Catcher smiled. "Now you're getting the picture. Vamps don't appreciate that shifters are lackadaisical about their problems. Vamps want alliances. They collect friends they can rely on, especially the older ones that remember the European Clearings. Next time you're at Cadogan House, check the symbols above the front door. Those are alliance insignia; they show who Ethan's got signed up as allies. Really, they're backup in case humans get pissed or other Houses decide Cadogan's drinking is a little too risky. And because shifters don't play those kinds of games - Keene's never gonna post insignia over Ethan Sullivan's front door - vamps ignore them." Catcher sighed. "There are also rumors that shifters had the chance to step in during the Second Clearing, but chose not to act, not to become involved."

"Not to save lives?" I asked. Catcher nodded heavily, his expression tight, his gaze on Jeff, who looked to be working to ignore the direction of the conversation.

"I see. And who's Keene?"

"My pack leader," Jeff offered, looking up from his keyboard with a bright expression. "Gabriel Keene, Apex of the Central North American. He lives in Memphis."

"Huh." I stood up and paced from one end of the room to the other, then back again. The feast of information he'd just thrown at me - needed to be digested. "Huh."

"Verbal, this one," Catcher said. Then quickly added, "Jeff, quit staring at her ass."

There was throat clearing behind me before typing started again in earnest.

This was so much more complicated than I'd imagined. Granted, before the change, I hadn't thought much about vamps. The few thoughts I'd had - especially after watching Celina Desaulniers seduce her way through a Congressional hearing - weren't flattering. The few I'd had since - Well, they involved too much Ethan Sullivan and too little anything else.

"I'd love to know what you're thinking right now, babe."

I looked around, saw Catcher grinning knowingly, brows lifted as he waited for a response. I felt the blush to the roots of my hair, but waved a hand negligently. "Noth - nothing. Just thinking."

His "Uh-huh" didn't sound convinced, so I turned the tables. "Where do you fit in all this?"

No response until, abruptly, Catcher sat up and began flipping through his book again. That was answer enough, I thought.

My grandfather stepped back into the office, and since Catcher was no longer broadcasting, he took the floor, giving his crew the basic facts on recent relevant events in my life - the bite, the threat, the challenge. When he'd given the full replay to Jeff and Catcher, he updated me on the investigation into Jennifer Porter's death. As a potential victim - and the three of them agreed that I'd been next in line - he thought it important to keep me informed.

Unfortunately, a lack of communication was standing in the way of progress on the investigation. Although the Navarre vamps promised to work with the CPD in solving the crime, they'd been tightlipped about their findings, if they had any. Grandpa's vampire connection helped fill in some blank spots, but in Catcher's words, the vamp was an enlisted man, not an officer, so his access to information was limited. Plus, the vamp was skittish about being labeled a traitor by his House, so he reported to the Ombud, not the CPD. That meant any information he did uncover had to be passed through channels. And even when it found its way to an investigator's desk, CPD detectives were still suspicious. Cops were old school; they didn't trust information from supernatural sources. Even my grandfather's thirty-four-year service record didn't immunize him from the prejudice. Many of the cops he worked with, served with, just thought he cavorted with phony weirdos.