Unknown magic skittered across my flesh and was gone.
Over the coms, Derek said, “Big Bird has flown the coop.” It wasn’t code, but if someone was listening in, they wouldn’t know what had happened. Gee DiMercy had shifted shape and flown. A black-and-white image appeared on the screen on the backseat, the view from overhead.
My earbud hissed and then I heard Eli say, “Copy. We have visual. Initiating Operation Insertion. George will drive our vehicle. Give us until I mention my mama and then the big cat can come in. That’ll mean the way is clear.”
Big cat had to mean Rick.
“Roger that,” Rick said.
The smell of Tex-Mex food grew on the air, chicken and beef, lots of spices, ears of corn roasted over an open flame, hot grease. Pepe’s taqueria appeared at the end of the block, lights from inside spilling into the rain, making the lights flow like luminous liquid. Eli pulled over and shoved the SUV into park. In a street-tough, faintly Cajun accent I had never heard before, he said, “You ready?”
“I’m always ready.” It was a silly line, but I liked it.
We both exited on the driver’s side as Bruiser slid across the seat, put his foot on the brake, and shifted into drive. “Be careful,” he said. Because vamps might have a lookout inside. Right. Eli held out his hand. I took it and we raced through the storm and under the awning, where we brushed rain off us as we looked through the storefront window.
Eli said, “It’s smaller in there than we thought. We’ll have to put on a real show to keep their attention from the door.”
“Long as they don’t call the cops,” I said. “We don’t have time for the cops.
“Call the cops? In New Orleans? How long have you been living in this city?”
He had a point. Unless there were ambulances and near death, or rich people involved, cops didn’t come to domestics or bar fights. “Okay by me,” I said, with that same evil grin.
Eli leaned and caught my jacket in one hand, pulling me back. In that surprisingly good Cajun accent he said, loudly, “You don’ cheat on me. You hear?”
“You ass!” I shouted.
Eli twitched at my cussing. Just a tiny twitch, but it was enough. Inside I thought, Score! He shoved open the door of Pepe’s and yanked me behind him. He shouted, “You trying to tell me you din be makin’ eyes at Jimmy Ray?” He walked into Pepe’s with all the machismo of a street thug. Dragging me behind him by the jacket.
“I hadda look at him,” I yelled back. “He was passing me a beer. You want I should guess where it is?” I covered my eyes, stretched out my other arm, and made a dramatic waving motion. “You’re stupid, you know that? Now lemme go or things’ll get nasty.”
“You got a mouth on you, you do.”
I yanked my clothes free, fisted my free hand, and took a long step for momentum.
To the three people inside, he said, “You see what I gotta put up with this li’l bit—”
I shoved Eli across the room, into the corner. Holding back. The breath blasted out of him. “I was careful, so I didn’t hurt you. Much,” I yelled. “I ain’t no cheater, you ass.”
This time Eli didn’t twitch. He slapped the back of my head. Not hard but it stung. And it was on, as I kicked his shins. Like a grade school child. I charged him clumsily and we spun around together. Maneuvering us toward the corner farthest from the door. We splashed though a wet spot on the floor. My feet flew and I nearly fell. I screeched, kicked over four chairs and a small table, sending them crashing. A chair tripped Eli. We both went down.
As I fell I realized we had all three employees, a man and two women, racing to us, away from the entrance. Perfect. Except that I hit the floor, landing hard on my elbow. Pain sparked through me. My left hand went numb. A wounded breath whistled out of me.
Eli roared with fake fury. “You sleeping with Jimmy Ray!”
“I’m not, but if I did, his dick would be bigger than yours. Your mama told me so!”
“You bes’ be leaving my mama outta dis!”
The helpful employees were trying to separate us and pull us to our feet. I screamed, keeping their attention on me as Rick dashed in from the storm and raced around the counter, into the kitchen. He vanished into the back.
