Rod scrunched up his face, his eyes darting to Jesse and then back to the ducks. “I wasn’t there, man. I just heard about it later from Carl, okay? He was the only one who made it.”

Greasy Beard. “What did you hear?” Jesse asked.

“Some of the guys were asked to do a little freelance muscle for a guy Lee used to know,” Rod said. Lee Harrison was the president of the motorcycle club. “He helped Lee get into business back in the day, and figured the prez still owed him one. We were all kind of surprised when Lee agreed, though.” Rod gave a little shrug. “Then again, they don’t tell me everything. I’m just a grunt.”

Jesse made an effort not to let the surprise show on his face. The vampire running this show—Scarlett’s Count Asshat—had known Lee Harrison? Or had he just pressed Lee into thinking that? But no, Jesse had a hard time imagining a scenario in which the Count just knocked on Lee’s door and magically pressed him. The MC president would be insulated.

“This guy got a name?”

“If he does, they never told me.”

“It was definitely a man, though?”

Rod nodded, and Jesse felt a little rush of relief. At least Molly hadn’t been betrayed by one of her sisters, on top of everything else. “Which business did he help Lee get into?” Jesse asked. From what Jimmy had told him, the Kings rated pretty low on the crime spectrum these days, but “back in the day” could have been when they were still fairly violent.

“Whores, man,” Rod said, keeping his voice low. He stirred idly at the ice cream, now just a pool of liquid with a few slimy gummy bears beached at the bottom. “Before my time.”

Jesse felt excitement climb up his spine. This kept coming back to prostitution. “Street girls? Call girls?”

“Nah, like, a cathouse. What’s the word?” Rod paused, tilting his head. “Brothel!” he said triumphantly. And a little too loudly. A young white couple with two Yorkshire terriers glanced nervously toward their bench, then hurried along the path. “He was kind of like Lee’s silent partner at the time, but Lee got sick of running girls and decided to film them instead. They must have been friendly about it, because Lee said yes when the guy asked for this favor.”

“That’s a pretty big favor,” Jesse remarked. “Was the guy paying Lee?”

Rod shook his head, but then hesitated. “I got the sense—this is just a feeling, you understand—that maybe Lee and this guy are thinking about getting back into business together, here in the Valley. Lee seemed excited, like he does when he’s got something in the works.”

Jesse felt a chill. Another brothel? No, that might be too big a leap: for all he knew, Count Asshat just wanted to keep paying Lee for muscle. He pushed Rod for more details, but the other man was adamant that he was just speculating. “Anyway,” Rod went on, “who knows where that stands now, since it all went FUBAR today. I knew them guys, Ricky and Santos, and they was both good with a gun. They weren’t expecting that bitch to have a gunslinger with her.”

Jesse saw no reason to mention that he was, in fact, said gunslinger. “What were they expecting?”

“Like, a girl in her midtwenties might show up, and they were supposed to scare her. Tie her up and give her to the scary Russian chick. That was it.”

“Katia?”

“Yeah.” Rod shook his head mournfully. “Lee is pissed, man. If he ever figures out who shot up his guys, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Jesse thought that over for a moment. “What about the silent partner? Is Lee pissed at him?”

Rod’s brow furrowed as if the question had never occurred to him. “You know, now that you mention it,” he said slowly, “Lee didn’t seem real upset with him. Ordinarily, a guy gets two of the Kings killed, Lee would have his balls on a pool stick. But he didn’t want to retaliate.”

“Maybe Lee’s scared,” Jesse suggested, just to see what the other man would do.

Rod shifted uneasily on the bench. “If that’s true, man . . . God help whoever goes against that guy.”

Jesse had a few more questions, but before he could ask, Rod jumped in his seat, and Jesse realized the guy’s cell phone was buzzing.

“Gotta get this. Don’t talk,” Rod said anxiously, answering the phone. “Yeah, it’s me.” The guy glanced down at his cup. “Just getting some ice cream. What’s going on?” He listened for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth to Jesse. “I’m on it.”

He hung up the phone and shoved it into his knapsack, along with the book. “You don’t want me to sign that?” Jesse asked mildly.

“No time. Boss has a job like, right now.” Rod stood and slung the knapsack over one shoulder. “Jimmy said this was confidential,” he said nervously.

Jesse nodded. “Just getting some background.”

“Right. Look, don’t call me again, okay? Your face is a little too”—he flapped a hand—“out there. If you got another question, go through Jimmy.”

Without waiting for Jesse’s response, the man turned and hurried away. Jesse counted to twenty and followed him.

Chapter 26

When I went back into the house, Eli was in the kitchen, probably sulking. I already knew why: I’d heard him arguing with Will through the open kitchen window. Will had agreed that Eli needed to stay at the cottage and keep an eye on Katia.

I could have gone in there to talk it out with him, but I just . . . didn’t want to. Neither of us were going to change our minds, and I needed to get ready to go. So I bypassed the kitchen, taking a wide berth around Shadow’s cell, with the recovering boundary witch, and went into the bedroom to change. Most people seriously dressed up for the Trials, my partners included. Think somewhere between a nice cocktail party and the Oscars. It was, however, generally understood that I might need to get dirty or maybe it was just understood that I didn’t much care for dressing up—so I could get away with business casual. I stood in front of the closet for a few minutes, considering, and ended up pulling out a pair of dressy charcoal pants that I could move in and a purple T-shirt. I went outside and grabbed the bulletproof vest from where Jesse had left it leaning against the van door. Back in the bedroom, I put it on over the T-shirt, tightened the Velcro straps, and dug through a drawer until I found the knife belt Eli had bought me for my birthday. He’d gotten it at some kind of science fiction convention where people dressed up in steampunk or whatever, but it was real leather and surprisingly comfortable, as long as I kept it high on my waist so the knives wouldn’t dig into my thighs when I sat down. I had brought the bucket of throwing knives inside with me, too, and after I strapped on the belt I fitted eight small throwing knives into the leather slots.

On top of that, I pulled on a long-sleeved black top in a soft jersey material. It was tunic-style and very drapey, designed for women to throw on over yoga clothes while they went out for post-workout smoothies. But it was dressy-ish, washed easily, and covered up the knives and vest. I put on a little makeup so it looked like I’d made an effort and twisted my hair up into a ballerina bun. Then I dug into a box at the top of my closet until I found a thick plastic tub, about the size of a shoebox. These were the things I’d inherited from my mother. I didn’t ordinarily wear much jewelry—I had a recurring nightmare where an angry werewolf ripped earrings right out of my lobes—but I picked out a thick, ropelike gold necklace that sat right at the hollow of my throat. It was too short to be much of a liability, unless my attacker was right in my face, and I figured my Taser would dissuade anyone from grabbing at my mother’s necklace.

I put my Taser and phone in the discreet pocket on one side of the black top, which was probably designed to hold your keys and wallet on your way to yoga, and checked the mirror. My clothes were a little bulky, and I would overheat easily, considering I was wearing five different layers plus a bra. From the outside, though, I looked okay. I put my two best knives into my boot holsters and started for the van with Shadow following just behind me.

But I halted in the doorway. Any normal dog would probably have bumped into the back of my legs, but Shadow flowed around them in a graceful, snakelike move, lifting her head so she could study my face. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Eli . . . but I also didn’t have enough time to get into another fight. Or to spend ten minutes letting him check my vest and my knives to make sure I’d put everything on correctly. “Bye! Love you!” I called over my shoulder, as though I were heading to the drugstore or going for a run. I didn’t wait for him to reply.