Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

I didn’t bother to respond to his claim. I couldn’t put a human in restraints just because he smelled like lemons. But I could get him off the island and to a vamp who could drink the answers out of him. “Derek. He needs to be bled and read.” The words were oblique, telling Derek that Marco might be an enemy blood-servant, and more dangerous than a human.

Understanding filled Derek’s face. “My pleasure, Enforcer,” he said. Derek and two of his men descended on Pretty Boy, who had turned a lovely and satisfying shade of red. There followed a scuffle and some cussing and the vision of Derek and his security pals half carrying the man out the front door. The smell of antagonism from the construction workers had deepened. They looked twitchy, apprehensive at the loss of the pack leader and the rearrangement of their previous social order. I had picked the infiltrator out of the lineup and made my own impression all at once, and not a good one. Go, me. Finishing the house still hung in the balance. I could turn the crews to me, or I could ruin everything. I usually ruined things.

“That man stank of lemons. Anyone notice that?”

“So what?” a man asked. He was beer-bellied and wearing a sweat-stained T-shirt.

I said, “Lemme guess. He was new to the firm. Been with you for less than two months. He just walked in one day and took over, with the acceptance of the powers that be, and yet he knew next to nothing about construction. Am I right?”

The guy rubbed his scruffy chin and hunched his shoulders, thinking. “Okay. So?”

“The enemies of the Master of the City stink of lemons. Marco was a blood-servant. I don’t know how he wormed his way into Madderson Construction, but I’m guessing it was by coercion.”

The guy blinked as if he had missed something, and then cursed softly.

“Anyone else want to go home?” I asked.

No one responded.

“Fine. You”—I pointed to the number two man—“ever been a foreman on a construction site?”

“Most of my life,” he said, not watching the inelegant removal of Pretty Boy.

“Name?”

“Renny Coozer.”

“Renny, you’re now the official Madderson foreman for this project. I’ll personally handle any fallout from the owner.”

Renny nodded once. A man of few words. I liked that.

“I’ll continue what I came to say.” I scanned the men and women. They turned from the door and looked at Renny. Then at me. There were some unhappy expressions still, but there was also comprehension and a few of the people looked delighted. Riding on top of the uneasy, unhappy stench there was something else. Respect, maybe?

Beast/Jane. We are alpha.

So far, I thought back. Let’s see if money will make that more than a passing fancy.

“I know I’m the newcomer here. And what I know about construction can be written on the head of a pin in longhand. But I know hard work. You’re already on overtime,” I said to the crews. “As of now, you’re on bonus time. You get this house finished in thirty hours, according to the plan Renny lays out, and you will each make ten percent of your yearly base salary. In cash. To be paid by the MOC.” The unhappy stench on the air cleared up fast, eyes tightened, smiles started, and I could see them each calculating how much money they stood to make. “You get to police each other,” I continued. “If word comes to Derek Lee that someone’s slacking and letting other people do their work, with the plan to cash in on the bonus anyway, that person will be shipped back to shore. I expect you to work hard, work steady, work together, and take breaks and sleep time as needed. I don’t intend anyone to crash and burn.

“I want the foremen of each crew to meet with Renny, Eli Younger, and Derek, when he gets back, to give them an idea of what needs to be done and in what order. This project, the approval of the MOC, as well as cash bonuses, are all on your shoulders.”

I turned to the side. “Mike. I’d like a tour of the house. Alex, come with. See what you need to get this place rigged for security and satellite cells or remote Internet or cameras or whatever it is needs doing.”



* * *



? ? ?

The house was in better shape than we feared and worse shape than we hoped. The pylons driven into the sand continued up through the house, which should have made the space feel cut up and small, but the poles had been wrapped in fancy woodwork and allowed an open floorplan. The first story was all party space, with a restaurant-quality white kitchen and brushed steel appliances that had clearly been updated in the last couple of years. Alex ran a hand along the white and gray countertops and said, “Carrara,” with reverence, so that had to mean they were top of the line. Interesting. Leo may not have been here, but his people had kept up the investment.

There was a dining table that would seat twenty in a pinch, three seating areas, and a library full of moldering books. Except for the kitchen and the big table, all the furniture was old and decrepit, but the staging crew was supposed to bring replacements. The ceilings were a little over standard height and looked like old pressed tin, the ancient Hunter Fan Company fans still worked, and the floors might have been cypress under the layer of construction dirt. The walls were cream or eggshell throughout the lower floor and the wood moldings were stark white.

“Windows?” I asked Mike, to see how well she communicated. Or how well she read my mind. Either way.

“All new three years ago. Shutters all new. They look antique, but they’re electronic hurricane shutters and slide into recesses in the walls. Benefit of keeping out hurricane winds is that they’re also lightproof. So vamps are safe by day,” she said casually. When I didn’t reply she added, “Unless someone hits a wrong switch and the shutters open. But there’s a twenty-second delay and an alarm built into the system, so theoretically any light-sensitive person could get to shelter.”

I made a small sound of doubtful agreement and she went on.

“Sleeping area is on the second story and there are decorative fire escapes built into the outer walls.” Without waiting for us, Mike headed up the wide stairway, located beside the kitchen, in front of the entry.

To Alex I said, “Cameras and electronics look possible?”

“Not a piece of cake, but . . . we can get something.” He needed to get more than something. He needed to get a system set up that would allow for the Sangre Duello to be uploaded to pay-per-view on the Internet.

I made another small sound as we reached the second floor. It was constructed with a central walled-up, contained area, encircled by a wide hallway, and long narrow bedrooms around the outside. It was set up like insertable boxes, a small central space, a wider open ring, and more box. I figured the central area was for vamp sleeping and the outside rooms were for humans. As I had been informed, there were four bedrooms for humans, two on the front of the house, facing the ocean, and one on each side. Along the back was an even more narrow room, one that appeared to have been a very recently enclosed porch, not much more than eight feet wide along the back wall. In the hallway there was an ice chest, several sawhorse tables, six mesh folding chairs, a fifty-gallon garbage can full of trash and flies, and cola bottles everywhere.