Page 79 of Zomromcom

“At least my windshield doesn’t have duct-taped holes in it. Those weren’t exactly warm either, Max. And bulletproof glass only helps if it isn’t already smashed in various places.”

“My lips will get chapped.” His tone implied that such an occurrence would rival the tragedy of theHindenburg. Oh, the vampire-manity.

“Gods and goddesses, Max,” she told him, checking her rearview mirror. “You aresucha little bitch.”

“Take that back, woman.” In pursuit of more legroom, he adjusted his seat for the third time. “I’m not littleanything. Which you can now confirm from firsthand experience.”

She put the car into Drive. “Fine. You’re anenormousbitch.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

His fingers drummed on the console as they trundled through their neighborhood. “I’m getting you new tires with actual tread as soon as this shitstorm is over. Dammit, Edie, you must hydroplane whenever the fuckinghumiditygets too high. No rain necessary.”

“Are you my goth-vamp sugar daddy now?” she asked interestedly.

“You wish, human.” He paused. “But…maybe. If that title made you accept new tires.”

“Nice try. But no.”

Her bank account could absorb the hit. She simply hadn’t taken the time to deal with the issue, and there hadn’t been anyone else in her life who’d have noticed her bald tires. Noticed andcared enough about them—about her—to raise a fuss. Until now.

Drawing himself upright, he raised a peremptory finger. “To be clear: If Iwereyour sugar daddy, I’d excel at the role. You’d be the envy of…uh…”

She waited at a red traffic light as he searched for the right phrasing.

“You’d be the envy of all recipients of sugar daddy services—”

“Sugar babies, Max,” she supplied. “They’re called sugar babies.”

“You’d be the envy of everysugar babyworldwide.”

“Of course I would.” Her forefinger pushed the appropriate button, and her window opened several freezing-cold inches. When he looked at her incredulously, she explained, “I’m allowing a little extra room for your ego.”

The red light turned green, and she took a left onto the main access road. When she’d accelerated enough to reach the speed limit, she raised the window again, steadied the steering wheel with her elbows, and ripped open her huge bag of neon-orange puffed…things.

Some sort of grain had been part of the manufacturing process. Probably.

“Fucking hells, Edie,” he groaned, and she aimed a satisfied smile at the windshield.

By the time they made it to the roadside spot where they’d last seen Riley and the other Girl Explorers, she was full of both preservatives and glee at Max’s discomfiture. Unfortunately, however, the latter faded as soon as she concentrated on the tasks ahead.

Before leaving her car, they scanned their surroundings andensured their weapons remained in easy reach, because neither wanted a repeat of the previous day’s debacle. Then, without a word, she let him lead her into the woods as he tracked Riley’s scent trail.

While they walked along, Max’s nostrils flaring every so often, she kept watch and rested a hand on her sheathed cleaver. If, from time to time, she also whispered a bit of encouragement—“What’s that, Lassie? Timmy fell into the well? Good boy!”—that was only to be expected.

He couldn’t divert enough of his attention for an effective glare in response, but she wasn’t hurt. It was the murderous thought that counted.

Ten minutes later, they stood in front of a small brick duplex.

He nodded toward the left door. “Riley’s residence.”

After taking good whiffs of the buildings on either side, he shook his head, then approached the duplex’s right door.

Immediately, his shoulders stiffened. “A witch and a telepath live here.”

Edie strode forward to ring the bell. There were footsteps and rustling noises behind the door—the homeowner checking the peephole, no doubt—before the wooden barrier swung open.