by E. A. Copen
Twenty minutes late for my meeting, I pulled my beat-up old Firebird up to the massive wooden gate at the end of a polished sandstone driveway and whistled. Lowering my head and pulling off my sunglasses, it was hard not to be impressed. The wooden gate was over two stories tall. It connected to a whitewashed wall topped with wrought iron tips, each one sharp enough to draw blood. It wasn’t razor wire, but it sure as hell was pretty discouraging. I mean that in the most literal way possible. It was literally pretty and discouraging to any would-be prowlers. The remote security cameras moving to focus on my face and license plates were overkill.
As soon as I pulled my car up to the gates to idle, the engine coughed, sputtered, and died. I cursed and tried to start her again. A dead car wasn’t out of the ordinary for me. She was a classic but she was always breaking down only to start fine the next day. Sometimes, a few choice words were enough to get her up and going again. This time she was going to have to cool off. The temp needle was all the way up at the top of the red bar.
The giant redwood gates opened inward on a gently curving private road of white sandstone lined on either side by stubby palm trees. Three bald Latino guys with goatees wearing earpieces, bowties, and suits stepped out from either door and approached my car. One tapped on the driver’s side window. The others took up a strategic place at the side and rear of my vehicle, blocking me in. They folded their hands one over the other and waited for me to just try to pull away. The way they held themselves, it was obvious they were carrying at least four guns.
I ignored them and rolled down my window. It creaked loudly as I turned the manual handle over and over to bring it down. Not knowing what else to say, I simply announced myself. “Special Agent Judah Black to see Kim Kelley.”
The guard at my window gestured down the road. “She’s expecting you. Bring your car down the lane and park to the side of the estate.”
I put my hand on the door handle and pulled it, intending to step out and explain to them my car had overheated. The minute they realized I was moving to get out, all three of them stiffened. The one closest to my door put a hand on the car, holding the door closed. “Do not exit the vehicle,” he commanded and then added, “for your own safety.”
“Uh…” I blinked. “Well, my car kind of overheated. I can’t drive it down the lane until it’s cooled off.”
The suit frowned at me, pressed a finger to his earpiece, and relayed the information. As if they were puppets on a string, the other two placed their fingers on their earpieces, too. After a moment, the first one said, “Confirmed. Stand down.” He gestured to me. “Miss, please exit the vehicle, keeping your hands visible and turn to place your hands on the hood of the car.”
My jaw fell open. “I’m just here for lunch. I’m not going to let you frisk me.”
“I can’t allow you on the premises without a search.” He pulled open the door and held it. “Please. No one wants an incident.”
I lifted my hands off the steering wheel where I’d placed them and held them up in a gesture of surrender as I got out of the car. Something black shifted on the roof of a smaller building ahead, and I thought I saw the glint of sun against metal. Holy hell. They had a sniper set up? Was this a house or a compound?
Urged by the goon in the suit, I turned around, spread my legs and placed my hands on the hood of the car. A decade or so before the Revelation, a little something known as Stop-and-Frisk was the talk of the nation. It was a practice whereby police officers stopped pedestrians who were doing nothing but going about their business to pat them down for contraband. People were up in arms mainly because it was minorities being targeted. The white male establishment argued it was better to be safe than sorry, especially given the level of violence in major cities at the time.
Clearly, they’d never been frisked.
It’s not just a gentle pat-down. Professionals can get through one pretty quick, searching up and down the ankles, inner and outer thighs, backside, ribs, and so on. A proper frisk also goes through the pockets, looking for small, easily concealed weapons. While I acknowledged it was necessary in certain situations to find and remove weapons, too often, when male officers took it upon themselves to pat down a woman, there was more behind the motive than a search for weapons.
But I wasn’t going to bust any heads so long as Brutus the Suit and his buddies kept it professional.
He pulled the nine-millimeter I kept at my hip, handed it off, and then kept looking. I rolled my eyes. “You know, if I wanted to hurt your boss, I don’t need a weapon. I’ve got magick, in case you haven’t heard.”
