“So,” Harper began, drawing the word out for several extra syllables, “are you going to tell me willingly, or do I have to get the information out of you another way?”
Mischa blinked innocently. “Tell you what?”
Harper pushed up her sleeves. “Fine. We do this the hard way.”
Mischa squealed and made a run for it when Harper tried to grab her, but Harper’s superior height and reach won out. She managed to snag Mischa’s wrist as she attempted to bob and weave her way out of the kitchenette.
The vision that assailed her was…
Okay, now she knew why Mischa was blushing.
“Wow,” Harper finally said, letting go of Mischa’s wrist. “That was, um, wow.”
Mischa covered her flaming-red face with her hands. “Don’t say anything else! This is all brand new and I don’t want to hear any of your opinions or teasing right now, OK? Let it go.”
Letting it go would be the merciful thing to do. Especially after all Mischa had done to help her. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been pressuring the poor woman for months to do exactly what she’d just done with Hunter. She was truly happy for her friend.
But then again…
“Fine,” she said in the most innocent tone she could muster. “I won’t say a word.”
And she didn’t.
Instead, she started singing the first few lines of Love in an Elevator.
Mischa’s jaw dropped for a split second. Then, just as Harper got to “bettin’ on the dice I’m tossin’”, her chin came up and she turned on her heel, marching out the door, both middle fingers held high.
Harper would’ve felt bad about the whole thing if she hadn’t seen the smile threatening to break across Mischa’s face before she left.
And besides, merciful just wasn’t really her style.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Well, I knew you’d be a shit boyfriend, but I really never thought you were a fucking dumbass. Now I know I overestimated your intelligence.”
Riddick didn’t bother to look up from the bottle of tequila he’d been nursing for the past twenty minutes as one of his worst nightmares sat down on the stool next to him. “Go away.”
“Nice to see you, too.” He signaled the bartender. “Beer, please, darlin’.”
The bartender was about sixty-five, probably weighed three-twenty, and was missing more than a few teeth. And she twittered like a schoolgirl because Lucas Cooper called her “darlin’.”
Disgusting.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Cooper?”
Cooper raked his fingers through his Ken-doll-blond hair. “Harper wanted me to come.”
Fucking great. Jealousy. Hadn’t felt that particular piece- of-shit emotion since the last time he’d talked to Cooper about Harper. It wasn’t exactly fun then, and it certainly wasn’t fun now.
“If Harper wanted you to come, why are you wasting your time with me?”
Cooper took his beer from the bartender and thanked her, earning yet another toothless grin before she went back to refilling salt shakers. “I talked to Mischa. She said Harper was worried about you, since you didn’t go back to the hotel last night.”
“And you plan to drag me back?”
“Fuck no. Why would I do that? Right now you’re proving me right. I do ever so much enjoy being right.”
He knew what the bastard meant. Cooper had told him a year ago that he wasn’t good enough for Harper. That he’d eventually hurt her and abandon her. “I haven’t left her,” he practically growled. “I wouldn’t do that. I just needed time to think.”
“Well, you’re sitting here in a shithole bar getting drunk at two in the afternoon while a beautiful woman who loves you—completely inexplicably, in my opinion—worries, by herself, in a hotel across town. Doesn’t really seem like thinking is your strong suit, pal.”
Riddick took a deep swallow of his drink, ignoring the burn of guilt and cheap tequila at the back of his throat. “You don’t get it.”
Cooper nodded. “No, you’re right. I couldn’t possibly understand all the deep, brooding thoughts you’ve got rolling around in that too-pretty head of yours. What do I know about you?”
Riddick didn’t bother answering. Seemed like Cooper just wanted to hear himself talk.
“Did Harper ever tell you about my dad?” Cooper asked.
What the fuck… “In case you haven’t noticed, Cooper, I’m not really in the mood for chitchat. Could you just—”
“My dad was human,” he interrupted. “A typical, ordinary human. My mom was a shifter. She never told him what she was. Just kind of hoped he’d never find out, you know? I think she thought that if she acted normal, even she’d eventually start to believe she was.”
