The Perfect Ten Boxed Set

by Dianna Love

“She is.”

  “But is that wise?”

  “She found the body, Dom. The gendarmes insist she stay.” Bran gave a deep sigh as he added. “She didn’t kill Sasha.”

  “Says who?”

  Whoa, Dragon Lady. No one calls me a killer. Not to my face.

  I stepped forward, my fists balled. “Says me.” I ached to ask a dozen unspoken questions. Where were you between the time I left your room and found Sasha? The spa was only down the hallway from your suite. Plenty of time to nip in and nip out.

  Dominique released a snarl of outrage. She glanced at Bran. “She can’t talk to me in that tone. It’s insubordinate.”

  Like she was playing nice and I was the playground bully?

  I noted Dragon Lady hadn’t actually denied her implication that I was a killer, but she sure played the helpless female card well and Bran was sucking it up. No wonder he and I butted heads if he went for the damsel in distress type.

  “Ladies.” He stepped between us. “It’s been a very long night. Nothing will be served by taking shots at each other.”

  Oh, but it sure could clarify a few key points. A quick glance at Dominique confirmed my hunch that the other woman would have liked the chance to get a few licks in, too, but was willing to bide her time. Her smile was serpentine, her eyes pinpoints of calculation, with that suspicious green rim to them.

  A quick glance at my ring wasn’t necessary to know my preternatural alert device was red-hot against my skin. Good, a wakeup call. Focus on the mission.

  But Dominique’s voice was the real piece de resistance—from controlling woman-of-power to sulky-and-little-girl-helpless. I wanted to gag, but Bran didn’t bat an eyelash. What kind of world did he live in where women were so manipulative, flashing from hot to cold depending on what they wanted? Give me a good knock-’em-out fight any day to this crap.

  “Bran, dear, it’s been dreadful with all these…these law people dashing about.” Dominique shot me a telling glance indicating exactly who was at the root of the crisis. But I didn’t stick my tongue out, tempting as it was. “I’m almost prostrate.”

  I held back a snort, barely. I doubted Dominique was ever prostrated a day in her life, and now she was devastated over the death of someone she barely knew? Give me a break.

  Bran countered. “What do you need?”

  A good bitch slap? I bit my tongue. Vaughn would have been proud of me. Jaylene, on the other hand, would have been in Dominique’s face straightening out the wilted flower and I’d have paid good money to have watched.

  “I’m afraid there’s worse news.” Dominique gave a dramatic pause. The stage lost a consummate actress in this one.

  “What?” Bran asked, his tone wearier than moments ago. Yeah, what was worse than murder?

  Dominique grinned at me behind Bran’s back—a quick, sharp jab before tipping her chin up.

  But it wasn’t her attitude as much as her words that had me seeing red.

  “It’s her.” Dominique pointed right at me as if there were a lot of other females in the room. “She’s been arrested for murder once before.”

  Busted.

  CHAPTER 31

  Bran stood near the doorway, his hands thrust in his pockets, his face unreadable but tense. Dom flounced out of the room after dropping her bomb. Smart move, no need to clean up the blood. My blood.

  “Is that true?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I glanced at my curled fists, aware it was none of his business, also aware of the sharpness of my tone. I managed to blink back the dampness stinging my eyes before sharing, “My past has nothing to do with this.”

  Did his expression change or was it a play of shadows? He shifted, looking as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. At least I wasn’t the only one.

  But he’d never been at a loss before. Why now? Did he expect me to lash out and kill him, too?

  “I’m sorry.” His gaze rested on mine. “For this situation and your involvement in it.”

  I didn’t need nor want his pity. Not that I expected either but that thought helped steel my shoulders and my tone. “This involvement is my job.”

  He flinched. “Having your personal reputation smeared publically is part of your job?”

  “Not usually.” I shrugged, as if I dealt with this kind of crap daily. That was me—uber James Bond spy with no emotions. As if. I hadn’t been this tongue-tied with a guy since grade school; but I hadn’t expected this lack of response to Dom’s news from him. “As long as your cousin doesn’t broadcast my past to everyone this will be over soon.”

