His expression darkened. "What makes you think I give a damn what happens to him?"
"Are you saying that you two aren't friends?"
"I don't have any friends."
"Oh come on, now. You were very popular back in the day."
"Things have changed."
"Yeah, I noticed." She glanced out of the window to where Barkley and Lenny were skulking toward the Mustang.
Quinn eyed her with anything but friendliness. "And I thought my day was a disaster to start with."
"We'll give the boys a few minutes to make their getaway."
"Whatever you say."
She felt a chill go down her spine at his cold expression and struggled to keep her composure.
What did she think she was doing, anyhow? Baiting a vampire like this? A lot of vamps were completely harmless, that was true. But some of them… some of them were as dangerous as anything she'd ever faced. She still had the marks on her neck to prove that little theory. Two weeks ago, a master vampire named Nicolai nearly ripped her throat. She'd trusted the bastard—even worked for him part-time—right up until she learned he was a serial killer.
Had he fed on her any longer, she would have either been permanently dead or picking up her vampire membership card. She was in a business where it was easy to get jaded and unfazed by life-threatening situations, but that vampire had taken her by surprise, and she'd never been particularly fond of surprises—especially the kind that left scars behind.
She studied the man in front of her for a moment as he looked away. She knew that Quinn was dangerous to start with. When he'd been a hunter, there were rumors that he would rise in the ranks and become a real leader. That's what his father had always groomed him for. From what she'd heard through the grapevine, Quinn was good at the job. Real good. But there was something missing. A lack of passion for it. He took no joy in slaying vamps.
Now he was a man with nothing to lose. A wild tiger waiting to hunt his next meal. And she was sticking her hands in the cage and trying to take its catnip away.
She frowned at the thought.Or something like that .
The werewolves entered the diner. Janie didn't even have to turn around to see, she could feel it.
Werewolves, especially in the company of other pack members, gave off a preternatural vibe—a pulse of energy that raised the hair on the back of a human's neck.
Three years ago, on her very first assignment with the Company, she'd killed a werewolf. He was a bad guy, a lone wolf, and he had taken hostage the wife and three children of aU.S. congressman from Mississippi . The Company had sent Janie in on a rescue mission. Janie received her first of many scars, on her upper thigh, from that experience, but she'd lived.
She'd managed to stare death in the eye. It had been terrifying and also rather ... furry. Before she pulled the trigger to send the silver bullet into the beast's heart, she vaguely recalled making a Little Red
Riding Hood joke. Damned if she could remember what it was now. She did remember the fear that filled her and almost made her run away. But the thought of the woman and those innocent kids, and imagining what that monster planned to do to them, was enough to keep her moving.
Yeah, she was such a hero.
Sure.
With that memory firmly fixed in her head, she turned to look. The werewolves had cornered the manager of the restaurant, who had his hands up and was talking to them with a panicked expression on his face. Panicked, but not surprised. Maybe the fur patrol were regulars at the Stardust Diner.
The main werewolf grabbed the guy by his grease-stained apron and shoved him up against the cash register. The others stood back with their arms crossed in front of them. The manager was shaking now, and he turned and looked in Janie and Quinn's direction.
Then he pointed.
The werewolf dropped him and immediately came over to stand in front of Janie and Quinn's booth,
followed by his friends.
She pushed back the memory of the wolf's teeth in her leg and the sudden urge she got to run.
"Where is he?" Werewolf number one growled.
Janie's gaze shot to Quinn, who looked surprisingly calm.
"Who?" he asked.
"That damned coward Matthew Barkley. Where is he?"
"I still don't know what you're talking about."
Out of the corner of Janie's eye she noticed that the manager was approaching the werewolves with a tray.
"I have t-two coffees, a c-c-cappuccino and a d-decaf here," he said with a distinct tremble to his words.
The main werewolf turned and grabbed one of the mugs without a thank-you, then turned back to Quinn.
"Look, I'm in a shitty mood today. Wife's got me on decaf, and I love my coffee. Something to do with it causing my migraines."
"Sorry to hear that."
He took a sip and grimaced. "Disgusting." He smashed the mug against the floor.
"I'll g-go and make a f-fresh pot." The manager skulked away as the beast shot him a scowl.
Quinn and Janie exchanged a look.
"That your car?" The cranky, decaffeinated werewolf gestured out of the window toward the decimated car.
Quinn shrugged. "If it was, I'd be pretty pissed about what you did to it, wouldn't I?"
"'Cause that's the car that Barkley was in." His eyes narrowed. "And you were driving it."
Janie let out a long, exasperated sigh. She didn't have time for this garbage. She stood up from the booth and looked up—way up—at the werewolf.
"Why don't you go away now? Obviously the guy you're looking for isn't here."
"Who asked you, bitch?"
"How did you know my pet name?"
The werewolf eyed Quinn. "This your girlfriend?"