Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  Peter’s eyes glowed with a hint of red. “The hell you say! Why would he do that? Do you want me to go kick his ass?” He jumped up from his chair, almost knocking it over in his fury. Elmyr started barking in response, then subsided when he realized there was no actual intruder to bite.

  Donata was kind of tickled by Peter’s reaction, although she didn’t need anyone’s help in kicking Anton’s ass, should it come to that. Hell, she had a gun; she could always just shoot him.

  She grabbed Peter’s hand, pulling him back down. At least there was no steam coming out of his nostrils. She’d actually seen that happen once. Weird.

  “As far as I can tell, the man is just nuts,” Donata said. “He got the crazy idea somehow that he wanted me to have his children.” She shook her head; the notion of her having children at all was pretty bizarre. Or at least it had been, until the damned guy had gotten into her head. “He told me I had to do it to save his race, but I don’t know what race he was talking about. Maybe he’s a Dragon and Fae mix—there’s a reason the Council outlawed that, and it would certainly explain the crazy.”

  Concern creased Peter’s forehead and he pulled his chair closer to hers. “Didn’t you tell me once that half of all Dragon/Fae offspring were insane—and dangerous?”

  She nodded. “Yes, they are. That’s why such matings are forbidden. So it’s unlikely that’s what Anton is. But he didn’t have the vibe of any Paranormal race I’d ever met before, so I’m not sure. To be honest, I thought he was a Human until he told me otherwise.”

  Peter gave that some thought. “If he’s delusional about other things, could he be delusional about not being Human too?”

  “I suppose so.” That hadn’t occurred to her, although it probably should have. “Although if he really is that crazy, I don’t know how he could be such a successful businessman. And he came across as perfectly sane.” She looked down at the floor. “He really had me fooled.”

  Peter cupped one hand under her chin, tilting her head up until she was gazing into his eyes.

  “I’m really sorry that happened to you,” he said, focused and intense. “You deserve a lot better. I could kick myself for listening to Raphael’s lies and not just coming to talk to you myself. I could have saved us both a lot of trouble.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Why? What would you have said?”

  He bent his head down to hers. “This.”

  Peter’s lips grazed hers lightly, and then returned to kiss her in earnest. Donata’s arms tightened around his muscular torso, sliding underneath his to hold him firmly. She’d waited a long time for this.

  Apparently, so had he. His kiss deepened as she responded, and she could feel his breathing grow ragged.

  “Donata—” He pulled back so he could stare into her face, running a hand lightly down the side of one cheek, then trailing hot kisses in its wake.

  She never would have thought that a single gesture could move her so much. She took his hand and held it up to her mouth, brushing it with her lips. For a moment, she lay her head on his shoulder and simply held him. But eventually the lure of another kiss made her raise her head.

  The expression on his face—a mixture of passion, tenderness, and yearning—took her breath away.

  “Peter,” she whispered. “I don’t suppose this place has a bedroom.”

  He laughed softly in her ear. “Twelve of them, actually. Which one do you want to use?”

  She laughed back and bit his neck teasingly. “How about all of them? You just pick where we’ll start.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The morning sun was just peeking in the window when Donata awoke from a pleasant and completely normal dream of sensual pleasure. The inspiration for her nocturnal musings lay beside her, head propped on one elbow as he studied her. A lazy smile flitted across his face as she opened her eyes.

  “Hey,” she said in a husky voice. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “A couple of hours,” Peter said, stretching out his fingertips to brush the hair out of her face. “I don’t need much downtime.”

  She smirked at him “I know. How many bedrooms did we use last night, anyway?” She yawned widely and stretched like a cat in the sun.

  He shook his head in amused wonder. “I lost count, actually. But at least we finally ended up in my room. I like to wake up in my own bed.” Scratching his bristly chin, he added, “Of course, it’s nicer when you’re here too.” From the bottom of the bed, Elmyr lifted his head and barked in agreement.

  Donata snuggled up against his warm chest. “Thanks. I think so too.” She yawned again, sending a puff of air rustling through the dark hair sprinkled around his nipples. “What time is it, anyway? It’s Monday, so I’m thinking I should probably go into work like a good little Witch-cop.”

  Peter rolled over to look at the watch he’d placed on the bedside table, leaving Donata staring at his broad shoulders and the curve of his neck. She blinked rapidly, struck by a jarring recollection.

  “It’s still early—not even seven yet. Can you stay for a bit?” He turned back toward her and one large hand wandered over to caress the arc of her hip. He stopped when he noticed the expression on her face. “Donata? Is something wrong?”

  She bit her lip. “I think I just remembered where I saw those symbols.”

  Confusion put creases in his forehead. “What symbols?”

  “The three symbols on the Pentimento—the ones we couldn’t decipher. I’m pretty sure I know where I saw them before.” Man, her timing sucked.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Where?”

  Heat suffused her face. “I think they were on the back of Anton Eastman’s neck.”

  Peter pulled away as if a snake had bitten him. “What? What the hell are you talking about?”

