by Ally Shields
Maurie’s was an undead hangout on State Street, an unassuming bar with one asset: pinball tables. Rita liked to play, and she liked to drink. Maurie’s had both. Ari read the sign on the front door advertising today’s 2-for-1 special. Bloody Marys. Go figure.
“Guardian, are you lost?” Rita threw out the challenge from a back table as soon as Ari entered the door. “Need someone to show you the way home?”
Rita always dressed like a hooker. Hell, maybe she was one, but a lot of vamps dressed in that come-hither way. Today she was all in red, from the spike heels to the silk blouse that dipped dangerously close to her navel and the matching leather skirt that barely covered her thighs if she tugged hard. She lounged in a chair, one long leg crossed over the other, revealing a good bit of skin. She sipped a tall, reddish drink that Ari assumed was a Bloody Mary, vampire style.
“Now, Rita, be nice,” Ari said without rancor. She felt the watchfulness of other vampires as she crossed the room. Ari swiveled a chair from Rita’s table and straddled the seat. “Maybe I’m here to see how you are. Chat with an old friend. You taking a drink break from your hard play at the machine?”
Rita snorted. “Yeah, sure. What do you want?”
So much for small talk. “Know a vamp named Vince or Victor?”
Rita frowned, uncrossed her legs, and squirmed in her seat. “Know lots of dudes. Why you askin’?”
“Just want to talk with him. About his girlfriend, Angela.”
“Don’t know Angela.”
“Didn’t ask you that. I’m looking for the dude.”
They wrangled back and forth awhile. First Rita didn’t know him, then she might, finally let it slip his name was Victor. Rita leaned forward, more guarded now. “I’m no snitch. It ain’t healthy to be askin’ about people. Why you buggin’ me? Go bother somebody else.”
“Just tell me where I can find him.”
Rita got a mulish look on her face and stared across the room.
Ari knew how to play the game. “Got all night. I’ll just sit here until you tell me where to look.” Ari could tell Rita knew something, and she’d eventually give in. Just a matter of time.
The bartender, openly eavesdropping while he polished glasses, and probably anxious to avoid a disturbance, cut short their fun. “You don’t find Victor, little lady, he finds you.”
Ari cut her eyes to him and stood. “Fine. Then you can tell him he needs to find me—tonight.” She crossed to the bar, laid a card with her name and cell number on the counter. “If not, I’ll be back after midnight to ruin your business again.” Ari swung her gaze around the room to make her point. During her visit, the room had cleared, except for three die-hards at the bar.
Ari made the rounds of a dozen other pubs on and near State Street. As usual, they were doing a brisk business; it was always party time in Olde Town. The barkeeps denied any knowledge of Victor, but she didn’t believe them—too many furtive looks among the local patrons. After returning to the street from one of these unsuccessful stops, she stood on the street corner, deciding where to go next.
Her cell rang. Caller ID unknown. The time showed six minutes to midnight. He’d cut it close.
“You looking for me?” The male voice was deep, no inflection, unfamiliar.
“Depends. Are you Victor?”
“Yes.”
A man of few words.
“We need to talk. About Angela.”
He took his time before answering. “I heard she’s dead.”
“Why don’t you meet me, and we’ll talk about it?”
He ignored her question and posed one of his own. “What happened to her?”
“Murdered. Lots of blood and gore. Not pretty,” she said. “Now can we meet?”
A tourist couple with cameras and maps edged past, avoiding contact, as Ari’s words added to their night of cheap thrills in Olde Town. She wished Victor was half as intimidated.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
She gritted her teeth. “Look, Victor, I tried polite, but this isn’t a request. You’re wanted for questioning in a murder case. We can do this one of two ways. Meet with me now, or I haul your ass to the police station.”
He barked out a laugh. “You think you can do that?”
“Yes.” Ari examined her nails and waited. She heard a murmur of voices on the other end of the line.
“Club Dintero. Twenty minutes,” he said. Before she could react, she was listening to a disconnect tone.
