The door closed with a solid thud that said it was soundproofed. I didn’t remember it being so solid last time. I asked the guard, “Why didn’t Adrianna talk? She used to be big on taunting and threats.”
The slender woman said, “No one’s heard her speak in weeks, ma’am. There’s speculation that the part of her brain used for speaking is still regrowing. And then there’s other speculation that she’s forgotten English. No one’sbothered to spend the time with her to see which it is, or if there’s something else going on.
“We haven’t met, ma’am. I’m Ro Moore,” she added.
“I’m Jane or Legs. Not ma’am.”
“Copy that.”
“Military?” I asked her.
“No, ma’am. Alabama backwoods hillbilly, boxer, wrestler, and MMA cage fighter.”
“MMA?” I asked.
“Mixed martial arts,” Eli said, approval in his tone. “Why not military?”
“I tried, but they wouldn’t have me except as officer material ’cause I got a bad ear. I wanted to fight, sir.”
“Hearing aid?” Eli asked.
“Had one. Vamp blood healed me. Now I got twenty-twenty hearing,” she said, laughter in the words.
Eli nodded. “I’m an MACP level-four instructor. We should spar.”
“I’ll kick your butt,” she said, totally without braggadocio.
Eli said, “It’s a match.”
“I’ll bring snacks and beer and cheer you on, Ro. Come on, Eli. We got people to see and fires to put out.” And I needed my bed, but I knew that was unlikely until after dawn.
***
The elevator doors opened on the conference room level, and I saw Bruiser. He was leaning against the hallway wall, one hand in a pocket, the other dangling. He looked nothing like the mud-spattered man in the video screens, but was dressed in brown cuffed pants, brown belt and shoes, and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. I had developed a serious appreciation for his arms, the veins corded, muscles long and ropy beneath lightly tanned skin, the hair thick enough to make me want to run my fingers through it as I slid my hands down his arms. Bruiser was no waxed and smooth man, and I loved that about him.
“Hello, love,” he said.
“Bruiser,” I said, not running to him like a sixteen-year-old with her first boyfriend, but letting my happiness show, not hiding it. I didn’t know what we were to each other yet, but I liked it, whatever it was.
“Get a room,” Eli said.
“We have a room,” Bruiser said, a half smile warming his face for a brief moment before falling back into solemnity. “And we have a problem. Is the Enforcer available to talk?” I saw the headset he was wearing around his neck. Business, not fun and games, then.
“That sounds ominous,” I said, sharing a look with Eli as we followed Bruiser into a room off the gym. The room had a small sofa, chairs, and a few tables, and reminded me of a private waiting room in a hospital, the place where they put a family for a private chat with a surgeon who was about to deliver bad news. I sat on the couch. Bruiser and Eli both took chairs.
“Before I left the pit where we found Ming, I called the local parish law enforcement agencies and PsyLED,” he began.
“Okay.”
“An experienced forensic pathologist or medical examiner will see the bones. The damage to the bones will eventually point to a vampire.”
“Okay,” I repeated.
“The last vampire who was known to eat humans was Immanuel, and law enforcement has his teeth imprints on record from the postmortems on the police officers he ate.”
“And the imprints won’t match. So now they’ll assume that vamps killing and eating humans is common,” I said.
“When it is not at all,” Bruiser said.