  “Will it?”

  Were we talking about my reputation or his now? Mine in shreds was one thing; his in shreds destroyed his world. One he’d carefully and methodically created. Was that why he seemed so on edge?

  Maybe one day Vaughn could give me some lessons in diplomacy because they would come in handy in these sort of awkward, tight moments. Tiptoeing around an issue wasn’t my style.

  “Is there another problem?” I asked point blank.

  His gaze shifted then returned, if anything more intense. “I’ve been thinking about what you said .”

  I scrubbed one hand across my face. When? Before death or after—before he discovered I’d killed someone or after? Or was he about to explain his cryptic Latin phrase?

  “I’m speaking about moving you beyond the back room.”

  “Oh.” That quickly my mouth dropped open, my hands re-curled and my mind went blank. Not a good thing for an operative, even one operating on no sleep and adrenaline.

  “That’s all you have to say? Oh?” The sudden tilt of his lips did it, broke through to me in a cold wash of reality. He hadn’t suggested anything, and here I was acting like a clueless ninny.

  Pull it together, Alex.

  “Fine.” I cleared my throat. “What do you have in mind?”

  The skin across his cheeks tightened as his breath quickened.

  I wasn’t imaging his reaction. Was I? Or my own?

  The clenching in my thigh muscles returned, as did the freefall sensation in my stomach.

  “Bran?” My use of his name sounded shaky, tasted strange on my tongue. It was harder to remain witch to warlock with his name wrapping around me. “If we’re going to work together, it’s business—all business.”

  One dark brow angled as he faced me, his whole body on tense alert. When he shook his head, as if waking from a strange dream, I knew it’d be all right. For now.

  “Of course,” he replied. “Business only.”

  There was nothing “of course” about it; but stepping back from the precipice once was about all I could handle now. And he hadn’t brought up the portent. That was good.

  “Any ideas?” I said, “I could go along as your hairdresser—”

  “You’ll be my date.”

  “Date?” Pulling the single word out was like stepping away from hot tar. “No one will believe I’m your date. You and I are from different universes. No one would believe you’d—”

  “It’s done.” He made as if to walk away. “When we get to the Maldives, first evening will be a gathering of guests. The first show after. . .” He waved his hand to indicate the zoo beyond the open door. “You’ll be with me.”

  If we got to the Maldives, a big “if” given an open police investigation and that they now knew about my past. I had no doubt Dom was sharing it even now.

  “Wait.” This was so not going to plan. My plan.

  He glanced at me, his look withdrawn. He might have worked himself up to a position of power, but I bet he possessed that king-to-peasant look in the cradle. Or it was a warlock thing. No wonder they had such a reputation.

  Gulping a ragged breath, I unclenched sweaty palms and wiggled them. “It won’t work.” I took a deep breath and continued. “I’m a pretzel-and-beer kind of gal, you’re a—” I waved one hand before me.

  “A?”

  “A champagne-and-caviar kind of guy. No one’s going to believe we’d be
an item. I think we’ve got to find a different way to work this.”

  Damn it, but we were short on time.

  “You’re going as my date. Deal with it.” There were husky undertones here, male-to-female vibes that were screwing with my concentration.

  “No way am I going to be accepted as your date. And if I’m not, I’ll be even more shut out than I am now. I need to find out how these thefts and this death have been set up. See how the marks are selected. Connect the dots.”

  “Do not fight me on this, little witch. Trust that I know my world as you know yours.”

  He eyed me, not as he had earlier, but with a critical look I’d seen Franco use before sending the models out to strut and sell their wares.

  “You will have no worries,” he said at last. “I’ll have a consultant meet with you.”

  It wasn’t a consultation I needed; it was a miracle.

  “But—”

  “I was forced to trust you earlier. Now you must trust me.”

