by Ким Харрисон
"Mmmm." Kisten's touch on my neck took on the hints of massage, promising more than dinner. My breath grew fast, and I intentionally pulled in his scent. I didn't care that he was throwing off pheromones to lure me into making myself vulnerable. It felt too damn good, and I trusted him to not break my skin, substituting sex in place of his need for blood.
Fingertips playing with the hair above his neck, my shoulders relaxed and my gut tightened in anticipation. My unclaimed scars were both a pleasure and a pain, making me vulnerable to any vampire who knew how to stimulate them, but when in the hands of an expert, it made for insanely good bedroom play, and Kisten knew it all.
Thoroughly lost, I went to swing my left leg over his to pull him to me, then stopped, remembering where I was. Gathering my will, I pushed back from him, and Kisten chuckled, desire heady in his gaze. "Damn it, look what you did to me," I said. My face was warm, and my hand rested atop my neck, hiding it. "Don't you have napkins to fold or something?"
His grin was cocky as he leaned back and ate another almond. My fluster worsened when he glanced at David with an infuriating, satisfied-male look on his face. So he had gotten me hot and bothered. It wasn't hard to do when you knew what buttons to push, and my demon bite was a huge button, easy to hit and hard to miss. Plus, I loved him. "See you tonight?" he had the nerve to ask.
"Yes," I snapped, but I was looking forward to it already despite my embarrassment that David had seen the entire incident. Okay, I was a witch with a vampire boyfriend. What did he think we did on our dates? Play tiddledywinks?
The hum of Jenks's wings caught my attention, and the pixy landed lightly atop the dessert menu. "What's up, Rache?" he asked, angular features concerned. "You're all red."
"Nothing." I sipped my tea, the ice sliding down the glass and smacking my nose again. "You want some sugar water or peanut butter?" I asked as I set it down.
Kisten subtly moved himself farther onto his stool and away from me. Jenks's wings increased their hum. "You sure you're okay? You're not sick, are you? You're throwing off heat like you've got a fever. Let me feel your forehead," he said, rising into the air.
"I'm fine," I said, waving him off. "It's all this leather. What's Mr. Ray doing?"
Jenks saw Kisten smirking as he ate his almonds, then my hand covering my scar. The pixy's attention went to David, who now had his back to us. "Oh!" Jenks sang out, laughing. "Kisten got you worked up? You tell him about Ivy kissing you, and he had to prove himself? "
"Jenks!" I shouted, and Kisten flinched, his face going white. From the end of the bar, David grunted, turning to look at me questioningly.
"Ivy kissed you?" Kisten said, and I could have just died.
"Look, it wasn't a big deal," I said, shooting evil glares at Jenks, who was now staring at me as if wondering why I was mad. "She was trying to prove to me that I couldn't control her when she lost herself to her blood lust, and things got out of hand. Can we talk about something else?" Jenks was spilling dust to make a sunbeam on the counter. "Jenks, what is Mr. Ray doing?" I said, flicking an almond at him. Damn it, I don't have time to deal with this right now.
Jenks stayed where he was as if nailed to the air, and the nut passed over his head to clatter behind the bar. "Bitchin," he said, smirking. "He's been here for twenty minutes. And don't let her fool you, Kisten. She's been thinking about that kiss all afternoon."
I made a snatch at him, missing when he darted back. "It surprised me, is all." I snuck glances at Kisten as he tried to hide his worry. Behind him, David frowned and turned away. Remembering why I was here, I took Kisten's wrist and tilted it so I could see what time it was. "I want to go in with Mrs. Sarong, seeing as neither one of them know the other will be here. Where is she anyway? She ought to be here by now."
By the end of the bar, David turned his attention to the door and tugged his coat straight. Kisten, too, sat up. "Speak of the devil," he said. "At least three cars by the sound of it."
His steps slow but seeming to eat the distance like magic, David came back, and I felt a wash of angst. Crap, I had magicked Mrs. Sarong's baseball field to convince her to pay me for my time when I'd stolen Mr. Ray's fish, thinking it had been hers. Yes, she'd asked for this meeting, and though it seemed likely she wanted to talk to me about her murdered aide, the possibility that she might still be on about that fish had me nervous.
