The Kid shrugged, but added, “The girls never got to Arceneau Clan Home. They turned around partway and headed totally in the wrong direction. And the tail car must have lost them as they left the city. When the black cab went over the Mississippi heading west, the tail car was nowhere in sight.”
“Huh. Keep me informed,” I said. I punched in Wrassler’s number and left him a message on voice mail. “The vamps who attacked my house were involved with the disappearance of two of Katie’s girls, but may not have been working with the vamp who took them. They may have been tailing them, which makes the disappearance of Bliss and Rachael part of this.” I hesitated. “Whatever this is.” I hung up. Softly, I asked Alex, “Anything on Molly?”
The Kid shrugged, a typical teenaged gesture that was equal parts annoyance, frustration, and exhaustion. He didn’t know and it was eating him up inside. “No,” he muttered. “Nothing new except that I isolated a camera that views the valet parking. I’m trying to get the time and date differentiated.”
I patted his shoulder, sighed, and rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension in the muscles. “On another subject, text Wrassler to call in someone with prison or government experience to go over the protocols in the back parking. The Tattooed Duo were handling that, and now we got nobody in-house, but I’m sure one of the clans has a specialist they can send over. Also, get him to go over all the security upgrades that were seen by the two.” Which was sufficiently confusing, but I figured he could make sense of it all. I closed my door and fell across the mattress, rolling over to strip off my weapons and shove them under the bed. I was crashing. I desperately needed a nap.
? ? ?
I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. Mostly the bacon. I had slept an hour, and felt worse for it. I rolled from the bed and again stowed my smaller weapons in the gun safe in my closet and the larger ones on the high closet shelf where the children wouldn’t see them. I stripped out of my sweaty clothes, which still stank of blood and gore, and showered, the water almost scalding while I soaped and washed my hair, before I switched it to cold—or cold as New Orleans water ever got. I braided my wet hair and dressed—and because I lived with so many males, I started with a bra. Hated those things. Even a holster felt better most days. Over it went a T-shirt and thin cotton pants. It was March in New Orleans—cold one day, humid, wet, and warm the next. Already I could smell spring flowers over the stench of humans in the city. The house felt stuffy, and it wouldn’t be long before we had to turn on the AC in the daytime. Back home in the Appalachians, we might still have snow on the ground. Deep inside, Beast rumbled something that sounded like Home. Go home.
Flip-flops and a nine-mil in a spine holster completed my ensemble.
I left my room and joined the breakfast mayhem in the kitchen, thumbing my cell open to check for voice mails. “Any messages or text from Wrassler?” I asked.
“Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane! Aunt Jane!” Two midsized projectiles launched through the air at me, in what was becoming a ritual, the strawberry blond one at midthigh and the redheaded one from much higher—directly off the tabletop where he had been standing. Beast shoved into me and I caught EJ in midair just as Angie Baby rammed against my legs. I staggered but caught my balance and hoisted EJ over a shoulder, juggled my cell, bent and picked up Angie, and deposited them in their seats. They were still squealing and the guys eating breakfast stared at me with open mouths.
Oh. Yeah. A normal woman would have dropped them or ended up in a pile on the floor. “Not human,” I said. “Deal with it.” Just saying the words was liberating. It was like shutting off a loud, out-of-balance motor, one that had caused an unstable vibration all through me, one I hadn’t noticed until it was gone.
Pretending I didn’t notice the sudden silence in the room, I picked a slice of bacon off the platter in the middle of the table and shoved it into my mouth. Chewing, I prepared myself a plate. It was scrambled egg day and I had regular eggs, Cajun eggs, and Western eggs. Cajun was cooked with red peppers and Western was cooked with onions and bell peppers and jalape?os. I served up most of what was left of each, scooped on a dozen strips of bacon, and sat, adding four pieces of toast to my plate. “Good,” I mumbled as I ate. Around me the men started back eating.
“Glad you approve,” Eli said dryly.
I said through a mouthful of eggs, “Report from Wrassler?”
“The humans who attacked the house have no memories of the attack,” Eli said. “The last thing they remember is a party with some sailors at the Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base out in Belle Chasse.” When I looked up, chewing and lost, he added, “Belle Chasse is an unincorporated location in Plaquemines Parish.”
I stopped chewing and swallowed the bite whole. Which hurt. When I got it down, I said, “Vamps and military guys?”