BY THE TIME I REJOIN WILLIAMS, THE RESTAURANT and bar have closed. He and Ortiz are sitting in the hotel lobby in big overstuffed chairs arranged around a table. We have the lobby to ourselves. There's no one behind the desk to eavesdrop. I see a clerk through an open door in the back sipping from a mug and reading a magazine. He looks up as I come in but, besides a curious glance my way, makes no move to intercept me. His eyes slide back to the glossy pages.

Williams follows my gaze.

It's all right. He's a friend of ours.

His imperiousness provokes the usual reaction in me. I snort. Of course he is. What are you, the Godfather?

It's always the same with you two, isn't it? Ortiz says before Williams can reply. His tone is reproachful and impatient like a parent addressing squabbling children.

My fault, I know. Williams brings out the bitch in me. And there isn 't time. Embarrassed, I hand Ortiz the folder and watch as he and a visibly aggravated Williams divide the lot. Soon their thoughts are centered only on the task of sorting through the files. I wait, anxious and uneasy. If this doesn't yield anything important, I'm wasting precious time.

I focus on the two men, willing them to hurry it up, marveling at how different the two are.

At some point, Ortiz changed into civilian clothes. I think it's the first time I've seen him out of uniform. He's wearing slacks with a knife-edge crease and a long-sleeved polo shirt. He's a vampire who looks a like a thirty-year-old human. He's about five feet ten inches tall and weighs a lean one-sixty. He has the darkly handsome look of his Hispanic/Native American heritage: an aquiline nose, dark hair and eyes and olive skin stretched over high cheekbones.

His expression is somber as he works. He's been a deputy under Williams for as long as I 've known him, but there's more to their relationship. I don't understand it and I have no desire to. Ortiz is genuinely nice while Williams is decidedly not.

Finally, Williams separates one sheet from the stack and Ortiz, two. They look at one another.

Here's one.

And two others.

They're showing each other the pictures they've chosen from the file. The picture Williams is holding is of the dead woman we found across the street. She looks much better alive.

"Who are the other two?" I ask.

Ortiz reaches for a slim leather folder on the table in front of him. He retrieves two artist 's sketches from inside. He holds the sketches next to the photos from Burke's files, turns them around so I can see.

The resemblance between sketch and photo are remarkable in both cases.

Williams turns to me. "Remember the men who reported being attacked by women who cut them for their blood?"

"These are the women?"

"You tell me. These sketches were made from the victims' descriptions."

I take the photos and sketches and lay them out on the table for a closer look. "I'm sold. Is this enough to get a warrant?"

Williams shakes his head. "A warrant for what? We still don't know what connection Burke has to these women except that they've used her product."

"That's not enough?"

He fans the thick file of photos. "Not when there are a hundred other women here who don't seem to have gotten themselves into trouble."

I pick up the two photos and look to Ortiz. "Can I take these?"

Ortiz nods. He makes a note of the names and addresses printed on the backs of the photos and slips the rest of Burke 's file and the sketches back into his folder. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to Coronado," I reply. "To the address I found in Burke's file. If I'm lucky, it's hers. After I take care of her, I'll visit these two."

Ortiz frowns. "You're going to Burke's alone?"

I'm afraid Williams is going to insist on coming with me. I jump in before he can.

"It's better if I do. If I get caught, neither of you should be involved. Someone has to take care of Culebra and Frey. This is the address I found in her file at the warehouse." I send it to him telepathically, adding, "If you don't hear from me in two hours, then you can send the cavalry."

"I will." Ortiz' dark eyes flash. He writes the address in a notepad and slips it into his pocket. "Be careful, Anna."

Williams, for once, doesn't say anything.