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“Did you kill what did this to you?”

“No.”

He looked at me, and the anger showed for a second. “I wish I believed you.”

“Me, too, especially since I’m telling the truth.”

“Who, or what, did this to you, Anita?”

I shook my head. “It’s been taken care of.”

“Damn it, Anita, how can I trust you when you won’t talk to me?”

I shrugged.

“Is the arm all of it?”

“Almost.”

“I want to see all of it.”

There were a lot of men in my life that I’d have accused of just wanting to get my shirt off, but Dolph wasn’t one of them. There’d never been that kind of tension between us. I stared at him, hoping he’d back down, but he didn’t. I should have known he wouldn’t.

I worked the shirt out of my pants and exposed my bra. I had to raise the edge of the underwire to show the round hole—now scar—over my heart.

He touched it like he had all the others, shaking his head. “It’s like something tried to scoop your heart out.” He raised his eyes to my face. “How the hell did you heal it, Anita?”

“Can I get dressed?”

There was a knock at the door, and Zerbrowski entered without waiting to be asked, while I was still struggling to get my breasts back behind the underwire. His eyes widened. “Am I interrupting?”

“We’re finished,” I said.

“Gee, and I thought Dolph would have more staying power.”

We both glared at him. He grinned. “Count Dracula is processed and ready to go.”

“His name is Jean-Claude.”

“Whatever you say.”

I had to bend over and rearrange my breasts so the bra would fit right again. Those underwires hurt if they ride up. They both watched me do it, and I stubbornly wouldn’t turn away. Zerbrowski watched because he was a cheerful lech, Dolph, because he was angry.

“Would you take a blood test?” he asked.

“No.”

“We can get a court order.”

“On what grounds? I haven’t done anything wrong, Dolph, except show up here not dead. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were disappointed.”

“I’m glad you’re alive,” he said.

“But sorry you can’t bust Jean-Claude’s ass. Is that it?”

He looked away. I’d finally hit on it. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re sorry that you can’t arrest Jean-Claude—get him executed. He didn’t kill me, Dolph. Why do you want him dead?”

“He’s already dead, Anita. He just doesn’t know enough to lie down.”

“Is that a threat?”

Dolph made a low exasperated sound. “He’s a walking corpse, Anita.”

“I know what Jean-Claude is, Dolph, probably better than you do.”

“So I keep hearing,” he said.

“What, you’re angry because I’m dating him? You are not my father, Dolph. I can date who—or what—I want to date.”

“How can you let him touch you?” And the anger was there again, rage.

“You want him dead because he’s been my lover?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“You’re not jealous of me, Dolph, I know that for a fact. It just bothers you that he’s not human, is that it?”

“He’s a vampire, Anita.” He met my gaze then. “How can you fuck a corpse?”

The level of animosity was too personal, too intimate. And then it hit me. “What woman in your life is fucking the undead, Dolph?”

He took a step towards me, his entire body trembling, his huge hands balled into fists. The rage rushed up his face in a near purple wave. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Get out!”

I wanted to say something to make it better, but there was nothing to say. I moved carefully past him, keeping my eyes on him, afraid he’d make a grab for me. But he just stood there regaining control of himself. Zerbrowski walked me out and closed the door behind us.

If I’d been with another woman, we’d have talked about what just happened. If I’d been with a lot of men in a different line of work, we’d have talked about it. But Zerbrowski was a cop. And that meant you didn’t talk about the personal stuff. If you accidentally learned something truly painful, truly private, you left it the fuck alone—unless the man involved wanted to talk about it. Besides, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to know that Dolph’s wife was cheating on him with a corpse. He had two sons, no daughters, so who else could