Riddick resisted the urge to bang his head on the bar. “Christ, man, I don’t give a—”
“But she couldn’t pretend anymore when she had me. The first time my dad saw me shift in my crib, the jig was up.”
Riddick sighed. “I guess if I don’t ask, you’ll just tell me anyway—so, I’ll bite. What happened next?”
“My father threw me in a duffel bag and tossed me in the river. Tried to drown me.”
His stomach churned. Shit, that was awful. At least his father had just abandoned him. “Look, I’m sorry your dad was a complete dick, but I don’t—”
“My mom saved me, of course. Killed my dad. To this day, the death was ruled an animal attack.” He chuckled humorlessly. “Guess that’s true, in a way. But my point is this.”
“Well, thank God,” Riddick grumbled. “I was starting to think there was no fucking point at all.”
Cooper went on without acknowledging his irritation. “That’s in my blood. I share DNA with a guy who would throw his own kid in a duffel bag and toss him in the river. Doesn’t mean that I’m going to turn out anything like him. Get it?”
Yeah, he got it. It wasn’t exactly a subtle point the good detective was conveying. And on some level, he knew Cooper was right. He wasn’t like his father. But the beast…
The beast was everything like his father. And it was with him 24/7.
Riddick knew he’d never hurt Harper. But the beast? Who the fuck knew what it would do?
“Even Harper’s gene pool isn’t exactly squeaky clean, either,” Cooper added. “Her uncle’s the head of one of the biggest crime syndicates on the East Coast—not that anyone’s ever been able to prove it—and her father was a drunken schmuck who abandoned his family in the dead of night after saying he was going for a pack of smokes and would be right back. And Harper’s one of the best people I’ve ever met in my life.”
Riddick fought the urge to smash Cooper’s pretty face against the bar for even saying Harper’s name. The beast, of course, urged him to do just that. He downed the remainder of his tequila instead.
Cooper sighed as he stood up and tossed a few bills on the bar. “I don’t really care what you do, Riddick,” he said. “In fact, it’s probably better for me if you sit here until you rot. That way, I get the pleasure of being right and the pleasure of being the one who’ll help Harper forget all about your sorry ass.”
Riddick surged to his feet and tossed Cooper down on the bar in one motion. Wrapping his hands around the bastard’s throat, he leaned in and hissed, “You’ll stay away from her, or I’ll rip your liver out with my bare hands.”
Cooper had the audacity to smirk up at him. “There it is. Good to finally see there’s a little fight left in you. Save that for tonight. From what I hear, you’re gonna need it.”
Riddick let go of Cooper’s throat and took a step back. Cooper straightened and ran his hands through his hair. “Remember this: Harper has amazing instincts. Even if you don’t trust yourself, trust her. She’s earned it.”
Yeah, because what he really needed right now was to hear this son of a bitch say Harper’s name a few more times.
“So, I’ll see you at the fight tonight, Riddick. You might even see me there. Someone needs to keep an e
ye on Harper.”
He growled again, taking a step toward Cooper, who merely chuckled and offered him a wave as he sauntered out of the bar.
A few hours and another bottle of tequila later, Riddick realized that Cooper was right. There wasn’t anyone in the world he trusted more than Harper. And if she wanted him, then who was he to say she was wrong?
Besides, he’d promised her that they were in this thing together, and here he sat, letting her worry about him. Alone.
“Fuck,” he muttered, slamming the empty bottle back down on the bar. “I am a fucking dumbass.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
God, what Harper wouldn’t give for a minute or two alone.
“Sweet merciful crap on a crust, it’s really you.”
Harper winced as Leon’s nervous giggle devolved into a snort. “Yep, it’s really me.”
She took a seat across from him and held out her arm so that he could wrap the tourniquet around it. “I feel like I’m meeting a rock star or something,” he said as he poked the needle into her skin and drained off a vial of her blood.
