Vampire Games

“How do you—” I started at the same time as Marisol said, “Is that even possible?”



He glanced at me. “I saved a selkie royal from a rogue vamp a while back.” He turned back to Marisol. “It is possible. So tell us the rest. Did you ever figure out what happened to him? Did you ever find a body?”



It was Marisol’s turn to look startled. “A body? No. He didn’t die. He showed up a week later—really pissed off that we were looking for him.”



I suppressed a sigh. A selkie who hadn’t actually disappeared. What a waste of time.



“Well, thanks for taking the time to talk to us,” I said, then stopped as Claude held up his hand.



“Give us a rundown.”



I shot him the stink eye. Seriously?



“All right,” Marisol said, as she leaned back in her chair and tapped her chin. “Wife called the cops in the middle of the first night when he hadn’t shown up after a dinner meeting. They explained that he wasn’t technically missing yet. At some point—the next morning, I think—she showed up at the station, demanding help. Duty cop took pity on her and let her talk to a detective. They started on the investigation unofficially after that. It became official after he’d been gone long enough.”



“How long was he gone before he came back?” Claude asked.



“A week.”



“And his explanation for taking off like that?”



“He didn’t really give one. And honestly, as an adult, he can take off on his wife if he really wants to. Nothing illegal about that.”



“You think he was stepping out on her? That’s where he was that week?” I cut in. If that was the case, this trip really had been a waste of time.



“Can’t say for sure, although he insinuated as much the second his wife left the room. But…” She shook her head.



“What is it?” Claude leaned forward, a hunter scenting prey. He knew when blood hit the water.



“Well, it was just a gut feeling, but something was off about how he answered our questions. Like he really didn’t want us to ask about that week, and was angry about the whole thing. And he just seemed a little…”



“What?”



“Off, I guess. Sorry I can’t be more specific, but he shut us down pretty quickly.” She brushed her long hair back from her face.



Claude grimaced again and leaned back on his chair.



“I wish I could tell you more, but the man was an adult. We had no crime to hold him for. No reason to continue questioning him after he was done talking to us.”



“Well, thanks for the info.” Claude stood. “We’ll let you eat your lunch.”



We headed out of the cafeteria and Claude had his cell phone in hand before we hit the parking lot, running down the selkie’s name with who knew what kind of shady contact.



“Want to go for a drive?” he asked without preamble after shoving his cell phone back in his pocket. He didn’t wait for my reply. “Lawrence Coates is in Milwaukee right now. Let’s go talk to that selkie about where the hell he was during that missing week.”



Chapter Seven



“You seemed tense around Marisol.” We’d made it out of the northernmost burbs before he asked. Just long enough of a drive for me to relax.



“I acted like a jerk to her a while back, one of my more brilliant moments in life. It’s not a big deal.”



“You’re too tense for it not to be a big deal.”



“You’ve gone through my file. I’m sure you know that my ex-partner is now living here, with her.” Admitting to Claude how I’d acted was almost as uncomfortable as talking to Marisol. “He was still my partner when they started dating, and I didn’t handle it well. I acted like a jealous girlfriend.”



He shrugged, tips of his longish hair brushing his collar. “I just…”



“What?” Irritation flared inside of me. Between the case and Claude’s kiss and having to see Marisol, I was running on a short fuse. Why’d the man have to poke at all of my sore spots during the same week?



“Did you have feelings for him—her boyfriend, your ex-partner? I mean, were you two involved?” His expression had hardened, and the skin around his eyes crinkled as if he cared about my answer.



“Yes. And no.”



His hands tightened on the steering wheel. “What’s that supposed to mean?”



“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” I rubbed my face with my hands. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I have feelings for my ex-partner.” I could see his grip tighten even more. Pretty soon the damn steering wheel would bend. “Not romantic feelings, if that’s what you’re getting at. Friend feelings. Partner feelings.”



His grip loosened and he stroked the wheel as if apologizing silently for assaulting it. “So you weren’t involved with him.”



“No. I was never involved with him. I was just really rude to Marisol once, and I still feel like a jerk every time I’m around her,” I grumbled.



A smile touched his lips and he reached for the stereo’s volume. “Good.”



