Dead Heat (Taz Bell Book 1)

by Sharon Green

  And then, even as I watched, the claws began to recede. They shrank down smaller and smaller until they disappeared entirely, leaving nothing but the fingernails I usually had finishing the ends of my hands. Ordinary fingernails, not cougar claws…

  If I'd been standing up, I think I would have come close to passing out. As it was, it felt as if every bone in my body had melted at once, and all I was left with was a lot of liquid held in place by my skin. I sprawled in the chair because I couldn't do anything else, my head spinning so wildly I almost passed out anyway. What was happening to me, what in bloody blue hell was happening?

  There didn't seem to be an answer to that question, not even once my head cleared. I finally leaned forward to bury my face in my hands, but hiding didn't help even a little. It occurred to me that maybe I'd imagined the claws, had only seen them because I was getting so crazy about Eric. That would mean I wasn't even more of a freak than usual, only that I was out of my mind.

  The possibility of being insane came as such a relief that I almost started to laugh. Don't worry, folks, I'm not a freak, I'm just crazy. No need to panic, everything's under control…

  "Okay, enough," I snarled at myself, pushing the heels of my hands against my eyes and rubbing. I really did hate being a freak, but encouraging myself to go crazy wasn't going to put the pleasure back in my life. Shooting Eric down would probably bring me a smile or two, but that was pushing things in a different direction. I needed some time to think about everything that had happened and make an effort to find an answer that didn't include committing murder or going off the deep end. No matter how attractive those two options looked right now…

  Shoving all thoughts like that out of my head took some effort, but I finally did manage the feat. Picking up the room service menu again helped even more, especially when I actually saw what the hotel was offering. The descriptions of the various dishes made them sound like works of art instead of food, and it came to me that there weren't any prices on the menu. Obviously, people who stayed at the Zealin House weren't the sort to worry about how much something cost. Just order what looks good, your plastic or line of credit will take care of the rest.

  Realizing that I didn't have to worry about what the meals would do to our budget made me feel slightly better. Allison French and her people were picking up the tab, and if they didn't like the prices in this place they should have put us up elsewhere.

  With that in mind I tried to decide what I was in the mood for, but for once couldn't make up my mind. Everything sounded good, but none of it really enticed me. With that in mind I got out of the chair, took Allison's check out of my pocket and put it away in my luggage until the banks opened on Monday, then left the room to pass on the menu as I'd promised. Maybe when I saw what everyone else was ordering I'd be able to make a decision of my own. I expected to find Eric in the living room, but the couch he'd been on was empty. Then Freemont came out of the middle bedroom looking happier than usual.

  "That was utterly delightful," he said, gesturing back toward the room and probably toward his bathroom. "I soaked away a lot of mental crud, so I can tell you that there won't be much in the way of trouble tonight. Tomorrow night won't be the same story, and I should have a few details about it before it happens. Where's George and Eric?"

  "George went to look around the hotel, and I guess Eric went to his room," I said, relieved that Freemont hadn't picked up on all the mental trauma I'd gone through a little while ago. "Here's the room service menu we'll be ordering from, and once you make your choice you need to give Eric a turn. Maybe by then I'll have made up my own mind about what to order."

  I used my tee shirt to wipe off the small book that was the menu before handing it to Freemont, something I did every now and then. Freemont didn't always get something from touching what I touched, but right now I wasn't willing to take a chance. Freemont frowned as he took the menu, looking at me kind of narrowly before he opened the thing. He looked into the dinner section, and his frown disappeared as his eyebrows went up.

  "Whoa," he said with feeling, scanning each of the offerings. "No wonder you didn't want to confuse my gift. You're having trouble believing that this food is as good as they claim, but take my word that they aren't lying, Taz. No matter what you order, your stomach will definitely thank you for it."

