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“Jane, we need to talk!” Zeb called after me.
“Good night!” I yelled as I struggled to fit the key into the front door and keep the protective blanket in place.
I slammed the door behind me and threw the deadbolt in place, just in time to hear Zeb say, “All right, then.”
I closed my eyes, praying he wouldn’t come to the door and try to talk about what just happened. I leaned my head back against the glass, listening for the sound of Zeb’s car starting up and driving away. I caught sight of my reflection in the pier glass in the foyer, the oddly beautiful, pale woman in the mirror, her face flooded with relief at the sound of a Datsun’s engine revving.
I glared at the image. “You are a coward.”
My reflection was decidedly unhelpful.
14
Any male who marries more than two mates is ostracized from the pack. Most females would consider him a jinx at that point, anyway.
—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were
In order to avoid thinking about Zeb and inappropriate touching, I threw myself into ferreting out more information on my future step-grandpa. I figured of the two problems, Wilbur’s past was far less likely to come back and bite me on the butt.
Gabriel found me up to my elbows in cyberspace, searching through a not-quite-legal connection to the state’s vital-statistics database. The library was granted access for archive purposes, and Mrs. Stubblefield hadn’t bothered to change our password since I was fired. Honestly, what was she thinking?
I had access to birth certificates, marriage licenses, and death certificates, the only problem being that they were in abstract form, giving the barest essentials of names and dates.
After I gave only a cursory grunt for a greeting, Gabriel cautiously climbed onto the couch next to me and watched as my fingers flew over the keyboard.
“I’m fine, thank you, dear. How are you?” he said pointedly.
I made a kissing noise in his general direction but continued my search.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he grumped. When I finally looked at Gabriel, I saw that he was wearing a well-cut black suit with a blue silk tie. I’d never seen him in his “business” attire before. He would have been mouthwatering, if not for the anxious lines between his brows, the nervous glint in his eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Stalking my future grampy via an obscenely fast wireless connection,” I said, tapping away at the keys.
He blinked at the wildly scrolling screen. “Is that slang or a Jane-ism?”
“A little of both,” I said. While the search engine compiled marriage records for Goosens between 1960 and 2007, I kissed his chin and rubbed my eyes. “I’m looking up old Mr. Goosen in the state archives. So far, all I’ve found is his birth certificate, which is normal. And his death certificate, which is, considering that he’s walking around, not normal.”
He stroked a hand across my shoulders. “You know, I’ve never seen this aggressively intellectual side of you before. It’s rather disturbing and yet somehow a little sexy.”
“Which is pretty much how we define our relationship,” I said, turning back to the screen.
I heard his delicate intake of breath beside me. “Was Zeb just here? His scent seems particularly strong in this room.”
“Please stop sniffing me for evidence of other people,” I groaned, cutting off my contrived, indignant response. Instead, I quietly said, “I had to feed from him.”
“Why are you making that face?” he asked, tucking his thumb under my chin. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t feed from Zeb.”
“I sort of vowed not to feed from humans, remember?” I said. “I was doing great, six months clean and passive … and then Zeb tried to kiss me, and it all just went to hell from there.”>He showed me a sample photo. I winced. “Bleh. Don’t I have enough randy geriatrics in my life? And she was sure he died?”
“Well, they buried him,” he said, starting the car. “So, what would that make him? A vampire? A zombie?”
“This isn’t really my area of expertise,” I said. “But it explains the health shakes.”
“Well, have you ever seen him during the day?”
“I don’t see anybody during the day.”
“Aren’t there some vampire tests we can do? We can make him touch silver, put him under a sun lamp. Oh, we can force-feed him garlic bread.”
