Andreas sighed. “Perhaps we should be seated if this conversation is to continue. And take a moment to, ah, regroup, so to speak. You will not mind if I join you?” He made it a question, but he didn’t wait for a reply. He held Ari’s chair, waiting for her to sit again. “Ms. Calin, it is nice to see you.”

She couldn’t figure out why he wanted to join them. Was Victor a friend? If so, maybe Andreas could keep him under control. He couldn’t make things much worse. Either way, she was curious enough not to object. His reasons would surface soon or later, and they might have some bearing on her case.

“Mr. De Luca.” She responded to his civility with a short nod.

“You two know each other?”

Victor’s tone struck her as suspicious. Weird reaction to a co-worker. “Not really,” she said.

“We have met.” Andreas continued to hold her chair.

When Ari sat, his fingers lingered on the back of the chair long enough to brush her shoulder. A warm quiver shot across her back. Damn him. Ari wasn’t sure whether the contact was deliberate or not, but it certainly kept her aware of his presence.

Victor picked up his overturned chair and squared off like a prize fighter assuming his corner. Andreas sat between them and signaled the waiter.

“I have found that discussion flows more productively when you observe the social graces,” he said to no one in particular. To the waiter he said, “Antonio, bring us a bottle of Chianti and whatever else my friends desire.”

A little irked by his presumptuous manner, Ari ordered black coffee and resigned herself to something dull and tasteless. After all, what could vamps know about a decent brew?

“Have you been in our club before?” Andreas asked. When she said she hadn’t, he launched into an explanation of its menu and nightly entertainment that lasted until the waiter returned with their drinks.

At least the coffee smelled good. Ari took a tentative sip. Caught unprepared by its excellence, she shut her eyes for an instant and drank in the flavor and aroma. The smooth warmth of a tropical Jamaican sun slid down her throat. Catching herself, she shot a peek at Andreas and found him watching her with amusement.

“Special blend,” he murmured.

Ari pretended not to hear him.

Andreas was different tonight. The playful, taunting guy in jeans from Goshen Park was gone. This evening, he was the elegant vampire, aloof sophistication and dark mystery. Black Armani suit, black shirt with the mandarin collar open and flipped to one side. He looked good enough to turn heads, and he did. Ari noticed the way women glanced in his direction, as if they couldn’t help themselves.

While drinks were served, Andreas continued his light, one-sided chatter about the club, the singer, the crowd tonight. Victor worked on a dark drink with aromatic spices called Sweet Death.

Preparing to resume the interview as soon as the waiter left, Ari tapped an impatient toe.

Andreas beat her to it. “I understand why you’re here, Ms. Calin. We heard about Angela’s unfortunate death. I am sorry for it. I believe you have questions. How can we help?”

Ari wasn’t about to let him control the questioning. He’d been playing lord of the manor for several minutes, and it was time to put his lordship on the sidelines. She set her coffee down. “That’s a good question, Mr. De Luca. Since you chose to join us, I’ve been wondering why I’ve run into you twice in the last week. And both times the circumstances were…less than ideal.”

“Fate, I believe.” He tipped his glass in a slight toast. “Fate sometimes takes a hand in our lives, whether we welcome it or not.”

“Smooth answer, but not very informative. What’s your interest in this interview?”

“My interest? But, of course.” His manners were unruffled. “Perhaps I should have clarified that earlier. I am the managing partner of Club Dintero. Victor is my employee, and Angela was a regular guest. My immediate concern, however, is preventing a repeat of the earlier disturbance. Does that qualify as sufficient interest?” He spread his hands as if offering his statements for inspection.

“Fine.” She gave him a hard look. “You can stay if you like, but Victor needs to answer my questions. Without your help.”

“Of course.” Andreas gave her a single nod as his magic curled around her for an instant. “I will confine myself to the role of a referee, as you might say.” He leaned back and crossed his arms.

Ari ignored him. Or tried. It was almost impossible when his energy kept seeping over her, like a feather brushed across her skin.

She turned her attention to Victor. “I still need to know about your relationship with Angela. Where and how did you meet?”

Victor dropped his gaze to his drink, as if the answers might be there. “She came to the club with a group of young human females about a year ago. Just more of the thrill-seekers we get. They sit down front, drink a lot of the fruity martinis, and talk with the performers. I keep them from interrupting the show or getting too noisy.”

