"SHE LEFT?" DAVID'S VOICE RATCHETS UP TEN OCTAVES in astonishment. He takes two steps to the door, looks out. "She's gone." He turns back to me, bewilderment settling like a thundercloud on his features. "Why would she do that?"

I look from the open door to David. Good question, but David is out the door before I can speculate. I'm right on his heels when his cell phone rings. That brings him up short. He looks at the number and snaps open the phone.

"Gloria? Why the hell did you-"

He stops, listening, frowning. After a minute, he shuts the phone without saying another word. He looks at me. "That was Gloria."

"No kidding. What did she say?"

"She's leaving town. She told me she'd be in touch soon. To stay out of it."

He yanks out his wallet and starts rifling the contents.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He doesn't answer until he finds what he's looking for. He holds up a business card. "Gloria's lawyer. I'm going to call him."

"For Christ's sake, she said to stay out of it. Let Gloria call her lawyer. She's the one in trouble."

David isn't listening. He's already at the desk phone and punching in the digits. I listen to the one-sided conversation.

"Hal? This is David Ryan. Yeah, I know. Long time. I'm calling because Gloria's going to need you. Oh, you're not? You're in Florida? It's three hours later there than California? Sorry. Um, do me a favor. If Gloria calls, will you tell her to get in touch with me? Well, yes, it could be serious, but Gloria should be the one to tell you about it. I'm sure she'll be in touch. Thanks, Hal. Sorry, again, about the time thing. Yeah. See you."

David sets the receiver down. "He's not in town." He passes a hand over his face and slumps into Gloria's desk chair. "Why did she take off? And where is she going?"

The answer that springs to mind-to hell, probably-is not going to help David. Nor is pointing out that Gloria is not behaving like the innocent she proclaimed herself to be.

I take his arm, pull him to his feet and steer him toward the door. "Come on. No use hanging around here. Let's go back to your place. We can have a drink and wait for her to call. As soon as she calms down, you know she will."

David nods glumly. We're heading toward the bar and the exit when we hear the commotion. It's coming from the parking lot outside. It's loud enough that it doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on.

The press has gotten wind that billionaire Rory O'Sullivan was found dead in his home and that his partner, Gloria, was here at the restaurant. There's a cacophony of shouted questions. At first, I think they must have waylaid Gloria on her way out.

Until a familiar voice calls for quiet. Detective Harris' voice.

David plunges ahead, almost shoving me out of the way in his haste to see what's going on.

Harris is standing outside the back door, his hand on Gloria's arm. Video cam lights turn the dim parking lot into day, casting harsh shadows on his face. He must have been waiting for her to come out. If she was alone, he probably intended to follow her or to convince her to accompany him to the station voluntarily. Two police cruisers block the entrances to the parking lot.

David makes a move to push through the crowd. I grab his arm. "You want to make things worse? You know how Harris feels about you. Stay here."

Surprisingly, he heeds my advice. He shifts from one foot to the other, though, like a racehorse ready to break from the starting gate. One crook from Gloria's little finger, and he'll mow down everything in his path to get to her.

Harris is taking questions from the press, mostly giving pat cop-speak answers that imply Gloria is simply coming to the station to answer questions. O'Sullivan was her business partner. She's not been implicated in any wrongdoing nor is she a "person of interest." This is all routine. The press will be kept informed of any breaks in the case. Now, good night.

Gloria stands beside him, mute, subdued. When she sees David and me standing at the back of the crowd, she looks away quickly, not meeting our eyes. I feel David tense beside me.

Harris ushers Gloria to one of the waiting patrol cars. She doesn't resist. Camera strobe lights break the midnight gloom like a hundred rising suns. David stands beside me, his rage burning nearly as hot.

"That bastard," he says. "He waited for her."

I wish I could say something to ease David's concern. In truth, what Harris did is exactly what I would have done. Exactly what David and I have done in pursuit of a bail jumper. Waited to catch Gloria alone. Waited to get her away from David, her human pit bull. I watch the car pull away, followed by a dozen media vans. I hope Gloria's smart enough now to lawyer up before she answers any of Harris' questions. I saw him in action. He's one savvy cop.

I've never seen David so distraught. I don't know what to do to help him. Part of me doesn't want to. A day ago, I thought he and Gloria were quits. It galls me to acknowledge he hid the fact that he'd been calling her and begging her to get in touch with him.

Should I tell him the reason she contacted me today? That she wanted me to act as go-between and convince Rory to stop blackmailing her for sex?

Which would mean telling David that Gloria had slept with Rory.

How bad could that be?

The look on David's face answers that question.

He's watching the departing cop car, too, his dejection so intense I feel it like an ache in my own heart. Tempting though it is, I'm not cruel enough to add to his misery.

At least not tonight.

"Go home, David. There's nothing more we can do. Gloria will show up on your doorstep as soon as she's released. You know she will. Where else would she go?"

Hearing that galvanizes him into action. The last glimpse I have of my partner is David in the front seat of his Hummer, pulling out of the parking lot, cell phone at his ear. There's no doubt in my mind that he's calling his own lawyer, ordering him to get his ass down to the police department to protect Gloria.

I turn to go back into the bar. When I arrived earlier, this lot had been full. I had to park my car in the street, on Broadway. Cutting through the bar is the shortest route.

It's been a hell of a long day. Both the blood drive that drove me to Culebra and the sex drive that brought me back here are gone-dissipated like rain on a parched desert floor. All I want to do now is go home and go to sleep.

Hey, good-looking. I've been waiting for you.

The intrusion of a strange vamp voice in my head brings me to a stop. The bar is still crowded, but the happy-hour martini mob is long gone. The crowd now is young and raucous. The smell of beer and pot is not as strong as it was in Beso de la Muerte, but it's there. If Detective Harris had the nose of a vampire, this place would have been slated for a raid by the vice squad.

I look around. Where are you?

Over here. In the corner.

I follow the direction of the voice. There's a man, a young man, standing by himself in the shadows. He has wavy brown hair, shoulder length, so soft looking and shiny my fingers itch to run themselves through it. I can't quite make out his face, but he's dressed in jeans and an open-neck polo, and I let my eyes drift from broad shoulders to a narrow waist. Farther south.

Every nerve in my body starts to vibrate.

Who are you? Are you working for Williams?

He smiles and steps into the light. The face of an angel.

Who's Williams? Culebra sent me. He thought you might need a-distraction tonight.

Whoa. Suddenly, fatigue and lethargy are gone. Blood starts pounding, sending such a strong current of desire through me, my knees go weak.

The angel senses my reaction. Was Culebra right?

God bless him, I respond. Your place or mine?

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