"I know," he said, his voice low. "You've gotten strong. You could move up."

Inside, I froze. Carl didn't notice. His hands were working their way to my front, to my breasts. I gasped a breath and tried to think straight. "Move up?"

"You could challenge Meg. You could take her place."

Then it was like he was necking and groping someone else. I was still clinging to him, but I gazed over his shoulder and my mind was detached. Suddenly professional.

"You're not getting along with Meg, are you?"

He went still. His hands stopped groping in favor of simple holding, and he pressed his face to my shoulder. He didn't say anything. He just held me.

I smiled a little. It was such a revelation, the idea that Carl was having relationship problems. Idly, I scratched his hair until he let me go.

He moved to the nightstand, opened a drawer, and took out a business-sized envelope. He handed it to me, only then raising his gaze to mine.

Inside, I found photos. Blurry photos taken on a full moon night, people and wolves running together. One of them was me. These were copies of the photos Rick had given me. The ones Arturo had used to hire Cormac.

"You?" My voice was tight with hurt. Whoever had given these photos to Arturo had probably also put up funds to pay Cormac. Whoever had done that wanted me dead, but wanted to keep their hands, and maybe their teeth and claws, spotless. If it had been Carl, it had probably been the money I'd been giving him that had gone to pay Cormac. That was too terrible to think about.

"Meg," he said. He stood close to me, speaking low, but sex was gone from his manner. "She said she gave them to Arturo because she was jealous of you."

"Jealous, of me?" She was Meg. She was beautiful and strong.

"Of the success of the show. The attention. The attention from me." He looked away at that, probably the most human gesture I'd ever seen Carl make. Like he was admitting that he'd been using pack dynamics as an excuse to sleep around. Like for once he realized how odd it was, this in-between world we inhabited.

"You know what this means?" I said. "She sold me down the river. She practically gave me to Arturo on a silver platter—"

And it suddenly occurred to me that maybe Carl told me it was Meg so that I'd get angry enough at her to challenge her. That he was manipulating both of us, so he could get her out of the way without getting his own paws dirty. This was assuming I'd actually win if I challenged her. I didn't want to think about that.

But Carl's brown eyes were so hurt, so lost, and I didn't think he could fake that. He'd never been able to disguise his anger or lust. He wasn't good at masking his feelings, or faking them. He was a brute-force kind of guy.

"What did you do when you found out?"

"We had a talk." That was a euphemism. So, had they had the usual kind of ass-kicking talk, or had they had the kind of talk that Carl and I had been having a minute ago?

"What did she say?"

"She said she was sorry. She'll back off."

"That's it? Just like that, she'll back off?" I didn't know who to be angry at. Was she really sorry or was Carl making excuses for her? Why didn't he do anything to her for this? "Maybe I should have a talk with her."

"Maybe you should," Carl said. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing my cheek, moving to my mouth.

I turned my face away. I shoved the photos back into the envelope and gave it to him, then left the room before he could throw a tantrum.

For a heartening moment, I thought I was going to reach the front door and escape without anyone stopping me. I touched the doorknob.

Meg put her hand on the door, in front of my face.

I didn't have to look. I felt her glare, the heat radiating off her body. Her breath feathered against my cheek. She knew I knew. Things would never be the same with us.

If I didn't react, she could stand there forever. She wanted me to react. She wanted to scare me. Where was T.J.? I didn't dare turn to look to see if he was still in the living room.

For a split second I thought that maybe T.J. was in on all this as well, though on which side I couldn't say. He wouldn't stand up for me in a fight. Suddenly, the whole world was against me.

Meg spoke, her voice low. "If he ever has to choose between me and you, don't think for a minute that he'll pick you." She meant Carl. She could have him.

"He won't fight for you," she continued. She grimaced, an expression of distaste. "He's spineless."

She may have been right. He was still in the bedroom, and if I screamed, I wasn't sure he'd come to help me.

Whispering, I said, "I don't want to fight you, Meg. I don't want anything."

"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

That wasn't true. Gritting my teeth, I braced for her to hit me. "I want to keep the show."

Her hand moved. I flinched, gasping. But she only touched my chin, then brushed her finger along my jaw before closing her fist and drawing away.

She opened the door for me and let me go.

T.J. was waiting at his bike, fiddling with some arcane bit of engineering.

"Can we go now?" I said, hugging myself.

"You okay? You're shaking." He wiped his hands on his jeans and mounted the bike. I crawled up behind him.

"Did you know Carl and Meg are fighting?"

"They're always fighting."

Not like this. I choked on the words. Closing my eyes, I hugged him tight.

I never watched the local TV news, so I didn't have to work too hard to avoid watching it tonight, to see if Angela Bryant had filmed my better side or not.

But at 6:15 p.m. exactly, Ozzie called.

"Kitty. Did you know you're on the news?"

Morbidly, I sort of hoped there'd be a plane crash or something that would bump a prostitute's murder off the news entirely.

"I had a feeling," I said tiredly.

"What's up with that?"

"Didn't the TV say anything?"

"They just said, and I quote, 'Well-known radio personality Kitty Norville is involved with the investigation.' That doesn't sound too great. You didn't—I mean, you're not really involved, are you?"

"Geez, Ozzie, you really think I could do something like that?"

"I know you wouldn't. But there's that whole werewolf thing…"