Page 25
“Yes, sir.” Kent offered nothing more as his gaze briefly swept the area around the restaurant.
The officer's eyes narrowed. “You need to be moving along. We've had a lot of robberies in the area, and the owners of The Gilded Fig don't want anyone loitering outside their establishment.”
Kent sighed. He wanted so fucking bad to ask if the owners of The Gilded Fig also owned the street, but getting into a pissing contest with a cop wasn't going to help him accomplish what he was there to do.
“If you have an issue with me parking on a public street in a designated parking space, you're welcome to call Sloan Murphy of the VC Warriors.” Kent nodded toward the vehicles parked in front of him. “I'm sure he'll be happy to clear things up.”
“You're a VC Warrior?” The officer studied him a little more closely.
“I am.”
“Then you should understand why I'm asking questions. We've had three robberies in this area in the past two weeks, and you've been sitting out here watching that restaurant.” The officer glanced toward The Gilded Fig before looking back at Kent. “So how about telling me what you're doing?”
Kent had to give the guy credit. At least he was paying attention, even if he was becoming a pain in the ass. “I'm working, Officer. Nothing illegal, and nothing that's going to interfere with you doing your job.”
“What kind of work?”
“The kind I'm not at liberty to discuss.” Kent could practically see the man's patience wearing thin, which was unfortunate because his own wasn't much better. “Look, I understand you're doing your job, but so am I. If you need confirmation, call Sloan Murphy. Otherwise, I'd appreciate being allowed to get back to it.”
The officer stared at him for a long moment. “You got identification?”
Kent pulled out his VC identification and handed it over, resisting the urge to ask if the man wanted his fucking blood type while he was at it.
After examining it, the officer handed it back. “All right. But if someone calls in a complaint, I'll be back.”
“I'll be here.” Kent tucked his identification away, pretty damn pleased with himself for not adding something that would probably get his ass arrested.
The officer didn't look impressed, but he finally headed back to his cruiser. Kent watched him go with a slight smirk. Hell, he'd managed an entire conversation with a cop without being a complete smartass or getting arrested. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
His gaze returned to the restaurant, going straight to Dawn.
She was laughing at something the CPA asshole had said, and Kent found himself wondering what could possibly be so fucking funny. Then she lifted her wineglass to her lips, and his attention settled on the graceful movement of her throat as she swallowed. His vampire eyesight picked up every little detail, including the delicate curve of her neck and the way her lips wrapped around the rim of the glass.
His cock twitched at the thought of sinking his fangs into that delicate neck.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Kent jerked his gaze away, shifting uncomfortably on the bike as he cursed himself for being a complete dumbass.
He was supposed to be watching for threats, not getting a fucking hard-on watching Dawn drinking wine.
The sound of the cruiser pulling away caught his attention. Kent watched the cop drive past, giving him another suspicious glance before disappearing down the street. Good fucking riddance. He had enough problems without some cop worrying about where he parked his bike.
Especially when his biggest problem was sitting inside The Gilded Fig drinking wine with another man.
His attention shifted toward the parking lot when the roar of an engine cut through the evening traffic. A Corvette sat near the exit, its engine revving as if the asshole behind the wheel was getting ready for a race. Kent glanced down the street, where a pickup truck was approaching. Downtown was busy this time of night, with restaurants and clubs lining the block and plenty of traffic moving in both directions.
The Corvette's engine roared again, and Kent knew exactly what was about to happen.
“Don't fucking do it,” he muttered, already knowing the idiot wasn't going to listen.
The Corvette shot out of the parking lot directly into the path of the approaching pickup. The truck's horn blared, followed by the screech of tires against wet pavement. The driver never stood a chance of stopping in time.
The impact was deafening.
The front of the pickup slammed into the driver's side of the Corvette, sending the smaller car spinning across the street. Metal crumpled, glass shattered, and the Corvette struck a parked vehicle hard enough to shove it onto the sidewalk. The pickup came to a stop at an angle in the middle of the road, steam pouring from beneath its crushed hood.
“Fuck!” Kent was already off his bike as the sound of the crash echoed between the buildings.
People screamed, car horns blared, and somewhere behind him, someone shouted to call 911. Kent barely registered any of it. His attention was on the wreckage and the people trapped inside.
