A/N—Thank you again for the reviews and continued interest far beyond what I ever anticipated. Much thanks also to my excellent beta Lady Anne. Have fun and as always, I own nothing. Really.

Earlier that day

Sookie pulled up next to her house and turned off the car. She sighed at the thought of all the purchases she needed to carry in but nobody else was going to do it. Where was a blond sex god when she needed him? She absently licked her lips at the thought of those broad shoulders and that tight, gorgeous butt, then shook herself. She still had some laundry waiting and it was already late afternoon. Sookie grinned at the thought of Eric hanging clothes on the line, or folding towels in front of the TV. Who did his laundry, she wondered? She made a mental note to ask him and also to see if vampires had a secret for easily getting blood out of sheets and shirts. A definite downside of dating vampires, she'd found. They'd surely come up with something special in the last few thousand years.

She went up the back porch steps that led to the kitchen, her usual entrance to the house. "Only guests and bad news come in by the front door," her Gran used to say. She set down a couple of sacks so she could unlock the door. The key turned in the deadbolt but the knob seemed loose. Just to be on the safe side, she mentally scanned the area but could detect no other brain signatures. She shrugged. Another thing on the list that needed fixing in the beloved old house despite Eric's renovations when he'd bought the place in her absence last year.

By stringing bags on every available appendage she had managed to get everything inside on one trip. She plopped down in a kitchen chair with a sigh of relief. Now she just needed to put it all away.

Meeooww.

Sookie jerked upright. What on earth? She looked around and saw a small cat curled up on the tile floor. "How did you get in here, sweetie?" she crooned as she knelt beside it. The first thing she noticed was the beautiful tortoiseshell coat with the softest fur she'd ever seen. The second was the long jagged scratch in the cat's left front leg. The edges of skin were bloody, the hair dirty and matted around the wound. Unexpectedly, the cat didn't hiss or growl as Sookie reached out to it. Most animals reacted with fear when hurt, even if used to people. A rough pink tongue licked the fingers Sookie extended, so she risked inspecting the cat more closely. There was no collar but she was obviously well cared for; the fur was sleek and smooth except for the injury. Probably a house cat that got out and tangled with a wild animal in the woods.

Sookie gently stroked the soft coat and was delighted to be rewarded with a purr. She still missed her cat Tina, mutilated by the serial killer Rene over two years ago. "Aww, you poor kitty. Let me get you cleaned right up. Then maybe I'll take you to the vet, that might need stitches." Sookie stood up, and started to head to the bathroom, mentally ticking off the supplies she would need; she didn't have cat food anymore but she could put out some canned tuna...

A sudden glooping sound, like solids dragged through thick liquid caused Sookie to spin around. She barely had time to register a mentally shouted "Now!" from a slender naked female grabbing for her, when Sookie felt a sharp prick in her upper arm. Darkness descended almost instantly, cutting off Sookie's own "Oh, shit!"

Francie Devore, shifter, caught the sedated blond and lowered her carefully to the floor. She set the hypodermic down on the kitchen table. When she picked the door lock earlier, she'd hidden the needle among the knickknacks on the counter where she could reach it quickly and easily. The focus of the take-down had been very clear from her employer; do it fast and with as little pain and fear as possible. The waitress was reportedly a telepath, able to register the mental signatures of humans, shifters and Weres and read their thoughts to varying degrees. The source was unclear about her skills versus vampires but she could tell they were around, at least. The key, as far as Francie herself was concerned, was that Sookie didn't seem to be able to identify shifters in their animal form.

Francie checked her prisoner, finding the girl's pulse and breathing slow and steady. She felt confident enough to go and retrieve the bag of supplies she'd hidden behind the house. She was back in under a minute. Still naked she drew out a roll of duct tape from her bag and proceeded to bind Sookie's wrists and ankles with it; then applied the tape to her mouth. Francie made sure the tape didn't interfere with Sookie's breathing. Once her prisoner was secure, Francie decided it was safe to get dressed in her own jeans and dark knit sweater. She glanced at the self-inflicted wound on her left forearm. It was already beginning to heal a little. An injury often increased the helpless appeal of a small cute animal, and she'd used the tactic effectively in the past.

The shifter locked the back door from the inside and made sure the front door was also locked. She didn't need neighbors walking in unannounced. Heading back to the kitchen, she noted Sookie was still unconscious. The dose of the drug was supposed to last just a few hours. Francie's slender build belied her shifter strength. She scooped Sookie up into a fireman's carry over her shoulder and carried her to the first floor bedroom that appeared to be Sookie's, laying her out on the bed.

The instructions were to wait for the second operative to show up with more details. Francie settled patiently into an old floral chair by the bed. The shadows lengthened as the afternoon wore on. It would be dark soon. After about thirty minutes, there was a text on the disposable cell phone Francie had been given along with the money for this job.

Go to the back door.

Francie cautiously went to the kitchen door and twitched aside the little curtain to peek out. A large man in motorcycle leathers stood on the steps silhouetted against the late afternoon sun. Her shifter sense of smell told her he was a werewolf. Francie was not pleased. Werewolves were nasty, violent and unpredictable. After a long, considering moment she slowly unlocked the door and stepped back to let the man in. He walked into the kitchen, staring at her from a face covered with tats and multiple piercings, but then he stopped, waiting. Barely suppressed violence rolled off the wolf in waves; she thought he was just inches away from shifting. Damn it. The tension in the room made her edgy, too.

Francie's cell phone chimed. Another text.

The wolf will take the woman. Change as instructed by the time he returns.

Apparently the Were wasn't going to be talking much. Francie led him into the bedroom where the drugged Sookie lay. Wasting no time, he roughly tossed the blond over his shoulder, hard enough to cause an explosion of air from the unconscious woman's lungs.

"Careful!" The shifter said sharply. "She isn't supposed to be hurt or scared, so take it easy!"

The wolf stared at her as if he'd forgotten she was there. He growled and his eyes turned round and golden. Francie knew if she challenged him more he would change completely and then they'd all be in trouble. Shit, was the guy on something? She'd heard some wolves had gotten hyped up on V last year over in Mississippi but she'd never seen it. She kept her mouth shut and reminded herself this was just business. She followed the man and their prisoner back through the kitchen and watched him move swiftly across the yard to the shadowed woods. She saw no sign of a car so she didn't know where the werewolf was taking the telepath.

Francie shut the back door firmly. Sookie Stackhouse was no longer her concern. Besides, she had one more job to do.

In addition to being a shifter, Francie Devore was a skinwalker.