his arm to emphasize how serious I am. He tries to pull away, but I squeeze harder. "I'm not kidding, Ryan. Something is wrong. Get up now and go out the back, through the kitchen. Don't go home or to school. Go to the cottage. Don't call anyone and don't answer the door. Just stay there until I come for you."

I've got the keys out and I thrust them at him. He looks close to tears, but he swallows hard and takes them. He starts to reach for the bag.

"No. I should have done this before now. I'll keep the computer. As long as I have it, you should be safe."

Ryan's eyes grow big and I turn to see Bradley finishing up with the cashier.

"Go. Now."

For once, Ryan doesn't hesitate or argue. He jumps up and disappears into the kitchen. I know the back door leads to an alley, and Ryan knows his way around the neighborhood well enough to get to the cottage without having to travel the main road.

I take the computer out of the bag and lay it on the table. It's the first thing Bradley sees when he comes back. He looks around for Ryan, but his expression is neither concerned nor angry at his disappearance.

"You sent the kid away?"

I nod, running a finger over the laptop. "This is really what you want, isn't it?"

He smiles and picks it up. "And I know where he lives, don't I? Just in case it becomes necessary to question him in the future."

He motions for me to get up and grasps my arm as we walk outside. The Fairlane is parked at the curb. I could easily get away, grab the computer, and be off before he realizes what happened.

But the chill in his voice when he talked about Ryan sounded a warning. His meaning was clear. If I'm to protect Ryan and save Trish, there's a lot more I have to learn. And Bradley appears to be the man with answers.

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