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token vampire. His parents lived in a four-story colonial not too far away and were longtime friends of my folks. Our dads watched the Knicks together and golfed every Saturday night. Our mothers were both members of the Connecticut Huntress Club. Remy’s madre collected dues while mine served as vice president and my unofficial spokesperson.
    Meaning, she furnished my stats (height, weight, orgasm quotient) along with glasses of refreshment at every meeting.
    Meaning, I’d been set up with every eligible son, cousin, nephew, uncle, father, grandfather, and great grandfather (don’t ask).
    All born vampires, of course, who met my mother’s standard requirements for a son-in-law. Good looking. Fantastique fertility rating. And filthy rich. While police chiefs didn’t rake in the mega bucks, Remy’s private security service—which provided personal bodyguards to the wealthy, as well as an impressive list of celebrities and politicians—did.
    I’d been paired up with Remy on at least a dozen occasions. Not that I’d fallen for him, mind you. Yummy looks aside, we’re talking man-made soles.
    On top of that, while Remy looked good enough to eat, he didn’t smell good enough to eat. Because of his line of work, he took a special pill developed by a top-secret agency that provided tactical weapons for the armed forces. (I told you I’d spent many an evening with him.) The pill inhibited his natural scent and allowed him to mix, undetected, with the criminal element (some of them born vamps). Since the scent was a crucial mating element, I’d never been remotely attracted to him. Even if I sort of liked the fact that he didn’t remind me of a walking coconut cream pie.
    As far as I was concerned, Remy was…Well, Remy. I’d known him forever (translation—since we’d both been baby vamps back in the old country). I’d seen him wear knickers and he’d seen me in pantaloons and powdered wigs (uh, yeah), which equaled way too much history for me.
    Hello? Get over it. I could if I’d actually felt it. The chemistry. The heat. The bam!
    Bam! was a must-have on my prospective eternity mate list and so I’d crossed Remy off a long time ago.
    The doorbell rang and my mother’s voice sounded somewhere in the house.
    “I told you I heard something,” she said to my father.
    “Of course you heard something. The entire neighborhood heard it.”
    The knob clicked and the door creaked open.
    “Remy? What’s the meaning of this?”
    “Sorry about the siren, Mrs. Marchette. Morris here is a rookie and was just following procedure. She hit the button before I could stop her.” While I couldn’t see what was going on, I knew Morris was no doubt standing there with a look of pure rapture on her face because Remy was sort of hot and he’d obviously vamped her to keep her silent.
    “Since when is it procedure to stop by for a nightcap?” my mother asked.
    “This isn’t a social call.” He paused and my heart stopped beating. “There’s a warrant out for Lil.”
    “I told you she can’t handle her finances,” my mother blurted. “Haven’t I told you? Just tell us how much the parking tickets are and we’ll take care of it.”
    “She isn’t wanted for outstanding traffic violations, Mrs. Marchette.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
    “She’s wanted for murder.”
    “I told you the constant bottled diet would eventually get to her,” she told my father with the same exasperation she’d used in reference to the traffic violations. “Haven’t I told you? A vampire has to hunt. End of story. Obviously we can control ourselves, but to deny the hunger completely…It’s ridiculous.”
    “That’s our Lil,” my father added.
    See, I wasn’t much for hunting. Not that I couldn’t, mind you. I just preferred drinking my dinner out of a martini glass and following it up with an appletini chaser. Or, my most recent discovery, a cactus margarita. Talk about delish. See, they use sugar instead of