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Cat-with-a-wounded-mouse amused.
    â€œI’m going with them,” he said. “If she dies, there’s no deal, and I’ll make it my personal mission in life to make you sorry.” He meant it. It suddenly came into focus for him that what he felt for Kenya wasn’t just a casual thing, wasn’t just attraction or simple lust or infatuation. It was something strong, and whether she felt it didn’t matter. He loved her, and he was going to see that she was all right.
    He’d surprised Davis, just a little bit, which probably didn’t happen too often. “All right,” he said. “I’ll expect my payment once we save her. Don’t disappoint me, Officer Pryor.”
    Stan went back to sitting in silence, staring at nothing, surrounded by his vampires.
    Kevin knew, with a sick feeling in his stomach, that he’d just made a deal with a devil, but he’d have dealt with Old Scratch himself to save Kenya. She might hate him for it.
    He could live with that.

    The area outside the club was silent except for the constant hum of traffic in the distance. Wallace was waiting in the parking lot, under the weak glow of a security light, and as Kevin came out, Wallace moved off, expecting him to follow. There was no sign of the other vampires who’d exited.
    Kevin headed straight for the Bon Temps squad car, unlocked it, and strapped on his service weapon. He released the shotgun from its locked mount and took it, too. It felt better, being armed.
    Kevin expected that they’d move toward the street, but he and Wallace went the opposite direction, behind the club where the rusting steel Dumpsters huddled in a row. They were up against a chain-link fence, which had been ripped open and wrenched aside. Kevin looked down. Hard to tell in the poor lighting, but he thought he saw a splash of fresh blood on the pavement. He supposed Glick would be easy to track for vampires, thanks to all the hemorrhaging.
    â€œIs he dying?” Kevin asked. Wallace didn’t seem to hear the question. “You said he got his hands on something he shouldn’t. Was it a drug?”
    â€œNone of your business,” Wallace said. “Quiet.”
    He slipped through the broken chain link like mist. Kevin had more trouble managing it and got himself scratched up in the process, but he wasn’t concerned with a few dings. There were gouges in the ground on the other side of the fence, as if Kenya had fought to slow Glick down. He saw the impression of her heels.
    More blood. It was still wet and glistening in the moonlight.
    A dog barked somewhere in the distance, lonely and hopeless, and Wallace paused again, then set off to the east. This area was an urban jungle—twisted old live oaks, tangles of thorn bushes and trash trees. A possum, its grayish white fur matted with debris, peered at them blindly before ambling away. Kevin had no idea what kind of dangerous vermin Dallas might harbor; blundering around in the woods of Bon Temps was a sure way to get snake bit, or have a snapping turtle take a hunk out of you. He didn’t imagine Wallace cared much, so he let the vampire break the trail, careful to follow exactly in his steps.
    They broke through into another open area. It had once been some kind of brick building, but nature had long since shown it who was boss, and the remains were a couple of barely standing walls and a cracked concrete floor. Vandals had taken everything else and left a generous deposit of trash behind—condoms, needles, crack vials, bottles, fast-food bags.
    In the corner between those two remaining walls stood Quentin Glick. He had Kenya in a bone-breaking hold against him, and she was definitely the worse for wear; Kevin saw rips in her jacket and jeans from the fence, blood running down the side of her face, and she was holding one of her hands at an odd angle. But she was alive, and she was
angry
. It crackled off her in waves.
    When she spotted