Page 35 of Dead Heat

Wings. Swan. Fiery temper. “Any idea where I can find Raina?”

“No, sorry. We didn’t talk much.”

“Have you ever seen her at the club?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “No, but when I mentioned where I work, she said she sometimes shows up for the live music nights.” He broke into a broad smile. “Those have been great for me. The energy’s electric. I’d have to make a real effort not to connect with anyone.”

“Some guys have all the luck,” Ray muttered.

“Not anymore,” Nana Pratt said. “Seems like his might’ve run out. Too much carnal sinning can have that effect.”

I typed a message to Kane, asking if he knew Raina. If she was as temperamental as she seemed, odds were good she would’ve drawn attention at the Devil’s Playground.

“Thanks for the list,” I said, accompanying him to the front door. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Alessandro glanced outside. “I hope I don’t pass anyone on my way home.”

I swiped his Yankees cap and blanket off the foyer floor and handed them to him. “Godspeed.”

He swaddled himself and bolted from the house. I watched him run across the bridge and prayed he didn’t trip over the end of the blanket and tumble into the moat. Poor guy needed to retain what was left of his dignity. I breathed a sigh of relief when he made it safely to his car.

“Why is he so distressed over hair loss?” Nana Pratt asked. “My husband was bald, but it didn’t make him any less handsome to me.”

“That’s different. You were married to him. Alessandro feeds off sexual energy. Without it, he dies.”

Nana Pratt reached for her nonexistent pearls. “Oh, dear. And here I thought men were exaggerating when they claimed certain appendages would fall off without use.”

I smiled. “Men are definitely exaggerating, but Alessandro is an incubus. His species can’t survive without it.”

“Well, he’s still very handsome. I’m sure there are plentyof women who like a man with a shiny head and good hygiene. Look at all those bald actors like Sean Connery.”

“Imagine you have the brightest, bluest eyes anyone has ever seen. They’re the first feature people notice and comment on. You consider them a blessing. A symbol of your worthiness. They become part of your identity, as much as your name. You even start modeling eyewear to earn a living. Then one day, you wake up and your eyes are brown.”

“There’s nothing wrong with brown eyes,” Ray said, indignant.

“Of course not, but if part of your identity, your livelihood, is that you’re the one with the most amazing blue eyes people have ever seen, you’ll feel terrified, and eventually a deep sense of loss. Alessandro’s identity is the Extremely Hot Incubus that everyone wants to consort with. Right now he’s in the terrified stage, but soon he’ll start grieving.”

“Except in your example, the blue-eyed person won’t die if their eyes turn brown. They can just find another job,” Nana Pratt pointed out.

I nodded. “Alessandro doesn’t have that luxury. He earns a living tending bar, but he needs to feed on sexual energy to actually live.”

“Tell him there’s a group of divorced women who meet at the coffee shop on Wednesday afternoons,” Ray offered.

Nana Pratt looked at him sideways. “How do you know that?”

“Renee mentioned it once. When her husband moved to San Francisco, a friend suggested she join them for support.”

“What makes you think they’d take an interest in Alessandro?” I asked.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is for women in this town to meet remotely attractive men? Your friend is still young, fit, has most of his hair, and all of his teeth. They’d flock to him like mosquitoes to a zapper.”

“Well, except his touch wouldn’t kill them.”

Ray shrugged. “Might. Depends on their heart conditions.”

“I’ll mention the option to him.” If nothing else, it might feed his receding ego. I typed a text message and relayed the information.

“Aren’t you worried Renee might be at the meetup?” Nana Pratt asked.

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