“Let me do the talking,” Bob said. “I’ll bet he doesn’t understand Romanian, and that will buy us time.”

The cop glanced up and snapped his cell phone closed. He jerked open his door, climbing out.

“You’re going to have to leave,” he commanded gruffly.

The gloom hid our eyes, allowing us to get closer.

The cop came around the rear of his cruiser. “You two deaf? I said leave. Now.”

Bob started talking Romanian and gesticulated over his shoulder. We kept approaching the cop.

He put his right hand over the grip of his pistol. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying. But stop right there.” He looked at my bare feet, my rumpled clothes, and then back at Bob. With his left hand, the cop clasped the radio microphone clipped to his shoulder.

I sprang forward and gripped the cop’s head. His left arm twisted out to parry me, but…too late. My gaze locked onto his eyes. He froze.

Bob pulled the cop away from me and sank his fangs into the cop’s neck. The cop gurgled and went limp. Bob knelt beside him, sucking on his neck.

Bob stood, wiping his mouth. “Pure beef cake, this one. Definitely filet mignon.”

The cop lay sprawled on the asphalt, twitching.

“Can’t leave him like that,” I said. “Someone finds him, they’ll go ape-shit.”

“You’re right. Better put him back in the car.”

We carried the cop to the cruiser.

The back door of the building opened. A uniformed female cop and a man in a suit with a badge hanging from his neck stepped out. “What the hell?” he muttered.

Bob and I dropped the cop and he plopped to the asphalt.

The female cop sprang into the alley, her pistol leveled at us. “Don’t move.”

CHAPTER 18

I STANK LIKE COMPOST and an unconscious police officer lay at my bare, dirty feet. What could I say?

The plainclothes cop drew a snub-nosed revolver from inside his sport coat.

Bob raised his arms. “We found him knocked out. Just like this.”

The cop’s forehead wrinkled. The spikes of his aura blunted as his mood changed from anger to confusion. Why would two men-meaning us-be carrying a uniformed cop? Maybe we were telling the truth.

Bob pointed to the ground. “He was right there. We were gonna put him in the squad car and then get help.”

The female cop’s aura remained as prickly as a thistle. She kept her big semiautomatic trained on us. “On your knees. Put your hands on your heads.”

I turned my back to the lamp on the opposite alley wall and let the early-morning darkness conceal my tapetum lucidum, and Bob did the same. We knelt and carefully set our hands on our scalps. Our one chance to escape was to get the cops close enough to subdue them with vampire hypnosis.

The cop in the suit circled past us for the cruiser. “Keep ’em covered. Call for backup.”

Damn. Backup. The situation was complicated enough without more cops on the scene.

The cop stopped in mid-stride. “What the…?” He squinted at me. “What the hell is with his eyes? I’ve never seen eyes shine like that.”

Bob motioned to me with his elbow. “Yes, he’s got a medical condition. He blacks out and wanders the streets. That’s why he looks like this.”

The cop stepped close, then grimaced. “Oh yeah-and that explains the smell.”

“You should get a whiff of him after he’s been out a couple of days. He smells like a rose now in comparison.”

I knocked Bob’s elbow with my own to let him know that I didn’t appreciate being the butt of his snarky jokes.

The female cop set her flashlight parallel to her pistol. “Let me see.”

I closed my eyes and turned my head.

“Open your eyes,” she said. “Come on, it’s for your own good. You might need medical attention.”

The flashlight beam shone through my eyelids as a red haze.

Bob nudged my arm. “Go ahead. Open your eyes now.”

I did. Both cops stood close and leaned into one another. Their heads almost touched. Their two pistols remained pointed at my face.

Their eyes popped wide open, as at such close range, my tapetum lucidum bore into them like lasers. The female cop’s jaw slackened. The male cop lowered his arm. His revolver clattered to the ground.

Bob yanked the male cop’s necktie and jerked him down. Bob clasped the cop’s head and tilted it back to expose the neck.

I kept my gaze on the female cop and unbuttoned her shirt midway, then spread her collar to examine her neck. I traced my fangs across the inviting contours of her throat. Her warm blood beckoned me. I sank my fangs into her fat, welcoming jugular.

Her blood filled my mouth. I dammed the flow with my tongue and proceeded to work my saliva into her wounds.

She relaxed. Her aura became muted. I took the pistol and flashlight from her hands and returned them to her belt.

Bob smacked his lips. “Mmmm. My cop had a note of Johnnie Walker in his blood. Black Label. Somebody’s got problems with the bottle.”

“This isn’t a tasting party.” I motioned to the Dumpster. “Let’s get that diary and beat feet before more cops come along.”

Bob dragged his cop to the cruiser. “You go Dumpsterdiving while I take care of these three.”

I rested the female cop against the front tire of the cruiser. I pushed aside the yellow police tape, climbed into the Dumpster, and searched through leaking bags of garbage. Damp coffee grounds clung to my hands. Slimy, rotting vegetables lapped my wrists.

I found my trousers and jacket, and examined the pockets. My wallet, keys, cell phone, and scout knife were still there. I kept digging to the bottom of the Dumpster until I discovered Dr. Wong’s diary. Garbage water dripped from the soaked pages as I climbed out of the Dumpster.

Bob had arranged the three cops in the rear seat of the cruiser, the female in the middle. They slumped, shoulder-to-shoulder, their heads resting on the back of the seat.

Bob stroked his chin as he studied them. “They look bored.”

He got back in the car and unzipped the male cops’ pants, then shoved the female’s hands into each of her companions’ crotches. As a finishing touch he opened her shirt to the navel and pulled her bra down.

Bob shut the door, locking them in. “What do you think?”

“Nice rack on her.”

“I’d love to hear them try to explain this. ‘Vampires hypnotized us,’” Bob whined satirically, “‘made us play with each other and locked us inside.’”

We walked out of the alley and back toward his Buick.

“Don’t take this wrong,” Bob said, “but you stink even worse than before.”

“I don’t care what I smell like, as long as I have this.” I showed him the diary.

Bob examined it. Sections of wet pages disintegrated at his touch.

“Hey, careful.” I took the diary back and smoothed the pages to see if the writing remained legible.

We reached his car and climbed in.

“What’s that diary prove?” Bob asked. He started the Buick and drove away from the curb.

“That Wong knew what had caused the nymphomania, and that he helped cover it up.”

“What caused it?”

“He said red mercury and EBEs.”

“Which are?”

“Red mercury, I assume, is a material used at Rocky Flats for making nuclear weapons. I’ve never heard of it before.”

“And EBEs?”

“I’m going to let Gilbert Odin explain that.”

Bob’s aura flashed. He tapped the brakes. The car lurched. “What’s to explain? The investigation’s over. Give your friend the diary, collect your fee, and disappear. Case closed.”

“I’ve got to tell him about the people who killed Dr. Wong.”

Bob resumed normal speed. “Are you crazy? You’re going to tell your friend, a federal employee, that vampire hunters are on your trail?”

“Of course not. But they did murder Wong, so why not let the police catch them? And if they capture the vânätori, think the police will believe their story that they killed Dr. Wong by mistake when they were aiming for a vampire?”