Vampire Moon (11 page)

 
      
 
She pushed her glass aside. Apparently, she had reached her lemonade limit.

 
      
 
She said, “He was caught trying to hire someone to kill me.”

 
      
 
“Who caught him?”

 
      
 
“The people at the prison.”

 
      
 
“Prison officials?”

 
      
 
“Yes, them. But he wasn’t, you know, successful.” Nervous giggles.

 
      
 
I said, “You’re scared.”

 
      
 
She nodded; tears welled up in her eyes. “Why does he want to hurt me so much? Hasn’t he done enough?”

 
      
 
“I’m sorry,” I said.

 
      
 
“He’s horrible,” she said. “He’s so mean.”

 
      
 
As she spoke her voice grew tinier and her lower lip shook. Her hands were shaking, too, and my heart went out to this little girl in a woman’s body. Why anyone would want to hurt such a harmless person, I had no clue. Maybe there was more to the story, but I doubted it. I think her assessment was right. He was just mean. Damn mean.

 
      
 
She spoke again, “So I talked to Detective Sherbet. He is so nice to me. He always helps me. I love him.” She smiled at the thought of the good detective, a man I had grown quite fond of myself. “He told me to see you. That you were tougher than you looked, but I don’t understand what he means. He said you would protect me.”

 
      
 
I said, “In the state of California, a private investigator’s license also doubles as a bodyguard license.”

 
      
 
“So you are a bodyguard, too?” I heard awe in her voice. She smiled brightly. Tears still gleamed wetly in her eyes.

 
      
 
“I am,” I said, perhaps a little more boastful than I had intended.

 
      
 
She clapped. “Do you carry a gun?”

 
      
 
“When I need to.”

 
      
 
She continued smiling, but then grew somber. She looked at me closely with her good eye, not so closely with her bad eye. “I don’t have money to pay you. I haven’t been able to work at the bakery since he hurt me, but maybe my momma can help pay you. Detective Sherbet said that you know what the right thing to do is, but I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

 
      
 
I smiled and shook my head and reached out and took her hand, feeling its warmth despite its clamminess. She flinched slightly at my own icy touch. I held her gaze, and she held mine as best as she could.

 
      
 
I said, “Don’t worry about money, sweetie. I won’t let anything happen to you, ever. You’re safe now. I promise.”

 
      
 
And that’s when she started crying.

 
      
 
Chapter Fourteen

 
      
 
We were in my hotel suite.

 
      
 
Monica was walking around my
spartan
room as if it were more interesting than it really was. I sensed some of her anxiety departing. In the least, she was giggling less, which I considered a good thing.

 
      
 
Finally she sat on the corner of the bed, near where I was sitting in the surprisingly comfortable desk chair. My laptop was next to me, closed. Somewhere, in there, was Fang. I wondered what he was doing tonight. I wondered what he did every night. I found myself wondering a lot about him.

 
      
 
And what about Kingsley? I wondered about him, too, but he was a little easier to wonder about, since I knew where he lived and I knew he had the
hots
for me.

 
      
 
On the round table near me was the pad of paper that contained my conversation with...something. At least, the beginning of a conversation.

 
      
 
“You really live here?” asked Monica.

 
      
 
“For now, yes.”

 
      
 
“And your husband just kicked you out?”

 
      
 
“Something like that.”

 
      
 
She shook her head and smiled some more, but it was a nervous smile. I sensed her about to giggle, but she somehow held it in check.

 
      
 
“I had the opposite problem,” she said.

 
      
 
“As in, he never wanted you to leave.”

 
      
 
“Yes, exactly.” And now she did giggle. Sigh. As she sat there on the corner of the bed, her dangling feet didn’t quite touch the carpeted floor. She was so small and cute. And innocent. And sweet. And clueless. In the wrong hands, in the wrong relationship, I could see a brute of a man thinking she was his. A trophy. A little trophy. Something to possess and own. In the right hands, she would have been protected and loved and cherished.

 
      
 
She had found herself in the wrong hands.

 
      
 
Monica asked, “So why did he kick you out, if you don’t mind me asking.”

 
      
 
“I mind,” I said.

 
      
 
She giggled, turned red, and looked away. “I’m so sorry.”

 
      
 
I reached out and touched her knee. I had to be gentle with this one. Her social savvy wasn’t quite up to par, either.

 
      
 
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a very fresh wound that I don’t want to talk about right now. You did nothing wrong.”

 
      
 
She nodded vigorously. I patted her knee. She looked at me, nodded again, then looked down. She was so unsure of herself. So lost. So helpless. How could anyone hurt this girl? God, I already hated her ex-husband with a fucking passion.

 
      
 
“Sam, can I ask you a question?”

 
      
 
I smiled. “Sure, sweetie.”

 
      
 
“Can I, you know, ask how you’re going to protect me?” Nervous giggle. “Is that okay to ask?”

 
      
 
“It’s okay,” I said, patting her knee reassuring, much as I would my own daughter. And the thought of my daughter—and the possibility of not seeing her or Anthony this Saturday night—nearly brought me to tears. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and said, “You are either going to be with me, or with someone I trust. You will always be protected.”

 
      
 
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. She pursed her lips. “Who are your friends?”

 
      
 
“Good men. Honorable men. I trust them with my life. They will protect you when I’m not around.”

 
      
 
“Why would you not be around?”

 
      
 
“Sometimes I have...business to attend to.”

 
      
 
She nodded. She understood business. “And one of your friends is coming over now?”

 
      
 
“Yes,” I said.

 
      
 
“Because you are going out?”

 
      
 
“Right. I have work to do.”

 
      
 
“And I can’t come?” She sounded like a child asking her mother if she could go grocery shopping with her.

 
      
 
“Not this time,” I said.

 
      
 
“Okay.” Petulant. She didn’t like the idea of me leaving her so soon. I didn’t either, but what I had to do tonight she had no business seeing or being a part of.

 
      
 
“Chad is a good man,” I said. “You will like him.”

 
      
 
She nodded again. “Will you be back tonight?”

 
      
 
“Yes.”

 
      
 
She smiled and kicked her feet out again. She was wearing white shorts. Her legs were thin and tan. They were also crisscrossed with scars. I didn’t ask her about the scars, but I suspected she had been beaten badly with a belt.

 
      
 
“So how long will you protect me?”

 
      
 
“As long as it takes,” I said. Mercifully, she had no children and, apparently, was on extended leave at her baking job, which I discovered was a donut shop. No wonder why Detective Sherbet liked her so much.

 
      
 
There was a knock on my hotel door. Three rapid knocks, a pause, and then a fourth. It was Chad, using the coded knock we had been trained to use.

 
      
 
“That’s my ex-partner,” I said. I sat forward and patted her knee again. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”

 
      
 
She smiled and popped her gum. “I believe you,” she said.