Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men (33 page)

He caught my wrists, rolling and pinning me to the floor. He panted and broke into a wide grin. I gasped, slapping at his shoulders. I pulled my shirt back into place and struggled to untangle myself from his legs. “You’re turned on right now, aren’t you?”

“No!” he insisted, looking all offended and righteous for a moment, until his poker face broke and he was forced to say, “Yes, yes, I am.”

I threw my head back and growled, shaking various bric-a-brac with the sound of my frustration.

Gabriel looked only slightly ashamed. “I can’t help it. You know I love it when you’re all spluttery and defensive and aggressive.”

“This is sick. Gabriel, we can’t keep doing this. We cannot resolve all of our problems with violent, dirty sex.”

Gabriel groaned, leaning his forehead against my shoulder. “Oh, we’re not going to go through this again, are we? Violent and dirty works for us, Jane.”

“Well, it’s not a healthy way to work things out. We need to learn to use our words. I’ll start us off. Who the hell is Jeanine?”

“It’s not what you think, Jane, I promise you. When the time is right, I’ll explain everything—”

Zeb burst through the door, his head swathed in white
gauze. He looked as if he’d just escaped from a scene in
One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

I moaned and made use of several words. Obscene words, but at least I was using some.

Zeb was clearly disturbed by the sight of the two of us all wrapped up in each other, but he didn’t take a hint to turn around and leave. “Hey, Jolene wanted me to drop these bridal-party itineraries off, so you’ll be sure to be aware of your duties every minute of our wedding day.”

“Zeb, this isn’t a good time,” I told him.

Gabriel seemed grateful for an interruption, but he didn’t bother getting up or pulling his shirt back on. “Can we talk about the headgear?” He nodded to the gauze, which I now noticed was spotted with blood around his left ear.

“Everything’s fine,” he assured me as Gabriel and I disengaged and got to our feet. “It was just an accident.”

“Zeb, you’re wearing a sling around your head,” I said, inspecting the dandy bandaging work and earning a slap on the hand from the testy groom. “You just got out of the eye patch!”

He sighed. “I was fishing with Jolene’s family, and uncle Burt cast back—”

“You got a hook in the ear?” I cringed. “Oh, gross! Was the worm still on it?”

Zeb made a face. “No, but thanks for the silver lining. And news flash: the emergency room uses Super Glue instead of stitches now.”

“He knew you were standing right behind him, and he cast back anyway?”

“Yeah, in fact, before he did it, he leaned over to Luke
and said, ‘Watch this,’ “ Zeb muttered. “I’m getting pretty sick of this crap. Jolene’s not doing anything about it. I’m starting to wonder … well, I just wish they would stop going for my head.”

“Out of all of this, that’s what you find disturbing?”

Zeb rolled his eyes at me. “No, I find it disturbing that Timothy Dalton ranks highest on your ‘Which James Bond Would You Do?’ list.”

“
The Living Daylights
is highly underrated.” I sulked when Gabriel gave me a surprised look.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Zeb said. “I don’t know if I can put up with her family. It’s never going to stop, and she’s never going to want to move away from them. I just don’t get why she wants to stay close to them.”

He looked up at me, and a film of unshed tears seemed to be obscuring his normally clear brown eyes. “Jane, isn’t there anything you want to tell me?”

“I’m sort of out of my element here, Zeb.” I looked up to Gabriel. “Will you please talk to him? Have some sort of man-to-man exchange?”

Gabriel cleared his throat and placed a fatherly hand on Zeb’s shoulder. “Loving family members do not aim for each other’s soft tissues.”

I made my angry-girlfriend face at him. He sighed and dug deeper into the wisdom well. “Zeb, you’re dealing with a lot of dominant alpha-male personalities here. You’re going to have to do something to show them that you’re not a beta. You have to establish dominance. The next time the cousins are gathered, walk up to the biggest, strongest one and stare him right in the eye.
And tell him to go fetch something for you. Use those exact words. ‘Fetch me a soda’ or ‘Fetch me that chair.’ And if he hesitates, keep staring at him until he folds … or he’ll beat you severely. Either way, it will improve the pack’s respect for you.”

“I thought that was what you were supposed to do the first day you go to prison,” I muttered.

