Dead and Dateless (5 page)

“She would never do something so messy. She hates to get her hands dirty.”

Actually, it was my clothes that I hated to get dirty. But Mom got kudos for standing up for me, so I wasn’t going to argue semantics.

“There’s obviously been a mistake,” my mother added. “A ridiculous mistake.”

“I agree,” Remy sighed. “But the evidence says otherwise. The victim was Kevin Gillespie, aka Keith Gillman.”

The name drew an immediate image. I closed my eyes and saw the geeky twenty-something who’d come to my office desperate to find the girl of his dreams less than two weeks ago. He’d been a little pudgy and much too pale, but I’d agreed to help him anyway. What can I say? I love a challenge. Even more, I love a client who can pay a bonus for express service.

“He was a reporter for
The New York Times,
” Remy went on. “He was…”

Whoa, back it up. A
reporter
?

“…a story on the local dating scene. Posing as a secret dater, he would sign himself up for the various services, go on a few dates, and write a review. He’d been about to leave his apartment for a date arranged by Dead End Dating when Lil arrived. She gave the doorman her name and her card.”

Uh—yeah. Keith had shown up at Dead End Dating wearing sandals and socks, for Damien’s sake. We’re talking the walking poster guy for What Not to Wear on a First Date. Which meant I’d shown up at his apartment prior to date number one to make sure he wore something decent so he didn’t remain a pale, geeky, lonely subway attendant for the rest of his life.

He’d had on Reeboks and jeans and a new blue Banana Republic T-shirt I’d talked him into during our predate shopping spree. Perfectly acceptable attire for a casual night of pizza and beer and conversation with his possible soul mate.

“I knew that dating service would get her into trouble. Dating, of all things.”

Here we go again.

“Born vampires don’t date. And they certainly don’t arrange dates for
humans.
”

Or made vampires. Or werewolves. Or any of the Others who’d signed up since I’d opened up shop. Yada, yada.

“First she’s the laughingstock, and now she’s a wanted criminal. She might as well stand on the street corner with a sign around her neck: Vampires exist and I’m one of them.”

“Now, now, dear, I’m sure she doesn’t mean to draw attention to herself.”

“Did you see what she wore to last week’s hunt? A hot pink tutu, of all things.”

It hadn’t been a tutu. It had been a poet’s shirt with fringe, the latest from Christian Dior and my most recent wardrobe coup.

“This is all your fault,” my mother told my father. “My side of the family is the picture of discretion.”

“What—”

“Now, folks,” Remy cut in. “There’s no need to blame each other for this unfortunate situation. What’s done is done and the only way out of it is to stick together.”

“Such a smart boy,” my mother said. “But of course, you’re right.”

“I still don’t see why the police are so convinced she’s guilty,” my father said. “Just because she was seen at this reporter’s apartment doesn’t mean she killed him.”

Right on, Dad.

“True, but the victim took a picture of her with his camera phone just minutes before the projected time of death. She was in his bedroom where he was killed. With the murder weapon in her hand. A huge kitchen knife.”

Duh. I couldn’t very well let him rush off to meet his soul mate with the tags still attached to his shirt. Talk about a date killer. Oops. My bad.

“There are security cameras all over the building and no one else was seen going in or out of the apartment.”

“She didn’t kill anyone,” my father insisted. “She might be a little out of the ordinary, but she wouldn’t betray her family by doing anything that would risk exposure.”

I wouldn’t? I mean, of course I wouldn’t. I love my family.

Most of the time, anyway.

“We raised her better than that,” my mother added. “At least we tried.”

“I’m sure you’re right and this is all a mistake,” Remy said. “I know Lil. She wouldn’t do this.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to cross Remy off my prospective eternity mate list.
Bam!
factor aside, you had to love a man who believed in you.

“But the city police think she’s your average killer. Particularly after she resisted arrest and assaulted half the cops on the scene when they tried to take her into custody. She’s in a lot of trouble and it’s a given that you’ll both be pulled in for questioning. It would save a lot of time and trouble if you would come down to the station with me right now and make a statement. Otherwise, you’ll be opening the door to a search warrant.”

“Let me get my purse,” my mother said.

I listened as my parents left with Remy, and then I sank down onto the nearest float and tried not to hyperventilate.

Stop breathing,
I told myself.
Just stop it. You don’t need to breathe. Breathing leads to hyperventilating and vampires don’t hyperventilate. Or panic. Or cry. They stay calm. And cool. And in complete control. And they plan. They figure out where they’re going and how to get there and then they just do it.

That’s what I told myself, but instead of working on getting myself from point A (hiding out for a murder I didn’t commit) to point B (innocence, major financial success, and a date with Orlando Bloom or Jason Allen), I kept picturing Keith in his new blue shirt getting sliced and diced and—
can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe.

Maybe my mother was right.

Maybe I
had
been switched at birth, because vampire or not, I was definitely in the middle of a major panic attack.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I just stopped by to say hi. Sorry I missed you guys. Take care and I’ll see you at the next hunt.

Love, Jack

P.S. Don’t worry about Dad’s Hummer. I’m just borrowing it.

I clipped the note to a refrigerator magnet and grabbed the keys hanging near the back door. After punching in the security code, I let myself out the kitchen door and headed for the massive garage that housed a half dozen vehicles.

After the panic attack and some shallow breathing into an old potato chip bag I’d found in the pool house (the maid/watcher had a thing for sour cream and onion), I’d calmed down enough to formulate a plan. I now had two and a half hours until sunup, which meant I needed a safe place. Somewhere no one would think to look for me. A place that couldn’t be traced back to me. Which meant I had to pay cash. Which meant I needed help.

