In previous assignments-against Chinese drug lords, Transylvanian vampire-hunters, and even assassins from our own government-I had never been scared like I was a moment ago. Why now?

Other vampires, that's why. I glanced left and right for orange auras. Certainly by now, Cragnow had warned his undead minions about me.

Why had he let me slip away? Was I bait to draw out his enemies? How concerned was he about Roxy Bronze's murder, provided he wasn't one of the killers?

Resting a hand on the remaining pile of blood bags, I thought about nourishment, another of my worries. All the usual sources-butcher shops, blood banks, chalice parlors-would be watched and my visits reported to Cragnow. The classifieds on the HollowFang.com-a newsletter for the undead disguised as a fanzine for vampire wannabes-wouldn't list anything safe. I could forage for human necks but shuddered at the idea of prowling the streets, even ritzy Rodeo Drive, with the verminous lust of a junkie.

The dashboard clock said it was midafternoon. Time to quit fretting and get back to work. Besides, I had enough blood for two days.

Next on my list of suspects was Lucius «Lucky» Rosario, the real estate developer whose plans for big profits at the public trough were thwarted by Roxy. I pulled out a photo of Rosario clipped from the newspaper, and a map to his office.

Was Rosario human or undead? Unfortunately, there was no registry of vampires available that I could query. Was he involved with vampire-human collusion or was he only a party in Roxy's death? Or neither?

I got back onto the freeway and headed east into downtown L.A. Rosario's company, Lucky Developments, was in a gigantic high-rise near Fourth and Hope. I turned into the entrance for the basement garage and pulled close to the attendant's booth.

He leaned out of his booth. "No public parking, sir."

I raised my sunglasses, zapped him, and instructed him to raise the entry bar.

Along the edge of the map I had written Rosario's license plate number. Inside the basement garage, I passed a black Porsche Cayenne SUV bearing his plates. At least his car was here.

Lucky Developments was on the seventeenth floor. I kept my sunglasses on while I rode the elevator.

A blond receptionist sat behind a desk in the company foyer, her gaze fixed on a monitor. Conversations buzzed from fabric-walled cubicles stretching down the hall to the left.

"I'd like to see Lucky Rosario," I said.

The receptionist folded her arms. "Mister Rosario's not here. Give me your name and number and what this is about, and I'm sure he'll call you."

I removed my sunglasses and hit her with a good blast of vampire hypnosis. "Here's my appointment."

The receptionist's red aura pulsed like the flash from a strobe light. Her eyes jerked wide, looking like green pellets floating in circles of milk. Both arms dangled toward the carpet. Her mouth gaped, and a drop of spit gathered on her painted lower lip.

I glanced down the hall to make sure we wouldn't be bothered. "Where's Rosario?"

The receptionist worked her mouth. The spit slid to her chin. "Lucky," she whispered, "Lucky's in his office. The door behind me."

"Good girl. Now close your eyes." I placed the receptionist's arms across the keyboard and leaned her forehead against the computer screen. "Have a nice nap."

Her jaw fell open, and she began to snore. I approached the door, turned the knob, and entered.

A portly man in a white shirt and stylish tie sat behind an immense wooden desk, his back to the panorama of Los Angeles filling a picture window. A red aura surrounded him. Good, a human.

I locked the door behind me. This interrogation wouldn't take long.

His shirt creased into the folds of his fat torso. Fleshy jowls widened the bottom half of his face and tapered to an angular forehead topped by a short haircut.

The cuffs of his shirt were folded back, exposing thick, hairy wrists. His hands held the grip of a disassembled pistol. The rest of the gun and bullets lay across a rag on the desktop. Why the gun?

Narrow-set eyes flicked toward me from either side of a bladelike nose. The web of broken capillaries on each flabby cheek flushed into red splotches. "Who the hell…"

We locked gazes. His face matched the photo. Smiling, I pointed a finger and gave Rosario my best vampire hypno-stare. "Bang. Bang."

Rosario's aura flared then settled into a turbulent neon mass swirling around his bulk. His gaze clung to mine. His eyes dilated into wide, black dots surrounded by the thin rims of his brown irises. The pistol grip assembly fell from his hands and clunked against the desktop.

I circled the desk, swiveled his chair toward me, and grasped his beefy hands. Massaging the flesh between his thumbs and forefingers, I deepened the trance. His aura settled into a soft glowing texture like phosphorescent chenille.

Dark concentric wrinkles filled his eye sockets, appearing as if they had once been bruised and never completely healed. I focused into the black wells of his eyes that led into his subconscious mind.

"Lucky," I said, "did you kill Roxy Bronze?"

Streaks indicating worry snaked through his aura.

"Lucky, answer me."

He drew a breath and kept quiet.

I stared deeper into his eyes. "Did you kill Roxy Bronze?"

He inhaled and his reply came out as a sigh. "No."

Strike one. Okay, he hadn't murdered her.

"Relax and listen to me." I kept massaging his hands. "Do you know who killed Roxy Bronze?"

More streaks pulsed through his aura.

Under hypnosis, some humans gushed like faucets. They yakked so much I wanted to send them a bill for therapy. And for some, like Rosario, questioning them was like dredging through mud.

I kept repeating my question and Rosario got around to giving me another "No."

Strike two. Still nothing on the killer. "Lucky, have you met a vampire?"

Again, the answer took a long minute to arrive. "No."

Strike three. Rosario knew nothing of vampire-human collusion. I dropped my head and exhaled in frustration.

Vampire hypnosis wasn't getting me any traction. In this situation, fanging him wasn't worth the trouble, especially if I had to put my mouth against the wattles of that fat neck. Better that I quit wasting time and try my luck gleaning information from the office surroundings and then his conscious mind.

I released his hands. They plopped into his lap.

"Close your eyes."

I turned Rosario's chair against the desk and set his forearms on the desktop. He wore a fancy gold wedding ring. Around his left wrist he had a gold watch with diamonds on the crown, a band of thick links, and the U.S. Marine Corps insignia enameled on the watch face. On his right hand he had a pinkie ring with a ruby, no doubt a poseur memento of imagined goombah roots.

One wall was decorated with permits and certificates as well as his undergraduate degree in accounting from UCLA. The southern wall had business plaques and photos of Rosario with celebrities and politicians. There were none of him with Roxy or Cragnow. A cabinet of cherrywood spanned the northern wall. The shelves held awards and various photos of Rosario with a nice-looking, young brunette and two children, both preadolescent girls. Above a middle shelf hung a portrait of a stern-faced and much slimmer version of Rosario in a Marine Corps uniform before a U.S. flag.

Lucius «Lucky» Rosario: accomplished business leader; family man; military veteran; amigo to the famous. A real civic peach. Nothing in the room alluded to graft or cavorting with porn stars.

I pulled out my contacts case and put the contacts on. I opened the office door a crack and stood, as if I'd just crossed the threshold.