Tempting Danger Read Free Page B

sign suggested a fifties sort of naughtiness, innocent compared to the real nastiness of the neighborhood. How long had the club been around, anyway? “I wonder if that’s on purpose?”
    “Pardon?”
    She glanced at the young man who’d spoken—Officer Arturo Gonzales, Phillips’s partner. He was about five inches taller than her and husky in a fit, just-out-of-the-service way, but with the kind of round cheeks old ladies like to pinch. She’d sent him to keep an eye on the club’s entrance until she could get here. “The club must do a pretty good business if they can afford a parking lot and guard. You ever been inside, Officer?”
    “No, ma’am.”
    A smile tugged at her mouth. “You’re Southern, I take it.”
    “No, ma’am. I’m from west Texas.”
    “Sounds Southern to me.”
    He nodded seriously. “Funny how people who aren’t from Texas think that. I guess it’s like with folks from Los Angeles. They never say they’re from the West Coast or California—just L.A.”
    “I guess that says it all. What do you know about Club Hell?”
    His lips twisted. “It’s a werewolf hangout. Them and their groupies.”
    “Don’t forget adventurous tourists. They like to check it out, too.” She studied him a moment. Lupus sexual mores being what they were, the nightclub was considered seriously depraved. Naturally this made it a popular spot. “Texas was one of the shoot-on-sight states, wasn’t it?”
    “Yes, ma’am, it was. Till the courts changed things.”
    “Well, California wasn’t. So it’s always been legal to be a lupus here, as long as you were registered.” That’s who originally hung out at Club Hell—the registered lupi, the ones who’d been given shots that prevented the Change. The ones people thought were safe.
    “Your X-Squads killed them.”
    “Only if they violently resisted registration or if a court determined there was a clear and present danger.” That was the theory, at least. Federal law used to call for all lupi to be registered—forcibly, if necessary—and given the shots. But “forcibly” covers a lot of territory when you’re dealing with creatures who can absorb a couple of rounds without slowing down on their way to rip out your throat.
    Lupi had been notoriously averse to the registration process.
    “I’m going to talk to the people inside now,” Lily said. “Some of them will be lupi. They’re citizens now, entitled to the same rights as other citizens. You okay with that, or do I need to get someone else to assist?”
    He thought it over. Lily didn’t know whether to be appalled at how much thought it took, or impressed by his honesty. At last he nodded. “Guess we’re around to enforce the law, not decide on right and wrong.”
    “Guess we are.” She started down. The entrance to Club Hell was, appropriately, located below ground level. Wide, shallow steps led underneath the building, down a tunnel faced with stone. It gave the descent a nice dungeon ambiance, she thought, though the cold blue lighting made Gonzales look like the walking dead.
    At the bottom was a plain metal door, painted black and leaking music. It swung open easily.
    Scent, sound, color—all smacked her in the face at once. Colored lights strobed a cavernous room crowded with tables, people, voices, and music. The ceiling was high and lost in darkness, the music was loud, and she smelled smoke.
    Not tobacco or pot. Not woodsmoke, or anything else she could name. More of a scent than actual smoke . . . someone’s idea of brimstone, maybe?
    The song crashed to an end. Belatedly she identified it and grinned: “Hotel California.” Management obviously believed in staying true to its theme.
    “Welcome to Hell,” a deep bass voice rumbled on her left. “Now you must pay the price for crossing the portal.”
    She turned her head. A little man with a big head and burly shoulders sat on a high stool beside a table holding an old-fashioned cash register. His suit could have