“Where is this dance club?” Since I’d been on my feet for hours, this plan was not the most tempting. But it had been a long time since we’d had fun as a couple—in public.

“It’s between here and Shreveport,” Eric said, and hesitated. “Victor just opened it.”

“Oh. Is it smart for you to go there?” I said, dismayed. Eric’s program had zero appeal now.

Victor and Eric were engaged in a silent struggle. Victor Madden was the Louisiana proxy for Felipe, King of Nevada, Arkansas, and Louisiana. Felipe was based in Las Vegas, and we wondered (Eric and Pam and I) if he’d given Victor this large bone simply to get the ambitious Victor out of Felipe’s richest territory. In my heart of hearts, I wanted Victor to die. Victor had sent his two most trusted minions, Bruno and Corinna, to kill Pam and me, simply in order to weaken Eric, whom Felipe had retained since he was the most productive sheriff in the state.

Pam and I had turned the tables. Bruno and Corinna were piles of dust by the interstate, and no one could prove we’d done it.

Victor had put out the word that he was offering a high bounty for anyone who could give him some information on his minions’ whereabouts, but no one had come forward. Only Pam, Eric, and I knew what had happened. Victor could hardly accuse us outright, since that would be admitting that he’d sent them to kill us. Kind of a Mexican standoff.

Next time, Victor might send someone more cautious and careful. Bruno and Corinna had been overconfident.

“It’s not smart to go to this club, but we don’t have a choice,” Eric said. “Victor has ordered me to make an appearance with my wife. He’ll think I’m afraid of him if I don’t bring you.”

I thought this through while I was searching my closet, trying to think of anything I owned that would look good at a trendy dance club. Eric was lying on my bed, his hands behind his head. “There’s something in my car, I forgot,” he said suddenly, and was a blur going out the door. He was back in seconds, carrying a garment on a hanger enveloped in a clear plastic bag.

“What?” I said. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Can’t a vampire give his lover a present?”

I had to smile back at him. “Well, yes he can,” I said. I love presents. The toaster had been reparation. This was a surprise. I carefully removed the plastic bag. The garment on the hanger was a dress. Probably.