I am not known for my patience. I lost it. "Fine, Quinn, you're right. Dead right. It's always been Eric." His jaw dropped. "That's right, I have been thinking about him non-stop since before I even met you, and even when you and I had our time together, guess what? I was thinking of him." I threw down my purse, rose to my feet, and leaned over the desk to glare down at him. His eyes glowed yellow, but I didn't care. Let him try to claw at me. I was in the mood to remember some animal shows I'd seen on TV, and how they went about neutering critters. "And now you keep on trying to get back together with me, even when I keep telling you no, and guess what? It's not going to happen because I'm still with him." My voice was at max volume now; I really hoped those walls were soundproof. "And even if I weren't, even if I were free, I'd still want him, because he's funny, and sweet, and sexy as hell, and the way he kisses ought to be illegal, and his butt—oh, my, if that thing were candy I'd be eating it all day!—and, oh, yeah, just a little something important," I hissed, leaning low over the table at him now, "--he definitely knows what the hell 'NO' means, unlike you, so are you good and happy yet?" I was yelling by the time I was done, waving my hands around in a way that would have made Tara proud.

"Not really, but at least you're admitting it," he said soberly.

"Admitting what? Lord, Quinn, can't you listen?" I wasn't even yelling now; I was too tired and exasperated.

"I think you can't listen, Sookie, to yourself." He gave me a wan smile and I had nothing to say to that.

I left in a lot quieter mood than when I'd gone in.

I was too annoyed to drive off immediately, so I checked my cell. Call missed—Jason? Voice mail, too. "Hey, Sook, that vamp didn't kill you, did he? Call me."

Well, on Jason terms, that'd be a "I miss you." I shrugged, turned down the radio (playing the latest Fellowship ad, set to the tune of "I'm Walkin' in Sunshine"), and hit the dial-back button.

"Shit, Sook, you almost missed my lunch hour," was his welcoming response.

"I'm sorry if I'm delaying you—I just wanted to say I'm fine."

"Yeah, thought so." He was clearly chewing on something, making lip smacking noises worthy of a farm animal. I hoped Gran couldn't see this from wherever in heaven she was. She'd consider coming down just to tell him off for such manners. "The big vamp has such a hard-on for you that I figured he wouldn't kill you or nothing."

"A what? Never mind!" I covered my eyes with my hand, as if to ward off Jason's forthcoming, entirely too literal explanation. "I don't want to know. Anyway, yes, I'm fine and I'll be home later."

"You going to cook tonight? I might swing by. I stopped over in the morning but your roommate wouldn't give me any of the breakfast she'd fixed up." I grinned; I knew just what Amelia had said to Jason there. "Can you believe that? Oh, and she wanted to know where you were, so I said the big vamp was with you, and she got all worked up over it. Said he was going to yell at you?"

"Yell at me? Why?"

"Dunno, she just said he was probably giving you a good tongue-lashing, something like that—oh, hell, it's time to clock back in. Gotta go."

I sighed and clicked off the line. I should've just sent a text to everybody in Bon Temps: "GONE TO GET SOME. BB IN THE MORNING."

It would've been a whole lot faster.

Amelia picked up just as the radio was playing the newest Supe-influenced remake. ("Save a Horse, Ride a Vampire.") "Good music, eh, roomie?"

"No comment. Jason said he'd spoken with you and you were concerned, so I thought I should check in."

"Concerned?" Amelia let out a bark of laughter, so loud it made my ear drum ring. "I told him you were probably getting the best sex of your life, and he shouldn't be worried. Hot and Blond was going to keep you pretty busy, I figured. Why would I be concerned?"

"I guess he didn't see it that way." I tried not to reconstruct their conversation in my head; it was too mortifying.

"So…." Her voice turned sly. "Where did you go? Did he just keep you in Fangtasia all night, in some sex cellar or something?"

"Ewww, no!" Actually, to my embarrassment, the idea wasn't too off-putting. What was Eric doing to me? "He just took me back…to his place."

