Jesse hit traffic on the way back to the precinct, of course, and he didn’t arrive until after six. He stopped briefly at his desk to type up a report for Miranda. Yes, I went. No, I didn’t find anything. What a fascinating read, he thought sourly. He sent her the e-mail and packed up to go. This probably wouldn’t go a long ways toward convincing her that he was any good as an investigator, but it couldn’t be helped. Before he left, he called Scarlett’s cell from his desk phone, but she didn’t answer. A little annoyed, he left a message for her to call him back. She was probably napping. He considered just going over there, but he was exhausted himself. If Scarlett got to nap, he should get some sleep, too. Jesse’s apartment was a hole-in-the-wall studio whose chief attraction was its proximity to the precinct. He slept, ate, and watched television there, but never considered it much of a home. Still, the bed was comfortable, and bed was all he could think about just then.

Jesse got his car and headed east on the freeway, thinking about the case with what was left of his fried brain. Scarlett had said that they’d been looking at the wrong victim pool, that it was probably someone from the Old World...But if he was with Scarlett, that person would just go back to being a regular human suspect, right? It was confusing. He suddenly wished he could be going for a run, or taking his parents’ dog to the park, or something. Anything that didn’t involve vampires or werewolves or the glare of flashlights on puddles of blood. Was it really only a day and a half since he’d run into that clearing?

At his apartment, Jesse dropped his gun and badge on the table and kicked off his shoes, collapsing on top of the covers. He put his cell phone on the empty pillow next to his. Despite his eagerness to solve the case, he sort of hoped that Scarlett wouldn’t call him back until he’d gotten a decent amount of sleep.

But only an hour later, he woke up to the screech of the phone beside his head. “Cruz,” he answered, rubbing his eyes. Then he opened them and sat up, fully awake. “You want me to bring what now?”

By 9:30 p.m., traffic had lightened up on the freeway, and Jesse made it from his apartment to Scarlett’s West Hollywood home in excellent time. He parked in the big garage where they’d first met—well, for the second time—and hiked up the ramp and down the block. Consulting the house number written on his hand, he rang the bell of a compact, homey Victorian. The door was opened by a twentyish redhead wearing elaborately stitched jeans, a T-shirt that said Team Edward, and black toenail polish on her bare feet. “Hi! I’m Molly,” she chirped, smiling up at him. “Are you Cruz?”

“Um, yeah...Is Scarlett home?”

“I’m here,” Scarlett walked into the entryway, holding a bag of frozen peas to her face with one hand. There was a microwave burrito in the other hand, and she was moving the peas to take a bite of the burrito, then replacing them. When she moved the bag again, he saw the ugly bruise on her cheek, and the opposite eye was darkening under the bag. She leaned against the doorway.

“What the hell happened to you?” He immediately regretted the harshness in his voice, but she just shrugged.

“Got in a fight.”

“Are you okay?”

“You should see the other guy.”

He suddenly felt very awake, for the first time since he’d left his mother’s house. “Sounds great. Where can I find him?” he asked, an edge sharpening the words.

But Scarlett didn’t answer.

He opened his mouth to press the point, but closed it again. They’d be spending the next few hours together; he could work on her when they weren’t with the friend. He turned to the red-haired girl and tried for a pleasant smile. “So you’re Scarlett’s roommate?”

“Yup. And friend and landlady. Psuedo-employer, too, I guess,” Molly said. She turned to Scarlett. “Listen, Scar, I need to head out. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Molly stepped into sandals, picked up a laptop bag, and was out the door before Jesse could get out a “Nice to meet you.”

He turned and looked at Scarlett, raising his eyebrows. “Was it something I don’t think I had time to say?”

Scarlett sighed. “It’s not you. She’s afraid she’s going to be ordered to kill me, so she’s trying to keep some distance.”

Jesse’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“Get comfortable, Cruz. There are some things I need to fill you in on. But first, there’s someone who needs your help. Eli,” she called, and a stranger came in from the other room.

He was tall and good-looking, leaning against the doorway and shoving his hands in his pockets. Jesse felt a bewildering sense of jealousy. Why should he care if Scarlett had a boyfriend?

“Cruz, this is my...um...This is Eli. Eli has a little problem.” The other man didn’t move, and Scarlett prompted, “Go ahead, show him.”

Looking reluctant, Eli pulled his hands out of his pockets and held up his wrists. Jesse saw the glint of cuffs, but there was something weird about them.

“Whoa,” he said, stepping over to examine them. “Where’d you get these? Tiffany’s?” They were just way too shiny. His department-issued handcuffs were stainless steel, but these looked like...White gold? Silver?

“They’re silver,” Scarlett said briefly, and Jesse looked up, startled. As if she had read his mind. Scarlett glanced at Eli, who gave a very small nod. “Eli is a werewolf,” she continued. “Someone put the cuffs on him to incapacitate him. I cut the chain, but I don’t have a key to actually remove them. And until we do, he’s gotta stay within a few feet of me.”