“Jolene loves you,” Gabriel said. “No matter what happens with her family, you just have to focus on that.” He glanced up at me. “And remember that if she does things that don’t make any sense to you, she might be trying to do what’s best for you both.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. He shrugged.

Zeb was placated with more generic relationship advice and the promise that Gabriel would serve as his personal vampire bodyguard during the wedding festivities. We finally shoved him out the door, and I turned on Gabriel.

“I’m not done with you,” I told him.

He gave an easy grin. “Well, that’s nice to hear.”

I glared at him, and it was if he suddenly remembered that we were in the middle of a disagreement when Zeb burst in. “Oh.”

I threaded my fingers through his and locked eyes with him. “Do you want to be in a relationship with me?”

“I love you, Jane. More than I’ve loved anyone, I love you.”

I smiled at the warm feeling that spread through my chest at those words. It was like having a heartbeat again. “Then don’t keep things from me.”

“Just give me a little more time,” he begged. “I’ll explain everything when the time is right. Just wait a little while longer.”

I took a deep breath, looking deep into Gabriel’s eyes. If anyone had proven his devotion to me, it was Gabriel. Even if that devotion was destructive, it had a single focus, and that was me. I held his interest even when I was just my “annoying” human self. He didn’t consider my brain or personality something to overcome. He’d saved me. He’d killed for me. He’d loved me. And for all of that, I owed him a little bit of trust.

“I love you, too,” I said, cupping his face in my hands. I locked eyes with him, leveling him with my gaze. “So I’ll wait. I want you to tell me what’s causing you so much stress. Maybe I can help. But I want you to do it in your own time. However, you should know that if that time doesn’t come soon—”

He nodded. “You will threaten any number of my orifices. I understand.”

“Is it orifices or orifici?” I asked.

“I’m rather shocked that you don’t know,” he admitted.

The countdown to the wedding was two weeks. It was a slow night in the shop, and I had just given up on sorting through any old boxes after a traumatic incident in which Dick had to kill a rather large spider for me. I swear that thing chased me onto that chair.

When Dick returned, I had put the spider’s box in the alley and opened up my file of notes for what Zeb had termed “Operation Undead Gigolo.”

“What are you doing?” Dick asked, peering over my shoulder. “Oh, honey, this is worse than I thought. Normal, well-adjusted girls do not spend Friday nights looking through autopsy reports.”

“When have you ever known me to be well adjusted or normal?” I asked.

“I concede.”

“I’m looking into the guy my grandma is marrying. He seems sketchy. He drinks pig’s blood. According to this, he’s dead.” I showed him the death certificate. “And he’s been married several times to women who don’t quite make it past their first anniversary. He’s not registered on any of the official undead databases, but according to the chapel that handled his burial, he went to his grave intact, so it’s possible he’s a vampire.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier just to ask him whether he’s one of us?” Dick asked, looking over Wilbur’s coroner’s report.

“I would, but my grandma Ruthie seems to be actively avoiding me. She doesn’t come to Mama’s house if she knows I’m going to be there. She screens my calls. She won’t let me near Wilbur, but I don’t know if it’s because he’s trying to hide something or she’s afraid of me embarrassing her. There’s no legitimate address listed for this guy, and the last three homes he shared with the corpse brides have been sold. I went to his grave to see if there was anything abnormal about it. It seemed fine. I wasn’t about to try to dig him up and see if the coffin was empty, because that’s how horror movies start. Dick, are you even listening to me?”

“Huh,” Dick said, looking over Wilbur’s death report. “Sorry, no. This is weird.”

“Weird ha-ha? Or weird our territory weird?”

Dick turned the paperwork to get a better look. “Well, the nurse who did the CPR on him, Jay Lemuels, I know him. He’s one of us.”

“Where can we find Jay?” I asked.

Dick checked the grandfather clock on the wall. “This time of night, probably Club Rainn. It’s a vampire bar. Good blood, bad sound system.”

Dick jangled the keys out of his pocket.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We’re going,” he told me. “The night is young, and we’re immortal, and there are unanswered questions afoot. If that doesn’t make a case for a couple of beers and a ridiculously high cover charge, Stretch, I don’t know what does.”

“The last time I went out on the town with you, I ended up a suspect in Walter’s murder.”

“I’ll be there to keep an eye on you.”

“I don’t know if that will keep me out of trouble or just get me into it more efficiently.”

