long curl back off his forehead. "I had a shower."
"Where'd you leave the towel?"
"In a sopping pile on the floor."
Celluci grunted inarticulately and surrendered to sleep again.
Vicki smiled and kissed his eyelids. "I love you too."
She stayed beside him until the threat of sunrise drove her away.
"Irene Macdonald."
Vicki lay in the darkness and stared unseeing up at the plywood. The sun was down and she was free to leave her sanctuary but she remained a moment longer, turning over the name that had been on her tongue when she woke. She remembered facetiously wondering if the deaths of Irene Macdonald and her pimp were connected.
Irene had been found beaten nearly to death in the bathroom of her apartment. She'd died two hours later in the hospital.
Celluci said that he was personally certain Mac Eisler was responsible. That was good enough for Vicki.
Eisler could've been unlucky enough to run into a vampire who fed on terror as well as blood—Vicki had tasted terror once or twice during her first year when the Hunger occasionally slipped from her control and she knew how addictive it could be—or he could've been killed in revenge for Irene.
Vicki could think of one sure way to find out.
"Brandon? It's Vicki Nelson."
"Victoria?" Surprise lifted most of the Oxford accent off Dr. Brandon Singh's voice. "I thought you'd relocated to British Columbia."
"Yeah, well, I came back."
"I suppose that might account for the improvement over the last month or so in a certain detective we both know."
She couldn't resist asking. "Was he really bad while I was gone?"
Brandon laughed. "He was unbearable and, as you know, I am able to bear a great deal. So, are you still in the same line of work?"
"Yes, I am." Yes, she was. God, it felt good. "Are you still the Assistant Coroner?"
"Yes, I am. As I think I can safely assume you didn't call me, at home, long after office hours, just to inform me that you're back on the job, what do you want?"
Vicki winced. "I was wondering if you'd had a look at Mac Eisler."
"Yes, Victoria, I have. And I'm wondering why you can't call me during regular business hours. You must know how much I enjoy discussing autopsies in front of my children."
"Oh God, I'm sorry Brandon, but it's important."
"Yes. It always is." His tone was so dry it crumbled. "But since you've already interrupted my evening, try to keep my part of the conversation to a simple yes or no."
"Did you do a blood volume check on Eisler?"
"Yes."
"Was there any missing?"
"No. Fortunately, in spite of the trauma to the neck the integrity of the blood vessels had not been breached."
So much for yes or no; she knew he couldn't keep to it. "You've been a big help, Brandon, thanks."
"I'd say any time, but you'd likely hold me to it." He hung up abruptly.
Vicki replaced the receiver and frowned. She—the other—hadn't fed. The odds moved in favor of Eisler killed because he murdered Irene.
"Well, if it isn't Andrew P." Vicki leaned back against the black Trans Am and adjusted the pair of nonprescription glasses she'd picked up just after sunset. With her hair brushed off her face and the window-glass lenses in front of her eyes, she didn't look much different than she had a year ago. Until she smiled.
The pimp stopped dead in his tracks, bluster fading before he could get the first obscenity out. He swallowed, audibly. "Nelson. I heard you were gone."
Listening to his heart race, Vicki's smile broadened. "I came back. I need some information. I need the name of one of Eisler's other girls."
"I don't know." Unable to look away, he started to shake. "I didn't have anything to do with him. I don't remember."
Vicki straightened and took a slow step towards him. "Try, Andrew."
There was a sudden smell of urine and a darkening stain down the front of the pimp's cotton drawstring pants. "Uh, D . . . D . . . Debbie Ho. That's all I can remember. Really."
"And she works?"
"Middle of the track." His tongue tripped over the words in the rush to spit them at her. "Jarvis and Carlton."
"Thank you." Sweeping a hand towards his car, Vicki stepped aside.
He dove past her and into the driver's seat, jabbing the key into the ignition. The powerful engine roared to life and with one last panicked look into the shadows, he screamed out of the driveway, ground his way through three gear changes, and hit eighty before he reached the corner.