Dread floods my insides, but I’m not sure whether it’s because we’re having dinner with Elaine’s new lust-interest, or if it’s because I’m afraid of what the old woman will tell us. Or won’t tell us.

Derek

Patrick’s text was waiting when I stepped out of the shower this morning. He’d taken the red-eye and was in New Orleans.

Further intel. You shouldn’t be here alone.

Cryptic. It means he’s worried our texts are being monitored.

As soon as I’d read it, I shot back a reply. Preparing. Meet at Two Sister’s, dinner to debrief and regroup.

Then I’d closed the blackout shades in my suite, shut off all my devices, and forced myself to sleep eight hours longer, until late afternoon. The Knight brothers and I have worked together long enough to know our strengths and vulnerabilities. Patrick’s emergency trip to the city is significant.

I’ve been accused before—mostly by my targets—of being a hypocrite for hunting vampires with shifter partners. Two responses: First, I’m not. Second, I don’t search out vampires for the thrill of staking them. I seek justice.

The Knights are law-abiding, and in addition to their loyalty and adherence to family bonds, they have heightened senses, strength, and enhanced healing powers.

Patrick’s overactive sex drive tests my patience, and it doesn’t help that his shifter charm seems to dissolve women’s inhibitions. He’s been embroiled in two sticky situations in the short time we’ve worked together. Still, he’s smart, and he’s a great tracker. I can overlook a few lapses in judgment, but I’ll be glad when he finally mates.

When my alarm rouses me, it’s after six. It’s not yet twilight, still New Orleans feels darker than other cities. The black wrought iron and clinging vines covering every structure add to the shadowy nature of the place. It’s sweaty and damp, and everyone is looking for a cool place to escape the heat.

It’s also September. We’re moving into fall, harvest season, Halloween. It’s a dangerous time to be in my line of work, and I’m on full alert. I’m actually thankful my younger partner is here.

Before I leave my suite, I slip a 9mm handgun in my boot. It’s loaded with silver bullets, and it’s the only weapon I’ll carry. Forget sneaking up on immortals. Their heightened senses alert them to your presence, and even if they didn’t have that advantage, they’re paranoid about attacks.

Patrick is a huge asset, but if our target truly is an old one, neither of us will be a match for him alone. I only hope together we’ll be a close equivalent. My flesh is vulnerable, but I’ve learned a few tricks for staying out of danger. Shifters cause such painful wounds, vampires tend to avoid tangling with them.

Anyway, we only want information. This old one isn’t the one. Patrick’s investigations have indicated they’re associates, nothing more. If we don’t walk into any surprises, we should be okay.

The sun is behind the clouds, still the air is thick with heat. I’m wearing dark, loose jeans, a light, short-sleeved polo, and heavy black boots. As I walk the few blocks from my hotel to The Court of Two Sisters, I wonder what my partner did today while I rested and prepared. Female laughter and loud music flows out of the Bourbon Street bars, and I can imagine the temptation is great for him here. We’re on a job, however, and he’s usually focused when we’re working.

Returning as a tourist to the city where I grew up makes me feel like a pampered guest in my family home. In short, it feels wrong. My parents still live in their garden district mansion on St. Charles Avenue, but it’s close to the sister campuses of Tulane and Loyola Universities—far from here.

I don’t intend to visit them on this trip. It’s best they don’t know why I’m in town. They have no knowledge of my current occupation (obsession?) since Alison was killed. If they even believed what I was doing, it would only fill them with unnecessary fear.

I’m a block from the restaurant, and I can’t help glancing in the direction of Royal Street and the Hotel Monteleone. I won’t be at Mr. B’s tonight. I’ll never know if she goes there to meet me.

Her shimmering skin, dark hair, and beautiful breasts fill my memory. Regret twists low in my stomach. I don’t even know how to reach her. My fists involuntarily clench, and I consider postponing this job for a second time. Honor won’t let me do such a thing.

All I know is somewhere, two blocks from where I stand, is an amazing woman I only hope I’ll find again, and when I do, I hope I can convince her to accompany me back to my suite for another taste of heaven.

Wiping that thought from my mind, I step through the white, arched doorway into the restaurant. Nodding to the Creole hostess, I do a quick scan of the narrow interior. The outer walls are lined with large French doors, and the hallmark of the establishment is the enormous, open courtyard situated under a network of thick wisteria vines.

In the spring it resembles a vineyard with the purple clusters of grape-like flowers hanging through the foliage. In the fall, it’s more like a jungle. Dark-green canvass umbrellas shelter the tables where the wisteria doesn’t grow, and white twinkle lights shine in the dark branches and around black wrought-iron columns. A bright blue fountain adds a trickling noise to the low drone of conversation. It would be relaxing if it weren’t for the task ahead of us.

My younger partner is staring at a menu, but he’s clearly not reading it. I can’t tell if he’s preoccupied with our case or something different.

“Patrick,” I say before pulling out the chair across from him. He starts, and I frown. I can’t afford to have him distracted tonight. “What’s on your mind?”

He’s on his feet clasping my hand in a strong grip before we both sit. “Sorry.” He only pauses a beat. “Unusual lunch.”

“Anything you need to tell me about?”

Seated across from him, I scan the menu briefly. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve dined here through the years, and I already know what I’ll order.

He doesn’t have a chance to answer before a young woman in black and white arrives at the table. “Good evening, gentlemen.” She gives me a wink and a smile. “Can I start you with a Sazerac? It’s the signature cocktail of New Orleans.”

I do miss the easy nature of my hometown, but my partner and I can’t afford any weakness tonight. “Thanks, but I’ll stick with iced tea. Unsweetened with lemon.”

Patrick nods. “Same.”

She gives us a quick nod, and we place our orders before she goes. Turtle soup with sherry to start, followed by crawfish étouffée for me. Roasted half duck with Bourbon praline sauce for my cynanthropic friend.

Our waitress disappears, and my gaze levels on Patrick. “What has you so distracted you didn’t even notice me approach the table?”

He leans back and flashes that cocky grin women can’t seem to resist. “We’re safe here. Even the undead respect New Orleans’s finest restaurants. If they forget that—”

“We have to be on guard everywhere in this city.” It’s as much a reminder to me as to him, and I wait while the busboy places two tall glasses of iced tea in front of us. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

When the boy leaves, Patrick leans forward, and his fair brow lowers along with his voice. “The one we’re after is here, in the city. Now.”

Adrenaline mixes with excitement in my chest. Could my hunt possibly be over? Could I possibly end my quest and return to a normal life?

Maintaining control, I lift my glass and take a sip. “How do you know?”

“Sloan told me.”

Patrick wins. I’m completely stunned. “Sloan? What the hell—”

“Keep your shirt on.” Again with that grin.

“Patrick.” Warning is in my tone. My former mentor is no laughing matter to me. “Explain.”