Free Dead Reckoning by Charlaine Harris Page B

be thinking about anything else but surviving, Kennedy?” I said, quietly but with intensity. I wanted her to feel my absolute sincerity. “No one in her right mind would have done any different. I don’t think God would ever want you to let yourself be beaten to death.” Though I was not at all sure what God would want. I probably meant, I think it would have been dumb as hell to let yourself be killed.
    “I wouldn’t have gotten off so light if those other women hadn’t come forward,” Kennedy said. “His family, I guess they know he really did hit women . . . but I wonder if they still blame me. If maybe they knew I’d be in the bar, and they decided to kill me here.”
    “Are any of his family two-natured?” I asked.
    Kennedy looked shocked. “Oh my gosh, no! They’re Baptists!”
    I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. After a second, Kennedy started laughing at herself. “Seriously,” she said, “I don’t think so. You think whoever threw that bomb was a Were?”
    “Or some other kind of two-natured. Yeah, I think so, but don’t tell this around anywhere. Sam’s already feeling the backlash enough as it is.”
    Kennedy nodded in complete agreement, a customer called me to bring him a bottle of hot sauce, and I had new food for thought.
    The server replacing me called in to say her car had a flat tire, and I stayed at Merlotte’s two extra hours. Kennedy, who’d be there until closing, gave me a hard time about being indispensible, until I swatted her with a towel. Kennedy perked up quite a bit when Danny came in. He’d obviously gone home after work to shower and shave again, and he looked at Kennedy as if his world were now complete when he climbed onto the barstool. What he said was, “Give me a beer and be quick about it, woman.”
    “You want me to pour that beer on your head, Danny?”
    “Don’t make no difference to me how I get it.” And they grinned at each other.
    Just after dark, my cell phone vibrated in my apron pocket. As soon as I could, I stepped into Sam’s office. I’d gotten a text from Eric. “See U later,” it said. And that was all. But I had a genuine smile on my face the rest of the evening, and when I drove home, I felt happy all over to see Eric sitting on my front porch, whether he’d wrecked my kitchen or not. And he had a new toaster with him, a red bow stuck to the box.
    “To what do I owe the honor?” I asked tartly. It didn’t do to let Eric know I’d been anticipating his visit. Of course, he probably had an idea that was so, through our blood bond.
    “We haven’t had any fun lately,” he said. He handed over the toaster.
    “Between me putting out a fire and you attacking Pam? Yeah, I’d say that was a fair statement. Thanks for the replacement toaster, though I wouldn’t classify that as fun. What do you have in mind?”
    “Later, of course, I have spectacular sex in mind,” he said, standing up and walking over to me. “I’ve thought of a position we haven’t tried yet.”
    I’m not as flexible as Eric, and the last time we’d tried something real adventurous, I’d had a sore hip for three days. But I was willing to experiment. “What do you have in mind before the spectacular sex?” I asked.
    “We have to visit a new dance club,” he said, but I caught the shade of worry in his voice. “That’s what they’re calling it, to try to bring in the young people who look pretty. Like you.”
    “Where is this dance club?” Since I’d been on my feet for hours, this plan was not the most tempting. But it had been a long time since we’d had fun as a couple—in public.
    “It’s between here and Shreveport,” Eric said, and hesitated. “Victor just opened it.”
    “Oh. Is it smart for you to go there?” I said, dismayed. Eric’s program had zero appeal now.
    Victor and Eric were engaged in a silent struggle. Victor Madden was the Louisiana proxy for Felipe, King of Nevada, Arkansas, and Louisiana. Felipe was based in