Part 3 (2/2)

”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 s.h.i.+rt 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 s.h.i.+rt. 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 relations.h.i.+p 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.

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