Sasha nodded, anger and hate lining her face as she glared at Steve. “That was only supposed to be until I made it big in the fashion world. But then I met Steve. . . .”
Steve apparently didn’t care or didn’t know that he was thisclose to being torn limb from moss-covered limb by a busty, irate vampire.
“Shouldn’t we not talk about this here?” Pike cut his eyes to the crowd, who were desperately focused on the exchange going on. Luckily for us, our voices were lost in the bump of the music; luckily for them, the preternatural veil only allowed them to see four full-sized humans and one half-sized one having a very passionate conversation. Even so, someone must have called the police, because the sirens were already upon us and there was Detective Moyer, looking like a Lego cop amongst the sea of statuesque beauties dressed to the nines. He beelined directly for me and clamped a clammy hand on my wrist.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, trying to pull away. “She’s the one you want. She’s the crazy one!” I jabbed a finger toward Sasha, and Moyer took his sweet time looking over at her. He didn’t take his hand off my wrist, though.
“I got a call that someone attacked a supermodel, and you know what they say, if it sounds like horses, don’t go looking for zebras.”
“I don’t even know what that means but it’s her, she’s the one who attacked! She’s the one who killed Wendi, Allison, and Rose!”
Moyer looked to Pike for confirmation and Sasha started to sag. “I was doing it for us,” she breathed.
“We don’t even know each other!” I shot back. “I met you once when we were pulling my best friend from the clutches of a Snuggie-wearing madman.”
The detective’s glance cut back to me and I shook my head, not wanting to give him any more fodder for his report. “It’s not like it sounds.”
Sasha straightened up, her eyes glistening. “Don’t know you? Nina, I’ve followed you and your fashion line since you were working out of your little closet room in San Francisco. You’re a legend. You have been for decades.”
Once again, it wasn’t hard to warm to the misguided vampire. What can I say? Vanity is a LaShay trait.
“I started Fashion Fish for you. I wanted everyone to know your name.”
“So that you could ride on her coattails,” Pike put in.
“On my coattails,” Steve clarified.
“You are not the designer,” Sasha screeched. “I am the designer! You were just supposed to be the face behind the line, the cash behind the line.”
My eyebrows went up and I pointed to Steve. “That was the face you wanted for Under the Hem?”
Steve puffed out his little barrel chest, his stubby gray fingers tugging the lapels of his jacket. He grinned a wide, mostly toothless grin that just made his potato-shaped head look even more misshapen and unattractive. I was waiting for him to smooth down the three mossy hairs that made up his coif, but he didn’t.
“Sorry, Sasha. You and I just don’t share the same idea of what is attractive. Thanks for the shout-out in your blog, though.”
I gave her a finger wave while Pike explained to Moyer what happened. Apparently, Pike had a great deal more credibility because two other officers flanked the detective while he put Sasha in handcuffs. I slumped down in a chair in the makeshift “backstage” area and let out a long sigh. My phone did its little ping thing, and there the icon was again, letting me know that I was mere hours away from my debut. I had no clothing, no models, no hope, but I did help end a sire from taking on the Manhattan fashion world.
It didn’t seem like enough.
Vlad came over and locked me in a rough half hug. “I can’t believe you want me to move out. We make such a good team.”
I couldn’t help but grin up at my idiot nephew. He kissed me on the top of my head and slipped back into his jacket.
“Where you going?”
Vlad backed toward the door, beckoning for Celeste. She came running over like a doe-eyed spaniel and tucked herself under his arm.
“Is that a sewing kit in your hand, Celeste?”
She nodded. “I’m a really incredible seamstress.”
“We’re headed over to the Fashion District. I hear there’s an amazing fashion line that’s supposed to debut tomorrow, but the designer has been out chasing killers, so she hasn’t been able to finish . . .”
I felt a wash of mist go over my eyes and I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Really? You guys are going to help?”
Vlad shrugged. “I told you you need me.”
He and Celeste disappeared out the door and Pike walked over.
“Well, it’s over,” he said, pulling another chair and then pulling me into his arms.
I shook my head. “No. We still have to deal with Wendi.” Pike pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. “After this, stopping one half-made vampire seems like cake.”
I smiled slightly. “I wonder how she is with a needle and thread.”
“Speaking of sewing, apparently, Sasha thought her plan would go off without a hitch. She figured if she could get the models wearing the dresses on her side—literally, on her side—she could create some sort of undead fashion army to take it over. Then I suppose she thought the two of you would run off into the sunset—”
I cocked an eyebrow.
“Into the darkness, and rule the fashion industry by iron fang.”
“Sounds heavenly,” I said, “except for the whole thing about us ruling the fashion industry. I work alone.”
Pike narrowed his eyes.
“Sort of.”
“Better,” Pike said, rubbing his thumb over my lip.
I knew there was work to do. I knew that on some level, I should remind Pike that all vampires weren’t the same and all of us didn’t turn into couture killers no matter how gorgeous the gown was. But all I wanted to do was kiss him—so I did.
Drop Dead Clothing Wakes the Dead!
Nina LaShay and her Drop Dead runway show was all anyone was talking about for the whole of fashion week! Though this blogger is new on the scene, she was able to score a front-row ticket (courtesy of the now defunct Fashion Fish) to the show of the millennium! Not only are LaShay’s designs gorgeous, but she pulls from fashion through the ages—everything from French pre-revolutionary coats and jackets to funky 70s jewelry and eyewear to the exact thing they’ll be wearing in Milan next week. LaShay is the epitome of fashion respect. But if it wasn’t the clothing that stole the show, it could have been LaShay’s choice of models. Since Drop Dead is known for an edge toward the macabre, the designer made sure each girl looked suitably vampiric—pale, statuesque, with white marble skin and coal black eyes, each girl with a fresh coating of blood-red lipstick. This blogger has never seen models Allison Hunter and Rose Carmichael look more stunning. And they say runway fashion is dead!
xoxo Celeste
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
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Compilation copyright © 2015 by Kensington Publishing Corporation
On the Hunt copyright © 2015 by Debbie Raleigh
Scorpius Rising copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Zanetti
Phantom Embrace copyright © 2015 by Dianne Duvall
Stake Out copyright © 2015 by Hannah Jayne
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bsp; ISBN: 978-1-4201-2513-9
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On the Hunt Page 41
