Golden Anidae (A Blushing Death Novel)

by Suzanne M. Sabol

  “Dahlia?”

  “I think you should stick close to your family for a while,” I huffed with the milk still in my hand.

  “Why?” she asked with wide, frightened eyes. “Am I in danger?”

  “I’d like to keep you out of danger, if at all possible,” I said, pouring the milk over my cereal then shoving it back in the fridge. “Do me a favor,” I begged as I turned back to face her. “Lay low, hang out with your family, stay with your sister if you need to. Just stay the hell away from me.” My voice was firm, the tone I used with Jade when I didn’t want an argument. Enza was quiet for a moment before she said anything, but she pushed anyway.

  “If Soraida knew these people, why are you involved?”

  Well, that was a hell of a question, wasn’t it? Sometimes, I wished Enza wasn’t so damned smart.

  I didn’t answer. I let the silence fill the kitchen and dining area as I pushed some Cheerio’s around my bowl.

  “Why not call the cops? Why don’t we call that Detective Salazan? You could tell him whatever you found last night and stay out of it,” she rambled. Her voice was pleading, as if when she got the words out, everything else would be okay.

  It wouldn’t.

  “That’s not a possibility. I need you to stop asking, Enza,” I snapped, and took a deep breath. The pained expression on her face made my fingers itch, made me feel guilty as if I’d struck her. My stomach twisted with regret. I couldn’t tell her. I’d forgotten what it felt like to hide what I was while in the thick of it. “You won’t understand.”

  “I don’t accept that,” she yelled, her frustration making the tone of her voice shrill. “That’s not an answer.”

  “That’s all you’re getting.” My voice sounded even and much too cool, even to my ears. I shoved a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, effectively ending my half of the conversation.

  Enza didn’t see it that way. She waited for me to swallow before crossing her arms over her chest in expectation. She had an expression on her face that I hadn’t seen since she was eight years old. The glint in her eyes was determined and filled with a petulant forcefulness that made my lips turn up at the corners in amusement. The coffee beeped behind me and I got up to fill my mug, tossing the bowl filled with now soggy cereal in the sink.

  “Enza, I need you to stay out of this. You’re the only friend I have here. I can’t lose you too,” I said, and even I heard the pleading in my voice. If begging would keep her out of this shit, I’d beg. Hell, I’d crawl on my hands and knees to make sure she stayed alive and unscathed.

  “You’re not gonna lose me,” she said, sympathy thick in her tone. “I need to know if you’re in danger.”

  “No,” I breathed. “Not yet.”

  “Dahlia, call the cops. Call Detective Salazan, and you won’t have to worry about this. Let them handle it.”

  I had to get that idea out of her head and quick before she did something stupid to get herself smack dab in the middle of this mess. The last thing I needed was for her to call up Detective Salazan and send this thing into the shitter faster than it was already going.

  “There’s a problem with that,” I said as I took a long, blissful drink of the coffee. The liquid caffeine burned all the way down my throat and I was thankful for the sensation. The pain distracted me, momentarily anyway.

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m pretty sure that he’s in on it. I don’t know how, or even why, but I think Detective Salazan knows exactly where Soraida is.”

  “Oh God,” she moaned, a horrified expression crinkling the skin around her mouth and making her dark eyes shimmer with fear.

  “Yeah.”

  “What do we do?” she asked. For the first time since she woke me up by banging on the bedroom door, she understood the problem.

  “Well.” I put the coffee down on the counter, refilled my mug, and contemplated what I wanted to say. “For starters, you crash at your parents’ place. Tell them that your house is getting fumigated . . . bed bugs, or something. I don’t care what you tell them. I’ll call you when it’s safe,” I said with as much clout and certainty as I could throw into those words on just a few hours’ sleep. Turned out, I had more than I’d thought.

  “Dahlia, I don’t like this.”

  “I think we are way past that point. I have to see this through to the end,” I clipped out.

  We stared at each other for a long moment. The house was quiet, quiet enough to hear the spin of the fan from the air conditioner outside and the quick heavy beat of Enza’s heart.

