Hunted By the Others. Jess Haines
La Petite Boisson. Remember that?”
Wow, go me. My voice didn’t crack or quiver even once getting all that out.
She chuckled, her crystalline blue eyes glinting with mirth. “Oh yes, I think I do. The one who knocked the mayor’s wife into the punchbowl, right?”
I smiled back, losing some tension. “That’s the one. Everything went backward for the White Hats after that. Poor, misjudged, minority vampires…”
“Yeah, I think she even kissed him on the cheek after for helping her up and making light of the whole thing. The tabloids loved it.” Sara’s expression hardened, and I braced myself for what I knew was coming next. “You know he’s still dangerous. I mean, Christ. Come on. A vampire?” An ominous, suspicious pause. “How exactly were you planning on meeting him anyway?”
I couldn’t help but redden a bit under her scrutiny. It doesn’t help that I blush easily with my pale skin, but the topic was making me more uncomfortable by the moment. “I was going to go in as a restaurant and nightclub guide reviewer or journalist. There’s a whole calendar of events on his website on when he makes appearances at his clubs. I figured it would be the best way to go in and get a chance to talk with him.”
She shook her head, frowning. I was about to protest, but she cut me off. “That will never work. He’s got press agents and marketing people to deal with the journalists. Not to mention his security. They’d spot you coming a mile away since you work that beat, and you’re more high profile after that thing at the Embassy. You may not have noticed since they usually leave us alone when we’re in his clubs, but that’s only because we generally don’t hassle the clientele.”
It was my turn to frown, more in consternation than anything. I’d thought the journalism thing was a stroke of genius on my part. “What do you suggest?”
She grinned at me in a way that suggested I really wasn’t going to like her idea. “Go exactly as you are. No pretenses.”
An incredulous laugh burst from my lips. “Are you kidding me? First, he’d laugh in my face before banning me. Second, what in the nine hells makes you think he’ll actually talk to me if I go now versus the other few hundred times I’ve visited his clubs?”
“Shia, don’t doubt me.” That know-it-all look somehow managed to get even more smug. “I know exactly how to do it.”
Chapter 3
The rest of the day seemed to take an age to creep by. I was inundated with paperwork to fill out from the last couple of runs I had done, so that kept me busy until a little past lunch. Afterward, Jenny wanted to crunch some numbers with me.
I usually let Sara do all of that, but she left after lunch to go do some recon on her latest mark, a charmingly lecherous teenager who’d run off from his parents about three weeks before. It wasn’t the first time he’d run away, but it was the first time he’d done it with a vamp. That the parents knew of. Seeing as how the parents were rabid White Hats (card carrying, with little antivampire legislation pamphlets they carried in their pockets—I kid you not) and the teen was a Goth, judging from his picture, this was neither surprising nor entirely unexpected. At least for Sara and me.
Since the boy was nineteen (and the parents were psychotic), the police didn’t give much of a hoot that he’d gone missing. They’d gone through the motions of searching after the missing persons report was filed, but that basically just meant an APB went out, some flyers were posted, and that’s about it. So now the kindly Mr. and Mrs. Borowsky waited until the trail was almost cold to set us on his tail.
Hence Sara’s bright idea for how I could meet Royce. I go in, ask around after the kid, ask for the management and whatnot. After all, he was the most influential vampire in the city. Almost every bloodsucker for three states had to clear their movements, purchases, political aspirations, and most important, who they “turned,” through Royce. If nothing else, he might at least be able to point the way to the sire of the vamp who ran off with the teen.
So now I had a perfectly legitimate reason to talk to him. The idea didn’t make me feel any better about it.
“Shia? Did you hear what I just said?”
Whoops. “Sorry, Jen, what’s that?” It took a real effort to actually concentrate on the figures in front of my eyes. I hate bookkeeping. Hate, hate, hate it.
“I was saying that two of our permits are due for renewal next week, and even with what you brought in on that deposit, we’re going to run shy unless we skip part of the rent or insurance payment. We’re really in the red here.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
Jenny sighed, turned, and pointed to the computer screen across the desk, jabbing a finger at a couple of figures on a spreadsheet column.
“See this? Between what you pay me, gas, electricity, and a few other things, we’re running at a loss. Hasn’t Sara been over this with you?”
I shook my head, ire rising. “How long have you known this? When did you first let Sara know?”
“After we almost failed to pay the rent about seven months ago. I don’t know how, but Ms. Halloway…” Oh God. If she was calling Sara “Ms. Halloway,” we were really screwed. “…dug up the money from somewhere and saved the day. She’s managed to scrape us out of a tough spot a couple of times. I’m sorry, I would’ve mentioned something sooner, but I thought you knew.”
Which meant Sara was dipping into her coffers to keep us afloat. Great.
One of the benefits to working with Miss Sara Jane Halloway was that her parents had been very successful in their investments in stocks and real estate before they were killed in a horrific accident—a drunk driver on the interstate who careened into theirs and three or four other cars—three years earlier. Sara and her younger sister, Janine, split the estate; it left both of them very, very wealthy.
It cheesed off Janine and the surviving relatives that, instead of carrying on the family tradition in real estate, Sara had partnered with me in this private investigations venture. Janine hadn’t taken up real estate either, but for some reason she expected Sara to pick up the slack and run everything.
Though she’ll never admit to it, I’m almost positive that pissing off her family was why Sara did it.
We first met five years ago in college; I was working on a degree in criminal justice, she was halfheartedly pursuing a joint business and corporate law degree. I was frantic to keep my grades up so I wouldn’t lose my scholarship. She was considering dropping out and taking an extended vacation in the Hamptons.
Since we had a few classes together, I helped her out and urged her to at least finish up the term. By the end of the following year, we both had our degrees and had cemented a friendship. I met her parents a handful of times when she invited me along to parties or other outings at one or another of her family’s properties. The parents were nice enough but the rest of her relatives kind of left me cold, especially the neurotic, whining Janine.
More often, I invited her over to my parents’ place—a little ramshackle house on a hill overlooking the Sound. It was tiny compared to what she was used to, but the warmth and affection my Irish-Catholic family showed her made her far more interested in going to my clan’s gatherings than her own.
While I loved it that Sara helped finance the start-up of this crazy idea of mine, I told her all along that if it didn’t look like we were going to make it financially, we’d have to just sell the biz and start something fresh. I didn’t want to be a burden or a freeloader. I hate being indebted to people.
She protested and bitched about it a bit, but in the end we came to terms. I even paid back most of my half of the start-up money she’d fronted me. A couple more takes like my latest and I’d have the balance paid off in no time.
I really didn’t relish the idea of selling the business, but I also didn’t want it to be said that I was a hanger-on to Sara for her money.