“Doesn’t look like it’s about a lack of food.”

Frustrated, Meg blew out a breath.

“Do you have PMS cravings? Maybe that’s why you’re fixated on food. I tend to want chocolate, pizza, and salty snacks. Of course, then I drink a lot of water—and retain a lot of water—and get bloated, which makes me crabby.” Merri Lee gave her an expectant look.

She considered that and shook her head. “I guess it’s nothing important, but I’ll tell Simon about it anyway. It might make sense to him.”

• • •

She told Simon about it when they got home from work, and she could see that it made sense to him. What worried her was the look in his amber eyes—and the fact that he wouldn’t tell her what it meant. And for the first time, he snarled at her when she pushed for an explanation. Told her it wasn’t any of her business.

That worried her too.

What worried her the most was waking up sometime in the night and realizing Simon was gone.

• • •

Everything went like clockwork. The four men parked in the lot adjacent to the Stag and Hare, then crossed Main Street to the delivery entrance of the Courtyard. From there, they went up the access way and into the Market Square, keeping close to the shops instead of dashing across the big open area in the middle.

They slipped inside the butcher shop, found the walk-in refrigerator, and stared for a moment, transfixed by the quantity of meat—trays of prime cuts of beef, as well as roasts and steaks. Other trays held chops, hams, sausages, bacon, and slabs of ribs.

They’d each brought a big rectangular backpack lined with straw around thick plastic. The late-night heat wasn’t much better than the daytime temperature; it wouldn’t do to have the meat start going bad before they had a chance to get it into their own freezers or sell most of the best cuts for profit.

Jimmy Montgomery was a blustering, arrogant prick who thought he was hot shit just because he’d lived in Toland, as if picking a lock there required more skill than it did here in Lakeside. He’d walked into the bar, bought himself a drink, and sat down at their table, as if he’d been invited. Started talking about needing a crew for an easy job—one he guaranteed would put food on the table. Illegal? Of course not. Human law didn’t apply in the Courtyard, so how could anything done there be illegal?

No guards, no sentries around the business district after the shops closed. Yeah, being out at night might be tricky, but if you picked the right time, even the cops wouldn’t be doing much patrolling, preferring to stick close to their stations unless they were called out.

He’d scoped out the shops, knew exactly where the butcher shop was located, had told them about the lock and lack of a bell on the door. Had confirmed the delivery of meat from one of the earth native farms. Even his reason for not going in with them made sense. Of course, his “commission” would reflect the chances he wasn’t taking tonight. Not that they’d encountered any problems.

They filled their packs with the best cuts of meat, leaving the sausages and bacon, along with the roasts and hams they couldn’t fit in their packs. They hadn’t found the special meat Jimmy had said would be there, but that didn’t matter. They had everything they’d come for and more.

Yes, everything had gone just like clockwork. Right up until the moment when they left the butcher shop and found the vampires and Wolves waiting for them.

• • •

Heart pounding, Monty scrambled out of bed, yanked open the drawer in the bedside table, and removed his recently acquired backup weapon, holster and all. Then he quietly moved to the screen door that opened onto the porch and stopped to listen.

He’d heard something that his training had responded to before he was fully awake. A brief scream, high-pitched and terrified. Now . . . nothing.

He unlocked the screen door and stepped onto the porch.

So quiet. Most people were following the police recommendation about being home before midnight, so there were no cars on the roads at this time of night—except official vehicles. But it wasn’t a siren he’d heard.

In that quiet, Monty heard another door open. Bracing his free hand on the railing, he leaned forward and looked up at the second-story porch of the house next door.

Kowalski, dressed in nothing but pajama bottoms. Something about the way he stood told Monty his partner had also grabbed a weapon in response to . . . what?

Another door opening, farther down. He couldn’t see, but Monty knew it was Debany. So. They’d all heard something.

Monty whistled, a soft sound, but it was enough to have Kowalski turn in his direction. Then the younger man disappeared. A minute later, he reappeared, ghosting across the front yards until he reached Monty’s porch.

“Yeah,” Kowalski said quietly into the mobile phone. “Yeah. I’ll let you know.”

“You heard it?” Monty kept his voice low to avoid waking Lizzy, whose open bedroom window was at the other end of the porch.

Kowalski nodded. “So did Michael.” He looked around. “No lights coming on in any of the houses down the street, and nothing stirring across the street. Whatever it was didn’t alarm the Courtyard’s sentries.”

Going to the end of the porch, Monty saw two Owls perched on rooftops that gave them a good view of the Courtyard’s businesses.

“Could have been a rabbit,” Kowalski said. “They do scream when they’re killed.”

Rabbits weren’t the only things that screamed.