"I'll be in the kitchen folding napkins," Kisten said softly, his hand trailing along my shoulder as he rose and slipped away.
The look on his face when Jenks told him Ivy had kissed me flashed before me. "I'm a coward," I said softly to Jenks as he landed on my earring.
"No you aren't," he started. "It's just—"
"Yes I am," I interrupted as I stood and made sure I didn't have spots of iced tea marring my pants. "I pick a place where I know someone will save my butt if I get in over my head."
David harrumphed and stood beside me, and I was thankful he didn't seem to think anything less of me. For whatever reason. "That's not being a coward," he said as the front door opened and light spilled in. "That's thinking ahead."
I said nothing. Nervous, I forced my features to find a confident slant as the light was eclipsed by what looked like eight people. Mrs. Sarong was first, a young woman close behind her. Her replacement aide, perhaps? Five men in identical suits flowed in after them to make a semicircle clearly protective in nature. Mrs. Sarong ignored them.
The very small woman smiled with her lips closed, taking off her gloves and handing them to her aide. Eyes on me, she reached up and removed her white hat, handing it and her white leather clutch purse to the woman as well. Heels clacking on the hardwood floor, she came forward. She was wearing a tasteful white suit that looked businesslike without hiding the curves of her small but well-proportioned body. Her feet were tiny. Though in her mid-fifties, I guessed, she clearly took care of herself, being trim and poised. Styled short and off her face, her blond hair had streaks of gray, but that only added to her professionalism. A string of pearls was about her neck, and she wore a diamond ring with enough sparkle to dance the Hustle by.
"Ms. Morgan," she said as she approached, her entourage fanning out to make me wary. "It's good to see you again. But honestly, dear, we could have met at my office or perhaps Carew Tower if you felt more comfortable in a neutral setting." She glanced quickly over the room, her nose wrinkling. "Though this has a certain rustic charm."
I didn't think she meant it as a slur, so I didn't take it that way. With David at my shoulder and Jenks sitting on it, I came forward to take her extended hand. My arm had been in a sling the last time we'd met, and I shook her hand, pleased to find her grip firm and sincere.
"Mrs. Sarong," I said, feeling tall and awkward in my leather since I stood almost eight inches over her. "I'd like you to meet David Hue, my alpha."
Her smile widened. "Pleasure," she said, inclining her head to David, who did the same in return. "Taking a witch as your alpha to start a pack with?" Her eyebrows went up, and her eyes, untouched by age, glinted. "Wonderful way to play the rules, Mr. Hue. I have since plugged that particular gap in my employee handbook, but wonderful nonetheless."
"Thank you," he said gracefully, taking a step back and removing himself from the conversation, but not the meeting.
Mrs. Sarong held out her hand to her aide, and the woman took it, letting herself be drawn forward. "This is my daughter, Patricia," the older woman said, surprising me. "Since the unfortunate demise of my aide, she will be shadowing me for the next year to gain a better understanding of whom I deal with on a daily basis."
My eyebrows rose, and I stifled my surprise. Aide? The young woman before me wasn't Mrs. Sarong's aide but her freaking heir. "It is a true pleasure," I said earnestly, shaking her hand.
"Likewise," she said firmly, her brown eyes giving away her intelligence. Her voice was high but determined, and she was dressed with as much class as her mother, though admittedly showing a lot more skin. Now that I knew their relationship,
the resemblance was obvious, but where Mrs. Sarong was aging beautifully, her daughter Patricia was just simply beautiful, long black hair softly curving about her face and her small delicate hands possessing a hard strength. Instead of pearls she had on a chain of gold, a brown stone at the nadir point. Her pack tattoo, a vine twining about barbed wire, circled her ankle.
Stumbling, I pulled David forward. "This is David," I said, suddenly feeling like my mom trying to hook me up with her friend's son.
David started, but then, with a rueful smile that made him ten times more attractive, he shook her hand. "Hello, Ms. Sarong," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Mr. Hue," the young woman said, her brown eyes amused.
Mrs. Sarong looked at me, her face questioning at my impertinence.
