Raj's only reaction was a slight arching of one eyebrow. He checked his watch. “I'd like to catch up with you, Jozef, but it will have to be later. Krystof has asked me to look into—"

"I know about the cops,” Jozef snapped, his mood suddenly changing. “I'm his chief of security, Raj. I know why you're here."

Raj regarded the other vampire silently. Definitely some resentment there, he thought. And who could blame him. “Look,” Raj said, leaning in conspiratorially. “If I'm going to deal with this quickly, I'm going to need your help. These aren't my streets anymore."

Jozef studied him for a minute before nodding in agreement. “I'll tell you what I can,” he said. “Call me later. Now that I think on it, you should come by the house. Celia'd love to see you. She gets tired of the same old faces."

Celia was Jozef's human wife. They'd wed in the old way long ago, for the benefit of Celia's now dead family, who had never known the true nature of the man she married. They'd been together for more than a century, long enough that although Celia was still human, her life was completely tied to that of her vampire husband. If Jozef ever decided to put her aside, to stop giving her blood, she would die within days. But that would never happen. Celia was a diminutive ball-buster of a woman and completely dominated the bulky vampire. Raj would rather meet the sun than be saddled with someone like Celia for even a day, much less forever.

"I'd enjoy that,” he lied. “We'll set something up."

Raj went out through the front, glad to leave Krystof's nest of neurotic vampires far behind. The air outside was fresh, and for once he didn't mind its cold bite. It was a relief after the lingering miasma of the house, with its half-mad lord and pandering sycophants. He clicked the remote to open the BMW's locks and slipped inside, enjoying the smell of good leather, the smooth rumble of the engine when he turned the key, and the sad, gravelly voice of Leonard Cohen murmuring from his stereo. He picked up his cell phone and speed dialed Manhattan.

"Raj!” Em answered before the phone had finished its first ring.

"Is that how you answer the phone now?"

"I'm sorry, my lord,” she said. “Are you . . ."

"I'm fine, Em,” he relented. “But Krystof confronted some unhappy realities tonight. Everyone there come through all right?"

"No problems. A few headaches and some panic among the younglings, but mostly . . .” She paused as if unsure whether to continue. “I was worried, Raj,” she said in a low voice.

"So little faith in me, Em?"

"No,” she said quickly. “Not really,” she amended. “It's just . . . you're there alone and Krystof has his whole gang behind him—"

"In front of him, you mean. Krystof leads from the rear."

Em laughed and he could hear the relief in her voice when she continued, “So, are you coming back soon?"

"I wish. There's trouble here. Women have gone missing, including the daughter of a man rich enough to make the cops pay attention. The girl was at a vamp party before she disappeared, so the police are following up on what they regard as a vampire connection."

Em snorted. “What vampire connection? No pun intended, but none of us would be caught dead at those silly parties."

"That's what Krystof told them, but you know how it goes. And frankly I'm not sure the old man's as innocent as he claims. He's a little too worried about this whole situation."

"Well, fuck. Just what we need. More bad press. Why not let Krystof clean up his own mess?"

"Because something like this could hurt us all. Besides, if there's any truth to it, and it's not Krystof, I'll have to get rid of whatever vampire is behind it. God knows Krystof won't get his hands dirty."

He heard Em's long sigh over the phone. “Let me send some people, Raj. Now that Krystof knows—"

"Not yet. It's too soon. I need to get the lay of the land and find out what's really going on. All I have so far is what Krystof has told me, and his main concern is always his own ass. I'm on my way to meet the cops, if you can believe that—Krystof set it up before I got here. I'll call you after that."

"If it's not too late, I could still get some troops—"

"Let it go, Em. I'll call you.” He hung up before she could protest any further. He loved Em like a sister, and she was a first-rate lieutenant, but she could be a bit of a mother hen sometimes.

He turned up the music and pulled away from the curb, heading for the police station—the one place he'd never expected to visit.

Chapter Twelve

Sarah hadn't been inside a police station since California, hadn't had so much as a parking ticket in those twelve years. She stood at the bottom of the short, concrete stairway, staring up at the glass doors, and wondered why it felt as if she was giving up her freedom by walking into that building. Intellectually, she knew it was just a building. Moreover, a building filled with men and women who put their lives on the line every single day for people like her. And it wasn't as if they were going to arrest her or anything. She was going to have a nice conversation with Tony Scavetti about vampires, then go back home to her little duplex with its weird staircase and Tupperware-filled freezer. So why was her body in full fight or flight mode?

