Page 4 of Fang Fatale

Finally, Leland says quietly,

"She had a lot to run from."

Another beat.

"Not just me."

I study him.

Not the words.

The man.

No twitch.

No hesitation.

No tightening around the eyes.

If it was a lie, he'd rehearsed it.

Which somehow made me trust him even less.

"I'll need her last known location," I say. "Friends. Family. Places she'd go."

He nods.

"I'll have my assistant send everything."

Then he hesitates.

"If she's happier hiding in the forest..."

His gaze drifts toward the window.

"...leave her there."

Nobody hires a vampire detective to not find somebody.

Especially not after offering triple my usual fee.

Everything I'd read about Leland Brooks suggested a man who collected victories the way other people collected wine—expensive, public, and carefully displayed.

Men like that didn't surrender.

Not quietly.

Not after six days.

Not after paying me to look.

Either Birdie Longfellow was the first woman he'd ever truly loved...

...or the first one he'd ever truly lost.

I hadn't decided which possibility worried me more.

"I'll be in touch."