The nagging butterflies slump in dejection.
It’s still dark when a cryptic text from Nick Gorgeous awakens me, ordering me to get up, get ready, and “await further instructions.”
I roll out of bed. “This is it, Jay. Something’s definitely go—yeee!” The ice-cold floor shocks my feet. I hop from foot to foot. “—definitely going down. That was Nick.” I fall backward on the bed and kick both legs high as I pull jeans over them.
Brenner mumbles, “I’m on it, I’m…some coffee…going…” His sleep breathing resumes.
Outside, a frigid breeze cuts right through my Detroit Tigers jacket. Any normal person would wear half a dozen layers against this arctic freeze, but my inner fox will have none of that. Too much like a cage. What if I suddenly need to shift? So I just have to deal with chattering teeth and numb fingers. It doesn’t help that I’m borrowing an old truck with a heater on its last breath. It will warm up eventually, but only after filling the cab with air that smells like burnt farts.
The ’85 Chevy 4x4—faded blue with a white cab—sits high above large tires. I haul myself in and crank the engine. After three failed starts, she finally turns over with a grumble, as though reminding me that I don’t got to be in no damn hurry. In the cold dark, I talk back to it: “Yeah, I know Nick’s text said to await further instructions, but he knows I don’t ‘await’ shit. I go, and fast.” When I stomp the gas, the truck mocks me with a sputtering crawl.
“You’re a disgrace to your year,” I complain. “Do you have any idea what songs came out in 1985? ‘Rhythm of the Night,’ ‘Freeway of Love.’ Fast songs. ‘Neutron Dance,’ for crying out loud. Oh, here’s one I know you’ve never heard: ‘The Heat Is On.’” I slap the air vents. They belch a cold stink at me.
I’m halfway to the office when Nick calls. “Bagley Street in Corktown,” he barks over loud background chatter.
“What about it?”
“I need you there ten minutes ago.”
“But I’m past Corktown. I’m almost to the office.”
“The office! Did I tell you to come to the damn office?” Nick’s using his big-boy voice. This is definitely major.
“What the hell’s going on?”
“A runaway vamp with major blood fever. You’re up.”
“No, but I mean at the office. It sounds like a zoo.”
“Forget the office, Shayne! Listen to me. I got a rampaging vamp with a human hostage in Corktown. I’ve told police the FBI negotiator is en route. They’re expecting you.”
“Negotiator? You expect a vamp with blood lust to talk?”
Nick’s voice goes away from the phone, shouting angry commands at some other poor soul. Then back to me: “Run that bloodsucker down and drag his corpse back here, dead or alive. We’re all-hands-on-deck over here, or you better believe I’d send somebody else.”
“Gee, I’m overwhelmed by your confidence.”
“Make me eat my words when you haul his staked ass in.”
“With no backup? Don’t you usually send a small army after rogue vamps?”
“Not rogue. He’s clan, but his sire bond was just severed. He’ll be weak.”
A severed bond? That could only mean a dead master. “Which clan?” I blurt, trying to sound natural. I already know it must be Henry Stadther. This is a nightmare. We’re talking top-five biggest bombshells of all time in the Detroit underworld. All-hands-on-deck is a major understatement. “Don’t tell me it’s Henry Stadther.”
“I can’t give shit for answers until you get here, but we’re on total lockdown, Shayne, and I’ve already told the guards that the only way your bony ass gets through the door is with that fanger in a headlock. Without him, you might as well crawl on back to bed.” He hangs up.
“Crawl, are you kidding?” I snap at the phone. “I’d run across broken glass to get back to my bed right now and curl up next to that warm, beautiful man who surely must love himself some bony ass, ’cause damn.”
I flip a hard U-turn, the back end of the truck whipping sideways across the icy road. Corktown isn’t far from here. Bagley’s a long street, though. How am I supposed to know where to find—oh. I guess I can follow that glow of police lights in the distance.
Every patrol car in Detroit must be here. They’re parked two deep in the street and on sidewalks and front lawns, and down alleys between apartment buildings. A SWAT truck deploys men built like tanks, covered in tactical gear and assault rifles. Bleary-eyed residents in pajamas gather on front porches and apartment balconies to watch the show.
I only have to flash my badge a dozen times before Detroit PD finally accepts that this redhead in a Tigers jacket is the FBI negotiator and sends me up to the front line. Across the street from us, shielding his eyes from a harsh spotlight, is the star of the show: a tall, lanky man in a crisp suit. He hugs a terrified woman to his chest as a shield against the sea of police rifles aimed at him.
A high-ranking gray moustache shouts into a bullhorn. “We’ve complied with all your demands. We’re staying back. We’ve cleared the alley behind you.”
“What? Why?” I ask.
After a double take at me, the gray moustache lowers the bullhorn. “Who the hell are you?”
“I asked you first. Why’d you clear the alley?”
“He’ll feel safer in there, out of the open.”
“Safer? Should we get him some milk and cookies?”
“It’s a bargaining chip. He’s using the woman as cover. He lets her go, we let him take cover in the alley to continue negotiations.”
“And by negotiations, do you mean a sniper blasts him in the kneecap?”
“We have a sniper in place, but only as a last resort.”
“Perfect. I live at that resort.” I gesture to the bullhorn. Reluctantly, he hands it over. My voice blares through the neighborhood. “Now look, everybody’s tired and stressed out, I get it. It’s been a long night. A very long night. In fact”—for emphasis, I move the megaphone closer to my mouth—“it’s almost the next day. Soon—very soon—the big, bright sun will rise, and won’t we all be feeling better then?”
The woman screams as the vamp shakes her with rage. “Hey! Hey, what is this? Who’s that?”
“Concierge,” I answer. “I’ve come to take the coffee order. Tide us over while we wait for daylight.”
“Not a chance!” he shrieks, his voice pitching high. “I walk now, or she’s dead! I’ll open her up!”
“Stop that,” I say, annoyed. “That doesn’t even make sense. Look, to be honest, I never understood the whole hostage thing.” I point the bullhorn at the gray moustache, even though he’s only three feet away. He covers his ears. “Like, isn’t that lady the only thing keeping us from lighting him up?” Back to the vamp: “She’s the only leverage you got. If she goes, we take you out without a second thought. So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m coming over there, and we’re gonna have us a talk about some Nick Gorgeous.”