“Lemme go!” I shouted, standing up. “You can take your silly insecurities and shove ’em where the sun don’t shine!” I elbowed my way out of the group and out the door. Into the shadows and the freezing rain. Rubbing my elbow and my scalp and muttering, “Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow,” as freezing rain blasted into my collar and down my back. My legs froze in the icy wet wind. Stupid girly clothes.
“Janie said dick,” Alex said into my earbud. “And ass.”
“Shut up,” I said, breathing hard, laughing and wheezing in pain under my breath. “Holy crap, this hurts. And it’s called Method acting.”
“It’s called foul language,” he countered. “I get pizza.”
“Whatever.”
The SUV’s lights flashed. I dashed to it and inside, into the amazing warmth of the heater and the towel Bruiser held out to me. I stripped, dried off, and wrapped up in a blanket, unfolding the new armor as my arm regained some painful sensation and movement. We listened to the angry banter between Eli and the store employees as I changed into the dry long underwear and the new armored uniform. Eli ordered a dozen tacos of various different kinds, putting down the now ex-girlfriend. It was colorful and Eli managed to sound like a total . . . well, a total dick. His ex-girlfriend had been a smart chick when she left him. A good ten minutes later Eli raced through the rain and got into the backseat.
“Dude,” Alex said over the headphones. “I am like, totally awestruck. Can I have your autograph?”
“What about me?” I asked. “You don’t want my autograph?”
“Only if I can have it on a naked picture of one of the Kardashians.”
Eli passed out tacos. “The cook said the shredded chicken is the best, but the two chicks said the pork is worth dying for.”
I got one of each and we chowed down, me wrapped in a blanket, listening to Rick, following his progress via softly spoken bursts of comments. His voice deepened, growing scratchy as he narrated his passage, which showed up on the SUV’s screen, and I realized he was wearing an IR monocular. And he was fighting going catty with the stress, even though it wasn’t the full moon. I wasn’t sure how much control Rick had over his wereleopard. If he lost control, this could get rough. “Walkway into parking area between buildings,” he murmured. “Five vehicles. Three food trucks. Two limos. One of the limos is still hot.” Which meant it had pulled in recently. Which meant people inside the warehouse somewhere. “I smell DBs.”
Dead bodies. Got it. I tensed all over and the taco curdled in my stomach. Brian and Brandon were likely inside the warehouse somewhere. So was Grégoire. Hopefully still alive. I wrapped the rest of the food and put it back in the bag.
“No visible security cams,” Rick said. “No lights on. Moving from the back of Pepe’s around each of the trucks.”
Eli murmured to us, “We have new visual from Gee on tablet.” Black-and-white video shifted to low-light images from overhead. I could see Rick, barely, in between two food trucks, near the edge of the warehouse’s narrow roof.
Derek said softly, “Pulling around the block. Positioned a hundred feet from the vehicle entrance at twelve.”
Rick half growled, “Approaching alpha five. No cams noted. Door is open. Repeat, door is not locked. Entering.”
I heard a door open and close and thought for a moment about Rick being a cop. Needing probable cause or a judge’s signature on a warrant to enter private property. He had neither. Yet he was going in. Because paranormal creatures—like me, like the vamps we were going after—had no legal rights. None. Our law-keeping was done in the trenches, with blades and guns and no mercy. Something cold and hard formed in my heart. But now was not the time to look at that. Now was the time to get my people back.
The ambient noise in my earbud changed, the shushing sound vanishing. The sleet had been left outside. The images on the screen were now split, one side overhead, low light, the other attached to Rick’s monocular IR camera. In it I saw a small room with a table and too many chairs, all dark. No residual heat from a watchman or a guard who might have ducked out. I watched as Rick moved through the cramped space like a cat, in a sinuous path to the door at the end. He leaned in and I heard him sniff at the crack where door met jamb. He rolled to the floor and looked under the door, sniffing again. “I smell fangheads,” he snarled.