"Yes."

"I know Pack Law says any human who learns the truth has to be – "

"That's not going to happen, Hope. Jeremy wouldn't consider that unless Robyn did something stupid."

"Like stealing tissue samples from you and selling them on eBay?"

"Which we both know would never enter her mind. She's nothing if not trustworthy."

The knot in Hope's stomach eased. The Law had always seemed reasonable. The Pack was very careful. Even if someone spotted them as wolves, they'd mistake them for very large dogs, so the chance of anyone accidentally discovering their secret was next to none. So if the Pack had to very, very rarely kill a person to protect themselves and, by extension, the supernatural world, it was a small price to pay. But if that "threat" was her friend, a reasonable rule suddenly became barbaric.

"Do you think I'd let them do that?" Karl asked after a moment.

"It's Pack Law."

"The Law can go to hell, and if Jeremy ordered me to do it, I'd tell him he could follow."

She wasn't sure she liked that answer much better. The Pack was supposed to be a werewolf's first loyalty. After a lifetime as a lone wolf, Karl had trouble with that, and it worried her.

He caught her gaze, misreading her lowered eyes. "I wouldn't do that to you, Hope."

She picked another bacon bit from under a salad leaf.

"As I said, though, it isn't an issue. Jeremy understands the circumstances and that it wasn't anyone's fault, including Robyn's. Moreover, if we avoid answering questions, it'll only make her more curious. He suggested we don't hold things back – just slow her down, giving her time to take it in and decide whether she really wants to spend her life seeing new threats in every dark alley and wooded path."

Hope's cell phone rang. She checked the display. "Lucas."

Karl took it. Earlier he'd asked Paige to look up a number from Grant Gilchrist's cell phone, which he'd taken last night. Robyn said someone had called Gilchrist and it sounded like the other person had set him on her trail. They'd tried calling the number – the only one in the call list – to find it disconnected.

"Prepaid cell phones," he said as he hung up. "Both Gilchrist's cell and the number he called."

Hope looked out at the street. "We've had her in there almost ninety minutes. Much longer and if Adele does show up, she might realize it's a trap. Time to move on."

How do you catch someone who is watching your every move? Let her watch.

If Adele wanted Robyn, then they'd give her Robyn. Maybe she'd realized it was a trap. Or maybe after that long night, she was sleeping. They were counting on the latter. They moved Robyn to location two: a big-box bookstore that encouraged browsing, where she wouldn't look out of place.

As for the chance that a concerned citizen would recognize her from Friday's paper, she'd been wandering around L.A. for three days, and no one seemed to notice. It was a big anonymous city. Robyn was young, blond and attractive.

Los Angeles was full of younger, blonder and more attractive women.

Their new choice came with an even better surveillance location – a coffee shop on the second floor, overlooking the first, where Robyn sat. They'd been there just long enough to buy coffees when Karl said, "We're being followed."

When Hope looked up, he shook his head and touched the side of his nose, meaning he'd smelled someone, not seen him.

"Someone from the diner?" she asked.

"No, from when I was circling the block. I noticed it then because the scent seemed vaguely familiar. Now I've picked it up again, so it's not likely a coincidence."

"You said it seemed familiar..."

He nodded. "I'm still trying to figure out from where. It's nobody I know – likely just a scent I've crossed."

In other words, someone may have been following them for a while. Not a werewolf, though – Karl would have mentioned that. Hope put out her own feelers, presuming anyone following them would be a supernatural, but she didn't detect anything.

"I don't think he's up here," Karl said. "I just caught a note of scent. I'm going to scout downstairs."

He left and she continued watching, her attention divided between the front doors and Robyn, who'd settled in with a history book, seated beside a sign announcing an author signing and giving the store branch name.

There was no sign of Adele. Earlier, when Robyn mentioned that Adele provided photos for True News, Hope had contacted her editor. It turned out they did have a phone number for Adele. Paige was running it now, but tracking its origins was turning out to be an ordeal. Whoever Adele was, she'd covered her tracks well.

Hope's cell phone vibrated against the table. Probably Detective Findlay. He'd left five messages. The last one mentioned a death at the fair. She'd paid attention only long enough to hear that the victim wasn't Gilchrist or Adele but an elderly lady. He hadn't given any other details, telling her to look it up in the morning paper.

A threat. Hope understood that as clearly as if he'd said: "Here's another one I can pin on your friend." He'd known Robyn had been at the fair last night. In fact, she wouldn't put it past the Nast Cabal to manufacture another murder, just to hammer Robyn's coffin shut.

But when she checked the caller ID, it wasn't the detective.

"Behind you there's a hall," Karl said when she answered. "Down it you'll find bathrooms and a handicap elevator.

Take that elevator to the first floor. Then head right, along the wall, into the children's section. He's in the stacks there.

See if you can pick up any vibes."

"Got it." She stood. "What does he look like?"

"No idea. I can smell him, but I don't dare get close enough for a look. From where I am, if I step out, he'll see me."

"It's a man, then?"

Karl confirmed that. Hope found the elevator where he said it would be. She presumed he wanted her to take it so if their pursuer was watching her, he'd think she'd just gone to the bathroom.

At the far side of the children's section, she thumbed through a Disney book. The vision came quickly, blurred at first, like viewing it through a greasy lens. She saw... someone standing at a bookshelf?