At Tasha's urging, I don't go to trauma any more. Meena's not there either; she's on personal leave, mandatory as I understand it. I go to her house on my day off, try to patch things up, but she isn't there. I think about asking where she is, but I can't imagine anyone who knows would tell me.

Tasha and I talk over dinner about going to the police. Her argument against is pretty convincing: They already think I might be involved in Mauricio's death, so any kind of connection to more deaths at the hospital is not going to look good. We could try an anonymous tip, but any heightened scrutiny at the hospital is going to fall at least in part on me. To say nothing of Officer Abraham Hart, balked though he might or might not be.

"We need to find her," I say. "If we just confront her with it, maybe we can figure out what's going on."

"I don't care what's going on," says Tasha. "You should just get out of the hospital. Out of that ward, away from that woman. It's blind luck you haven't mentioned John to her until now."

"No," I say. "I'm going to figure out how to get close to her. And you're going to help."

That strange specter crosses her face again, the twist of her lips. "As you wish, sire," she says.

"That's not funny."

"It wasn't supposed to be. You want to get close to her? We have bait."

"What bait?"

"Me."

I've told Tasha about Meena's weird theory, that she's the woman who bled out on us the night we met. "Go on."

"She's hiding out somewhere, but we know she's in contact with John's brother. He works at the police station. We can pass the message that way."

"He's police. She'll tell him who you are, she'll make the connection with me. Then I'm back on the hook."

"Drake," says Tasha, "I'm not a person of interest. The only thing she can actually tell John's brother is that she saw you and me together once, near the hospital. Anything else she has to say will sound crazy."

"She wants to sound crazy."

"But he's only dangerous if he takes her seriously." Tasha's a little frustrated with my slowness, I can tell. "Any incriminating connection with you is insane. Any non-insane connection with you is non-incriminating. She doesn't have anything to gain from telling him about me. Not until she knows what my angle is." She gives me a long look. "What is my angle?"

"I told you," I said. "We just talk to her. We just figure out where it's coming from. We go from there."

"You're a socially awkward chem geek. I'm the undead. We may have trouble getting her to speak forthrightly."

"It's better than nothing."

"OK," says Tasha. "OK. When are your next couple of days off?"

I tell her. "All right," she says. "I'll give her a picture and an address. No indication that you're involved. We'll meet for coffee."