"Oh. s.h.i.t."

Anatole clearly had not fed before he was caught. His skin was sallow and loose and his eyes were sunken. I couldn't help noticing he was very carefully not looking at me, especially not my neck.

I crouched down beside him, pushed him into a sitting position against the shelves. I also pulled the torn bag off. I tried not to think about how it looked like it had been chewed open.

"Thank you," Anatole said.

"Can you break these?" I touched the cold handcuffs. They didn't look quite like the ones I'd been treated to by the NYPD. The locks seemed . . . different.

He shook his head. "They are made of silver, and very uncomfortable, may I add." Silver doesn't produce the same level of toxic shock in vampires that it does in werewolves, but it doesn't do them any good.

"Swell." I collapsed beside him and leaned my head back against the shelf support.

"So, tell me, how did you come to be here?" asked Anatole. He still wasn't looking at me. I returned the favor.

I told him about Connecticut and the spa and my latest attempt to chase my brother down. To my surprise, Sevarin threw back his head and let out a loud laugh. "Brilliant! This may be the ultimate triumph of the capitalist system! Ilona and your brother have found a way to make money from both the diners and the dinner!"

"I'll be sure to let him know you're impressed. So how'd you get in here?"

Sevarin grimaced. "I don't know. I had gone back to my apartment to get ready for sunrise. When I woke again, I was here. I admit I was thinking some very unkind things about your Brendan the security expert until Julie arrived with you." He frowned. "Perhaps I should hire Mr. Maddox. Clearly my personal security is not what I had believed it to be."

"Julie and Tommy have got to be working for Shelby or Pam Maddox." I rubbed my forehead. "But which one?"

"What rules out your brother or Ilona?"

I shook my head and wished I hadn't. "This whole thing is about controlling access to human blood outlets for profit. It's like Prohibition, or crack cocaine in the eighties; people are fighting over the control of territory and distribution networks. Chet's working his own angle on that, and since he and Ilona are working together . . ."

"Unless she has a side gambit of her own."

"No." I'd had a lot of time to think, in the cells and on the way to the train as I sat silently next to Brendan and avoided thinking about him. A lot of things were beginning to make sense "Dylan Maddox was dumped in Nightlife as a warning to Chet, something to do with his particular blood-running scam. Ilona wouldn't have needed to give Chet that kind of warning. She's his girlfriend; she could just talk to him. Besides, Dylan was dumped around sunrise, maybe even after dawn."

"Which means his body was dropped by daybloods. Given her worldview, it is unlikely Ilona would have trusted such an important job to those not of her own kind. Of course."

"She's one of yours, isn't she?"

"Yes."

I didn't press any further. The truth was, I didn't really want to know, not yet anyway. The fact that we were discussing my brother's girlfriend did not make things any better. "Somebody drained Dylan's blood to sell. I mean, he was dead, why let valuable product go to waste? They had some left and they planted it at Nightlife and then tipped off the P-Squad so I'd be arrested and out of the way. That could have been Margot Maddox. She's offered me a very big bribe to shut down Nightlife for good. Or it could have been Pam or Bert Shelby trying to get me out of the way so they could use Nightlife as a blood outlet."

"You're certain Pamela Maddox is involved with the blood runners?"

"She's doing something that's got Chet trying to set up an amateur sting operation on her, Margot trying to cover for her, and Dylan getting killed over her. What else could it be?"

Anatole thought about this. "If you are correct, then it becomes a question of whether it's a Maddox or Bertram Shelby who's in charge of the actual operation."

I bit my lip and recalled what Robert had said, and all the a.s.sumptions I'd made back when this looked just like a little hissy-fit power play.

And I knew. I knew who'd killed Dylan Maddox.

"We've got to get out of here," I said.

"I agree." Anatole shifted his weight-and winced.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"You mean what else is the matter? You will notice it's only my wrists that have been shackled."

"Yes?"

"Because they took the precaution of breaking my leg before they handcuffed me."

"Oh. s.h.i.t."

"I see we are once again in agreement."

