Ah, yes. His spies. They’d likely been able to tell their boss little more than exactly what he’d just uttered, however. She’d been too careful for there to have been any other outcome… except perhaps, her momentary distraction with Travis St. John at the cemetery.
With that man at the forefront of her mind, as well as the peculiar way he made her feel, Morgan asked curiously, “Do you have a lot of shifters in the area?”
Taking a sip from his flute of champagne, Rodolfo raised a single brow at her inquiry before he shot her a condescending smile. “This is New Orleans, my dear. One could argue we’re the hub of the supernatural.”
Morgan had to forcefully keep herself from grinding her teeth in frustration. While he’d answered her question, he hadn’t actually given her anything useful. She wanted numbers, types, perhaps for him to name a predator species she hadn’t ever encountered that would explain why her police officer made her feel like she was in the presence of a monstrous beast.
“Did a shifter give you some problems today?” His tone was patronizing, rife with the insinuation that she was too weak to ward off trouble from what he would see as a lesser species. Rodolfo only confirmed that last suspicion when he continued, “They’re nothing more than pests, and typically keep their distance, but if one approached you, perhaps upset you…”
Morgan very nearly rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was Rodolfo terrorizing shifters for her benefit. Pasting an indulgent smile on her face, she informed him, “I was only surprised that I didn’t sense more today. As you pointed out, this is the hub of the supernatural. I expected more.”
Rodolfo frowned, perhaps taking insult at her implication that his city – as he termed it – hadn’t lived up to her expectations. She’d need to watch her tongue as well as her tone if she wished to keep Rodolfo compliant.
“If you’re looking to play with the dogs, the pack keeps to the bayou,” was his clipped response.
“Pack?” She prompted without thought now that he’d given her something she could sink her teeth into. She was needling her host in her desire to figure out this latest puzzle and she’d be forced to placate him later, but if the information he gave her was worth it... “Just wolves?”
“The wolves are the largest population in the area, though I’m sure there is an assortment of other species in smaller groups throughout the state,” he practically snarled, his tone impatient, his face stern a moment before the pleasant, charming mask dropped back into place. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant, shall we?”
Relenting, despite her dissatisfaction with the answers she’d thus far been given – she’d been around plenty of wolves through the years and none of them had come close to making her feel what Travis St. John had just by being in the same vicinity – Morgan put it aside for now. “Of course. Do tell me how you manage to keep such well behaved vampires at your beck and call.”
She knew the answer, of course, but the topic change had done as she intended. Rodolfo’s feathers were no longer ruffled and the preening peacock was back in place as he extolled the virtues of his management skills. Blah, blah, blah, gag.
It was a full twenty minutes later that Morgan was finally able to extricate herself and only because one of Rodolfo’s other guests had wanted a word with the Born, thank God. Another moment and she was sure she would have started bleeding from the ears.
Noting that Kane was getting rather cozy with a pretty little redheaded vampire and wouldn’t appreciate an interruption, Morgan made her way to Jamie’s side as the Turned vampire shot back a slug of what smelled like tequila. “How are you holding up?”
The blonde rolled her eyes. “I’ve never been much for people, give me technology any day. Code I can decipher, small talk and innuendo? Not so much.”
“Speaking of code –”
Morgan didn’t even need to finish the sentence before Jamie grabbed her arm and pulled her into a corner behind the bar that afforded a modicum of privacy. “That cop you had me look into? Whoever he hired to create his identity was a pro. Name, social security number, transcripts, everything needed to pass a background check and more, really great stuff. Impressive.”
“But not real.”
Jamie shook her head. “The tiny inconsistencies would be almost imperceptible to pretty much anyone looking into him.”
Not Jamie though. Which was precisely why Morgan had recruited the hacker. Blowing out a disappointed breath, Morgan steeled herself for the answer before asking, “So who is he? A criminal?”
“I have no idea,” Jamie confessed to Morgan’s surprise. “The trail just stops, no threads for me to pull that lead to previous identities or who he might actually be. Your Travis St. John is a mystery.”
“Shit.”
“That doesn’t make him a bad guy, though,” Jamie offered. “I mean, he’s a cop, right? Fighting crime? Helping old ladies cross the street? Rescuing cats from trees?”
Morgan let out a chuckle. “I believe those last two are boy scouts and firemen, but I see your point.”
“Are you sure he’s not a vamp? I mean, we have to change our human identities every so often to keep from raising suspicion and really, I have to tell you, if you can find who created your guy, we need to hire whoever he or she is for our side.”
Shaking her head, Morgan muttered distractedly, “He’s not a vamp,” but Jamie’s line of thinking may not be too far off the mark. Thane Stroud had confirmed that there were angels currently in this realm, and while she’d heard tales of the fearsome winged warriors, including the immense power they carried within, she’d never actually met one to know how her senses would react if one was nearby. Travis St. John could be an angel. It made sense. It made a great deal of sense.
∞∞∞
As he got out of his truck to enter his apartment, Travis was still thinking of how best to entice Morgan Rhys into helping him, when he heard suspicious sounds coming from the alleyway. A metallic clank and a groan of pain accompanied by the scent of trash mingling with the iron-rich smell of blood – a vampire’s blood. Pulling his sidearm free of the holster, he moved cautiously into the dark, narrow space, foregoing his flashlight in favor of his excellent night vision so not to give away his imminent arrival should a crime be taking place.
New Orleans’ crime rate was typical of most cities, though they might have more drunk and disorderly conduct and indecent exposure depending on the time of year. This, however, Travis’s instincts told him, felt like either vamp on vamp violence or a vampire getting a bit too rowdy with his host and the host was fighting back.
His eyes searched the darkness and he picked up the scent of a human. A feeding gone wrong then. He found the vampire first, face down on the pavement, and while he would have much rather have stepped over the body, Travis did his due diligence and checked for a pulse. Nothing. Apparently, the human had fought back hard. Good for them. Leaving the corpse for the moment, he searched the alley for the human and saw a foot in a brown, slip-on canvas shoe just beyond a dumpster.
