The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  He took that crap from her? I’d heard of warlocks enthralled by other beings more powerful than themselves, but had thought that was an urban myth.

  Bran spoke again, “And if I want them to buy the clothes based on the design, the textures, the care and attention I put into every piece? Is that too much to ask?”

  Okay, so maybe all was not well in paradise. There was a sharpness to Bran’s words that would have had me backing up a step, or raising a quick deflection spell to defend myself. So if he was bespelled he wasn’t hiding it in his tone. What the heck was going on around here?

  Dominique’s tone sharpened. “These women are cows. They must be led to water, or hay or whatever they feed cows.”

  “Now I’m cow fodder?” Bran replied.

  “Don’t take this so personally, darling. This is simply business. You trust my business sense, do you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do as I ask.”

  More silence. A weighted one. I used my fingers to press the listening device deeper into my ear, my breath held, to see what he would do. Tiger in the den—managed by his cousin or ready to snap?

  “Go on now,” she shooed. “Make nice.”

  I could hear movement. Waited.

  When his voice came it sounded resigned and far away. Probably near the door. “I’m thinking of canceling future trunk shows. I think we have enough name recognition to do just Milan and New York once a year.”

  Take that manipulating bitch! I wanted to high five him, especially as I could hear her struggle to reign in temper beneath her words.

  “But we have contracts, commitments.”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” he said, then the door opened and closed, not with a bang but with controlled silence.

  Interesting? It was obvious that the cousins worked as a team, but not all was easy between them. I knew I butted heads with my brothers, still did now, but no matter how much we goaded or pushed at one another, there was always caring beneath our words. I wasn’t hearing that between Bran and Dominique. So what did that mean? Familial dysfunction or something more?

  I was just ready to remove the earpiece and return to the house, assuming the fireworks were over, when I heard Dominique’s voice again. Loud and clear and sharp enough to snip through metal.

  “St. Clair here.”

  So Dominique hadn’t left Bran’s office. Must be a phone call as I couldn’t hear any other voices enter the room and the phone must have been on vibrate as there’d been no telltale ring.

  “There were complications,” she said, with barely schooled composure in her voice. I wonder what she meant?

  A pause, as if she hesitated or was listening. “Nothing I can’t handle. We proceed as planned.”

  Back to business tone.

  “Explain?” she snapped the word.

  Crap, what I wouldn’t give to hear the other end of the conversation.

  “But we’ve had—” A sudden silence, followed by Dominique speaking in a different tone. One more conciliatory. Or afraid. “What kind of test?”

  I wondered if the agency could tap Dominique’s cell phone? Something was going down here and I wasn’t getting enough intel.

  “I need lead time to make plans, you know that.”

  Crap. Crap. Crap. What test? What plans? Was this about the thefts? Or something else?

  More silence until she asked sweetly, too sweetly, “What kind of problem?”

  I found myself bracing against the danger beneath Dominique’s voice. Then she asked, “Who?”

  Followed by a mirthless laugh. “What do you mean he’s not cooperating? He’s trained to resist but all beings can be broken, even shifters.”

  Van? Could she mean Van?

  My heart kick-started as my breath stalled.

  “They’ll never find him,” she said. “I’ll make sure they don’t.”

  Then she swore. One short, pithy phrase I’d heard a thousand times except this time it made my blood freeze.

  The door to the room opened and closed.

  Then nothing.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Of course she didn’t mention Van by name, but I know that’s who Dominique was talking about,” I repeated in the secure call I made to Mandy, my stuck-in-a-hospital-bed-because-I-put-her-there handler on this mission. After Dominique’s call, I skipped eating to make a quick check-in to the IR headquarters, feeling the situation had taken a dramatic turn. While at the same time all I had were bits and pieces of what that turn meant, and who was the driving force.

  I stood far enough from the house to have a measure of privacy, keeping my voice low just in case. “It was the tone of what she said.”