  She tried to explain. “I was looking at you as you reached out for your watch . . . you have a gorgeous back, by the way . . . and something about the arch of your neck reminded me of Anton.” She blushed again, backpedaling rapidly. “Not that you are anything like him. Or that I ever saw him naked—I didn’t, I swear.” Oh, Hecate, this really wasn’t coming out right.

  Peter glared at her, sitting up against the headboard. “Uh-huh.”

  Crap. “What I mean is, your neck reminded me that I’d caught glimpses of some kind of a tattoo on Anton’s neck. I never saw it clearly; it was always partially covered by his hair and the collar of his shirt. But I think the symbols were a lot like the ones on the painting.” There. She’d gotten out the important bit. Now maybe Peter would stop giving her the evil eye.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Or not.

  “And you thought now was a good time to bring this up, because . . . ?” he said, a scowl turning his handsome features ugly.

  Donata rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry; I know my timing could have been better. But it just popped into my head, and I thought it might be important.”

  Peter crossed his arms, making the muscles on his chest ripple. “Everything that pops into your head isn’t important, Donata. In fact, some of it is downright annoying.” A hurt note lurked in his voice, but she was too angry to listen to it.

  “Annoying? Annoying?” Her voice went up an octave. “I tell you I’ve remembered an important clue and you tell me I’m being annoying?”

  His eyebrows rose higher, Dragon arrogance at the fore. “Your boyfriend’s neck is an important clue? Are you sure? Maybe you’re confusing his neck with someone else’s; you seem to have seen enough of them lately.”

  Donata’s hands clenched into tight fists as she fought the urge to punch him in the mouth. She couldn’t believe that five minutes ago she wanted to kiss him. Or that he had the nerve to make veiled references to her brief interlude with Magnus six months ago. Maybe next he’d just come right out and call her a whore?

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she said tersely. “And I’m
sorry you’re upset that I dated someone after you disappeared from my life without a freaking word. At least I didn’t sleep with someone just to make my father happy.”

  Peter rocked back as if she’d slapped him. “Maybe I slept with Natalie because I was trying to forget you, did you ever think of that?”

  Donata blinked rapidly. She was not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry like a girl, dammit.

  “And maybe you should have just ignored what your father said about me and Magnus and come to talk to me yourself. Did you ever think of that?” She took a deep breath, the movement suddenly making her conscious of her naked breasts. But she didn’t want to draw attention to them by trying to cover herself up. “After all, we were supposed to be friends. Even if I had been living with Magnus—which I wasn’t—you should have contacted me.”

  One tear ran down her face despite her best intention. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I was worried about you? That I cared how you were doing? After all, the last time I’d seen you, you were covered with third-degree burns.”

  Not wanting him to see her cry, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, searching the room for pieces of her abandoned clothing. Damn. She was going to have to go back through half the house to find them.

  She swiped angrily at her wet cheek as she grabbed a silk robe from the end of the bed and wrapped it around herself. Once she thought her emotions were under control she turned back to look at him. He hadn’t changed position and his face was carefully blank.

  Great. Just great.

  “Look,” she said, her tone as close to normal as she could get it. “I have to go home, change and shower, and go in to work. Why don’t I call you later and we can talk about this when we are both calmer.” She pulled the belt of the robe tighter as if it could bind her wounded heart.

  Peter gazed at her dispassionately. “I’m going to be a little busy later. I have my father’s funeral to finish arranging, if you recall.”

  Donata paled. “I’m sorry, Peter. Do you want me to stay and help? I could probably get some time off of work if I need to. And you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” She took a step back toward the bed hesitantly.

  He shook his head, winding the sheet around his torso as he got up. “I’ll be fine, thank you. I am accustomed to being alone.” His eyes glinted dangerously as he added, “It might be more helpful if you could find out why your rich boyfriend has symbols from the Pentimento on the back of his neck.”

  Donata gritted her teeth as she stormed through the door in search of her clothing. “Ex-boyfriend,” she said. “A term you should probably get familiar with.”

  She slammed the door on her way out. It didn’t make her feel any better.

  Chapter Thirty

  “He said what?” Doc said in a satisfyingly appalled manner. “The pig. You should have kicked him in the nuts.” She crammed another piece of pizza in her mouth as she perched on the edge of Donata’s desk; for a tiny woman, she ate like a stevedore.

  Donata sighed, nibbling on her own slice of white garlic with broccoli. “Well, to be fair, I could have been more tactful about it. Nobody likes to hear about the ex when they’re about to do the nasty. For the fifth or sixth time. And I know that Dragons tend to be jealous and possessive—I should have been more careful.”

  “Sister-friend, you are not going to take responsibility for his inability to cope with—hey, did you say five or six times?” Doc’s eyes widened and she stopped chewing momentarily.

  Donata turned as red as the sauce her pizza was lacking. “I was making up for lost time. And also Dragons have amazing stamina. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Can’t whatever it is wait until you tell me about the five or six times and the Dragon stamina?” Doc begged. “Seriously. My last three dates have been total duds; I need to live vicariously through you.”

  Taking a swig of her soda, Donata shook her head. “No way. I am not going to discuss my love life sitting in my office in the police station. Maybe later, in the bar, where it is a more suitable topic of conversation and I can drink at the same time.” She put down her pizza and gnawed on her lip instead. “I need your advice.”