  “Why?” she breathed. Good question but I didn’t answer her.

  The silence and tension was broken by the loud, intrusive ringing of the cordless phone on the counter. Enza jumped. The phone rang three times before Enza made it the two steps to the phone and picked it up. She turned away from me to answer, not knowing I could hear every word no matter what she did.

  “Hello,” she said, a little breathless. Her voice was still shaky as she spoke but I didn’t think anyone would notice but me.

  “Just a moment,” she said, turning with an expression of dread in her eyes. She covered the receiver with her hands and said, “It’s Detective Salazan.” Her voice quivered. “He’s asking for you.” She held the phone out to me like a sacrifice.

  Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders, cracked my neck, and took the phone from her. She watched me with disbelief. My chest tightened as my nose filled with the scent of her fear. I couldn’t just ignore it. Leaning in, I kissed her on the cheek, like she used to do to me when we were little. Shocked, she stared at me with wide, confused eyes. My lips quirked up in the tiniest of smiles in an attempt to comfort her, reassure her.

  “I won’t let you get hurt,” I whispered before I put the phone to my ear. “Hello.” Without a hint of the hesitation or the anxiety riddling my entire body, I sank into the game.

  “Dahlia?” The detective’s deep, silky, smooth voice traveled over the phone lines like it was liquid amber, tickling my ear with the promise of heat.

  “Cordero,” I purred. “How nice to hear from you.”

  “I was hoping you’d be free for dinner tonight.”

  I had to give it to him. He went for what he wanted and nothing was going to stop him. I admired brass balls in others but in Detective Cordero Salazan, it just frightened me.

  “Dinner?” I paused, trying to be coy. This was exactly what I’d wanted, what all the flirting was supposed to get me . . . a way in. “Tonight? I think I can swing that,” I said, cocky and sure of myself.

  I glanced over at Enza. I knew my face was neutral, without emotion. I could feel the blank expression and the coldness in my stare like a familiar pair of jeans, worn and comfortable. She gawked at me as if she’d never seen me before and the twinge of an ache stirred in my chest at that familiar expression.

  “Marvelous!” I could hear the pleased purr in his rich accent. “I’ll pick you up at nine tonight.”

  Enza watched me with horrified interest. I couldn’t stop now. There was too much at stake.

  “I’ll be waiting,” I finished in a coy whisper that turned my stomach. The line went dead and I hung up the phone. When I turned to face her, Enza’s expression was as easy to read as any book. She didn’t understand what I was doing or why but the disappointment was clear. I was really fucking tired of seeing that disappointed look in people’s eyes. My parents, Brennan, Patrick, and now Enza.

  “You think he’s involved, and you’re going out with him?” Her voice was shrill, incredulous.

  “How do you think I’m gonna find out anything? How do you think I’m gonna get close enough to find Soraida?” I yelled, my fist slamming down on the counter. The slight crack of the cabinetry beneath my fist rippled through my hand as I made contact. Shit. I took a deep breath and center
ed myself. “This is the only way.”

  She opened her mouth as if to speak and then snapped it shut. Her bottom lip trembled as she asked, “Why are you doing this?”

  I couldn’t tell her that it was my responsibility. “Because I promised you I’d find Soraida.”

  Enza stared at me for a long moment as silence fell heavy between us like a velvet curtain. I waited for her to say something, needed her to say something. Anxiety and guilt churned in the pit of my stomach; my palms heated with the rush of blood through my veins. I’d just agreed to go on a date with another man. I felt like I was cheating. Even though I’d left both Patrick and Dean behind, being with someone else still felt wrong. I didn’t need shit from Enza on top of my own guilt.

  She shook her head, leaving the room without another word. I guess leaving was better than a guilt trip or the disappointment that I’d seen in her eyes. But I knew it wasn’t. I’d done the exact same thing months ago and it had solved nothing. I exhaled a sigh of frustration-filled relief as her bedroom door clicked closed.

