Williams continues to clap as he joins us in the center of the room. "Well played, Anna," he says. "Well played."

I ignore his entrance, glance at my watch. I've been gone too long. I can't waste time pretending to be shocked or surprised by his appearance. I expected the melodramatic bastard. I look from Underwood to Williams and back again. "Do we have a deal?"

Williams wants to drag this out. He's enjoying the moment. I'm giving him what he's always said he wanted, but he needs to keep me dangling. He looks tanned and relaxed and well fed, much better than the last time I saw him-skewered like a piece of meat on an iron bar. He sees the image in my head and a flash of white-hot anger blazes forth from his eyes.

You have to answer for Ortiz.

His words spark understanding. Lance. His death was to be your revenge for Ortiz, wasn't it?

Underwood steps between us. Knock it off. There will be time for recrimination later. When we've accomplished what we must.

Williams takes a mental and physical step back. You're right. He lets the tension drain from his shoulders, soften the lines around his mouth. He's smiling again when he looks at me.

"Yes. We have a deal. If you are willing to accept your destiny. Let me guide you. Are you?"

It's as painful as a gut wound, but I nod.

"When are you going back to San Diego?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Good. I'll be in touch tomorrow afternoon. Expect my call."

Underwood has been silent, his thoughts cloaked, his expression grim. He's the one I'm most worried about. He's the one who has the hold on Lance. Now he turns a frown on Williams. "I don't trust her. We have her here now. How can you let her go?"

Williams lets the corners of his mouth tip up, more leer than smile. "She loses everything if she reneges. She knows that."

Now it's my turn. I jerk a thumb toward Underwood. "Can you control this asshole?" I feel Underwood tense at the slur. He sends a message to Williams that I'm not privy to, but Williams is still focusing on me. As long as you keep your part of the bargain, Underwood will not bother you or Lance again. You have my word.

I wish his oath inspired more confidence. But for now, it's all I have.

The rental car is in the driveway.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Lance and Frey beat me back.

The front door flies opens as soon as I pull up. They pounce the moment my feet touch pavement.

Lance gets his shot in first. "Where the fuck did you go? Are you crazy? I told you to stay inside. Do you have any idea how worried we were when we got back and you weren't here?"

He finally runs out of words but not anger. He grabs my shoulders and I brace myself; he looks like he wants to shake me until my teeth rattle. Instead, he crushes me to his chest and hugs me until I squeak in protest.

"Lance," I'm finally able to gasp. "I'm all right." I keep my thoughts carefully neutral. "Nothing happened."

Frey has been standing quietly to the side. "Where did you go?"

"I needed some air, that's all. I took a drive."

Lance has my face in his hands. "Why didn't you wait for us to get back? We would have taken you for a drive. God. I was so worried."

I let the warmth of his sweet concern wash over me. "I didn't mean to be gone so long. I'm sorry I worried you." I glance over to Frey. "Both of you."

Lance is smiling down at me, my reassuring words sending relief flooding through his mind and body. I hug him, burying my face in his shoulder, thoughts concealed.

When I look over at Frey, however, he's frowning. His expression says he knows bullshit when he hears it. For once I'm glad he no longer has access to my head.

Lance and I have retired to his bedroom, Frey to a guest room down the hall. For whatever reason, Frey didn't challenge me in front of Lance or grill me about that missing hour. Maybe he wanted to wait until we were alone but the opportunity never presented itself. Lucky for me.

Lucky, too, that Adele hadn't joined us to ask about my earring. Since we plan to leave at first light in the morning, I'm hoping she won't get the chance.

Lance is waiting for me in bed. I slide next to him and he leans over me. His fingers trace the contours of my face, brush my lips.

"Are you too tired?"

I pull him closer, pressing my body against his. "Have you ever known me to be too tired?"

He lets his hands roam my body. He's willing to go slow, coax and tease, do all the work. Find that sweet spot with fingers and lips and bring me to the brink. But my blood is already on fire, my body humming with the need to feel him inside. I guide him into me, urge him with hips and thighs, whisper encouragement until neither of us can hold out any longer. We come together in an explosive flood of release.

Later, lying still and quiet next to him, I know.

No matter what happens, what I did tonight to protect him-to protect everyone-was the right thing to do.

We're on the move by first light. Adele appears from her room just when we're heading out the door, but she's still too groggy with sleep to manage more than a quick hug and wave before closing the door behind us.

One disaster avoided.

I throw Lance the keys. Frey takes shotgun.

That leaves me alone in the backseat. Good. The guys can talk about whatever manly things guys talk about and I can rest my head against the back of the seat and be alone with my thoughts. Cloaked thoughts, just in case Frey urges Lance to drop in unannounced for a visit. I know he still has questions about last night. It would be like him to send Lance on a spy mission into my head.

Lance. He is so good. So trusting. He hasn't known me as long as Frey. Do I feel bad about misleading him? No. I suspect I should be more concerned about this pact I made with Williams and Underwood than hiding it from Lance. I try to dredge up anxiety but honestly, I keep coming back to the old adage: the devil you know is better than the devil you don't. Or in this case, the two devils. It won't be easy working with Williams, but the sooner I let him make his pitch, the sooner I can turn him down. And take him down. Along with Underwood.

First, though, I get the answers I need. The answers Williams has been dancing around for the last year.

I can't pretend to be unaffected by Frey's reaction about this "chosen" thing. A Chosen One is usually the destroyer of . . . something. One of the first things I learned after becoming vampire was that a person's character doesn't change. If he is good as a human, he will remain good as a vamp. There is no amount of money or power that could tempt me to ignore what I've held dear my entire life-family, friends and now, Lance. Frey knows all this. How can he think I could be influenced any other way?

I watch Lance and Frey bantering back and forth in the front seat. Yesterday, Frey was being melodramatic and overly protective. Lance bought into it because he cares for me. As I do for him.

But there is another piece to the puzzle that has yet to be solved.

How was it that Underwood affected me so powerfully at our first meeting? It couldn't be simply the magic-I had the same reaction with that biker, Black. No magic there. He was purely human. No, it couldn't be who they were; it was what they were. Malevolent. Malicious. Mean.

Jesus. Is this going to happen to me every time I come across a nasty piece of work? I'm going to have to learn to either handle the effects or suppress them, or I won't have much choice except to spend the rest of my vampire existence hidden away in a cave.

The effort to keep my thoughts private is taxing. Frey and Lance are blathering on about baseball-a subject I can't believe either of them really finds interesting. Acronyms like ERAs and RBIs punctuate the conversation. It makes me smile.

I tune in for a while, the sound of their voices relaxing me. It would be easy to drift off. I shouldn't try to fight it. Truth is, I'm not feeling up to full strength yet. I'm going to need all my energy to face the coming battle.

It will be a battle. Of that I'm certain. Just not the one Frey envisions. This will be a very personal battle with Williams and Underwood on one side, me on the other.

But a battle for what purpose?

I've never thought of Williams as evil. Just misguided and as focused on his own objectives as I am. He's working with Underwood, though, so I can't trust those objectives. Underwood is the older, more powerful vampire, and he is without scruples. His influence on Williams can't be good. I wish I'd known about their alliance earlier.

I close my eyes. I wish Lance had trusted me enough to tell me the truth about the way we met.

Well, too late to obsess about that now. I'm tired. I'm cocooned in soft, warm leather. Two of my favorite men are close. I feel safe, protected.

I let go, let the soft monotone of voices from the front seat lull me into a gentle sleep.