Isla, Alone in a Locker Room? That's worse. How did it get worse?

Apparently, backstage at Irwin's was a former high school locker room. While the basketball shorts had been replaced with feather boas, it was still damp and steamy and reeked of sweat and Axe Body Spray. I think the Backstreet Boys lookalikes were hitting the showers. Meanwhile, Greg and I sat side by side on a wooden bench. Right above a drain in the floor. Anybody else notice that weird brown stain surrounding it? No? Just me? Swell.

Curtis the bouncer stood guard. Greg had snarled at him when he frisked me. He didn't need to. Frisk me, that is. I hadn't even smuggled cocktail shrimp into my garters (yet). A snarly Greg I actually didn't mind too much, as it turned out. Shame he'd gotten smacked in the face with the butt of his own gun. Curtis had chuckled something about finally seeing the usefulness of the thing. Right before he stuffed it into his waistband.

"I did exactly what you told me to," I whispered.

Greg groaned around his pinched nose. He wiggled it and it slipped back into place with a stomach-churning crunch. A slight trickle of black blood oozed from it. Huh. I'd have thought the wound would've healed itself by now. "Of course. The one time you listen to me."

"Maybe that just proves I shouldn't listen to you."

A door creaked open somewhere. The click-clacking of heels on concrete followed, and from the steam emerged a beautiful woman. She was young, early twenties. Tall. Couture runway thin. Head shaved bald. The fluorescent lights and steam really made that bronze highlighter shimmer on her perfect, glass-cutting, dark ebony cheeks. She wore stilettos and a stylish, sleek pantsuit, with golden earrings brushing against the shoulders of her jacket. Her turquoise eyeliner was winged to absolute perfection.

She shooed Curtis away, then leaned casually against a locker. "Who the fuck are you two and why you making trouble in my bar?"

"Uh," I whispered again to Greg. "I thought you said some Dmitri guy owned this bar?"

"My husband's name might be on the paperwork," said the woman, flashing her fangs, "but the business is all me, these days."

"Husband?" squeaked Greg. "You're, uh, Rosemond?"

"Wow, haven't been called by my husband's ex's name in a while," she laughed. It was mirthless. "Sloane. Dmitri doesn't talk about me much, I guess. We've only been married since he turned me. But then again, Dmitri doesn't do much of anything these days beyond allowing himself to fade to dust. Curtis told me you used to work for him. Gregorio, right?"

"Greg."

Sloane flashed us the kind of smile typically reserved for used car salesmen and contestants eliminated in round one America's Next Top Model. "Things have changed since you worked with my husband, Greg."

"Noticed."

"Changes mean that management no longer finds it acceptable for unaffiliated vampires and free-range humans off the street to just wander up in here like they own the mother fucking, fucking world and start fucking harassing my fucking customers."

"Because your donors aren't registered?" said Greg, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Some crusty blood remained. "Hard to get permits for underaged staff, isn't it?"

"Who gives a pail of hot piss about permits? They sure don't seem to be at the top of the Magistrate's to-do list," she said. "What I care more about is a skinny asshole bringing in some skank, that doesn't even belong to him, to frighten my servers, and threaten one of my regulars over a two-century old property dispute."

I pretended not to notice Greg glaring at me.

"One of your servers is missing," He finally said. Greg patted his jacket, as if reaching for his wallet. Except Curtis had taken it with him. He settled for clearing his throat. "I'm a private investigator now. Mrs. Favichia—"

"Sloane is fine."

"Sloane. I was hired by someone close to this club because a girl who works here, Lily Perez, is missing."

"Ugh, fine. You're clearly dodging my problem, but fine, I'll play," Sloane rolled her eyes and squatted, hands on her knees, inches in front of Greg. "My husband hired you to stalk his favorite whore because she terminated their relationship."

Greg remained still – unblinking creepy weird vampire still – as Sloane's dripping fangs extended. I'm not the most fluent with vamp lingo, so I could be wrong, but I think that counted as a threat. Or she was trying to hook up with him. Again, real hard to tell. Regardless, her display caused a row of goosebumps to erupt on the back of my neck.

"You knew your husband was cheating on you?" I said.

"They get bored." Sloane's glowing eyes slid from Greg to me. "And they're so rude, don't you think? Fucking Greg here didn't even introduce you."

"I mean, I think you nailed it with some skank."

"You don't need to know her—"

With vamp quickness, the woman was towering over me. Wow she was pretty. And intimidating. I reeled back, bumping against Greg. She grabbed my hair and pulled. I squealed a little as Sloane lifted me a couple inches closer to her nose and took a deep, again, 70s-serial-killer style whiff of my hair.

Greg, hissing like a wet cat, just as quickly stood and wrapped his hand around Sloane's wrist in my hair. "Let her go."

