Remy Tremaine aka the Fairfield police force's token vampire. His parents lived in a four-story colonial not too far away and were longtime friends of my folks. Our dads watched the Knicks together and golfed every Sat.u.r.day night. Our mothers were both members of the Connecticut Huntress Club. Remy's madre collected dues while mine served as vice president and my unofficial spokesperson.

Meaning, she furnished my stats (height, weight, o.r.g.a.s.m quotient) along with gla.s.ses of refreshment at every meeting.

Meaning, I'd been set up with every eligible son, cousin, nephew, uncle, father, grandfather, and great grandfather (don't ask).

All born vampires, of course, who met my mother's standard requirements for a son-in-law. Good looking. Fantastique fertility rating. And filthy rich. While police chiefs didn't rake in the mega bucks, Remy's private security service-which provided personal bodyguards to the wealthy, as well as an impressive list of celebrities and politicians-did.

I'd been paired up with Remy on at least a dozen occasions. Not that I'd fallen for him, mind you. Yummy looks aside, we're talking man-made soles.

On top of that, while Remy looked good enough to eat, he didn't smell good enough to eat. Because of his line of work, he took a special pill developed by a top-secret agency that provided tactical weapons for the armed forces. (I told you I'd spent many an evening with him.) The pill inhibited his natural scent and allowed him to mix, undetected, with the criminal element (some of them born vamps). Since the scent was a crucial mating element, I'd never been remotely attracted to him. Even if I sort of liked the fact that he didn't remind me of a walking coconut cream pie.

As far as I was concerned, Remy was... Well, Remy. I'd known him forever (translation-since we'd both been baby vamps back in the old country). I'd seen him wear knickers and he'd seen me in pantaloons and powdered wigs (uh, yeah), which equaled way too much history for me.

h.e.l.lo? Get over it. I could if I'd actually felt it. The chemistry. The heat. The bam!

Bam! was a must-have on my prospective eternity mate list and so I'd crossed Remy off a long time ago.

The doorbell rang and my mother's voice sounded somewhere in the house."I told you I heard something," she said to my father.

"Of course you heard something. The entire neighborhood heard it."

The k.n.o.b clicked and the door creaked open.

"Remy? What's the meaning of this?"

"Sorry about the siren, Mrs. Marchette. Morris here is a rookie and was just following procedure. She hit the b.u.t.ton before I could stop her." While I couldn't see what was going on, I knew Morris was no doubt standing there with a look of pure rapture on her face because Remy was sort of hot and he'd obviously vamped her to keep her silent.

"Since when is it procedure to stop by for a nightcap?" my mother asked.

"This isn't a social call." He paused and my heart stopped beating. "There's a warrant out for Lil."

"I told you she can't handle her finances," my mother blurted. "Haven't I told you? Just tell us how much the parking tickets are and we'll take care of it."

"She isn't wanted for outstanding traffic violations, Mrs. Marchette."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"She's wanted for murder."

"I told you the constant bottled diet would eventually get to her," she told my father with the same exasperation she'd used in reference to the traffic violations. "Haven't I told you? A vampire has to hunt. End of story. Obviously we can control ourselves, but to deny the hunger completely... It's ridiculous."

"That's our Lil," my father added.

See, I wasn't much for hunting. Not that I couldn't, mind you. I just preferred drinking my dinner out of a martini gla.s.s and following it up with an appletini chaser. Or, my most recent discovery, a cactus margarita. Talk about delish. See, they use sugar instead of salt and this to-die-for cactus juice that's actually sweet...

Wait a second. Where was I? Oh, yeah. While my parents went for the bottled stuff for the most part, they did indulge in the real thing on occasion. To nurture their wilder side.

I know, I know. My wild side had most likely bitten the dust a few hundred years ago. Maybe. And maybe I'm just bottling it up in hopes of unleashing it with a megalicious vampire who can't keep his hands off me.

Hey, it could happen!

"It's just like your cousin Brigitte," my mother went on. "Remember when she decided to become a nun and gave up men and blood? She lasted all of two weeks before she drained an encyclopedia salesman and even tried to sink her teeth into the free globe."

