Right. Yeah, I should change before I head to the studio. I have time, but barely.
“I’ll call you later, Grammy. Thanks for letting me interview you.”
“Any time, sweetheart. Just give me some warning first, next time, so I can make sure I’m looking my best.”
She waves us off. Justin and Ty hauling the equipment back to the van while I get into Ty’s passenger seat and try to steel myself for this meeting. I know Mercy isn’t a sunshine and lollipops kind of person. She probably doesn’t know I’m not though. If she’s seen me on TV she probably thinks I’m as soft and fluffy as my persona. Ugh. Just another reason to make sure I don’t do anything to remind her of that persona. Grammy was right. This dress has to go.
Ty gets in and starts the engine. “Back to the motel, first?”
I nod. “I seriously need to get out of this dress.”
He smiles. “I can help you with that.”
“I’m sure you could, but I doubt we have time.”
He laughs. “Maybe later.”
Forty-Seven
Sam
It doesn’t take long to set things up for Misty’s arrival. The fridge is stocked and her mother agreed she’d hold off on collecting things for the night. She already moved some of her things, and I moved some of mine, but I have something else to take care of before Misty comes over now.
I head to the Sheriff’s station and park up across the street from the entrance.
Entering, I take a good look around. I can’t see the asshole who ditched Misty by the lake, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t hiding out back. I smile at the slightly bemused entirely human deputy who moves toward me.
“Can I help you?”
“Where’s the sheriff?”
“He went out. Can I help?”
I guess I could ask him to file a report, but I know Misty would be pissed at me for that. She wants to investigate the attacks, and if we accuse the sheriff of doing something he actually did like that, she won’t be left alone to get anything done. They’d be on her back twenty-four-seven.
“The message I want to give can’t be delivered by someone else,” I tell him.
“Oh. Well, he’ll be back in a couple hours, I think.”
Damn. I need to meet Misty around that time.
“Where’d he go?”
“I can’t give out that kind of information.”
“You get that there are animal attacks that keep happening, right?”
He nods slowly. “We’ve advised locals to lock their doors and…”
“Do you know your sheriff’s in the habit of leaving defenseless women by the lake after dark?”
He stares at me. “What?”
“I didn’t think so. Where is he right now?”
“I can’t…”
“If he left your girl out there, how happy would you be?”
“Uh…”
“Thought so. Where is he?”
Tell me, you spineless errand boy. I stare him down. He knows what I’m looking for the sheriff for. He doesn’t want to tell me where he is. Probably a dumb idea to threaten someone who could lock me up. The realization doesn’t change my mind about what I want to do.
“I don’t know where he went.”
He’s lying. I can see it in his face. He’s freaked about the lie too. Knows I can tell that’s what it is. I don’t bother pushing him. He won’t tell me. More than his job is worth, or some shit.
I don’t cool down until I’m back in my car. Tonight, I need to make Misty my mate. Tomorrow I can murder that asshole sheriff.
Forty-Eight
Misty
I sling on a dark green shirt and black slacks. As fast as I can. I scrub the hot pink lipstick off and paint on a little natural colored gloss. Then I get moving. The sunglasses stay. I can feign a migraine for the sake of the studio crew. If I score a one-on-one with Mercy, I might have to admit my current predicament. I have no idea how she’ll react, but maybe finding out we have more than a career path in common will help endear me to her.
Ty smiles at me when I exit the bathroom. “Looking good, Flash.”
“Thanks,” I say with a smile that’s more of a nervous tick than a permanent expression.
“Ready?” He heads to the door.
Justin gets up. “Can we have a minute before you go?”
I glance his way. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the car, Ty.”
Ty leaves and Justin moves in front of me.
“Whatever happens tonight, I love you.” He kisses me briefly on the lips. “I hope Mercy’s everything you want her to be.”
“Thanks, Justin.” I leave before I can blurt that I love him too. We don’t have time and I’m too afraid it’ll convince him that he’s my mate. I don’t know what the outcome’s going to be yet. I don’t want to screw with his feelings like that. My stomach twists as I walk away. Whatever happens, I’m going to hurt two men I love. Nothing can make that okay.
Ty’s waiting when I get to the car. I get inside and try to calm my racing heart.
I’m about to meet an idol, and coincidentally a murder suspect. And I might have to admit to her that I’m part-Gator. I kind of hope I don’t. Explaining my romantic situation could be embarrassing.
“I love that color on you,” Ty tells me as he pulls out of the parking lot.
“Thanks. It’s kind of my favorite.”
“Your grandmother was right. Pink isn’t you.”
“I know,” I say, smiling tightly.
I mean, it’s kind of the whole reason I came running out here when he called. A chance to escape the damn squeaky clean, pink and fluffy image I have going on. To get my hands dirty and report on some real news. I’m not so sure that’s going to happen now. Even if I do work out who the killer is, it’s not like the world would believe shifters are real. What does that leave?
“Be careful,” Ty says. “I don’t know much about this woman, but if she’s a gator we can’t be sure she hasn’t been involved in the animal attacks.”
