Blood Trade jy-6 Read online

  Getting away from Leo Pellissier’s binding would do me even better. Maybe when I got back from Natchez, my Beast and I could find a way to free Beast from the clutches of the MOC. Or maybe I’d just behead the fanghead and be done with it.

  I chuckled softly at the thought and waved away the curiosity on the faces of the two guys. “Never mind. We should hear something this morning, but go ahead and pick up anything you need for your arsenal,” I said to Eli, my tone wry. Eli believed that one never had enough guns. To the Kid, I added, “Generate a list of electronic gear we might need. Start with throwaway phones and some com units that can’t be listened in on. Unlike most of the Deep South, Natchez has some underground areas, and since we’ll likely be tracking down vamp lairs and taking them down by daylight, we’ll need equipment that will either penetrate belowground or allow us a work-around.”

  The two guys shared a look while I chewed on another piece of bacon. It was one of those guy looks that seems to suggest the little lady needs protecting or maybe is on the stupid side. “What?” I said, irritated.

  “Natchez might be a problem,” Eli said. “It’s out of state.”

  I stopped chewing. “Well, crap.” I hadn’t thought about that. The Kid was a convicted felon, on probation, and though we had gotten permission once to take him across state lines, the resulting shoot-outs had not gone unnoticed. Things would likely be harder now. Before the Younger brothers came to work for me, Alex had hacked into the Pentagon, looking for his brother’s war records, hunting for clues about the origin of the scar and the reason for Eli’s early military retirement. And had gotten caught. Now Big Brother wanted to keep an eye on him. “Even if it’s for legitimate work?” I asked.

  “I know a judge,” Eli said, grudgingly. “I’ll see if I can get some help with the parole board in allowing him over the state line into Mississippi.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I sopped up the grease on my plate with a piece of bread and realized the guys were still looking at me. “What else?”

  “Nothing,” the Kid said, applying himself to his eggs.

  “It’s just good to have you back,” Eli said blandly.

  And then I got it. I swallowed, drank some tea, poured some more, and said carefully, “You guys were planning on leaving.” I felt Beast wake up and listen in, ear tabs twitching.

  The Kid blushed and concentrated on his plate. “We talked about it,” Eli said easily. “We need a job. We figured we could pick up something farther north, but still in state. I have a few contacts.”

  I stuffed in another bite of egg and pushed in a triangle-shaped piece of toast after it, but watched them as I chewed. When I finished my plate of food I set my fork to the side and blotted my lips on the paper napkin. I was still wearing the shoulder holster, the Walther, and the vamp-killer. Unstrapping the blade, I lay it on the table, removed the Walther’s rig, set it beside the knife, and leaned back in my chair, mimicking Eli’s posture.

  I took a slow breath and let a hint of Beast into my gaze. I said, “Were you thinking about leaving because I’ve been difficult and moody or were you thinking about taking my business away?” I’d made it an either-or half question, half accusation, but there were more things to consider. “Or maybe you have a thing against skinwalkers.”

  The Kid’s eyes went wide because I hadn’t spoken aloud about my most recent revelation when I shifted in front of nearly every person I knew in New Orleans, giving away my secret in a very public way. I had, in fact, refused to speak about that incident at all, and Eli and the Kid were still curious about it. Insanely curious.

  “Or maybe,” I went on, before either could respond, “Rick LaFleur offered you a gig that he would ordinarily have offered to me, but he’s ticked off with me—okay, for good reasons—and is looking for ways to shut me out of his life. So he offered it to you instead.”

  Eli’s eyes shifted away just a hair and back. The Kid’s mouth dropped open and stayed there. Bingo. Dang it. “Rick,” I said. There was a complete lack of emotion in my voice, but I might as well have cursed from the way the Kid flinched. Rick worked for PsyLED now, Homeland Security’s Psychometry Law Enforcement Division, investigating supernatural crimes. He was my ex and I wasn’t happy about the way we’d ended things—with me accusing him of attempted murder. Of me. Relationships aren’t my strong suit.

