The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

  Oh, yeah, Bride of Frankenstein was sounding better and better all the time.

  “Fine.” I set the jar down, reminding myself I loved a challenge, even an obnoxious one.

  Before I could formulate Plan B, though, the assistant called my name.

  I looked at Suzette, who was everything a good assistant needed to be: quiet, efficient, ruthlessly competent, and nearly invisible, even as she smiled at me and gave a shrug of her shoulders. She stood less than five feet tall, but made a good ally here on the yacht. Ling Mai should nab her for the agency, she was a natural for not attracting attention.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Mademoiselle St. Clair would like to see you later. In her private rooms.”

  Ugh. Dragon Lady in close quarters. The day just kept getting better and better. But maybe I could get more intel on what she was or what she was up to.

  “What time and where exactly?”

  “When the last models are done. Her suite is in the fore of the lower level, across from Bran’s.”

  Yeah, like I’d know where Bran slept.

  So do not go there with the images. I was thinking business. His personal space would be the best chance to discover secrets. Like me, I doubt he was able to use many warding spells on this boat. There were too many people in and out of every room, except for this evening when all staff and guests were to be off the premises. Bran had ordered some down time for everyone. And if Dragon Lady wanted to see me all the better for being on board and doing some snooping.

  “Thanks, Suzette, I’ll be there.” I returned my focus to Sasha’s hair, surprised when the other woman spoke.

  “You know Dominique well?”

  So the brat could play nice? Or wanted something? But what?

  “No, I don’t know her at all.” Nor did I want to, but I swallowed those words.

  “But she’s asking you to her private rooms?”

  Probably wanted to can me, but I wasn’t going to voice that thought either. Besides, she’d need to stand in line. “I’m sure she has to run all the business issues out of her private suite.”

  “Oh, that makes sense. I haven’t been to the fore of the yacht.”

  Nice and chatty all of a sudden, I noted, slicking some firming gel along the nape of Sasha’s head. But who was I to pass up a gift when given. “No, neither have I. In fact I’m not even sure I know where the fore part of the boat is.”

  “In the front. Down the set of stairs marked private.” Sasha stiffened beneath my hands, then relaxed.

  Slipped up there, lady. For someone seemingly in the dark about where the most private of rooms were, she’d answered far too quickly. Especially since we hadn’t been on the yacht more than a few hours. A few very long hours where I’d done nothing but work, and work some more, ticking off the minutes without word on my fate or Van’s.

  Sasha added, “I’m sure you can find a steward or crew member to direct you.”

  “Good idea.” I finished smoothing the model’s hair. I’d have to wait till later to get the fingerprints. “There, that should do you. Next.”

  As if I’d gouged her with a curling iron, Sasha bolted.

  More and more interesting, but there was no time to consider the nuances as the next model was already waiting.

  Later, much later, after I put away the last of my products, I glanced at my battered, bought in fifth-grade watch that still worked just fine for me and remembered I was supposed to report to Dominique.

  I tugged off my smock, and wondered if I should change before facing the woman. Not that I had a suit of armor on hand—the only thing that sounded remotely appropriate. On the other hand I did have another one of those nifty listening devices. I should have thought about that earlier and bugged Dominique’s room before this.

  I shook off my nerves as I tightened and released my hands several times. After all, what could the woman possibly do to me?

  CHAPTER 23

  Walking through hushed carpeted hallways, on a boat for land’s sake, it was the calm hour after the day’s “official” work was completed. It seemed eerily quiet after being used to the evening’s “unofficial” work beginning about now. Some nights formal dinners were given. Other nights held more of a party atmosphere, often lasting till dawn’s light. Except tonight there would be no work, which made the boat more deserted and spooky.

  If I could get some solid intel to deliver to Ling Mai she might not nix me.

  Right. Who’d want to retain a half witch/half shaman who botched all but the simplest spells and threatened to screw up my first, and only, solo mission. Ling Mai wasn’t running a halfway house for other-tainted women. Her attitude was produce or prison.