I could wait for my parents. They would give me cash, and a lecture, and a lot of advice I really didn’t need at the moment.

I could go to one of The Ninas, but they would ask a lot of questions I wasn’t ready to answer at the moment.

I could go to Evie, but she didn’t have any money. On top of that, the cops were probably keeping an eye on her after the fiasco at the office.

I could go to my oldest brother, Max, but he liked to lecture, too. There was my middle brother, Rob, but I really didn’t want to get him involved since he prided himself on staying so uninvolved. Besides, I actually had a relationship with both Max and Rob. We talked on the phone. We shared. Sort of.

Which left my youngest brother, Jack. Jack was a womanizer and a know-it-all and a major pain in the ass. Likewise, he thought I was a pampered, self-centered bitch who squandered money on way too many clothes.

I
know.

I should have added clueless to Jack’s résumé.

I’d never squandered a penny in my life. My ward robe was an investment, just like a horde of original GI Joes or a rare book collection or any of the other stuff offered up on eBay. As for the pampered, self-centered bitch part…Okay, so nobody’s perfect. The point?

While we loved each other (hey, family’s family), we weren’t about to win any contests for the closest siblings. Which meant he was the least likely person I would go to for help. If the police didn’t have my parents under surveillance yet, they weren’t likely to have my youngest and most estranged brother in their sights.

At least that’s what I was hoping.

When I reached the garage, I punched in another security code and stepped back as the doors slid up. I stared longingly at my mother’s candy apple red BMW convertible before turning toward the blazing yellow monster that looked like a bee on steroids.

While the BMW was more my style, the Hummer said cocky male vampire eager to prove his virility with an obscenely large phallic symbol, i.e., my brother Jack.

I climbed in, gunned the engine, and backed out.

A half hour later, I was barreling toward the city. I intended to swing by Jack’s, get him to advance me some cash, and leave the Hummer. Then I’d take a taxi to an out-of-the-way hotel with heavy-duty window blinds and get some much-needed sleep.

Jack wasn’t at home.

I stood on his front stoop and pressed the button for the trillionth time. Nothing.

This was so
not
happening.

I pressed the buzzer again and prayed that he was just tied up with one of his numerous minions (literally) which meant he couldn’t get to the door. Of course, he had super vamp strength which made this whole possibility ridiculous, but a girl could hope.

“Please,” I murmured, pressing the buzzer again.

Okay, so maybe the buzzer was broken. Maybe he really was inside about to call it a night and climb into his coffin (yep, ya heard me—a coffin—Jack was such a showoff) and he just couldn’t hear me.

I grasped tight to the hope, climbed back into the Hummer, and gunned for the nearest pay phone.

Seconds later, I was standing on a street corner next to a hot dog vendor. The smell of roasted wieners made my stomach jump even before I heard my brother’s familiar voice.

“This is Jack. I’m not home. You know the drill…”
Beep.

I hung up, drove back to his apartment, and buzzed him again with the desperate hope that he’d arrived in the three minutes I’d been en route from the pay phone. Crazy, I know. But I didn’t know where else to go or what else to do.

“He isn’t home.” The woman’s voice slid over my shoulder and I turned to see a twenty-something with long brown hair and an olive complexion. Said hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail. A pair of black Lycra workout pants clung to her short legs. She wore an
I LOVE NEW YORK
T-shirt that dwarfed her small frame along with worn Reeboks. A styrofoam cup steamed with coffee in her right hand and her left clutched a morning paper.

Uh-oh.

My heart jump-started as I glanced at my watch. Exactly forty-eight minutes and counting.

I was
so
having the worst night of my life.

My frantic gaze collided with the woman’s and my night got even worse. She wasn’t human. Otherwise, I would have been able to see into her thoughts because, hey, that’s what super vamps did. We could look into any human’s eyes and see the real schmoe inside, the true self that most people tried so desperately to hide. The dark brown eyes that stared back at me now revealed nothing, but I did feel the nearly overwhelming urge to reach out and scratch her behind one ear.

My gaze shifted to her high cheekbones and narrow face, and a sudden image popped into my mind.

“You’re not…” I fought down the smile that tugged at my lips. “You can’t be…”

She stiffened. “A were-Chihuahua. Yeah. So what?”

“So…” So she had the biggest, brightest brown eyes I’d ever seen. “So…nothing. I’ve just never met an actual were-Chihuahua before.”

“There aren’t too many of us these days. In the past, we were practically annihilated by all the other meat-eating weres who are so much bigger and stronger and nondiscriminating when it comes to a midnight snack. But thanks to modern technology”—she held up her backpack—“we can all live together in peace and harmony. Or at least minimal tolerance.”

“What have you got in there? A can of Werewolf-B-Gone? Mace for Were-Tigers?”

“A Glock and handful of silver bullets.”

“That’ll work, too.” I eyed her. “So you know Jack?”

She gave me the once-over. “Who wants to know?”

“His sister—er, that is, his sister’s cousin’s cousin.”

“Wouldn’t that be his cousin, too?”

“Well, uh, yeah. His cousin. I’m his cousin. I really need to see him. It’s a family emergency.” I glanced at my watch again. Forty-five minutes and counting. “I can’t believe he’s not home by now.”

“He isn’t coming home.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s never home now. He’s with
her.
They’re practically living together.”

“With who?”

“The human.” Instead of saying the word with distaste, like most of her supernatural brethren, her words were filled with envy. “He’s with her
all
of the time. They spend the night at her place and then he follows her to work the next day.”

“But he has to sleep.”

“She stashes him someplace safe.”

“And you know this because?”