  I kept the pain off my face by some small miracle and pushed away from the table, standing, towering over them. I felt more than saw Eli tense and ready himself for movement, violent, physical movement. Alex watched us both, eyes darting back and forth. Neither brother moved overtly. Neither said anything. But Eli’s pheromones changed, smelling and tasting bitter and full of adrenaline, a taste like pine tar and burned bread.

  My index finger started tapping on the edge of my plate with a steady tink. Eli’s lips came together in a slight purse and his stink lessened. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he were holding in something. I wondered if he knew how much he was giving away. And I wondered how much I was giving away. I curled my fingers under, and the silence that settled between us was charged and prickly. I realized that I didn’t want them to leave—I actually liked having them here, in my house, in my life, which was a huge, unexpected shock—but no way was I going to say any of that. Not if they were going to leave.

  I sighed and gathered my gear. “You want to work for him, fine.” I left the kitchen for my bedroom, my boots clomping on the hardwood floors.

  “Yellowrock,” Eli called. I stopped in the foyer, waited without answering, knowing he knew I could hear. “You get the gig, we’ll find a way to take it. You don’t get the gig, we’ll find something else the three of us can do together.”

  I was glad my back was turned, because a smile busted out all over my face, showing me how much I had come to depend on the guys being in my life. They were like . . . Crap. They were like family or something. Which was freaking stupid.

  “And we don’t give a rat’s ass that you’re a skinwalker,” the Kid added. I heard the slap on the back of his head, and my smile went even wider. He’d braved a head slap to reassure me in that gutsy, bigmouthed way teenaged boys have. “As long as you don’t shift and get hungry enough to think about us as dinner. ’Cause, like, that would, like, totally suck.”

  I laughed silently and said over my shoulder, “I promise not to have you or your brother for dinner or a snack. That good enough?”

  “Yeah. Cool.” I started for my room, and he added, “But I want to see you shift into the mountain lion.” And I heard another head slap, as though the Kid had just crossed an additional line by asking, perhaps one his brother had ordered him not to cross.

  The Kid seeing me shift would mean my being mostly naked in front of him. Not gonna happen. I said, “No,” and closed my door. I had packing to do. My phone reggae’d again and I pulled it from my jacket pocket. “That was fast,” I said to Reach as I pulled my vamp-fighting gear out of the closet.

  “Your new boss agrees, but there’s two more things you should know before you take the job. Hieronymus and Leo haven’t kissed and made up. Leo Pellissier will not be happy if you go to work for a scion he’s unhappy with.”

  “Icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned. Ticking off the MOC has become one of my favorite personal pastimes.”

  “Just make sure he doesn’t get so pissed that he kills you for it.”

  “Awww. I’d think that was sweet concern for me if I didn’t know you better. You’d miss out on the finder’s fee if I were dead.”

  “Like I said. Smart women are hot.”

  “What’s the second thing I need to know?”

  “You have an appointment with a reporter-turned–book writer in Natchez at four this afternoon. She’s writing a book about vamps.”

  I chuckled sourly and picked up my combat boots and a pair of green snakeskin Lucchese boots. I tossed them onto the bed. “No, I don’t.”

  “Stop being contrary. You know this chick. You were good friends.
BFFs. Her name is Camilla Hopkins. You were raised with her in that high-class joint the state stuck you in.”

  I hesitated, thinking through all the names of all the girls I’d roomed with in my years in the Christian children’s home. There were a lot of them. Most of the girls were there only a short time before going home to distant family or entering the foster-care system. Or jail. Juvie was where the troublemakers went. I’d almost ended up there myself a time or two. But I didn’t remember a Camilla.

  As if reading my mind, Reach said, “Camilla is her professional on-air name at Torch News. In the home, she went by Misha.”

  The name clicked and my lips turned down in distaste. “She was never my pal. More like a neutral observer.” Misha had never directly attacked me at school, but she never did anything to stop what the other girls did, either. Until I learned to fight, my life had been fairly awful, and no one had helped to make it better—not Misha, not anyone.

  “A little verbal and physical abuse is good for the soul,” Reach said.

  “I’m not talking to the press. No matter who it is.”

