assignment, would it?” Tony mumbles to Gina, who only hears half of what he’s saying, her mind still reeling.
“What are you even doing here, in New Orleans?” she questions.
“I could ask you the same,” he rebukes, nimbly leading her through a courtyard and into the foyer of his apartment complex.
“Detective,” the night guard addresses him awkwardly, taking in the flavor of his varied company—two lady vampires and a knight, who’s carrying one of the vampirettes.
Tony flips his hand in the air, an agitated wave, bowing his head as he walks past the guard, leading his carnival crew onto the elevator. “‘Elevator Capacity Two Tons,’” he reads from the sign above the floor buttons, grinning cantankerously. “Marks, you might wanna take the stairs.”
Marks files in, his iron links and metal chest plate continuing to clink and clank. His chest rising and falling with exaggerated momentum, a combination of carrying his armor, and Aubrey. “Just push the button,” he pants.
Tony rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes, mashing his finger against the number seven button, holding back a smirk as he eyes Marks, still holding Aubrey. Don’t say it, he coaches to himself, biting down on his lip. No need to be an ass, Gronkowski. Ah, why the hell not? he reasons as the words come rolling effortlessly off his tongue, “Think she’ll make it, Champ. My flat’s right off the elevator.”
“Oh,” Aubrey chirps with the realization there is no further need for her to rest so comfortably in Marks’ secure, brawny grip. She wriggles down from his arms, her feet settling once again into the stifling six-inch stilettos. “Thank you.” She exchanges an enamored glance with Marks before settling her eyes directly in front of her onto the shiny silver surface of the elevator door.
“Why do you always have to be an ass?” Marks whispers through clamped teeth to Tony.
“It comes so natural to him,” Gina chimes. “The same as you and I moving air, Marks.”
Marks grins, happy to have an ally. “It’s good to see you, DeLuca. Just like old times.” Ding! The elevator interrupts the moment.
Tony fumbles with his key as they file out of the big metal box. Opening the door to his apartment, he gets a whiff of an unfamiliar perfume occupying his space. “What the…” he begins, flipping on the light.
On his couch, sits Dr. Patricia Ryan and William Truly. In the recliner, smiles the round beaming face of Dr. Godfrey. And at the kitchen table, a disgruntled Emily Truly raps her fingers repetitively on the table, her militant boot-covered feet propped on its wood surface.
“You got the judge locked up in the closet, Sarge?” Marks inquires at Tony’s house guests, all familiar faces from the courtroom over a year ago.
“Oh, thank God!” Aubrey pushes past Tony and Marks, happy to see her surrogate family. She sits comfortably on the armrest of Dr. Godfrey’s recliner. He pats her arm affectionately.
Emily eyeballs Aubrey and Gina, a wry smirk forming as she shakes her head in full contempt of their hideous get-ups. Gina ignores her and her inquisitive counterparts, trekking down the hallway in search of a change of clothing.
“Who wants to start?” Tony seeks an explanation. He eyes Dr. Godfrey, the one individual in the room with whom he has the most experience.
“Thought it might make your job a little easier, Detective, seeing how you’ve been nosing around,” Dr. Ryan pokes, referring to his requested transfer to New Orleans to investigate her and everyone else in her association. “We’re all here in the same room. Fire away.”
Emily scans him suspiciously, something kindred about his aura.
“I take it you’re here for Gina,” Tony says, his detective persona in control. “Might explain why I waited at the state penitentiary outside Vanguard for a transport that never arrived. You intercepted her there, as well.” He makes his way to the kitchen, inspecting
“What are you even doing here, in New Orleans?” she questions.
“I could ask you the same,” he rebukes, nimbly leading her through a courtyard and into the foyer of his apartment complex.
“Detective,” the night guard addresses him awkwardly, taking in the flavor of his varied company—two lady vampires and a knight, who’s carrying one of the vampirettes.
Tony flips his hand in the air, an agitated wave, bowing his head as he walks past the guard, leading his carnival crew onto the elevator. “‘Elevator Capacity Two Tons,’” he reads from the sign above the floor buttons, grinning cantankerously. “Marks, you might wanna take the stairs.”
Marks files in, his iron links and metal chest plate continuing to clink and clank. His chest rising and falling with exaggerated momentum, a combination of carrying his armor, and Aubrey. “Just push the button,” he pants.
Tony rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes, mashing his finger against the number seven button, holding back a smirk as he eyes Marks, still holding Aubrey. Don’t say it, he coaches to himself, biting down on his lip. No need to be an ass, Gronkowski. Ah, why the hell not? he reasons as the words come rolling effortlessly off his tongue, “Think she’ll make it, Champ. My flat’s right off the elevator.”
“Oh,” Aubrey chirps with the realization there is no further need for her to rest so comfortably in Marks’ secure, brawny grip. She wriggles down from his arms, her feet settling once again into the stifling six-inch stilettos. “Thank you.” She exchanges an enamored glance with Marks before settling her eyes directly in front of her onto the shiny silver surface of the elevator door.
“Why do you always have to be an ass?” Marks whispers through clamped teeth to Tony.
“It comes so natural to him,” Gina chimes. “The same as you and I moving air, Marks.”
Marks grins, happy to have an ally. “It’s good to see you, DeLuca. Just like old times.” Ding! The elevator interrupts the moment.
Tony fumbles with his key as they file out of the big metal box. Opening the door to his apartment, he gets a whiff of an unfamiliar perfume occupying his space. “What the…” he begins, flipping on the light.
On his couch, sits Dr. Patricia Ryan and William Truly. In the recliner, smiles the round beaming face of Dr. Godfrey. And at the kitchen table, a disgruntled Emily Truly raps her fingers repetitively on the table, her militant boot-covered feet propped on its wood surface.
“You got the judge locked up in the closet, Sarge?” Marks inquires at Tony’s house guests, all familiar faces from the courtroom over a year ago.
“Oh, thank God!” Aubrey pushes past Tony and Marks, happy to see her surrogate family. She sits comfortably on the armrest of Dr. Godfrey’s recliner. He pats her arm affectionately.
Emily eyeballs Aubrey and Gina, a wry smirk forming as she shakes her head in full contempt of their hideous get-ups. Gina ignores her and her inquisitive counterparts, trekking down the hallway in search of a change of clothing.
“Who wants to start?” Tony seeks an explanation. He eyes Dr. Godfrey, the one individual in the room with whom he has the most experience.
“Thought it might make your job a little easier, Detective, seeing how you’ve been nosing around,” Dr. Ryan pokes, referring to his requested transfer to New Orleans to investigate her and everyone else in her association. “We’re all here in the same room. Fire away.”
Emily scans him suspiciously, something kindred about his aura.
“I take it you’re here for Gina,” Tony says, his detective persona in control. “Might explain why I waited at the state penitentiary outside Vanguard for a transport that never arrived. You intercepted her there, as well.” He makes his way to the kitchen, inspecting
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