“Come on,” he said. “It’s Karaoke Night.”

“OK, but you have to sing one Kenny Rogers song in a falsetto,” I said, poking him in the chest.

“I will sing,” he said, tossing me my jacket. “But only because my version of ‘The Gambler’ is both inspirational and erotic.”

“Gross.”

* * *

We climbed into Dick’s beat-up transportation, which smelled suspiciously of burnt rope. There were dozens of empty blood bottles on the floor and what might have been counterfeit Gap jeans. I turned back to him. “If we get pulled over, am I going to have to tell the nice policeman that I’ve never met you before and I have no idea how those stolen car stereos got into the trunk?”

“I make no apologies for how I make my living, so to speak,” Dick said. “I am simply a businessman, a servant to supply and demand.”

“As long as someone else pays for the supply, you can meet the demand.”

We continued this philosophical discussion of the entrepreneurial spirit until we pulled into the parking lot of Club Rainn. From the exterior, the club was pretty nondescript, aside from not having windows or a sign. Club Rainn offered all-the-undead-can-drink for free to attract vampires, like shooting fish in a barrel. The humans were the cash cows that kept this place going. As soon as we hit the door, the overpowering smell of blood practically knocked me to my knees. Desperation, fear, arousal. The sour, stale scent of need.

It was the sort of place Chris Hansen was always exposing on
Dateline,
where sad humans offer themselves up as midnight snacks to vampires without dignity. These were basically overgrown teenagers in too much makeup, too much leather. In fact, they’d look like total doofuses if the lights were on.

The DJ played only two records, Nine Inch Nails’
The Downward Spiral
and the
Blade
soundtrack. It was
incongruous with the decor, which was early American bordello. Red flocked wallpaper, dark ornately carved furniture, uncomfortably stylized red velvet couches. To be honest, it looked like River Oaks before Aunt Jettie got hold of it. Besides the hurricane-lamp sconces, the only wall decorations were oil paintings of historical figures who were supposedly vampires, from Vlad the Impaler and Elizabeth Bathory to Mercy Brown.

“I take it Gabriel has never brought you here?” Dick asked, taking in my horrified expression. “He probably thinks it blasphemous or unpatriotic or one of those terms that basically means he’s a tight-ass with no sense of humor.”

“You know that you’re not going to get me to play along when you say something like that,” I told him. “You say you’re interested in Andrea and I’m just a friend. You’ve even been getting along—well, tolerating Gabriel’s presence. Why are you still making those comments about Gabriel?”

Dick mulled that over for a moment. “Force of habit. What the—” Dick was interrupted as a pale, lanky man with a shock of badly dyed black curly hair knelt before me and kissed my sandaled feet. Unfortunately, the sandals were pretty old, so I can only imagine how funky that must have been.

“Um, can I help you?” I asked, finally resorting to kicking him slightly to get him off my foot.

He peered up at me. “You are a Lonely One, are you not? A Night Childe?”

“I’m not exactly burning up the social scene, but I
wouldn’t classify myself as lonely. It’s not as if I have a bunch of cats or something.”

A similarly pasty girl with stringy platinum hair and smudged kohl around her eyes joined him at my feet. Dick snickered, but covered it by taking a swig of beer. “We wish to drink at the fount of your wisdom,” the blonde whispered.

“Show us the way,” Floppy Black Hair intoned.

“Jason—”

Floppy Black Hair objected. “My name is Bowan Ravenswood, ancient one.”

“Your name is Jason Turner, and we went to Vacation Bible School together.” I pulled my foot out of his grip once again.

“Let me—”

“Remove your hand, or that will be the last time you know the touch of a woman.”

His smile was feverish. “I would be happy to have you initiate me.”

“Jason, go home, or I’ll have my mama call your mama.”

I grimaced at Dick as the pasty pair slinked away.

“Did you set that up?” I demanded. “Is that like the vampire version of the TGI Friday’s wait staff singing ‘Happy Birthday’?”

Dick looked completely innocent for the first time since I’d met him. “No, that was totally spontaneous.”

“Your lack of guile upsets me,” I said, watching as Jason approached a more receptive-looking Lonely One. I shook my head.

As another whey-faced youth approached with beseeching eyes, I held up a hand and told him “No.” I took a long sip of my drink and closed my eyes.