“Anita doesn’t mean that one vampire did all the victims,” Edward said.

“That’s what she said.”

“No, it’s not. I—”

“It’s what you said.”

“But it doesn’t mean—”

“How can it mean anything else?” he demanded, in a voice that seemed stuck between angry and whining. The tone was not user friendly to his listeners. In fact, I was beginning to have to fight not to grit my teeth.

“If you’d stop interrupting me, I could explain.”

“You think you’re an expert on vampires, so that makes you a better cop than us. Is that it?”

He paced toward Nolan, who said, “Don’t pace in front of me, Logan.”

Logan turned and came back toward the table and me. He tried to pace between Echo’s bag and the corkboard, but he was moving faster than he could negotiate the space, and he tripped on the bag. I’d have let that go, except after he tripped, he kicked the bag.

I stood up and stepped over Echo’s bag, driving my shoulder into Logan as I moved. He stumbled back even though he was at least five inches taller and nearly a hundred pounds heavier.

“What the hell, Blake?” he nearly shouted.

“You kicked one of my people.”

“They can’t feel anything. It’s daylight.”

“Who made you the vampire expert, Logan?” I asked, and stepped in close to him again. He had to step back or I’d have stepped into him again.

“I’m not fucking enough of them to be an expert,” he said.

“Logan!” Sheridan said.

“I bet vampires aren’t the only thing you’re not fucking,” I said.

“Marshal Blake!” Pearson said; I heard his chair go back and moved so I could see him standing up. I knew he wasn’t a real danger; it was just automatic.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Logan asked, his face darkening; either he was getting angry or he was blushing.

“It means anytime someone starts accusing me of using sex to get good at my job, it usually means either they want to fuck me and I said no, and you and I haven’t known each other that long, or it means that they aren’t getting any, so they’re just pissy because I’m having more sex than they are.”

His face was starting to go purple; it wasn’t a blush; it was blood pressure. Inspector Logan had a temper, great; maybe I could goad him into doing something stupid enough that Pearson would send him home.

Edward got out of his chair, but not to come to my aid. He knew I didn’t need it, but I also knew he wasn’t getting up for nothing. He moved around the table, talking as he moved. “Rachel, I don’t think you need to hear all this,” he said in his best down-home Ted accent. “Why don’t you take me out for that tea you were bragging about at that hotel?”

Oh, goody, Edward had the same idea I did. We were going to make Logan lose his shit.

“Oh, Ted . . .” Sheridan began; I was pretty sure she’d say something like she wasn’t hearing anything she couldn’t handle, but Logan never gave her a chance to answer.

“You are not taking him to tea at a hotel,” Logan yelled, or maybe almost yelled. I was just close enough to him that it was that loud.

“I will take who I want, where I want,” Sheridan said, her voice rising.

“No!” he yelled.

I kept looking at him and resisted the urge to turn and look at Sheridan behind me. I was the closest to him and if he lost his shit badly enough I wanted a chance to pour gasoline on the flames, and not get hit or trampled in the process. His face was almost purplish with temper. He was too young, early forties tops, and not nearly overweight enough to turn this kind of color from anger. He made an inarticulate noise low in his throat. I wanted him to leave the room, not have a stroke, and I suddenly didn’t know which was more likely. He was literally inarticulate with rage. Wow.

“Inspector Logan, you will refrain from personal remarks to Inspector Sheridan. You have been warned more than once about this kind of thing,” Pearson said in a voice that was deep and projected well, so that it carried over whatever anyone else was going to say. It made me wonder if Pearson had theater training.

A tic started to pulse just under Logan’s right eye. His hands were in fists at his sides. It was like he was afraid to move, or even speak, because he didn’t trust himself to do anything. I had a temper, but this was a new level of problem. I wondered if they’d forced him to take anger management classes yet. Or maybe I didn’t, because if this was the after, then I was glad I had missed the before.

He was staring past me at Sheridan, I was pretty sure, but I was looking at Logan. He was so angry. I wondered if his skin would be hot to the touch with it. My stomach cramped as if I were hungry. I’d eaten at breakfast. Then I realized that it had to have been at least five hours since then, probably more. I was overdue for food. Fuck. I stared at the skin jumping just under his eye. He was so angry, so rage-filled. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to sniff near his skin and see if he smelled like food. I didn’t just feed off lust, or love; I could feed on someone’s anger. I could touch Logan’s arm, his face, and drain all that rage away. If I was careful he’d just be calm. If I wasn’t careful he could be disoriented, or even forget the last few minutes and what had happened. It wasn’t that dissimilar from vampire mind tricks. If I was careful, I could just take a little and no one would ever know. It would calm things down. It would help. The moment I thought that, I stepped back from him. I could not feed on one of the Irish cops with witnesses. Being a necromancer made them think I was evil; if I sucked energy out of one of them, they’d be sure of it.