It was like I was twelve again and JB had just kissed me on the cheek at Tara's party. The squeals over the phone were enormous and I blushed, feeling stupidly proud of myself, at the same time. "Oh, my GOD. What was it like? Oh, wait, did you even get to see it or did he just throw you down once you got through the front door?"

"We made it to the bed, thank you very much!" Although it wasn't on first try, I remembered, and giggled. "It's pretty normal—nothing scandalous." Well, except for Eric's underwear drawer, but I wasn't going to talk about those things. (And no, I hadn't gone through his drawers—he'd pushed his aside to make room for mine, so it was hard not to see the scraps of fabric nearby, and wonder how the heck they covered anything.)

"Mmm, yeah. Pam said she'd set you guys up well. Did you find the chocolate bodysauce yet?"

"The what? Pam said what?"

"Oh, shit, I guess I shouldn't have said that." Amelia's giggle indicated she wasn't too embarrassed. Then again, she did talk to Pam a lot. "Okay, I confess. Pam let me know you'd be staying with Big Boss Hotness. I asked her what was going on and she said she was under orders to make you extremely 'comfortable.' " I could almost see Amelia's teasing smile as she said that. "Apparently, Dropdead Sexy said to make sure you had everything you could want, and she called me to make sure of some things."

That would explain how my tea had ended up on the shopping list, I thought.

"Plus, she threw in some things you might know you wanted, yet." She snickered again. "And we decided your sleep-shirts weren't going anywhere near Eric's house."

"Oh, I can thank you for that, huh? I could've frozen to death!"

She huffed. "Yeah, right. One, they're ugly and you know it. TweetyBird, girl? Tweety does not score. You should have HEARD what Pam about that outfit. Second, we all know Eric's engine would be roarin' to go, anyway—"

"Okay, you can stop that talk right there!" She cracked up again, unphased. "Besides, it's just one night, so you can save the giggling. I'll be back today."

"Oh, you think so?" she snorted.

"What do you mean? He's hardly going to chain me to the bedposts."

"Don't you wish," she shot back. "Let's just say, I don't think the invite was for one night only. Pam said this is very unusual and he'd have her ass if you didn't feel at home there. Wonder why, hmmm, roomie? If it were just for a few hours to score and send you home?"

"Hmph." Actually, I had a lot more thoughts, thoughts that made the bubbling feeling soar to the top of my head and my cheeks turn red, but I hoarded them to my chest.

Amelia sighed. "You're no fun. I thought you'd spill some good details, finally. I was convinced his place would be some latex-draped sex den, and here you've finally been to the Holy Land, and you won't share the dirt."

"I already told you, it's normal," I said automatically. "And I haven't gone exploring." Well, too much. "I'm working on something here, though." I told her about Jay, Jerry, and my recent trip to Quinn's. Sam would moan and groan about my involvement with the vamps, but at least Amelia would cut to the chase, finding out the answer to our mystery.

She didn't go there immediately though. Instead, her first question was a cheerful, "So how soon after Eric gets up is he going to kill the Tiger?"

"There's no need. Quinn got the message, loud and clear." Very loud and clear. I patted myself on the back.

"Yeah, but you're not thinking like a man, girl. Quinn put the moves on Eric's woman—that's you, hon--therefore Quinn must die. With lots of gore and pain, just to make Eric feel better, and then he'll set about making you feel better." She giggled again.

"Sorry, I'm not down with the barbarian behavior myself," I said automatically. I was looking at the paper in my hand, dropped on the seat of the Batmobile when I'd first left Eric's place. Where he was sleeping right now, vulnerable as a new-born baby, and some horrible creature out there wanted to—I couldn't finish the thought; the pang in my heart hurt too much. I flicked the key in the ignition. "Amelia…"

"Uh-oh. I know that tone. What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to think like a woman," I said, revving the engine and turning the Batmobile out of the lot.

"And that means?"

"I'm going to Jerry's."

