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around. There was nobody in the hotel garden at this hour.
    Except one guy, a kid of around eighteen who looked like a junior member of staff and who’d just come round the corner.
    He gaped.
    ‘Nothing to see here,’ I said.
    He gaped some more.
    I walked over to the fire escape and began to shimmy up. I needed to get my clothes and get the hell out of there.
    Below me the kid was staring up, stupefied.
    I wasn’t worried. I didn’t think he’d once looked at my face.
     
    *
     
    ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘He really is… one of those ?’
    ‘He was ,’ I corrected. ‘He’s gone now.’
    ‘You… killed him?’
    ‘Can’t kill the undead. I sent him back where he came from, if you like.’
    Letitia DeVane took out a pretty lace hankie and dabbed the corner of her eye.
    ‘You okay?’ I said.
    ‘Yes… yes. It’s just that – I loved him, you know? Once.’
    I had the bottle already out on the table. ‘You look like you could use a drink.’
    ‘Thank you.’ She made a half-assed stab at a smile.
    I poured, handed a shot glass to her. Georgia’s finest tequila, boosted with Rafe Creed’s special secret ingredient.
    Letitia sipped, then knocked the whole thing back.
    She dropped the glass on the floor before she could put it down. Her hands flew to her throat. Steam seemed to be pouring from her mouth, and her tone flickered out.
    She opened her eyes. They were a vivid yellow, with those cat slits for pupils.
    ‘Bitch,’ she hissed.
    Garlic would spoil any tequila. But it doesn’t provoke this sort of reaction. Not in human beings, anyhow.
    ‘You should learn to cover your tracks more effectively,’ I said. ‘Taking out a four-million-dollar insurance policy on your husband a month before you shop him as a vampire isn’t exactly subtle.’
    I’m a naturally suspicious person, and I’d noticed a distinct mismatch between Letitia DeVane’s costly clothes, jewelry and makeup and the relatively modest home she lived in. It suggested her tastes were more expensive than her current lifestyle allowed. I didn’t know she was a vampire too, like her husband, but the thought had occurred to me when I was sitting on the john that morning. So she’d probably inflicted the wounds on her arm herself, then come to me knowing I’d get rid of hubby for her. His remains would never be found, of course – there weren’t any – but after a suitable length of time he’d be declared dead and Letitia would cash in.
    They’re not just after blood, you see.
    Vampires have sex drives, as I believe I’ve demonstrated. And they can also be motivated by such base things as material greed.
    I took Letitia’s head off with the katana I had at the ready under my desk. It wasn’t difficult; she was weakened by the garlic I’d put in her drink, and she was certainly no fighter like Oscar. I staked her at leisure, then got out a brush and pan and disposed of the ash. (The stuff stinks like thousand-year-old Brie cheese.)
    Then I opened the suitcase she’d brought. There it was. The other half of the payment.
    I hummed a little as I set about packing it up, then making a shopping list. I wasn’t going to go wild, but I was certainly going to treat myself. I’m as susceptible to the fine things in life as the next person.
    After all, I’m only human.
     
     
    THE END

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
     
    I was born in 1980 in Sandy Springs, Georgia. Currently I live in Muscogee County in the same state, with my husband, three dogs and two parakeets.
     
    I enjoy writing and cooking, and I’m partial to garlic, in case you’re wondering.
     
    So far my other published work is the short novel Drifter’s Blues , part one of my Erotic Noir trilogy. Be warned: this is far, far raunchier than anything in Rafe’s Rules .
     
    If you’ve enjoyed Rafe’s Rules , I’d be much obliged if you’d consider leaving a review on Amazon. Reviews are the lifeblood of us