Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella Read Online Free Page A

himself. But instead he walked away, and disappeared in a truck that no one seemed to remember the license plate of. The shooter was still out there, his job left unfinished. Probably wondering what more he had to do to kill Kingsley.
    A hell of a good question.
    According to the doctor’s reports cited in a supplementary draft within the police report, all bullets had missed vital parts of Kingsley’s brain. In fact, the defense attorney’s only side effect was a minor loss in creativity. Of course, for a defense attorney, a lack of creativity could prove disastrous.
    Someone wanted Kingsley dead, and someone wanted it done outside the courthouse, a place where many criminals had walked free because of Kingsley’s ability to manipulate the law. This fact was not lost on me.
    Detective Sherbet had only made a cursory investigation into the possibility that the shooting was related to one of Kingsley’s current or past cases. Sherbet had not dug very deeply.
    It was my job to dig. Which was why I make the big bucks.
    I turned and left the way I had come.
     
     
     
    8.
     
     
    “ So how often do you, like, feed?” asked Mary Lou.
    Mary Lou was my sister. Only recently had she discovered that I was, like, a creature of the night. Although I come from a big family, she was the only one I had confided in, mostly because we were the closest in age and had grown up best friends. We were sitting side-by-side at a brass-topped counter in a bar called Hero’s in downtown Fullerton.
    I said, “Often. Especially when I see a particular fine sweep of milky white neck. Like yours for instance.”
    “ Ha ha,” she said. Mary Lou was drinking a lemon drop martini. I was drinking house Chardonnay. Since I couldn’t taste the Chardonnay, why order the good stuff? And Chardonnay rarely had a reaction on my system, and it made me feel normal, sort of, to drink something in public with my sister.
    Mary Lou was wearing a blue sweater and jeans. Today was casual day at the insurance office. This was apparently something that was viewed as good. She often talked about casual day; in fact, often days before the actual casual event.
    “Seriously, Sam. How often?” she asked again.
    I didn’t say anything. I swallowed some wine. It tasted like water. My tastebuds were dead, my tongue good for only talking and kissing, and lately not even kissing. I looked over at Mary Lou. She was six years older than me, a little heavier, but then again she ate a normal diet of food.
    “Once a day,” I said, shrugging. “I get hungry like you. My stomach growls and I get light headed. Typical hunger symptoms.”
    “ But you can only drink blood.”
    “ You mind saying that a little louder?” I said. “I don’t think the guy in the booth behind us quite heard.”
    “ Sorry,” she said sheepishly.
    “ We’re supposed to keep this quiet, remember?”
    “ I know.”
    “ You haven’t told anyone?” I asked her again.
    “ No. I swear. You know I won’t tell.”
    “ I know.”
    The bartender came by and looked at my nearly finished glass of wine. I nodded, shrugging. What the hell, might as well spend my well-earned money on something useless, like wine.
    “Have you tried eating other food?” asked Mary Lou.
    “ Yes.”
    “ What happens?” she asked.
    “ Stomach cramps. Extreme symptoms of food poisoning. I throw it back up within minutes. Not a pretty picture.”
    “ But you can drink wine,” she said.
    “ It’s the only thing I’ve found so far that I can drink,” I said. “And sometimes not even that. Needs to be relatively pure.”
    “ So no red wine.”
    “ No red wine,” I said.
    My sister, with her healthy tan, put her hand on my hand. As she did so, she flinched imperceptively from the cold of my own flesh. She squeezed my fingers. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Sis.”
    “I am, too,” I said.
    “ Can I ask you some more questions?” she asked.
    “ Were you just warming me up?”
    “ Yes and no.”
    “