Chapter Three
Harper opened her front door and immediately threw an arm over her face as a beam of sunlight assaulted her eyes.
“Good morning, doll face,” a lazy voice drawled.
She groaned inwardly. Detective Lucas Cooper, Vampire Crimes Unit, was tall, muscle-bound, and gorgeous. Exactly the type of man she didn’t want to see before she’d combed her hair or brushed her teeth.
“What’s up, Lucas?”
“Got a case for you, darlin’. I checked downstairs,” he said, referring to the small office on the first floor of the building, “but Romeo isn’t in yet. You expecting him soon?”
She peeked at him from beneath her arm. Yep, he looked great. The bastard.
She’d worked a few cases with Lucas over the past year. He’d always looked like he wanted to ask her out, but never had. Harper wasn’t sure if that was because she was a freak of nature, or because he was. He’d never told her so outright, but based on the way he moved and the way his eyes picked up a subtle, eerie glow every now and then, Harper would bet all her Sentry training that Lucas was a shifter.
Harper had always been fascinated with shape-shifters. They were a minority in the supernatural community—incredibly secretive. They generally lived in packs, isolated from humans. In fact, they were usually so isolated that Sentry had considered them harmless and not worth eliminating.
As far as Harper knew, humans were completely unaware of their existence. Vampires were aware, but like Sentry, didn’t consider them a threat. Shape shifters weren’t immortal. They aged and died like humans. Only in their animal forms were they anywhere near as powerful as vampires.
But even so, Harper imagined being able to completely alter your physical form must be incredibly cool. True shape shifters could slip their skin at will, and given the predatory grace with which he moved, Harper guessed that when Lucas slipped into something more comfortable, it was into something big, like a wolf or a lion, maybe even a tiger.
The fact that Lucas chose to interact with humans made him an oddity among oddities, which was attractive to Harper. But she certainly wasn’t going to mention that to him. Especially not since he seemed uncomfortable with the idea of even asking her out to dinner.
She ushered him in and closed the door behind him. “Romeo’s gone,” she said.
Lucas’ eyes narrowed thoughtfully on her. “Gone where? For how long?”
Harper shrugged as she shuffled into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. “Vegas and don’t care. Why, what do you need?”
Lucas leaned across the slab of gold-speckled Formica that separated her kitchen from her living room. “Missing kid. We think a vamp coven might have taken him. They snatched him right out of his bed.”
Harper winced. Vamps liked kidnapping kids and feeding off them because they didn’t take up much space or fight too hard, and supposedly had a sweeter taste than adults.
Ah, the good old days when the worst threat to a child’s safety was a pedophile.
“Well, Romeo isn’t coming back anytime soon, if ever, but I’ll help. I’ll just need to see the kid’s room.”
Lucas shook his head. “You know the Chief won’t pay unless Romeo’s in on this with you.”
Harper’s hands went immediately to her hips and she cocked her head to one side. “You know, I took orders from Romeo forever so I could earn the 6,000 investigative hours I needed to get my PI license, which I did—and with a very high score on the written test, I might add…”
Lucas dropped his chin to his chest. “Christ, Harper, it’s too early for this shit. I know—”
“…Romeo, on the other hand, got his PI’s license because he was an ex-cop. Forget that he got kicked off the force for beating the crap out of one too many suspects. So, I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to hear that the Chief will only hire me if Romeo tags along.”
“His name is on the door downstairs, you know. It’s not too crazy for people to assume he’s in charge.”
She scowled at him. “I did all of his investigative work while he drank himself into a stupor every day, and what do I get for it? A building that’s about to be foreclosed on because apparently, no one else wants to hire me without Romeo, either. How nice is that?”
Lucas sighed. “You don’t have to tell me you’re the brains of the operation, doll face. But the Chief wants his cannon fodder.” He gave her a palms-up gesture. “There isn’t much I can do about it.”
“It’s because I’m a girl, isn’t it?” She didn’t even pause to let him answer before adding, “He wasn’t even a good slayer, you know. His kill ratio sucked. One lousy stinking kill to every five vamps that got away. Hell, my Grandma could’ve done better than that, and probably did back in Sicily.”
He merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest.
“It’s all so Remington Steele. Who knew that after this many years people would be afraid to hire a girl.”
She blew out a sharp breath. “All right, all right. I’ll stop whining now.”
“Thank God.”
Harper gave him her best fuck-you-and-die glare.
“Don’t try the tough looks with me. You’re too cute to pull that off.”
She sipped her coffee. “Well, it was worth a shot. And I’ll help find the kid for free if I have to. I mean, the money isn’t important as long as the kid makes it home safe, right?”
His gaze fell on the stack of bills on her counter, all in various stages of the collection process. “I would think you care about the money.” He took a gulp of coffee and grimaced. “God, you make terrible coffee.”
She pursed her lips. “Then don’t drink it.”
“Gotta get my caffeine somehow. Besides, I don’t come over here for the coffee.”
“And why do you come over here?” she asked, already knowing part of the answer.
He grinned at her. “’Cause there’s nothing in this world I love more than a woman who appreciates Def Leppard.”
Before she could formulate a clever yet flirtatious retort, Lucas’ gaze shifted to her right and hardened noticeably, telling her that Riddick was probably standing behind her.
Slayers were notorious for being able to move about silently. Romeo—may he develop a flaming case of genital herpes, the rat bastard—had always taken great joy in sneaking up behind her and goosing her every chance he got.
Harper glanced over her shoulder and sure enough, there was Riddick. He looked no worse for the wear, considering what he’d been through, and his color was much better than it had been the night before.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He blinked at her, looking like no one had ever asked him that before. “Fine. Where’s my coat?”
Harper gestured with her pinky as she took another sip of her coffee. “Hall closet.”
His hip brushed hers as he moved around her, and fire shot up and down her thighs. She shook her head, disgusted. Lucas was every bit as gorgeous as Riddick in a blonder, less intense way. Why didn’t she get fire-thighs when he touched her?
Probably because Lucas liked her and Riddick obviously didn’t. There was always something about the ungettable guys that appealed to her. She supposed that made her a glutton for punishment.
Lucas cleared his throat, pulling her attention away from Riddick’s butt. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
He made it sound like he’d caught her naked and underneath Riddick on the kitchen counter. But then again, judging by her disheveled appearance and the fact that Riddick was currently tucking his t-shirt into his pants like it hadn’t been on his back all night—and it hadn’t—was probably enough to give Lucas the wrong idea about what had happened between them.
Her chin came up defiantly. She wasn’t dating Lucas. She didn’t owe him any explanations.
“No, it’s not a bad time,” she answered blandly.
He frowned at her and turned to Riddick, who was shoving his arms into his coat’s sleeves, studiously ignori
ng them.
“Hi. Lucas Cooper. Whispering Hope VCU.” He extended his hand to Riddick. “And you are?”
Riddick pumped his hand once and turned for the door. “Leaving.” He glanced back at Harper once and shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Just leaving.”
And then he was gone. After she’d practically given herself a hernia lugging his heavy ass back to her apartment and spent the better part of the night patching him up, he up and left without so much as a see ya around.
“You’re welcome!” she called after him. Of all the ungrateful…“See if I save his life again,” she muttered under her breath.
Lucas’ brow furrowed. “What?”
“Oh, nothing,” she snapped. “So, do you want me to help you find this kid, or what?”
He shrugged and leaned on her counter again. “Of course I do, but I’d hate to see you not get paid. Know any other ex-slayers who’d be willing to fill in for Romeo? All he’d have to do is go in with SWAT after you help us find the kid.”
Realization slapped Harper right in the face. She did know an ex-slayer, and while he might not be willing to help her out—or thank her for saving his life, for that matter—he owed her one.
And if the you-owe-me-one card didn’t pan out, she could always threaten to go to the cops with what she’d seen him do to the vamp in the alley. The relatively newly-appointed VCU cops, Lucas not included, of course, were so intent on making a name for themselves they’d love nothing more than taking down a slayer-gone-vigilante.
She quickly squelched a pang of guilt at the thought of blackmailing him. Guilt wouldn’t pay her electric bill.
Besides, blackmail was such an ugly word. She much preferred persuasion.