  Focus on the job.

  After Collette’s earlier words, I realized there was probably more business, and more information exchanged in the night hours than during the day’s events. Something my role as support staff kept me isolated. No one invited the hairdresser to mingle with the guests.

  At least not yet. And if I was lucky, I could get what I came for without wading into that world too deeply.

  With only two false turns, I reached the fore compartment area, mentally cursing boat lingo that made no sense. Why couldn’t the crew just say left instead of port? Who made up this stuff anyway?

  Focus. Keep your mind on the mission and the next step.

  Don’t waste an opportunity to try and figure out exactly what species Dominique was and squeeze some useful intel out of Dragon Lady, no matter what her agenda. Yeah, right, like Dominique would want to socialize with the hired help enough to spill any clues; but I could always hope.

  Maybe Bran then? That should be as easy as keeping a match lit in a snowstorm. Start with a simple, hey, I need to pry into even more of your life?

  Or maybe—want a date, warlock?

  Like that would ever happen.

  I’d figure out the approach later, as in when I found my backbone and could keep my stupid thought process on track. Think Van. He needed my attention and my help. Nothing else mattered.

  I paused, aware of the listening device in my sweaty palm, as I raised my hand to knock on the teak door of Dominique’s room. That’s when I heard the voices on the other side. Voices thundering in an argument.

  Bran was one of them. Funny how I could pinpoint his voice first. The other? It sounded like Dominique, but not the cool, controlled woman I’d met last week. This woman was pissed.

  “What do you mean? I have always handled operations. Now you’re hiring this person here, letting Franco hire over there, are you crazy?”

  “It’s nothing, Dom. We needed help, you’ve been busy. Enough.”

  “No, it’s not enough. Have I not made you?”

  Silence.

  I lowered my hand: partly out of duty, there was more to learn from eavesdropping than not, partly because of the tone of both the voices—Dominique’s frenzied anger and Bran’s lower and deeper tone, as inflexible as forged metal. I’d hate to go up against that voice, but Dominique didn’t seem to mind.

  Did she know what Bran was? Tweaking a warlock was not a smart idea. But maybe she felt family ties kept her safe. I’d never felt fear around my shifter brothers, well, except for that one time, but that didn’t mean I treated other shifters as if they were pussycats and teddy bears.

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” It was Bran’s voice again but colder. I shivered in the hallway as he continued. “But the new women stay.”

  “They stay if I say they stay,” Dragon Lady snarled.

  “No, Dom, it’s my company, or are you forgetting that?”

  Ouch.

  “I’m forgetting nothing. Not all the effort I’ve put into making you what you are. Not the fact I sided with you against the family.”

  “Don’t go there, Dom.”

  “Why? Because you don’t want to hear the truth? I’m what made you and now you think you can handle operations without me? Think again. You’re nothing without me.”
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br />   The woman wasn’t pulling any punches. I was flinching and I had the door between her and me. In fact, I was thinking it might be safer if I slunk away, except I was here to learn what I could. Hiding someplace safe wasn’t going to help Van.

  “You’re upset. Not thinking rationally. I’m doing everything in my power to protect you.”

  Now what did he mean by that?

  Dom didn’t answer as Bran added, “We’ll talk later.”

  Too late I realized Bran was directly opposite me on the other side of the door. The same door that swung open—right in my face just as I raised my fist as if ready to rat a tat-tat.

  I staggered back as Bran slammed against me, a wall of enraged muscle and heat. He grabbed my upper arms in a steel grip, hard enough to leave bruises. His emotions swirled around me. Anger. Betrayal. A sadness so deep it felt bottomless.

  I hadn’t crossed paths with him much since arriving on the boat, too wary to trust the vibes between us. In a flash, that changed.

  One second I was an interloper, now I was caught in the vortex of a volcano. A hot, angry, barely controlled volcano with a name—Bran—staring down at me, his nostrils flared, the skin of his face taut, his body strained against mine, chest-to-chest, thigh-to-thigh. If I could breathe, I would, but not while he glared down at me, and I wasn’t a small woman.

