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almost a year ago, returning the earrings he’d stolen from her car, explaining that Titania had tricked him into believing she owned the purple sports car and had lost her keys, she had been amused. You win some, you lose some, she had said. I win more often than Titania, of course. Sympathetic, even: Don’t get maudlin about it, darling. Even if you did think it was Titania’s car — I’m not saying I believe you, though — you couldn’t control yourself. She’s a vamp.
    He’d held on to his temper. He wasn’t a thief, and he damn well could control himself, and would in future. She’d dismissed him with a vague promise to take him up on his offer to make up for it. Yesterday’s call had been a surprise and a relief.
    God, he hated owing anyone.
    He’d been stupid to call and tell her he’d wait till morning. He’d made himself a sitting duck.
    Quack, said a snarky voice in his head that sounded like his partner Gil in Bayou Gavotte. You shouldn’t have taken the job. You have better things to do.
    I owed her, damn it. What choice did I have?
    There’s always a choice. That sounded like himself, lecturingone of the women he rescued. And where did the wrong choice lead you?
    You were outed by a vamp.
    If only she hadn’t seen the chameleon thing. Bad luck, pure and simple.
    Not quite. If he’d been more vigilant, if he’d had better control over his camouflage, if he hadn’t blindly trusted Rose instead of picking a better place to go to earth…
    Up in the front of the van Rose was playing mother hen, putting on stately, soothing baroque music and telling Juma to get some sleep. Complimenting her on the ridiculous man’s suit jacket and two ties she had decked herself out in. Not vamplike behavior, but Rose sure as hell wasn’t trying to impress him. A bizarre notion occurred: perhaps she was, quite simply, being kind. He shifted his arm again and closed his eyes.
    He fell asleep to Bach and woke to the Dave Matthews Band. Jack sat up. Dizzy.
    Shit.
    After a few moments his head cleared and he got his bearings. Another hour to Bayou Gavotte. He dug in his backpack for his cell and remembered it was broken. He’d rather not ask to use Rose’s; he intended to keep the balance of favors equal, or better yet, firmly weighing on his side. But he needed to get word to Gil, and not just about the shooting. If Jack stayed out of touch too long, his mother would start worrying and call his father, and his father would try to drag him into even more schmoozing for conventional charities than he was already stuck with.
    He eased to the middle of the bench seat and watched Rose through half-closed eyes. Should he spell it out clear and simple? You keep your mouth shut and so will I. So far she hadn’t blabbed, but vamps were known for their terrible tempers. An ultimatum would amount to lighting the fuse on a bomb. Better to say nothing at all for now.
    In his calmest, most detached voice he said, “Take the next exit, if you don’t mind.”
    Rose switched off the music. “Sure, I could use a pit stop.”
    “I was thinking a late breakfast at the truck stop. It’s on me.”
    “That’s not necessary,” Rose said.
    “It would be my pleasure,” Jack said, with the exact degree of politeness he used toward guests at charity dinners.
    Rose responded with the slightest hunching of the shoulder, as if she were distancing herself from his insincerity. For which he should be thankful. He tried reminding himself that she was a blood-sucking time bomb, but instead he felt almost ashamed. They pulled into the parking lot of the truck stop, and Juma opened her eyes and stretched.
    “Park around the side where it’s less noticeable,” he said. “Facing out, in case we need to leave in a hurry.” He hoped it was an unnecessary precaution: no one knew he was with Rose, and Stevie’s SUV needed new belts and cables before he could pursue Juma.
    Jack caught Rose wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale cooking