Fine. She could do this on his turf, for now. Club Dintero. Where had she heard…? Oh, damn. Claris’s supper club with the vampire singer. This just got better and better. Ari didn’t believe in coincidences any more than other cops. She was getting that itch between the shoulder blades that cops feel every time they walk into an unsecured scene.
Five minutes later she stood across the street from a one-story, white building set in a quiet area three blocks off State Street. Elaborate fixtures, clean lines, discreet sign in black script, a dark red canopy over the entrance. A doorman in formal black attire stood on the stoop. As Claris had said, fancy.
She called Ryan. He was off duty for the night but still in his car driving home.
“Ari, just going to call you. Reached our boy Wesley Simpson. He’ll be at the PD by 9:00 tomorrow morning. You coming?”
She stifled a groan at the thought of another early morning. “I’ll be there. Right now I’m going to interview our vampire suspect. Name’s Victor. I’m at Club Dintero, one of the vamp supper clubs. Victor chose the location.”
“Want me to come? I could be there in fifteen.”
“Not this time. I wanted you to know where I was, in case things go south. Back me up or bail me out if I need it.”
“You sure about this? If you’re not comfortable, maybe there’s a good reason.”
“Yeah, but what’s he going to do in a public place? If I bring a human cop, it would probably spook him.”
Ryan’s sigh came through the phone. “OK, I get it. Call if you need me. And call when you leave too. Whatever time it is, call me.”
“Will do.” Picturing him taking that call from his comfy bed, bare-chested, in cute little boxers or less, put a smirk on her face.
She glanced at the club entrance, then down at her glossy, kick-ass boots. She nodded to herself. Yep, good idea or not, she was ready to make this happen.
She marched up the steps. The doorman opened the door without blinking an eye or asking for an ID. That put a kink in her bravado. She was expected by club management. Not a good sign.
She stepped inside, alert for any sign of trouble. The classy surroundings were reassuring. The interior of Club Dintero was as elegant as the curb view: rich, warm cherry wood and leather in every direction. The main dining room was filled with secluded booths and alcoves along the walls, tables in the middle. Every booth was angled toward a spotlighted stage. At the mic, a pretty blonde vamp in a green, sequined gown crooned a sultry love song. Lighting was muted, mostly candlelight, which ensured the guests had privacy and intimacy. The subtle fragrance of sandalwood, emitted by the candles, added a sensual touch. Definitely a date den.
A hostess approached. The vamp’s jet-black hair hung straight to her waist. She made no attempt to hide the scowl that stated Ari wasn’t welcome. The woman motioned for Ari to follow and proceeded to thread her way through the dining room without a backward glance.
Surprised once again, Ari followed her without comment. Even though Guardians aren’t required to surrender weapons, she had expected them to ask somewhere along the way. It was standard in any club, human or magic. She took the lapse as further proof they already knew her identity. Victor had chosen a setting that was far from neutral. Ari grimaced. Probably the same conclusion the Christians reached at the entrance to the Coliseum.
Victor sat alone at a table for four. He was big. Six foot, 230 or more, and wearing expensive dark-brown leather from head to toe. He sat stiffly, staring straight ahead as they approa
ched. The eyes he turned toward her were slitted, reptilian, until he chose to present a polite smile. He rose and pointed to a chair.
“Victor?” she asked.
When he nodded, she pulled out her badge. “Arianna Calin, Guardian.” She moved to the seat directly opposite him, where a low partition partially protected her back. She began the interview as soon as they were seated. She went over the basics first, asking him to state his name and how he could be reached. When they came to his employment, Victor’s answer explained her reception.
“Dining room host, Club Dintero.”
Ari’s head jerked up, and she met his flat, obsidian gaze. He smirked at her. She scanned the room, wondering if they were being watched. Hell, of course they were being watched. The staff would be protective of the boss.
