The Billionaire's Heir (Sucubus For Hire Book 1)

by Michael Don Anderson

  The patrolling security guards held their weapons loosely in their grips. Ready to shoot me if I put up a fight. I trotted down the sidewalk, stomping loudly in my leather boots. Angry enough that was I seeing red. Thankfully, the gate buzzed open as I reached for it. I was prepared to give it a good, solid preternatural kick if it hadn’t.

  I hesitated. Turning toward the hidden microphone. I wanted to ask Joseph what had gone wrong. But I noticed the car still parked across the street. Probably recording me. I pivoted and kept walking until I reached my car. I jerked the door open almost too hard. Slipping angrily behind the wheel, I pummeled the plastic circle hard enough to make it creak with protest.

  I turned the key, cursing and staring at the villa. The car started without any difficulty but the roar of the engine startled me. Shit. I hadn’t checked for bombs. It had never occurred to me that I might need to. Not before this moment. Flashbacks to a variety of spy movies came to mind. Hopefully my threat to Amperdyne was still enough to keep me safe.

  On the drive home, I made a few calls. The first to a friend with the CIA. I’d helped her solve a particularly career-wrecking case and gotten rid of an abusive supervisor all at the same time. To call her a friend might be stretching it. But she felt she owed me. I hadn’t played on that debt very often before. Today seemed like the day for it.

  She sounded excited to hear from me. “Bee! It’s been too long.” A slight pause and her tone turned suspicious. “Which means you need something.”

  “Why do all my female friends say that?”

  “You mean it’s not true?” Beverly Link’s sense of humor was dry and facetious. I laughed despite that it stung.

  “Okay. Maybe it is. There’s name I’d like you to run. Part of a case I’m working. Whatever you can legally find out.”

  “We’re the CIA. We’d never do anything illegal.” I heard the same humor in her voice. “What’s the name.”

  “Paul Chandler. Works with or for a Blake Mansfield. Attorney for Gibraltar Global Empire.”

  “Hmm. Sounds familiar for some reason. Can’t remember why off the top of my head.” She spoke to someone on her end of the call. Then she was back. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  I started to say ‘no.’ Then I thought about it. “How about drinks tonight? You still in Long Beach?”

  “Norwalk. But it’s not a bad drive. Are we drinking? Or drinking?”

  “If you get too wasted, you can sleep at my place. I have a very comfortable couch.” I thought about it, annoyed. “If you don’t mind the bullet-hole.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A story for drinks. What time are you free?”

  There was a momentary silence. Then she responded cheerfully. “I can be there at six.”

  “A little early for me. Gives you time to grab a bite beforehand.”

  I may not call my friends very often, but I remembered things like common courtesy. Just because I didn’t need to eat real food, didn’t mean I expected them to go hungry.

  “Then drinking. And talking. But of course, most importantly, drinking.”

  I smiled despite myself. “I know just the place.”

  She went silent a moment. “No gay bars this time, Bee. Please? If I only see you once every couple of years, can’t it at least offer a chance at getting laid?”

  I heard her get all weird in the silence. She knew I couldn’t just have sex. The CIA had been one of the sources I’d turned to for information on my past. Without any success. But they’d tried. Just because I was stuck being celibate didn’t mean she should be.

  “Like I said, I know just the place.” I put a smile in my voice and she relaxed. Or pretended that she hadn’t stuck her foot in it.

  “Great. I’ll be at your office as close to six as traffic will allow.”

  She hung up. One of my friends who definitely wasn’t in the habit of saying ‘goodbye.’ I wrinkled my nose as I reached my condo complex. I told myself that she wasn’t a friend. Just someone who owed me. But I kept calling her a friend in my mind despite my internal protests.

  Maybe I didn’t want to admit we were friends. I treated her like I treated Teresa. I never called for social stuff. Hell, I usually turned down invitations to parties and drinks. Not the best quality in a friend.

  I had time for one more quick call. Janet picked up on the first ring. “Savage Investigations.”

  “I love how that sounds.” I laughed to myself. It never felt silly reading it on letterhead or referring people to my office. But Janet’s professional yet maternal phone-voice made it giggle-worthy.

