Javier straightened and set his brush and palette aside. His mouth quirked up on one side. “It is hideous, but I know it’s a good business decision.”
“It’s not hideous. It’s tongue in cheek, Javier.” She smiled at him. “And yes, a very good business decision.”
“I agree.” He shook his head. “But a velvet Elvis is still a velvet Elvis.”
She lifted her brows. “Guinness World Records is no small thing.”
He laughed softly. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s good press, good money and a bit of fun.”
She nodded. Before her arrival in his life, he’d had buckets of talent, but no drive and no direction. She had started as his muse, but had quickly taken on the role of pseudo manager, as well. Now he was practically a household name. Still, he was a grown man, free to paint what he liked. If he really hadn’t wanted to paint the giant velvet Elvis, she wouldn’t have been able to force him. “Agreed.”
“When the media come to take their pictures and write their stories, I want you here with me. I want you in the pictures.”
“I’m not the star, Javier. You are.” And the spotlight had never been her goal. Her main job as his muse was to make sure his creative side stayed unblocked and to occasionally guide him toward decisions that would bring him the most reward. Now, her job as his friend was to tell him about his daughter. “I need to talk to you about something.”
He wiped his hands on a rag. “For you, I am all ears.” With a sigh, he set the rag down. “Although I have a feeling I already know what you’re going to tell me. Something about Dahlia? She’s so mad at me about that car. What has she done now?”
Seraphina smiled sadly. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but she hasn’t come home from the sleepover yet, and she’s not anywhere in the house or on the grounds that we’ve been able to determine. I’ve already sent the driver out to trace her route.”
“She’s run away again.”
“We don’t know that.”
“She did it over a purse. Why not a car?” Javier pressed his lips together in frustration. “That stupid car. How did I end up with a child like this?”
She tilted her head. “We don’t know that she’s run away yet. Maybe her scooter broke down.”
“Then why wouldn’t she call?” Anger sparked in his eyes. “No. She thinks she’s proving something to me. That she’s independent.” He snorted. “Not so independent that she doesn’t want my money or need the shelter of this house or—”
Seraphina put her hand on his arm. “She’s just mad. Acting out. She’s probably gone to a friend’s house and is waiting until she thinks you’ve realized she’s right and you’re wrong. Or until you change your mind about the car.”
His mouth bent in a harsh frown. “I’m not buying her a Bentley for her sixteenth birthday. An Escalade is more than enough.”
Seraphina nodded. “I agree.”
He was silent for a moment, the muscles in his jaw tensing. “That child… I give her so much, and all she wants is more.”
“She’s a teenager. It’s what they do. She’s testing you and testing her boundaries.” Seraphina held up a hand before he could respond. “That doesn’t excuse her actions.”
“No, it doesn’t. I’m tired of this behavior. It’s her mother’s influence.”
Seraphina bit her tongue. Javier’s ex-wife lived excessively on the divorce settlement she’d been awarded, but had already twice petitioned the court for more. The woman was one of Seraphina’s least-favorite people, partly because of her influence on Dahlia and partly for the way she made Javier’s life hell. “What are you going to do?”
“The same thing I did last time.” He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket.
“I tried Dahlia’s phone. She’s not answering.”
Javier snorted. “I’m calling her mother.” He shifted the phone to his other ear. “Hello, Felicia.” The grimace on his face translated so well to his voice that Seraphina was sure his ex-wife had picked up on it. “I’m calling because I need to speak to Dahlia.” He listened. “What do you mean she’s not there? Are you sure?” He rolled his eyes. “What I mean is, have you put down your wine to actually check or are you just guessing?”
He pulled the phone away from his ear. Tinny curses rained out of it. When the rant died off, he spoke again. “Fine. I get it, she’s not there. If she shows up, please tell her to call me. Have a nice evening spending my money.” He hung up.
Seraphina covered her mouth with her hand. “You shouldn’t have added that last part.”