  “She said to tell you she was bringing Bobby.”

  I went still. Bobby. I hadn’t thought about him in years. Bobby Bates had been a special kid a couple years younger than me, with an IQ of 74—too smart to qualify for federal help. Like me, he’d fallen between the cracks and only the charity of Christians had given him a place to live. Bobby had been picked on at school, and I had protected him when I lived there. I had gone back a few times in the years before he turned eighteen, making sure he was left alone by the kids who might otherwise have made his life miserable. Then he’d gone to live with an aunt or his grandma or something and I never saw him again.

  “Why does she have Bobby with her?”

  “She didn’t say. If you want to know, regular rates apply.”

  I shook my head and checked the time. “No, thanks. How did she know I’d be in Natchez?”

  “She didn’t. She called me for an intro to the Louisiana and Mississippi vamps for her research, and your name came up.”

  That made sense. Anyone doing research into vamps would contact Reach. And that same anyone would hear about me sooner or later.

  “She could have e-mailed me for an intro to them,” I said.

  “She tried. No reply. Which is a sloppy way of doing business,” he said.

  His statement stung, but he had a point. I couldn’t remember the last time I checked my business e-mail. Weeks probably.

  “Camilla Hopkins is already in Natchez,” he said, “staying at the Grand. I told her you’d be taking a gig there and she wants to renew old acquaintances.”

  I had no doubt Misha had paid him to arrange a meeting. Besides having compiled the largest vamp database, Reach was also a master planner and manipulator, merging multiple job opportunities and always managing to make money. “Where do I meet her?”

  “I’ll text you all the details. Oh, and check your frigging e-mail.” The connection ended. In disgust, I tossed the phone on the mattress and started packing in earnest. If I was going vamp hunting, I’d need all my toys.

  CHAPTER 2

  You Might Have to Kill Something

  I was standing outside when the blasted cell rang, and I knew who it was without even looking. Not by a ringtone, but because Beast started purring. Her hyperawareness of the MOC was one big reason why I hadn’t let her out to hunt. I stared at the phone, considering not answering. It was daylight and that meant Leo was up past his bedtime and likely cranky.

  I sighed and answered. “Yellowrock,” I said.

  “It is my understanding that you have accepted a job with Hieronymus.” Leo’s heated, silk-velvet voice caressed me, the voice vamps use when they want to seduce for sex or dinner. Or both. Once upon a time that compelling tone had very little effect on me. With Beast bound to him, I wanted to strip naked and hop on Bitsa for a quick roll in the Master’s bed. Beast sent me an image of Leo and me on silk sheets, all hot and sweaty and bloody.

  Not. Gonna. Happen. I took myself under firm control. Not. Gonna.

  “Yep. I took the gig.” I was pleased when I sounded normal—professional and calm, with just a hint of snark that always came out when I talked with Leo. “Big H pays even better than you do.” I talked while securing my gear to the back of Bitsa. The guys were stowing weapons and our new underground com unit—UCU—in the SUV out front, so I had privacy to needle the MOC.

  “You are on retainer, and you are my Enforcer. You may not leave the city without my direct order.”

  “Whoa. Not the way retainers work, Leo. Get one of your minions to bring you the paperwork. My retainer with you doesn’t preclude my taking other jobs when you don’t need me. If you fall under attack, you can send your helo and I’ll be back to New Orleans in a little more than an hour, well inside the two-hour window required.” Leo started to say something, so I interrupted and talked fast to keep him from getting a word in edgewise—as a matter of principle. “Besides, as your Enforcer, this gig fits under that umbrella. Big H has Naturaleza vamps running around loose, vamps with the vamp plague, likely infecting other vamps. It’s your job as Blood Master of the Southeast USA to address that issue, your private lab in Texas that found a cure for the vamp plague, and therefore it falls under the umbrella of your responsibility to provide treatment.” All it took was one dose of the medicine—like a vaccine. The syringes were packed up in my supplies; the doses were easy to administer to vamps in civilized surroundings, requiring a shot to the arm muscle; to treat vamps in the wild, I had a dart gun and one of the specially made darts used by vets for sedating wild game. Of course, I expected to stake any sick vamps I met in the wild, not cure them, but at least I had the option.

