Behind me I sense Tracey pacing like a caged lioness. As soon as she sees my hand lower the page, she pounces.

"Who is she? What does she mean you two have a date with destiny? Why is she holding David hostage? What's that crap about your true nature?"

She grabs my arm and spins me toward her.

I let her. As long as she's venting, I can try to figure a way out of this mess. She doesn't recognize Judith Williams' name, which is a plus. But Tracey was a cop who worked for Chief Williams. It won't be long before something triggers a spark of recognition and she puts it together.

Crap. The only thing I can think to do is tie Tracey up and stick her in a closet. For three days? Not very practical.

Tracey still has her hand on my arm. She's staring at me. "Your skin is cold." She narrows her eyes. "The note said something about your true nature? What are you?"

The question catches me off guard. As does Tracey's reaction. She jumps back and away. The fight drains out of her. Her eyes no longer blaze anger, they blaze fear. I smell it on her, mingling with the stink of that perfume she seems to bathe in. Sickly sweet. "What are you?" she asks again.

I try for menacing. "What do you think I am?"

Her expression morphs from terror to confusion. "But is David-?" Her voice drops off before she completes the question.

This may be the opening I need. "Is David like me? No. I'm vampire. He's worse." Then I laugh. "Are you serious? You think this is for real? This is a game we play. Like Dungeons and Dragons. You weren't supposed to know about it. People tend to think it's a little strange when adults play role-playing games. But it's harmless. A way to blow off steam."

She's rubbing her hands together. "But you're cold."

"Poor circulation. Been a problem my whole life. It's hell on your sex life. Men don't like getting naked with an ice cube."

Tracey draws a breath. "Then this whole thing-"

"Is a game. I'm sorry you misunderstood. We only do this once or twice a year but authenticity is part of the fun. We stage mock kidnappings, arrange 'accidents.' David will be very embarrassed when he learns you found out."

I watch as she processes what I've told her. The fact that she reacted so violently to the idea that I might be something other than human is worrisome. But if I pursue that now, I risk destroying the illusion that the note is anything other than a game prop.

At last she relaxes. She looks uncomfortable as color floods her face. "I'm sorry I burst in here like a mad-woman," she says. "First there was that call from David's girlfriend, then this note. You really should have let me know what you were doing. Maybe I can play sometime, too?"

I have a hand on the small of her back, ushering her toward the door. "Maybe you can. But for now, this is our secret, all right?"

She nods. "I'll hold down the office until you guys get back on Wednesday. Then I expect to hear all about your adventures."

I smile and wave her out then lean back against the closed door. Is she for real? I thought I was gullible. Tracey not only bought the story, she wants to play with us next time.

This is why I hate taking on a new partner.

I peek out through the front window to make sure she's gone. Then I turn my attention to the note.

Being right about Judith Williams holding David brings no great sense of satisfaction. She's already killed two humans. She's fed, but what happens when the hunger strikes again?

The second impression is that she and David seem to be talking. Why does he think he's been taken? Did she really tell him I'm vampire? How did he react to that piece of news? She didn't say where she's holding him, either. I still believe I'm right about that one. Frey and I will check out Avery's as planned tonight.

Frey. He found the book? How? A little detail he didn't mention this afternoon. Of course, I didn't ask. He has a vast library of supernatural reference books. I assumed it was part of that library.

Which begs the next question. Where did Judith Williams get it? If the book does contain a way for me to get out of this ridiculous situation, why would Williams leave it laying around? He never gave me any indication that I had a choice. Just the opposite. According to him, my destiny was well-predestined.

I haven't moved from the door when there's another knock. I jump as if scalded, heart pounding, clutch the note to my chest like a life preserver.

Jesus. Get a grip.

Another peek out the window at Frey's familiar face and form. He stands looking straight at the door, still holding that briefcase and wearing those ridiculous glasses. He has a look of excited expectation. He's dressed in black jeans, too, with a linen shirt and a leather jacket. A square-jawed Indiana Jones about to embark on a great adventure. I wish I could share his enthusiasm.

As I swing open the door to let him in, I thrust the email toward him.

He places the briefcase at his feet, removes the glasses from his face and slips them into a jacket pocket before smoothing the paper to read what's written on it.

I give him a minute. "You found the book?"

He glances up at me, then back down at the paper. "Not found. Exactly. More like discovered in a box of books sent anonymously to me last week. Happens all the time. Witches, warlocks, all sorts of supernaturals will me their libraries when they pass on. They know I am a Keeper."

"Keeper?"

"Of the secrets. My father was one before me. My son will inherit the mantle when I pass on. It's tradition."

There is so much in that one simple declaration that demands clarification I scarcely know what to ask first. No, not true. I know exactly what to ask first. My voice torques up to screech.

"You have a son?"

He looks amused at the confusion reflected in my voice and the complete bewilderment that I'm sure is reflected in my expression. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Surprised? No. Surprised doesn't quite cover what I am. I'm dumbfounded. I'm fucking stupefied. You never mentioned a son. You never mentioned a family. Are you married?"

He shakes his head. "One does not have to be married to have children. I'm surprised you'd jump to that conclusion."

He's missing the point, evading my question. I have an overwhelming urge to shake him. I press the palms of my hands together to resist temptation. "Shape-shifter. Do. You. Have. A. Son?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Again, the look of amusement. "You know. Egg plus sperm equals conception. Bio 101. Has it been that long?"