“No, I shouldn’t have, but I am a weak man given to passion, not common sense.” He slumped onto a nearby stool. “That child is going to kill me.”
“Then do something about it.”
He looked at her. “Like what?”
“Put the word out that she’s gone missing. It’ll be dark in an hour. She and her girlfriends might turn up trying to con their way into one of the casinos or nightclubs. You know how much they love sneaking off to the Strip. Vegas is a small town when you’re local and people know you. She can’t stay hidden from you for long.”
He glanced at the painting he’d been working on, then looked at her and smiled. “You are worth twice the salary I pay you.”
She laughed. “You pay me plenty.” Plus, he provided her with quarters, a vehicle and anything else she might need. It was a pretty standard arrangement when a patron hired a muse, and one that worked well for both of them. “I assume you’ve come up with a plan?”
“I have.” He picked up his phone again and dialed. “It just so happens I know someone who can give us exactly the kind of help we need to find Dahlia.”
“Windows, open.” At Ares’s command, the curtains on his penthouse windows slid back to let the twilight in. Clad only in pajama pants, he walked toward the view, stretching the remnants of sleep out of his system as he went. The sun’s dying light sliced the sky into ribbons of orange and pink and painted his penthouse and bare chest with the same colors. He put his forearm against the glass, then leaned his head against his arm to get a better look at the scene on the street far, far below.
Streaks of light, the blur of people moving along the footpaths and pedestrian bridges…the Vegas Strip didn’t change. The same hustle and bustle, the same busy streets and crowded sidewalks. The same bone-deep desire that it stirred in those who visited and lived here to be a part of it all.
But he couldn’t. Not really. Not unless he was covered head to toe. Even then, he risked the possibility that something might go wrong. That, somehow, he’d come into skin-to-skin contact with an innocent and take their soul before it was their time.
Death was his skill. His talent. His business. It was also his assigned duty as a Sin City Collector and a job he protected fiercely, because it was one of the few he could do without repercussions. Hell, it was that or work in a mortuary. But even that would have meant being around living souls who weren’t ready to go yet.
The coffee machine sighed in readiness.
He pushed off the glass and padded barefoot to the kitchen. He fixed a single large cup, black with heaps of sugar, and stood there drinking it, looking out over his penthouse and thinking the same thought he had almost every evening.
Being a wraith had its perks, but companionship was not one of them.
A soft, hesitant rap rap rap sounded on his door. He put the coffee down and went to answer it.
A messenger stood on the other side. A kid not more than twenty-two, twenty-three. He stared up at Ares. The whites of his eyes showed a little more as his gaze went to the hourglass tattooed on Ares’s chest, but he was otherwise doing a damn good job of not letting his fear manifest anywhere else.
Ares stared back. “You are?”
“Leo.”
“You have a thing for ink, Leo, or do you think I’m sexy?”
Leo’s gaze dropped. “No, I just…I’m sure you’re very se—your tattoo is very nice.”
Ares leaned i
n. He could have flashed an impressive set of fangs, too, but no point in making the kid wet his pants. “Not like I had any say in it. Comes with my reaper side.”
“I, uh, yes. I’ve heard.” Leo cleared his throat and managed to keep his hand steady as he held out an envelope. “Romero sends his greetings.”
Ares studied Leo, letting him hold the envelope. “You’re new.” It wasn’t a question. Ares had better-than-average recall of the Collectors he’d met, and Leo wasn’t on that list. Probably hoped to work his way up to Collector. No idea what kind of supe he was, but then, Ares had never been one to pay much attention to another supernatural’s bloodlines. He never got that close.
Leo stood up a little straighter. “I’m Romero’s nephew.”
Then he had to have a little pyro in his system, if the rumors about Romero were true. Ares took the envelope as he inhaled. No scent of smoke. Whatever that was worth. “You’re still new.” He could be the Boss’s nephew, for all Ares cared. Leo would still have to prove himself. All Collectors did.
As if sensing Ares’s thoughts, Leo narrowed his eyes like he meant business. “Any questions?”