“You read auras,” said Brutus. “The Mistress’ mage is ten times the practitioner you are. And if you did try anything, you’d be dead before the thought finished crossing your mind.”
“Watch it, bud,” I said as his hands came around my front, patting my waist.
I let out a little curse as he found the silver stakes I kept on a special holster there. Well, “stake” wasn’t the right word, even though they’d function just fine for staking vampires. They were also useful for sticking angry werewolves, the large dose of silver often incapacitating them. A sharp stick made of pure silver was never not useful. That’s why I carried two.
Brutus found them and hesitated once he realized they were under my shirt. If I’d meant him any harm, his hesitation would have cost him. In the end, he tugged up my shirt, pulled the stakes free, and handed them to one of his assistant goons. Then, he used a meaty palm to tug me away from the car. He pointed down the walk. “Let’s go.”
I walked down the driveway, leaving my car behind, flanked on either side and behind by a suit. On the roof, the form I’d seen earlier stood up, revealing I’d been correct in assuming he was an expertly positioned sniper. Unlike the others, though, he wasn’t dressed in a snazzy suit. He was wearing a cap and tan, lightweight body armor, the kind I would have expected to see in the deserts of Afghanistan or Iraq rather than Texas. As he shifted, I was able to make out the emblem on his chest: a bright red fleur-de-lis.
I didn’t get too good of a look at him because the big house beyond the little guard post caught my eye. Two stories tall, the sprawling mansion was modeled after a Spanish hacienda, though it wasn’t as big or grand as the one I’d seen earlier on TV. Warm reds, vibrant blues, and pristine whites colored the roof, doors, and walkways. The main house was a perfect contradiction of curves and sharp angles, each one in an architectural tug of war against the other and yet somehow working along with it.
Brutus led me up to an arched entryway where we paused to radio ahead. While I waited, I noticed the windows were all fake. Oh, the glass was real enough but, behind each, there was only a walkway and not a whole house. The house proper was one of those custom-built homes, guaranteed to keep out every shred of UV light.
See, the old adage about vampires bursting into flames in the sunlight…Well, it wasn’t exactly true. They could go out but, depending on their diet and how long it had been since they last fed, most were extremely sensitive to sunlight. Even brief periods in the sun led to a sunburn. Extended exposure caused sun poisoning. But I’d never known one to burst into flames or die in the light of dawn. And, with a steady diet of human blood, they could sit out in the sun all day long with few adverse effects. Still, since there was no telling how long was too long, most vampires avoided sunlight altogether. Unless they had no other choice, vampires preferred a nocturnal lifestyle.
My guides moved forward and I went with them into the house. The inside was just as lavish as the outside. Narrow corridors ensured we were never more than one abreast, and copious windows facing the outside terrace guaranteed I was never out of a sniper’s scope. I saw a few more security guards inside with the same emblem on their chests, usually standing next to doors or patrolling hallways.
This must be the private security Robbie mentioned, I thought. Seemed odd she would surround herself with bodyguards if she wasn’t expecting trouble.
Brutus and company
led me to an arched doorway at the end of a second corridor. One of the security guys pushed the door open for me. He gave me an old-fashioned tip of his cap as I walked by. “Ma’am,” he said in the form of an acknowledgment.
The room beyond was a standard meeting room, much like the one I’d left behind at the precinct in Paint Rock…only nicer. The table was long and black with a polished glass top. Set in the middle was a high-end computer with a heads-up display projecting on a screen of rotating clear glass. The chairs were plush red and had armrests and a reclining feature.
At the head of the table sat a red-haired vixen with eyes of burning coal. She wore a smart-looking black blazer with a matching mini skirt and painful-looking heels. The blazer was buttoned once. She wasn’t wearing another shirt under it.
Next to her was a middle-aged woman with bifocals, a blue power tie, and a silk suit. She had a legal pad open in front of her, the page blank. Her black ballpoint pen tapped against the pages at an uneven pace. It was the little woman in the suit who rose to greet me, though, and not the sultry vampire next to her. She extended her hand to me. “Special Agent Black. I’ve heard so much about you. I’m Jenna Snyder of Snyder, Billings, and Rowan based out of Dallas. This is my client, Ms. Kelley.”