  “I thought you weren’t going to use the cell-phone!”

  “I’m not using my cellphone. Or hadn’t you noticed that the caller ID didn’t give me away?”

  “Oh. Oh!” She seemed relieved. “How’d it go this morning?”

  “I got fired.”

  “Record time, even for you. What happened?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m just pulling in at the condo. Won’t be in until after lunch. But I need a few things before I get there.”

  “Such as?”

  I gave her the names and numbers of the people I wanted to arrange meetings with and left her to it. I parked the car and sat in the silence once the engine was off. I stared at myself in the rearview mirror. My glasses looked good. Hid just how angry I was.

  “Get a grip, Bianca.” I muttered a few choice curse words and then checked the parking-garage for skulkers. For anyone who shouldn’t have been there. Not that Amperdyne had had time to put new surveillance into play. Not the human kind anyway.

  There were people gathered near one of the cars. All familiar faces. Mr. Huong and Mrs. Chavez hauling groceries from Mrs. Welby’s powder-blue SUV. The old lady could drive, but she couldn’t carry and walk with her cane.

  I had lovely neighbors. The thought of moving troubled me. But that bullet-hole in my couch was proof that I needed a very discrete residence. Or at least one with no street-facing windows.

  I opened the door and stood up. My shoulders aching. Stiff from sitting too long.

  “Morning, Bianca!” called Mrs. Welby.

  She hobbled along after the beaming Mr. Huong. He couldn’t wave properly and his effort almost spilled the grocery bags in his hands. Instead he shook a foot my direction.

  I laughed. “Good morning to you. Can I lend a hand?”

  “Two would be better,” teased Mr. Huong.

  He was a local elementary school teacher. Laid off during the recent Los Angeles County school consolidations. His wife was a doctor at Long Beach Memorial. From what I understood, they didn’t need his additional income. But he loved teaching. His hopes were high that he’d be rehired soon. As it was, some of the children wrote him letters saying that they missed him. That said something about how good he was.

  I wasn’t the sort that did positive thinking rituals, but he was like a beam of sunshine that I didn’t mind. “Be right there.”

  “I left your package on your doorstep, Bee.”

  Mrs. Chavez was a plump, middle-aged Hispanic woman. Her father was Mexican. The mother Cuban. Somewhere in her background was someone much darker than either race. She was short. And quite pretty, despite the roundness of her face.

  We went to the same church, which was odd because she was Catholic. I wasn’t. I’d asked her once why that was. She said she didn’t like the services as much at her old church as she did at Universal Gospels, two blocks over. And the food was better at mine.

  I didn’t question it after that. She insisted she was still a devout Catholic. I had horns and a tail and believed in God. Who was I to judge?

  “Package? Who from?”

  “A handsome young man delivered it. But you were already out.” She giggled. “What does a beautiful young girl like you do at five in the morning? Surf?”

  “Not what you’re thinking, Mrs. Chavez.” I smiled and locked my car before I took a handful of groceries and joined the parade. “Meeting a witness who wo
rks the early shift.”

  “Now what else would I be thinking, Chica?”

  “I don’t know. Meeting a mystery man?”

  “At five in the morning? Before the sun comes up?” Mr. Huong eyed me with laughter in his eyes. It was contagious.

  “I couldn’t be meeting a mystery man that early? It’s just as valid as at five at night.”

  “She’s right. Especially if he’s married.” Mrs. Welby giggled like she’d been naughty.

  I smiled back at the elderly black woman. She was thin, but still managed to have a shapely figure. Raised in Alabama until her father, a military man, had been relocated to California forty years ago. She’d met the love of her life in Long Beach and they’d lived here happy and content. Until the day he died of cancer a few years ago.

  Mr. Huong was like living sunshine. Mrs. Welby was the soul of our complex. Kind and maternal. Made me wonder what I was.

  Before Mrs. Welby’s husband died, he’d fixed things around the place free of charge. Things a handyman wouldn’t even try to repair. Coffeemakers. Garbage disposals. Even the odd engine trouble-shooting for his neighbors. Now the complex looked after her in repayment.