Not that Victor looked like he needed protection. The rugged features and broad, athletic build might be considered attractive, in a dead guy kind of way. Unlike Andreas, Victor’s predator side was barely hidden. She half expected him to flick out a forked tongue to smell her. Based on the age of the victim, he looked older than expected, probably forty or better at transformation. His lack of humanity told her that had been decades ago.
A waiter stopped to offer drinks, which they both declined. This wasn’t a social event.
“Tell me about your relationship with Angela Raymond.”
“What happened to her? You said she was murdered.”
“You tell me,” Ari countered. “Did you see her last night?”
“No. And I don’t know what happened. If I knew, why would ask? Don’t bandy words, Guardian. Just get on with it.” His voice had a biting edge.
Ari’s back stiffened as she bit back just as hard. “She was beaten, her legs and arms broken. Covered with bites and claw marks. Her head was nearly ripped off. No human did that. It was someone very like you.”
Victor sprang to his feet, slammed both hands on the table, and bent forward, looming over her. His chair crashed to the floor. “You bitch,” he snarled under his breath.
At the first flicker of movement, Ari had shoved her chair back, out of his reach. Her eyes locked with his, and she eased upward, leaning toward him. It put them almost nose to nose. Close enough to inhale his citrusy scent. When Ari didn’t shift her gaze from his, Victor’s eyes widened at her boldness. She knew he would try to bespell her. This was a guy who wanted control.
Ari was prepared for the magical assault on her defenses. She simply stared at him, waiting for it to be over. His eyes slitted; the muscles on his jawline tightened. His magic grew strong, but she’d met stronger. “Sit down, Victor. This display isn’t helping your case.”
She felt the stillness in the dining room. How much trouble was she in? Not from Victor, but Otherworld power was all around her. The staff would be on his side, and regulars would know him. There could be a hundred vampires in the club, and an equal number of innocent humans. Fighting her way out wasn’t a good option. She kept her eyes glued to the furious vamp and mentally inventoried the magic items in her pocket. Nothing helpful. No disguises or disappearing powder. Things were about to get sticky.
Chapter Seven
“Is there a problem?”
Ari froze, recognizing that compelling voice the instant he spoke. Andreas De Luca stood next to their table, his gaze moving lazily between them as if confronting two squabbling children. His distinctive magic brushed against her skin, raising her awareness. Could things get any worse?
Victor’s reaction to Andreas was immediate. He stepped back, dropping his hands. “No, no problem,” he said through his teeth. “Sorry, Andreas. She accused me of something I didn’t do.”
“Actually, I didn’t. I said it was somebody like you.”
Victor shrugged and put his public face back on. Obviously he wasn’t going to fight with the other vampire present. He looked at Andreas again. “Guess I overreacted.”
Andreas produced a slight smile. “Then I trust the interruption is over,” he said oh-so-smoothly. He motioned to the stage, and the music that had stopped when Victor’s chair fell started again. Guests averted their eyes and resumed their dinner or drinks. When neither Victor nor Ari moved, he added, “I assume this meeting is concluded.”
“Then you assume wrong,” Ari retorted. She heard how bitchy she sounded and tried to moderate her voice. “I need more than a simple denial from you, Victor. Like I said before, either here or downtown.”
Andreas sighed. “Perhaps we should be seated if this conversation is to continue. And take a moment to, ah, regroup, so to speak. You will not mind if I join you?” He made it a question, but he didn’t wait for a reply. He held Ari’s chair, waiting for her to sit again. “Ms. Calin, it is nice to see you.”
She couldn’t figure out why he wanted to join them. Was Victor a friend? If so, maybe Andreas could keep him under control. He couldn’t make things much worse. Either way, she was curious enough not to object. His reasons would surface soon or later, and they might have some bearing on her case.
“Mr. De Luca.” She responded to his civility with a short nod.
“You two know each other?”
Victor’s tone struck her as suspicious. Weird reaction to a co-worker. “Not really,” she said.
“We have met.” Andreas continued to hold her chair.
