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stalkerish?”
    “That’s a real sad-hat way of looking at it, Nora. Why not think of it as motivation? Eye on the prize.”
    “What if he sees us?”
    “You’re friends with Scott. If he sees us, he’ll probably come out and talk to us. And it would be rude not to stop and give him a couple minutes of our time.”
    “In other words, this isn’t about running. This is a pickup.”
    Vee wagged her head. “You’re no fun at all.”
    She cruised up Deacon, a winding stretch of scenic road bordered on both sides by dense evergreens. In another couple of weeks, they’d be frosted with snow.
    Scott lived with his mom, Lynn Parnell, in an apartment complex that came into view around the next bend. Over the summer, Scott had moved out and gone into hiding. He’d deserted Hank
Millar’s Nephilim army, and Hank had searched tirelessly for him, hoping to make an example of him. After I killed Hank, Scott had been free to move home.
    A cement fence caged the property, and while I was certain privacy had been the intent, it gave the place the feel of a compound. Vee pulled into the entrance, and I had a flashback to the time
she had helped me snoop in Scott’s bedroom. Back when I thought he was an up-to-no-good jerk. Boy, had things changed. Vee parked near the tennis courts. The nets were long gone, and someone
had decorated the turf with graffiti.
    We got out and stretched for a couple of minutes.
    Vee said, “I don’t feel safe leaving the Neon unattended for long in this neighborhood. Maybe we should do laps around the complex. That way I can keep my eye on my baby.”
    “Uh-huh. It also gives Scott more opportunities to see us.”
    Vee had on pink sweatpants with DIVA stamped across the butt in gold glitter, and a pink fleece jacket. She also had on full makeup, diamond studs in her ears, and a ruby
cocktail ring, and she smelled like Pure Poison by Dior. Just your average day out running.
    We picked up our feet and started a slow jog along the dirt trail circling the complex. The sun was out, and after three laps, I stripped off my sweatshirt, tying it around my waist. Vee
beelined to a weathered park bench and plunked down, sucking air.
    “That had to be about five miles,” she said.
    I surveyed the trail. Sure . . . give or take four miles.
    “Maybe we should peek in Scott’s windows,” Vee suggested. “It’s Sunday. He might be oversleeping and need a friendly wake-up call.”
    “Scott lives on the third floor. Unless you have a forty-foot ladder stashed in the trunk of the Neon, window peeping is probably out.”
    “We could try something more direct. Like knocking on his door.”
    Just then an orange Plymouth Barracuda, circa 1970, vroomed into the parking lot. It pulled under the carport, and Scott swung out. Like most Nephilim men, Scott has the body of someone
seemingly well acquainted with a weight room. He’s also unusually tall, pushing six feet six. He keeps his hair cropped as short as a prison inmate’s, and he’s
good-looking—in a tough, hardened way. Today he was wearing mesh basketball shorts and a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off.
    Vee fanned herself. “Yowza.”
    I stuck my hand in the air, intending to call out to Scott and flag his attention, when the Barracuda’s passenger door opened and Dante emerged.
    “Check it out,” Vee said. “It’s Dante. Do the math. Two of them, and two of us. I knew I’d like running.”
    “I’m feeling the sudden urge to keep running,” I muttered. And not stop until I’d put a lot of ground between me and Dante. I wasn’t in the mood to follow up last
night’s conversation. Likewise, I wasn’t in the mood for Vee to play matchmaker. She was too aggravatingly good at it.
    “Too late. We’ve been made.” Vee whipped her arm over her head like a helicopter propeller.
    Sure enough, Scott and Dante leaned back against the Barracuda, shaking their heads and grinning at us.
    “You stalking me, Grey?” Scott hollered.
    “He’s