  Mr. Huong and Mrs. Chavez laughed at Mrs. Welby’s remark. This was their idea of risqué talk. Their naïve innocence was absolutely refreshing. I did not want to leave these people!

  My smile wilted when I realized what she’d said about the delivery. A man personally delivered a package during the tail end of night. That meant it wasn’t an official service like UPS or FedEx. Amperdyne knew where I lived. A bomb could take out the whole building. But I’d threatened to expose them if anything happened to me. So probably not the Company.

  Vampires also knew where I lived. I hadn’t threatened to expose them if I died. Not that I knew anything I could hold over their head in any event.

  I quickly set Mrs. Welby’s groceries beside her door. “I’ve got to dash. Sorry I wasn’t more help.”

  “I know all about unexpected dashes for the door,” called out Mrs. Welby.

  I heard giggling again from all three as I raced up the stairs. I turned the corner on my landing and saw the package on the doormat. Large. But not too large. If it was a bomb, opening the box might be the wrong thing to do. If it wasn’t, it might be something pertaining to the case. I risked it.

  I carefully scooped up the cardboard container and took it inside my condo. Nothing went bang so I walked it into the bathroom. Set it down in the tub. Martini tried to follow me but I closed the door on her. She wasn’t happy. But I’d rather not blow her up if possible.

  I crawled into the tub with the box and tore the paper carefully. A shoe box. Nothing ominous about a shoe box. Except that I knew it wasn’t shoes. I carefully pried the lid open, holding the box low in the tub so that the iron edges would absorb as much of the blast as possible. Tissue covered the contents and I set the box on my lap. I’d die if it blew up in this position, no question about it. I peeled the tissue away from the center and found another, smaller jewelry box. Beneath it was a white envelope. No bomb then. Or a tiny one. I read the card.

  ‘Thinking about you. Dusty.’

  Simple. Handwritten. Cryptic in a way. What did the vampire mean? Was it a threat? Would there be a heart in the smaller box? From an animal? A human? I realized just how little I knew about the vampires.

  It was a viable threat. Loss of my heart would kill me. I opened it slowly. Anxious.

  I was right. There was a heart. Not from an animal. Or human. A silver chain and tiny heart-shaped pendant.

  I sat in the tub feeling foolish and confused. Jewelry from a vampire. I hadn’t even considered the possibility. Then I had another thought. Yuri’s earlier reaction to me. Collusion with the vampires, he’d said. Amperdyne had known about the delivery. Maybe even about the contents. As high tech as their gadgets were, they could’ve easily scanned the box with a portable x-ray. No mistaking the jewelry for anything else. Which meant they still had my place under surveillance. That was less surprising than the gift.

  One kiss and I’d turned the vampire’s head. Great. Dating a vampire wasn’t exactly a problem. I couldn’t kill him. He wasn’t even alive. But that was just it. I wasn’t into necrophilia.

  More than that, Dusty was too young. Too inexperienced. Not that I was much more experienced. Not with regards to sex. But everything else. I was ancient by comparison.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I showered again before heading into the office. Being cooped up in Gibraltar’s video room left me feeling stale. Not to mention my exertion over the potential shoebox ‘bomb.’ I didn’t smell bad. Even after a five mile run, I never needed deodorant. A benefit of being a succubus. My sweat was sweet to people. Almost pheromonal. No magic in it. Just natural, sexual biology.

  I wore dressier clothes for my meeting with Teresa later. Not too sexy. I left the burgundy trench-coat and matching knee-high boots at home. Janet would be pleased. She called it part of my steampunk look. I liked them, but being in a bar without getting the wrong kind of attention was hard enough dressing normally. Or maybe it was the guns that people noticed.

  The downside to getting rid of the heavy jacket meant I had to switch out my holsters. The custom clutch-purse would work for a slow draw. But sometimes the difference between life and death was a few seconds. So I opted for a black, mid-thigh silk skirt. Just enough boning to flare at the hips and hide a gun. I wore a thigh holster on each leg. The Glock 9mm closer to my right hand. I could shoot with the left, but my accuracy dropped a bit. That’s why I kept the 45 in the left. It packed a bigger wallop when I missed the bullseye.

