“They brought weapons into this building that they didn’t register?”
She nodded uncertainly. “I found them in the dirty laundry. I didn’t tell anyone.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I should have told someone?”
“Yes. You should have. Will you show us where the weapons are now?”
She nodded and stood, and her sweat smelled of fear and chili spices, heavy on the garlic. She led the way out of the room where she had been held and up the stairs with a fast-tapping toe rhythm, and down a short hallway. She let us into a room with a passkey. The small room had six bunks in a place that usually held two and it was a disaster: clothes everywhere, boots, candy wrappers, drink cans, fast-food packages littering the table and scattered on the floor, chairs overturned, wet towels dropped everywhere, the bunks piled with clothes and electronics and porn magazines. “I cleaned it this morning,” Louise whispered.
“Yeah. I believe you.” And I did. The Arceneau security roommates were apes. They’d done everything but throw feces at the walls. Not Grégoire’s type at all. I had a feeling that all of them had been contracted since he left for Atlanta, and were sworn to Adrianna.
Louise went to the bathroom and scooted the laundry basket into the short entrance with her feet. She pulled back the few dirty clothes the guys had not tossed to the floor, to reveal three silvered blades and two small handguns—.22 semiautomatics. I knelt and tossed the dirty clothes out of the basket, sniffed the weapons. The blades were all coated with the same faint stench. I took the basket and handed it to Adelaide. “This hardware needs testing. Overnight it to Leo’s private lab in Houston. I want independent confirmation if something is on the blades. And check the rounds. See if something is on them too. Just in case.”
She nodded and took the basket, and I said, “Let’s go visit the bad guys. Ed, here’s where you get to be scary.”
“With pleasure,” he said, and his fangs slowly, so slowly, snicked down. They were a little over two inches long and bone white. His eyes bled scarlet and his pupils widened until they were black discs in bloody orbs. His mouth and jaw seemed to unhinge, growing longer and wider. Only the really old ones could show such control while vamping out.
Louise backed slowly away, her fear almost palpable in the room. Ed turned to her and hissed. I thought she would pass out, and Wrassler took her shoulder in his meaty hand. “It’s okay,” he said. But his voice didn’t sound quite as confident about that as I might have wished.
“Yeah. That outta do it,” I said to Ed.
Del handed off the basket of weapons to Wrassler. “See that these get to my desk, and relock my office door,” she said. “And take Louise back to Imogene’s interrogation room and lock them in for their own safety. Get them some food and drinks.”
“I’ll see it gets done, ma’am,” he said, which I thought was awfully subservient of the big guy. And awfully polite. Del did cast an “I’m in charge. Don’t mess with me” vibe, and she did it without weapons and without looking threatening.
A moment later we stood in front of Tattooed Dude’s room. The two most likely suspects had been placed in real interrogation rooms—minimal uncomfortable furniture, no way to turn off the lights. I opened the door slowly and stepped silently into the room. With the grace of a hunting predator, Ed moved in as well, staying to my left. I drew my vamp-killer and let Beast shine into my eyes.
Tattooed Dude was standing with his back against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest, and a great poker face in place. Or maybe with him it was a Russian roulette face. He had arranged the two chairs to either side and the heavy metal and wood table at a slight angle, perfect for bringing into a fight or using as defensive props. Without a single suggestion on my part, Edmund raced in front of me and tossed the furniture behind us. He moved so fast the three pieces landed with a single crash. Tattooed Dude flinched, dropping his arms to his sides and fisting his hands. And I grinned, showing blunt human teeth, feeling Beast in the front of my mind.
With this guy, I didn’t waste words, just pulled a throwing knife and let the overhead lights glint off it. When I spoke it came out in a lower-register Beast-growl. “Who ordered you and your pal to attack me?”
Tattooed Dude snarled at me. I flicked the knife. I’d been aiming at TD’s hand, but caught him higher up, the blade entering between the two bones of his lower arm and sticking into the wall at his back. He squealed like a stuck pig and Edmund was on him.
The squeal stopped, choked off. Edmund plucked the knife away and rode TD to the floor, perching atop the big guy’s chest like a small raptor on the chest of a larger, fallen prey. Edmund drank once long and deeply, from the cut arm, his hand making a rotating “get on with it” motion to me.