“I just came to get the gun.” He smiled at me. “My crew is extremely concerned that we might lose the silver bullets.”

“Mercy,” said Tony. “If you are okay, I don’t need to know about any gun I might have to include in my report.”

“We’re fine,” I told him. “Adam’s here.”

“Yeah,” said Tony wryly after a quick glance at Adam. “I think you’re safe enough, Mercy. I’ll get back to work.” He opened the door. “You sure you don’t want me to talk to Sylvia?”

“I’m sure,” I said. “This is easier. Better.”

“All right.” He left, and there were still too many people in the room.

“So now that the cops are gone, are you going to tell me what this morning was all about?” Heart asked. “Why someone would get us all the way out here from California to play an elaborate practical joke that could have gotten people killed?”

“No,” said Adam.

Heart took two steps forward and stood over Adam. “What did your errand boy go chasing after across the street?”

Before I could mention that threatening a werewolf was a little rash, Adam had the bounty hunter pinned against the door, with a forearm across his throat. Heart was taller, bigger, and more obviously muscled—but he wasn’t a werewolf.

“Not your business,” said Adam in a low, hungry voice.

“He’s not the enemy,” I told Adam. “Don’t kill him. And, Mr. Heart, if you are going to hunt werewolves, you ought to do your homework. Don’t try threatening an Alpha. They don’t like it.”

Adam increased the pressure against the bounty hunter’s throat, but Heart, after an abortive effort to break free, quit struggling.

Adam took a step back, opening and closing his hands several times—maybe to shake off the desire to hit the bounty hunter. When he turned his back on Heart, I think everyone took a relieved breath.

“I’m as upset as you are,” Heart told Adam. “Daphne… My producer is missing. She’s a good person. Someone gave her that file and had her send me after you. She’s not in her office, she’s not answering her phone, and her housekeeper hasn’t seen her for three days. And I don’t even know where to look.”

Adam sighed and stretched his shoulders to relieve the tension. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know who planned this or why—or even if I was the real target. Give me your card. If I find out something that might help, I’ll get in touch.”

“Is your producer fae?” I asked him. Adam put his hand on my shoulder—a clear signal I should shut up. He didn’t want me making Heart curious. I was more worried that he might know something that we needed—something that might tell us if the intended victim was Adam.

“No,” Heart said. “Why? Do the fae have something to do with it?”

“Not that we know of,” said Adam.

“Then why ask about fae?”

“You sound a little too certain that your producer isn’t a fae,” observed Ben.