We reached the front door. A small plaque with a rune etched into it was embedded in the stone to the right. A heart with an arrow through it. Roslyn's symbol for her nightclub, Northern Aggression. Finn rang the doorbell. Cheery chimes echoed through the house.
After about twenty seconds, a shadow moved in front of the peephole. Somebody inside was studying us. Several locks clicked, and the door opened.
Roslyn Phillips was a beautiful woman, with eyes and skin the color of melted toffee.
Her cropped, feathered black hair just brushed the edge of her strong jaw. Silver-frame glasses perched on the end of her pointed nose, and her face was free of the heavy makeup I'd always seen her wear. She looked younger without it, softer, and more vulnerable than I knew her to be.
A pair of black yoga pants covered her legs, while a matching shirt stretched over her chest. But the innocuous ensemble couldn't hide Roslyn's stack of full br**sts, lush hips, and toned thighs that had most men wiping the drool off their chins after a few seconds. And Roslyn knew how to use her body to its full potential. She was one of the vamps who used sex to power up, along with drinking blood.
Roslyn's lips drew back into a wide smile, revealing her fangs. They were as pale as bleach. "Finnegan Lane. What a nice surprise." Her voice was a low, husky whisper.
"Roslyn, darling. So good of you to see me on such short notice." Finn leaned down and pressed a kiss to
Roslyn's smooth cheek.
"Always a pleasure, Finn," Roslyn murmured. Her dark eyes drifted to the detective before resting on me. "And you've brought friends with you."
"The gent is Donovan Caine," Finn said. "And you know Gin, of course." "Of course." Roslyn stared at me, and I met her dark gaze with a neutral one of my own. I hadn't been there when she'd approached Finn about finding someone to kill her brother-in-law, since Finn was known as a man who could get all kinds of things done. But she'd seen me with Finn, knew I'd been chummy with Fletcher and worked at the Pork Pit. Finn had never told Roslyn he'd find someone to do the job, had never even admitted he knew anyone who would do that sort of thing. But three weeks after Roslyn had asked, her abusive brother-in-law had been found stabbed to death outside a Southtown strip club. I was sure the vampire had drawn her own conclusions-about a lot of things.
"Come in," Roslyn said. "We were just finishing up lunch."
She ushered us inside, then closed and locked the door behind us-with all three deadbolts. Roslyn Phillips didn't take chances with her safety. Smart woman.
Roslyn crooked her finger and led us through several rooms filled with heavy, wooden tables, Tiffany lamps, and old-fashioned settees lined with velvet. The antique furniture was in sharp contrast to the toys, books, and other childish doodads stacked on the tables, piled in the corners, and spread over the settees.
Around me, the stone of the house alternated between low worry and carefree glee, given the varying emotions of its occupants.
We stepped onto a stone patio that overlooked a heart-shaped pool that had been covered up for the winter. A little girl who bore a striking resemblance to Roslyn sat in a princess-themed, pink castle planted in the backyard and pushed a blue dump truck through the grass. Every once in a while, she'd quit making vroom-vroom sounds long enough to nibble on the tomato sandwich clutched in her tiny fist.
Roslyn gestured at a table surrounded by wicker chairs with thick, flowered cushions.
The remains of a Cobb salad littered a plate on the table, along with a frosted mug half-full of blood, a cup of chocolate milk, a pitcher of lemonade, and several glasses.
Finn sat in the chair opposite Roslyn's. Donovan Caine dropped into the seat beside him, while I took the last chair. I pulled it out from the table and angled it so I could see the little girl.
Roslyn held up the pitcher. Ice cubes clinked against the side of the glass.
"Lemonade?"
Seems I wasn't the only gracious hostess around. We all accepted, and Roslyn dispensed the cold drink. I sipped the liquid. Tart and sweet at the same time, just the way I liked it. Mmm.
Roslyn fixed her eyes on Finn. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Finn? I thought we weren't supposed to meet until later this week at the benefit for the battered-women's shelter."
"Unfortunately, I'm probably not going to be able to make it to that," he said. "So I thought I'd see you today." Roslyn tilted her head down and looked over the tops of her glasses at him. "Really? Is that why you came all the way out here? To tell me we aren't meeting later? I don't think so. You want something, Finn. Just tell me what it is. You know how much I hate it when someone bullshits me. It's bad enough when I have to do it to my clients."
He nodded. "All right. I'm interested in learning more about someone who frequents your nightclub and wanted to clear it with you first in case anything ... unpleasant happens tonight when we have a little chat with him."
Roslyn's eyes cut to me before snapping back to Finn. "Who?" Finn drew in a breath.
"Charles Carlyle. Calls himself-" "Chuckie C.," Roslyn finished in a flat voice. "I know him."
Roslyn didn't ask Finn any of the obvious questions, like why we were interested in Carlyle, what he'd done, or more importantly, what we were going to do to him. The vampire had been a Southtown hooker for a long time before she'd moved up into management. She knew asking questions was a quick way to get dead.
Donovan Caine leaned forward. "What can you tell us about him?"
Roslyn took a delicate sip of her blood and smiled. Her fangs were a crimson stain in her mouth. "My clients like their anonymity. My club wouldn't last long if I squealed to everybody who came knocking on my front door. Especially a cop like you. I know you used to work vice. I remember seeing you at Northern Aggression more than once."
Caine frowned and opened his mouth, but I cut in.
"He's with us," I said. "Detective Caine isn't going to bust you for anything. And if he ever dares to hassle you, I'll deal with him myself. Finn takes good care of his friends, Roslyn. You know that."
Roslyn took another sip of blood, then pushed her glass aside. "Fine, I'll play along, but only because it's Finn. What do you want to know about Carlyle?"
"Everything," Finn said. "What he likes, who he hangs out with, what the girls say about him."
Roslyn shrugged. "Not much to tell. He's a vamp who fancies himself to be a player and a great f**k, despite his tiny dick. Comes in almost every night and gets a private room in the back. Likes girls that look like they're twelve. Occasionally gets rougher than what we allow at the club. And he's always bragging to the girls about what a hotshot he is. How he's putting together his own crew and making his move in the underworld. Macho bullshit like that. A small fish, although he's been flashing a lot of cash lately. More drinks, more girls, a party for anybody he's friends with." So Chuckie C. had cash to burn. More proof he was working for the Air elemental.