Leon removed the tourniquet and Harper flexed her fingers. “Yeah,” she muttered. “A rock star. That’s me. I’m the freakin’ Joan Jett of the paranormal world. Poster girl for weirdos everywhere.”
Mischa stepped forward and pressed a cotton ball against the needle puncture on Harper’s arm. “Do you have everything you need to produce the antidote now, Leon?”
“Yep. I should have it ready tonight. By the time the fight’s over, it will be ready to rock.” His gaze shot to Harper’s. “See what I did there? Brought it back to rock ‘n’ roll?” He laughed/snorted again and played a few strings on his air guitar.
Her eyes went wide and she gave him a short, slow nod to indicate that yes, she got the joke—and no, she wasn’t really amused.
“Don’t say anything else,” Mischa advised. “You sound like a freakin’ moron.”
Leon flinched and Harper instantly felt sorry for him. “It’s OK, Leon.” She patted his hand. “Thanks for coming out here for me, and for creating the antidote. I owe you one.”
His face got a soft, dreamy look on it that made Harper distinctly uncomfortable. Fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything.
“Gross,” Mischa muttered. “Quit thinking whatever it is you’re thinking.”
Leon’s gaze snapped to hers. “I don’t work for you anymore, bitch. Back off!”
Hunter was across the room and had Leon pinned to the wall by the throat before Harper could even track his movements.
“I’ve warned you twice about that,” he hissed, fangs elongating as he leaned in, presumably to rip Leon’s throat out. “Now you’re just testing me.”
Harper blinked. Wow. So this is what dating a vampire looked like, she thought. Apparently, shit tended to go sideways real fast.
“Are you going to stop this?” she asked Mischa.
Mischa seemed to think about it for a moment before grabbing hold of Hunter’s bicep. “It’s OK,” she said in a low voice. “Really. Please don’t kill him before he makes Harper’s antidote.”
Hunter immediately dumped a coughing, gagging Leon on the ground. As if he hadn’t just almost ripped a guy’s head off, he gently cupped her chin and tilted her face up. “As you wish,” he whispered before planting a kiss on her that raised the temperature in the room a good twenty degrees.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Leon said, struggling to his feet. “I’m fine. Really.”
Mischa and Hunter ignored him as they continued to gaze into each other’s eyes. Even in her current foul temper, Harper couldn’t help but tear up a little. They really were beautiful together. The whole thing was crazy romantic.
Leon gagged again and spit a wad of phlegm into the trash can by the door.
And again, splat goes the romance.
What was it about Vegas that just seemed to suck the romance out of every room?
She sighed wistfully. “Riddick always tries to kill people who call me names, too.”
If he was here right now, she decided, he’d scowl at Leon and look slightly nauseated by Hunter and Mischa’s display of emotions. But then he’d turn to her and the shadows in his eyes would disappear.
Mischa tore her gaze away from Hunter and gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm. “He’ll be back. All he’s ever wanted was to keep you safe. Riddick wouldn’t abandon you now. He just needed time to think.”
Leon blanched. “Riddick? Are you talking about Noah Riddick?”
Mischa shot him a dark glare. “Well, she’s not talking about the damn Vin Diesel movie.”
He ignored her. “You know Noah Riddick?”
“The giant rock on her left-hand ring finger isn’t just for show, maggot,” Mischa said.
Leon’s already-pasty complexion faded to an even whiter shade of pale, which pissed Harper off. “If you’re going to give me a speech about how Riddick is dangerous, I’m probably going to let Hunter kill you, or maim you at the very least.”
Hunter grinned maniacally and Leon held up his hands in supplication. “N-no. I know he’s not dangerous to you. If he’s marrying you, then you’re probably the safest person on the planet.”
Well, that was an exceedingly weird thing to say, she decided. She glanced over at Mischa, who just shrugged. “What the hell are you talking about, Leon?”
He shook his head furiously and started backing toward the door. “I have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m just rambling, really. I do that sometimes when I think…someone might try and scalp me.” He shot an uneasy look in Hunter’s direction. “I certainly don’t know anything about Noah Riddick or anyone in his family.”
