Ruben bit his lip on a small chuckle, his gaze sliding over my shoulder toward the western-facing windows for a few seconds. “Come on. Let’s have a drink, and I’ll tell you briefly what I know about this case.” He glanced at his watch, a silver TAG Heuer. “I have a dinner meeting uptown, but I wanted to check in with you.”
He followed me into the kitchen. “I would’ve gone to The Green Light yesterday,” I called over my shoulder, “but I had to wait on the furniture delivery and get it all straight.”
Pulling down a bottle of Maker’s Mark from the cabinet, I then grabbed two rocks glasses.
“You still like everything in order and in its place.” Ruben took a seat on the stool and tapped his fingers along the granite countertop, looking around the kitchen.
I filled both glasses with ice, poured us each a drink to the brim, and then slid his across the granite. “It’s the only way to keep the chaos at bay.”
“As you say.” He lifted his glass. “Welcome to New Orleans.”
We clinked glasses and took a deep gulp of whiskey.
“While I do want to experience the pleasures of the city,” I said, swirling the amber liquid over the ice, “why don’t you give me a brief rundown of where you are?”
“Well said.” He drained the rest of his drink in two more gulps then set it down. That in itself was rather telling. Ruben wasn’t a big drinker. But this case had him on edge. “I didn’t bother to tell you because I knew you were in the middle of the move, but another girl went missing last Saturday.”
After setting down my drink, I crossed my arms and leaned back against the counter opposite him. “That’s, what, four girls total? In four weeks?”
“Right.” His sapphire-blue eyes darkened to the color of his suit, a silvery sheen icing over them. “No bodies yet. All of them rather young.” He clenched his jaw. “College age. And taken from neighborhood bars.”
I flattened a palm on the countertop and began tapping with my index finger, the wide silver band of my ring tinking against the granite. “Their age may only be a by-product. Our predator may feel more comfortable hunting the local bar scene, late at night, where the easiest prey is in the twenty-something age range.”
“True,” Ruben conceded. “And their minds are more malleable at that age. Easily persuaded for even a young vampire.”
“How are you sure it’s a vampire? Could be a werewolf gone rogue.”
His brow pinched into a frown. “I’ve got a guy who says he’s got proof it’s one of our kind.”
“What kind of proof?”
He chuckled lightly. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
“This is one of your men, and he refused to tell you?”
I found that hard to believe. Ruben was a cool, calculated leader, but ruthless when he needed to be. It wouldn’t be wise to hold information from him.
“Not one of my men exactly.” He rolled the base of his tumbler on the rim, the ice clinking in the glass. “He’s on my payroll, but he’s a grim.”
“Ah. I see.”
Grims were notoriously private. Everything to them was on a need-to-know basis, including the most trivial of things like whether they took their coffee black or with cream. Yet, they were founts of knowledge themselves.
“So when is he handing over this information?” I asked, suddenly curious what this grim had as proof.
“Sometime this week. I’d like you there if you don’t mind.”
“Whatever you need.”
“How about dinner tonight?” The tightness around his mouth softened. “Then we can catch up properly. I haven’t seen my oldest friend in more than three years. You’ve been busy.”
I shrugged. “Always some asshole to put in his place. Bring to justice.”
“They never seem to go away, do they?”
“Never.”
He glanced behind me toward my stove. “You’re baking these days? That’s new.”
Taking his glass and mine, I rinsed them both in the sink. “Not baking exactly. You don’t bake penda.”
“A recipe from home, I take it?”
Home. Varanasi, India hadn’t been my home in over two hundred years. To be truthful, no place had. But Ruben was right. I tended to cook dishes that reminded me of the spices and scents of where I’d been born for the first time. And where I’d been reborn as a vampire. Cardamom, nutmeg, and saffron still scented the kitchen even though it was two hours earlier that I’d made the doughy balls of flour, condensed milk, and sugar then topped them with cashews and crushed pistachios.
“Yes.” I dried my hands on a dish towel and leaned back against the sink. “I thought my new neighbors might enjoy a welcome gift.”
“Isn’t the tradition for the current residents to welcome the new neighbor with some sort of baked gift? Not the other way around?”
Crossing my arms, I stared out the window that faced the side of the Savoie home next door. From here, I had a good view of the carriage house over the garage, the driveway, and the second-floor balcony with a wrought iron railing.
“I figured I’d better sweeten the deal after my incident with Isadora. Especially now that we’re neighbors.”
Ruben walked closer to the window, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’m sure she’s fine. Isadora is a powerful Conduit.”
“It’s not her ankle I’m worried about.” I joined him at the window, catching sight of a small shed-like structure surrounded by chicken wire fencing. “Is that a hen house?”
His grin widened. “No hens. Just a very dominant rooster named Fred.”
“Huh.” Didn’t know what to say to that. There was also the roof and opaque glass walls of a greenhouse tucked in the back corner behind the carriage house. I’d bet my original Pollock painting that I knew who spent most of her time in there.
“What is it you’re concerned about?” Ruben asked.
Heaving out a sigh, I turned from the window and stepped into the living room. “I fear I’ve offended her, though I’m not sure how.” I threw up my arms in exasperation. Taking a seat on the dark suede sofa, I added, “I mean, I did apologize. But she seemed even angrier by the time I’d left her safely tucked up on her sofa.”
Ruben’s throaty laughter snagged my attention. He didn’t laugh as often as he should. “I can’t believe the famous Devraj Kumar failed to win over a woman with his illustrious charms.”
That had me frowning. Not because I needed to win over any woman for any reason, but because, well, I suppose I was accustomed to women being more receptive to me. At the risk of sounding vain, I never had to try too hard to charm the ladies.
“Look at you.” He shook his head, standing in front of the coffee table on my red and gold Persian rug. “All anxious and scowling over a witch who doesn’t like you.”
I couldn’t refrain the huff of laughter that barreled from my chest. “Are you seriously going to stand there and say that?” I arched a superior brow at him. Yes, superior. And he damn well knew why. “To me?”
His smile fell, his jaw tightened, then he glanced away, his suddenly fierce expression skating away from the windows to my three-foot statue of Shiva on his black lacquer stand in the corner.