Charlaine Harris - Deadlocked

“These guests are inside?”

“Yes,” Eric said, and I thought, Oh, gosh, I hope Felipe got them out of the bedroom. But of course, the police would have to talk to them.

“Then let’s take this inside and meet these guests,” Detective Ambrosel i said. “Do you have any objection to us coming inside, Mr. Northman?”

“Not the least in the world,” Eric said courteously.

So I traipsed back into the house with Bil , Eric, and Pam. The detective led the way as if the house were hers. Eric permitted it. By now the Las Vegas contingent would have cleaned up, I hoped, since they’d certainly heard what Ambrosel i had said when Eric went to the door.

To my relief, the living room looked much more orderly. There were a few bottles of synthetic blood, but they were al positioned adjacent to a seated vampire. The big windows in the back were open and the air quality was much better. Even the ashtray was out of sight, and someone had positioned a large bowl over the worst gouge marks on the coffee table.

Al the vamps and the humans, ful y clothed, had assembled in the living room. They wore serious expressions.

Mustapha was not among them.

Where was he? Had he simply decided he didn’t want to talk to the police, so he’d departed? Or had someone entered through the French windows in the kitchen doors and done something terrible to the Blade wannabe?

Maybe Mustapha had heard something suspicious outside and had gone to investigate. Maybe the kil er or kil ers had jumped him once he got outside, and that was why no one had heard anything. But Mustapha was so tough that I simply couldn’t imagine anyone ambushing him and getting away with it.

Though “Mustapha” might not fear anything, in actuality he was the former KeShawn Johnson, and he was an ex-con. I didn’t know why he’d been incarcerated, but I knew it was for something he’d been ashamed of. That was why he’d adopted a new name and a new profession after he’d served his term. The police wouldn’t know him as Mustapha Khan … but they’d know he was KeShawn Johnson as soon as they took his fingerprints, and he was scared of prison.

Oh, how I wished I could communicate al this to Eric.

I didn’t believe Mustapha had kil ed the woman on the lawn. On the other hand, I’d never been completely inside his head, since he was a Were.

But I’d never heard senseless aggression or random violence, either. Rather, Mustapha’s top priority had always registered as control.

I believe most of us are capable of moments of rage, moments when our button’s been pressed to the point where we lash out to stop the pressure. But I was sure that Mustapha was used to much worse treatment than anything that girl could have handed out.

While I was worrying about Mustapha, Eric was introducing the remaining newcomers to Detective Ambrosel i. “Felipe de Castro,” he said, and Felipe nodded regal y. “His assistant, Horst Friedman.” To my surprise, Horst rose and shook her hand. Not a vampire thing, handshaking. Eric continued, “This is Felipe’s consort, Angie Weather-spoon.” She was the third Nevada vampire, the redhead.

“Pleased to meetcha,” Angie said, nodding.

The last time I’d seen her, Angie Weatherspoon had been dancing on the low table, enjoying Felipe’s regard. Now the redhead was wearing a gray pencil skirt, a sleeveless green button-up blouse with tiny ruffles on the deep V neckline, and three-inch heels. Her legs went on forever. She looked great.

When Eric turned to the humans for their introductions, he paused. Eric clearly didn’t know the hugely muscular man’s name, but before the moment could become awkward, the man extended a bulging arm and shook the detective’s hand very delicately. “I’m Thad Rexford,” he said, and Ambrosel i’s mouth dropped open.

The uniform who’d come in behind her said, “Oh, wow! T-Rex!” with sheer delight.

“Wow,” Ambrosel i echoed, forgetting her stern expression.

Al the vampires looked blank, but another human present, a plump and perky twenty-year-old with a light brown mane of hair of which Kennedy Keyes would have approved, looked proud, as if being at the same party with him raised her status. “I’m Cherie Dodson,” she said, in a voice that was surprisingly babyish. “This is my friend Viveca Bates. What’s going on out front, guys?” Cherie was the woman who’d been making out with TRex. Viveca, just as curvaceous but with slightly darker hair, had been the one giving Felipe the “donation.”

Detective Ambrosel i quickly recovered from the surprise of meeting a famous wrestler at a vampire’s house, and she was twice as pugnacious since she’d shown a moment of starstruck awe. “There’s a dead woman outside, Ms. Dodson. That’s what’s going on. You-al need to stay here to be ready for questioning. First off, did you ladies bring a third woman here with you?” The detective was clearly talking to the humans; that is, al the humans except me.

“These two lovely ladies were with me at the casino,” T-Rex said.

“Which one?” Ambrosel i was al about the details.

“The Trifecta. We met Felipe and Horst at the bar there, struck up a conversation over drinks. Felipe here kindly invited us to Mr. Northman’s beautiful home.” The wrestler seemed completely at ease. “We was just out on the town, having some fun. We didn’t bring nobody else with us.”

Cherie and Viveca shook their heads. “Just us,” Viveca said, and gave Horst a coy sideways look.

“The victim came into the house, Mr. Northman says, but he doesn’t seem to know who she was.” Cara Ambrosel i’s flat tone made it clear what she thought of men who took blood from women they’d never met, while at the same time casting doubt on Eric’s assertion that he hadn’t known her. That was a lot to convey in one sentence, but she managed.

I was standing right behind her, and I was getting a good reading on her. Cara Ambrosel i was both ambitious and tough—necessary attributes to get ahead in the law enforcement world, especial y for a woman. She’d been a patrol officer, distinguished herself by her courage in rescuing a woman from a burning house, sustained a broken arm in the course of subduing a robbery suspect, kept her head low and her social life secret.

Now that she was a detective, she wanted to shine.

She was simply packed ful of information.

I kind of admired her. I hoped we wouldn’t be enemies.

Cherie Dodson said, “Tel me she doesn’t have on a green and pink dress.” Al the flirty fun had drained from her voice.

“That’s what she’s wearing,” the detective said. “Do you know her?”

“I met her this evening,” Cherie said. “Her name’s Kym. Kym-with-a-y, she said. Her last name was Rowe, I think. T-Rex, you remember her?”

He looked down as though he were working hard at recovering the recol ection, his dyed platinum hair showing a quarter-inch of dark root. TRex’s cheeks sported reddish-brown bristles, and his tight black T-shirt revealed that he’d shaved his chest. I thought that he had some ambivalence about his hair growth, but I was kind of fascinated by his musculature, I have to admit. He just bulged muscles everywhere, even in his neck. I glanced up to find Eric giving me a frosty look. Wel , big whoop, considering.

“I had quite a bit to drink tonight, Miz Ambrosel i,” the wrestler said, with a charming ruefulness. “But I remember the name, so I must have met her. Cherie, honey, was she at the bar?”

“No, baby. Here. While we were dancing, she walked through the living room. She asked where Mr. Northman was.”

“How did this Kym arrive here?” Ambrosel i asked. She looked at me first. I don’t know why.

I shrugged. “She was already here when I came in this evening,” I said.