I frowned and stared down the vampire, ignoring her lawyer completely. “Guess I missed lunch, huh?”
The corner of Kim’s perfectly painted lips turned up.
I put my hands casually in my pockets. “Is the mouthpiece going to do all the talking, Kim, or can we just cut out the middle man and get this over with?”
“Don’t answer that,” the lawyer advised.
Kim ignored her. “This is the part where you tell me lawyering up makes me look guilty,” she said, leaning forward. She pressed her wrists together, shoving her elbows against her breasts as she practically threw herself on the table. “Go on and cuff me. I’ve been a very bad girl.”
I was smart enough to avoid looking at her directly. Remember that vampire cobra analogy? Well, Kim was the attractive cobra-like type, beautiful until you get close enough they can strike. Then you’re too dead to care.
“Gee,” I mused. “A confession, and I haven’t even gotten to the part where I get to play bad cop yet. A new personal best.”
“Oh, Judah,” she purred, drawing her body up. “I’d heard you had a sharp tongue.”
The lawyer tugged at the collar of her shirt and said in a shaky voice, “That wasn’t a confession. Ms. Kelley admits to no wrongdoing. Whatever it is you want to know, let’s get on with it.”
“Yes, let’s,” continued Kim. “Unless you’d rather do pleasure before business? I am famished.” She drew a pink tongue over her lips.
I jerked out the chair closest to me and sat down in it. “Can you account for your whereabouts last night?”
Kim chuckled. “So direct! I’ve always had a soft spot for a woman who knows what she wants.”
“Answer the question.”
“I was here,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “I didn’t go anywhere near the club, and dozens of my employees and guards will vouch for me.”
An alibi didn’t mean she was innocent. Someone with as many powerful ties as Kim had could blackmail or buy her way to an alibi if she wanted one. But no one had seen her at the club, and Robbie had bemoaned her absence. She wasn’t there, which meant she didn’t pull the metaphorical trigger. It didn’t mean she didn’t know who did.
“I had a look at your financials this morning,” I said.
“You need a warrant for that,” the lawyer protested, rising.
“Not when the information is freely given. Kim and Robbie have to report any business income on a quarterly basis to BSI. BSI tracks business income, looking for discrepancies. Hush money. Protection rackets. You’d be amazed at how stupid some criminals can be.”
I matched eyes with Kim, glaring at her as hard as I could. She pushed up her dimpled cheeks and gave a pleasant, warm smile in return.
“Aisling is hemorrhaging money,” I continued. “You owe a debt to both the Stryx and the Upyri, and it’s killing you. Is that why Crux and Harry rolled into town? I bet you were practically chomping at the bit to find a way out from under your debt.” She finally turned her head away. I thought I’d hit a nerve and so I pushed harder. “How’d you get in so deep, Kim? What happened at Aisling that meant you needed to take out massive loans from two rival clans? Do you know what could happen if they find out you’ve been taking money from both of them?”
“Nothing,” she said firmly, leaning back and crossing her arms.
“The Stryx and Upyri have been at each other’s throats ever since the Revelation. Your double-dealing, combined with this murder could be enough to send them over the edge. This could be war, Kim. There could be bodies. Vampire bodies.”
“Human bodies, too,” added Kim with a yawn. “Which I’m sure you’re actually much more concerned about.”
“The point remains. Help me clean this up. Helping me helps you.”
There was silence for a moment as she considered what I had said. Her lawyer leaned closer and the two of them had a short conversation in hushed tones before the lawyer sat back.
“Robbie and I opened Aisling with a loan from my father,” Kim said matter-of-factly. “Private parties and theme nights have kept the lights on, but the venture has always been in the red.”
“I’ve seen what you charge for a VIP membership,” I said, pulling out my notebook to make notes. “How is that even possible?”
“Well, let’s see. I pay my employees a living wage. I pay for their medical treatments, as the law requires. I pay for heat, lighting, water, props, clothing, computer equipment… And then BSI levies an astronomical fee I have to pay quarterly.”