  Yeah, right. Not a fair move: not his words, not his look—one that rattled me to my core. Not my immediate response. What could you say to a man who asked for your trust? And spoke without heat but with understanding? The man did not play fair at all.

  I swallowed and nodded, no words would come.

  “And what of your cousin?” I asked, clutching at straws. “If she tells everyone about—”

  “She won’t. I’ll make sure she won’t.”

  I believed him.

  “Good,” he said it gently, a devious means of scaling my defenses. “I’ll send the consultant to you as soon as it can be arranged. We do not have much time. For now, get some rest; you are tired.”

  He left, which was a good thing. I needed some adjustment time, major adjustment time. I needed to get my head back on straight and my hormones under control. There was absolutely nothing between Bran and myself except a mission.

  Now, if I repeated it about a million times, it might sink in.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER 32

  I woke from a short power nap as a knock sounded at my door later that day. I’d finally been stashed in the purser’s room as a temporary means of keeping me handy for the ongoing investigation. Which meant every hour on the hour some French gendarme knocked on my door, asked the same questions they’d already asked, gave me the stink eye, and then left. They’d make a great alarm clock service.

  But they hadn’t pushed too hard about my previous record, which surprised me. On the other hand maybe my text message to the agency had gotten through and Ling Mai was covering my back. Like I’d believe that. If Ling Mai had brushed my record under the mat it was because I’d then owe her a favor and a big one. Plus I’d have to keep her happy. Talk about a lose-lose scenario.

  At a second knock, louder this time, I yanked open my door to find Franco.

  So maybe I wasn’t awake but was having a nightmare instead.

  “You look like hell. Again,” he greeted me, brushing past me in a cloud of musky cologne. The same scent Collette often used. Go figure. “Close the door. No one else is coming in.”

  Great, just what I needed, a large dose of snippiness.

  I left the door ajar, mostly out of spite. There was little traffic in this section of the boat, so little reason to worry about being overheard.

  Then I got a good look at Franco and bit back the short reply on the tip of my tongue. The man was hurting. One could read it in the fan of lines around his eyes, in the tightness of his shoulders; different people dealt with shock and grief in different ways. Obviously Franco’s method was to up his irritation level and let it spill over.

  “What do you want?” I asked, with just enough snarl to earn a grin from him.

  “Why, dahling, surely you’ve heard?”

  Alarm bells sounded.

  I kept my tone level, with effort. “Heard what?”

  “I’m your new consultant. Ta-dah.”

  I’d kill Bran.

  “Why, dahling.” Franco twirled once around my very small room. “You are looking less than pleased. Not a good look for you by the way. It brings little frown lines between your brows. Very aging.”

  “I don’t need you—”

  “Oh, but you do, Sacagawea, you so do.”

  “My name isn’t—”

  “Tut tut, dahling, more frown lines. This will not do at all.” He placed two fingers beneath his chin and tilted his head, looking at me critically. “Bran told me we have two days and a long plane ride. The man is such an optimist.”

  I’d kill Bran slowly, very slowly, right after I took out—

  “Chop, chop, luv. Lots to do.”

  “Look, Frank.” My words, or my tone, or both, earned a moue of disdain. “I’m not your pet project. Find me a dress and call it good. I don’t want you here. You don’t want to be here. We’re even.”

  “Oh, but we’re not.” He shook his head. “I’m not doing this for you but for Bran. He needs me. He asked me to come and, viola, I am here.”

  His Supreme Mageness was going to suffer. But that wasn’t the point. I was not going to become Franco’s pet project no matter what Bran thought I needed. Torture was not my thing and the steady gleam in Franco’s eyes left no doubt he was enjoying my annoyance.

  I glanced at my ring. A slight buzz indicating preternatural warning. More like a preternatural skin rash. Too bad I couldn’t use that as an excuse to bust the PIA.