  Doc blinked and put down her pizza. “You never ask for advice. Never.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Name one time.”

  Donata thought about it. “Uh . . .”

  “Exactly,” her friend said. “The closest you came was when you brought me to the new apartment and asked me if, in my expert opinion, the place sucked at least a little less than your old apartment.” She tossed her last bit of crust into the empty box. “Which, thankfully, it did.”

  “Oh. Well. I guess I’ve just gotten used to being self-sufficient,” Donata said.

  “Sure,” Doc said, rolling her eyes. “We’ll call it self-sufficient if that makes you feel better.” She hitched herself further onto the desk, dislodging a precariously perched stack of files onto the floor. “Oops. Those weren’t supposed to be in any particular order, were they?”

  Donata got up and started picking up the mess, then just gave up and let it lie where it had fallen.

  “I need to figure out what to do about Anton,” she said, sitting back down in her battered wooden chair.

  “I thought you’d narrowed it down to a choice between kicking his ass and shooting him. Did you want me to flip a coin to help you decide?” Doc pretended to root around in her pocket for change.

  “Very funny,” Donata said glumly. “I wish it were that straightforward.”

  Doc gazed across the desk. “What is so complicated about it? You told the guy to go away and leave you alone, right? He’s crazy—rich and good-looking, but the crazy kind of cancels that out—and you don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t see the problem.” She leaned across the space between them and pulled out a drawer. “Got any chocolate?”

  Donata reached into the drawer underneath and pulled out her emergency box of truffles. “The problem is, he kept telling me how important it was that I allow him to explain this wacky idea of his. And now I’m worried that maybe he isn’t as nuts as I think, and I’m making a big mistake by not hearing him out.” She popped a truffle into her mouth, just to keep Doc company.

  The petite coroner nodded her head sagely. “I get it. This is about Raphael, isn’t it? You didn’t listen to him when he said he had to talk to you, and then he ended up dead. You’re still feeling guilty about that, so now you’re freaking out that the same thing will happen to Anton.” Doc’s blue eyes gleamed as she got to play her favorite role: amateur psychologist.

  That didn’t mean she wasn’t right, though.

  “I guess so,” Donata mumbled around another piece of chocolate. At this rate, she was going to have to increase her workout time at the gym. “What do you think?”

  Doc shifted uncomfortably on the desktop. “I hate to say it—because I’d really like you to stay away from the guy—but maybe you’re not completely wrong.” She shrugged. “The man creeps me out, big time, and I hate that he was slipping something into your wine. But I didn’t get the crazy vibe from him, and there has been enough odd stuff going on in your life lately that you can’t necessarily just dismiss what he says.”

  Donata got up and gazed out the window at the rainy parking lot below. “You can say that again.”

  “After all,” Doc added, “what if he really is one of these outlawed Dragon-Fae hybrids? Shouldn’t you find out so you could turn him over to the Alliance Council?”

  Clenching her jaw, Donata crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “I don’t like the idea of turning anyone over to the Council, no matter how potentially dangerous that person might be. After the way they treated me when they wanted me to get the Pentimento for them, the Alliance Council isn’t exactly my favorite bunch of people. They threatened my family, for the
goddess’ sake.”

  “I know,” Doc said, hopping off the desk and coming over to put a sympathetic hand on Donata’s shoulder. “But you’ve told them about the Paranormal criminals you’ve come across. How is this any different?”

  Donata sighed. “Well, I guess it depends on if he’s really doing something harmful. I mean, besides giving psychic-boosting herbs to his dates. After all, Dragon-Fae children are only psychotic about half the time. And I don’t even know if he is one. All I really know is that he did something underhanded to me, and I wouldn’t let him explain why because I lost my temper. Again.” She kicked the wall under the window with the tip of one shoe. “Dammit. Why can’t my life ever be simple?”

  Doc laughed, not unkindly. “Why should you be any different than the rest of us?” She handed her friend another truffle. “Look, why don’t you just talk to the man one more time? Preferably with me there, so I won’t worry. Then you can stop fretting about it, and get on with more important things. Namely, telling me all the details about last night. You’re killing me here.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Donata took a deep breath and almost choked on the odor of charred meat coming from the chalk-outlined body at her feet. Gagging, she switched to breathing through her mouth; it wasn’t going to impress her boss if she threw up on the evidence.

  “The beat cop who was first on the scene said he figured someone killed the victim, then doused him with gasoline,” the Chief said, his expression grim. “After which he or she made off with the best pieces in the place.”

  Donata glanced around the jewelry store, elegantly decked out in sophisticated taupe and crimson and accented by sparkling gems tastefully displayed. And one distasteful corpse, currently making a mess of the middle of the main showroom. Doc knelt by the body and sniffed, apparently not affected by the ghastly smell at all.

  “No accelerant fumes,” the petite coroner said with confidence. She stood back up. “Whatever burned this guy to a crisp, it sure as hell wasn’t gasoline.” She held her gloved hands carefully at her side so as not to contaminate the evidence.