“It’s a tax,” I corrected.
“A tax humans don’t have to pay.”
“Humans don’t drink blood. The tax pays for BSI services and equipment.” It also helped pay my salary but, as there was a disgruntled, tax-paying vampire in the room, I figured I’d better not bring it up.
Kim waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Call it what you like, I still have to pay it. Aisling usually loses money every month. Until a few months ago, I was able to make it up with personal funds.”
“What happened six months ago? Daddy cut you off?”
The vampire flashed her fangs at me. “My father cut his support from the Aisling venture after Robbie disobeyed a direct order to help you.”
Oops. I’d almost forgotten. During my last big case, my son had been kidnapped, and I forced Robbie to take me to a witness who could help. He’d been under orders at the time to wait until Marcus gave the all-clear. My clock had been ticking, though, and I all but tortured Robbie until he agreed to go against Marcus’ orders. I hadn’t had another option at the time.
“So, you managed to keep yourself afloat from savings for nine months or so,” I said. “And then the savings ran out. I get it. But why go to both the Upyri and the Stryx?”
“Two million dollars let me pay off the loan and all my creditors and gave Robbie all the cash he needed to upgrade some equipment and get his displaced fae set up with permanent housing.” She crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. “But the Stryx have bad blood with my family. Even though they were the richest clan, I couldn’t go to them. I asked the Upyris, who would only loan me half the sum I needed and at an insanely high interest rate.”
“Why didn’t you just turn them down?”
“I needed the money,” Kim said through clenched teeth. “Of course, what I didn’t know was Robbie had already gone to the Stryx and secured a loan for the full amount. I tried to return the money and cancel out the second loan, but they wouldn’t have it. Said I had to make one year’s worth of good faith payments before they’d consider taking any of it back.” She rolled her eyes. “If anyone’s to blame for this mess, it’s Robbie. He should have never meddled in my half of the business.” She leaned forward and pointed emph
atically at her chest with each word. “I handle the money. He handles the employees. That’s how it’s always worked. He’s the one that fucked it all up.”
Well, I thought. There was the source of the argument between Kim and Robbie. It didn’t do the investigation any good, but at least it explained why they were fighting.
“Killing Harry wouldn’t have gotten me out of my debt,” Kim remarked, relaxing. “And I didn’t even know the other girl who died. People were Robbie’s end of the business. So, I’ve got no motive, Agent Black, no means, as I don’t have any magick, and no opportunity, since I was here. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
The lawyer stood. “I think we’re done here. My client has answered all your questions and she has a very busy schedule to keep, so if you wouldn’t mind—”
“I’m not finished. I still have questions, and I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”
Kim’s lips trembled as she fought to keep from smiling. “My, aren’t you the confident one?”
The lawyer leaned in as if to whisper to her client, but Kim grabbed her by the suit jacket instead, lifting her out of the seat and forcing her to meet Kim’s gaze. “Why don’t you make like usual and finish early, Jenna?” Kim licked Jenna’s cheek.
The lawyer made a quiet sound and started to shake. Her eyes rolled back in her head. I turned away, doing my best to shut out the sounds of ecstasy the woman was making. Kim laughed, flashing white fangs, and cast the woman down to the floor and out of sight. It was a long moment before the lawyer could regulate her breathing again. On wobbly legs, she stood, adjusted her clothes without meeting my eyes, and hurried out of the room before Kim could do anything worse.
“You see,” Kim said as the door clicked shut behind the lawyer, “if I want something, I get it. If I wanted Harry dead, I wouldn’t have to be so dramatic. I’d just cut off his fucking head and be done with it.”
I cleared my throat. “But you and Harry did have some kind of deal?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, we did. Harry was a prick, but he was a high ranking Stryx. He and his cousin offered me a deal, a deal that is now void, thanks to what happened. Why do you think I have this security? Crux thinks I’m going to try to get out of the deal. But I know better than to cross the Stryx. My mother made that mistake. Do you want to know where she is now?”