Saber did hear and shot me a zip-it look.
At Jackson’s signal, one group of officers fanned out to cover the back door while others took up positions with rifles aimed at windows. Another five men marched along the sidewalk to the front entrance, with Jackson leading. Saber and I followed. Tower was on doorman duty. Skin and eyes the color of dark chocolate, he nearly filled the double doorway in height and breadth but wore a flat expression.
Jackson flashed his badge under Tower’s nose. “Daytona Beach police. We have a search warrant.”
“Ike is expecting you.”
Well, of course he was. It’s not like he could’ve missed the circus in his parking lot. I kept quiet and slinked behind Jackson and Saber into a cavernous room dominated by an empty dance floor. Two massive flat panel TVs hung suspended over an elevated DJ booth, and both were tuned to ESPN.
ESPN in a vampire club?
A bar of rich, dark wood sprawled into the shadows on my left, and tiny colored lights winked around the perimeter of the room, maybe twenty feet high. No disco ball here, but the blinking lights gave a strobe effect. One that made Ike’s dark looks more foreboding, even from across the dance floor. He uncoiled from his seat at a cocktail table, and I noticed he wore black dress slacks and a silky black shirt.
Huh? No leather?
I took a quick peek at the other seven vampires seated at the table in a haphazard semicircle. The Scandinavian-featured Zena wore jeans and a tropical-print button-up blouse that looked great with her pale blonde hair and white skin. An older-looking female wore a modest sundress, and a younger one sported a red and white cheerleader outfit. Rah, rah, Fang U?
Tower and three males I didn’t know wore jeans and shirts; one was built like a linebacker sporting a Florida Gators T-shirt. What was up with the normal clothes? Had they all come fashion forward, or was this costume night?
And what was that smell in the air? It wasn’t blood. I didn’t catch the slightest whiff of blood in the room, and I was a shark when it came to that odor. This essence was more a light citrus scent. Oranges? Had Ike installed an air freshening system, or did I smell the fruit the bartender used for drinks?
Captain Jackson finished sizing up the vampires but didn’t seemed fazed by the anger emanating from Ike or by having to cross the expanse of dance floor to reach him. Nope, Jackson strode forth, slapping the warrant against his palm, until he stopped close enough to Ike to crowd him.
“Daytona Beach police.”
“I know who you are, Officer.” Ike held his ground.
“Captain,” Jackson corrected.
“As you see, I have gathered everyone for questioning.”
Jackson’s gaze swept over the assortment of vampires. “There’s no one else in the building?”
Ike waved a hand. “The humans are there, in the booth on the far side of the bar.”
“Is your light-fingered girlfriend over there?”
“Allegedly light-fingered.” Ike paused, looked like he was waging an inner war. Or eating dog poop. “Captain.”
I squinted at the booth, my vamp vision kicking in. Sure enough, four women sat at a barely lit booth, three of them blood bunnies I’d met in March. Last time I’d seen that trio, they’d been dressed like they’d mugged a herd of cows for the leather. Tonight they wore shorts, Capris, and jeans with casual blouses. Maybe this was costume night. The last woman in the deepest shadow, was that Donita Ward? All I could see in the dimness was a slim figure with short brown curls scribbling on a clipboard.
Maybe my vamp vision wasn’t twenty-twenty, but Donita didn’t look like a hardened criminal. Even her energy signature felt soft. Calm. If that was Donita.
Jackson dispersed cops to question the women. Another group headed upstairs, and a third went down the hall where a sign read Restrooms. Saber sauntered over to stand with Jackson, but I stayed put. I made myself a shadow so I could observe and puzzle over that elusive scent.
“Now perhaps you will explain, Captain,” Ike said with a sharp edge of impatience. “Why am I being targeted for a search twice in less than twenty-four hours? What is the complaint?”
Jackson handed Ike the warrant. “We have a male victim with bite marks who also claims he was robbed here.”
Ike lifted a brow. “The victim is alive?”
“That surprises you?”
“What surprises me,” Ike said as he scanned the warrant, “is that a mortal has the nerve to complain about being bitten when the bite had to occur during sex.”
Cheerleader Vamp gave Ike an odd look. “But Ike—”
“Silence, Susan.”
The female twitched her shoulders at the rebuke but still looked puzzled.
“These bites weren’t clean or neat.” Saber held up the victim’s photo for Ike to see. “If this was a consensual bite, the vamp involved either didn’t put him in a deep thrall or didn’t keep him there.”