Baojia stood at the balcony and watched the redhead, who was sipping a clear cocktail with two limes. Her hair was a tumble of red waves; very attractive, he had to admit. Her pale shoulders were bare, but the rest of her dress hugged her curves. She was of medium height and had an athletic build. Not slight and girlish like the children on the dance floor. She was around thirty in human years if he had to guess. She stood out for that alone. Her dress and makeup fit the club; the intelligent eyes that scanned the room and ignored the males surrounding her did not.

Natalie Ellis.

He didn’t know her, but she was intre tshe wasiguing. She’d asked for him, specifically? He’d have to ask Luis. Very few humans knew his name.

Who are you, Natalie Ellis? He narrowed his gaze as she checked her mobile phone, punched something in, then slipped it back in her purse. It was a large purse, the kind a professional woman carried, not a girl out clubbing. Right dress. Right jewelry and makeup. Wrong purse.

“You’re a pretty liar, aren’t you?” he murmured, his hands hanging in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black suit. Baojia abhorred ill-fitting clothes. “And how do you know my name?”

He saw Luis approach and touch the woman’s shoulder. She turned, her polite smile slowly turning down. She was annoyed. Her eyes flicked up to the balcony and met his. He cocked his head as they held. Curious. Most humans wouldn’t hold his gaze for long; some instinct always told them to look away from the predator. Not her. Her eyes kept right on his. Challenging. Tempting.

Very curious.

She kept watching him as she reached back and grabbed her cocktail. She tilted the glass up, and her throat undulated as she swallowed, the pale skin glowing in the red lights of the club. Never taking her eyes off him, she finished her drink and set the glass down, then finally turned back to Luis. She reached in her too-large purse, handed Luis a card, then stood. Baojia watched her until she left through the crowded front doors. Then he turned and sat down again, pulling out the report about the casino in the desert near El Centro.

Baojia stifled the groan when he opened the file and saw the first column of numbers that filled it.

He had to get back to LA.

Rory McNair was already sitting in a chair and drinking a glass of blood in his office when Baojia escaped the still-lively club at two. His sister Paula’s husband was a casual man. He and Baojia had been turned within twenty years of each other and always had a good relationship, though Rory’s allegiance was to Paula first. The two had been mated for over one hundred years. Of all Ernesto’s children, it was Paula, Rory, and Baojia whom their father trusted most. Well, until the Chinese disaster, as Rory referred to it.

“How you doing, brother?”

Baojia shrugged. “I’m bored. Watching college kids and redecorating nightclubs gets old. How are you?”

“Overworked and living with an annoyed wife.” Rory’s grey mustache twitched. “How did you manage all this shit and still have a life?”

Since Baojia had been exiled, the majority of the security for Ernesto’s large territory had fallen to Rory’s hands. Paula was the businesswoman. Baojia had been the security. Rory was mostly a man of leisure, so the sudden weight of responsibility for a region stretching from Northern Mexico to Central California was not a welcome addition to his life.

“I didn’t have a life, remember?” He smiled. “I suppose I should be grateful for the vacation, but I just find myself obsessing over all the problems that could be cropping up in my absence.” He raised a quick hand. “Not that I don’t trust you. I just know that it’s a lot. Have there been any more problems in the mountains?”

“Nothing much.” Rory twisted the tip of his mustache and leaned back in his chair, blood forgotten. “They’re still growin’ up there, but the gang activity has been contained.” Marijuana production in the Southern California mountains was hardly something Ernesto usually worried about, but the infiltration of gangs from Northern Mexico was. It was not uncommon for other vets for otampire leaders to send in criminal gangs they controlled to test the resolve of their neighbors. Problems out of the ordinary had to be dealt with swiftly and decisively in order to maintain a leader’s position and authority. Baojia worried that Rory wasn’t taking it seriously enough.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Rory snorted. “From San Diego?”

Baojia ignored the sting. It wasn’t intentional and it was hardly something Rory could help. Until Ernesto decided to let him out of his virtual prison, he was stuck.

“Sorry.” His brother looked contrite. “You got the casino numbers?”

“Yes.” He pulled out the file. “I’m warning you, everything appears to be in order.”

Rory’s eyes twinkled. “Not a single head we can crack for missing money or booze?”

“Sadly not,” he said with a smile. “But the employee pension fund needs a new manager.”

“Embezzlement?”

“Retirement.”

“Damn.”

By three in the morning, Rory was gone and Baojia was leaving the club. Luis would take care of the few after-hours patrons they entertained so Baojia could return to the home he had secured on Coronado Island, a few steps from the beach. It was a modern house with exactly the right number of windows and a very secure location. His driver dropped him off before dawn and returned at nightfall. Was it his comfortable warehouse in downtown LA? No, but it was modern and had a good area to train, so he was as content as he could be. He was just about to step into his car when he heard the voice.