Insatiable

for another? Not to mention the humans? All the people who’d like to see us, not to mention

the prince, destroyed?”

“Oh, pooh,” Mary Lou said. She sat down in front of the large mirror behind her dressing

table and began removing her makeup. “You’re being melodramatic. No one wants to destroy

us anymore. The prince has the Dracul under control. The Palatine Guard don’t know where

we are, and the humans love us! Look at how popular we are in books and on the TV. Why, if

everyone found out, I’m sure I’d be invited onto Oprah as a special guest.”

“Mary Lou!” Emil stared at her reflection in astonishment. “Someone is killing women!

All over town! No one is going to be inviting you onto Oprah while women are being killed by

a member of our brethren. And the prince isn’t going to want a dinner party in his honor. He’s

going to prefer to keep a low profile while he’s in town, trying to find that killer .”

“I have so many beautiful, intelligent female friends,” Mary Lou said, gazing

thoughtfully at herself. “Why shouldn’t I show them off? The prince has been alone too long.”

“Lucien’s not here,” Emil said, feeling as if he were drowning, “to find a wife. He’s here

on business. The murders—”

“And if he should happen to meet a nice girl,” Mary Lou said, interrupting, “while he’s

here, would that be so terrible? Apparently he hasn’t had any luck in his own country. But you

know we have the most amazing women in the world right here in the good old U.S. of A—”

“Mary Lou.” Emil stared uncomfortably at his wife’s bare shoulders. “You understand

that you’re putting me in a terribly awkward position. Lucien asked that I not mention his

arrival to anyone, and here you are sending out e-mails to everyone on your cc list, an e-mail

that could be traced back—”

“Not everyone,” Mary Lou said indignantly. “Just my best single girlfriends, and a few

of the married ones so as not to make it look obvious he’s being set up. None of them is

employed by the Vatican, for goodness sake, or members of the Dracul. I just asked Linda and

Tom, and Faith and Frank, and Carol from your office, and Becca and Ashley, and Meena

from across the hall.”

“Meena?” Emil was confused. Many things about his wife confused him. He was certain

that even if they spent an eternity together—and it already felt like they had—he’d never fully

understand her. “The prince…and Meena Harper ? But she’s—”

“Why not?” Mary Lou gave her naturally curly—and still naturally blond—hair a flip.

“At first glance she may not seem like his type, but I like her. She’s got that cute little figure,

and a pixie cut suits her. Most women can’t pull it off, you know, but she works it. And if the

prince likes her, just think how grateful he’ll be to us. Besides,” she added with a shrug, “all

she does is work to keep her and that no-good brother of hers financially afloat. I think she

needs a break.”

“She likes her job,” Emil said, thinking of all the times he’d seen his neighbor in her

pajamas barefoot in their floor’s trash room, disgruntledly stuffing heavily crossed-out script

pages down the chute to the incinerator.

Well, maybe she didn’t always like her job.

“Oh, sure,” Mary Lou said. “The soap opera thing. But do you think she’d work if she

didn’t have to?”

Emil thought about this. “Yes,” he said.

“Well, that shows what you know about women, which is nothing. Look at those ladies

she writes about on Insatiable, Victoria Worthington Stone and her daughter, Tabby.

Victoria’s never had a job in her life, except for that time she was a model. Oh, and a fashion

designer. Oh, and when she was a race car driver, but that was only for a week before she

crashed and lost the baby and was in that coma. Those aren’t even real jobs. They say you

write about what you wish would happen to you. So, obviously Meena wishes she didn’t have

a job.”

“Or,” Emil said, “she wishes she were a race car driver.”

“And Prince Lucien would be able to provide for her.” Mary Lou went on, ignoring him.

“And since the prince likes writing, the two of them already have something in common.”

“It’s a very different kind of writing,” Emil said. “Lucien writes historical nonfiction.

And anyway, he made it very clear when I spoke to him that he wanted to keep his visit under

the radar. We’re at a very critical time with the Dracul. These murders—”

“Oh, stop being such a worrywart,” Mary Lou said. “No man wouldn’t want to have

dinner with a lot of pretty ladies.” She laughed and turned to poke her husband in his belly,

which stuck out ever so slightly over the waistband of his trousers. “Don’t tell me you

wouldn’t enjoy being the center of attention of me and all my friends. Not that you aren’t…”

“Well.” Emil felt the pressure in his gut receding slightly. “Maybe he won’t mind so

much. A man has to eat, after all.”

“Exactly,” Mary Lou exclaimed. “And so why not do it in the company of a lot of

lovely, accomplished ladies?”

“Why not?” Emil asked.

Maybe, he thought, his wife was right:

The man did have to eat, after all.

Chapter Fourteen

3:45 A.M . EST, Wednesday, April 14

910 Park Avenue, Apt. 11B

New York, New York

M eena stared at the bright red numbers on the digital clock in her bedroom. Three fortyfive. She had five hours before she had to leave for the office. Four more to sleep before she

had to get up to start getting ready.

Except that she couldn’t sleep. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, grinding her teeth,

and thinking about Yalena—all she could see was a picture of the girl’s body, battered almost

beyond recognition—and Cheryl and CDI and the job she hadn’t gotten and Jon and her

parents and David and the countess and Leisha and Adam and the baby.

Now she’d never get to sleep.

There was only one answer to Meena’s problem, and it lay in a little orange prescription

bottle in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She hated resorting to pills, but lately she’d

been relying on them more and more.

She was just about to reach for her secret stash of pills in the medicine cabinet when she

heard it:

The clickety-clack of Jack Bauer’s claws on the hardwood floor behind her.

Seeing her up and around, Jack Bauer thought it was morning and time for his first walk

of the day.

“Okay, Jack,” Meena whispered to him. “ Okay . We’ll go.”

She spat out her mouth guard, leaving it in the sink, then slipped as quietly as she could

into her coat and a pair of sneakers and got Jack Bauer’s leash from its hook.

She’d just take him on a short walk, she decided, then go back to bed. She’d be home in

less than fifteen minutes. With half a pill, she could still get a full four hours of restorative

sleep before work. Everything would be okay.

In the lobby of Meena’s building, Pradip, the night doorman, had dozed off with his head

resting on one of his textbooks. He was studying to be a masseur, which Meena thought was a

fine career option for him, since people were having multiple careers nowadays well into their

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