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“I do,” Rick said. “Though I suppose I have reasons not to. He’s saved my life a couple of times now. I’ve saved his. That has to count for something.”
I understood those kinds of calculations. “Where’s he from?”
“South Africa. I’ve known him for fifteen years, Kitty. Longer than I’ve known you.”
“That’s not the only criteria for trusting someone.”
“But it’s a good one for knowing someone.”
“Somebody had to have sold you out, Rick. Can you trust Charlie and Violet?”
“Can I trust you? You knew where we were. It’s a very short list of people who did.”
“But why would I tell anyone?” I said, almost shrilly. “What reason would I have?”
“For protection. Maybe you made a deal with Arturo or Mercedes. I don’t know, you tell me.”
Great. We were all paranoid now. And I couldn’t even blame him for questioning me. I took a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable and not like a traitor. “I didn’t know when you were planning on moving. I didn’t know enough to be able to sell you out. You’re the one who came to me. Don’t go putting me on the spot now.”
He glanced away.
I sighed. “Rick, if you don’t think I can help you, if you don’t trust me, tell me now so I can get the hell out of here.”
He studied me—and I met his gaze square on, vampire mojo or no. If it would give him some kind of reassurance, it was worth the risk.
And if I didn’t trust him not to pull on
e over on me, I had no business being here in the first place. The logic of it was simple.
He looked away first. “Let’s move on.”
Ben had brought along today’s paper. A story on the front page related the gruesome discovery of ten mauled bodies in an industrial warehouse. The first paragraph of the story included mention of the involvement of Hardin’s Paranatural Unit in the investigation, and the following conclusion that vampires, or werewolves, or some combination of the above were involved. The rest of the article didn’t reveal too many details. Hardin had given me more information at her briefing this morning. Hard to believe it was only this morning. The editorial pages contained a long rant about the danger paranormal elements obviously presented to the public, bringing up the spate of alleged vampire assaults at downtown nightclubs last month, and demanding to know when the authorities were going to do something about containing the menace. Never mind that all the victims had also been paranormal, and the paranormal hadn’t presented such an obvious menace before this slaughter.
Before this, no one outside the paranormal community ever heard about slaughters like this. People went missing, that was it.
“Why didn’t Arturo clean up the mess?” I asked Rick. “He’s Denver’s Master. I’d have thought he’d want this covered up. He wouldn’t want the attention.”
“You’re right, but Dack called 911 just before we escaped,” he said. That solved that mystery. “Arturo’s people didn’t have time to do anything before the police showed up.”
“That must have driven him crazy,” I said.
“Not that it does us any good. Whether he got rid of the bodies or not, my people are still dead.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“Oh, but it does do us some good,” I said. “Because now we have Detective Hardin on our side.”
“You look like someone who has a plan,” he said.
“I do.”
The three of us sat close, heads bent, in what seemed to me to be an obvious conspiracy. I told them what Cormac and I had discussed—paraphrasing, while talking about territories and predators, drawing them out, and making them panic.
I didn’t mention the bounty hunter; nonetheless, Ben spotted me. “That sounds like one of Cormac’s plans. You went to talk to Cormac.”
“I hadn’t planned on it,” I said. “It just sort of happened.”
“There’s someone who could be very useful right now,” Rick said.
“If you can postpone your revolution for another four years or so, he might be available,” Ben said, cutting.