"The globe?"

"Of course, she was out of her mind by then. If you ask me, she was out of her mind even before. Imagine, a nun. It's too frightening to even contemplate."

"Lil didn't lose it and drain him. She chopped him into little pieces.""That's preposterous. Not that I wouldn't like to see our daughter do a little healthy hunting. But our kind don't kill. You know that, Remy. Besides, Lilliana cried for a week when her brother ripped the head off her favorite doll. You remember that, don't you, dear?" she asked my father.

"We had a h.e.l.l of a time calming her down," my dad said. "h.e.l.l of a time."

"She would never do something so messy. She hates to get her hands dirty."

Actually, it was my clothes that I hated to get dirty.

But Mom got kudos for standing up for me, so I wasn't going to argue semantics.

"There's obviously been a mistake," my mother added. "A ridiculous mistake."

"I agree," Remy sighed. "But the evidence says otherwise. The victim was Kevin Gillespie, aka Keith Gillman."

The name drew an immediate image. I closed my eyes and saw the geeky twenty-something who'd come to my office desperate to find the girl of his dreams less than two weeks ago. He'd been a little pudgy and much too pale, but I'd agreed to help him anyway. What can I say? I love a challenge. Even more, I love a client who can pay a bonus for express service.

"He was a reporter for The New York Times," Remy went on. "He was..."

Whoa, back it up. A reporter?

"... a story on the local dating scene. Posing as a secret dater, he would sign himself up for the various services, go on a few dates, and write a review. He'd been about to leave his apartment for a date arranged by Dead End Dating when Lil arrived.

She gave the doorman her name and her card."

Uh-yeah. Keith had shown up at Dead End Dating wearing sandals and socks, for Damien's sake. We're talking the walking poster guy for What Not to Wear on a First Date. Which meant I'd shown up at his apartment prior to date number one to make sure he wore something decent so he didn't remain a pale, geeky, lonely subway attendant for the rest of his life.

He'd had on Reeboks and jeans and a new blue Banana Republic T-shirt I'd talked him into during our predate shopping spree.

Perfectly acceptable attire for a casual night of pizza and beer and conversation with his possible soul mate.

"I knew that dating service would get her into trouble. Dating, of all things."

Here we go again.

"Born vampires don't date. And they certainly don't arrange dates for humans."

Or made vampires. Or werewolves. Or any of the Others who'd signed up since I'd opened up shop. Yada, yada.

"First she's the laughingstock, and now she's a wanted criminal. She might as well stand on the street corner with a sign around her neck: Vampires exist and I'm one of them."

"Now, now, dear, I'm sure she doesn't mean to draw attention to herself."

"Did you see what she wore to last week's hunt? A hot pink tutu, of all things."

It hadn't been a tutu. It had been a poet's shirt with fringe, the latest from Christian Dior and my most recent wardrobe coup.

"This is all your fault," my mother told my father. "My side of the family is the picture of discretion.""What-"

"Now, folks," Remy cut in. "There's no need to blame each other for this unfortunate situation. What's done is done and the only way out of it is to stick together."

"Such a smart boy," my mother said. "But of course, you're right."

"I still don't see why the police are so convinced she's guilty," my father said. "Just because she was seen at this reporter's apartment doesn't mean she killed him."

Right on, Dad.

"True, but the victim took a picture of her with his camera phone just minutes before the projected time of death. She was in his bedroom where he was killed. With the murder weapon in her hand. A huge kitchen knife."

Duh. I couldn't very well let him rush off to meet his soul mate with the tags still attached to his shirt. Talk about a date killer.

Oops. My bad.

"There are security cameras all over the building and no one else was seen going in or out of the apartment."

"She didn't kill anyone," my father insisted. "She might be a little out of the ordinary, but she wouldn't betray her family by doing anything that would risk exposure."

I wouldn't? I mean, of course I wouldn't. I love my family.

Most of the time, anyway.

"We raised her better than that," my mother added. "At least we tried."

"I'm sure you're right and this is all a mistake," Remy said. "I know Lil. She wouldn't do this."

Maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to cross Remy off my prospective eternity mate list. Bam! factor aside, you had to love a man who believed in you.