Riiiggghhhttt. Leon might be a certified genius, but he was a piss-poor liar.
Harper nodded at Hunter, who didn’t hesitate to grab Leon by the collar of his white button-down and toss him into a chair. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes on him.
Mischa had told her Leon wasn’t easy to interrogate. He wasn’t susceptible to Hunter’s mind-reading ability. And considering he was a thief and a liar, the chances of her getting the truth out of him were slim to nil, because frankly, she was a shit interrogator. She supposed the interrogator gene skipped a generation.
Her mother, on the other hand, had been the best interrogator Sentry had ever employed. Her empathetic gifts were so strong she didn’t even need to be in the same room with a subject to…
Harper glanced over at Mischa. “Do you have your laptop?”
She pushed her glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose. “Always. Why?”
“Can you set up a Skype for me?”
Mischa looked puzzled for a moment before understanding dawned. “Oh, yeah. Can do. Just give me a minute.”
She leaned over and slapped Leon on the back playfully. “Leon, I think it’s high time you met my mother. I’m sure she’ll want to thank you for everything you’re doing to help me.”
This time, her sweet words and tone didn’t seem to move Leon. He was too busy pissing his pants at the idea of being one-on-one with her mother, whose mad skills just happened to be the stuff of Sentry legend.
And having survived one of her mother’s interrogations when she was thirteen and had skipped school to ride the bus to New Jersey and catch a Bon Jovi concert…well, she could safely say Leon was right to be pissing his pants. He didn’t stand a chance against Tina Petrocelli.
Chapter Thirty
A short time later, they knew more than they ever cared to about Leon Steinfeld.
They knew about how he pushed his younger brother out of his treehouse when he was eight, causing the poor kid to break his leg. They knew about the time he shoplifted Axe body spray from Walgreens. They knew about the time his grandmother walked in on him jacking off to her JC Penney catalog. They knew the numbers and balances of the offshore Cayman Islands bank accounts where Leon hid his ill-gotten retirement fund.
One short conversation with her moth
er, and the only things the poor bastard hadn’t confessed to were making Jimmy Hoffa disappear and killing OJ’s ex-wife.
But most importantly, they knew a lot more about the Riddick family.
Her mother patted her cottony cloud of bottle-blond curls with one hand as she frowned thoughtfully into her computer’s camera. “That young man has issues, but he’s not really all that bad. I wonder if he’d like Selena?”
Tina Petrocelli was a pro interrogator, a kick-ass cook, and the best empath in the United States, possibly even the world. She was also a damn-near perfect mother, and could hustle pool in a way that would make Fast Eddie Felson weep with envy. But matchmaking?
Not. So. Much.
“Ma, Leon is a criminal. He embezzled from his last employer and lives on credit card scams.”
She seemed to think about that for a moment, then shrugged and said, “Meh, no one’s perfect. Even with the embezzlement and credit card thingy, he’s probably no worse than that last imbecile she went out with.”
She wasn’t lying, Harper thought. Her cousin’s last boyfriend had been a thirty-five-year-old gaming geek who spent his days playing Call of Duty in his tighty-whities in his mom’s basement. He was also gay, but in Harper’s opinion, that was the least of the obstacles the guy would have to overcome to be a suitable boyfriend for Selena.
“Did I get you enough information, dear? He’s hiding more, but in the timeframe you gave me, I think I got everything I could out of him without crushing what little spirit he has left.”
Harper smiled. “You were great, Ma. You got me exactly what I needed. I’ll get the rest out of him tonight.”
Even if I have to pull out his fingernails one by one and let Hunter scalp him to do it.
“Alright, sweetie. Give my boy a big hug for me.”
Harper fought back an eye roll. Ever since their engagement was announced, her mother had been referring to Riddick as her boy. Tina had always liked him, but now that a ring was on Harper’s finger? Shit, at this point, her mother probably liked Riddick more than Harper.
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