Things did get a little weird during their negotiations when he kissed her, though.
But since then, she’d learned that Sentry’s information had been wrong, and Hunter had never actually drained any humans. They’d been dancing around their ridiculous sexual tension ever since.
Well, she danced around it. He’d be more than happy to put it all out there and see where it went. He was brave that way.
Mischa on the other hand? Not so much.
Case in point: she now stood outside his door with her hand poised to knock while an internal argument waged between the two halves of her brain.
You could ask Lucas to help, her logical, left hemisphere said.
Her more romantic right hemisphere was quick to come back with, He’s a cop. He won’t help you if you have to break the law. And you haven’t seen Hunter in a really long time. This is the perfect excuse to spend time with him.
The last time you spent time with him, you ended up naked, left hemisphere retorted.
Right hemisphere sighed dreamily. Yeah.
Left hemisphere snorted with disgust. You’re pathetic.
At least I’m not repressed and well on my way to drying up like an old hag.
Mischa pulled her hand back and pinched the bridge of her nose. Shit. All these internal arguments were giving her migraines.
She jumped a little when the door was suddenly yanked open. Her head jerked up, and standing in front of her, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, was the object of her inner turmoil.
Right hemisphere started drooling, and left hemisphere grumbled, OK, I see your point.
She cleared her throat. “Um…hi.”
Well, that was a lame greeting.
Both left and right hemispheres were in agreement on that, at least.
He didn’t say anything, just raised a brow, looking impassive and all kinds of hot. The impassive stuff hurt a little. The hotness…well, she’d been ready for that.
Which made it no less stunning in person.
Vampires, overall, were an attractive race. Mostly because vampires who chose to sire humans were every bit as image- conscious as the rest of the general population. Why turn an ugly person and be stuck with them for the rest of your immortal existence?
But Hunter? He was an anomaly even among vampires.
Standing in front of him, staring straight ahead, she had a lovely view of his breastbone, which meant he was a little over six feet tall, and he had the kind of lean-muscled, rangy build that suggested his human life had been filled with a lot of manual labor (Or buffalo hunting, she supposed).
His skin? Miles and miles of caramel-colored, smooth perfection. Top that off with classically beautiful, Native American features and shoulder-length, shampoo-commercial-shiny black hair that—Mischa knew from experience—slid through a woman’s fingers like expensive silk, and…yeah, Hunter was pretty much yummy goodness from head to toe.
Well, she supposed there was no graceful way to ease into this conversation, so she took a deep breath and blurted out, “I need to kidnap a guy and I could use your help.”
He stared at her for so long she started to shift her weight nervously from one foot to the other. Would he turn her away? Yell at her for actively avoiding him for most of the past year? Slam the door in her face? It would probably serve her right. She had run away from him, left him naked in her bed with a set of blue…
“Let me grab my jacket.”
She blinked. “Just like that?”
He rolled his eyes. “You had me at ‘um…hi’.”
Mischa held in a relieved sigh as he grabbed a beat-up army jacket off the back of his sofa and shrugged into it. Thank God he hadn’t asked too many questions. She wasn’t exactly sure where to even start.
“Something tells me this all begins and ends with Harper,” he said.
Hunter stopped in front of her, so close that she caught a whiff of the clean, soapy scent of his skin. She struggled to keep from pressing her nose into the crook of his neck and taking a few nice, deep breaths. Then it occurred to her that he’d just addressed a comment she hadn’t voiced.
She tipped her chin up to meet his gaze and frowned at him. “How does Harper manage to spend so much time with you? Doesn’t it annoy her when you read her mind?”
He snorted. “I don’t read Harper’s mind.”
“Why not?”
“Reading Harper’s mind is a lot like slam dancing at a punk rock concert. It’s loud and disorienting, and everything moves a little too quickly. Sometimes you see and hear things you’d rather not.” He shook his head. “I tried it once and the headache didn’t go away for three days.”
That wasn’t really a surprise, Mischa thought. Sometimes just trying to keep up with the thoughts Harper actually put voice to was challenging. She could only imagine what it was like to swim around in her friend’s thoughts. “And yet you’re in my head all the time. What’s up with that?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Your mind is the opposite of Harper’s. Calm and soothing most of the time. I can relax in your thoughts.”
She was boring, in other words. Her thoughts were enough to lull him to sleep.
He choked out a laugh and grabbed the end of her ponytail, giving it a gentle tug. “Hardly. There’s nothing about you that bores me, Mischa Bartone.”
And damned if hearing his deep, rich voice saying her name didn’t curl her toes. But that didn’t excuse him for intruding on her thoughts. Especially her thoughts about him. “From now on, can you please stop?”
“OK.”
She let out another relieved breath, but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Again…it’s really just that easy?”
His gaze flicked down to her mouth for a moment, then lifted once again. “I told you once before that I’d never deny you anything. You can have anything you want from me.”
She had to squeeze her eyes shut at the mental images that statement conjured. Most of them should send her straight to confession. “Right now? I’ll settle for you helping me kidnap Leon Steinfeld. And staying out of my head.”