I stared at him, but before I could form a reply to that, he turned up the volume and an old Journey song filled the air. Fine. Whatever. I didn’t want to explore why he thought that was good.



“That doesn’t mean I’m interested in anything other than working with you on this case,” I said loudly.



He gave me a striking grin, his eyes merry and full of confidence. “I’ll just have to convince you.”



My breath caught and I turned to watch the snow-covered ground fly by outside my window. I didn’t have a good response for that, and was determined he wouldn’t see the blush he’d caused.



After ten minutes or so of awkward silence, we passed the rest of the trip to Milwaukee with idle chatter. Claude acted happy enough to talk about unimportant subjects, but his mind seemed to be on other things. As was mine. I tried to push down the antsy feeling that always hit me when I entered this city. I wasn’t going to my parents’ house. No one was going to lecture me for days, urging me to quit my job. I needed to keep my mind on the case.



How long could I let this investigation go on without pushing to interview Luc? Without pushing Claude to acknowledge that his friend was dirty?



I glanced at the vampire. His concentration was now focused on locating the right address down the winding road outside of Wisconsin’s beer destination. Worry creased his mouth, but he had the same strong jawline as I remembered. The same shining hair and the same full lips.



I wondered if I looked the same to him, or if he saw the subtle way the years had touched my skin.



Not that it mattered.



Claude parked the car in front of a sprawling two-story, more mansion than house. With a circular drive, small windows revealing the second story, and marble columns around the front door, the Georgian style wasn’t to my personal taste, but it was pretty. And the place probably cost more than I’d make in my lifetime.



“Is he expecting us?”



Claude grinned. “Nope.”



The woman who answered the door didn’t seem surprised to see us, until Claude flashed his badge and asked to see Lawrence Coates. I couldn’t read her physically like Claude could, but there was a certain wariness around her eyes when she stepped back to allow us entry.



The woman, who introduced herself as Joan Coates, Lawrence’s sister, led us to a bright sitting room decorated in furniture far too garish for my taste. French or some other older European style, I guessed. Wood covered all the walls, and the red and blue rug clashed with the green and yellow floral furniture. I guessed there was a little green in the rug, but still. Looking at all the busy patterns made me dizzy.



She called for her brother. After offering us tea, which we refused, she excused herself—to go to the market, or so she said. I suspected she just wanted to get away from us. And perhaps especially Claude. He was a touch pale, but he moved like a human when he wanted to appear to be one. His fear aura couldn’t be triggering her response since his was so subtle.



But perhaps selkies could sense what he was. I knew less about the notoriously shy ocean-goers than I should have. They simply didn’t come up in OWEA investigations as often as vampires and other more aggressive otherworlders.



“What do you want?” Lawrence asked as soon as the sound of the front door shutting behind his sister ricocheted through the air.



Claude was silent for a split second longer than I was comfortable with, so I answered the question. “We’re here to talk to you about your disappearance, Mr. Coates.”



Sweat broke out on the man’s forehead, and his voice was raspy when he responded. “Why? That was a long time ago. And I’ve already spoken to other police—”



“Whom you told nothing,” Claude cut in.



Coates sneered. “Well, that’s all I have to say about it.”



I narrowed my eyes. He was hiding something, something big. And it was as apparent in his bravado as his obvious discomfort with our presence.



“Were you assaulted with a branding iron while you were missing, Mr. Coates?”



I gaped at Claude, as did Coates, who spluttered out something indecipherable. Way to jump to the punch line. Not only had he shown our hand, but he’d backed Coates into a corner. And most people didn’t respond to that feeling by giving out information—not without wearing them down first, anyway.



“Get out of my house,” Coates managed finally and turned away, and I cringed at his loud, screeching tone.



Claude moved faster than I’d ever seen him—ever seen anyone. And, in fact, moved so quickly I missed it. One second he was a few feet from Coates, with a couch and coffee table between them, and the next he was on the selkie.



I stared, my mind several seconds behind Claude. Claude grabbed at the selkie and Coates yelled an obscenity. The next thing I knew, Coates’s shirt was on the floor, made of more pieces than it had been while on the selkie, and Claude had the man’s arms behind his back, pretzel-like.