Real Vampires Live Large by Gerry Bartlett Page B

fire. A quick glance showed the usual notices from my favorite shopping sites, some spam (yeah, right, like I want to see a nympho getting up close and personal with livestock) and e-mails from some buds I’d left behind in Las Vegas. Richard leaned over my shoulder, an interested observer. I wished he didn’t smell so good.
    â€œOh, my God!” A message from the Fang Collector. One guess who that might be from.
    â€œWhat? What is it?” Richard leaned over my shoulder.
    â€œAn e-mail from Westwood. I doubt it’s a thank you for the lovely time we had on Halloween.” Especially since the toad was probably still recovering from the wicked knife wound Jerry had managed to give him. I hope it hurt like hell.
    â€œHow could he know how to contact you?” Richard pulled out a chair and sat beside me.
    â€œWestwood’s a computer genius. He practically invented the Internet. He probably knows everything about me. From my reading habits to my cup size.”
    â€œCup size?” Richard looked puzzled.
    â€œBra cup. I shop online a lot.” I felt too queasy to be embarrassed. I sucked up my courage and opened the e-mail.
    â€œListen to this: ‘If you’re reading this, then I guess my fire failed to send you to hell where you belong. Too bad. Either you have the world’s best luck or I’m losing my touch. I choose to think the former. But, trust me, vampire, your luck is about to run out. I may have left the scene, but my men have not. They’re paid well to make your life a living hell. But not to kill you. I reserve that pleasure for myself. Soon. W ’ ”
    â€œThe bastard’s got his nerve. But he’s an idiot for taunting a vampire.” Richard jumped up, looking around like he wanted to tear something apart or maybe smash something. I could definitely relate. “Are you going to answer him, Glory?”
    â€œThat might encourage him.” Westwood’s pen pal? My finger twitched over the delete button, but I knew I had to save this garbage. Evidence of harassment, though going to the police was obviously not an option. I did the next best thing, I forwarded it to Blade. As soon as I did it, I knew it was a big mistake. He’d go ballistic.
    I took a shaky breath. I had to trust Blade not to go off half-cocked. Hopefully, he’d use his rage to formulate a plan, a carefully executed plan that would turn Westwood into roadkill.
    â€œDamn it!” I jumped up, fighting my own urge to smash and trash. I grabbed a bottle of Fangtastic out of the fridge. I offered a bottle to Richard but he shook his head. I took a deep swallow and waited for the jugular juice to do its thing. It did make me feel marginally better, stronger anyway.
    â€œI just hope Blade manages to get to Westwood and takes him out. Problem solved.”
    â€œUntil the paychecks stop, Westwood’s men will be creating a nuisance.” Richard glanced at the living room. Valdez and Will had both looked up when they’d heard the refrigerator door open, but when neither Twinkies nor a steak came out of the kitchen, they’d gone back to snoozing, Valdez on the couch, Will on the floor. “At least you have protection of a sort.”
    I was not comforted. “Damn! Damn! What next? Slashed tires? Another fire in the shop?” This was infuriating. I sure wasn’t going to sit calmly by waiting to be attacked.
    I sat back in front of the computer and hit reply. Westwood wanted to start a flame war? I was all over it. I’d had centuries to hone my verbal skills. I hit send before I could even reread for typos.
    â€œTake that, you creep with the bad jewelry. Fang necklaces are so not cool.”
    Richard grinned and pulled out a chair to sit across from me. “What did you say, Gloriana?”
    â€œPlenty. I even threw in a voodoo curse I learned in New Orleans.” I smiled in spite of my still simmering rage. “Westwood may need