He blinked, looking way too innocent for Mischa’s liking. “As you wish.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Fucker knew that was a line from The Princess Bride, her all-time favorite book and movie. He also knew it weakened her knees a little to hear him say it.
He’d said the same thing when she’d asked—OK begged—him to touch her a little over a year ago. And he’d touched her, all right. Everywhere in every conceivable way.
She shook off the goosebumps that raised all over her skin. It was going to be a long, long day.
Chapter Fifteen
Harper didn’t look back at Riddick as he followed her and Mr. GH to Archer’s table, but she knew from experience that he was silently cataloging their surroundings.
The VIP section was a little quieter than the lower level, and much darker. She assumed that was so scumbags like Archer could engage in their choice of illegal activities without too many witnesses.
As Romeo had told them, Archer had five guards. Two of them guarded the exits, one at either end of the VIP area. They were of little consequence. If necessary, she could slash Archer’s throat, vault over the velvet rope, and she and Riddick would be halfway out the emergency exit—which was stupidly unguarded—before he could touch them.
Two other guards stood at Archer’s sides, one on each, which was also no problem. Riddick could take those two out without any difficulty in a pinch.
But the fifth guard? He was a little more worrisome.
He had a sword sheathed on his back, and he didn’t even bother to cover it up with his shirt or a jacket. He didn’t move from his position behind Archer, but his eyes shifted all over the room, sizing up any and all threats to his master.
The guard’s gaze barely touched her before moving on. He must’ve decided pretty quickly that she wasn’t a threat—the sexist pig. But when his eyes shifted to Ridd
ick, they stayed on him a good, long time.
Plan A, Romeo’s plan, wasn’t going to work, she decided on the fly. They’d have to go with Plan B, which was her own plan.
She turned around and glanced up at Riddick to find him doing pretty much the same thing the guard was doing, only he must’ve decided no one was a real threat, because he smiled down at her with savage glee in his eyes.
“Plan B?” she asked.
“Oh, hell yeah.”
He looked like he was actually looking forward to Plan B.
Harper shook her head. Men. Like overgrown kids, all of them.
Mr. GH pulled out a chair for her across from Archer, but she didn’t let him push it in when she sat down. After all, nothing slowed an escape more than a chair pushed all the way up to a table.
She was glad when Mr. GH gave Archer a quick bow before meandering back into the crowd. If she never saw that little creeper again, she’d be a happy camper.
Archer’s mouth tipped up when Riddick refused the chair he was offered, choosing instead to stand behind Harper, hands on her shoulders. “I would’ve sworn the two of you were lovers. This stance makes you seem more like bodyguard and master.”
Riddick’s hands tightened reflexively on her shoulders, but thankfully, he remained quiet. She knew he’d heard Romeo say that fighters were expected to be seen and not heard. She just hadn’t been sure he’d be able to stay silent and let her take the lead. Especially when she knew his first impulse was probably to toss her over his shoulder, caveman-style, and haul her out of danger’s path.
Harper gave Archer a sharp grin of her own and said, “Why would we be one or the other when we can be both?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Labels bore me.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Touché, my darling. Touché.” Extending a hand, he said, “My name is Archer. And you are…?”
She glanced down at his hand. There was no way in hell she was touching him. God knows what kind of horrific visions she’d unwittingly pick up off him. “I’m…wondering why I’m here, Archer.”
He seemed simultaneously surprised and intrigued by her indifference. “You’re a beautiful couple,” he said, almost sounding sincere. “I merely was hoping we could spend some time together.”
His smile made her skin crawl. “Us spending time together?” She put just enough emphasis on the word time to let him know she knew what he really meant by that. “Not going to happen. At least not like what you have in mind.”
This time his surprised expression bled into barely concealed anger. “Little one, you’ll do well to watch your tone with me. I’m not sure you understand who you’re dealing with.”
She gave him a smile so sweet he’d go into a diabetic coma if he was human. “Oh, I know exactly who I’m dealing with. You’re the Vrykolakas who can’t seem to quit losing his businesses to the Lykoi.”
Archer’s nostrils flared and any remaining trace of humanity he had left bled from his expression as he leaned forward, hissing at her, flashing his fangs.
That’s when everything went a little…sideways.
But fortunately, sideways was all just another part of Plan B.
The two guards at Archer’s sides lunged forward, but didn’t make it within ten feet of her. Riddick pulled two silver knives from the loops he had sewn into the back of his jeans and flung them at the guards. Both men hit the ground simultaneously, clutching the hilts of the knives sticking out of their throats.
The guards at the exits made their way to the table in a blur of vampire super speed. Riddick grabbed one of them by his throat and slammed him down on the table in front of a stunned Archer, and smashed the other guard’s knee with a well-placed side kick, dropping him like a bag of wet cement.
The funny part of the whole scene? No one else in the VIP section was particularly concerned about what was going on around them. Looking incredibly put-upon, the other patrons simply gathered their drinks and casually made their way back to the dance floor on the main level. In what kind of place, Harper wondered, was it commonplace for people—or vampires, even—to end up with knives sticking out of their throats? How jaded did you have to be before that didn’t faze you?