  "Now, that's good to hear," I said, pretending that I'd wiped off the menu for the reason Freemont thought. It sometimes happened that my disbelief in something pushed Freemont's talent … sideways, so to speak, at least a little. We were so close that my outlook was able to color some of his results, so when we were working we made sure that I did nothing to confuse the issue.

  "By the way, when I pass this on to Eric would you like me to ask him about that automatic reaction problem you had?" Freemont asked, only a shade too casually. "I'm talking about the time you jumped at James instead of using the gun you were holding."

  "I know what you mean, and it's already done," I said, finding it impossible not to sound sour. "He has the same problem, in a way, and if he had a solution he would have mentioned it."

  "That's too bad," Freemont said with a sigh. "Oh, well, maybe with the two of you working together you'll figure something out. Do you want me to let you know when I decide on what to order?"

  "I have a better idea," I said, speaking the words as the idea came to me. "Why don't you order for me, and that way I'll be surprised. I could use a pleasant surprise right about now."

  "Is there a problem?" Freemont asked at once, his expression matching the concern in his voice. "Something I can help with, I mean?"

  "I wish," I said with the best smile I could manage on the spot. "Unfortunately I'm stuck with something I have to work out, but if I come across something you can help with you know I'll ask."

  "Good," Freemont said, but his answering smile wasn't as bright as it usually was. "As long as you remember that that's what friends and partners are for…"

  I nodded to show I did know, then went to refill my coffee cup before carrying it back to my room with me. I still felt a need to be alone, and Freemont understood the need perfectly. He got into the same kind of mood at times, which was really lucky. Too often people who are basically lone wolves find themselves surrounded by those who need the presence of others at all times. The two outlooks are at the opposite ends of the spectrum, which usually causes sparks to fly that are completely beyond explaining.

  I put the coffee mug down on the table next to that very comfortable chair, got out a book, then sat down to read. Getting involved in fictional problems was easier than thinking about my own, which means I lost myself in the book for quite a while. I had just finished a chapter when a knock came at my door, showing that my timing was starting to be a bit better.

  "The food's here, Taz," Freemont said once he'd opened the door at my invitation. "We're eating early because you and Eric have to go out tonight."

  "Sounds good to me," I answered, replacing the bookmark in the book before putting it down. "What did you order for me?"

  "Come and see," he said with a grin, then walked away without waiting for me. Freemont really liked surprises, but since it was almost impossible for him to be surprised, he had to settle for surprising other people. I didn't quite sigh as I followed him to our private dining room, but only because it wasn't likely I'd get bitten by his surprise. Other kinds of surprises tended to come with teeth at the very least…

  Eric waited by his chair in the dining room, and George stood next to him. The food had been put onto the table in the first three places, the dishes still covered up.

  "This chair is yours, Taz," Freemont said, gesturing to the seat on the end. "Sit down and take a look, and tell me what you think."

  "How about if I tell you what I think after I've tasted rather than looked," I suggested, taking the assigned chair as Freemont sat to my left and Eric to my right. Eric's expression was calm and easy, nothing to show that he and I had had words earlier. "Is that cream soda in my glass
?"

  "Of course," George answered for Freemont, amusement curving his lips. "Would we order anything else when the real goods was available?"

  "Of course not, of course not," I agreed, going for solemn instead of amused. "I don't know what I was thinking, so please forgive the slip."

  Freemont had joined George's amusement and even Eric was smiling, so I reached to the cover on my plate and picked it up. Underneath was something I didn't recognize, but it certainly smelled good. Putting the cover aside and picking up a fork took only a moment, and then I was tasting something that made my mouth want to scream in delight.

  "This is incredible," I said as soon as I swallowed, looking over at Freemont. "I know it's chicken and rice and pasta and vegetables, but I've never tasted anything so good. What is it called?"

  "They call it the house special," Freemont answered, reaching to one of the other dishes standing on the table. "I ordered it for all of us when Eric also had trouble deciding on a choice. Don't forget your salad, and there's also bread and butter, not to mention a baked potato."

