I CAN'T WAIT TO GET GOING. WILLIAMS FOLLOWS me back to the elevator, droning on about how I owe him. All I can think about is getting to Burke and I mumble a "yeah, yeah, I know" as the doors slide shut.

When I'm alone, I look at the paper.

The address is in an industrial park on the outskirts of National City. I'll head there directly after making one stop-I keep my gun in our office safe. When I've retrieved it, and it's reassuring weight is snug against the small of my back, I'm ready.

The exact address is a warehouse with a sign on the side that reads "Second Chance Products." The name means nothing to me. The way the building is situated, though, does. It's located below street level and surrounded by a parking lot and chain link fence. It's the last building in a string of utilitarian, prefab warehouses, the nearest neighbor a half mile to the west. To the east is a vacant lot.

It's perfect for surveillance. I pull onto the shoulder of a frontage road where I have an unobstructed view of the entrance.

I touch the amulet through the fabric of my blouse. I don 't know what magic it possesses, but I won't need it to recognize Belinda Burke. I remember the first time I saw her with Culebra at Beso de la Muerte. Remember the dark hair and eyes, the belligerent way she stared at me. She was arguing with Culebra in rapid-fire Spanish, standing over him, thin face drawn with anger. I see that face in my mind now, features burned into my memory.

I won't need an amulet to recognize her.

It's close to noon. The parking lot is full, trucks and workers streaming in and out. It's what keeps me from taking the direct approach, barge in, guns blazing. I'm not detecting any supernatural signatures. Only human. I don't know yet if Burke is inside.

At one p.m., a limo pulls up to the entrance. The driver disappears through the main entrance.

A few minutes later, he returns with a woman. He holds open the rear passenger door for her and stands aside. The woman is tall, slender. She's wearing a charcoal pantsuit tailored to accentuate broad shoulders, a small waist, narrow hips. She has red hair, fair skin.

She pauses outside the limo and her gaze sweeps upward.

Directly at me.

I have the absurd impulse to duck. I resist. I know there's no way she can possibly tell that there's anyone sitting in a car so far away.

Besides, this is a busy frontage road and there are two other cars, one parked in front and one, behind me.

Still, she is looking only at my car.

Then, a strange thing happens.

The amulet around my neck begins to burn.

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