“Lucien, I—”
“You need to rest, Heather.” He nuzzled his chin on my shoulder. “You did too much.”
“But—” He was so close.
“Shhh ...” His steadying weight blanketed me. “We’ll talk later.”
I snuggled into the pillow, almost content. It did feel good. “You’re bossy.”
“I know.”
He held me like that until we drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 6
A curtain creaked open and sunlight flooded my face. “Wake up. You going to sleep all day?”
I cracked an eye open. Sweet heaven above. An Alexander Skarsgard look-alike stood next to my bed, shirtless, wearing battered Levi’s and a smile.
He cocked a grin. “Don’t get too excited. It’s me.”
Vinny.
Of course. I’d recognize that New Jersey accent anywhere.
I squinched my eyes closed and burrowed into the pillow. My head pounded and my stomach churned. I’d hoped the hangover would be gone by now.
“Yo, sleeping beauty.” Even his voice made my head hurt.
“If you want to investigate Bliss’s house, you’d better hurry.”
Of course Lucien had updated Vinny. Worse, Vinny didn’t seem to be surprised to find me in his master’s bed. I was the worst werewolf ever. Sleeping with a bloodsucker.
Damned vampire.
I shoved a pillow over my face. Naturally, it smelled like him.
The pillow went sailing across the room.
Oh, who was I kidding? It wasn’t Vinny’s fault. Lucien had touched me and rubbed me and comforted me through my pain like no one else had, or probably ever would. I didn’t even know I needed that until I had it.
I’d better not get used to it.
I groaned and rolled over, certain traitorous parts still wishing they’d had their way with Lucien last night. Of course it would have been amazing. Damned vampire. I sure hoped he didn’t tell Vinny everything.
“Come on.” Vinny shook the bed. “Lucien said you might want to do some investigating that didn’t involve thwacking your brain against a mental wall, so to speak.” He yanked back the covers. “Up and at ’em.” My shirt thwomped me on the head. “The lady just left for her weekly massage and seaweed wrap.”
“Who?”
“Bliss,” he said, losing patience.
“Oh yeah.” I rolled over, tugging on my shirt. “And how do you know that?”
“I flirted,” he said, as if it were obvious. “She’s leaving the alarm off for me. It’s a one-time opportunity, babe.”
He tossed a key at my head.
“Cripes, Vinny,” I mumbled as I caught the key, almost jealous of the fact that he’d allowed himself to flirt without feeling guilty about it. “What are you supposed to be anyway?”
“I’m your gardener,” he said, relishing the role. “I mow things. I chop down trees. I flirt with the neighbors.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to chop down trees.”
“Oops.”
“Okay, scram,” I said, forcing myself out of bed. I needed to get started.
Knowing these women, a beauty treatment would give me several hours alone in the house. I’d like to find a bankbook and check into her money situation, maybe uncover anything else that I could ask her about. I needed to keep my conversations with these women useful and targeted—or else my head was going to explode.
Besides that, we were on a deadline here. I had less than two days to figure out who’d killed Sunny or this would all be for nothing. My pack would be at war.
A shower and four Advil helped perk me up. Then I grabbed a cream and blue sundress with straw sandals that Tia had picked out. She’d labeled them with matching florescent yellow dots, which she’d found demeaning and I’d found extremely helpful. I tossed the dots into the trash and committed the outfit to memory.
I waved to Vinny on my way out the door and couldn’t help grinning when he accidentally sliced a chunk off the front rosebushes. I had to think that was for me. And I enjoyed it immensely. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being a girly girl—at least while I was undercover.
Of course, it would have been wiser to wear black while breaking into a house, but somehow, I fit in better in this neighborhood as I was. And it wasn’t like there’d be anyone home.
According to Vinny, Bliss lived in the chocolate brown house on the corner. It was accented by large dark timbers and leafy palm trees. I was pleased to see that plants, rather than a fence, formed the barrier to the backyard. I’d rather not be seen entering through the front door.