I tried the door handle again for form's sake. It didn't budge. Wires dangled from an open panel above the light switch. Somebody'd taken out the panic b.u.t.ton. I peered out the window and saw a dormant kitchen that I didn't recognize.

Think. Think. I ordered myself as I turned around, rubbing my hands together and blowing on them. Whether Shelby or a Maddox is in charge, the next person through that door is not going to be your friend.

I rummaged in my pockets, but turned up nothing useful. My keys and change were all gone. So was my phone, of course.

I turned back to Sevarin and after a minute was able to make my mouth ask, "If you had . . . if you fed, would you be able to heal the break?"

Sevarin was silent for a long, nerve-racking moment. "Thank you, Charlotte," he said softly. "But unfortunately, no. I would feel better, but I would still have the broken leg, and you would be much weakened."

"Yeah. Okay." I tried not to sound relieved. Anatole had already . . . saved me. Again. I should trust him. Why didn't I trust him?

I decided not to think about that either. I looked at the door. We still had to get out of here. I looked at the shelves behind me, loaded with produce, mise en place, and bins and buckets of everything from ground beef to salad dressing. I looked at the door again.

"Fine," I said. "We'll do this the hard way."

I rolled up my sleeves and set to work.

By the time someone came through the walk-in door, I was gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering. I'd switched the light off again and held a rock-hard b.u.t.ternut squash up to my shoulder like I thought I was about to hit a home run. Anatole was back on his side, with the black bag draped loosely across his face.

"Okay, Chef C, time to go," said a familiar voice.

Taylor Watts parted the plastic flaps. Perfect. I held myself very still.

My ex-bartender took one step into the cooler, hit the Italian salad dressing I'd smeared across the floor and did a perfect Three Stooges pratfall-legs flying, arms flapping, eyes bugged out, loud "whagh!" and best of all, the sharp crack of his skull against the floor. He struggled, but I brought the squash down hard on his forehead. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he went as limp as a vamp at high noon.

I dropped my vegetable, kicked Taylor on the shoulder to slide him out of the way and turned to Anatole.

"Get out of here, Charlotte. Call the police."

"Sorry. It's payback time."

Anatole was a big guy, but he didn't weigh more than a full sack of flour. That was good, because otherwise I never would have been able to haul him out of there, especially since I had to walk across my own b.o.o.by trap to do it.

"Can you hear anybody?" I murmured.

"No, but that doesn't mean we are alone. Charlotte, you have to get out of here."

"Working on it."

The kitchen was dark and silent. So far, so good. "We'll call the cops on the house phone and then . . ."

"Put the vampire down, Chef Caine."

Pamela Maddox, not one perfectly styled blond hair out of place, walked through the swinging door and smiled.

There are days it truly sucks to be right.

25.

Pamela Maddox wore a Hillary Clinton pantsuit with only a push-up bra underneath it. Given her level of endowment, she looked like she had a baby b.u.t.t mooning the world from out of her perfectly tailored jacket.

I considered bolting, but with my arms full of vampire there was no way I would make it to the exit before Pamela caught up with me, even though she was wearing platform pumps. And that was before I saw Julie and Tommy the Hench Vamps come sauntering in behind her.

"Sorry," I murmured to Anatole as I set him on the floor near an empty counter.

"It was an excellent attempt."

Pamela sighed and shook her head at us. "I told Taylor to be careful."

"Yeah, well, he always was pretty useless." I put my hands in my empty pockets and tried not to seem like I was looking around. If she would just come a little closer . . . There was a tenderizing mallet in easy reach, just waiting to make contact with her perfectly made-up face.

"You don't seem surprised to see me, Charlotte."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out." Eventually. Once I realized it had to be either Shelby or a Maddox. Robert had pointed out that Shelby was never in charge of the actual crimes he'd been involved with. He liked to be able to skedaddle and leave other people to take the blame when things went bad. So it had to be a Maddox. It couldn't have been Margot or Ian, because Brendan had been watching them, and he would have checked on when they'd actually arrived in the city, because he was much less into denial than I was and would want to eliminate Margot right away. That left Cousin Pam.

"So, now what?" I said out loud.

