In this first excerpt, my heroine Zaria has net Detective Gregory Parsons for the first time. He’s a vampire, and she’s a human who is a little afraid of vampires.

It took no time for us to walk the three blocks to Angel’s Diner. It was a twenty-four-hour joint that had been around since my dad was a toddler. I inhaled the scent of greasy hamburgers as we walked in and my stomach rumbled. Parsons chuckled and pressed his fingertips into the small of my back, directing me to an empty booth. Somehow I didn’t even flinch.

“I haven’t been here since I was a kid,” he admitted.

I slid onto the bench seat as he slid in across from me. “Yeah? I come here at least once a week.”

We were in the back, as far away from the windows as possible. He removed his hat, glasses and, to my surprise, his jacket. I’d expected him to be in a long-sleeved shirt, but the sleeves stopped just before his bulging biceps. My gaze fell on the right one, where a tattoo was barely visible. He moved his arm before I could figure out what it was.

“If it bothers you, I can put my jacket back on.”

I jerked my head up and looked at his face. He was watching me with a blank expression.

“What?”

“My gun. If it bothers you, I don’t mind putting my jacket back on.”

I frowned and looked at the holster I hadn’t even noticed. His gun was nestled just beneath his right arm. My face heated at being caught staring, and I wanted to laugh at his misinterpretation. I just shook my head instead.

“No, it’s fine. You’re left-handed?”

Before he could answer, the waitress arrived with water and an impatient expression. I hadn’t even glanced at the menu, but knew it by heart and ordered my usual. Parsons mimicked my order but added a chocolate synth shake. I fought not to shudder.

“I’m ambidextrous actually.”

I watched the waitress walk off before raising a questioning brow his way. “No shit?”

He smirked. “No shit. I used to carry a gun on each side but it was frowned upon by the higher-ups.”

I found that interesting and wondered if he’d moved the second gun to another part of his body. I’d heard most cops carried two but didn’t ask. I started playing with the condensation on the side of my water glass as he slipped a pad of paper and a pen from his jacket pocket. I shuddered, knowing I was going to have to relive what had happened.

“Look, I know you’ve already been through this a couple of times, but I really need to hear the story from you.”

His gaze held a wealth of patience that hadn’t existed when we were in the store. Maybe coming to the diner had been a good idea. He appeared more relaxed, and being around others, especially with humans in the mix, sure as hell eased my mind. I shrugged my acceptance and started shredding a paper napkin.

“All right, start from the very beginning. What time did you arrive at the store this morning?”

“Just before seven.”

“And who was in the store when you walked in?”

“Janice. She’d said it had been slow.”

He wrote something down then stared at it for a second before asking his next question.

“All right. I didn’t notice a bike or car other than patrol cars at the scene. How did you get to work?”

“I walked.”

He frowned and wrote something else. “How far and from which direction?”

“I live in an apartment complex on Allen Parkway, five blocks to the”¦north, I think.”

He seemed to think it over then nodded. “Yeah, Allen Parkway is north of Rivermont Boulevard. So, you walked five blocks just as the sun was rising. Did you notice anyone in that alley when you got to the store?”

I took the time to really think it over. Clark and Santino hadn’t asked me this question. They had concentrated on the crime itself. I couldn’t remember seeing anyone, but I’d been really focused on just getting inside the store.

“No, I don’t think so. As far as I remember the sidewalks were empty almost the whole way. There was barely even any street traffic this morning.”

He nodded as if he’d expected that answer, and before he could ask anything else our food arrived.

I licked my lips in anticipation of biting into the large, juicy hamburger in front of me. Parsons chuckled and shook his head.

“What?”

He grinned. “Like your burgers greasy, huh?”

I smiled back. “Hell yeah. They’re not worth eating if they don’t harden your arteries on the way down.”

He just shook his head again and dug into his food. Hardened arteries weren’t really a concern for him. We ate in silence for a while until someone slipped some change into the jukebox. An old eighties hair band came on and I started humming along. Parsons raised a brow and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Isn’t this a bit before your time?”

I shrugged. “I was born in 1986 I grew up on this kind of music.”

His eyebrows went up in apparent surprise. “You’re twenty-five?”

“Yeah, why?” He shrugged and looked away, but I wanted to know whether or not I should be offended. “How old did you think I was?”

He looked back at me with a slightly embarrassed smile. “I thought you were younger. Twenty-one, maybe.”

“No shit?”

He chuckled and pushed his empty plate away. “No shit.”

“Huh. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Ahh. Older and wiser, eh?”

“Well, older anyway.”

I laughed and he looked surprised by the sound. Heat rushed to my face and I looked down at my empty plate. He cleared his throat.

“So, you said there was no one on your way to work”””

“That I noticed.”

“That you noticed”””

“But I wasn’t really paying any attention.”

“Right, so”””

“Plus I was wearing a hoodie. My peripheral vision sucks with that on.” He opened his mouth but then shut it again and watched me expectantly. “What?”

“Done?”

“Huh?”

He grinned and took his pad and pen in hand again. “All right. Who was in the store when you got there?”

“I told you, just Janice.”

“Right. And where was she in the store?”

“Up front behind the register. I think she was doing her nails ’cause I smelled polish, but by the time I finished punching in she was counting money.”

He wrote something down and scratched his chin as he thought it over. I couldn’t help but notice the slight stubble on his square jaw. Most vamp men didn’t have facial hair, but those who did seemed more human to me somehow. I mentally shook off the thought and pushed my empty plate away. I was not thinking of Detective Parsons that way. He was kinda cute, no doubt, but he was also a vampire. That made him off limits in my book.

“Okay. I’m going to have to question Janice as well then. Did she leave through the front or back door?”

“She always goes out the back because she parks there.”

“Did you watch her walk out?”

“No. She looked out the peephole first and said it was cool before opening the door.” He nodded and rolled a finger, motioning for me to go on. “After she left, a guy came in for cigarettes then nothing for like”¦two hours. After that a couple more, but I think I only had a total of five customers all morning.”

“Tell me what you remember about them.”

I frowned at the not-quite question, but went on to tell him everything I remembered. He took notes. The waitress brought me a fresh soda. His nasty shake slowly disappeared. By the time I was done telling him all about the customers and relaying the actual biting incident, the sun was on its downward slope and we were the only customers in the diner.

I suddenly looked around as the silence penetrated my thoughts. The waitress had disappeared into the kitchen, but I couldn’t hear so much as a squeak from her.

“Well I think”””

Parsons stopped talking and stared at me. His nostrils flared the slightest bit before his eyes widened.

“Miss Stonewell, are you all right?”

I gulped down a bit of soda to clear my dry throat and hoped he hadn’t noticed my hands shaking.

“Sure. You were saying?”

He frowned and looked around the empty diner as if noticing it for the first time. I started tapping my foot and looked around as well, wishing the fucking waitress would come back out. What was there to keep us from running out on the check? Idiot.

“Miss Stonewell, I, uh”¦ I think I have all I need for now. Is there a number where I can reach you in case I forgot something?”

I doubted he forgot anything. That had been the most thorough questioning I’d been through since Dad caught me smoking when I was twelve.