I ducked between two bougainvillea bushes. Dark-green leaves slapped at my face and thorns clawed at my skin and my dress, but I didn’t care. Once I made it past, I’d have plenty of cover to enter through the back.
A finger nudged me on the shoulder.
“Gah!” I stood straight up and banged my head on a heavy branch. “Ow!” I turned, trying to think of just what excuse I could give for slogging through Bliss Leeson’s bougainvilleas.
Tia stood directly behind me. “Hi,” she whispered.
I craned my neck to see who else might be watching. “What are you doing here?” The wind crackled the trees around us.
She pulled a strand of auburn hair away from her face. “I stopped by your house. Vinny said you were investigating.”
Vinny needed to keep his mouth closed. “What else did he say?” He’d better not have mentioned my powers.
“Nothing,” she said, her expression earnest. “I figured you could use some help.”
That surprised me. “What? You want to break into Bliss’s house?”
Tia reared back like I’d struck her. “No!” She gathered herself. “Of course not.” She wet her lips. “It’s just that you might need a lookout.” She pointed a pink nail toward her immaculate front lawn across the street. “I can pretend to do yard work,” she said, way too excited.
Aye yae yae. “Fine. Go.” We couldn’t be seen chatting in the bushes.
She gave a shy smile. “You look good, by the way.”
“You picked it out,” I said, parting the branches again.
“Take credit, okay?” She turned and headed back.
Right. I had bigger things on my mind. Like breaking and entering.
I pushed my way through the foliage and into a heavily wooded backyard. Of course, what else could I expect from a weretiger? It was like a jungle back here. Tree branches wove overhead as clusters of jasmine and tall grass filled in underneath. Insects buzzed all around, and I could swear it was hard-packed mud and not sandy California soil under my feet. I picked my way through tangles of plants as they grabbed at my skin and clothes.
At last I made it to a heavy oak door at the back of the house. Long gashes marred the wood. Someone had been playing—or using it as a scratching post. I hoped Bliss wasn’t an angry tiger. I mentally crossed my fingers as I inserted the key into the lock.
Yip-yip-yip! A dog blustered on the other side. No doubt it was Chi-Chi, who was technically the owner of this place.
Yip-yip-yip!
Fierce.
Yip-yip-yip!
Luckily I had a way with dogs.
I pushed open the door and stepped into the cool, dark interior of the house. “How goes it, Chi-Chi?”
The little tan dog couldn’t have weighed more than two pounds wet. She had bulging eyes and a tail that wouldn’t stop. Yip-yip-yip! Every time she barked, the backfire sent her an inch off the hardwood.
I bent down and let her sniff my hand before she nudged underneath and forced me to pet her between the ears. Well, at least I tried to give her a nice rub. Chi-Chi was having a hard time standing still.
“You gotta stop barking, okay? Auntie Heather has a hangover.”
She licked my hand and I took that as agreement.
Chi-Chi followed me through the mudroom and into the kitchen, collar jingling and nails clacking on the floor.
It was lighter in here, although Bliss kept plants clustered around the narrow windows.
I opened the fridge and found a few bottles of white wine and a package of steaks.
Chi-Chi whined.
“Hey, I’d give you one, except nobody can know we’re hanging out.”
Chi-Chi had to sit and think about that one.
I moved on down a side hallway and found Bliss’s office. Rich Indian fabric covered the walls. The desk itself was painted with images of four-armed women and colorful elephants. Mirrored tiles studded the corners.
I started on the drawers at the upper right and worked my way down. “You know where Mama keeps her financial files?”
The dog growled.
“Fair enough. I won’t call her that.”
I rifled through years of household documents, plastic surgery records—who injects themselves with neurotoxins in the name of beauty? Finally, I found her bank records shoved in a heap in the bottom drawer.
The gossip was wrong. Her finances looked great—better than great. Bliss was getting large influxes of cash. She was spending it, too. I couldn’t tell where the payments were coming from. They were merely noted as transfers. Still, they couldn’t be blackmail, unless she was blackmailing Donald Trump.
