One Foot in the Grave

We didn’t talk again until we parked at the club. Even over the pounding of the music, I heard the heartbeats inside. Lots of them.

“Why hasn’t the club been evacuated?”

“No bodies, Commander,” Cooper said. “Just someone saying they saw a woman struggling with some blood on her neck. Then the woman disappeared. Don didn’t want to make the vamp suspicious if he’s still here.”

Cooper had exceeded my expectations of him. Since that horrible afternoon at the cave, he never questioned my orders again. He still called me a freak to my face, but that didn’t bother me. Now it was more like, “You’re a freak, Commander. Come on, men, you heard the bitch! Move! Move!” He could call me any name in the book as long as he showed that same dedication.

“And the rest of the team is standing by?”

This was the most half-assed approach to a potential murder we’d ever taken. The guys weren’t even properly suited up. They probably figured this was bullshit since the 911 caller had sounded drunk. It wouldn’t be the first false alarm we’d received. Or the fiftieth.

“Querida, let’s just go inside and check it out,” Juan said, impatient. “If it’s nothing, drinks are on me.”

Sold. Without further complaint I pulled my coat on and we headed for the door. The May evening wasn’t cold, but the trench coat concealed my weapons. The guys let me enter first as always, and as soon as I crossed the doorway, I knew it was a trap.

“Surprise!” Denise screamed.

The word was repeated by several members of my team as well as the two dozen male employees of what was clearly a strip club.

I blinked stupidly. “My birthday was last week.”

She laughed. “I know that, Cat! That’s why your party is a surprise. You can thank Tate; he’s the one who planned the fake job as a setup to get you here.”

I was overwhelmed. “Is Noah here?”

Denise snorted. “At a strip club? No. You can bet I didn’t invite your mother, either!”

The very thought of my mother inside a male strip club made me laugh. She would have run screaming out the door.

Tate came up behind me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Cat,” he said softly.

I hugged him. Only then did I realize how much our recent estrangement had upset me. He and Juan were like the brothers I never had.

Juan pulled me into his arms from behind. “Denise hired me to be your gigolo for the night. You tell me how many orgasms you want, and I promise to deliver. I’ll give you a whole new definition of the term smooth criminal, querida. Mmm, your ass feels like a round piece of-ooof!”

Tate’s elbow in his rib cage cut him off. I rolled my eyes.

“I’m still armed, Juan. And you still have time left on your sentence for chopping cars. You might want to remember that.” Then I looked over some of the heads and spotted another familiar face. “Is that Don? How did you get him to come to a place like this?”

Don approached me, looking about as comfortable as my mother would have.

“Happy belated birthday, Cat,” he said, giving me a self-deprecating smile. “Aren’t you glad Juan picked the place and not me? We would have had lattes and hors d’oeuvres instead of liquor and G-strings. Anyone get you a gin yet?”

“Here,” Denise chirped, handing me a tall glass. She smiled at Don. “You must be her boss. You look just like I pictured you.”

“You must be Denise. My name is Don, but don’t remember it. You’re not supposed to know about this.”

She waived an airy hand. “If it makes you feel better, I’m going to get so drunk that I won’t even remember my own name later. How’s that for security?”

He gave me a wintry smile. “I can see why the two of you get along.”

“Where’s the birthday girl?” a buff young man in a leopard thong cooed as he approached.

“Right here!” Denise said immediately. “And she needs a lap dance, stat!”

“Don’t worry, Daddy, I’ll take good care of your girl.” The stripper grinned at Don.

I almost choked on my gin. “He’s not my father,” I corrected at once.

“No? You have the same look, sugar. All stiff shoulders and sharp eyes. I’ll fix you up, gorgeous, but you”-he winked at Don-“I’ll send Chip over to fix you.”

Denise started to laugh. Don looked even more ill than he did when he’d been mistaken for my father.

“If you need me, Cat,” he grated, “I’ll be in the corner. Hiding.”

The club closed at three A.M. Don had kindly arranged for the carpooling for the rest of my team, but even with the drum of gin I’d consumed, I was still sober enough to take Denise, Juan, and Tate home.

Since Tate was the closest to my house, he was my last stop. He gamely tried to walk to his door, but his feet kept getting away from him. Out of amused frustration, I ended up carrying him inside. Thankfully he’d taken his key out so I didn’t have to frisk him to find it.

For all the times he’d been to my house, I’d never been in his. The interior of the single-story home was clean enough to make a drill sergeant happy. He didn’t have any pets, not even a goldfish, and his walls were bare of any artwork. When I got to his bedroom, it was more of the same. No decorations, just a single TV, and I could have bounced a quarter off his bed, but after hefting Tate onto it and tugging his shoes off, I wasn’t in the mood.

He had a picture on his nightstand. It was the only one I’d seen in the whole house, so I looked at it curiously. It was of me, to my surprise, and not one I’d posed for. I was half turned away from the camera at a crime scene, of all things. He must have snapped it while he was photographing the bodies.

“Why do you have this?” I wondered out loud, not really expecting an answer.

Tate mumbled something that might have been my name, and with a suddenness I didn’t believe him capable of in his condition, grasped me and pulled me down on top of him.

I was so stunned I didn’t move. Tate kissed me, his mouth warm and tasting like alcohol while his lips moved over mine hungrily. He pushed past my lips and scoured the inside with his tongue. When he reached for the front of my pants, I finally reacted.

“Stop it,” I snapped, and shoved him back so hard, his head bounced off the headboard.

Tate breathed heavily, his dark blue eyes glazed from inebriation and other things.

“You ever wanted something you couldn’t have?” he asked roughly.

I was speechless. Over four years of nothing but a platonic relationship, and now here was Tate looking at me in a way that would put Juan’s most lustful leer to shame.

He gave a humorless laugh and ran a hand through his short brown hair.

“Shocked? You shouldn’t be. I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you in that hospital bed, looking like a goddamn angel with your red hair and your big gray eyes. Yeah, I’m drunk, but it’s true anyway. Maybe I won’t even remember this in the morning. You don’t have to worry. I can handle things the way they are. I just had to kiss you tonight, no matter what happened afterward.”

“Tate, I…I’m sorry.” What else could I say? I must have had way too much to drink, too, because he had never looked as attractive as he did now, with that almost dangerous glint in his eyes. Denise had always said he was a dead ringer for Brad Pitt in Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

He smiled wryly. “You can hear my heart pounding, can’t you? When I drank that blood in Ohio, I could hear yours. I could smell you on my hands.”

“You’re my friend.” My voice quavered a bit, because the rawness in his face alarmed and-on a baser level- aroused me. “But we work together. I can’t give you more than that.”

He blew out a sigh through his nose and nodded shortly. “I know you don’t feel the same way about me. Yet.”

That single word made me draw back and head toward the door. It was too loaded with meaning for me to stay another minute.

“Answer me one thing before you go. One thing, and tell me the truth. Have you ever been in love?”

This stumbled me and I sputtered my reply. “Tate, I-I don’t think this is something we should discuss-”