The road flew away under me as I drove toward the neighborhood where Jerry lived. It was outside of Shreveport, but I reminded myself, I was off work and had a lot of daylight to kill before Eric woke up. That thought made me set my jaw grimly and hit the gas harder. Amelia had screamed at me for a good ten minutes before giving up—I was not going to sit idly by while some creep tried to do in my—tried to hurt Eric and the Fangtasia crew. It wasn't happening. Not on my watch. I turned up the Kelly Clarkson song on the radio and sang along as I maneuvered the Batmobile into the neighborhood, trying to work myself up.

I parked a block away, just in case anybody was looking for a spectacular black sports car. Granted, Eric wouldn't be out in the daylight, but that didn't mean the sight of that car wouldn't lift eyebrows. I hoped that was far enough away to keep Jerry, or anybody associated with him, from seeing it.

I frowned as I slid out of the car. Jerry's neighborhood was small and had a lot of mixed housing, as if it were thrown together at the last minute. (Which it probably had been.) Some of the houses were nice little places like Jason's, while others were little more than trailers.

I put my sunglasses on and walked to the edge of the street, peering down the road. I planned to pretend I'd lost a dog if I were asked by any neighbors, but nobody was out. It was a workday, after all, and with the new government money going into construction, the men who weren't regularly employed were getting part-time jobs on the labor crew.

With a bit more confidence, I hustled down the street to Jerry's, again trying to keep up the illusion that I was looking for something. Pausing a bit as if to listen for a missing pet, I turned my feet toward his side yard and jogged up a tiny hill and behind the house.

Mission 1: Get there. Check.

Mission 2 was clearly going to be buying a sports bra, since the Pam-bought lingerie wasn't cutting it as athletic support (then again, I doubt that was its purpose), but I'd have to wait till I got home to Bon Temps to fix that. Just so long as I kept my boobs covered in this particular escapade, I'd be happy, I decided. Given my history, that would be a victory.

Mission 3: Infiltrate. (The word of the day from yesterday.) I loped around the back of the house, listening. No sign of a dog, good. I get along well with them—too well, I knew Eric would say—but I definitely didn't want to test any pet's loyalty to his turf.

Okay, so now for the actual issue of getting inside. Deep breath, Stackhouse. My chest moved obligingly. If Jerry were a guy like Jason (and I found it pretty easy to think of him as such), then he might be pretty lazy about details. Or he'd have one of those stupid fake rocks in which to keep a house key. I started testing the back door and rear windows, and pushing over every large rock I could see. Nothing, nada. I stepped up on one rock, right beneath the kitchen window, and put my foot on it. If I could hop up, I'd be able to peer in, and then—

"Oh! OHHH, thwit!" I screamed behind a hand that slammed over my mouth. Another arm wrapped around my chest, pinning me against a male body.

"Sookie!" The voice was low, quiet, but thank you, sweet Shepherd of Judaea, familiar. I melted back against him.

Mission 4: Get the Crap Scared Out of You—check.

Sam was in no mood for my relief. Actually, his mood might best be described as "pissed." And then some. He spun me around to face him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" His face, normally brown from time spent in the sun, had a distinctly rosy tint. It wasn't embarrassment. "The next time you get some God-damn fool idea of risking your neck, would you do us all a favor and get some fucking help? Christ!"

I hadn't heard Sam string together so many expletives in years. I would've reacted, and possibly have been irritated at his tone, but then I noticed the gloves stuck in his pocket, right next to a screw driver, and I burst into happy tears.

"Awww, Sook, don't cry, look, I'm just mad," he muttered, reeling me in for a hug.

"You're going to help?" I sniffled.

"Of course." He sighed. "Amelia told me what you were doing, and I had to. Otherwise, God knows what you'd do and what would happen to you." He gave me a half-smile. "And I guess Northman wouldn't be too happy with me, huh?"

I rolled my eyes. (What is it with guys wanting to get the scoop on your personal life?) Sam wasn't waiting around for my confirmation; he was drawing on the gloves rapidly, and heading to the back door. Two minutes later, the doorknob was disassembling in his hands.

I moved forward but Sam caught me before I could enter. "I'm helping, Sook, but one rule: if I say get out, you get out, you got me? You run and don't stop."

"Fine, fine," I hissed, and Sam let me past. He already knew what I'd guessed: Jerry wasn't home.