  I looked at the still-very-full plate in front of me, tasted the salad to find that the dressing was downright habit-forming, then shook my head.

  "I'm going to pass on the bread and butter without making the mistake of tasting it first," I stated. "Those little rolls are probably good enough to kill for, and if I eat them along with the rest of this I'll be sitting around in a delighted stupor all night instead of doing the job. I really don't want to have to return that check."

  That comment didn't have to be interpreted for any of the others, so all they did was turn their attention to their own food. George sat at the other end of the table watching us, but I didn't get the impression that he wished he could also taste the food. He seemed perfectly satisfied watching us eat, which made me wish again that I could ask him questions he would answer…

  Freemont and Eric saw to the rolls without my help, but neither one of them seemed ready to open a belt once the food was gone. I also felt nicely full without being overstuffed, but had a suggestion to make.

  "Before we leave here, we've got to try one of their desserts," I said after wiping my mouth on the cloth napkin and putting it back on the table. "We may never get another chance, and missing the opportunity would be a crime."

  "Against nature if not against all of humanity," Eric agreed, still leaning back in his chair after all but inhaling his share of the meal. "But not tonight. I don't think Ms. French will understand if Dr. Boughton is attacked and I just stand there in that stupor Taz mentioned earlier."

  "We don't have time for it anyway," Freemont said with an understanding smile. "Ms. French and her people will be here in about five minutes, and then you two will be too dressed up to mess with dessert."

  Too dressed up? Just exactly what did Allison French and her people have in mind for me to wear? I hated getting dressed up, but I was willing to make small sacrifices for the job. But that was small sacrifices, so they'd better not have anything too extreme…

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Allison French came into the suite with a literal entourage. There were people carrying cases and people carrying garment bags, and Eric and I were separated and taken into our individual bedrooms while Allison waited out in the sitting room with Freemont and George.

  The first thing they did with me was send me in for a quick shower. When I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I was given a pair of pantyhose and a very low-cut bra, both of which fit perfectly. The next thing they handed me looked like a combination of evening gown on top and child's playsuit on the bottom. The gown part had inch-wide shoulder straps supporting severe cleavage, and the bottom part ended in very short shorts. It was all one piece, and was a pretty rose in color except for the shoulder straps. They were red, but the color combination looked good.

  "We're providing this in case you have to fight," one of the women with me explained, most of her attention on how the playsuit fit me - which was surprisingly good. "The gown skirt comes off easily enough and the shoes are slingbacks for fast removal, but we didn't want to leave you the next thing to naked. Some people become distracted and upset if they feel naked."

  "That was thoughtful of you," I said, the only thing I could think of to say. Most of the people who hired our team never considered the possibility of delicate sensibilities. "How does that removable skirt work?"

  The woman showed me how the skirt worked by putting it around my waist and closing it. The long skirt was the same rose color as the top, of course, and belled out just a little. But the front of it had a panel that was separated from the rest of the skirt by two red … seams, I guess you could call them. The seam on the left was actually Velcro-closed instead of sewed like the rest, which meant a quick pull with both hands would have the skirt off and out of my way in seconds. It was a clever arrangement and so well made that it was impossible to tell the skirt wasn't attached to the top.

  "This should do really well," I said when the skirt was put aside after I'd been shown how to take it off. "Now can you tell me which Dr. Boughton is, right-handed or left-handed?"

  The four women looked at each other, but when none of them said anything the one who'd done all the talking shook her head.

  "We have no idea," she said, her expression puzzled. "Why do you want to know?"

  "That gown skirt isn't form-fitting, so I can get away with wearing a knife in a thigh sheath," I explained. "But I need to know which side of Dr. Boughton I'll be walking on so I can put the knife on the other side. We don't want him accidentally brushing up against me and feeling a weapon instead of flesh."

  All the women suddenly changed expression, but only the spokeswoman nodded with understanding. The others grew that nervous look that most people wear when confronted by the idea of a knife. Many people are more afraid of knives than of guns, but why that is I have no idea.

