"So long as you tone down the 'I had to rescue Jaime again' part."

A grateful grin. "Agreed."

AS SAVANNAH circled Molly's block, I saw a flash of someone through the slats of Molly's fence.

"There's Jeremy," I said. "In her backyard."

"Where?" she squinted into the near dark. "Ah. There. Good eyes."

She didn't add a sly remark about my uncanny Jeremy radar. I flatter myself that Savannah doesn't know how I feel about him, but if she doesn't, she's the only one.

She pulled over as Jeremy leaped the fence, taking it as easily as a two-foot hurdle.

"I'd better let you out here and hightail it back home before Paige calls out the National Guard."

"Running off before I can tell him what happened?"

"Running as fast as I can, but tell him I said hi and I'll see him at Thanksgiving." She paused. "On second thought, don't mention that part or they're all liable to decide that keeping me from going to Stonehaven is a suitable punishment."

WHEN I crossed the road, Jeremy was gone. Standing in front of Molly's house, I had a strong sense of deja vu… and an even stronger sense that standing here really wasn't a bright idea. I pictured Molly arriving home to find the necromancer who'd escaped her clutches hanging out on her front lawn.

I was looking for a safer place to stand when a voice behind me said, "Hello, Jaime."

I wheeled so fast I tripped over my own feet. Fingers clasped my forearm, steadying me. I looked up into a face with high cheekbones and slightly slanted black eyes. Dark hair fell over his forehead as he leaned forward. I resisted the urge to reach up and push it back… then lift onto my tiptoes, press my lips against his, my body against-

Damn it, was I ever going to see Jeremy and not start blushing like a schoolgirl? It was ridiculous. I'd had erotic fantasies about men right in front of their noses and never batted an eye. With Jeremy, even the thought had me in vapors.

"Jeremy," I managed.

"I'm sorry," he said, still holding my arm. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"We need to bell you, like a cat."

A twitch of his lips. Not much of a smile, but I knew it was one.

"So," I continued, "you could follow my trail from the coffee shop."

"Not easy in the daylight, when I can't crouch to sniff the sidewalk. Fortunately, your perfume is distinctive."

"It's worth the price then."

He released my arm and gave me a once-over, and while I'd love to think he was checking out my hot new outfit, I knew the truth- he was trying to figure out what had happened. He plucked a leaf from my hair.

"I ran into some trouble," I said.

"So I see."

His voice and expression were impassive, but he was worried. With Jeremy, the emotional signs were never obvious.

His gaze flitted toward Molly's house.

"She's… tied up for a while. But you're right, talking here probably isn't a wise idea."

"I didn't say that."

"No, but you were thinking it. Come on, then. Let's get someplace safer and I'll explain."

As we walked down the street, I snuck another look at him. Just over six feet, he was lean and athletic, though that side of him rarely showed… unless he was leaping over six-foot fences. Not the kind of maneuver you'd expect from a fifty-eight-year-old, but it was easy to forget how old Jeremy was. Werewolves age slowly and- with silver just starting to thread through his dark hair and shallow lines around his mouth-I'd peg him at my age, if that.

Paige swore Jeremy had Asian blood, presumably from his mother, but there was no use asking him; he knew nothing about the woman. She'd disappeared from his life shortly after his birth. That was the world of werewolves, where mothers and sisters played no role, wives were unheard of, and even lovers came and went quickly. Elena was the exception-the only living female werewolf.

It was a world of men. The Pack and its bonds were everything, and everyone else was an outsider. And this was the man I'd fallen in love with-the leader of a world in which I would always be "the other." My heart, it seemed, could be as feckless as my brain.

"Here," he said, guiding me into a darkened playground.

His fingers rested on my arm as he steered me, and I found myself trying not to read too much into the casual contact that tingled up my arm. Yet it did mean something. Werewolves, while very physical with one another, don't extend that attitude toward others. Clay, the most wolflike of the Pack, avoids even handshakes. Elena's politer about it, but I figured out early on that she wasn't someone I should greet with a hug.

Jeremy doesn't avoid contact, but doesn't initiate it either. In the last year or so, though, that's changed.

I found myself evaluating his touch. Gripping me tighter than usual? Lingering longer? I searched for a sign that something had changed-that something was about to change, proof that he'd come here to take that next step. A lot to read into a touch and, of course, I couldn't.

The park was barely half the size of the small surrounding lots, just enough room for the developers to plop down swings, a slide and a bench and say, "Look, we gave you a playground." It was dark now, the equipment deserted.

Jeremy motioned me to the bench. "I'd like to check that blow to your head."

"How-? Oh, you smell the blood."