“No.” Even if he had, he wouldn’t be asking this kid. “Tell Romero I’ll be in touch.”
Leo nodded and backed away as Ares shut the door. No doubt, Leo’d be regaling his fellow Collector recruits about how he served the wraith his next job and lived to tell about it. With a sigh, Ares walked back to his coffee. He tossed the envelope on the counter and stared at it while he drank the now-tepid liquid and returned to admiring the sunset.
Except the sun was gone. Only the deepening purple of the sky remained as evidence it had ever been there.
Time to get moving. He put his cup in the sink and picked up the envelope, bittersweet curiosity edging his thoughts. Whose soul would he be Collecting today?
He tapped the envelope once on the counter, tore a strip off the short end and blew into it to open it up, then tipped the contents into his hand.
The playing card he’d been expecting slid onto his palm. It was the queen of diamonds, but the queen’s portrait had been replaced with an image of a teenage girl, hand-painted very much in the style of famed Las Vegas artist Javier Bares. With a frown, Ares looked into the envelope, but there was no other information.
If this was his intended Collection, it would also be the first assignment he’d turned down. He studied the card. An address out in the ritzy section of Henderson and a time, less than an hour from now, were delicately painted beneath the girl’s portrait. Even though the girl was dressed like an adult, she still looked young, maybe fourteen, fifteen. A child. Shaking his head, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
Romero answered on the third ring. “Ares. I take it you got the card.”
“I’m not doing this Collection.”
“It’s not what you think—”
“No children. You know my rule.”
“Like I said, it’s not what you think. The kid is Dahlia Bares.” Romero rolled the R in Bares. “Javier’s fifteen-year-old daughter. She’s run away from home for the second time, and Javier is extremely worried and very unhappy, as you can understand. You know the Boss loves Javier’s work, so he offered you up to help find her.”
“I am sorry for Mr. Bares’s troubles with his daughter, but my skills don’t lie in tracking and recovery. You must have another Collector better equipped to—”
“We don’t.” Romero’s response was terse and clipped. He either thought Ares should just shut up and do the job, or he wasn’t happy with the Boss sending Ares out on such a low-level task. “Everyone else is on assignment. Or about to be. The Boss wants you on this.”
Which meant there was no further discussion. Ares ground his back teeth together. This wasn’t going to be fun. “Understood.” He wasn’t going to give Romero grief over what was out of the man’s control. Ares flipped the card in his fingers. “I’ll be at the address listed at the appointed time.”
“Thank you. We expected nothing less. Javier’s assistant will fill you in on anything else you need to know when you arrive.” Romero hung up.
Ares put his phone and the playing card on the counter next to each other. Searching for this kid was going to mean dealing with not only Javier’s assistant, but also talking to supernaturals and humans. That meant full leathers to avoid accidental contact. He had less than fifty minutes to get to the address on the card by the time indicated.
Time to suit up. And, on this Collection, try not to kill someone.
With Javier out searching and Lucinda making phone calls to all of Dahlia’s friends’ parents, Seraphina had been left to await the arrival of the help Javier had called in. Some sort of local agency that helped when the police couldn’t. She wasn’t completely sure what that meant, but Javier had powerful friends, and for that much, she was glad. In this situation, there was no string that shouldn’t be pulled to get Dahlia home.
She’d found Dahlia’s iPad and was now scrolling through her social media sites, looking for clues as to where the girl might have gone. Thank Mount Olympus, Dahlia’s passwords had been amazingly easy to suss out, something Seraphina had kept secret from the girl since the last time she’d run. Dahlia would be furious if she knew Seraphina had been accessing her social media, but Seraphina didn’t care. Keeping Javier’s daughter safe mattered more than keeping her happy.
An electronic ping sounded, and a message popped up from one of Dahlia’s friends.
C u @ Lux, baby! We’re gonna get stupid 2nite!