  The spokeswoman went out to check with Allison to see if she could answer my question while the others had me sit down on the edge of the comfortable chair. One of the remaining three opened the case she'd been carrying and began to put makeup on me. The other two just watched, but also carried on a low-voiced conversation. I could hear what they said, of course, but all I got out of hearing them was knowing they were discussing my hair. The rest of what they said went … right over my head.

  When the makeup woman finished, it was the turn of the two hair experts. They brought out combs and brushes and bottles of water and plugged in curling irons with long cords, and then they went to work on me. It took them a while to be done, and by the time they were the fourth woman had come back.

  "Ms. French did some checking and got the answer you need," the fourth woman told me with a smile. "It turns out that Dr. Boughton is left-handed, so it's a good thing you asked."

  "It's also good luck for me," I said as I went toward my luggage. "I'll be walking on his right, so I can wear the knife on my own right. Saves having to reach across or play games with shifting from left hand to right."

  I didn't know if any of the women had followed what I'd said, but I'd actually been thinking out loud rather than making conversation. I pulled out the thigh sheath for my modified Bowie knife, the sheath that had Velcroed straps meant to hold the weapon on my thigh. The straps also had strips of very very soft fur where they brushed against my left leg. If not for that fur the straps would have rubbed right through the pantyhose on my other leg, then would have gone on to rub through my skin. When you wear a sheath over pantyhose or on bare skin, you really do need to take precautions.

  My Bowie knife had been miniaturized to a nine inch total length from the original fourteen and a half inches, but sight of it still made some of my helpers gasp. And they weren't even looking at the knife itself, just at the knife in its sheath. Once I had the sheath in place I usually pulled out the knife to check the draw, but this time I just made sure it withdraw half an inch easily and then left it alone. It isn't fun to frighten gentle people, it's
stupid. If you need to terrify those around you, it's only because you're not as tough as you like to think.

  The next thing the women brought out was four pairs of red, high-heeled slingbacks, the red matching the red on the dress/gown. The shoes were in different sizes, and I tried on all of them until I found the right size. It was obvious that judging dress size from a distance is easier than judging shoe size, and I was really grateful that I didn't have to wear shoes that were too small or too large. If you're supposed to be doing a job, it's harder to do that job if all you can think about is your aching feet.

  The next thing one of the women brought out was a jewelry case that held a gold necklace supporting a ruby mounted in more gold. Not only were there earrings to match the necklace, there was also a matching watch. All of the jewelry looked real, but it was understated and was clearly in very good taste.

  After the shoes and jewelry came an evening bag in a red matching the shoes. The bag had a long strap made of the same red material, and was only big enough to hold my driver's license, room key, some money, a small comb and mirror, and a couple of Kleenex. I asked about a lipstick to take along to refresh what had been put on me, and the makeup woman didn't quite laugh when she said I didn't need it. The lipstick was the kind that won't wear off even if you eat or drink, a true marvel of modern technology.

  With the shoes, jewelry and knife on, all we had to do was add the gown skirt and put the bag strap over my shoulder and I was ready to go. The smiles on the women's faces said they were pleased with the job they'd done, but I hadn't bothered looking in a mirror at any point. I wasn't about to have a date with the love of my life, after all, so what real difference did it make how I looked? As long as people didn't run screaming after a single glance at me, I should have no trouble with what was nothing but another job.

  The last thing the crew did was brush my skin gently at neck and wrists with perfume. I recognized the scent as Shalimar, but it had been applied so lightly that even my senses barely picked it up. Which was a good thing. I happen to be fond of Shalimar, but I'd once been trapped in an elevator for about ten floors with a woman who'd apparently bathed in the stuff. Happily I'd still been human back then, otherwise I might have passed out from sensory overload. If you don't use a lot of restraint with Shalimar, those around you end up regretting it.