“I’m just a detective, but I tend to take the sex crime cases. I’m pretty good at sniffing out the perpetrator.”
“Figuratively?”
Faline grinned. “Literally. Lust is a scent to me.” She eyed me appreciatively. “In fact, you smelled of it this morning.”
“I did not!”
She turned back to her work. “Yep, you did. My nose doesn’t lie.”
When it was clear the conversation was over, I wandered back to my desk to find Sawyer watching me.
“What were you doing?”
“Just being friendly,” I said with a shrug.
“Well, if you’re done being friendly, we have to go and see a contact of mine.”
“Who is it?”
“He. And his name is Alistair de Champ. He’s a vampire in the local kiss who’s agreed to see us.”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s one in the afternoon.”
“Aware of the time,” he said dryly. “Alistair is very old and doesn’t sleep as long as the younger vampires.”
Damnit, there was so much I didn’t know. I filed that nugget of information away, then said, “Alright, where are we meeting him?”
“His house. Don’t forget Reaver.” I glared at the weapon lying inert on my desk. “You’ll want it,” he added.
“Alright, thanks for that ominous warning.”
With a sardonic smile, he tipped an imaginary hat at me, and my middle finger twitched. I swiped the sword from my desk and willed it away.
Six
Sawyer insisted on driving my truck this time, and I let him, only because I didn’t know where I was going. Also, my hands were shaking so hard at the prospect of meeting a vampire that I probably would’ve crashed into a fiery ball of flames.
Mondays sucked.
“Why aren’t there any squad cars for this department?”
“Supernaturals see red and blue flashing lights, and they’re more likely to disappear. If we drive unmarked cars, we improve the odds of not scaring them away.”
Well, that made sense. I guessed.
I counted to ten, then asked, “Tell me more about Alistair?”
He gave me a sidewise glance. “He’s old and enjoys drinking from annoying human females with teal hair who run their mouths. Need to know anything more?”
I swallowed hard. “Nope. I’ll just be over here repainting that target on my back.”
He chuckled, and the sound was a shot of lust to my lady parts. Holy wow.
“Alistair has been my informant for a few years now.”
“A few years? But supes have only been out for six months.”
“True, but I was a PI for a decade before we all came out of the closet. I investigated cold cases that smelled of supernaturals.”
“A decade? How are you any older than me?” He looked like he’d barely hit twenty-five.
“My species reaches maturity at around the age of twenty-three to twenty-five. After that, we stop aging, even though we gain years.”
“Do I even want to know how old you are?”
“Probably not. It’ll make you feel bad about yourself.”
“Anyway, you’re old, and we’re going to see a contact of yours.”
“Yes. He’s a little different to most vampires. For one, he doesn’t live with his kiss, although he is still a member of it.”
“How does that work?”
“He’s old enough to live alone. He can control himself, won’t kill humans when he feeds—”
“Gross,” I interjected.
“In return for his independence, Alistair pays a stipend to his mistress, Roxanne Monroe.”
“Cool name. Does he know we’re coming? Does he know I’m human?”
“Yes and yes. Don’t worry. He has fantastic impulse control.”
“I am all a flutter with confidence,” I retorted bitterly.
After that, I shut up. I just watched as Sawyer smoothly drove my truck through to the most elite area of Buxton. Here, all the houses were set back from the curb. Elaborate gardens and fountains introduced the house before you got there, and as we made our way up the driveway, I balked at the gardeners working furiously in said gardens.
“Do they know who their boss is?” I jerked my chin in the direction of the slave labor force.
“I’m sure they have an inkling, although I’ve never asked them outright.”
“They’re not…possessed like little Jack Sullivan was?”
He flashed me a grin. “Nope. These people are just from a gardening service. As you can imagine, it’s not like Alistair can come out and prune the roses himself.”
“Lazy as fuck?”
I got a chuckle out of him this time. “Photosensitivity.”
And another one of my life-long theories was put to bed.
He parked in the turning circle, and I got out of the truck, inhaling deeply. I didn’t know what to expect. Maybe decay and death and bodies, but all I smelled was the crisp autumn air and freshly mowed grass. I looked at Reaver propped up in the foot well. It had slowly come back into view on the trip over here. I reached for it, then shook my head. I didn’t need to make it some security blanket for myself. Mostly because it wasn’t the soft and fuzzy cuddling variety. I shut the door and turned toward the house.
It was a gray marble monolith, a true tip-of-the-hat to British manor houses. A blocky ‘C’ shaped structure, there were long rectangular windows on both the upper and lower levels, each of them dressed in white gauzy material. Large topiaries filled the inside of the right-angled curve, all clipped and trimmed to within an inch of their lives. On the other side of the turning circle was a large fountain with Pan—the Greek God of the Wild—spewing water out of his pan flute.
The sun was warm on my face, and I took a moment to soak it in. While I was getting my shot of vitamin D, Sawyer knocked on the door. Having had my fill, I stood beside Sawyer under the large black wrought iron awning over the entrance way.
When the front door eventually opened, I yelped, but resisted the urge to dive behind Sawyer’s legs and hide…
Because that would be unprofessional.
The impeccably dressed butler ran his eyes over me in disinterest. “Master Sawyer. How nice to see you.”
“Hey, Charlie. Is his lordship around?”
What, like he was out back sunbathing?
“He’s playing billiards in the games room. He’s expecting you.”
Sawyer stepped