Lux was an exclusive Vegas hotspot on the Strip that catered to high rollers and celebrities. And stupid was the appropriate word. Vegas could be a dangerous place for an adult if they weren’t careful. For a fifteen-year-old teenage girl with the carelessness of youth guiding her, things could go downhill very quickly. If Dahlia and her friends were headed to Lux, they must have scored some good fake ID’s, which meant they were already starting the evening off on the wrong foot.
She stared at the message flashing on the iPad’s screen. “Well, Dahlia, your fun’s not going to last long—” The door chimes rang. “Perfect timing.” Seraphina didn’t bother checking the front-door security cam before opening the door. She already knew whoever was on the other side had been sent to help by Javier’s connection.
That knowledge didn’t fully prepare her for the man standing there. Pale as moonlight and dressed in head-to-toe black leather right down to a pair of gloves, he appeared as the personification of death with the visage of a skull and red-ember eyes. She blinked, and the image disappeared, leaving the man behind. She chalked it up to a trick of the shadows. She’d seen stranger things.
“You were expecting me?” he asked.
“Yes, sorry, it’s been a rough evening.” If he was death, death was also strikingly handsome in a cold, European way. She shook that thought from her head and made herself smile and extend her hand. He was, after all, here to help. “I’m Seraphina, Javier’s assistant.” It was easier than explaining the whole muse thing. “You must be the one the agency sent over.”
He glanced at her hand but made no effort to take it. “Yes. I’m Ares.” He tipped his head toward the house’s interior. “May I?”
“Yes, of course.” She dropped her hand. So, straight to business then. That was fine. She could deal with that. All that mattered was getting Dahlia home. She moved to let him in, then shut the door behind him. Even in the house’s well-lit interior, the darkness that surrounded him clung like an aura. What was this guy’s deal?
He turned to face her. “When did Dahlia leave?”
“As best we can tell, sometime this afternoon. The housekeeper is calling all of her friends’ homes and alerting the parents. Javier is searching the galleria, but a message just came through on one of her social media accounts from a friend. I have a feeling we’ll find her at Lux tonight.”
“She’ll need a fake ID.”
“Yes. I’m going to guess she already has one.” Serap
hina sighed. “Or one of her friends knows someone who works at Lux. Otherwise, they have no hope of getting in. The girl is spoiled, though, so she may just assume getting in won’t be an issue.” She quickly added, “Spoiled by her mother. Not Javier. That’s why she ran. She thinks he’s too restrictive.”
Ares nodded. “I see. We should go then. Find a spot inside to watch the door.”
She glanced down at her jeans and made a face. “Agreed, but I can’t go like this. They’ll never let me in.”
He held out his gloved hands. “Am I dressed all right?”
Weird question. Did the guy not get out much? She nodded. “I’m sure the rock god, full-body leather thing is perfect.” She pointed behind her. “Kitchen’s that way if you want a drink or something. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Cool?”
His gaze narrowed for a moment, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. Maybe he was picking up on the gentle vibe of persuasion that surrounded all muses. With an almost imperceptible nod, he answered, “Cool.”
She jogged upstairs, knowing she should be thinking about Dahlia, but instead found herself unable to keep her mind off the enigma of a man who’d walked through the front door. He hadn’t smiled once. Not that smiling was mandatory, but a muse’s influence tended to have a certain effect on people.
She paused at her bedroom door and glanced down toward the kitchen. He was people, wasn’t he? She knew there were a lot of…strange creatures in town. Her mother had raised her not to mix with supernaturals, teaching her that being a demigoddess wasn’t nearly the same thing, so Seraphina had never sought them out.
Her brow furrowed. Just exactly who had Javier called on for help?
Ares closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled the intriguing aroma of sugar and smoke left behind by Javier’s assistant. “Seraphina,” he whispered, letting the name slide over his tongue like a sip of cold water. It had been so long since he’d been around an ordinary human woman, he’d forgotten how wonderful they could smell. If Seraphina actually was an ordinary human woman.
Sin City Collectors Boxed Set: Queen of Hearts, Dead Man's Hand, Double or Nothing Page 12