Dead Reckoning

ago. He came highly recommended.”
    “By whom?”
    There was a silence. I looked over at my honeybun, instantly curious. For the life of me, I couldn’t see why that was a critical question.
    “By Bubba,” Eric said.
    I could feel the smile all over my face. “He’s back! Where’s he staying?”
    “Right now, he’s staying with me,” Eric said. “When he asked after Bobby, I had to tell him what had happened. The next night Bubba brought me this person. He’s teachable, I suppose.”
    “You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
    “He’s a Were,” Eric said, and I instantly understood Eric’s attitude. The Weres and the vampires really don’t get along. You’d think that as the two largest supernatural groups they could form an alliance, but that doesn’t happen. They’re capable of cooperating on some mutually beneficial project for a short period of time, but after that they revert to distrust and dislike.
    “Tell me about him,” I said. “Your assistant, that is.” We didn’t have anything else to do, and lately we hadn’t had much time for general conversation.
    “He’s a black man,” Eric said, as if he were saying the new assistant had brown eyes. Eric could remember, vividly, the first black man he ever saw . . . centuries before. “He’s a lone wolf, unaffiliated. Alcide has already made overtures to him about joining the Long Tooth pack, but I don’t think he’s interested, and of course now that he’s taken the job with me, they won’t be so anxious to have him.”
    “And this is the guy you hired? A Were, whom you don’t trust and have to train? A guy who’ll automatically piss off Alcide and the Long Tooth pack?”
    “He has an outstanding attribute,” Eric said.
    “Good! What is it?”
    “He can keep his mouth shut. And he hates Victor,” Eric said.
    That made it a whole different shooting match. “Why?” I asked. “I’m assuming he has a good reason.”
    “I don’t know what it is yet.”
    “But you’re convinced he’s not pulling some elaborate double whammy? That Victor didn’t cleverly realize you’d hire someone who hated him, so he primed this guy and shot him over to you?”
    “I’m convinced,” Eric said. “But I want you to sit with him a while tomorrow.”
    “If I can get some sleep,” I said, yawning wide enough for my jaws to be in danger of cracking. It was after two in the morning, and we’d seen signs the bar was closing, but many of the employee cars were still waiting for their owners. “Oh, Eric, there he is!” I hardly recognized the server named Colton because he was wearing long khaki cargo shorts, flip-flops, and a green T-shirt with a pattern I couldn’t discern. I kind of missed the loincloth. I started my car after Colton did, and when he pulled out of the parking lot, I waited a discreet moment and followed him. He turned right onto the access road and drove west toward Shreveport. However, he didn’t go that far. He exited the interstate at Haughton.
    “We’re looking pretty damn conspicuous,” I said.
    “We need to talk to him.”
    “So, we’re giving up on stealth, huh?”
    Eric said, “Yes.” He didn’t sound happy about it, but we didn’t have that many choices.
    Colton’s car, a Dodge Charger that had seen better days, turned into a narrow drive off a narrow road. He stopped in front of a goodsized trailer. He got out and stood by the car. His hand was down by his side, and I was pretty sure in that hand was a gun.
    “Let me get out first,” I said, as I pulled up beside the man.
    Before Eric could argue, I opened my car door and called, “Colton! It’s Sookie Stackhouse. You know who I am! I’m standing up now, and I’m not armed.”
    “Go slow.” His voice was wary, and I couldn’t blame him.
    “Just so you know, Eric Northman is with me, but he’s still in the car.”
    “Good.”
    My hands reaching for the sky, I stepped away from the car so he could have a good look at me. The front porch light of the trailer was all he had to see by, but he gave me a thorough scan. While he was trying to pat me down with his eyes, the trailer door opened and a young woman stepped out on the added-on porch.
    “Colton, what’s going on?” she asked in a nasal voice with a very “country” accent.
    “We got some company. Don’t worry about it,” he said automatically.
    “Who’s she?”
    “The Stackhouse woman.”
    “Sookie?” The voice sounded startled.
    “Yeah,” I said. “Do I know