"Would you like something to drink?" I asked, thinking my rusty host skills were going to get a workout this afternoon while dealing with a woman so clearly raised on etiquette and form. And what in hell am I doing introducing David to her daughter like he was on the market? My lips tightened at Jenks's snort from my earring. "We can go to a private room," I added, not knowing if it would be easier to take her to Mr. Ray or bring him out here, but she interrupted with a wave of her hand.
"No," she said lightly, her businesslike air returning. "What I want will take only a moment." She looked at her daughter pointedly, and the young woman gestured for the men to back out of earshot. They went, sullen yet obedient, but when Mrs. Sarong glanced at David, I sent my gaze to her daughter, standing at her side.
"Fine," the older woman said in concession. "I simply want to contract your services."
Expecting this, I nodded, but a surge of morality tugged at me, and I found myself saying, "I'm already working with the FIB to find out who murdered your aide." I gestured for her to sit at one of the small tables. "There's no need for you to contract me as well."
She settled herself gracefully, and I took the seat across from her. David and Patricia remained standing. "Splendid," Mrs. Sarong said, clearly making an effort not to touch the top of the table. "But I want to contract your other services."
Confused, I stared at her blankly.
"Your older profession, dear," she added.
From my shoulder came a tinkling of pixy laughter, and my eyes widened.
"Mrs. Sarong…" I stammered, feeling my face flash red.
"Oh, for Cerberus's sake," the woman said in exasperation. "I want you to kill Mr. Ray for murdering my aide. And I'm prepared to pay handsomely."
Shock zinged through me as I finally got it. "I don't kill people," I protested, trying to keep my voice soft, but with a bar full of vampires and Weres, I was sure someone else heard me. "I'm a runner, not an assassin." Has she heard about Peter?
Mrs. Sarong patted my hand. "It's okay, dear. I understand. Shall we say seventy-five thousand? Place the appropriate bet the next game and let me know. I'll take it from there."
Seventy-five … I couldn't find enough air. "You don't understand," I said, starting to sweat. "I can't." What if David finds out? Peter's death had been insurance fraud.
The woman's eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, her gaze going to her daughter. "Has Simon Ray already hired you?" she asked, her voice vehement. "A hundred thousand, then. Damn, he's a bastard."
I looked at David, but he seemed as shocked as I was. "You misunderstand," I stammered. "What I meant is, I don't do that kind of thing."
"And yet," she said, each syllable clear and precise, "people who annoy you seem to die."
"They do not," I objected, leaning until my back hit the chair.
"Francis Percy?" she began, ticking names off on her fingers. "Stanley Saladan? That mouse of a man… ah, Nicholas Sparagmos, I believe?"
Her spread fingers closed elegantly, and alarm hit me. "I didn't kill Francis," I said. "He managed that all by himself. And Lee was dragged off by a demon he summoned. Nick went over a bridge."
Mrs. Sarong's smile widened, and she patted my hand again. "Very well done on the last one," she said, glancing at her daughter. "Leaving an old boyfriend to clutter future relationships is investing in trouble."
For a moment I stared. She wanted me to kill Simon Ray? "I didn't kill them," I protested. "Really."
"But they are nevertheless gone." Mrs. Sarong gave me a perfect smile, as if I had done a fabulous trick. She suddenly straightened, the comfortable companionability that had wreathed her expression shifting to blank questioning. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I watched her pull the air deep into her. "Simon!" she barked, rising to her feet.
I jumped up when her entourage dived into motion, heading right for us. She knew. She knew Mr. Ray was here.
"Rache!" Jenks shrilled, leaving my shoulder in a sparkle of gold dust. I backed into David, but Mrs. Sarong's pack wasn't concerned with me.
A shout quickly followed by a muffled thump shook the air. Kisten lunged in from the kitchen, his steps holding that eerie vampire quickness. He was headed for the back room, but before he could get there, Mr. Ray stormed in.
Great, I thought when the rest of his thugs spilled out behind him with drawn weapons pointed at us. Just freaking great.
Eighteen
"You pompous little bitch!" the infuriated Were shouted, red-faced and with his thugs backing him. "What are you doing here?"
Mrs. Sarong pushed past the men who had put themselves in front of her. "Arranging your removal," she said, her voice sharp and her eyes glaring.
Removal? As if he were an overgrown tree clogging the sewer line?