"Vampires, Sarah,” she muttered to herself in a low voice. “You're just going to talk about vampires.” And if Tony happened to let fall some tidbit of information and she happened to suggest something in return, what harm could there be in that? Right. She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder and went up the stairs.

The door opened as she reached for it, two men in suits—and guns, she noted—coming out as she went in. One of them held the door for her, his gaze moving up and down her body, finally lighting upon her face with an appreciative smile. She'd worn pants today—no matter what Linda said, it was too cold for anything else. But they hugged the curve of her hips and she knew she had a figure that looked good in sweaters, even with most of her body hidden beneath her long wool coat. She smiled back, murmured, “Thanks,” and stepped into the station.

The first thing that hit her was the smell—sweat, dirt and under it all the lingering scent of pine cleaner. Unfortunately too many unwashed bodies had passed through too recently for even the most rigorous cleaning to have made a difference—and she had a feeling the cleaning hadn't been that rigorous. Next was the number of people crowding the barren lobby. She'd scheduled her appointment with Tony for later in the evening, thinking it would be a quieter time. So much for that idea.

To her right was a reception counter—and Mayberry this wasn't. The bottom half was wall, the top half a double layer of presumably bulletproof plastic. She could see various people in uniform moving around behind it, with one well-fed, middle-aged officer sitting at a counter behind the plastic and more or less facing the waiting room. She walked up to the small perforated oval near his head and stopped, waiting for a reaction. It took a while, but eventually he looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Reminding herself that she had a reason for being here that didn't include antagonizing the first cop she came into contact with, Sarah smiled and said pleasantly, “I'm Professor Stratton. Sarah Stratton. I believe Detective Scavetti is expecting me."

The cop regarded her silently for a few moments, but then punched some buttons on his console and spoke into his headset. “Scavetti. You got a visitor.” He paused, listening. “Nah, it's a lady. Says her name is—” He looked at Sarah for guidance.

"Stratton,” she reminded him. “Sarah Stratton."

"Sarah Stratton,” the cop repeated. “Yeah, okay.” He punched another button and said, “He'll be right out. Have a seat."

Sarah surveyed the seating options and decided to stand. A few minutes later, the single, windowless door across the lobby opened and Tony Scavetti appeared. She'd all but forgotten what he looked like; he hadn't made much of an impression the one time she'd met him. But she recognized him immediately. He was one of those Italian-American males she passed every day on the streets of this city, with dark hair greased back, olive skin and deep brown eyes. He was good-looking, if you liked the type, and he clearly spent a lot of time in the gym, with a trim waist and broad shoulders beneath an ill-fitting sports coat. She walked over and held out her hand. “Detective Scavetti."

His eyes never made it to her face as he shook her hand briefly, seeming in a hurry to get her inside and close the door on the lobby. “Sarah,” he said. “Come on back."

She followed him down a short hallway, through a bullpen crowded with desks and people. Phones rang almost constantly and there was a steady murmur of voices, broken by the occasional loud exchange. More than a few heads turned, most of them simply curious, as she followed Tony to a glassed-in office with four desks, none of which were occupied.

"Have a seat,” he said, moving to the desk furthest from the door. There were two padded, straight chairs in front of the desk, and she took the one that didn't have a torn seat cushion. “So, Sarah,” he said, smiling. “What can I do for you?"

Sarah put her purse down on the floor and leaned forward. “I hope it's what I can do for you,” she said, laughing slightly. “As I said on the phone, I was talking to Linda yesterday, and she mentioned you were the lead detective on the Trish Cowens case."

Tony didn't look happy about that, but he nodded.

"She also said you thought vampires might be involved, and since I—"

"Fu—” He looked at her quickly. “How the hell did Linda—"

"I think your mother told her."

"Fu—” He sucked in a breath and smiled, leaning way back in his chair until it hit the wall behind him. “Sorry. Bad habit. I guess I'll have to arrest my mom for talking out of turn. I'm sorry, Sarah, but you may have wasted your time in coming here. I'm not free to discuss any ongoing investigation. I'm sure you understand."