  “Yeah, right, that’s going to go over big in a report to Stone and Ling Mai,” Mandy replied, “The witch has a hunch.”

  It so was a good thing there was a whole Atlantic Ocean between us right then.

  I snarled, “Would it be too much to ask to get a trace on Dominique’s phone?”

  “Get me the number and I’ll pass it along.”

  “Would you like me to borrow the cell and send it to you, too?” My tone was so saccharine sweet I’m surprised Mandy didn’t go into diabetic shock.

  “No, that’s okay. Just the number,” came her whiplash response, just as syrupy and insincere.

  And Stone wanted us to work as a team. Bull pucky.

  I held my phone away from my ear, not sure if strangling it was going to help my tension level at all.

  “Listen, Chiquita,” I enunciated every syllable. “If you can’t handle being my go-between, I can send a request direct to Ling Mai and ask for someone a little more competent. Like say the janitor?”

  “Keep in mind, witch, who sees Ling Mai every day before you start huffing threats around.”

  Damn and double damn, she was right. She was there, with Ling Mai’s ear, and I was here, isolated and vulnerable.

  On the other hand, I had a very good memory and I would not be in France forever.

  It took every ounce of control I had to keep my voice level as I repeated. “Have someone get that phone tapped. The number should be available from your end.”

  “Yeah, work, work, work.” Mandy released a huge sigh before shifting the conversation, “You met hubba-hubba hunk guy yet?”

  Bran.

  “Yup.” Tread warily around Mandy, no telling how she could translate the least hint of hesitation on my part. Hesitation or caution.

  “And?”

  I glanced around, only a small cluster of ladies sipping wine near the pool, peacocks mingled amongst them. “He’s a warlock of some kind, but I need to know what kind.”

  “I thought witches could tell that kind of crap?”

  This assignment was getting harder and harder by the second.

  “Fine, I’m not getting enough intel to determine what that means.” Except for it being bad news for a witch, but no way was I telling Mandy that tidbit. “Any way I can get some other clue as to what Bran is or isn’t?”

  “How the hell are we supposed to know here. You’re the one on site, with all the fancy woo-woo abilities. Can’t you cast a spell or something?”

  In spite of Ling Mai’s direct orders to practice my magic at every chance I got, she had no idea how volatile magic was, or how easy it was to slide down to the dark side of it. A simple warding spell here, a summoning spell there and pretty soon you were using magic for all the wrong reasons.

  But there was another issue. “Last thing I want to do is alert Bran to my abilities. That’s like giving him a green light to usurp them if he’s that kind of a warlock.”

  Mandy laughed, as if she enjoyed my being in the hot seat. “I’d think that stirring him up, up close and personal like would be a perk.”

  “Bran’s about as friendly as a polecat in heat.”

  “Oh.” I could have sworn Mandy snorted, but her voice was level as she asked, “You want me to report that verbatim to Ling Mai?”

  Not in this life.
“Let’s just say he’s aloof, very controlled, and better looking in real life.”

  I so did not say that last part. Not aloud.

  “Poor girl.” Mandy obviously wasn’t feeling my pain. Oh yeah, this gig was a barrel of laughs. “Hang in there, witch, it’s only your first day.”

  From Mandy it was meant as a bitch-slap, and it stung.

  “Any specifics Ling Mai wants ferreted out? Besides what I’ve already found?” I asked, back on task, and already second-guessing myself.

  “We have a list of models etcetera but you’re to get fingerprints from everyone in the group to cross reference against what Interpol gave us.”

  Sure, nothing like a small task. A dozen sets of fingerprints, taken surreptitiously, while living and working in utter mayhem—piece of cake.

  “Ah, Mandy, you know of any non-humans who can be beautiful, ice cold, and lethal?” There was something about Dominique St. Clair.

  “Figure it out yourself, witch. That’s what you’re there for.”

