Choosing my words carefully, knowing I was walking in a verbal minefield, I said, “Is Leo a suspect? How can he be a suspect based on the footage we just saw?”
“Person of interest. Person who is supposed to know, and have control over, every vamp in his region. Who is supposed to keep the humans safe from predators,” she spat, still holding in her fury, barely, but moving closer, until I could feel the anger radiating from her in heated waves. “Person who may have just lost any ability to keep the vamps out of the human legal system. Person who could end up in the vampire version of Guantanamo Bay,” she said, her voice rising, “in a cave in chains, along with the rest of his species, if certain members of Congress have their way. And this”—she swept an arm to the video of the kill bar on the laptop and lowered her voice—“just made that more likely.”
“Okay. I got that. Suggestion. You could go to the Council House and knock politely and ask to be let in,” I said.
Jodi leaned to me, up against me, so close that her face was in mine though I stood nearly a foot taller, her calm façade cracking. She breathed, “I don’t feel like being polite. I feel like taking a couple dozen guns and walking into fanghead central and shooting everything that moves. And if I feel that way, how do you think the rest of the city is going to feel? How do you think this city is going to react to anything supernatural after this? To the witches?” Her voice lowered, hissing with fierceness. “To my people. To my family.”
I didn’t move away. I didn’t touch her. I simply pulled my wallet and removed my Enforcer cards. I tore them in half and placed them on the table, knowing what I was about to say might get me killed. By Leo. “I’m a vampire hunter. It’s what I do.” I held Jodi’s eyes with mine, watching hers redden and fill with tears. Tears that didn’t fall. “I’ll start research now. I’ll verify his name. I will track down and I will find this monster. I will cut out his heart and I will bring it to you. You. Personally.”
“And Leo?” she whispered, her breath brushing my cheek.
I didn’t know the answer to that one yet. “He may try to kill me.” A ghost of a smile softened my face. “Get me a go-ahead. Call the governor and get him to give me a contract to cover liabilities. He should have one on file from the werewolf problems in Houma last winter. But I’ll do it even without the contract. For you. For the witches. For these people and their families.”
Jodi’s blue eyes swept my face, and something there must have satisfied her. “I want you on camera with me at a press conference, live for the six a.m. news,” she breathed. “I want you in full regalia. And I want you to announce that you are going after this guy. Maybe that will keep this city calm for a day. Maybe.”
“Fine. Yes. I’ll be there. I need to talk to Leo first, and there’s not much time before six a.m.”
“One more thing.” Jodi pulled an envelope-shaped evidence bag from a pocket and held it out to me. “Do you know what this is?”
I took the envelope, which hadn’t been sealed, hadn’t been timed or dated or initialed, hadn’t been listed according to crime scene number or scene sector, all of which was not according to protocol. I looked to Jodi, who refused to meet my eyes. “Okay,” I said, forcing her to recognize all the problems with my seeing this. I opened the bag and looked inside. At the bottom was a tuft of something white, like a fishing fly, tied and knotted with white string, a bit of stem from a bush or tree caught in it. The leaf was still greenish, though curled and wilted. I pointed at it, the question on my face.
“You can check it out,” she said. “No way can we get prints from it, and it’s been handled by too many of us. DNA is impossible now.”
Which meant the cops had found something somewhere and mishandled it and Jodi had absconded with a piece of whatever they had found. Gotcha. I lifted the hairy tuft and held it to the lamp. The white clump was composed of shorter, furry hair and longer white hairs, the tips so pure they looked almost clear. I knew what it was even without scenting it, but I sniffed anyway, drawing air into my nose, the hairs moving against my nostrils. This was werewolf hair, belonging to a particular werewolf—Brute, a werewolf stuck in wolf form. Brute and I had a long and confusing history, one that involved fights, a little blood, and an angel.
I dropped the hair back into the envelope and resealed it before handing it back. “Smells like a wet dog,” I said.
Jodi stepped away slowly, pulling her control around her like a steel corset, compressing all the frayed ends, hiding all the pain inside. She shoved a strand of blond hair behind her ear and the envelope back into her pocket. “Can you still ride a bike?” she asked. “Herbert has a Harley.”
I couldn’t keep the snark in, though I kept my voice low, for her. “Can I sanitize the seat first?”
The laughter that broke from Jodi was as jagged as broken glass. “I might have a bottle around here somewhere.”
“Then get me the bike. I’ll be back as fast as I can.”
“Move it. Take your partner. We need this space.”
Still side by side, Eli and I left the tent.
While Herbert went for his motorcycle, I called HQ and asked for Del. “You see the breaking news?” I asked her. When she said yes, I said, “A vamp did it. Tell Leo I’m on the way in.” I closed the Kevlar cell phone cover without waiting for her reply.
And dang if Jim Herbert didn’t push up a customized metallic silver Harley Heritage Softail with pillion-style seat. If I thought he hated me before, the look he sent me turned regular ol’ hatred into hatred times ten. “You hurt my baby and I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your life,” he stated.
“If I hurt that bike, I’ll deserve it.”
I had no idea the words came out of my mouth until Herbert glared harder. My comment made him tuck his chin, creating extra chins. It made Eli glance at me from the corner of his eye.
“Seriously,” I said. Herbert might be a pig, but he had great taste in motorcycles. “I’ll take care of her.”
Eli and I helmeted up. I shoved my stakes into a cup holder set discreetly in the bike’s frame. My partner asked, “You’re not going to make me ride the bitchseat, are you?”
“Oh yeah. And it’s pillion, not bitchseat.” I straddled the bike and got the feel of her balance, the weight distribution of her, the soundness of her. She was gorgeous, easy to handle even with one arm not up to my usual strength levels. “This baby’s mine.” I keyed her on and made a low sound of pleasure—this bike was the only good thing in this godforsaken night. I looked up and met Herbert’s eyes. “What’s her name?”