  I opened the front door, feeling sexy and apprehensive about it. Slipping on one of Enza’s cocktail dresses, I sashayed out of my room. The rich crimson taffeta dress had a deep V-neckline that plunged below the curve of my breasts, leaving very little to the imagination. The bodice banded around my ribcage, fitting snuggly along my body and pushing everything up. Enza was a few inches shorter than I was so instead of hitting me mid-thigh, where it hit her, the skirt hit me just a bit higher, showing off the musculature of my thighs. I’d been using exercise as a distraction in the past five months and it showed. I couldn’t wear Enza’s shoes, her feet were a size and a half smaller than mine. There was no way in Hell I was going to chance being stuck in her shoes in a crisis. I’d run out to a DSW nearby and bought a pair of black, four-inch open-toed pumps with a strap around the ankle. At least I could guarantee the shoe would stay on as a trail of satin ruffles down the front of my foot connected the sole and ankle strap.

  The only weapons I’d been able to find were a narrow silver letter opener, and a couple of Enza’s prescription Ambien tablets. About the size of a nail file, I shoved the letter opener into my bag along with the Ambien. They couldn’t hurt.

  The outfit, the shoes, and the weapon made me feel sexy again. It had been a while since I’d felt anything close to even attractive, let alone sexy. The heat in Detective Salazan’s gaze as his eyes raked over me and his dark full lips curled up at the corners, reinforced my suspicion.

  The hunger in his expression and the heady scent of musk filling the air should have had heat pooling low in my body. I knew in my core what that look meant. But I felt no heat, no desire, and no attraction. He wasn’t what I wanted.

  “You look . . . mmm,” he groaned in his Spanish-accented English.

  I smiled, seductive and inviting. Mata Hari wasn’t my first choice of roles but this was the hand I’d been dealt.

  Stepping outside, I tugged the door shut behind me. With the heels, I was just as tall as Detective Salazan was and could look him in the eye. He didn’t seem at all disoriented by that or discouraged.

  He opened the door of his Escalade for me and I hopped in as best as I could in a miniskirt. It wasn’t my intention to flash my ass or anything else all over Las Vegas.

  After he closed the door with a soft thud, I took the time to look around. A built-in, top of the line satellite navigational system, stared back at me, lighting my face in the dark. DVD players and video screens were lodged in the back of the headrests with custom chrome hubcaps and a stereo system.

  Detective Salazan hauled himself up into the front seat with an easy grace I hadn’t seen in five long months and started the engine. He cast one last lecherous gaze at me from the corner of his eyes, lingering on the long expanse of thigh I’d left exposed. Breathing deep through his nose and letting his thick musk tingle across my senses, he slid the car into ‘drive’ and skidded out into traffic. His suit, again, was tailored. The fabric seemed soft and silky. I was sure the suit had to have set him back a couple of thousand dollars. How, exactly, did he afford it? Cops didn’t make anywhere near the salary that could afford Detective Salazan a custom Escalade and tailored suits.

  “I’m glad you were able to see me tonight. I’m sorry about the short notice. My schedule cleared suddenly and I wanted to see you,” he said with an unabashed smile that probably made most women weak in the knees. As he eased the SUV to a stop at the red light, he met my gaze. The amber flecks in his dark eyes seemed to swirl with desire. He watched me like he was already imagining me out of my dress.

  “No problem, it’s not like I was doing anything tonight anyway.” I shrugged. “I’ve been told to stick close to home.” I pursed my lips, teasing with an evocative glance from under my lashes. I crossed my legs, slowly, sliding my calf along the bare skin of my knee and giving him a very good glimpse of flesh.

  His eyes dropped to the slow glide of my limbs. His heart raced in his chest, the sound thumping in my ears like a heavy cadence of bass drums. I turned, watching the Strip as the light turned green. Horns blared behind us, urging us to go and he jumped, finally taking his foot off the break.

  We pulled into the long drive of The Venetian, where Detective Salazan hopped out and tossed his keys to the waiting valet before the poor guy had a chance to come around the podium. Detective Salazan circled to my side of the SUV and angled the valet away from my door with his bulky body and opened it himself. Holding out his large hand for me, he waited.