When Ari sat, his fingers lingered on the back of the chair long enough to brush her shoulder. A warm quiver shot across her back. Damn him. Ari wasn’t sure whether the contact was deliberate or not, but it certainly kept her aware of his presence.
Victor picked up his overturned chair and squared off like a prize fighter assuming his corner. Andreas sat between them and signaled the waiter.
“I have found that discussion flows more productively when you observe the social graces,” he said to no one in particular. To the waiter he said, “Antonio, bring us a bottle of Chianti and whatever else my friends desire.”
A little irked by his presumptuous manner, Ari ordered black coffee and resigned herself to something dull and tasteless. After all, what could vamps know about a decent brew?
“Have you been in our club before?” Andreas asked. When she said she hadn’t, he launched into an explanation of its menu and nightly entertainment that lasted until the waiter returned with their drinks.
At least the coffee smelled good. Ari took a tentative sip. Caught unprepared by its excellence, she shut her eyes for an instant and drank in the flavor and aroma. The smooth warmth of a tropical Jamaican sun slid down her throat. Catching herself, she shot a peek at Andreas and found him watching her with amusement.
“Special blend,” he murmured.
Ari pretended not to hear him.
Andreas was different tonight. The playful, taunting guy in jeans from Goshen Park was gone. This evening, he was the elegant vampire, aloof sophistication and dark mystery. Black Armani suit, black shirt with the mandarin collar open and flipped to one side. He looked good enough to turn heads, and he did. Ari noticed the way women glanced in his direction, as if they couldn’t help themselves.
While drinks were served, Andreas continued his light, one-sided chatter about the club, the singer, the crowd tonight. Victor worked on a dark drink with aromatic spices called Sweet Death.
Preparing to resume the interview as soon as the waiter left, Ari tapped an impatient toe.
Andreas beat her to it. “I understand why you’re here, Ms. Calin. We heard about Angela’s unfortunate death. I am sorry for it. I believe you have questions. How can we help?”
Ari wasn’t about to let him control the questioning. He’d been playing lord of the manor for several minutes, and it was time to put his lordship on the sidelines. She set her coffee down. “That’s a good question, Mr. De Luca. Since you chose to join us, I’ve been wondering why I’ve run into you twice in the last week. And both times the circumstances were…less than ideal.”
“Fate, I believe.” He tipped his glass in a slight toast. “Fate sometimes takes a
hand in our lives, whether we welcome it or not.”
“Smooth answer, but not very informative. What’s your interest in this interview?”
“My interest? But, of course.” His manners were unruffled. “Perhaps I should have clarified that earlier. I am the managing partner of Club Dintero. Victor is my employee, and Angela was a regular guest. My immediate concern, however, is preventing a repeat of the earlier disturbance. Does that qualify as sufficient interest?” He spread his hands as if offering his statements for inspection.
“Fine.” She gave him a hard look. “You can stay if you like, but Victor needs to answer my questions. Without your help.”
“Of course.” Andreas gave her a single nod as his magic curled around her for an instant. “I will confine myself to the role of a referee, as you might say.” He leaned back and crossed his arms.
Ari ignored him. Or tried. It was almost impossible when his energy kept seeping over her, like a feather brushed across her skin.
She turned her attention to Victor. “I still need to know about your relationship with Angela. Where and how did you meet?”
Victor dropped his gaze to his drink, as if the answers might be there. “She came to the club with a group of young human females about a year ago. Just more of the thrill-seekers we get. They sit down front, drink a lot of the fruity martinis, and talk with the performers. I keep them from interrupting the show or getting too noisy.”
Ari got the picture. All the Otherworld clubs had their human groupies, teen girls like Angela, some as young as thirteen, dressed like they were thirty and carrying fake IDs. Underneath the veneer, they were unsophisticated, emotionally vulnerable, and all too available for sex. She couldn’t quite see their appeal to an experienced vampire like Victor.
“I hardly talked to her before the night she came in with a black eye. Her face was all made up, but you could see it.”
“When was that?” Ari interrupted.