  I doubted he even saw me until I managed to clear my closed throat. “I . . .I have a meeting with Dominique.”

  I’m not the target.

  The haze in his blue, blue eyes shifted, cleared a bit. His grip released. I barely caught myself from falling backwards. But I was thankful. Touching him was too much, like brushing up against uncontrolled heat lightning: emotions—fear, concern, anger, and yes, lust.

  He shuddered, the movement of a man hanging onto his control by a thread.

  Being raised around brothers with tempers, I recognized the symptoms. Being raised around shifters with tempers made me extra wary. I gingerly altered my stance, the instinctual response of a smart animal in the path of an enraged predator.

  Bran said nothing. Not that I expected him to, in fact I wanted just the opposite. From the scrap of conversation I’d just overheard it was patently clear that I was one of the women under discussion. My presence, and the fact I hadn’t been hired by Dominique, had precipitated the argument, and it was a doozy. I knew why Bran had no choice but to have me on staff, but it was obvious he wasn’t sharing the info with the closest person in his world—his cousin.

  That answered at least one question; he was holding my operation as a tightly-guarded secret. But that also raised another. Why didn’t he trust his cousin? He said he was protecting her. Who from? From me?

  That sounded more like what I’d heard about Bran, but it also made him more of a loner and isolated than I’d originally thought. A man with everything, and nothing, estranged from the one person he had history with, denied him even as his world was under attack.

  That split realization made my heart ache.

  I raised one hand, an automatic gesture of comfort at odds with the man before me. But one didn’t pet a wounded lion, or pat a leashed tiger on the paw.

  His eyes narrowed and I stayed my hand, swallowing deeply and letting it slide slowly back to my side.

  I did possess some semblance of self-preservation. Not much, but a little.

  He stepped around me, disappearing into the room directly opposite, taking all the air in the hallway with him.

  Get a grip.

  I jerked my gaze back from his door, closed not loudly but silently, a move speaking of control. But I hadn’t come to see Bran; I’d come to talk with Dominique.

  Who even now waited beyond her open door.

  Oh, well, when in doubt, fake it.

  I stepped toward the door and cleared my throat, which after touching Bran was needed. I spoke to Dominique’s back. A very rigid back sheathed in a business-like silk suit of blood red. It fit the woman like second skin. “Hello? I can come back later if now’s a bad time.”

  Understatement.

  When no answer came, I stepped farther into the room, aware of two things. The first, my ring was burning my skin as if just branded, and second, moving forward now might reveal what Dominique was as well as how she might be involved in the thefts. Damn, I wanted to blame them on her and get the hell out of here. “You asked for me?”

  So this was how Daniel felt, edging into the lion’s den; only Dominique was not a lion, not when she turned around in a very sinewy, very precise motion. She was more a snake. Smooth, calculated, and deadly. A cobra or viper, not a common rattler like I’d faced as a youngster in the sagebrush-and-sand landscape of my childhood.

  If I hadn’t just heard the argument and felt the fury coursing through Bran, I’d never have known the woman before me had just sliced and diced another with her words. Dangerous in her own way, Dominique was all poise, smiling even, though it was a cold smile, and well-trained. All my senses screamed wariness for this was a non-human.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were there,” she purred.

  I didn’t believe her for a nanosecond. My neck muscles locked so tight they ached as I kept my attention one hundred percent on the threat in front of me.

  “Come in, please.” Dominique waved to the center of the room. “And close the door behind you.”

  Walking into a closed room with a predator was stupid and my daddy hadn’t raised stupid. But if I missed out in the grace and poise genes, I received double the tenacious and foolhardy ones; both helped me step forward, clicking the door shut behind me.

  “You wanted to see me?” I asked, aware of the quiver beneath my words as the other woman remained silent. Silent but very much aware, as her gaze, calculating and shrewd, sized me up.

