of the profits,” I murmured. “Like Wal-Mart versus Dad’s Downtown Hardware.” Mr. Cataliades laughed.
“You’re right, Miss Stackhouse. Exactly. There are those in both camps, and the summit we’ll attend in a few weeks will have this item high on the agenda.”
“To get from what’s going to take place weeks from now and get back to something a little more on topic, why would Patrick Furnan try to kill me? He doesn’t like me, and he knows I’d stand with Alcide if I had to make a choice between ’em, but so what? I’m not important. Why would he plan all this—find the two boys who would do it, bite them, send them out to get me and Quinn—if there wasn’t some big payoff?”
“You have a knack for asking good questions, Miss Stackhouse. I wish my answers were as good.”
Well, I might as well keep my thoughts to myself if I wasn’t going to get any information out of my companions.
The only reason to kill Gladiola, at least the only reason that this direct human could see, was to delay my getting the message that I needed to be ready to leave for New Orleans. Also, Gladiola would have provided some buffer between me and anything that came after me, or at the least she would have been more alert to the attack.
As it was, she’d been lying dead in the woods when I’d gone on my date with Quinn. Whoa. How had the young wolves known where to find me? Shreveport isn’t that big, but you couldn’t guard every road into town on the off chance I’d show up. On the other hand, if a Were had spotted Quinn and me going into the theater, they’d have known I’d be there for a couple of hours, and that was time enough to arrange something.
If this mastermind had known even earlier, it would have been even easier . . . if someone, say, had known beforehand that Quinn had asked me to go the theater. Who’d known I had a date with Quinn? Well, Tara: I’d told her when I bought my outfit. And I’d mentioned it to Jason, I thought, when I’d called him to inquire after Crystal. I’d told Pam I had a date, but I didn’t remember telling her where I was going.
And then there was Quinn himself.
I was so grieved by this idea that I had to suppress tears. It was not like I knew Quinn that well or could judge his character based on the time I’d spent with him. . . . I’d learned over the past few months that you couldn’t really know someone that quickly, that learning a person’s true character might take years. It had shaken me profoundly, since I’m used to knowing people very well, very quickly. I know them better than they ever suspect. But making mistakes about the character of a few supernaturals had caught me flatfooted, emotionally. Used to the quick assessment my telepathy made possible, I’d been naïve and careless.
Now I was surrounded by such creatures.
I snuggled into a corner of the broad seat and shut my eyes. I had to be in my own world for a while, with no one else allowed inside. I fell asleep in the dark car, with a semidemon and a vampire sitting across from me and a half demon in the driver’s seat.
When I woke up, I had my head in Bill’s lap. His hand was gently stroking my hair, and the familiar touch of his fingers brought me peace and a stirring of that sensual feeling that Bill had always been able to rouse in me.
It took a second for me to remember where we were and what we were doing, and then I sat up, blinking and tousled. Mr. Cataliades was quite still on the opposite seat, and I thought he was asleep, but it was impossible to be sure. If he’d been human, I would’ve known.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Almost there,” Bill said. “Sookie . . .”
“Hmm?” I stretched and yawned and longed for a toothbrush.
“I’ll help you go through Hadley’s apartment if you want me to.”
I had a feeling he’d changed his mind about what he was going to say, at the last minute.
“If I need help, I know where to go,” I answered. That should be ambiguous enough. I was beginning to get a mighty bad feeling about Hadley’s apartment. Maybe Hadley’s legacy to me was more in the nature of a curse than a