“I know. I’m not asking for anything but credibility.”
“And you know how dangerous this is, right?”
She glanced at Archer. “Right.”
“And you’ve thought it all through?”
“Yeah.” Not that thinking it all through had done her any good. Their options at this point pretty much stunk on ice, no matter how well thought out they were.
“All right then,” he said, still sounding less than reassured. “I trust you, for some reason. Good luck, sweetheart. You’re gonna need it.”
“Um, thanks, I think?”
“Put that arrogant little SOB on the phone, OK, hon?”
“You got it, Mickey.”
They exchanged I love you’s and air kisses before she handed the phone back over to Archer. “He wants to talk to you,” she said.
“Hello?” he asked, through a shit-eating smirk that he kept trained on Harper.
But after he listened for a moment, he shifted his gaze away, the smirk dying on his lip. He sat up straighter. His eyes shot up to Riddick, then back to Harper.
Harper couldn’t hear what her uncle was saying, but whatever it was had Archer shocked shitless. “Yes,” he finally murmured. “I understand.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket with shaky hands. After a short silence during which he did nothing but stare at the floor, he lifted his eyes to Harper.
“So, now do you believe we’re not cops or reporters?” she asked.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously struggling to find the right words. Eventually, he settled on, “How exactly do you know Michelangelo Petrocelli?”
Harper shot him a carbon copy of his own nasty smile. “That’s not really your concern. Are we in, or are we out, Archer?”
He looked back up at Riddick, silently taking his measure. “You’re in. I’ll add him to tomorrow’s roster. No names are used, so he’ll be number seven.”
A pit of dread formed in Harper’s stomach. They’d just gotten exactly what they came for.
And they’d just turned Riddick into a number who’d be forced to fight for his life the following night.
What had they done?
Chapter Sixteen
Mischa stared at Leon Steinfeld, who was unconscious and folded neatly into the trunk of her Accord, curled up on top of her spare tire and winter emergency kit.
“Did you try talking to him first?”
Hunter ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “Yeah. He’s a real douchebag.”
Yep, that’s what she remembered about Leon. She assumed he was immune to mind control, too. Because while he was most certainly a douchebag, Leon Steinfeld was definitely not weak-minded.
But that didn’t answer the other question on her mind. “Um…after you knocked him out, why didn’t you just put him in the backseat?”
Hunter looked down at her blankly for a moment, obviously thinking, then said, “Huh. Hadn’t really thought of that.”
She blinked and glanced back down at Leon’s unconscious form. Hunter’s first instinct had been to knock the guy out and shove him in the trunk. She waited a moment for that thought to disturb her.
It never really did. Did that make her a bad person?
Oh well, no reason to worry about that now. They all had bigger problems.
Mischa shrugged. “Fair enough. If you’ll carry the top half, I’ll take his legs.”
Hunter frowned at her before plucking Leon out of the trunk as if he was weightless. He chucked him over his shoulder and walked away.
She supposed she’d insulted him by offering to help carry Leon. Suppressing an eye roll, she trailed after him.
Men. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t kill…well, she supposed that didn’t really apply here. Not since Hunter was already dead and all.
Five minutes later, Leon was bound to a chair with zip ties in Hunter’s apartment.
“You want to be good cop, or bad cop?” Mischa asked.
Hunter grinned at her. “What do you think?”
He was right. There was no way he could play the good cop. Good thing, too. She couldn’t have argued with him if her life depended on it. That damn grin had rendered her dumb and mute.
She threw a glass of cold tap water in Leon’s face and he came awake in an instant, sputtering.
He glanced around, his brow furrowing as he saw Mischa. His eyes widened as his gaze bounced between her and Hunter. The expression on his face was so comical, Mischa thought the poor guy would probably pee his pants soon.
He tugged uselessly at the ties. “W-what’s going on?”
“Remember me, Leon?” she asked sweetly.
His eyes narrowed, which wrinkled his forehead, causing his unibrow—which already resembled a fat caterpillar—to undulate somewhat disturbingly. “Of course I remember you. You’re the bitch who got me fired.”
Hunter backhanded him. “I warned you about that once already,” he said. “There won’t be another warning.”
Mischa blinked. Shit. She’d barely seen his hand move. It’d all happened that fast. One second Leon was calling her a bitch, the next he had blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
Then his words penetrated her shock. “Wait a minute…what do you mean you warned him about that once already? Did he say something about me when you talked to him at the bar?”
He didn’t say anything, but his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. That’s when it all made sense. He’d knocked Leon out and stuffed him in the trunk not simply because he’d been a douchebag, but because he’d disrespected her.
If Harper were here, she would’ve called that kind of thing romantic. But not Mischa. She was much more…
She sighed. Oh, hell. What was the point in lying to herself? It was romantic. A little violent, possibly psychotic, but definitely romantic.
Damn it. How was she supposed to keep saying no to him if he was going to be hot and romantic?
Mischa cleared her throat, trying to dislodge the lump that had inexplicably settled there. “I’ll get to the point, Leon. I need to know where I can get my hands on the antidote to whatever you Sentry science a-holes used to kill cleaners, and you’re going to help me.”