Sloane dropped me with a shrug.

Greg caught me, easing me back onto the bench, just as Curtis reentered the locker room.

Sloane saw him. "Excuse me," she said, ruffled Greg's hair, and sashayed off behind a row of lockers with the other vamp.

Pixie dust. My head hurt. Something wasn't vibing right. Lots of somethings.

I leaned against Greg's shoulder. "Hey, uh, you got a plan rolling around in that noggin?"

"Shh." He hushed me sharply.

"They're here now?" Sloane hissed, low, from behind the lockers. The acoustics of the room allowed her hushed voice to echo out to us. "They were supposed be here hours ago. Where the fuck is Jules with Dmitri? That fucky mother fucker he was supposed to bring him. Fuck."

Her heels clacked as she, I assumed, stomped toward the door. I heard it burst open and another pair of feet shuffle in.

Greg inhaled and wrinkled his nose. "Somebody smells wet roadkill."

"You again?" said Sloane. She sounded surprised.

"Denise sent me," a gruff, familiarly smug voice said. "Here to pick up the deeds."

My heart sank into my ass. Kyle. Kyle was here. I recognized his stupid voice. The heck was the werewolf mafia boss's errand boy doing in a vampire club? Oh shit. Fuck. I still owed him my rent money. And I never found the toenail he flung at me last time he let himself in to my apartment. I couldn't let him see me. I ducked behind Greg's back, clutching his suit jacket for balance. He teetered.

"What are you doing?"

"Dropped my lipstick."

"Now's not—shhh—"

He didn't need to shush me. I wasn't going to say anything more and risk wolf boy's ears picking it up.

"You're late," Sloane said. "And she was supposed to send the lawyer."

"Had another appointment—" Kyle made a sound like he was scratching his beard "—Ain't I supposed to meet the owner?"

Someone, Kyle, I assumed, inhaled audibly through their nose. Okay, quick, who's got the better sniffer, vamps or wolves? Still crouched behind Greg, I whiffed my own armpit. I mean, dollar store deodorant aside, it seemed fine. I guess. I don't know, what was I sniffing for? Ode de Iron Deficiency?

I slipped my arms into Greg's jacket, hoping that could at least mask my pit stank. He squirmed but didn't push me away. "I'm cold," I whispered, before he could ask. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and tugged me closer. The room was already pretty warm, but the flush that raced through me then was hot enough to set off the smoke alarm. How gentlemanly of Greg to pretend he didn't notice.

It sounded like Sloane cleared her throat next. "I think maybe there might be some miscommunication. Why don't I let Curtis show you up to our VIP lounge? Dmitri and I will both be out to meet you shortly, and then you can get Denise on the phone."

If Kyle protested, I didn't hear it, only the shuffling of his feet and door swinging open again as Curtis presumably guided him out. What was that all about? I wanted to ask Greg, but the moment I raised my head I heard Sloane's heels clicking their way back to us. We detangled quickly.

She emerged from behind the lockers a moment later, sauntering, wiping her nose with her willowy fingers. She had to have known we heard her. She at least had to have known Greg could hear her. But she didn't let on.

"Well fuck. As much as I wanted to have fun with this chat, I actually have other business to attend to, so I'll just skip ahead to the point. Lily is a-fucking-okay." Sloane paused to stare at us like she was deciding her next words carefully. "She quit. End of story. Which is a shame because she was a champ of an escort. Could have brought in a lot more cash if Dmitri didn't hog her every night. Which is probably why she left, don't you think? Drop your case," she used finger quotes, "and leave poor Lily alone. I'll rein in my fucking husband."

"She's not fine," I said. Should've kept my mouth shut, but the image of Lily bleeding out on my floor was curdling in my stomach. "She's miss—"

"Sure," said Greg, "She's fine and you've got copies of all the paperwork proving Lily worked here legally and resigned all of her own free will to spare, right? Or maybe a list of her other clients I could question?"

Sloane gave us her salesman smirk. "How 'bout I pay you whatever the fuck my husband owes you and be done with this shit?"

"I expect to be paid in full when I close the case. You know," Greg turned to me for some inexplicable reason, like we're having a nice little chat in a bar without being threatened by some scorned vamp bitch, "you'd be really surprised how quick paperwork can close a case."

"Why don't you two head back out to the bar. I'll look to see if I still have that paperwork on file." Sloane offered her hand to Greg, which he went to shake, but instead Sloane pulled him awkwardly to his feet. Greg floundered a bit. "Curtis'll bring it out to you, with your check and your shit of course."

As she guided us out the locker room—Greg's hand protectively on my back again—Sloane stopped one last time to poke him on the nose. "Oh, and I'd say I'm sorry for Curtis' behavior earlier, except, I'm not. Fuck you, bye!"