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one of his twenty-something writing students. During their initial investigation for Burgess, Denise, like Karen, had been raped and badly beaten due to her husband’s bungling. Also like Karen, she hadn’t been the same after that. But Denise had been much less able to handle the experience and had spent a little time in a mental hospital in Connecticut that specialized in the discreet treatment of celebrities.
    Karen clenched her teeth as she stared out at the highway. A single word rose up in her mind.
    Vampires.
    They had been monsters. Not all of them—some fought their nature and refused to prey on people for the blood they needed. Mrs. Dupassie was such a vampire, as were a few of the others they’d worked with on the investigation. Such was the case with Dr. Kincaid. The fact that he was one of them had allowed Karen to be totally honest with him about her experience and feelings—how would she have told a normal psychiatrist that she had been beaten and raped by vampires who had bitten her and sucked her blood?
    Gooseflesh crawled across her shoulders and down her back and she gave a small start.
    Gavin caught the movement in the corner of his eye and turned to her. “You okay?” he asked.
    She lit another cigarette and nodded.
    After a moment, Gavin said, “It’s a little after noon and I’m getting hungry. Didn’t eat much breakfast. You want to stop somewhere and get some lunch?”
    Keeping her eyes front, Karen said, “Yeah, okay.“ She puffed on the cigarette. “Does the radio work in this crate? How about some music?”
    “Sure.” He reached down and turned on the radio. “That button is the tuner. Have a party.” As Karen reached down to find a radio station, Gavin noticed the tremble in her hand. He didn’t have to ask why. He knew.
    Three songs played on the radio before Karen finally spoke again. “If this is... um, I mean, if Burgess wants us to do something that’s, uh... well, dangerous ... I’m just wondering—”
    ”Don’t worry, Karen,” Gavin said quietly. “It won’t happen again. I told you once before—it was a fluke. That’s all. Just a fluke.”
    They said little for the rest of the drive.
     
     

 
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    At the Esalen Institute
     
     
    Martin Burgess burst into the room with a big smile and heartily shook their hands. “Good to see you again,” he said.
    He reminded Karen of a big, mischievous high school kid who always looked as if he were on his way to a kegger in a hurry. He’d changed little since their first meeting—a couple of years older (he would turn fifty soon), a little heavier, maybe, his scalp a bit more visible on top where he was losing his dark hair, which was always mussed. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt that read, 667—NEIGHBOR OF THE BEAST. Burgess’s collection of slogan-bearing T-shirts and sweatshirts was legendary, and constantly grew larger as his many fans sent him more. He’d once taken Karen on a tour of his Los Angeles home and had shown her the large room that he used as a closet in which to store all of them.
    Burgess was accompanied by a curvaceous brunette woman in her twenties. A brown leather satchel hung from her shoulder.
    “Gavin, you’re looking good,” Burgess said. “Karen, lovely as ever. Have a nice trip?”
    “The flight into San Francisco was uneventful,” she said. “Which is the best kind of flight to have.”
    “This is my new personal assistant, Brandy,” he said, placing a hand against her back.
    Personal assistant, huh? Karen thought with a smirk.
    “And I’d like you to meet—” Burgess glanced over his shoulder and found that no one stood behind him. “Where’d he go?”
    “I thought he was right behind us,” Brandy said.
    “Could you go find him?”
    “Sure.” Brandy went back out the door.
    They stood in a plain, large room with unadorned white walls and a teal carpet, a fireplace. Several cushioned chairs were arranged casually, and an easel holding a blank white