Frey and I slip over the fence into the neighbor's yard. The presence of police cars assures us that even if the neighbor is at home, he isn't likely to come outside to see what's going on. We wait until we see the crime scene techs and medical examiner disappear into Darryl's house, and then we quietly make our way to the car. He takes the keys from me and opens the passenger side door.

"I'll drive. You look beat."

I don't argue. I feel as if I'm at the end of an endurance race, too tired to care if I make it to the finish line. I just want it to be over. I know that in spite of everything, I may not be able to protect Trish if the videos are used in court. And Williams's words about me have left me shaken and confused. They remind me what Casper told me. Twice. I'm losing the human Anna to the vampire.

"Do you want me to take you to your apartment?"

I shake my head. "We need to get Ryan home and take Trish to my parents."

"What about Trish's grandmother?"

"We'll deal with her tomorrow. I promised my mother I would take Trish home tonight. It's a promise I intend to keep."

Frey is silent for a moment, eyes on the road as he drives. "What will you tell Trish?"

I don't know. "I won't have DNA results back until tomorrow." I let a stream of consciousness flow. "I'll just tell her my mother offered to put her up for the night. That the press will be watching her grandmother after news of Bradley's arrest, and we thought it would be best to shield her from that."

Frey nods.

"Can we swing by the office? I'll pick up my car."

Frey does as I ask. David's Hummer is in its spot in front. I really want to go inside, touch the face of my very human partner and tell him I'll be back at work tomorrow.

But I don't because I'm not sure I will be.

I follow Frey to the park. On the way, I call my mother and tell her to expect us. I give her a quick rundown of all that's happened. I remind her that the DNA test results will be in tomorrow. It's a subtle hint not to give anything away to Trish until we know.

To that, she doesn't respond. Her excitement at having Trish safe and in her home is all that's important to her. But she's angry with me; it's evident in her tone. When she thanks me before saying good-bye, it's with a rigid formality.

When we get the kids, in spite of the circumstances that brought them here, both are hesitant to end what they see as a great adventure. It is a testimonial to the resilience of teenagers. Only Frey's promise that he will bring them back again assuages their reluctance.

Frey offers to take Ryan home, so Trish and I leave together.

"Where are we going?" she asks. Now that she and I are alone, her voice has lost its sparkle. The haunted, scared little girl is back.

I reach out a hand and touch her shoulder. "We're going to somewhere you'll be safe. My parents have offered to put you up for the night."

"Why would they do that?"

"Well, actually it was my mother's idea. She knows the press will be looking for you. They'll want your reaction to all that's happened. They won't think to look for you at the home of your school principal."

Trish blinks. "Your mother is that Mrs. Strong?"

I laugh at her expression. "You'll get to see another side of her. She's a great mom."

As soon as I say that, I wish I hadn't. The mention of my mother makes Trish think of hers. She slumps down on the seat. "You haven't told me what happened to my mom."

I pause, thinking of what Darryl said, and knowing that what I tell Trish now will be forever how she remembers her mother. I begin haltingly.

"Your mother died protecting you, Trish. The man who killed her thought she knew where you had gone."

"Because he was looking for the computer."

I nod. "Yes. But your mother wouldn't tell him anything."

Trish hiccoughs a bitter little laugh. "That's because she didn't know anything."

From the corner of my eye, I see her wipe the back of her hand across her eyes. She draws a shaky breath and asks, "Who was it?"

"His name is Darryl Goodman."

"Darryl?" She sits up straighter in the seat. "That creep? He wasn't part of the video thing. Was he?"

"He was the one who set it all up. It's not surprising that you didn't know. He was careful to stay away when those other men..." I don't know how to say it so I finish with a lame, "...were with you."

There's a long moment of silence. "What will happen to him?" Her voice is small and afraid.

"He can't hurt you, Trish, if that's what you're worried about. He's dead."

She lowers her head and looks at me. "Did you kill him?"

Her voice suggests that she believes I did. Is it that apparent? Is there something physical or nonphysical in my manner that makes this child think I am capable of killing?

How does she know?

Do other humans feel it, too, when they look at me?

When I don't answer, she shrugs. "It doesn't matter. What about the men?"

She doesn't need to clarify to whom she's referring.

"They're under arrest. They admitted killing Barbara."

"Under arrest?" There's no mistaking the distress in her tone. "Does that mean there'll be a trial?"

"The District Attorney will do everything she can to try to get the men to plead out. They're up for murder and a lot of other terrible crimes. But there is always the chance, Trish, that they will ask for a trial. No one wants to put you through that. But it's a possibility."

She rounds on me in the seat. "Then why didn't you kill them, too? Then it would be over."

The heat in her tone vibrates the air around us. When I look over at her, stunned at the ferocity of her response, her eyes flash and then darken.

"I'm sorry," she says.

For a moment, I'm too conflicted by my own feelings to respond. Part of me agrees with Trish. I should have killed them. I wanted to. I could have taken the computers or burned the house down. It would have been easy and Trish would be free. Frey stopped me.

What if he hadn't? Is that why I asked him to come with me? Did I know instinctively that I couldn't trust myself? And Frey agreed because he knew. Williams, too.

Only now am I beginning to understand.

I'm not as strong as the blood drive. I never was.

Trish stirs on the seat beside me. I've waited too long to respond and her uneasiness is growing.

"It's all right, Trish. The way you feel is natural. I feel it, too. I expect we both need time and a little help to get through it."

"Help? You mean like a shrink?"

For her, yes. For me, a different kind of therapy. But I smile and nod. "My mom will know what to do. She's a very bright lady. You can trust her."

Trish lapses into silence. When we pull into the driveway of my parent's home, my mother is on the front porch, watching, waiting. Some instinct must be at play because Trish goes to her without reservation. Mom smiles at me but doesn't ask me to stay. I only hang around long enough to make sure they're both all right.

Then I go home to call Williams.