Automatically, I tip-toed into the kitchen. Sam paused to put the door back together, as I scoped it out. Nothing much of note here, I thought, until I got to the recycling bin.

"Bingo," I breathed, squatting down. True-Blood bottles, O Positive. And just O Positive, I saw.

"We don't know that's just one vamp," Sam pointed out. "Half the vamps in Louisiana ask for O Pos." That was true. It was the vanilla of blood flavors, I had observed; on TV shows, "nice" human homes always stocked a few, in case of a daylight-challenged visitor.

Sam tapped my arm, so we walked into the living room together. It had the normal degree of mess of any person who had a busy life—newspapers on the table, a few items of mail out, a jacket thrown over a chair, that kind of thing.

Nothing there. The only thing on the wall was a big photo of some of our football players in action. (I rolled my eyes and tugged Sam on the shirt this time, as his eyes glazed over in admiration.)

He shook his head and grunted. "Bedroom." Our eyes met in mutual revulsion, but I reminded myself this was for Eric, and marched on ahead.

It actually wasn't that gross (although I definitely felt queasy for invading a person's private space.) Sam frowned.

"He's had sex with a vamp."

"What?" I glanced at the sheets and then away.

"Not here." Sam inhaled again. "It's in his laundry there."

We both looked at the offending hamper. "Are you sure he doesn't just know, or hang out with vampires?"

"Positive." Sam looked away. "There's a certain scent when they—well, it's just clear."

I felt my face redden and looked around the room.

"So, okay, he's been busy." I wish I knew with who, or whom, or whatever the hell it is, I thought to myself.

Sam isn't a telepath but he knew the point of what we were doing. "Stand back, Sookie." He leaned over the hamper and I turned my face away out of courtesy. In the past, I'd have happily checked out the display, but that wasn't right now, even if Sam had a pretty cute little caboose of his own.

Sam came up gingerly holding a pair of jeans and fishing at one part of them. I strained my eyes to see in the semi-lit room—"Oh, yuck."

Sam gave me a dark look and a nod as his fingers lifted a long hair from the fly. "Seems his friend is a blonde."

"Okay, a blonde." I fought down a gag reflex as Sam gently placed the jeans back in the hamper.

"A blonde vampire," Sam added, giving me a pointed look. I ignored him.

"How can we figure out her name?" I chewed my lip. "What do guys do, when they've got a crush or something?" Sam's face seemed stony, so I added hurriedly, "Don't you jot down your initials in hearts or something?"

" 'Fraid not, Sook." Sam chuckled softly. He started poking at the bed, lifting the edge of the mattress. "Your only hope is….nope." He set the mattress back down.

"What were you looking for? Do I want to know?"

Sam propelled me down to the bathroom (no luck: clearly one male occupant, from the lack of shower gel), and then back out to the kitchen. "Didn't you tell me once you'd found a stash of Jason's magazines?"'

"Oh, ick, yes." Jason had been sick once and like a good sister, I'd made him soup and tried to tidy up his house. That included remaking his bed, which led me to a horrifying visit from Jason's collection of dirty magazines. I'm not much of a drinker, but I sure had a few gin and tonics that night.

"And he put it…"

Grossed out as I was, it took me a second to realize what Sam meant. "Oh! There, yes." I paused. "So that's all guys' hidey-hole?"

"Not all, but a basic one, yes." I was tempted to ask him if he had stuff under his bed, but figured that wouldn't be appropriate. Particularly now, when he was giving me that soft smile that told me he'd be happy to let me look under his mattress any time.

I steered us hastily back to the topic. "Okay, so we know his, um, girlfriend is a blond vamp." Unless she dyed her hair, but vamp hair returned to its just-turned form so quickly that a dye wouldn't really hold for more than a day, I knew. Bill had told me this once when I had tried to ask him about his hair, which could alternately look very sexy or just plain awful. I always wondered if it was something to do with the vamping or some bad hair gene he had. I eventually had suggested a cut, he got all huffy, and then, well--

"Sook?" Sam's voice jerked me back to the present. "Got something for you here."