  Damn she was a PIA. “Let me rephrase. If I get you some specifics about a non-human’s attributes you think you could be bothered to dig up some info that will help me identify her? If she was a run of the mill non-human I’d have pegged her by now.” Which was stretching the truth, but no way was I giving Mandy any more ammunition to shoot me down.

  “Who is it?” she asked, though I doubt she realized how much curiosity she revealed in her tone.“Bran’s cousin—”

  “That Dominique woman?”

  As if Bran had a dozen cousins hanging around. “That’d be the one. Something not a hundred percent about her. I got a hit off my ring but fat lot of good that does.” I glanced around, making sure no one had walked up anywhere near me. “Anything I can do to make her show her true colors?”

  “Have you tried pissing her off? You should be good at that,” came Mandy’s not-so-helpful advice.

  On second thought, that might not be a bad idea. Dangerous, but a sure fire way to find out. Most non-humans, like humans, showed their truest personalities while under duress.

  “Alex?” Mandy’s voice poked me.

  “What?”

  “You know that was a joke,” she sounded unsure, like I’d felt when unleashing three echo-demons instead of one.

  “Joke or not, it might work.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Mandy’s tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t you listen to any of Fassbinder’s lectures?”

  Mandy was talking about the IR instructor tasked with teaching our so-called team what was known, and not known, about the creatures walking among humans; heavy emphasis on the unknown. Growing up in a household of shifters I had more experience than the rest of the group with non-human contact, but let’s face it, Mud Lake, Idaho wasn’t a hot bed of non-human activity. Shifters, the periodic Weres, a vamp or two that wandered by on the way to Seattle, but not a lot else. I saw a pixie once, but it was suffering from dementia so I don’t think it counted as a good example of how all pixies acted.

  I shook my head, as if Mandy could see me. “Fraulein Fassbinder has that stupid lisp on top of her German accent and every other phrase out of her mouth was, ‘We think but don’t know for sure.’”

  Mandy released a sigh on the other end of the connection. At last there might be something we agreed on. “There was that, but Fassbinder knows her mythology.”

  “Fine, so if I screw up things go wrong,” I admitted, mentally bitch-slapping myself for telling Mandy too much. “Just give me the condensed version of why I shouldn’t poke at a potential fae, or fallen angel, or whatever the heck St. Clair is?”

  “Because most “others” only reveal themselves when they feel threatened.”

  Wasn’t that the point? I might be wiped out, but I wasn’t dumb. “As in when they turn dangerous.”

  “And deadly.”

  Well crap, there was that. “Why don’t I just ask her what she is, would that help?” I asked, my turn at a snide joke.

  “You do that.”

  And just like that Mandy took all my fun away.

  “Fine. Anything else I should know in the meantime?” I asked, only partially tongue in cheek.

  “No.” She paused, then added, “You do know that Bran being a warlock makes this a whole new ball game.”

  As if I hadn’t already figured that out, but damn, I didn’t want Mandy to realize it so quickly either. The agency knew that witches were vulnerable to warlocks and as soon as Ling Mai got the report she’d pull me out so fast my head would levitate. Time to shift Mandy’s attention.

  “Look, Mandy,” I paused. A Noziak asking for help didn’t come easy, even if the request was half ploy. A Noziak asking for help from Mandy might be a very bad idea. She could hang me out to flutter in the wind, or screw up my request, which could put me in more danger, not less.

  “Yeah?”

  I fingered the ring Ling Mai had given me. Its coolness seemed to help as did hearing Ling Mai’s voice saying, “Remember, you’re part of a team and you have abilities to hone. Do so and you could be unstoppable.”

  “You need something?” Mandy prodded, for once not sounding snippy.

  “Yeah.” I released a sigh. “With St. Clair’s phone conversation, I’m thinking I need more backup here.”

  This time it was Mandy who went silent, no doubt in shock because I’d even asked. Heck, I was in shock.

  “I’ll tell Ling Mai, but you know she’ll yank you out. You’ve already screwed the mission just by being an incompetent witch, now you’re asking for help?” came the withering response. So much for a hell, yes, we’ll cover your six.