  I could still see the hungry gleam in his eyes as his gaze dropped. Taking in my legs as I descend from the SUV, a small smile crept across his lips.

  He took my hand and led me away from the hustle and bustle of the casino games, canals, and shopping. We strolled through the check-in area for the VIPs and down a secluded and eerily quiet hall. A sudden rush of adrenaline surged through me as my mind started to go into fight mode. When most considered fight or flight, my brain went straight to fight. We stopped in front of a single set of elevator doors.

  “U-um,” I stammered as the idea of being locked in a hotel room with him raced through my mind. A closed in space with no way out but the front door? Like Hell! He gripped my hand tighter and my heart raced. “Where are we going?” I’m up for this. I’m up for anything. I want him to like me. Don’t panic. Jesus, don’t fucking PANIC!

  “It’s a surprise,” he said with a glint in his eye like the cat drowning in cream.

  The elevator doors opened, and our images reflected back at us in the wall of mirrors lining the inside of the elevator. His dark eyes and hungry smile met my suspicious gaze, sending a shiver up my spine. His gaze felt more intimate, more meaningful than it should have. Stepping inside the elevator, he watched my face, watched my body move in the mirror as he tugged me behind him. I imagined what Patrick’s face would have given away if he’d seen Detective Salazan holding my hand. I had an image of Patrick and Dean tearing Detective Salazan to shreds and enjoying every minute of his demise. The thought of them, working together—even if it was to kill someone—made me smile in a sick kind of way. Detective Salazan squeezed my hand at my smile and his heart beat a bit faster, pulsing through his palm. Good.

  Stepping inside, the doors closed with a ping. My hand moistened with sweat from our combined heat as he clasped my hand tight in his grasp. My gut clenched with anticipation, and I reached with slow, deliberate movements into my bag. Clutching the silver letter opener in my hand. I waited and watched as the numbers lit up on the panel, 1, 2, 3, ping. Stroking my thumb across the cold silver, the doors opened.

  A chalkboard easel with large loopy letters sat just outside the elevator with ‘Specials of the Day’. The sign over the quaint, aged-wood door read Bouchon, and I breathed a sigh of relief. A restaurant. He’d brought me to a nice restaurant.

  “I love this place,” he whisp
ered, his breath a warm caress along my skin. Close against my ear, his words fluttered a strand of hair from my neck and tingled the translucent marks at the base of my throat.

  His fingers trailed across my shoulder blades, tracing a delicate line down my bare back until his hand rested warm and possessive just above my ass. I needed him to feel comfortable, talking, so I didn’t argue. I turned an inviting twitch of my lips up at him and stepped from the elevator.

  The Maître D, who knew Detective Salazan by name, ushered us into a secluded corner of the darkened French Brassiere. My night vision was better by leaps and bounds since Danny’s death, but the flickering candles on the tables made shapes in the shadows that weren’t there. I hadn’t been honing my new abilities in the last five months. I realized now, how crippled I’d allowed myself to become.

  He ordered for me, which was pretentious. Then he added a $100 bottle of wine, which set my mind back to my original question. How does a man on Detective Cordero Salazan’s salary pay for thousand-dollar suits and hundred-dollar bottles of wine?

  “So,” he said with an easy confidence. “What did you do back in Columbus?”

  Easy. Volley question. I could do this. I could be on a date and not crumble into a ball of shame. I was only providing half-truths anyway. I just had to keep my focus. Look comfortable and not be a bitch.

  “I was an office manager at a University,” I answered as I took a sip of water. I didn’t see a reason to bring Dean into this. “And you? How long have you been with LVPD?” I asked as the sommelier appeared with the bottle of wine. He uncorked the bottle, poured a small portion into the wine glass, and stepped back.

  Detective Salazan swirled the wine around the glass like a seasoned professional. He took a sip, swishing it around in his mouth before he gave a nod of approval to the sommelier and swallowed the wine. Appreciating the finer things in life wasn’t a crime but this guy raised all the hackles on the back of my neck.