  Stretching my desire to needle the MOC, I said, “As Hieronymus’ blood-master, you should have gotten up off your blood-sucking butt and made sure your people were treated. Since you didn’t, this is now a loose end that needs tying up in order to”—I took a breath and put on my best lawyer voice, quoting from the retainer contract—“protect the security of the territory, hunting grounds, and territorial borders claimed by Leo Pellissier.” I let the legalese tone drop away. “Big H’s problem is directly to your north border, he is still legally sworn to you, and therefore he is your problem—and mine.” Which was absolutely the truth, and I felt all righteous having come up with it while I packed.

  His voice took on a more demanding tone. “You will not speak to me in such a manner, my Enforcer. I require you to remain in New Orleans.” The MOC wasn’t used to people saying no to him.

  “Hmmm,” I said. While I decided how difficult I was going to be, I checked the straps on the gear. Nice and secure. And I was feeling difficult, so I decided to go with that flow. “Yes, I will, and no, I won’t. The safe room at Katie’s is finished. The safe room in your new clan home is standing in the middle of the construction like a vault. You have more than sufficient security twenty-four/seven at vamp HQ, plenty of privacy, and no problems securing ample blood supply. You do not need me, and I got nothing to do here until it’s time to install the security in your new house, and that won’t be for another month. I’ll give Big H your regards.”

  “You will not,” he hissed. I hit the END button, grinning happily. I did so love yanking his chain. I walked through the house one last time and picked up a boot box from my closet, the one that held my paltry jewelry collection and my neck protectors. Locking the house, I added the box to the stuff bungeed to the back of the bike, pushed Bitsa around front, and swung on. The guys were sitting in the oversized SUV, idling in front of the door, waiting. I lifted two fingers to Eli as I motored past and headed for Highway 61and Natchez. The phone buzzed madly in my pocket and I laughed happily as I motored away from Leo.

  • • •

  The roads in Louisiana are on the far side of horrible. They had been constructed with expansion joints, a necessity because of the weather, but somehow when the road surface expanded into
the open spaces of the joints, it all rose a little. Riding on Louisiana highways was a constant, unpleasant, thumpty-thump that dulled the mind and wore out the backside, and with the state’s current financial crisis, none of the potholes had been repaired, further adding to my discomfort. It was a miserable trip made worse because I was in a hurry and wanted to get to Natchez as quickly as possible, so I didn’t stop for anything. I didn’t want to talk to Misha Hopkins, I didn’t want to take that trip down memory lane, but all I could think was that Misha had Bobby with her, and Bobby was on my personal list of people to protect. Always had been.

  Near two p.m., I pulled up at the mansion where we had stayed last time. Rich people wouldn’t have called it a mansion, of course, maybe a cottage or something, but to me it was huge: three stories; set off the road; the grounds planted with live oaks, magnolias, pecan trees, and azaleas, with an eight-foot brick wall enclosing the large backyard. The house was maybe a little over ten thousand square feet, not counting the servants’ quarters under the eaves on the third floor or the multicar garage out back, with rooms over that. The last time we were here, Eli had originally declared the house difficult to secure, but the walls were two feet thick, the windows were easily shuttered, and four shooters had held off an armed attack, which made it mighty nifty in my opinion.

  I pulled Bitsa into the shade and studied the facade. The bullet holes had been repaired and the place looked good. The guys pulled in behind me and, just like last time we were here, I left them to unload while I took the three low steps to the door, which opened before I knocked. The owner stood there wearing a huge smile, a bizarre mixture of colors and fabrics, and her trademark string of pearls wound around her neck and resting across her little rounded belly. Esmee was a skinny, wrinkled woman with shocking red hair and no fashion sense. Today she was wearing purple velour elastic-waist pants and a frilly shrimp-toned blouse with full, pleated sleeves, bright red lipstick that had bled into the creases of her mouth, a stars-and-stripes scarf, and a pair of emerald green ballet slippers with feathers on the instep.