“I know,” I tell him. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
Forty-Nine
Misty
The studio is huge. Much bigger than I’m used to, and that’s obvious before I even set foot inside.
Ty parks up and tells me he’ll wait in the car. I kiss his cheek briefly before I jump out.
This is it, I’m about to meet the woman who inspired me to become a reporter. I don’t usually get nervous around famous people, but right now my thoughts are starting to race and I’m freaked out that I might blurt something seriously embarrassing when I meet her.
I go inside after a second’s hesitation outside the main doors to reception. The front desk is manned by two women wearing headsets. One of them gets up when I approach. She pulls on a warm smile.
“Misty Gordon, I’m so pleased to meet you. Ms. Dahlen is ready for you up on level three.” She motions for me to follow her and I do so, unable to come up with any words of reply or greeting as she leads me down several corridors. She stops at an elevator, hitting the button and gesturing as the doors open. “Level three, first turning on your left. They’re expecting you.”
She takes off without another word. I step inside and catch sight of myself in the mirrored walls of the elevator. Ugh. I look like I’m trying to be cool with the glasses on. I feel like such an asshole. If it were at least October I could take off the shades and get away with telling everyone I just love Halloween. I guess I’m just going to have to put up with looking like an asshole.
I hit the button for level three and step back as the doors close. It takes less than a minute to get to Mercy’s level. I panic for a second before I remember the receptionist’s instructions. First turning on my left. I take my time, trying to pull myself together before I meet her.
The studio I walk into is at least twice the size of the one back home that Diane gets to work in. It’s also pretty dark, and I stumble a little when I don’t notice a cable below my feet. The set is
bustling with people. I know they go live in an hour or so and I wonder at Mercy’s invitation so close to recording time. She must be so busy. I’m lucky she could fit me in.
I see her talking with a woman in a pinstriped suit right before she glances my way. I freeze on the spot, panic setting in. I don’t know what to say to her. She’s like a God and I’m an ant.
She smiles, finishes up with the woman in the suit and comes my way.
“Misty Gordon, it’s so good to finally meet you.”
And now I’m dead.
I manage not to tell her I’m her biggest fan. I don’t manage to find other words.
She takes me by the arm. “Let’s go talk in my office. It’s quieter there.”
Her office? I walk with her towards what appear to be a bank of dressing rooms. Hers isn’t typical in the slightest. It looks more like a producer’s office. She has a station where her hair and makeup must get done, but she also has a desk with a laptop and heap of files and notebooks.
I’m still taking everything in when I hear the lock click into place behind me. I turn, suddenly on edge for reasons other than internally fan-girling so much that I become a living statue.
She smiles at me, and I wonder if there’s a hint of malice in those ruby red lips.
“Got you all to myself at last,” she says, sitting down behind her desk and leaning back in her chair.
I don’t know what to say or do so I don’t do anything. I’m really starting to feel like an asshole now. The glasses are one thing. This inability to react to anything is getting old.
She motions to the seat in front of the desk. “Sit down, please. And lose the glasses. I know what they’re really for.”
I remove the shades and sit, thankful that I seem to at least be able to take instruction. “Thanks.”
She smirks a little, as her steely gaze locks with mine. “You’re resisting a mating?”
“I guess,” I tell her, feeling my cheeks flush. “I didn’t know I was a hybrid until it happened.”
“Well, that must have come as quite a shock,” she tells me. “Fate doesn’t always do right by human women, but gators are mated to their perfect match. You should just let it happen. It’s not going to hurt.”
“Well, I would, but…” I trail off, not sure how to explain it or even why I would want to. Mercy Dahlen has better things to worry about than the screwed up love life of a fan. I couldn’t even fully tell Marina and she’s my best friend. It’s kind of a weird thing to admit.
“Whoever he is, I promise you, he’s one hundred percent perfect for you.”
She sounds so sure. I laugh a little. She raises an eyebrow.
“Sorry,” I say. “I kind of have three guys waiting for me to make this decision, and I don’t know how to choose.”
“Well, that’s unusual, but it’s not entirely unheard of. You want my advice? Stop resisting. You’ll only drive yourself crazy.” She clears her throat. “Now, we should get down to business.”
“Of course,” I say, as if I know what she’s talking about. I straighten, wondering if she’s about to admit something that would tie her to the murders. Then I remember. The email I sent was to ask if I could interview her for my show. I relax slightly now that my brain seems to be functioning again.
“I won’t be filming a segment with you for your network. I’m sorry but it doesn’t fit with my brand. I have another reason for calling you in here,” she tells me, no hint of apology in her tone. This matter of fact way she has about her is something I always respected, but it’s also the same reason she’s called out as a bitch in the media, time and time again.
“Okay,” I say, waiting for her to explain what she actually wants.
I’m not disappointed. I didn’t expect to get this meeting at all. I’m just super grateful that I got to meet her, which is probably a little sad but to hell with it. The woman’s my idol. I’m entitled to be a little starry eyed right now.
