“You need some better protection,” he said finally.
I looked around my apartment, considering the pineapple on the kitchen counter as a weapon in a pinch, perhaps using my Le Creuset grill pan to inflict “blunt head trauma.”
“What kind of protection?” I asked.
“Well, let’s start with your car. Did you have a security system?”
“Does three inches of dirt, bug guts, and bird shit count?” I tried to grin.
Hayes raised one annoyed eyebrow, and I blew out a sigh. “Does it really matter?” I said. “My car doesn’t even have a driver’s side door that closes. So no, no security whatsoever.”
Hayes looked genuinely pained. “Sorry,” he said. “How about this place?” His eyes traveled to my front door, to the ancient brass dead bolt and the chain lock that hung, unfastened. “Do you have an alarm or anything in here?”
“I had a goldfish.”
“Ah yes, the attack animal of the toilet. Very dangerous.”
I put my fists on my hips. “Well, I’m not exactly a meek and meager girl. I’ve got two vampires living here—”
Hayes looked around him. “Who are where?”
I glanced at the table, spied Vlad’s empty laptop bag. “I have no idea. Anyway, I can fight”—I mean, theoretically—“and this neighborhood is really safe.”
“It is unless someone is looking for you.”
I gulped. “You think someone is looking for me?”
Hayes put down his notebook and ran a hand through his disheveled, dark curls. “I think it’s a distinct possibility.”
I slumped down on the couch, dropping my head back and staring at the ceiling. “So what am I supposed to do? Hire an armed guard?” I did a quick mental calculation. If I dipped into my savings, I could pay approximately … nothing … for round-the-clock protection. “I’m going to be dead before the sun comes up,” I groaned.
“How do you feel about guns?”
My eyes went wide, and my shoulders stiffened. “I hate them.”
“Have you ever shot one?”
My mind raced to an image of me with amazing Angelina Jolie thighs circled with gun-stuffed holsters, a la Tomb Raider. “I guess I could learn to be okay with them.” I saw myself doing one of those killer barrel roll things … and then shooting myself in the foot. “Or I could cause wanton destruction to my own limbs with one.”
Hayes stifled a chuckle and then looked at me seriously. “Well, for all intents and purposes you’re on the police force now—at least as far as this case is concerned. And I’d feel much more comfortable if you had a gun, just like any other officer.”
I chewed my lower lip, considering. “Would I have to shoot it?”
“Hopefully not, but that is the idea with guns. Generally, they’re most effective when used to shoot at someone.”
I was horrified. “You want me to shoot at someone?” Shooting people was a far cry from just looking kick-ass hot in leather pants and a thigh holster. “Is there an alternative?” Like a lethal baguette?
Hayes’s hand twitched; he looked like he wanted to grab my hand but didn’t. “I want to know you’re protected,” he said, “even when I’m not here.”
His eyes were so soft and comforting that I wanted to do what he said. “Okay,” I heard myself say. “I’ll at least consider it.”
That cocky half grin cut across his face, and when I stood up he gave me the once-over and muttered, “Besides, there’s nothing hotter than a chick with a gun.”
I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “And just when I was beginning to like you, too.”
“Do me a favor,” Hayes said when I walked him to the door. “No more late-night trips to UDA—or anywhere for that matter—without me.”
I raised an annoyed eyebrow. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
Hayes’s lips were set in a hard, thin line.
“Okay,” I sighed. “Fine. No late-night trips to UDA.”
Chapter Nine
The sunlight that streamed through my curtains was warm on my back and I felt myself smile in my half sleep. I rolled over, and the events of the night—as well as the needling, searing points of pain—came flooding back. I kicked back the covers, popped a few Advil, and whipped off my shirt, checking out the waxy yellow and purple bruises on my arm, shoulder, and ribs. I poked at them, winced, and changed into a new tee.
When I padded into the living room, Nina was sitting cross-legged on the dining room table folding laundry, and Vlad—clad in a brand-new three-piece suit and another printed ascot—was sitting behind his laptop.
“Wow,” Nina said when she saw me, “someone looks like the dead.” She grinned. “Huh. I made a funny.”
“You’re brilliant. Morning, Vlad.”
Vlad gave me a half nod, his eyes not leaving his laptop screen.