The short businessman seemed to choke on his own breath, becoming choleric. Mouth gaping to look like one of his prize fish, he struggled to respond. "Like hell you are!" he finally managed. "That's what I wanted to talk to her about!"
From my shoulder came a small, "Holy crap, Rache. How did you become Cincy's assassin of choice?"
I stared at the two packs separated by little round tables. Mr. Ray-wants to contract me to take Mrs. Sarong out?
The clicks of cocking weapons startled me from my shock.
"Grab some air, Jenks!" I shouted, kicking over a table and filling the space it had been in.
Jenks left me in a dazzling burst of gold sparkles. A whiff of musk and David had my back, that freaking big-ass rifle in his grip making him look like a gunslinger out for revenge. Kisten leapt forward. Blond hair swinging, he stepped between the two packs, his arms up in placation but his expression hard. The air pressure shifted, and suddenly Steve was there, too.
Everyone froze. My pulse hammered, and my knees went watery. It was too much like the time I had stormed in here looking for Piscary after he had blood-raped Ivy. Except this time there were a lot of pointed guns.
Sweating, I watched Kisten force the visible tension from his face and stance until he was the casual, confident bar manager on the surface. "I don't give a rat's ass if you kill each other," he said, his voice carrying well. "But you'll take it out of my bar and into the lot, like everyone else."
David pressed into my back, and with his warmth grounding me, I took a deep breath. "No one is going to kill anyone," I said. "I called you here, and you are all going to sit down so we can settle this like Inderlanders, not animals. Got it?"
Mr. Ray took a step forward, a short finger pointing at Mrs. Sarong. "I'm going to rip—"
A burst of angst lit through me. "I said shut up!" I shouted. "What is wrong with you?" My bag was heavy on my shoulder, and though I could bring out my splat gun, I didn't know whom I'd aim it at. At this point no one was aiming at me. I think. And to tap a line and make a circle might just set them all off. No one was shooting—I'd work from there.
"I'm not going to kill Mrs. Sarong," I said to Mr. Ray.
To my left, Mrs. Sarong stiffened, but she looked pissed, not afraid.
"And I'm not going to go after Mr. Ray for you," I added.
Mr. Ray harrumphed, wiping his brow with a white handkerchief. "I don't need your help to pin the whiny bitc
h," he said, and the men surrounding him tensed as if to rush her.
That just ticked me off. This was my party, damn it. Weren't they listening? "Hey! Hey!" I shouted. "Excuse me, but I'm the one you both wanted to contract to kill each other. I suggest," I said sarcastically, "that we all sit at that big table over there, just you, and you, and me." I looked at the weapons still cocked and pointed. "Alone."
Mrs. Sarong nodded in a show of acquiescence, but Mr. Ray sneered. "You can say anything in front of my pack," he stated belligerently.
"Fine." I stepped from David, and he uncocked his weapon. "I'll talk to Mrs. Sarong."
The collected woman smiled cattily at the flustered man and turned to give her daughter a word of instruction. She was just as stymied as Mr. Ray, but by calmly capitulating rather than insisting we do it her way, she looked more in control. Intrigued, I filed the wisdom away for more thought later. If I have a later.
"You got this okay?" I murmured to David.
I could smell the musk coming off him, thick and heady from his tension. The depression was gone, leaving only a capable-looking man with a rifle that could blow a hole in an elephant. It was a vampire killer. It would work on Weres, easy.
"No problem, Rachel," he said, his brown eyes everywhere but on me. "I'll keep them right where they are."
"Thanks." I touched his upper arm. He flicked his gaze to mine, then backed up a step, his duster furling about the tops of his boots.
My breath came out in a long exhalation. Pulse slowing, I stepped between the two Were factions and those guns, headed for the table at the foot of the stairs. Kisten was still standing in the middle of the room, and he was pulled into my wake as I passed him. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, but it was from the Weres, not him.
"I've got this under control," I said softly, my lips barely moving. "Why don't you go fold more of those napkins?"
"I can see that," he said, smiling despite the tension in his soft voice. Jenks joined us from the ceiling, and under their twin scrutiny I rubbed my fingertips into my forehead. Crap, I was getting a headache. This wasn't the way I had planned it, but how was I supposed to know they both wanted to contract me to kill each other?