THE GOOD NEWS was that forensics cleared my room enough for me to get dressed and get my weapons. The bad news was that the powers that be gave Karlton's vacated warrant to another new marshal who had about as much experience. Ironically, his last name was even Newman. It was a little too heavy-handed on the whole fate thing for my taste.

Sadly, Raborn was still the go-to man in the field. I didn't have a lot of faith that he'd listen to me, but when it went bad, and it would, I wanted my protest on record. "Nothing personal to Newman, but he's exactly what his name says, Raborn. He's new. What I saw last night would make me afraid to just take fresh meat on the hunt, but to put the fresh meat in charge is dangerous both to him and to the rest of us."

Raborn leaned his shoulder against a tree on the edge of the parking lot. His arms were folded across his chest, which made his shirt bunch and emphasized that he had enough stomach that his arms were sort of resting on it. It wasn't a flattering look, but maybe I was prejudiced.

He looked at Edward, who was at my side, where he'd pretty much plastered himself all day. He'd gone from fellow marshal to bodyguard head space after last night's "incident." The other police seemed to take it for devotion after the sex they assumed we'd had the night before. No one had said anything directly. It was the little eye flicks, the expressions, the soft voices that quieted as we walked up. Fuck them all, or rather, not fuck any of them.

"What do you think, Forrester?" Raborn asked.

"Now, Raborn," Edward said in his good-ol'-boy Ted voice, "you know that no other operation like this would have a rookie in charge. Veteran marshals won't follow him, or trust him. No reflection on Newman, but it's not just us that have a problem with it."

Raborn sighed enough that his stomach rose up and down. He unfolded his arms and spit onto the parking lot, as if it had all left a bad taste in his mouth. "You aren't the first marshals to come to talk to me. Hell, the local PD has asked for a more senior marshal to be in charge of the hunt."

"Then why is Newman still in charge?" I asked.

His eyes narrowed when he looked at me; just because he agreed with me at this point didn't mean he liked me any better. "Tilford is in charge of the other warrant, so he's partnering Newman."

"I know that Tilford requested that the other warrant go to Ted or me," I said.

Raborn nodded. "He did, and it was duly noted."

"Why give the other warrant to a rookie?" Edward asked again. "Especially, why give the senior warrant to a rookie so that he can be in charge of the operation?"

"It's the older warrant, and new regulations say that the oldest warrant of execution on a joined case becomes senior officer."

"It's a bad rule," I said.

Raborn just nodded. "But it's still the rule."

"It's the same killers, they're both the same warrant," Edward said.

"Used to be, you'd be right, but you got too many marshals in your branch getting their toes stepped on, so they changed it."

"They're wanting to phase us old-timers out," Edward said.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"They think the new marshals will be easer to handle, but first they have to prove the newbies can do the job."

"Stupid," I said.

"Politics in the field always is," he said.

"It wouldn't be so bad if Newman would let Tilford lead, but he's not. He's taking that I'm-in-charge-so-I-have-to-be-in-charge attitude. He's never been on a real hunt. At least Tilford has, not many, but I'll take some experience over none," I said.

Raborn tried to frown at me, but in the end he just shrugged. "Agreed."

It was the first thing he'd ever simply agreed to with me. It made me hopeful. "What can we do to keep this from going pear-shaped?" I asked.

"Try your powers of persuasion on him, Blake. I hear you can convince most men to do just about anything you want 'em to do." He looked at Edward then, and it wasn't a friendly look. More a guy look, and I wondered if there was just a touch of sexual jealousy there. It wasn't that Raborn wanted to sleep with me, but there is a type of man who feels if a woman is sleeping around he shouldn't be left out. It's almost not personal to the woman; it's just a guy thing.

"You sound jealous, Raborn," I said. I've found a direct assault is best on shit like this.

"So you admit it."

"Accuse me of something and maybe I will admit it, but don't make snide remarks and tiptoe around the question; just fucking ask, or don't."

He glared at me and Edward. "Fine, you want me to ask, fine! Did you fuck Forrester last night?"

"No," I said.

"Bullshit," he said.

"We shared a room so he could keep me alive and safe, because I trust him to do that more than any other person on the planet. But you and every other son of a bitch here is going to believe what they believe, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I learned a long time ago that I can't prove a negative."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means I can't prove that I didn't sleep with someone. It's easier to prove you did something than that you didn't. You know that from court cases, every cop does, but cops love rumors, they fucking love 'em, so either way, believe what you want, but if you're not going to believe the truth, don't ask." I finished the last sentence pretty much up in his face, as much as the height difference would allow. I was perilously close to touching him, and hadn't realized it. I was angry, that fine burning anger that made the tips of my fingers tingle. It was disproportionate to the situation.

I took a step back, took a few deep even breaths, and said, "I need some air."

"You're outside," he said.

"I need away from you, then," I said, and I walked away. Why was I this angry? And down low in my body, lower than a gut, deeper than anything a surgeon would ever reach with a scalpel, I felt something stir. My beasts, the animals I carried inside me, were moving, responding to my rage. I couldn't afford to lose control of myself like that. I didn't actually shift form, but I still carried the beasts inside me, and they could still try to tear their way out of the prison of my body. I had almost gotten to the point where it didn't happen, but now I felt the beginnings of it, and realized I'd skipped everything but coffee. Feeding the physical body helped control all the hungers, the beasts, the ardeur, and the anger, because I'd learned to feed off that, too. It was something Jean-Claude, my supposed master, couldn't do. I needed to eat something, and soon.

Edward caught up to me. "Why'd he get to you like that?"

"I forgot to eat real food. I need protein and I need it now."

"Beasts?"

"Yes."

"We'll get breakfast," he said. He walked toward the car we were sharing, and I followed him. We'd have to make it quick and unhealthy, going through some kind of drive-up, but anything would help.