"Now you listen to me very carefully," Pamela said. "Because you've only had a small taste of how miserable I can make things for you and your little nightblood brother."

"Not as miserable as you made them for Cousin Dylan," I said.

"Silly-dilly," she murmured, like someone remembering the good old days of tweaking pigtails and dropping cats down wells. "He thought he was being so clever."

"He did find you when none of your other family could."

"And we have Chet Caine to thank for that." She smiled at me and Julie smirked. "If I were you, Charlotte, I'd have a talk with your brother."

"Not that she's going to have a chance," murmured Tommy, gliding past his boss. "Dibs on the neck."

"Touch her and I will come back from h.e.l.l itself to destroy you," said Anatole, and I think that frightened me way more than it did Tommy.

"Now, now, boys." Pammy smiled indulgently. "There's no reason to be rude. We can discuss our business in a civilized fashion. Especially since as dense as she is, Chef Caine knows I can have her and her boyfriend here killed in a New York minute if she steps out of line."

Which unfortunately was true. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing at all." Pamela drifted around the edge of the prep counter, trailing her long, perfect fingernails across the stainless steel. "After this little matter of the contraband on your premises is cleared up, you and Chet will be opening Nightlife again. You will find yourself in need of a new bartender." She stopped just out of reach. "I will give you a name. You will hire that person and go back to your kitchen."

A new bartender. A new bartender and a bucket of human blood among all the other containers of blood at my restaurant, which served vampires. . . . "You want to turn Nightlife into a blood dive."

She shrugged. "It's going to happen, Charlotte. It's just a question of whether you live through the process or not. At least with me, you know you get to keep your management position."

Before I could think of anything to say, a loud, m.u.f.fled thud sounded behind me.

"b.i.t.c.h!" I could barely hear the bellow of outrage through the gla.s.s. "I'm gonna kill you!"

Pam rolled her baby blues. "Tommy, go let Taylor out of the walk-in."

Grinning wide enough to show both fangs, Tommy went and released the lock on the walk-in. A very green around the gills Taylor Watts staggered two steps forward, choked and reeled to the hand-washing sink. Pam winced and started to say something.

I scooped up Anatole and ran, making my best guess at the direction of the back door. Lousy time to be wrong. I came up in the employee locker room. Abrupt reversals aren't easy when carrying a full-grown vampire, but I managed. Pamela was bearing down, so I took the only other out offered and ducked into the office. I dumped Anatole in the desk chair, slammed the door, locked it, and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone. A stack of invoices on the desk told me I was in the kitchen of Post Mortem.

Oh, why am I not surprise?

"You'll be dead before anyone can get here, Charlotte," called Pam through the window. "Both of you."

My hand froze over the phone keypad.

"Dead and drained." The flirtatious little-girl lilt had entirely left her voice. "And then since I won't have you around to keep your brother in line, I'll have to alert the boys I sent down to Arizona to pick up your parents."

"You're bluffing!"

"Maybe, but you're the one behind a highly breakable gla.s.s window with no exit except through me. Maybe you could get past me on your own, but hauling poor Anatole? Of course, you could just leave him, but I don't need him for anything and when the sun comes up, I'll just toss him out into the alley."

"If I am so very superfluous, why did you bother bringing me here?" inquired Anatole.

She shrugged. "You were making a nuisance of yourself."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h," added Taylor. He'd propped himself up against the wall and looked about as healthy as Anatole. The lovely bruise blossoming across his temple was a very small triumph.

"What about Chet's spa?" I asked, stalling for time.

"Oh, he'll get to keep right on running that little operation. There will be a few changes, of course, to reflect new executive thinking." Pammy's eyes gleamed. "Such a nice, isolated location and all those woods. Absolutely n.o.body to hear the screams."

I wanted to scream myself, right now. I wanted to punch her in her lying face. She was a liar and a murderer and a witch from a screwed-up family, and she was the reason my life was in shreds. And there was nothing I could do but stand there beside Anatole and take it.

"You drained your own cousin and used the blood in a frame-up to take over one restaurant and one spa," I pursed my lips like I was considering all the implications. "How'd Post Mortem come into it?"