Those two words were loaded with meaning. "But..."

"But I have a gut feeling on this and it's not the oh-look-it's-a-bright-shiny-world kind."

Simone took a sip of her soda before she opened the file and grimaced at the grisly crime scene photos. As always, they were gory and detailed. "I just love the gifts you bring me for lunch. Other gills get diamonds. Me? I get mayhem and blood—and all before noon. Thanks, Tate."

He leaned over and stole a French fry from her plate. "Don't worry, boo, I'm buying. Besides, you're the only woman I know I can meet for lunch and talk business with. Everyone else gets squeamish."

She looked up. "You know, I'm not sure that's much of a compliment."

"Trust me, it is. If LaShonda ever comes to her senses and leaves me, you're the next Mrs. Tate."

"Again, not flattering to either of us. Should I tell LaShonda what her hubby thinks of her?" she teased.

"Please don't. She might poison my cush-cush ... or worse, beat my tush-tush."

   Simone laughed again. "Don't worry, I'd make sure and bring her to justice for it."

"I'm sure you would." He paused to order a shrimp po'boy and fries from the waitress.

Simone continued to look at the photos while he spoke to the young Goth woman who was taking his order.

Yeah, these pictures were pretty gruesome. But then these types of photos usually were. How she hated that the world was filled with people capable of doing such horrific things to others. What people could do to each other was bad enough. What the other, nonhuman inhabitants could do was a whole other nightmare. Literally.

And she was more than just a little acquainted with both lands of monsters.

The waitress headed back toward the kitchen.

Tate leaned closer. "You getting any vibes from the other side?"