I followed Sam's voice to the kitchen table, where there was a check stub and some paperwork. "Your friend has a new job."

I leaned over the table and tried to memorize the information as quickly as possible—a placed called The Red Room. A letter left open on the table told us his employment was ready to begin; he results of a drug test had come back clean, with the exception of V, which was not prohibited. "Let the party begin," the welcome letter stated in clean, red script," and I wrinkled my nose.

"He works at a club? Oh, great." I didn't want to point out to Sam what had happened the last time I met this guy at a bar, but then again, I think Sam knew, from the look he gave me.

That look shifted abruptly as Sam's arm flew out, grabbing my shoulder. "Shit!" I heard nothing, but he was shoving me to the door. "Time to go!"

I went.

I dashed out into the backyard, Sam hot on my heels. I hovered, uncertain if I wanted to go back the way I came, or even if I wanted to go at all. Wasn't this why I was here, after all, to get some answers? Why run now?

Sam didn't give me a choice. He grabbed my wrist and hauled me to the nearby fence. Sam maybe smaller than Eric, but his wiry body is strong as iron. "Over!" he said, and in a flash, we'd both tumbled over the fenceline. I didn't get a moment to breathe—he'd grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me down the neighbor's yard, and then across another lot, before letting me slow.

We were a good few streets away from Jerry's now, as Sam let us slow down.

"What did you hear?" I managed. I'm in pretty good shape, but nothing like Sam, who was barely breathing hard. All of the running in his other form kept him pretty fit, I guessed.

"He was back." He stood there, waiting as I bent over at the waist, stretching my legs and catching my breath. "Wherever he was, he wasn't at work for the day."

"Makes sense—if he works for a club, it'd be open at night." I shot a regretful look backwards.

Sam caught that. "Don't you even get any ideas, Sook." His hands caught mine, turning me to face him. "Look, I know you want to shake down this guy for answers, but unless you're willing to go in there with a gun and are ready to use it on him, you're not ready to take this guy on yourself. Because that's what it is going to take to get him to give up the secrets of his woman, if he's any kind of a man." He squeezed my wrists. "I'm not saying you couldn't do it, if you had to." I closed my stinging eyes, trying not to think of Debbie Pelt. "But you're not the kind of girl to do that if you don't have to, is what I'm saying. And right now, you don't have to."

There wasn't much to be said after that—Sam led me down the block, following his tracking instincts. (I resisted the urge to make a crack about cheap GPS.) Not surprisingly, I found myself on the same street with the Batmobile (at which Sam sighed longingly) and Sam's car, parked right behind.

Sam apparently didn't trust me, because he followed me to the intersection before letting our cars part ways. And of course, just as I hit the road, my phone beeped.

Now, I might take a look at a message while driving my own car, but definitely not something this expensive. I ducked into a McDonald's and had a look.

I had a series of messages:

"I was bringing you ecstasy in a dream and am now awake and enraged. Why?"

A few minutes later:

"If there is a bruise anywhere on that skin of yours, I will see it."

And, oh, yes, a message from Eric's day man: "Mr. Northman wanted me to check in with you, make sure you had everything you needed…Call me, please."

I sighed. Damned bond. My extreme emotions today had done a number on my host. (I wondered briefly what he felt when I was PMSing, but he'd never mentioned anything, nor had he ever tried to push Midol on me out of the blue. And Lord knows, I'd never be one to ask him! Gran would have my hide before we'd talk about that!)

First things first, Eric: "I'm fine. Just getting a sweet tea."

He must've been awake, because he got back to me right away. "I want blood. Blood of whoever made you angry or fearful."

"That would be the IRS. Good luck with that."

Eric wasn't biting. At least, not my joke. "I do not need luck. Who dies tonight?"

I guess waking up early made him cranky. "Nobody, we can talk later."

Five seconds later—he must've been texting at vamp speed—I got my response: "Oh, we will, lover. We will."

I sighed and put down the phone. Yup, I was in trouble.

AN: The "Save A Horse" joke was inspired by the hilarious comments on the wonderful skarsgardnews dot tk blog.