  One on one? In mud wrestling or street-fighting I could take her no problem. If I figured out what she was. But I doubted this woman ever got that kind of dirty.

  Stop looking with your eyes, Ms. Noziak, Fraulein Fassbinder had lisped, look with all of your senses to determine what you are facing. They expect you to see what they want you to see, but you must be smarter than they are.

  So what was I seeing? Or not seeing. The air smelled of cinnamon and. . . sandalwood. Thick with the scent, under-layered with seething emotions. And, when I glanced at Dominique obliquely were her eyes rimmed in green? Yeah, a thick freaky green glow outlined her dark brown eyes. And her skin? Did it slip a little? As if she were having a hard time keeping it in place? Or was fighting to keep from morphing?

  Please, Jude the Apostle, patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes, make Dominique a benign creature. Not that she looked benign at all.

  My gut screamed warning signals, as were the fine hairs on the back of my neck. Walk warily around this one, very, very warily, no matter how calm and reasonable her tone.

  “I just thought we should talk.” Dominique crossed to a side table displaying cut-glass decanters. I was happy that her move created a few more feet of space between us while still leaving me closer to the door. “Get to know each other a little better.”

  What game was she playing?

  “Do you want my resume?” I asked, not trying to be stupid, then wanting to kick myself as I watched the woman’s hands clutch the crystal stopper too tightly.

  Smooth. Try for placating instead of confrontational next time.

  “Oh, nothing so worthless.” An empty glass was raised. I shook my head in the negative, so she continued. “I’m sure there’s so much more to you than words on a page.”

  What the heck did that mean? This was not the kind of woman to get chummy with the hired help. Had she discovered something about my mission? Not from Bran, if that argument was a clue, but could he have slipped up somewhere and exposed me as an agent?

  Not good.

  Never one for the slow pussyfoot approach, I asked, “So what is it you want to know about me?”

  One perfectly groomed dark brow shifted upward, but Dominique took
a slow, measured drink of amber liquid before asking. “Why here? Are you not a long way from Montana or wherever it is you come from?”

  The wrong home state told me two things. One, that the woman had done some fact checking of her own, and two, that the error was probably an intentional dig. This wasn’t a woman who let details slide.

  “I’m from Idaho, not Montana, and why not here? Travel. Exotic locations. Good pay and great scenery. It’s a perfect job.”

  “I think you are not a stupid woman, Miss Noziak.”

  Backhanded compliment, delivered with just the right amount of bite. Slick job and very snake-like.

  “Is there something in particular you want from me, Ms. St. Clair?” Other than blood. But then two could play bared-fangs, as long as Dominique stayed in her human form. If she shifted I was out of here. The simple wards I kept about my person, amethyst and amber, would never stop her, or even slow her down. They’d probably give her a quick buzz and enrage her. So vamoosing was a good plan, if I lived to get out. I lowered my voice, even as I pushed back, “Or are we on a fishing expedition?”

  Keep the tone quiet. Not subservient, because I couldn’t do that, but fangs retracted.

  The idiom had the woman’s eyes narrowing. “I do not fish. I run this company, and as such, you answer to me.”

  Now we were getting somewhere.

  “I understand that.” I spread my hands in a supplicating manner. “Are you unhappy with my work?”

  “It is adequate.”

  Rousing endorsement.

  “Then have I done something else to displease you?”

  “I am being, how do you Americans say it?—proactive, this is all.”

  And if I believed that I didn’t deserve to be an agent. Something was driving this woman enough to pitch her hissy fit with Bran and call me on the carpet. But what? Something had happened to trigger this sudden interrogation.

  Once, when I was about seven, my brother Van and I stumbled across a mama black bear with two little cubs. Me, being too young to know better, lunged toward the cute furry animals, but Van had grabbed my arm so hard I’d squeaked. I didn’t have to listen to his words because I felt his fear, even though he wasn’t showing any. Just the opposite, he was all calm control. We’d backed, slowly and carefully, away from that encounter and right now I felt that same holy terror dancing along my nerves.