Chap 2

Eric had hoped to settle in at the bar and listen to Rio sing; her voice was husky like that of a smoker—he instinctively knew she had never smoked—or someone recovering from a cold. It vibrated inside him like the low notes on a cello, and it carried the sounds of wind, waves, and seabirds in it.

But before he could finish his blood, he felt a presence at his shoulder. He reached out with his vampire senses. A fellow vampire.

"Lander," he said very quietly, not wanting to intrude on the girl's soft singing.

"Eric!" boomed the other vampire, "the King said you'd be here!" Most of the eyes in the bar cut to them quickly, then flicked away.

Eric stood up—he could not bear the thought of the girl's singing being ruined by this crass being—and led the way back to the office. The other vampire trailed him in. Sandy was in downtime, absolutely still in her chair, while Ailling peered at his computer screen, sipping from a coffee cup. Eric could smell the whiskey mixed in the coffee.

Sandy lifted her head, then stood up. "Frederick," she acknowledged his arrival, "You've met Eric Northman?" The vampire nodded, and Eric turned to study him. What he saw was a big bear-like being, standing in an insouciant slouch, his hair a mess of dark blond curls, his chin covered in stubble, his hands in his pockets. Eric estimated his turning at about 170 years ago; as a human, Lander had been in his mid-forties. He was not handsome, but projected an aura of capability and resilience. Of course, he was pale, but his face was creased with the fine wrinkles of sun exposure; as a human, he must have worked out of doors. He actually wore a jacket with fringe. Eric was only familiar with those from the human movie form called westerns. He could not recall ever seeing such a garment on an actual being.

Sandy spoke with clipped efficiency, "Frederick, you remember Al Ailling?" The two stared at each other; only Ailling nodded. Sandy continued, "Let's get started." Lander took off his jacket, tossing it over the back of his chair, and he sat, positioned to see the monitor. Ailling popped in the thumb drive that Sandy had given him earlier, and Eric caught a fleeting look of something close to predation on Lander's face.

Sandy moved to stand behind Ailling. He touched the screen with a big-knuckled finger, moving information around at Sandy's direction. Eric's business sense followed her comments easily, but a small part of his mind wondered about Lander's involvement. He was going to prove difficult to work with at best.

Sandy outlined bar expenditures versus revenue produced in a dry, lecturing tone. Profits were generally faltering, although certain nights showed a generous take; she indicated this discrepancy should be further explored. She spoke unendingly of vendors, distributors, customers, and gimmicks. Eric could follow her in his sleep. Nothing she said was a reach for him. It was all things he'd dealt with opening and operating Fangtasia.

Every time Sandy disparaged falling profits, Lander snickered. He was a bully, and Eric felt his irritation growing as Sandy did nothing to rein Lander in. Ailling became more withdrawn and uncommunicative, fidgeting and taking big gulps of his whiskey-laced coffee, which he replenished from a thermos on his desk. Eric knew, given time alone with Ailling, he could come to an understanding with the man, garnering his full cooperation, even making the human think he'd come up with the idea of relinquishing the bar's operations on his own. Eric would not have needed his glamour, only his business acumen as an expert negotiator. His time was being wasted, his expertise shunned. He was restless with ill-disguised frustration.

As the numbers Sandy went over became more and more disappointing, Ailling got more defensive and Lander more belligerent. He paced the office like a sluggish zoo animal, although at one point—when Ailling protested Sandy's reading of his figures—Eric thought Lander might lunge at Ailling. While that might be briefly amusing, it would prolong an already tiresome meeting. But Sandy finally quelled Lander with a glare, and he withdrew, skulking back to his chair. He sat silent the rest of the meeting, practically sucking his big bear paws and pouting. "Loser," Eric thought, remembering a term he'd always appreciated, although it was no longer in fashion.

Eric snapped to full attention when Ailling rose stiffly from his chair and said, "Mz. Seacrest, if you'll excuse me, I have to see to my performer before she leaves." Something in Ailling's tone when he said performer—a tenderness, perhaps—caught Eric's ear. Sandy held up a hand to make him wait, while she formally closed the meeting: "I think that will be all for tonight, gentlemen."

Lander stood. "I've got to get back to Vegas. The King has me doing all sorts of important things," he said sarcastically. Then he said to Eric, "I'll be back in a couple of days to finish up with you."

"Good," Eric responded, "That will give me time to thoroughly review the records." He inclined his head toward the thumb drive in Ailling's hand. Lander had already started to take the thumb drive, but he pulled back at Eric's statement, obviously angered. Eric and Lander faced off, giving each other an alpha-male stare; Eric could not believe Lander's cheek. Eric likely had 800 years on the other vampire, and operated businesses all over northern Louisiana. The King himself had called in Eric to consult on this new project. What was Lander's game?

Lander shrugged into his jacket—Eric could barely prevent his lip from curling at the silly fringe—and turned to give Sandy a deep nod before leaving the office.

After receiving a nod from Sandy, Ailling held out the thumb drive to Eric. Eric lifted a hand to refuse, saying, "I'd prefer to study the records here. That way all the information stays in one place. May I use your computer after hours?"

Both Sandy and Ailling looked taken aback, then Ailling looked pleased. At least one damned vamp was showing him some respect. His voice was gracious when he said, "Sure, my desk is your desk."

Eric inclined his head to Ailling, then said, "Sandy, might I speak with you, outside?" Creature of few words, she nodded and led the way out of the office. Eric glanced quickly at the stage and the girl still playing there before motioning Sandy to the door.

In the parking lot, he stood close to her on purpose, so she would have to tip her head way back to look him in the face; he towered over her. "What exactly is the King playing at?" Eric demanded. "Lander is a dangerous fool. Why does the King show me the disrespect of working with a thieving murderer? I could have managed this alone, with the human's full cooperation, then Lander could have come in for the clean up." Anger tensed his entire body.

Sandy raised one eyebrow, and in a tone Eric could only think of as haughty, replied, "I am sure the King himself can answer your questions when I tell him you'd like to meet with him regarding your, ah… uncertainty about his project."

Eric was immediately chastened. His position with the King was tenuous at best, being the only Louisiana sheriff who had survived Felipe De Castro's hostile takeover of Louisiana and Arkansas. The King himself was not above murder, having ordered death of Eric's queen while she was injured and far from recovery.

"You may tell our King," Eric stressed the possessive, "that I am here to do his bidding and I anticipate things proceeding smoothly."

Sandy smiled coldly. "I will relay your message. Now I too must take my leave. Call me with your progress."

Eric gave a short bow which almost had him kissing the top of her head, as Sandy spun on her fabulously expensive heel and marched to her car.