It was a crazy, crazy world they lived in, that much was certain.
Her musings were interrupted when the last remaining guard started moving purposefully around the table, eyes full of blood and focused intently on Riddick.
He’d regret being a sexist pig. She’d been training weekly with Riddick for over a year. And this asshole was about to learn that she was every bit as much a threat to his boss as Riddick was.
When he rounded the table on Archer’s side, Harper dove under the table and swept his legs out from under him. He was surprised and completely lost his balance, landing with an oomph on his stomach. Nimbly, before he could get up, she rolled over and slid his sword from its scabbard. He made a grab for her, but she was already up and around the table, pressing the blade against Archer’s throat from behind him.
The guard she’d knocked to the floor got up and moved toward her, eyes throwing off angry sparks. She pressed the blade into Archer’s neck, letting it lightly nick his skin. “That’s close enough, sparky. I don’t really want to cut your boss’s head off, but I will if you take another step.”
He met Archer’s gaze for a moment, and whatever he saw in his boss’s eyes had him raising his hands and backing up a step.
“That’s better,” she said. “Maybe we can have a real conversation now.”
Archer laughed. “What could we possibly have to talk about after this display, little one?”
“First of all, don’t call me little one. It’s creepy as all hell.” She shuddered. “Second of all, we have lots to talk about. Many mutual interests, as it turns out.”
He tipped his head back—carefully, mindful of the blade at his throat—and smirked at her. She frowned at him. “No, I’m not talking about that. That was never going to happen, by the way.”
Archer glanced back at Riddick wistfully. “A pity, that.”
Riddick didn’t spare him a glance, but did scowl pretty severely as he knocked out the guard he’d pinned to the table and zip-tied the hands of the guard Harper’d taken down. The guard with the busted knee wisely stayed still and quiet on the floor.
“Yes, your loss,” Harper said dryly. “Trust me. But if you play your cards right, you could still end up a winner in this whole mess. Interested in what I have to say? Or should I go ahead and Highlander you for the hell of it?”
She glanced over at Riddick and added, “I’ve always wanted to say ‘there can be only one’ before beheading someone.”
Riddick just shook his head and smiled fondly at her as he forced the guard with the zip-tied hands down into a chair.
Archer clenched his jaw, but said calmly, “I’m listening.”
She smiled and took a seat next to him before handing the sword over to Riddick, who moved to hover protectively behind her. She didn’t look back at him, but could practically feel the cold scowl he was leveling at Archer.
“You and I both want the same thing, Archer,” she began. “And I’m not talking about a three-way. I’m talking about Romeo Jones, either dead or just…gone. Forever.”
He raised a brow and leaned forward. “Now you truly have my attention.”
“Yeah, I thought that might do it. See, in order for me to get Romeo out of my life, I need you to let another fighter into the Arena in Romeo’s place.” She tipped her head to one side. “Unless…I don’t guess you’d be willing to waive Romeo’s debt out of the kindness of your heart?”
He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Not likely. He owes me over three hundred and eighty thousand. Who do you want to fight in his place?”
Harper nodded in Riddick’s direction. Archer glanced up at him and smirked. “Well, the crowd would certainly love him. But in order to pay off Romeo’s debt, he’d need to win every match, even against the Lykoi’s best man, who
is undefeated. And the Arena is hand-to-hand. No weapons,” he said, glancing distastefully at the silver knives sticking out of his guards’ throats. “Do you think he can handle it?”
“After seeing him take down your very own guards, you can sit there and ask me that with a straight face?” She shook her head. “Trust me, he’s the best fighter you’ll ever see in your life. There’s no one on their team who can beat him.”
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “You ask me to trust you, when all I really know of you is that you got yourself invited to my table under false pretenses, then proceeded to injure my men and threaten my life. Wouldn’t I be the very worst kind of fool for trusting you after what I’ve seen tonight? How am I to know you’re not a cop or a reporter, hoping to shut down or expose the Arena?”
She glanced down at herself, then over at Riddick before looking back at Archer, brows raised. “Do we look like cops or reporters?”
He looked down his nose at her. “You expect me to take you at your word?”
Harper shrugged. “I guess not.” She held a hand out to him. “Give me your phone.”
After a few more haughty glares, he handed her his iPhone and she called the one person—probably in the whole world—who could convince a mob boss she wasn’t a cop or reporter. After a few rings, he answered, “Is this the person to whom I am speaking?”
“Does that joke ever get old, Mickey?” she asked.
Her uncle chuckled. “Never. I didn’t know it was you; I didn’t recognize this number. How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m good, thanks. I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything, of course.”
She briefly laid out what she needed, without giving him any detail as to the why. The less he knew the better, since he’d tell her mother what she was up to, and would then undoubtedly spill his guts as soon as she asked any questions.
When she finished, he sighed. “Harper, you know I don’t have any power in Vegas, right? I mean, I’m respected, of course, but I have no real ties there.”
Harper Hall Investigations Complete Series Page 31