  “I don’t need you here.” Okay, so I was lying again, but one had to draw the line somewhere. I spoke around a tight, a very tight jaw. I was juggling enough issues without having to deal with this drag-queen-on-Prozac. “In fact, I’m pretty sure this arrangement won’t work at all. So pick out the dresses and, viola.” I spread my hands in a mimicking gesture, then lowered my voice. “We’ll be done.”

  “Dresses? Bran does not create dresses, he creates masterpieces.”

  Oh, great, now I’d set Franco off.

  “One pulls dresses from the rack at mall stores,” he continued, looking as if he were sucking lemons. “Bran does not do dresses.”

  “Fine. Get me—”

  “No.” Franco made a chopping movement. “I do it all or you look like the savage amongst the roses. There is no in the between.”

  Damn and double damn. Give me a gun and a few bad guys over this any day. And savage? He didn’t have a clue how savage I could be, but he might find out. Real soon.

  On the other hand, I had a mission to complete and Chop-Chop here was the quickest way to get where I wanted to go.

  “We do this my way then,” I snapped.

  “We shall see.”

  “There’s no negotiations about it, buster. My way or the highway. Understand?”

  “I understand you have deep, volatile emotions, but you hide them, or so you think. It is the way with savages. I have read a book, so I know this.”

  I stepped up beside him, fisted my hands in his pink silk shirt and tugged him off his feet until he dangled an inch above the floor. “Here’s a lesson you won’t get from a book. Call me a savage once more and there’ll be nothing left of you to put back together. Are we clear?”

  “Problems?”

  Franco and I both looked toward the door.

  Bran lounged there as if he belonged, a half-smile playing about his lips.

  “Doesn’t anybody knock around here?” I growled.

  “Not if the door is open.”

  Crap, my own fault.

  Bran entered and closed the door behind him. “I think you’d better release him. His color no longer looks good with the fuchsia of his shirt.”

  I let go, smiling when Franco stumbled then righted, glaring at me. If Bran hadn’t been in the room the little man probably would have said neener, neener to me. Instead he shook himself like a wet dog and miffed, “Well, I never—” He looked at Bran. “Speak to her; she will not listen to me.”

  “She’ll do what needs to be done,” came Bran’s steely reply.


  “My way—”

  “Alex,” Bran said with that tone that said there was only one answer. Fine. He was right, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.

  I glared at Franco and Franco glared back, before straightening his shirt. Keeping my gaze on Franco, I said, “I’m sure we understand each other perfectly now, don’t we, Frank?”

  “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes, but I’d tackled bigger challenges than pip-squeak here and I was sure he knew it, even as he announced, “I shall do as Bran asks. A complete transformation. Face. Body. Clothes. The works!”

  I growled but Bran stepped closer, all serious now. “Good, because we’ll have to work fast. We have bigger problems to deal with.”

  “Like what?” I asked, beginning to feel like a general fighting on too many fronts.

  “They’ve found the knife used to kill Sasha.”

  “Where?” Franco’s voice sounded harsh; his expression matched it.

  “In your room, Franco.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Dominique swatted at a pesky fly, inhaling deeply. At the prices they were paying for these staterooms one would think flies would not be allowed. She punched in the familiar numbers, pleased her hand remained steady.

  “Yes,” the voice answered without preamble.

  “I’ve done what you wanted,” she said. “The model is dead.”

  “I know. But your execution was sloppy.”

  Dominique’s tone hardened. “The potential infiltration has been neutralized. I handled it quickly and efficiently. Some mess is to be expected, but I have everything under control.”

  “Do you?”

  The space of several heartbeats galloped past, but Dominique was not a minion. Never had been and she would not stoop to that level now.

  “I said I’ve taken care of the problem and I have.” No need to mention the other issue that cropped up. One down, one left to handle. Would her life never be sane?

  “There still remains the American.”

  She inhaled and enunciated every word. “One death can be justified; two would only cause more problems.” If those idiots had done the job they’d been hired for all of this would be finished by now. But no, she had to handle every detail. “Don’t worry, the remaining one is very busy with damage control and will not cause problems. I’ll see to it.”