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been completely unwarranted. What had gotten into her? As a vamp she was hugely indebted not only to the vigilantes who protected her, but to the lawmen who turned a blind eye. "There was no evidence against Constantine to start with. He was hours away when his wife died."
    Donnie shook his head. "I know he's a friend of yours, but where there's smoke there's fire." He scrawled dimensions on one of the boards.
    Perhaps, but whatever deaths Constantine was responsible for, his wife's wasn't one of them. "Think what you like, Donnie," Ophelia said, "but watch what you say. Constantine's a friend of Violet's, too."
    She got into her truck and headed toward a residential area fifteen minutes across town. Forty-five minutes later she escaped that prospective customer with a promise to return with a drawing of a winding path edged by flowering shrubs, and she drove into the crowded tourist area of downtown Bayou Gavotte. Her destination was the Impractical Cat, ostensibly to deliver plants for the patio, actually to warn Leopard off before he took matters into his own hands. By now Violet would certainly have called him.
    Ophelia pulled the truck into the alley behind the restaurant. She entered the patio, still under construction, and deposited several pots of lantana in a corner. The door swung open. "Yee-haw, Ophelia!"
    A rough hand whacked her on the butt, and Ophelia jabbed an elbow into the jerk whose paw was groping for her breast. "Fuck off, Burton." She kicked him in the shin for good measure. "Beat it, or I'll really hurt you."
    Burton Tate laughed and rubbed his shin.
    Inside, a waitress scurried by with pitchers of water and tea. "Hey, Marie," Ophelia called out. "Lep here?"
    "In the office with Constantine." Marie motioned Ophelia aside. "Your number was in the men's again this morning. Lep had 'em paint over it, but..." She grimaced. "Sorry."
    Ophelia shrugged. "Thanks for letting me know. Forewarned is forearmed."
    "You can put my number up in the ladies' room anytime you want." Burton limped hurriedly past.
    "Sure you want your number to be up, Burton?" Ophelia asked, and Marie guffawed. Ophelia continued down the hall to the lair of the drug-dealer-turned-drummer who controlled the underworld of Bayou Gavotte.
    "Come in, girl." Leopard sighed, but Constantine Dufray shot her a grin. It was the Native American rocker's real smile, not the mesmerizing one his fans swooned over, which meant he was genuinely amused.
    Leopard, on the other hand, was not. Ophelia threw herself into the easy chair in the corner and told him, "I left some lantana on the patio. I'll come back tomorrow or the next day to plant it."
    "Uh-huh," Leopard said. "You're a pain in the ass."
    "And you're a thug. So what?"
    Constantine grinned again. "Cappuccino, vampire babe? Good elbow on Burton, by the way. Solid kick." He laid his guitar below the one-way glass that showed the back hall, stretched like a languid cat, and went to the espresso machine on a table by the wall.
    "Thanks--and kindly shut up," Ophelia said. "Listen, Lep, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings. I wanted to get through this without anyone beaten up."
    "That lowlife Wyler deserves to be beat up," Leopard grunted. He tugged at his dreads and untied the grubby leather thong holding them back.
    "Blood? Or just mocha?" Constantine pumped in some chocolate syrup.
    "Shut up, Constantine," Ophelia repeated. "Lep, I want to stay on good terms with my neighbors. Also, Wyler's kids don't need to see their dad trashed. Let me handle this my way."
    "When some moron's hanging death threats on your door? Not a chance." Leopard flicked the thong between strong brown fingers. "None of this matters. What matters is you dissed Gideon O'Toole."
    Surprised, Ophelia said nothing. She sank lower into her chair and scowled. "I should have known he'd be a friend of yours. What'd he do, come whining to you?"
    Leopard snorted. "You're the one doing the whining, girl. He's not a friend, exactly. He's the