So she scanned every building. Every shadow. Then, staying as low and keeping as much cover as she could, she went to the idiot.
“Help me! I’m dying! You’ve got to—”
Her gaze darted over him. A lot of blood. Huh. And the vamp had run away from that? Who ran when the buffet was free?
“Help me! I can’t die like this, I can’t—”
“You’re not dying.” Jeez. She yanked out her phone, then pressed the button that would send an SOS to the surveillance team at Night Watch. “It’s a flesh wound, moron.” She’d sure had her share of them.
“Dispatch.” A soft, modulated voice flowed over the line.
“Need an ambulance.” She didn’t identify herself. Why bother? Stella would recognize her voice. “Four fifteen Brantley. Human down and—”
Sirens wailed in the night. Of damn course. The shot would have attracted attention.
Her fingers tightened around the phone. “Never mind.”
Hell.
Time for explanations.
Or, okay, lies.
“What do we say?”
The deep, rumbling voice came from the left. From Mr. Tall, Dark, and, yeah, Sexy, who’d tailed her over to the victim. She spared him a glance. “You can get out of here. I’ll handle the cops.” She’d had lots of experience with the Baton Rouge PD. Most of the uniforms owed her, anyway.
One black brow shot up. “It’s okay, you don’t have to thank me.” A grin flashed, one that showed a lot of strong, white teeth. “I was happy to save your life. Really. Think nothing of it. Yeah, I nearly got shot, but I’m okay. No need for concern.” His right hand lifted and gingerly rubbed his chin.
A patrol car rounded the corner, screeched to a stop, and Dee clenched her teeth. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Not very gracious, are you?” he murmured, and he knelt, his hands going toward the moaning guy’s wounds. “You should work on that.”
Her eyes slit. “I didn’t need saving.” Cops were approaching. She could see them from the corner of her eye. Their guns were up, their steps slow.
“Yeah, you did.”
She almost growled at him. Any minute now, the cops would be saying—
“Put your hands up! Nice and slow and—”
Ah, good. She recognized that voice. “Harry, we’ve got a gunshot vic here. He needs to be routed to Mercy General.”
“Dee?” Not real surprise. More like horror.
“Yeah. Be careful, the shooter could still be around.”
Harry and his partner immediately crouched. Harry jerked out his radio and barked some commands.
“Why am I not surprised that the cops know you?” Dark and Sexy murmured.
She spared him a withering glance. Then she leaned in close to the victim and whispered, “If you want to stay out of the psych ward, don’t say a word about the vampire.”
He blinked once, then gave a quick, jerky nod.
Good. Because the cops on scene didn’t understand the paranormal score in this town, and if the vic started rambling about Dee trying to take down an undead bloodsucker, things could get tricky.
She eased back into her crouch. So much for an easy bag. The guys at Night Watch would be giving her hell about this one for days.
And who’d been out there with the gun? Why had the shooter been aiming for her?
She’d find out. As soon as damn possible.
Because no one took a free shot at her and got away. No one.
Sandra “Dee” Daniels was small, grubby, and she really, really shouldn’t have been attractive.
Her blond hair barely skimmed her chin and it looked like the woman had taken scissors to it herself—leaving the hair in short, twisted layers. Her nose was a little off center, her bottom lip a little too big, her chin a little too pointed.
No, she shouldn’t have been attractive.
The jeans she wore were ripped and faded. Her white T-shirt clung too tightly to her small br**sts, and her black boots were scuffed pretty much to hell and back.
But—
But she was damn sexy. Maybe it was the eyes. So big and dark. Chocolate. Once upon a time, he’d loved the stuff.
And that mouth. The lips were lush, soft, so red. Okay, so maybe he liked her mouth.
A lot.
She had her hands balled into fists on her hips. Cops were everywhere, running like ants as they searched the scene. He’d already been questioned three times, and both he and Dee had been given the all clear to leave.
But the woman wasn’t moving, and if she wasn’t moving, neither was he.
After five minutes of silence from her, she finally deigned to glance his way. “Harry said you could leave, buddy.”
“Simon. Simon Chase.” She knew his name. She’d been right there when he spelled it for the uniforms. Each time.
She grunted.
He almost smiled. Almost. “Ah, I can’t help but notice, Sandra—”
“Dee.” Her voice snapped like a whip.
He’d been there when she had to spell her name, too. He’d rather enjoyed her gruff, “Harry, you know this shit, S-A-ND-R-A…oh, f**k off.”
“Dee,” he allowed. But he’d be calling her Sandra again soon. He liked that. Liked the way her cheeks flushed so red when she heard the name. “You don’t seem too upset that someone tried to kill you tonight.”
The victim had been hauled away in an ambulance. Blood still soaked the ground, but Simon didn’t glance at it. His nostrils twitched, just a bit, but the scent was starting to fade.
She rolled her shoulders in a little shrug. “Not like it’s the first time.”
He let his eyes widen. “Really.”
A grunt from her. She seemed to like that sound.
“And you have no idea why folks want you dead?”
A furrow peaked between her golden brows. “No clue.”
Right.
Her hands lifted, then fell in a vague little gesture. “Well, it’s been fun, Chase, but I’ve got work to do.”
He pulled the wooden stake from his back pocket. “Just what kind of work is it that you do, Sandra?”
Red flush. She lunged for him and locked her fingers around the stake, but he didn’t let go. She was close now, close enough that he could see light flecks of gold in her dark gaze. Close enough that he could see the pulse pounding at the base of her throat. Close enough that he could almost taste those lips.
He tightened his hold on the stake. The wood was smooth and hard. The woman had obviously spent some time honing her weapon.