and walked out,” Lauren reminded them, waved a hand to signal the waitress.
“May we have the check, please?” Lauren asked when the woman came over.
“The gentleman gave me his credit card before he joined you,” she said. “You don’t have a check.”
“Oh. Thanks,” Lauren said, staring at her blankly.
“I’ll leave the tip,” Heidi offered.
“He was really generous,” the waitress said. “You don’t need to. Honestly.”
“Thanks,” Heidi told her. “We’ll…we’ll just add to it,” she said lamely.
Lauren rose along with Deanna, as their friend dug in her purse, then laid a bill on the table. “Hey, look at this.” Heidi said.
It was the beautiful antique cross. He’d left it on the table, Lauren realized.
“Where did this come from?” Heidi asked curiously.
“Mr. Gorgeous left it,” Lauren said. She shook her head, but took the cross from Heidi. “Come on, I’m going to prove to you both that he’s full of shit.”
She led them quickly through the French Quarter, for once ignoring the architecture that never failed to enthrall her and the street musicians who somehow always sounded so good. When they reached the police station. Lauren opened the door to go in, then froze.
Mark Davidson was there, talking to the desk sergeant.
She backed out of the doorway, stunned.
“Ouch,” Heidi protested, as Lauren stepped on her foot.
“I take it Mr. Davidson is inside?” Deanna said dryly.
“Yes,” Lauren said, puzzled.
“See?” Deanna said.
“Something’s still…not right,” Lauren said.
“You always think something not right,” Deanna told her. “Lauren, you can’t live your life with nothing ever being right,” she added gently.
“You don’t understand,” Lauren tried to explain.
“Yes, we do.” Both of them spoke in unison, looking at her in concern. They were convinced that she couldn’t get beyond the past, and that she desperately needed to.
“No,” she insisted. “I’m fine—these days. I would love to meet the right guy…or even a decent enough wrong guy. Movies, dinner…music,” she said. “Honestly, I know you don’t have to plan a lifetime with someone to enjoy his company.”
“You know what she needs?” Heidi said gravely to Deanna.
“I do,” Deanna said.
“And that would be…?” Lauren asked.
“Sex. Wild, hot, passionate sex,” Deanna said.
“Oh, please!”
“Spontaneous. Wicked,” Heidi said, agreeing with Deanna.
“Can we move on?” Lauren said.
“Look—she’s blushing. She is attracted to him,” Deanna said triumphantly.
“How could she not be?” Heidi said.
“Look,” Lauren insisted, “something just isn’t right here.”
“The fortune-teller,” Deanna told Heidi gravely.
Heidi linked an arm through Lauren’s. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you. Wait! Brainstorm! I do know what we’re going to do. I’m having a vision. It’s me, and I’m standing at a craps table.”
“You lose at craps all the time,” Lauren said.
“And I have a hell of a good time doing it. Come on, slave, let’s trot on back over to Harrah’s. I see us sunning in the late afternoon sun later. A dip in the pool will be followed by dinner. K-Paul’s tonight. Then we’ll hit Bourbon Street for music and jazz. Cool?”
“Cool,” Lauren said, though she didn’t sound convinced. Then she looked at Deanna and frowned. “You’re sure you didn’t take a carriage ride today? I could have sworn I saw you with a tall, dark-haired guy, like the one I saw you talking to in the bar last night.”
“The cute guy?” Deanna said.
“Yeah. Were you in a carriage with him?”
“No,” Deanna said.
It could be difficult to tell if Deanna was blushing, because her skin was such a beautiful shade of copper, but Lauren thought she had reddened.
As if she were lying.
“Hey, pay attention here, slaves,” Heidi demanded.
They both looked at her. “Harrah’s,” she ordered.
Lauren let out a breath, still staring at Deanna. “Right. Harrah’s,” she said.
And she started to walk.
Mark had known the women would follow him, egged on by Lauren.
Luckily, they had quickly departed.
And he had gotten more of a response at the police station than he had been expecting. Of course, it had been some time since he’d been in New Orleans. Things here had changed.
At the desk, he’d informed the sergeant that he didn’t have any solid information, but he knew of a European national now in the country who had been linked to various crimes overseas—crimes that left victims resembling the woman found in the Mississippi.
He had expected to give information to a bored paper-chasing officer in a cubicle somewhere.
To his surprise, he was ushered into the office of Lieutenant Sean Canady, an impressive man with steel blue eyes and a rock-hard chin.
“I understand you have information regarding the body in the river?” Canady said, taking his seat after a handshake and indicating a chair across from his desk.
“Not exactly,” Mark corrected. “But I do have reason to believe that the crime may be associated with a man named Stephan??? who I believe is in this area now.”
“I see.” Canady’s hands were folded on his desk. “Sadly, Mr. Davidson, murder isn’t unusual. Nor is decapitation, though I admit it’s somewhat less common.”
“No.”
“So…?”
Mark took a deep breath. “There are a number of ancient beliefs that suggest decapitation will prevent someone from becoming a vampire. And there’s a modern belief that some vampires are