  The skirt would hide the guns as long as I didn’t fall on my ass or flash the room. Neither of which I expected to do. There were special slits in the fabric near the hilts. Open pockets that I could slip my hands into and draw without much effort. The slits were designed not to flare no matter how I moved. Not a perfect replacement for a side holster’s fast draw. But we were going to be in public. I hopefully wouldn’t need the weapons at all.

  I was tempted to unload the wood-tipped ammo. There were five or six hours of daylight left. Vampires couldn’t come out until dark. But I knew we’d probably go drinking directly from the office. And the way Teresa drank, it would definitely be dark by the time we called it a night.

  I had a dark-red beret clipped to my hair. My horns could hold it in place on their own. As long as I didn’t exert myself. But a careless waiter had once brushed against it with the edge of a tray. Knocking it onto the ground. People had screamed in horror. The restaurant had even banned me. Once was enough.

  I stared in the mirror, checking the woolen hat from every angle. No hint of a pointy tip anywhere. And it looked good on me.

  I adjusted my décolletage, framed nicely in a blood-red blouse. It matched the beret without being the same shade. Men would stare at my bosom before bothering to look up at my eyes. Still, I put on my Maui Jim sunglasses to be safe.

  They cost a bit more than I liked to spend on eyewear, but the red tones in the arms worked with the outfit. They also framed my face nicely. It was their Sandy Beach model. Scratch resistance and made for the beach. They’d survive a fight better than some of my day-to-day sunglasses. Dark enough to keep anyone from seeing into my eyes.

  I laughed at myself. Some women had closets full of high heels or sandals. Men had collections of fine watches or expensive sneakers for every occasion. I had about sixty pairs of sunglasses in a special display built into my condo closet. I’d have to have a new one built if I moved. Another reason not to want to change residences. Not a great one. But I was hanging on to any excuses that I could.

  The landline rang and I picked it up. “Hello?”

  “Bee, your first appointment’s here.” Janet sounded annoyed.

  I glanced at the clock. “They’re five minutes early. I’m on my way.”

  “Hurry.” She didn’t sound afraid. Unhappy, definitely. But not under duress. It wasn’t lik
e her to rush me, so I grew anxious when she hung up..

  I slipped on dark-grey dress shoes. No heels in case I had to run. But otherwise they looked like they belonged in a nice restaurant. I didn’t like to be too matchy matchy when it came to clothing. Even so, I tended toward reds and blacks.

  I walked down to my car. The parking lot was empty. I wasn’t attacked by ninjas or vampires as I got into the driver’s seat. So far so good. I still hadn’t checked for bombs. But, honestly! I wouldn’t know what to look for anyway. The key turned without an explosion. Luck was still with me.

  I got to the office in less than five minutes. Parking took almost as long. When I walked inside, I heard the bleating of goats from the supply closet. Jackson Grant, one of my tenants came out of an adjacent office and glared at me.

  “This is certainly not acceptable for a professional building!”

  Jackson was a thickly built man. Tall, almost six-three, with as much muscle as fat. He used to be a professional linebacker before a car accident tore up his legs. He could walk without a cane or crutches, but it wasn’t very graceful. He operated an accounting service. Not all football jocks were mindless brutes.

  “My apologies, Mr. Grant. I hadn’t considered the effect of this particular delivery on my tenants.”

  “Well do something about it! I had a meeting with a new client today and she walked out after five minutes of that bleating!”

  He disappeared back into his office. I couldn’t fault him. It was terribly unprofessional. Sickly dogs and rats didn’t make enough noise to bother anyone. Especially since they were usually kept in my soundproofed office, away from the hallway. I’d have to consider a different strategy for the goats.

  Janet popped her head out into the hall. She’d heard Jackson’s complaint. Probably not the first time. “Finally!” She eyed me, worriedly. I thought I looked nice. Maybe I didn’t. Not from her expression. “Eat. I’ll stall.”

  “Thanks.”

  I didn’t bother opening the supply closet door. Proximity was all my power needed. Not line of sight or anything like that. Spells required line of sight. Ones that targeted people. Vampire seduction required eye contact. My power didn’t recognize wood or steel or plaster. I put a hand to the surface of the door, more to focus than because it was necessary.