His expression moved from fear to loathing as he glanced back at her. “Yeah, keep dreaming. I still don’t have a job because of you and the giant blot you put on my work history. I’m living on welfare, for God’s sake.”
“No,” she said, drawing the word out a few extra syllables. “You’re living on credit card scams. Welfare is just the beard you hide your illegal activities behind.”
When he looked surprised, she added dryly, “I’m smart, too, remember?”
He tipped his head to one side as he studied her. “Not smart enough to realize that kidnapping me was a bad idea. If you intend to blackmail me into helping you, you just gave me all the leverage I need to blackmail you right back.”
Hunter put his hands on Leon’s chair and leaned in close. “Dead men don’t blackmail anyone.”
Leon gulped audibly, then licked his lips as Hunter took a step back. “Dead men don’t help anyone find antidotes, either.”
Touché, Mischa thought. The little jerk was clever. And a little braver than she would’ve imagined. She’d give him that much. She turned to Hunter. “Can you read his mind?”
Hunter turned sharp, narrowed eyes on Leon, who cowered in his chair. After a moment, he said, with no small amount of disgust, “No. He’s shielded somehow.”
Yeah, she’d been afraid of that. She once heard that Sentry employees with high-level security clearance had implants at the base of their spines that somehow rendered them immune to vampire mind-reading and control. She’d hoped it was an urban legend. It was really just her luck that it wasn’t.
She gave Leon a what-the-hell gesture, palms upturned. “What will convince you to help me, Leon? Money? I can pay you.”
He snorted. “Yeah, right. There’s no
t enough money in the world to make me help you.”
Hunter eased a hunting knife out of his jacket pocket and held it up, examining the blade. “We can always do this the way of my people.”
A bead of sweat trickled down Leon’s temple. “W-what’s that mean?”
Again, Hunter moved in a blur of supernatural speed so impressive, Mischa barely saw it until he was behind Leon, yanking his head back by a fistful of hair and pressing the knife to his scalp.
“I haven’t taken a scalp in…oh, probably five hundred years,” he said, his voice deadly calm. “But I imagine it’s like riding a bicycle. I’m sure it will all come back to me.”
Leon screamed as Hunter moved to press the blade into his hairline.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…wait!”
Hunter lifted his eyes to hers. “Yes, love?”
“You can’t really mean to…” she gulped “…scalp him, can you?” Here? On her white carpet?
“Yes. It won’t kill him, if that’s what you’re worried about. At least, not if I do it right.”
Leon started to whimper, but Hunter merely kept his stoic expression firmly in place. She lifted a brow at him, and he winked at her.
She let out a relieved breath. Jesus. He wasn’t going to scalp Leon. He was just really, really good at playing bad cop.
“Leon,” she said, injecting a note of panic into her voice, “you better agree to help Harper. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep him from hurting you.”
Leon immediately stopped sniveling and blinked at her. “Harper? Harper Hall? The Harper Hall? You need the antidote for her?”
“Yeah. Does that make a difference?”
His eyes went wide. “Shit yeah, it makes a difference. I remember when she would come visit you at TEV.” He shuddered as if chilled and grinned in a way that made Mischa cringe. God only knew what kind of perverted little fantasies were rolling around in that giant cranium of his.
“Harper is hot,” Leon added. He turned to Hunter. “She looks like Seven of Nine only with darker, curly hair, you know?”
Hunter glanced at her, one brow raised and she shook her head, silently telling him it wasn’t worth his time trying to figure out the inner workings of a sci-fi geek’s brain. He was an ancient vampire, for God’s sake. He certainly didn’t need to know anything about Star Trek: Voyager.
Hell, Mischa was a little ashamed to admit she knew anything about it.
Leon looked back at Mischa. “If I can get the antidote, will you introduce me to her?”
Hunter let go of Leon’s hair, looking a little disappointed that his knife would no longer be necessary.
Mischa shrugged, but cringed inwardly at the thought of having to introduce Harper to this little loser. Knowing Harper, she’d be nice to him, which would supply him with material for his spank bank for the rest of the year. He soooo didn’t deserve that. But what choice did she really have at this point? Letting Hunter scalp him wasn’t really a great option, either.
“Sure.” She shook her head, feeling elated and a little defeated all at the same time. “I’ll introduce you. But I’m not letting you cut a lock of her hair or anything, you little perv.”
His expression was positively gleeful, especially considering he’d looked ready to vomit only a few moments ago. “Great. Now, untie me and take me to Dresden Labs.”
“It’s as easy as that?” Hunter asked. “All you need to cure Harper can be found in the lab?”
Leon shot him a condescending, scornful glare. “Well, no, Dances with Wolves, it’s considerably more complicated than that. But fortunately for Harper, I’m the brains of this operation and not you.”
Hunter leaned forward, fist raised, then eased back and smiled when Leon huddled down in his chair, eyes squeezed shut, bracing for a punch. Mischa couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, which ended in an unladylike snort. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but Hunter captured it and pressed a quick kiss to her fingers.
