One Foot in the Grave - A Night Huntress Novel By Jeaniene Frost

A Part from the book

I WAITED OUTSIDE THE LARGE, FOUR-STORY home in Manhasset that was
owned by a Mr. Liam Flannery. This wasn’t a social call, as anyone looking at me could
tell. The long jacket I wore was open, leaving my gun and shoulder holster clearly visible,
as was my FBI badge. My pants were loose-fitting and so was my blouse, to hide the
twenty pounds of silver weapons strapped to my arms and legs.
My knock was answered by an older man in a business suit. “Special Agent Catrina
Arthur,” I said. “Here to see Mr. Flannery.”
Catrina wasn’t my real name, but it’s what was on my doctored badge. The doorman gave
me an insincere smile.
“I’ll see if Mr. Flannery is in. Wait here.”
I already knew Liam Flannery was in. What I also knew was that Mr. Flannery wasn’t
human, and neither was the doorman.
Well, neither was I, even though I was the only one out of the three of us with a heartbeat.
A few minutes later, the door reopened. “Mr. Flannery has agreed to see you.”
That was his first mistake. If I had anything to say about it, it would also be his last.
My first thought as I entered Liam Flannery’s house was, Wow. Hand-carved wood
adorned all the walls, the floor was some kind of really expensive-looking marble, and
antiques were tastefully littered everywhere the eye could see. Being dead sure didn’t
mean you couldn’t live it up.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as power filled the room. Flannery
wouldn’t know I could feel it, just like I’d felt it from his ghoul doorman. I might look as
average as the next person, but I had a few secrets up my sleeve. And lots of knives, of
course.
“Agent Arthur,” Flannery said. “This must be about my two employees, but I’ve already
been questioned by the police.”
His accent was English, which was at odds with his Irish name. Just hearing that
intonation made a shiver run up my spine. English accents held memories for me.
I turned around. Flannery looked even better than the picture in his FBI file. His pale
crystal flesh almost shimmered against the tan color of his shirt. I’ll say one thing for
vampires—they all had gorgeous skin. Liam’s eyes were a clear turquoise, and his
chestnut hair fell past his collar.
Yep, he was pretty. He probably had no trouble scaring up dinner. But the most
impressive thing about him was his aura. It flowed off him in tingling, power-filled waves.
A Master vampire without a doubt.
“Yes, this is about Thomas Stillwell and Jerome Hawthorn. The Bureau would appreciate
your cooperation.”
My polite stalling was to gauge how many other people were in the house. I strained my
ears, but so far came up with no one but Flannery, the ghoul doorman, and myself.
“Of course. Anything to assist law and order,” he said with an undercurrent of amusement.
“And you’re comfortable speaking here?” I asked, trying to get more of a look around.
“Or is there somewhere private you’d prefer?”
He sauntered over. “Agent Arthur, if you want to have a private word with me, call me
Liam. And I do hope you want to talk about something other than boring Jerome and
Thomas.”
Oh, I had little intention of talking as soon as I got Liam in private. Since he’d been
implicated in the deaths of his employees, Flannery had made my to-do list, though I
wasn’t here to arrest him. The average person didn’t believe in vampires or ghouls, so
there wasn’t a legal process for dealing with murdering ones. No, there was a covert
branch of Homeland Security instead, and my boss, Don, would send me. There were
rumors about me in the undead world, true. Ones that had grown during my tenure at this
job, but only one vampire knew who I really was. And I hadn’t seen him in over four
years.
“Liam, you’re not flirting with a federal agent who’s investigating you in a double
homicide, are you?”
“Catrina, an innocent man doesn’t fret over the wheels of law whenever they rumble in the
distance. At least I commend the feds on sending you to speak with me, beautiful woman
that you are. You also look a bit familiar, though I’m sure I would have remembered
meeting you before.”
“You haven’t,” I said immediately. “Trust me, I would have remembered.”
I didn’t mean it as a compliment, but it caused him to chuckle in a way that was too
insinuating for my liking.


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