Danny’s face showed his confusion as he tried in vain to process my foolish ways. “Yours?”
“He’s coming with us,” I assured him.
“You must be joking.” Danny laughed, his face incredulous. “Surely we’ll be trekking where no human can follow. He’s bound to end up killed or worse. Not that there’s actually anything worse than dead, but it could definitely hurt more.”
I shrugged. “Then he’ll die. But I’m not killing him right here in cold blood.”
Danny’s expression switched to a sardonic grin in an instant. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”
I took a sharp breath. “You have to be careful, Danny,” I scolded. “Why do you always tread so close to the hairy edge? Someday your mouth is going to spin you into trouble and no amount of sweet talking is going to get you out.” Referring to me like that so boldly could cause waves where none should be, especially when the real boss was still in the building.
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “It’s an addiction, naturally. What fun is the world when everything is so safe and tidy? Everything in its proper place?”
He had a point.
I moved toward the door. “Take Ray to his house and pack a bag. If his house is under any surveillance, regroup. Meet me back at my apartment when you’re done. We’ll be out at full dark; the vamps will be there shortly after. Be ready.”
As I left, I heard Danny say to Ray. “No need to look so glum, Detective Hart. The vampires won’t kill you instantly. They like to play with their prey first. That means you and I will have a lot more happy fun time together. Won’t that be smashing?”
I headed back into the main offices of Hannon & Michaels, the P.I. firm I shared with my partner, Nick Michaels. Nick was a werefox who’d been raised on the Compound with me, my father having taken him in as a child. Because of the fact that male werewolves didn’t play well with one another, we’d been inseparable ever since.
Marcy, our fearless secretary and resident spell caster, stood from her desk as I walked in, reading me accurately with her sharp, intelligent eyes. Marcy was a sassy, curvy, redheaded witch whom I secretly adored. She hated overt emotional interactions, so I tended to heap it on whenever possible.
“What’s up?” she asked. “Cop chat didn’t go well? You look a little haggard.”
“I feel haggard. Do we have any food left?”
“Nope, you and your compadres scarfed everything down an hour ago, and there were at least twenty takeout bags in the lunchroom. What is it with you guys? Who can possibly keep up with all these constant hunger demands? It’s unnatural.”
“What can I say? Wolves like to eat.” I chuckled to myself, even though eating massive amounts of food in order to feed my new, faster metabolism was becoming a serious adjustment.
My stomach grumbled to punctuate my point.
“Like to eat?” Marcy said. “Your eyes roll back in your head every time food comes through that door. It’s like watching a puppy dig into its breakfast bowl.”
I couldn’t exactly argue. Food tasted amazing with my new, enhanced senses, and just imagining a cheeseburger could induce orgasmic thoughts.
Marcy read my face accurately. “I can order you more food, Godzilla, but it’ll take a few minutes to get here.”
“Never mind. I’m heading home in about two minutes anyway. Is my dad still here?”
“Yep, he’s in your office making some calls.”
“Did they get rid of the imp?”
“The greasy unconscious guy?”
“That’s the one.”
“Gone. A couple of big fellas took him away. You guys don’t screw around in the breeding department. The boys who hauled him out of here were huge.”
“What about Nick?”
“He’s out on a call, but he said he’d swing by your apartment before you left. You’re supposed to wait for him before you leave town. His orders.”
“Is he still pissed he’s not going?”
“Pissed wouldn’t be the description I’d use.” Marcy tapped a perfectly manicured nail on the table. “Try brokenhearted or severely devastated.”