“Don’t ever hide from me,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing about you that isn’t beautiful.”
Her knees threatened to give out. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He gave her a short, old-fashioned bow—along with a not-at-all old-fashioned, sexy-as-all-hell half smile that would probably be forever branded on her brain.
Leon glanced between them. “I would’ve sworn you were a lesbian,” he eventually said to Mischa.
She didn’t take her eyes off Hunter as she muttered in reply, “Everything in my life would be so much easier if I was. You have no idea, Leon.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Arena was built under a casino somewhere on the Strip. Riddick had no idea which casino, because they’d been blindfolded and driven around in circles for a good half hour before they’d been shoved into a locker room where the Vrykolakas’s fighters were preparing for battle.
“Sit down, Harper,” Romeo hissed at her as he taped Riddick’s hands. “You’re supposed to be an owner, not a nervous girlfriend. You look ridiculous bouncing around biting your nails like that.”
Harper shot him a withering glare and took a seat next to Riddick. He smiled at her, doing his best to project nothing but calm energy. “It’s going to be all right. Don’t worry.”
She smiled back at him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Tell me about what’s going to happen,” she said to Romeo.
Romeo frowned at her. “Are you gettin’ senile in your old age, Harpy? I’ve told you a hundred times.”
“Maybe hearing your voice calms me,” she said with unbridled sarcasm. “And give me your phone while you tell me.”
His brow furrowed, but he handed her the phone. She typed out a quick text as he gave her the basics of what was going to happen in the Arena.
“The Lykoi never pit their best fighters against a newbie, no matter what that newbie’s background or race is. So, Riddick’s first fight will be with one of the scrubs—someone who hasn’t proven himself as a fighter.”
He wrapped another length of tape around Riddick’s left hand. “The fight will last ten minutes, or until one of the fighters is unconscious.”
Harper started biting her nails again at the word unconscious.
“You never went over the rules,” Riddick said.
Romeo stopped taping and met his eyes. “That’s because there aren’t any.”
Shit. Harper wasn’t going to like that.
The look she shot Romeo was incredulous and furious and threatening all in one. He’d never met anyone in his life who could pull off a look like that.
God, she was amazing.
“No rules at all?” she said in a low, controlled voice that—Riddick knew—meant she was barely keeping her temper in check. “So, kicks to the groin and biting and breaking bones…that would all be legal?”
Romeo nodded. “Encouraged even.”
Harper shook her head, mumbling something he didn’t quite catch under her breath as she typed out another text.
“No way for anyone to get weapons in?” he asked Romeo.
He shook his head. “You’ll be scanned before you go in. The crowd is checked, too. Someone once snuck in a shiv that wasn’t made of metal, but they made an example out of that guy. It won’t happen again.”
Harper looked up from the phone. “Did they make an example out of him before or after he killed his opponent with that shiv?”
Romeo averted his eyes and went back to taping Riddick’s hand, his silence answering Harper’s question better than words could.
“That’s just great,” she grumbled. “I swear to God, Romeo, if we all live through this, I will make it my life’s mission to fuck with every little bit of your life and ensure you never know a moment of peace. Mark my words, dickhead. You will suffer.”
The phone beeped, indicating an incoming text. She glanced down at the phone and smiled an evil smile that reminded Riddick of the Grinch cartoon Harper made him watch at Christmas. “And let the suffering begin,” she s
aid.
She tossed the phone to Romeo who caught it, glancing at the screen. He tipped the screen upside down, looking confused. “What is this?”
“That’s my cousin. She always had a crush on you, so I texted her and told her you were single. That photo is her reply.”
He still looked confused. “So, what is this supposed to…”
Suddenly, absolute horror dawned on his expression, and he dropped the phone with a screech, sounding like a little girl who’d just seen a big hairy spider.
“Looks like she bought a thong,” Harper said matter-of-factly. “She’s real flexible now that she’s been doing yoga twice a week.”
Romeo pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Sweet Christ, I need to bleach my brain.”
And with that, he turned on his heel and left the locker room.
“Your cousin sent him a nearly naked picture of herself?” Riddick asked.
“Yep.”
“Which cousin?”
“The smoker with the skin like a handbag. The one you call Skeletor. The one that groped your ass at the last family dinner.”
He grinned. “Nice.”
She smirked. “I thought so. Tomorrow I sign him up for free samples of every erectile dysfunction drug and adult diaper I can find.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side.”
“I wish I could do more, but petty torments are really all I have for him right now.” Her smile faded as she shifted so that she was sitting on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her forehead on his. “Promise me you’re going to be fine,” she said quietly.
“I promise,” he answered instantly.
Which would be great, except both of them knew damn good and well he could promise her no such thing.
Chapter Eighteen
The Arena itself appeared to be built by the same crew who recreated the Coliseum for the movie Gladiator. The space was huge and open with a sand and dirt floor. There were enough harsh fluorescent lights overhead that Harper was pretty sure she’d get a tan if the fight lasted the full ten minutes.
Harper Hall Investigations Complete Series Page 32