Ari got the picture. All the Otherworld clubs had their human groupies, teen girls like Angela, some as young as thirteen, dressed like they were thirty and carrying fake IDs. Underneath the veneer, they were unsophisticated, emotionally vulnerable, and all too available for sex. She couldn’t quite see their appeal to an experienced vampire like Victor.

“I hardly talked to her before the night she came in with a black eye. Her face was all made up, but you could see it.”

“When was that?” Ari interrupted.

“Six months ago. No longer.” He glanced at Andreas for confirmation.

His employer nodded.

With an inward sigh, Ari turned to Andreas. “You saw it too?” She hated including him in the conversation, especially so soon.

“I did. Victor drew my attention to it.” His answer was to the point, no more.

“Did she say who hit her?” Ari looked back at Victor.

“She denied she’d been hit. But when the club closed that night, she asked me to walk her home.” Victor sipped his drink, set it down. “Her request wasn’t unusual. These girls aren’t shy,” he trailed off. “Almost said I was busy. Young girls aren’t my type.”

Well, maybe. Ari decided she’d reserve judgment until she heard the rest of his story. They’d ended up together somehow.

“I thought she was afraid to go home alone,” Victor continued. “So, I went with her. She spent most of the night talking about some loser named Wes. After that night, we kind of fell into a relationship.” He stopped then added, “And before you ask, yes, it became sexual.”

Didn’t it always? So much for helping a young, vulnerable girl. She may not have been his type, but she was available. What predator can resist a willing victim?

Victor went on to describe the intervening months of his friendship with Angela. It boiled down to two to three date nights a week, ending at her apartment. He had little idea what she did when they weren’t together.

“We had no claims on each other. Sometimes I didn’t see her for a week or two.”

“But didn’t she talk about her life? What she did? Where she went?”

He shrugged, a stiff, calculated movement. “It wasn’t my business. I didn’t ask.”

Hmm. Not much commitment in this relationship. She watched while Andreas refilled her coffee cup from the pot and mumbled a thank-you. “When did you last see her?”

“Last Monday night. She came in around 8:00. Early for her.”

“Alone?”

Victor pursed his lips. “She was with another woman. Didn’t stay long. I thought she’d be back, but she never showed.”

“The other woman, what did she look like? Did you know her?”

He shook his head. “She might have been in once before. Brown hair, older than Angela.”

Well, hell, that probably described thousands of women in Riverdale.

Andreas leaned forward. “If I might interrupt…would it be helpful to know the woman was a werewolf?”

“Well, yeah. Are you kidding? Are you sure?”

Andreas frowned. “Certainly. I know a werewolf when I see one. I presume you would also like a description. Tall for a woman, nearly six foot. Dark brown hair that hung past her shoulders, athletic build, mid-thirties. Features a little too prominent for beauty, including the eyebrows. She was here a month earlier with a male wolf. Two or three inches shorter than the woman, bulky build, reddish-brown hair, middle-age.” Andreas smiled and leaned back again. “They were not locals.”

Ari stared at him a moment. “Uh, good eye for detail. How do you know they weren’t local? Don’t tell me you know every wolf in town.”

“By no means, but I recognize our customers. And I notice newcomers. They stand out, especially when their speech is heavily accented and sprinkled with French vocabulary. I was at the front door when they arrived.” He frowned in thought. “Might be European, but more likely Canadian.”

Ari knew vampires had good recall, but you can’t remember something you didn’t notice in the first place. His observations were exceptional. She looked away, refusing to tell him how totally impressed she was. Instead, she spoke to Victor while she jotted the descriptions on a notepad. “Why didn’t you mention any of this?”

“I guess I never noticed.”

Really? Ari looked at him, but Victor sat stoically, awaiting her next question. She wasn’t sure she bought his explanation. But he was a vampire, and who knew why they did anything?

“We’re almost done. Tell me where you were on Sunday night between 6:00 and 10:30.”

“Working. Here, at the club. All evening.”

Well, damn. That seemed rather solid. And easily checked. She looked at his boss for confirmation. For a brief moment, Andreas’s composure wavered. “You want to know where I was?”

Ari hid a smile. “I wanted you to verify Victor’s statement, if you could. But if you’re offering your own alibi, fine. I’ll take it.”