Jeanne Stein - The Watcher

David nods that he understands and relays my message. The hungry looks become keen with anticipation.

I glance back when we get to the top of the road. About a dozen bodies are closing in on the dealer and his pal. He's still yelling, threats now probably. But the pack ignores him and descends on the tent. Even the two kids are dancing around with glee.

Christ. What a world.

David calls the police as soon as he has Guzman secured in the backseat of the Hummer. They tell us to bring Guzman in through the security gate at the back of police department headquarters. Not surprisingly, they want to be the ones to usher Guzman on his perp walk to the arraignment. I don't blame them. It was one of their own that he killed. They can take all the credit for his capture as far as I'm concerned. As long as we get the reward.

They also tell us we'll have a police escort that will pick us up on Friars Road. No lights or sirens, just added insurance that Guzman will get where he's going. We spot two cruisers and an unmarked car almost instantly.

Guzman is mute on the ride. I glance back at him once and he has his eyes closed. I can't tell if he's asleep or just plotting revenge on whoever turned him in. I don't care either way.

I expect Chief Williams to be among those waiting for us when we get to SDPD. He's not. Guzman is taken away quickly, disappearing into a special elevator that will take him to a holding cell in the basement. David and I are escorted upstairs, handed paperwork to complete and shown into an interview room to complete it.

A first.

Usually we're treated with about as much respect as the fugitives we turn in. Handed a clipboard and pen, if we're lucky, and sent to the same bench as the collared and cuffed miscreants to fill out the forms.

"Wow," I say to David when we're seated at a scarred table and brought coffee by a smiling deputy. "Never been treated to this kind of service before."

David thanks the deputy and waits for him to depart before replying. "Never brought in a cop killer before."

He starts in on the form.

"Want me to do that?"

David snorts. "We want them to be able to read it, don't we?"

"Good point," I reply without rancor. There's a lot of money at stake. I sip at my coffee, surprisingly not too bad, until the cup is empty and I'm getting antsy. I push away from the table and stand up. "I'm going to find the John."

David nods in an absentminded way, and I leave him with his head bent over the table, pen moving across the form, no doubt detailing the capture. I make my way to the lobby. I have no need of a restroom, one of the advantages of being vampire, but I want to try to contact Max again. Now that the job is over, my thoughts are back on him.

There's no one behind the desk. Everyone must be downstairs hoping for a chance to take a shot at Guzman. I walk outside and call my own number. There's still no answer. I'm saddened by the thought that Max is gone and I don't know when I'll see him again.

I return to the lobby and wander over to a bulletin board. There's a poster on it with mug shots and rap sheets—San Diego's most wanted. Guzman is number one but someone has already marked a big X over his face with thick black marker.

My cell phone rings as I peruse the rest of the list. I flip it open.

"Good job today, Anna."

The whispered voice.

"You didn't get yourself killed. I'm glad. That's a pleasure I reserve for myself. Tell your boyfriend."

But the threat hardly registers. My attention is diverted by the poster. Specifically, by number ten.

A woman with dark hair and hooded eyes.

The woman from Beso de la Muerte.

I DON'T WAIT FOR THE CALLER TO SAY ANYTHING else. The only response he gets to his threat is a curt, "Fuck you, Foley." I guess I should be happy that he's following me and not Max. Just shows how stupid he really is.

I snap shut my phone and look more closely at the picture of the woman I last saw arguing with Culebra.

She looks older in the photo than in person, probably because the lighting in booking isn't all that flattering. But the stats—height, weight, hair and eye color—are the same. She's wanted for attempted murder, aggravated assault and burglary. Considered to be armed. Last seen fleeing the scene of a crime in Lakeside. I grab a pen and jot down the name: Belinda Burke. Unassuming name for a witch.

I wonder if I have time to get to Williams and ask about her but before I can, David is crossing the lobby toward me. He's folding a piece of paper and slipping it into a jacket pocket. He's smiling.

"Time to party," he says. "I just called Gloria and she wants us to come to the new restaurant. She's having the chef prepare a celebratory meal. Kind of a dry run for the opening Saturday night."

For a moment, the witch, the call, everything fades with a rush of irritation. David doesn't get it. He thinks I was acting—really acting—on that sidewalk an hour or so ago just for Guzman's benefit. I fumble for a way to express vehemently enough how spending an evening with Gloria is not my idea of a celebration.

I don't get the chance. David has already turned away and started for the door.

I cast one last look at Belinda Burke. I'll ask Williams about her tomorrow morning when I see him at the park. He should know what she is.

It's not until I'm sitting in the Hummer nursing my irritation and planning how to make my escape once we're back at the office when the phone call pops again into my thoughts. How did Foley manage to follow us to Mission Valley? Could he have been waiting at the office instead of at my house? I'm damned sure he didn't follow me when I left Max. Or does he have some connection at SDPD who is feeding him information? Another question for Williams tomorrow. This time, the idiot actually threatened me. "What would be the purpose of that except to draw Max out to protect me? Another dumb mistake on Foley's part.

David keeps glancing my way. I feel it like the flutter of one of those irritating insects. I turn my head to look at him. "What?"

"You don't look very happy for a woman who just earned herself a shitload of money for a couple of hours work. What are you thinking about?"

I let my head fall back against the headrest. Should I tell David about Max? About the calls? If I'm being threatened, he really has a right to know. He's my partner and while it's unlikely I'll meet my immortal end at the hands of an unsuspecting human, David has no such protection. What if Foley makes good on his threat and David gets caught in the cross fire?

Still, I hesitate. If I tell David, he'll no doubt tell Gloria. It will be just one more weapon in her arsenal against me. No, before I say anything, David and I have to settle this Gloria thing. He's a good man but he has a blind spot where she is concerned.

I suck in a breath and plunge in. "I'm still pissed at you, David. You let Gloria interfere in our business. We've been together almost three years. We're good. Damn good. But every time I think things are going great, Gloria opens her mouth and you start questioning if I can do the job. Why? Have I ever let you down?"

I get it all out in a rush.

I should have taken my time. When after a minute he still hasn't responded, I prod him with an elbow in the ribs. "Did you hear me?"

David keeps his eyes on the road. "Yes."

"Yes? That's all you've got to say?"

He shrugs but the muscles are bunching at the base of his skull. His jaw is so tightly clenched, I actually see it tremble.

Finally, he says, "It's not your letting me down that bothers me."

He says it so quietly, I think I must have misunderstood. "What are you talking about?"