Eaten, Beast suggested.
I breathed in, sifting out scents: mold, pine roots rich with sap, water close by, wet earth, and something dead. Long dead. Just ahead. I dropped into the tunnel, landing with bent knees, Benelli at the ready, and knelt, letting my eyes adjust. As far as I could see, I was alone. I slung the shotgun back out of the way and palmed my favorite vamp-killer. Its blade was eighteen inches long, heavily silvered, the fuller deep to channel vamp blood away fast, and the hilt carved by Evan, Molly’s husband, from elkhorn. It felt like silvered luck in my palm. This would be close-in work, if I found the thing I was hunting.
Crawling into the earth, into the dark, along the horizontal part of the tunnel, I spotted a satchel. I opened it, revealing clothing. The rogue’s scents wafted out, the reek of the decay and the scent he had worn when he left Katie’s. Scent of the insane and the sane, maybe. Boots were beneath the satchel on their sides. Knee boots, like English riding boots. Bare footprints moved along the tunnel. The rogue had stripped and gone ahead. Naked. How weird was that.
Just ahead, my eyes picked out something white against the gloom. A skull stared at me. Tissue still clung to the bones, wisps of red hair. Leg bones and ribs, no longer attached to feet or vertebrae, were scattered along the tunnel. I lifted the closest bone. A femur. Teeth had scored deeply into it, predator fangs, upper and lower. I was pretty sure I had found the rogue’s human servant. I dropped the bone and crawled ahead. Into the dark.
The ground became wet; the roof sloped down. My jeans’ knees began soaking up water. The tunnel ended abruptly, the ceiling dipping down sharply onto a cement pipe, a county water main. I looked in, to see black water with only a narrow space at the top for airflow. I snapped a root from the tunnel wall and stuck it into the pipe. It didn’t touch bottom. I dropped it onto the surface of the water; the root was snatched away. Frustration brought a growl to my lips.
I eased through the tunnel, shuffling backward. The rogue had found the perfect daytime hiding place. An underground water main. Probably had dozens of potential exits. No way was I going diving. He might not need to breathe but I sure as heck did.
Back on the surface, I sat with my feet dangling into the pit and breathed shallowly. This was indeed a perfect daytime hiding place for a vamp: multiple exits, dark, the water system itself offering built-in escape routes. And if he did happen to come up here, where he left clothes, he’d catch my scent and be gone faster than I could react, even if I fired the Benelli the moment he broke the surface. I’d only get one shot, and if I didn’t kill him instantly, he’d be all over me and I’d be dinner. No point in laying a trap. He could come out anywhere, and probably had clothes at every opening. I was betting he used this site often because of Aggie and her family.
I sighed, stood, and walked back to Bitsa, mud drying in the steamy heat.
CHAPTER 17
Stick a dollar in your garter?
I motored the bike across the bridge, taking the toll road back to Katie’s. Mud dried on my jeans to a crusty stiffness. My hair uncoiled from its knot and ponytail, and strands whipped in the hot wind. My stomach growled in hunger the whole way.
Outside Katie’s Ladies, the EMTs and ambulances were gone, but law enforcement types were still out in full force, blocking the street with cruisers, talking in small groups of uniformed men and a few women. Yellow crime-scene tape was stretched everywhere. I stopped the bike halfway down the block. I was carrying a perfectly legal weapon, out in public, not concealed. But the Benelli wasn’t just a gun. It was a kick-ass gun. And a violent crime had just taken place. Cops would be itchy.
Bruiser was standing apart with a uniformed cop, Jim Herbert, and a woman in plain clothes—Jodi Richoux, Katie’s contact at the New Orleans police department. Maybe Katie’s friend, though I doubted it. She looked harried. Jimmy looked ticked off. No surprise.