Free La Vida Vampire by Nancy Haddock

staring as he straightened with the last of Maggie’s things, but I stretched my mouth into what I hoped was a bright smile.
    “Here, I’ll take those.” I snagged the paint samples from him. “Don’t want Maggie to strain that wrist more, do we?”
    “Uh, no, ma’am.”
    “Well, thanks for the escort home, Holland.” I turned to my roomie and nudged her toward the tenants’ door. “Let’s dump this stuff and check your wrist, Maggie.” When he moved to open the door, I rushed on. “Thanks, again, and, uh, have a good night.”
    “You, too, Miss Cesca, Miss Maggie. Y’all take care now.”
    I closed the heavy glass door, checked the automatic lock, and hustled Maggie to the elevator around the corner. Out of Holland’s line of sight and line of fire. Sure, if he’d wanted to shoot me, he could’ve done it anytime, but, hey, logic didn’t count when I was having a nice, healthy panic attack.
    “Cesca, what the hell are you doing? What’s the rush?”
    The elevator doors stuttered open, and I hip-bumped her into the car, thinking fast. “We need to get ice on that wrist before it swells too much. And aspirin. You probably want some aspirin, right?”
    “I want to know what the problem is.”
    I entered the penthouse code on the elevator panel and pressed our floor button rapid -fire five times. “Gomer. I mean Holland,” I corrected as the car chugged upward. “His real name is Holland. I told you and Neil about him. He was on my tour last night, and he came back tonight.”
    “Wow, you must’ve made a good impression. You have a date?”
    I snorted. “Hardly.”
    “Why not? He looks a little goofy, but he seemed nice, and I saw you staring at his butt. Did you get cold feet?”
    I didn’t want to worry her, but Holland had seen Maggie and now knew where we lived. She had to be on guard. We reached the sixth floor, and I lurched to the carved cypress penthouse door. “I wasn’t staring at his butt,” I told her as the lock slid open. “I was staring at his gun.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “His gun, Maggie. He had a gun stashed at the small of his back. Just like in the movies.”
    “Maybe he’s a cop,” she said as we dumped her samples and drawings on the couch.
    “Cops wear their guns in holsters.”
    She considered a minute. “Not if they’re undercover.”
    “Undercover?” I rolled the idea around, replayed his actions, his words. All right. It was possible. Except that Holland didn’t want to report Stony to the cops. His way of sidestepping because he was undercover?
    “Cesca.”
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m thinking. I guess you could be right.”
    “Tell me what happened tonight.”
    I did, from the tourists who showed up to Holland walking me home and our conversation. I fixed an ice bag for her wrist while I talked.
    “Did you get any particular vibes from this Holland guy?” she asked when I finished.
    “Psychically, no, but he’s lying about something.”
    “Did you ever sense danger directed at you?”
    “No, but seeing the gun gave me second thoughts. He just doesn’t feel right.”
    “Sounds like this guy is on something like a hate -crimes task force. An undercover fed,” my ever-practical Maggie said, taking the ice to the sink. “The best thing to do is stay alert when you’re out, and keep your phone charged and with you.”
    “You need to do the same. Neil’s gonna have a fit when he finds out Holland knows where we live.”
    “No, he won’t, because we aren’t telling him. He’ll just get his shorts in a bunch and drive me crazy, and I don’t have time for that right now. Speaking of which, I need to get to work.”
    “Tonight?”
    She nodded and crossed to the couch to snag her samples with her good arm. “The Jax Beach restoration client—the one who’s fired four interior designers—changed her mind about colors and fabrics. Again.”
    “So you’re stepping in?”
    “I have to. Until she settles on colors, I can’t order the kitchen