Jesse left the crime scene without a word to anyone, even Glory and Runa. He hated looking like a flake in front of Bine, who was expecting a report, but it seemed like a better option than lying to her face.
He drove straight to Scarlett’s. She didn’t answer her phone on the way over, so he was prepared to wait on her doorstep for quite a while, knocking and ringing the bell. To his surprise, though, she answered the door a few seconds after the first knock. She looked tired, but she was dressed in a clean thermal shirt and clean yoga pants, her hair damp from the shower, a piece of peanut-buttered toast in the hand that wasn’t steering her cane. “Couldn’t sleep,” she explained around a mouthful of toast. There were dark smudges under her eyes, which stood out against the paleness of her skin. She’s pushing too hard, Jesse thought guiltily. Swallowing, she added, “I saw the missed call. I was gonna call you back after breakfast. What’s up?”
“You . . . don’t look so good,” Jesse said tentatively. “Have you seen your doctor lately?”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “I’m fine, Cruz. Well, I’ll be fine as soon as we find this asshole and I can spend a whole week icing my knee. Now, what’s going on?”
Ten minutes later they were heading toward the freeway on-ramp in Scarlett’s van. She had insisted on taking it because, as she pointed out, Will hadn’t actually said whether or not there would be a crime scene to clean up. Jesse hadn’t argued with her because he suspected it was easier for her to get in and out of the van with her swollen knee. And because she had let him drive.
Murders or not, the morning was lovely. The smog that had hung heavy over the city the day before had lightened just enough to let sunlight filter through, and the last bits of gorgeous sunrise colors were still fading as Jesse drove east toward Pasadena. It was early in the morning on New Year’s Day, so traffic was blissfully light. For a moment Jesse felt tension lift from him as he cruised down the empty freeway, crossing the lines of shadow created by the palm trees that grew along the side of the road. Damn, he loved this stupid city. He hated it too, once in a while, but he’d never live anywhere else.
He told Scarlett about the two dead bodies in the cemetery, and Will’s weird reaction. When he’d finished, Jesse asked, “The thing with the jaws, does that mean anything to you?”
Scarlett frowned in the seat beside him. “I think . . .” She shook her head. “You know when you can almost remember something, but it’s just not quite there? I feel like Olivia said something about jawbones once, but I just can’t remember the context.”
“Maybe it’ll come to you if you stop trying to remember,” Jesse suggested. “Do you know why we’re meeting at Dashiell’s instead of Will’s or the bar?”
He glanced at Scarlett as he said it, and Jesse thought he saw a flash of something on her face—fear. But she just shook her head.
Hayne answered Dashiell’s door wearing the same polo shirt and chinos he’d worn on Jesse’s last visit, this time with a Desert Eagle strapped in the holster on his shoulder. Jesse had always considered that particular handgun too ostentatious to take seriously, but Hayne was large enough to make it seem completely rational. When he greeted Scarlett and Jesse he had the same neutral expression Jesse had seen before, but there was something about his tone and posture that seemed . . . troubled.
“What the hell’s going on?” Scarlett said bluntly, and Jesse felt a rush of appreciation. Will and Dashiell might be frequently cryptic, but at least his partner didn’t play games.
“I don’t know, exactly. But I do know that Mr. Carling wants you to go wake Dashiell and Beatrice,” Hayne said simply.
Jesse was surprised, but Scarlett’s expression merely tightened, and he realized she’d been expecting this. “You know I can’t do that,” Scarlett said levelly. Her eyes were locked on Hayne. “He’ll kill me.”
“Why?” Jesse asked, focusing on her. “Is it really that big of a deal?”
“Why don’t you two come inside,” Hayne said smoothly. “We can talk in the living room. Will should be here any second.”
Slowly, so Scarlett could keep up on her bad leg, Hayne led them into the same room from earlier, the one with the glass doors that led out onto the patio. Jesse was really starting to hate this room.
Nobody sat down. When the door closed behind them, Hayne began, “To answer your question, Detective, it is a very big deal. Dashiell is very . . . private.”
Scarlett snorted, turning to face Jesse. “It’s a power thing,” she said simply. “A cardinal vampire couldn’t allow a simple human like me to choose when he lives and dies. At least, not without some kind of fatal gesture to swat me back down to my place.” She turned her head to glare at Hayne. “I’m not going to do it.”
“Yes, you will.” The new voice came from just outside the door. Will twitched as he stepped into the room, and Jesse realized he’d hit Scarlett’s radius. The werewolf was dressed in khaki pants and a simple button-down that hid the hard muscle Jesse had seen the night before. His eyes were wild, searching the room like he expected ninjas to jump out and attack.
Jesse took an instinctive step closer to Scarlett.
She crossed her arms again. “No, I won’t,” she said stubbornly. “Why do you need to talk to him so badly? What can’t wait until sunset?”
“The jaws,” Jesse guessed, watching Will closely. “It’s got something to do with the werewolf’s jaws.”
Will pulled at his hair, which was already sticking up. Usually he was blandly handsome in a forgettable, Disney Channel dad kind of way, but even this close to Scarlett, he looked practically feral. “They have to know,” he muttered. “She met them before, she said, and he has to know they’re here.”