“I’m eighteen weeks along now, so I need to be thinking about who my replacement should be. There’s Derek, of course. He’s been here forever and he’s reliable, even if his monotonous drone sends our viewers to sleep. Thing is, I worked hard to get this job, and I don’t want to hand it off to someone who won’t appreciate it.”
I scrabble to click with what she’s talking about. Eighteen weeks? She’s pregnant? Holy hell.
“You’re looking for maternity cover?” I ask, not quite able to keep the shock out of my voice.
“You came to town at the right time, Misty. I can see from your outfit that the image you project over on that little bug town network is a fiction. They took one look at your Barbie doll looks and decided you were the perfect piece of eye-candy for reporting the soft stuff. Right?”
“You pretty much nailed it.”
“And, I’m guessing you’re in town right now looking into the strange animal attacks.”
Oh, she’s good. I never realized how good. “A friend called me about those.”
“That tells me you want to be taken seriously. This is your chance to do that. I’m giving you my card. Take the week to make your decision. We’ll talk money once you’ve decided.”
She passes me her card. I take it, stunned as I realize I just got the opportunity I was hoping to find by catching a killer. It just fell into my lap. This can’t be real. It’s too good to be true.
I thank her and leave when she makes it clear the conversation is over and she has work to get back to, dread filling me only once I’m making my way out of the building. There’s only one way this can be happening. I hope I’m wrong, because if I’m not, she’s the killer.
Fifty
Sam
I learned to cook when my mom died. Sounds kind of sad, I guess, but it gave me something to focus on while my dad was struggling to cope. Eventually I moved on from basics to more advanced meals, mostly out of boredom. So cooking a restaurant quality dinner for the love of my life is no problem.
Remembering Misty’s old favorites, I come up with three courses that should win her over.
Then I while away a couple of hours getting it all prepared. My time management isn’t quite as good as my cooking, so I wind up just ready to go shower and change when she knocks on the front door and comes inside, calling out, “Mom? Sam?”
I wipe my hands on a tea towel and head through the living room into the hall where I get a nice view of her ass in the dress she’s poured herself into for our date as she hangs up her purse by the door.
She turns my way and I smile. “We’ve got the place to ourselves tonight.”
She raises an eyebrow. “We do?”
I nod. I’m not telling her about our parents right now. Talk about a mood killer.
“Well, whatever you bribed my mom with, you’ll need to tell me about later.”
I just smile. “I opened a bottle of wine. You should have a drink while I go shower.”
“Oh,” she says, looking me over. “You lost track of time again, did you?”
Her gaze lingers on my arms. I don’t know what it is, but those gator eyes of hers seem to almost pulsate with hunger. I temper the desire that rushes through me when her scent seems to intensify. She’s ready to mate, and I want to claim her. This need won’t be sated until we’re consummating my claim on her. I need to be patient. She’s not ready, but by the end of tonight, she will be.
“You could always join me in the shower,” I suggest. “Make sure I don’t miss a spot.”
She laughs, but she can’t hide the flush my suggestion brings to her cheeks. “Just go shower.”
I leave her to wander into the kitchen while I go get ready. When I come back down the stairs, she’s drinking wine on the couch, her heels on the floor and her legs curled up under her. Making herself at home. I hide the smile the realization wants to bring out. My plan to relax her is working.
She looks up, putting the glass down on the lamp table by the side of the couch.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, holding
my hand out to help her up.
“A little,” she tells me as she takes my hand and gets to her feet. “I can smell chocolate cake so I’m guessing you’ve been busy.”
I smile. “Dinner is pretty much ready whenever you are.”
“Oh, I’m ready,” she tells me, so close now that I can’t resist pressing my lips to hers.
The kiss is presumptuous, but she lets me take it, so I pull her in closer and make it last. Feeling her arms around me while she kisses back makes me want to forget everything else and just claim her as my own right here and now. Once that’s done, nothing else matters. She’s mine and I never need to worry about her running away from me again.
“Sam,” she murmurs against my lips, her voice breathy.
“Mmm?” I murmur back, not willing to break away.
She breaks the kiss after a second, gazing into my eyes. “I don’t want to jump into this and regret it later. We need to slow down.”
Damn. She’s right. I never planned for things to happen this quickly. It’s the instinctive desire to seal my claim on her that’s driving me right now and I can’t let it. I want this to be more than that. She does too.
“Let’s eat.” That’ll keep us busy and apart. I don’t let go of her hand, but I break the embrace otherwise and lead her into the kitchen.
She takes a seat that I escort her into, and I bring through the wine that she left in the other room.
“So what are we having?” she asks, watching me with curious interest as I pour some wine into my own glass.
“I went with the classics,” I tell her, as I put the wine bottle down. “Stuffed mushrooms, lasagna, and chocolate cake.”
“That sounds amazing,” she tells me.
There are a few dozen more complicated and impressive things I could have made for her, but I know her favorites never really changed. I don’t need to impress her with fancy food. I need to make her at home, to let her see this is where she belongs.
Flashing Her Gators Page 14