  Best to act as if I were a lone witch, which I was until I got yanked from the mission. The clock was ticking.

  “I’ll get the prints to you as soon as I can find a means,” I said. “Out.”

  I didn’t return to the staging room inside the chateau immediately, though. Instead I stood looking beyond the lavender fields, a row of poplar trees framing the fading cerulean sky. I scanned the house, mellow golden in the early evening twilight. A quick glance picked out Bran standing amongst a flock of French matrons. His shoulders looked rigid, but that could be a trick of the light.

  Was he involved with Van’s disappearance? If so why allow an agent in his midst to poke around? Unless he figured a measly hairdresser from a small agency was no threat at all. What was that expression? Keep your friends close but your enemies closer. And by keeping me on a tight leash within his sphere of power he no doubt thought he could neutralize any damage to him.

  “Think again, big guy,” I whispered aloud. “Think again.”

  If Big-Shot, single-name warlock Bran thought he was safe, he was wrong. And if Miss-I’m-Too-Good-For-You cousin believed the same thing, she was wrong, too.

  Very wrong.

  I didn’t want to be here, but I was; and right now I was probably the only chance of finding out what the hell this group was up to. And I’d better do it quick, before I was ordered out. Like I was planning on following those orders. The second I left this Bran bunch, Van’s life expectancy plummeted.

  No matter who was involved, or what they were involved in, or who I had to take down in the process, I was staying, with or more likely without my team’s backing.

  Hone your abilities.

  Maybe Ling Mai was giving me more than a pep talk. Start with small spells and work my way up. Do no harm to others and I should be okay. With hope.

  One last glance at Bran and I headed toward the house. First things first. Find some grub. Even peons were allowed to eat.

  Then I’d get to work. The sooner I found the puppet master and thief, the sooner I could focus one hundred percent on finding Van. So help any of these people if they were involved in that.

  I loved it when life was black and white.

  CHAPTER 14

  I clenched my frosting pick and wondered if it’d be r
ude to jab it up a certain prancing man’s backside? Poor form, no doubt.

  “Chop chop, ladies, time’s a wasting.”

  Oh, it was so tempting.

  “New girl. Jade needs more oomph with her bangs.”

  I was not a miracle worker. I couldn’t manufacture bangs where there were none to begin with. Not in seventeen seconds.

  “You want me to cut some from back here?” I fisted my hand in a hank of hair along Jade’s neck. “And glue them on her forehead?” I asked sweetly. Too sweetly. My brothers would know to tap dance around me with that tone. Mr. Chop-Chop was about to learn.

  He spread his hands like a flock of pigeons taking flight. “It’s your job, not mine. Must I do everything around here?” He flounced off before I could respond—or use the frosting pick.

  A shame.

  “The man is clueless,” Collette murmured behind me, changing into a frothy gown of diaphanous pink and orange. A color combo I’d never consider going together, but on the dark-haired woman it looked sharp and sassy.

  As I spritzed Jade’s hair, sans bangs, I asked, “Is he always this . . .”

  “Big a pain in the ass?”

  “Impossible?”

  “Cruising for a bruising?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that about sums it up.” I handed Jade a jar of gel, making sure I handled only the top and bottom as I passed it to the model. “Can you hold this?”

  Jade nodded, planting a full set of prints around the container. “He wasn’t always this bad,” she offered to a series of head shakings and groans. “No, I mean it. Four months ago, when he started out, he was actually kind of shy.”

  Interesting. Not the shy part, I didn’t believe that for a moment, but the fact the man hadn’t been with the group long. Since the thefts had gone on for at least a year, that let Chop-Chop off the hook.

  Too bad, I’d have loved to use cuffs on the guy and not in a sexy, let’s-have-some-fun way.

  I nudged the conversation in the direction I wanted it to move. “Hasn’t the show been on the road for some time? I figured everyone’s been with the group since they began. You all seem very comfortable with each other.”