Max rolls off me and collapses with a groan onto the carpet. I lay quietly beside him, listening to his breathing, listening to the pounding of his blood, listening to the beating of his heart. Suddenly he sits up and his face hovers over mine, an expression of concern twisting his features.

"My God, Anna. I didn't use a condom."

I actually laugh out loud. "It's okay, Max. It's safe."

"How can you know that?"

Because I'm no longer human and bearing children or contracting STD's is not something a vampire has to worry about. Of course, what I say to Max is, "Because I know. It's not the right time of the month. Trust me."

"You're sure?"

There's disappointment in his voice. He lays a hand on my abdomen. "Making a baby with you wouldn't be such a terrible thing."

An alarm shrieks in my head. I sit up now, too, and point to Max's glass on the floor beside him. "Fix me one of those, will you? I'm going to take a shower."

Before he can respond or ask if he can join me, I'm out of the room. The turn this conversation has taken is too bizarre and fraught with consequences Max can't begin to comprehend. When did he get so serious ? The only future I have ever envisioned with him is based on what we have now - great sex, strictly recreational. It never occurred to me that he might see it differently.

When I get out of the shower, I slip into the best buzz kill I can think of - a pair of man-tailored flannel pajamas and a bathrobe, belted tight. No exposed skin.

Max eyes me when I rejoin him, holding out the drink and raising an eyebrow. "Nice outfit. Very sexy in a L.L. Bean kind of way."

I take a sip of the drink, scotch, straight up, and perch myself on the couch, tucking my robe around my legs. Max has slipped on jeans, but he's shirtless and I avert my eyes because those pecs and biceps have a predictable effect on me. Already, my skin is heating up.

He sits beside me and casually slips a hand between the folds of my robe. His hand feels warm through the fabric. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says.

"Scare me?" I act like I haven't a clue what he's talking about.

"The baby thing." He pauses. "Ever thought about it?"

I pretend the drink is in the way and move just out of reach. Max snuggles closer on the couch and the hand is back. This time his fingers play with the waistband on my pj's, wiggle their way inside and inch downward.

I squirm away. "Max, you can't be serious. You have a job that keeps you gone for weeks. I have a missing niece. No, I haven't thought about it."

My tone has the desired affect. He pulls away and reaches for his drink. I can tell he's embarrassed. I clear my throat.

"So, Max. Let's talk. How did you and David make out today?"

He eyes me. I've gone for the let's get past this silliness and on to something else tone. It seems to work because he takes a drink and says, "Piece of cake. It was fun. David's not such a bad guy after all." He takes another sip of the scotch and adds, "We discovered we have something in common."

I snicker. "You and David? Let's see, it can't be that you're both jocks and adrenaline junkies. That would be too obvious. So it must be that you're both in love with Gloria."

He raises an eyebrow. "Close," he responds. "We both love you."

I almost choke on a mouthful of scotch.

Max laughs. "I don't mean we both love you that way. I mean David thinks of you as a sister. He wants to protect you. He's having a hard time getting over what happened a few months ago. He says he'll never forgive himself for that."

Another topic I'm not about to get into. Neither David nor Max knows the true story of what happened that night and they never will. Just as David will never know that I saved him from certain death at Avery's hands - or teeth.

But what does Max mean about loving me that way. What's going on with him?

I give myself a mental shake. Later. Right now, there are more important subjects we need to discuss.

I temper the panic out of my voice. "I need to talk to you about something important."

He leans back on the couch cushion and waves a hand in a "go ahead" motion.

"What do you know about kiddie porn?"

An eyebrow shoots up. "Kiddie porn?" Then there's a reflective pause. "Does this have anything to do with that girl that was killed?"

"I'm not sure. Not yet. I just need to know what can be done about catching somebody involved in selling their own kid to men for money."

The revulsion in my voice is intemperate. I couldn't control it if I wanted to. I keep seeing Trish's shattered face.

Max sits up a little straighter. "Do you think that's what happened to Barbara Franco?"

I hold up a hand. "No. I don't believe Barbara was involved in kiddie porn directly, but she may have been killed because she knew someone who was."

Max gets that stern cop look in his eye. "And you're afraid Trish might be next? You need to go to the authorities with this," he says. "I'm not kidding, Anna. This is serious business. And it involves the worst kind of scumbag - "

He's gearing up for a lecture. One I'm not the least bit interested in hearing. "Listen, Max. I promise you. I will go to the authorities the minute I have something concrete. What I want you to tell me is what kind of evidence you'd need to put these people away."

He's frowning and glaring in that male authoritarian way that makes me want to smack the look right off his face. But that wouldn't get me the answer now, would it? I smile and purse my lips and nod encouragingly at him.

His expression softens. "Computers," he says. "These guys do big business on the web. They can try to delete their files, but there's an evidence trail that can be recovered from the hard drive. That's usually what puts them away."

The good news and the bad news. I have a mental picture of that laptop flying from Ryan's hand and bouncing off the wall of the garage to land in a crashing heap on the concrete floor. My bad. On the other hand, Ryan didn't seem that disturbed by what I'd done. In fact, he said he'd be able to retrieve data from it. Is that possible?

"What happens if the computer is - say - dropped?" I ask.

Once again, Max is staring at me with cop eyes. "What computer are we talking about, Anna?"

"I'm just talking theoretically here. If a computer is broken, can you retrieve data from it?"

He nods slowly but with reservation, as if he's afraid answering my question could be construed as encouraging behavior he doesn't condone. "It's possible. Depends on how badly it's damaged and how good the guy is working on it." He crosses his arms over his chest. "Want to tell me why we're having this conversation?"

But he's given me what I need. Now it's time to change the subject. "We don't have to be making a baby to have fun with the process, do we?" I place my drink on the coffee table and slip the robe off my shoulders.

Evidently not. Max uncrosses his arms and watches. By the time I've lost the pajamas, the only hard drive he seems interested in is the one between his legs.

This time we go slowly. Long, lingering kisses. Fingers that coax and tease. When the tension gets too much, when we're both more than ready, Max slides his hands under my bottom and I arch up to meet him.

I let Max do the work, move to his rhythm. I listen to his heart, see the pulse drumming at the base of his jaw. I lick at it, taste the salt of his sweat as it pools there. My mouth forms around the spot, sucking gently. Max groans and moves closer.

Suddenly Avery is there again. This time, his words send a shiver through me. Think of how good you can make it, Anna. It will be the most wonderful sex Max has ever had.

I touch the pulse point with burning fingers. Max's blood rushes right there, beneath that fragile sheath of skin - a sheath I can easily pierce. My hands pull his head closer. He doesn't resist. He's hurtling past the point of return.

But I can't do it. I can't bring myself to drink from Max. If I do, I risk whatever tremulous hold I have left on what's human inside me. And in the instant I realize that, I've lost him. I'm like a surfer who waits a second too long to make the cut. Max is swept away from me on the wave of his passion, and I'm left behind, alone, to watch.