Page 9 of Taste of Blood

“Smart.” I can tell he’s spooked. I never told him what I was, just that I hunted rogues, but the way he’s watching me now tells me he has questions. If he asks, I’m not sure what I’d tell him. Right now, however, I need to put him at ease.

“Look, keep doing what you’re doing. Be vigilant. Don’t travel alone.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I doubt they’ll be around during the day, so I’ll come back tonight. Take a look around.”

“There’s two of them. What if they come after you?”

I grin at him. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve been doing this a long time.” I finish my coffee then stand up. “Call me if anything changes. I don’t care if you think it’s important or not. Okay?”

He nods and follows me to the door, dropping his half empty cup in the trash.

“How’s your mom?”

He shrugs. “She’s fine. She’d freak if she knew any of this.”

“Well, we’ll just make sure she doesn’t find out, okay?”

His shoulders slump in relief. “Thanks.”

When I leave the coffee shop I wander across the street and around the corner to the alley that runs behind the restaurant. I walk it slowly, looking for clues. I’m not a detective by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve tailed enough rogues to be able to spot signs of a stake out. Most rogues operate the same way, wanting as little conflict as possible to draw attention to them. They’re fans of crimes of convenience.

If the servers stick together as Luca says they are, they should be safe. Two vamps could easily pick them off one at a time, but they’d have a harder time doing so quietly with two potential victims. Vamps may not be human, but we’re not superman. Unless a vamp has special training, most are no more powerful than your average street thug. The difference is, a rogue has two things to worry about–getting caught by people like me, who can bring them to a boss like Dante, or the human police, who can lock them away without access to blood. Either way could be a death sentence.

I finish in the alley and make my way back to my car. Guess all I can do now is wait for nightfall.

4: Asher

I HATE MORNING appointments. My PA, Elaine, usually tries to ensure my meetings are all scheduled in the afternoon or evening, but that isn’t always possible, depending on the client. This particular client, Alister Maxley, is obviously an early riser who believes everyone else should follow his example. If I hadn’t seen an opportunity in his business, I would have dismissed him when he first called me out of the blue a week ago. At least Elaine is able to convince him I’m unavailable until eleven.

We’re meeting in Maxley’s Midtown office, an attempt to no doubt impress me with his company’s importance. I’ve done my due diligence–or rather my team has–and I know he’s struggling to keep his head above water. From what my team has gathered, mine is the fourth company he’s contacted looking for a life preserver. As inconvenient as the meeting time is, I figure it’s worth it to see what he has to offer, though, as I told him on the phone, there’s no guarantees.

Maxley’s secretary personally escorts me to the conference room, where the man I assume is Maxley and two others are engaged in a subdued debate. They all quiet when I enter the room, and I can tell Maxley at least seems taken aback by my appearance. The reactions I get from other businessmen never fail to amuse me. Yes, I look far too young to be the owner of a Fortune 500 company, a fact that usually gives me an advantagebecause most people think they can put one over on me. Little do they know I’ve been at this longer than most of them.

“You’re Asher Winston?”

My lips curl up in a smile I know doesn’t reach my eyes. “Is there a problem?”

“N-no, I just, well…you seem a little young.”

“Good genes. Now, if there are no other appearance-related issues you have, can we get down to business?”

“Um, yes. Yes, of course. Milo?”

The man to his left pulls a folder out of a stack before him and slides it across the table to me. I open it and glance at the figures. “What is this?”

“That’s our financials,” Maxley replies smugly.

I close the folder and push it back across the table, then stand up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving, obviously. I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”

“I don’t understand,” he objects. “You said you needed to see our financials.”

“And you showed me an annual report any employee could print out from your website. It’s no wonder your company is going under if you don’t even know what’s involved in a financial disclosure.”