“Meditation.” When she looked blank I said, “I use stone for meditation. It helps prepare me for a hunt.” I knew she had no idea what I was talking about. It sounded pretty lame even to me, and I had made up the lie. I’d have to work on that one.
Katie stood and so did I, setting aside my Coke. Katie had drained her foul-smelling libation. On her breath it smelled vaguely like licorice. “Tom will give you the contract and a packet of information, the compiled evidence gathered about the rogue by the police and our own investigators. Tonight you may rest or indulge in whatever pursuits appeal to you.
“Tomorrow, once you deliver the signed contract, you are invited to join my girls for dinner before business commences. They will be attending a private party, and dinner will be served at seven of the evening. I will not be present, that they may speak freely. Through them you may learn something of import.” It was a strange way to say seven p.m., and an even stranger request for me to interrogate her employees right off the bat, but I didn’t react. Maybe one of them knew something about the rogue. And maybe Katie knew it. “After dinner, you may initiate your inquiries.
“The council’s offer of a bonus stands. An extra twenty percent if you dispatch the rogue inside of ten days, without the media taking a stronger note of us.” The last word had an inflection that let me know the “us” wasn’t Katie and me. She meant the vamps. “Human media attention has been . . . difficult. And the rogue’s feeding has strained relations in the vampiric council. It is important,” she said.
I nodded. Sure. Whatever. I want to get paid, so I aim to please. But I didn’t say it.
Katie extended a folder to me and I tucked it under my arm. “The police photos of the crime scenes you requested. Three samples of bloodied cloth from the necks of the most recent victims, carefully wiped to gather saliva,” she said.
Vamp saliva, I thought. Full of vamp scent. Good for tracking.
“On a card is my contact at the NOPD. She is expecting a call from you. Let Tom know if you need anything else.” Katie settled cold eyes on me in obvious dismissal. She had already turned her mind to other things. Like dinner? Yep. Her cheeks had paled again and she suddenly looked drawn with hunger. Her eyes slipped to my neck. Time to leave.
CHAPTER 2
Okay, I was paranoid
“Where’dju hide the weapons?” Troll asked, his voice conversational.
I smiled as I slid into my jacket, not ignoring the barrel of the .45 pressed into my neck, but not reacting to it either. “You’re human. Sure you want to risk standing so close to me?”
I felt him hesitate and whirled. Set my head to the side of the gun. Knocked his right arm across his body with my raised right fist. Twisting my hand, I took his wrist and lifted. And slammed against his left shoulder with my left hand, forcing him to the floor. It took maybe a half second. Deep in my bones, I felt my Beast spit. This was fun.
“Not bad,” he said, his inflection still composed. I knew I’d been baited. Had known he would want to know if he could have taken me. “What discipline?”
He was asking what form of martial arts I studied. I thought a minute. “Dirty,” I said. He chuckled. I pressed down just a bit on his shoulder joint. “Put the weapon down.”
He placed the .45, a well-kept Smith & Wesson, on the floor and pushed it away. He could still get to it, but not before I hurt him bad. I took my weight off his shoulder and released his wrist, stepping back and setting my feet, balanced for his next move. But he didn’t make one. He stood and tucked his thumbs into his waistband, a surer sign of peace than palms out. Thumbs in meant he couldn’t strike out fast, while the universal gesture of peace was an easy way to mentally disarm an opponent and then kill him when he let down his guard.
“There’s a hapkido black belt, second dan, practices after hours in the back of a jewelry store on St. Louis. I’ll call in an intro if you want.”
“That’d be nice.” I waited, easing down a smidgen. Just enough for him to see it, but not enough to get sucker punched.
“Anything else I can do you for?” he asked companion-ably.
“Sure. Where can a girl buy a good steak for grilling?” Meaning where can I get good raw meat, but phrased in a socially acceptable way.
“Place I stocked your fridge from is the best. Thirty pounds of sirloin.”
This time I controlled my reaction. My love of animal protein wasn’t on my Web site. Not anywhere.
“I left directions to the butcher and a fresh market on your kitchen counter. Butcher delivers,” he said, “seafood, beef, any kinda bird, alligator”—my Beast perked up at that—“mudbug, veggies, you name it.”
“Mudbug?” I let a small smile cross my face, sure I was being baited again.
“Crawfish. Best steamed in beer, in my opinion. I left directions to eateries, too.”
“Much appreciated.”
He sighed and dropped his weight to one hip. I smothered my grin. “You’re not going to tell me where you hid the weapons, are you?” he asked.