Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand

“They said they’d call me as soon as they knew anything. All we can do now is wait.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I know this wasn’t how this weekend was supposed to go at all.” She reached across the table to squeeze my hand. She was so earnest. I wanted to tell them I’d be okay, I could take care of myself. But if I was so sure I could take care of myself, why was I distraught at the thought of losing Ben? I didn’t want to have to take care of myself anymore. I wanted to take care of both of us.

Mom was earnest and weepy. Dad, on the other hand, seemed withdrawn. His look was serious, frowning. I suddenly felt eight years old again, wondering what I’d done wrong.

“Now, Kitty,” he said. “I know this is difficult. But has anyone suggested the possibility that maybe Ben... I don’t know. Just needed a little time off. That he’s off somewhere thinking things over.”

I stared. “That he got cold feet, you mean.”

He gave a half, noncommittal shrug of agreement. That Mom didn’t look shocked or indignant meant they’d had this conversation between them already.

My own parents. Entertaining the notion that I’d been ditched pre-altar. So if everyone suggested it but me, did that make everyone else right? No—I’d seen the video, and I knew Ben. I took another long swig of wine.

“No. There’s no way. Ben’s not like that. He wouldn’t do that.”

“I know, honey,” Dad said, making a calming gesture. God, now they were both honey-ing me. “But you really haven’t known him all that long. A year?”

“Longer than that,” I muttered.

“There may still be sides to him you don’t know.”

Like the side of him that’s a werewolf? They couldn’t know how deep the co

“I like him just fine, Kitty. I’m just worried about you. You know, the cold-feet thing is really common. Some men just need a little time to themselves.”

I shook my head, defensive to the end. “Ben’s not like that. You don’t know him, this situation—” I narrowed my gaze with a sudden suspicion. I regarded my father, called up a memory of his and Mom’s wedding picture, a young, shining couple standing in an anonymous garden somewhere, bathed in sunlight. I tried to recall the look on Dad’s face in that picture. Was it anything other than blank happiness?

“Did you get cold feet?” I asked, looking back and forth between my parents.

He didn’t answer right away, but Mom had her lips pursed, like she was having to restrain herself. I almost giggled. This was a story I’d never heard. There’d been no hint of this, no sign. The wedding photos were all stereotypically happy and perfect.

Filled with awe, I said, “He didn’t leave you standing at the altar, did you?”

“No,” she said. “Thank goodness. I’d better let him tell the story.” She gave him a sly glare. So, he hadn’t quite stood her up at the altar. But whatever he’d done, he hadn’t lived it down after thirty-five years. Wow.

His shoulders hunched, looking chagrined, he explained. “I left town for the week before the wedding.”

“Oh my God. What happened? Where’d you go?”

“I literally drove around for a week. Picked highways at random. Ended up in Texas, of all places. I came back just in time for the rehearsal. Even then, I sat outside in my car for twenty minutes, deciding whether or not to go through with it. I was very late, but I was there, which I thought was something of a victory.”

Quiet, responsible, solid Dad almost ditched his own wedding? This was enlightening.

“What did you do?” I asked Mom.

“Oh, I forgave him. Eventually.”

“She didn’t even say anything,” he added. “But it was very, very clear how much I owed her for forgiving me. If I hadn’t gone through with it, I’d have been asking ‘what if’ for the rest of my life.”

Mom patted his arm, and they traded one of those old married, would-do-it-all-over-again glances.

“And you think Ben is sitting somewhere, thinking about that himself right now,” I said.

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s been kidnapped.” Infuriatingly, he shrugged again, and I suppressed an impulse to scream. This conversation wasn’t making me feel any better, whatever Dad’s intentions were. I couldn’t keep waiting around for something to happen. I had more leads to follow.

“What time is it?” I said.

Dad glanced at his watch. “Almost eight.”

“Okay. I have some more people to talk to, some other leads that might know something about what happened to Ben. I have to get going.”

Mom managed to look even more worried. “Are you sure you shouldn’t just wait for the police to call? Let them do their jobs?”

“Can’t do that. Sorry.” I stood and went to her side to give her a big hug. “Don’t worry, guys. It’ll all work out. I just know it.”

I could feel them watching me with worried gazes as I left the bar. Outside, I retrieved my phone from my bag and called the number Dom gave me in case I needed help.

Chapter 14

I talked to Dom on my way to the Napoli hotel. My feet in their high heels were starting to hurt with all this ru

“Kitty!” he answered my call with enthusiasm. “Please tell me you’re having a good time.”

“Yeah, about that. I really need to talk to you, are you busy right now?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m having a party here in the roof bar. We’re just getting started, you should come over.” It was probably an all-vampire, blood-in-wine-glasses kind of party. I could put up with that. That was how desperate I was.

“I’ll be right there,” I said.

“And bring that nice gentleman of yours.”

“Um, that’s actually what I need to talk to you about. He’s missing.”

“He’s left you alone in Las Vegas on a Saturday night? What is he, brave or stupid?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” I muttered. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

“I look forward to it.”

As I left the elevator outside the club, my heart sank a little, because it was a vampire party. I could smell it, an odor that wafted into the hall via the air-conditioning like a hint of perfume. Blood and corpses. A normal person wouldn’t notice it. To me, it was unmistakable. A group of vampires—essentially clean, preserved corpses imbued with life—were imbibing their beverage of choice.

At the scent of blood, a presence within me stirred. Wolf waking up, turning nose to the air, wondering if we were going on a hunt. Blood meant prey. I paused a moment, took a deep breath, and said no. No hunting here. I was in charge. The fur and claws settled.

Besides, just because I smelled blood didn’t mean anything was being hunted.

It didn’t occur to me that the line of people along the hallway was the line waiting to get into Dom’s rooftop nightclub. I stalked right past them, oblivious to the offended stares people were giving me, and headed straight for the door, following the scent of vampires.

A bouncer stepped in front of me. His bulk filled the doorway. He was white, bald, with a tattoo peeking up from the neckline of his crisp button-up shirt. He glared at me. I almost snarled back.

“You’ll have to wait in line.”

A calm breath focused me. “Dom invited me. He’s expecting me.”

“You’re not on the list,” he said. He wasn’t supernatural. I’d have expected a werewolf or vampire or something to be working for Dom. But he was stereotypical muscle. May not even have known what was going on in there, or that I smelled blood on the air.

I tried to be reasonable and failed. “You don’t even know my name! How do you know I’m not on the list? Do you even have a list? And aren’t famous people supposed to be able to just, you know, walk in?”

“You’re famous?” Bald Guy said flatly.