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She joined me by the bed. “Is she all right?”
“Yeah. Could you tie this chain around her somehow? I don’t want to touch it if I don’t have to.” I showed her my injured palm.
“That’s my cross,” she said.
“I had to borrow it.”
She considered me a moment, then shook her head. Her taut expression managed to convey both trepidation and annoyance. But she did get the chain tied around Mom’s neck.
“The silver did that to you?”
Wincing, I nodded. “With silver bullets, it’s not the bullet that kills a werewolf. It’s the silver poisoning the blood.”
“Not very pretty I bet.”
“No, I imagine not.”
Straightening, Hardin regarded me. The trepidation was fading, losing to a severe look of aggravation. “You’re going to have to explain what that bastard did to me.”
“The vampire hypnotic voodoo.”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“How do you think they get people to stay still while they drink their blood?”
She scowled. “I hate it when this crap actually makes sense.”
“Don’t look at his eyes next time, okay?”
“Let’s get going.”
I touched Mom’s hand one more time. She was sleeping, and the cross was visible, lying at the hollow of her throat. She was as safe as I could make her. Which wasn’t very. I hated to leave.
“She’ll be okay,” Hardin said, touching my arm. “I’ll make sure security is watching her room.”
Like that would help. Arturo would just work his wiles on them.
“I’ll have them string garlic in the doorway.” She grinned, but it wasn’t much of a joke.
We heard pounding footsteps ahead of us. Four cops, running down the corridor. Hardin’s backup.
“Took you guys long enough!” she barked at them. “Come on, we’re heading out.”
They shrugged and mumbled excuses. But I looked at the clock—the whole exchange with Arturo had only taken a couple of minutes. We hadn’t been here that long. Time had stretched to make it seem so.
After Hardin had a word with security, we walked out of the hospital together. “Your boyfriend was going to this guy’s home base. Where?”
“You know Obsidian? That art gallery on Fourteenth? He’s in the basement.”
“How many people has he got with him?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen as many as twelve or fourteen. All vampires.”
“Well, this ought to be fun. Sawyer, you got that surveillance file on Mercedes Cook? She’s a known associate. We might get some idea of what we’ll find there.”
“Yeah, it’s in the car.”
“Sawyer,” I muttered. “Isn’t that the guy who shot me?” The cop in question ducked and ran ahead of us. Avoiding me. Oh, it was him.