"But the city police think she's your average killer. Particularly after she resisted arrest and a.s.saulted half the cops on the scene when they tried to take her into custody. She's in a lot of trouble and it's a given that you'll both be pulled in for questioning. It would save a lot of time and trouble if you would come down to the station with me right now and make a statement. Otherwise, you'll be opening the door to a search warrant."

"Let me get my purse," my mother said.

I listened as my parents left with Remy, and then I sank down onto the nearest float and tried not to hyperventilate.

Stop breathing, I told myself. Just stop it. You don't need to breathe. Breathing leads to hyperventilating and vampires don't hyperventilate. Or panic. Or cry. They stay calm. And cool. And in complete control. And they plan. They figure out where they're going and how to get there and then they just do it.

That's what I told myself, but instead of working on getting myself from point A (hiding out for a murder I didn't commit) to point B (innocence, major financial success, and a date with Orlando Bloom or Jason Allen), I kept picturing Keith in his new blue shirt getting sliced and diced and-can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe.

Maybe my mother was right.

Maybe I had been switched at birth, because vampire or not, I was definitely in the middle of a major panic attack.

Chapter Five

Dear Mom and Dad, I just stopped by to say hi. Sorry I missed you guys. Take care and I'll see you at the next hunt.

Love, Jack P.S. Don't worry about Dad's Hummer. I'm just borrowing it.

I clipped the note to a refrigerator magnet and grabbed the keys hanging near the back door. After punching in the security code, I let myself out the kitchen door and headed for the ma.s.sive garage that housed a half dozen vehicles.

After the panic attack and some shallow breathing into an old potato chip bag I'd found in the pool house (the maid/watcher had a thing for sour cream and onion), I'd calmed down enough to formulate a plan. I now had two and a half hours until sunup, which meant I needed a safe place. Somewhere no one would think to look for me. A place that couldn't be traced back to me.

Which meant I had to pay cash. Which meant I needed help.

I could wait for my parents. They would give me cash, and a lecture, and a lot of advice I really didn't need at the moment.

I could go to one of The Ninas, but they would ask a lot of questions I wasn't ready to answer at the moment.

I could go to Evie, but she didn't have any money. On top of that, the cops were probably keeping an eye on her after the fiasco at the office.

I could go to my oldest brother, Max, but he liked to lecture, too. There was my middle brother, Rob, but I really didn't want to get him involved since he prided himself on staying so uninvolved. Besides, I actually had a relationship with both Max and Rob.

We talked on the phone. We shared. Sort of.

Which left my youngest brother, Jack. Jack was a womanizer and a know-it-all and a major pain in the a.s.s. Likewise, he thought I was a pampered, self-centered b.i.t.c.h who squandered money on way too many clothes.

I know.

I should have added clueless to Jack's resume.

I'd never squandered a penny in my life. My wardrobe was an investment, just like a horde of original GI Joes or a rare book collection or any of the other stuff offered up on eBay. As for the pampered, self-centered b.i.t.c.h part... Okay, so n.o.body's perfect. The point?

While we loved each other (hey, family's family), we weren't about to win any contests for the closest siblings. Which meant he was the least likely person I would go to for help. If the police didn't have my parents under surveillance yet, they weren't likely to have my youngest and most estranged brother in their sights.

At least that's what I was hoping.

When I reached the garage, I punched in another security code and stepped back as the doors slid up. I stared longingly at my Previous Top Nextmother's candy apple red BMW convertible before turning toward the blazing yellow monster that looked like a bee on steroids.

While the BMW was more my style, the Hummer said c.o.c.ky male vampire eager to prove his virility with an obscenely large phallic symbol, i.e., my brother Jack.

I climbed in, gunned the engine, and backed out.

A half hour later, I was barreling toward the city. I intended to swing by Jack's, get him to advance me some cash, and leave the Hummer. Then I'd take a taxi to an out-of-the-way hotel with heavy-duty window blinds and get some much-needed sleep.

Jack wasn't at home.

I stood on his front stoop and pressed the b.u.t.ton for the trillionth time. Nothing.