He's enjoying this. Way too much. The growl starts deep in my throat. "You're fucking with me. Not a good idea. I'm tired, worried about David and trying really hard to resist the urge to slap that stupid expression off your face."

Frey relents with upturned hands and a sheepish smile. "You're right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be making jokes. Not now. What do you want to know?"

The shock of being hit with this unexpected bit of information about a man I thought I knew leaves me weak in the knees. A condition that's becoming chronic. I want to sit down so I motion Frey over to the couch. When he's settled, I take the chair opposite him and lean forward. "For starters, you are a shape-shifter. They reproduce like humans?"

"We are human. With a genetic difference. And yes, we procreate in the usual way."

"How old is your son?"

"Four."

"Does he live here in San Diego?"

"No. He lives with his mother's people in Monument Valley."

"She's Native American?"

"Navajo, yes."

"Do you see him often?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It is in his best interest."

These abbreviated answers are as irritating as they are devoid of useful information. Yet, there is an air of quiet resignation in Frey's manner that makes me refrain from pushing for more.

At least not now.

Later, though, when David is safe and my problem has been solved . . . That will be different. Then I intend to pursue this if I have to beat answers out of him. There is one other thing, though, that the bitch in me needs to know. Now.

"Does Layla know about your son?"

He looks at me and puffs out an impatient breath. He can't read my thoughts, but he knows me well enough to suspect why I'm asking. "No."

"Is that the truth?"

"You think I'm lying?"

I can tell by the defensive set of his shoulders that it's all I'm going to get. It's okay. The sense of satisfaction I'm experiencing over knowing something about her lover that Layla doesn't is childish but gratifying.

He puffs out another breath. "Can we get back to why I'm here?"

"Sure. Where did you say you got the book?"

Frey launches into the story. UPS delivered the books two days ago. He admits he paid no attention to the return name or address. He could have checked with the carrier to see where they came from if he'd wanted to. But it hadn't occurred to him to do so. Sometimes, he says, families are embarrassed when they find books on the occult in a deceased relative's possessions. Often, the box is already sealed and addressed, and even more often, the person to whom the books belonged mails them himself when he or she feels death is near.

He finishes with, "Happens two or three times a year so I no longer question it. I'm grateful because otherwise the written heritage of the supernatural community would be lost."

"But this didn't seem a little convenient to you?" I ask. "A book that just happens to be exactly what we were looking for? A book that details who the Chosen One is and what will happen on an appointed date? How do you know it's not a fake?"

"It isn't a fake." Frey's tone is adamant.

"If Judith Williams had anything to do with you getting that book, how can you be so sure?"

"I know, all right? I've been authenticating these books for thirty years. This is no fake. That it came from Williams should convince you if nothing else. He probably got the book from Avery. Avery had been vampire for four hundred years. It would make sense that he'd have such a book. Didn't you say he had a treasure trove of ancient artifacts in his basement?"

I press my palms against my eyes. That basement held more than artifacts. It became the repository of my worst nightmares-finding David near death and then later, watching a shape-shifter named Sandra battle the vengeful soul of Avery who had insinuated himself into her body in order to kill me.

Have we come full circle? Is David once again being held prisoner in that basement? I let two chances pass by and I didn't do it.

This time I will.

This time, I will burn that fucking house to the ground.

When I look up at Frey, he seems to know what I'm thinking and feeling.

"What?"

His expression is stern. "We can't go in there guns blazing."

"Is it that obvious? Or have you found a way to reconnect our broken link?"

He shakes his head. "I don't need to reconnect anything. I know you. It's not hard to figure out what you want to do. You have a habit of acting first, sorting out the damage later. Can't do that this time. There's an innocent involved."

He doesn't think I know that? I stand up. "We'd better get going."

"Wait." Frey stands, too, but doesn't take a step toward the door. "There is something else in the note. Have you forgotten? She mentioned an escape clause."

I had forgotten. I sit back down on the edge of the chair. "Go on."

Frey sits, too, reaches for the book. "She's right. The book does tell of a way for the Chosen to relinquish claim to the title."

But he pauses here, and it isn't until I snap, "Damn it, Frey, what is it?" that he continues.

Reluctantly.

"There is the challenge."

"Challenge?"

"Any one of the heads of the thirteen tribes can challenge the ascension of the Chosen One."

"Not that I want to give the impression that I believe all this crap, but what challenge? I thought the Chosen One was predestined. Had special powers."

Frey chooses to ignore sarcasm dripping thick and glutinous as honey from every word when he answers. "The identity of the Chosen One is predestined. But if there is a challenge and he or she is defeated, it is believed there was a flaw in the prophecy and the victor assumes the title."

I clap my hands. "Great. All we need is a challenger. I'll let that lucky vampire win the contest and we can both go on our merry ways."

"Not exactly."

"Well, then what exactly?"

Frey is not looking at me. He's looking down and around and everywhere except in my direction. The vampire loses patience and erupts with a snarl.

"Jesus, Frey. Do I have to reach down your throat and pull every fucking word out of your mouth?"

For a second, the panther flashes in Frey's eyes. This time the rumbling growl comes from him. "Watch it, Anna. You need me more than I need you right now."

He's right. I back down with a tight-lipped smile. "I'm sorry. I just want a straight answer. Something you seem reluctant to give."

"If I'm reluctant, it's because I care about you." Frey taps the cover of the book with an index finger. "I know how much you ridicule the idea of assuming responsibility for the vampire community. But the alternative is not one wins and one loses. It's one lives and one dies. It's a fight. To the death."