A variety of pink and white papers lay scattered on the surface in front of her, along with what looked like an old-fashioned ledger book. A computer drowsed at her elbow, while a red light blinked on her phone. It was heart-shaped, with what looked like an arrow forming the headset. The phone matched the runelike shape of the clock on the back wall.

Finn held his hands out wide. A charming smile stretched across his face. “Roslyn, darling, so good of you to see me on such short notice.”

An answering smile curved Roslyn’s lips, showing her perfect, pearl-white fangs. “You too, Finn.”

The vampire got up from behind her desk. To say that Roslyn Phillips was an attractive woman would be like saying Sherman only set a few fires in Atlanta—a complete understatement. Her eyes and perfect skin were a rich toffee, and her cropped, layered black hair highlighted the edge of her strong, square jaw. Silver glasses perched on the end of her button nose and made her eyes seem even larger and more expressive. The vampire had the kind of face that made you do a double-take to wonder if such symmetrical perfection was possible. On her, yes.

Since the nightclub wasn’t open for business yet, Roslyn was dressed down in a pair of skinny jeans and a button-up white shirt. But the simple outfit still showed off her body to its full potential. Plump breasts, lush hips, flat stomach, toned thighs, just the right amount of curve to her ass. Roslyn was like a female version of the David—only much more fuckable. The vamp was one of those who used sex to power up, along with blood, and she’d spent years, decades even, learning how to work what she’d been given to her full advantage.

Roslyn came around the desk, and Finn pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, once again playing the part of the Southern gentleman. The vampire drew back, and her dark eyes landed on me.

“And you brought Gin along with you,” she said in a neutral tone.

“Hello, Roslyn,” I replied. “Lovely to see you too.”

Roslyn’s smile turned into more of a grimace. She hadn’t forgotten our last meeting at Fletcher Lane’s funeral.

The one where I’d told the vampire I knew that she’d talked about Fletcher, Finn, and me, about what we did. That her well-intentioned whispers had led Alexis James to Fletcher and the Pork Pit and had gotten the old man killed.

“What do you need?” she asked in a quiet tone, still staring at me.