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VAMPIRE FOR HIRE
Raylene Pendle (AKA Cheshire Red), a vampire and world-renowned thief, doesn’t usually hang with her own kind. She’s too busy stealing priceless art and rare jewels. But when the infuriatingly charming Ian Stott asks for help, Raylene finds him impossible to resist—even though Ian doesn’t want precious artifacts. He wants her to retrieve missing government files—documents that deal with the secret biological experiments that left Ian blind. What Raylene doesn’t bargain for is a case that takes her from the wilds of Minneapolis to the mean streets of Atlanta. And with a psychotic, power-hungry scientist on her trail, a kick-ass drag queen on her side, and Men in Black popping up at the most inconvenient moments, the case proves to be one hell of a ride.
display of anger. “—none at all for us to be hanging around D.C. waiting for you to expose everything, and everybody. Waiting for you to get us all killed, or worse.” “Oh ye of little faith,” I said, watching the breathless thrall squeeze and unsqueeze the finger notches on the wheel. “And for your information I like Ian, and I have no intention of putting him into any danger. Or you either, you little shit.” I went immediately for Domino’s pet name and suddenly felt unfaithful for it. At the
your phone, get Cal, and get out of here. We need to treat this like an outbreak of a disease. Everything that’s had any contact with me, or with that PDF, has to go.” He was standing, and then in the blink of an eye he was between me and the door—wearing an expression that was half earnest, half frustrated. “I don’t understand.” I took him by the shoulders, gently—lest he think I was trying to play rough. I said, “I have some info about your situation, but I can’t get to it yet—and the man who
Panic O’Matic assured me that heavily armed commandos were already rifling through my underwear drawer. I let go of him and he got out of my way. “You shouldn’t stay here,” I added as I reached for the door. “You could go, you could … I know. Go out to Ballard and get a boat. Stay out at the marina and I’ll find you when I can.” He was on the verge of saying something but I was already out the door, and it was already shutting behind me. 4 I fled the hotel and ran down to the parking
quite manage the landing I’d wanted—I toppled forward out the window and fell with more of a “splat” than with tidy cat feet en pointe—but it got me to the ground. Funny, I didn’t remember the snow under the window being quite so deep on the way in. I sank into snow that came up over my knees, and I tramped around in it, both trying to be quiet and trying to figure out which direction to run, if any. I held still for a few seconds and listened hard, hoping to better pinpoint the noise, which had
right to call me paranoid, obviously, yes. But you don’t survive as long as I have by being sloppy and easily accessible. That’s a recipe for disaster. I’m much happier when I feel invisible. I fondled the card between two fingers and tried to talk myself out of my phobic spiral. He’d given me a name. Was it his real name? There was no telling. But he’d signed it properly, although I noted after looking again at the envelope, the signature didn’t match the chicken-scratch scrawl of the address.