Harper smiled and took a sip of her coffee. “I think I just might know of someone who could be talked into helping us out, Lucas.”
Who the hell needed Romeo Jones, anyway?
Chapter Four
Harper leaned forward in her chair and propped her elbows on Mischa’s desk, trying to ignore the eyes of the many techno-nerds that were currently fastened on various parts of her body.
Mischa Bartone managed the IT department at TEV Technologies, a company several miles outside of Whispering Hope that supplied car manufacturers across the country with components for their machinery. Harper had no clue what Mischa actually did at TEV Technologies. What she did know was that her friend worked with ten of the biggest geeks Harper’d ever seen in her life. Pocket-protectors, Star Trek posters, polyester as far as the eye could see…not a single nerd stereotype was unrepresented. And they all looked at her like she was the last Reese’s cup in the package.
“Why do they all stare at me like that?” she whispered to Mischa as she tugged self-consciously at the hem of her skirt.
Mischa waved a dismissive hand and went back to pecking away at her computer. “They’re computer geeks. They’re not used to seeing girls.”
Harper didn’t bother pointing out that Mischa was indeed a girl. And with her shiny mass of raven-colored hair and the big brown eyes she’d inherited from her Italian mother, Mischa couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than gorgeous.
But despite her five-foot-two frame and delicate appearance, Mischa’s co-workers called her Little Hitler. Some assumed her inherent bossiness and take-charge attitude stemmed from her power-position with Sentry. Harper knew it really came from growing up as the oldest sibling—and only girl—in a family of eight boys.
Regardless, Mischa’s co-workers probably didn’t see her as a girl because she scared them shitless.
“Besides,” Mischa went on, “they think you look like Seven of Nine with curly hair.”
Harper frowned. “Seven of who?”
“Exactly my point.”
Harper shrugged. “So, I have to tell you about what happened last night.”
Mischa never looked away from her computer or slowed her typing. “Let me guess. You ran out of another temporary job—one you had to take because you incorrectly ‘trusted your gut’ and partnered with Romeo instead of listening to me and logic— because you had a premonition and nearly got yourself killed. Then you got fired.”
Harper pursed her lips. “Nobody likes a smartass. Do you want to hear this story or not?”
Mischa sighed. “I shouldn’t encourage you, but of course I want to hear your story. We both know I have no life of my own and have to live vicariously through you.”
Harper felt a pang of empathy for Mischa. The woman had an IQ of one-seventy-two and had been a watcher for over twenty years, responsible for the welfare of over thirty seer/slayer teams. It was probably just as hard for her to do meaningless computer work as it was for Harper to wait tables.
In the hopes of spicing up Mischa’s day, Harper gave her a full account of the premonition and the confrontation with the vampire, complete with a reenactment of the fight—the potted ficus she accidentally kicked over probably wouldn’t recover.
“And then,” she went on, settling back into her chair, “just when I thought I was dead for sure…you’ll never guess who showed up.” When Mischa made no effort to guess, she prompted, “Come on, guess.”
Mischa grimaced. “I don’t know. Wesley Snipes.”
“Wesley Snipes? Why the hell would he…oh, right. Blade. Har har. Try again.”
“Romeo.”
Harper snorted. “Not even close.”
Mischa pounded her Enter key savagely. “Just tell me!”
“Noah Riddick.”
Mischa’s hands froze over her keyboard and she turned slowly to face a smug Harper. “Noah Riddick, the slayer?”
“There are no more slayers,” she responded, doing a pretty fair impersonation of Riddick’s gravely, deep voice.
“Why the hell would Noah Riddick be in Whispering Hope?” Mischa asked thoughtfully. “I’m betting it’s not to get a schnitzel from Helga’s over on Pinewood.”
“This is what I’m saying.”
By the time Harper finished telling Mischa about Riddick’s injuries and taking him home with her, her friend was staring at her open-mouthed.
“You took Noah Riddick home with you,” she said, her voice dripping in disbelief.
Harper rolled her eyes. “You make it sound like I ate my dinner off his naked body or something.” Hmm. Not an entirely displeasing thought. “He was asleep practically the whole time. Nothing happened.”
Mischa shook her head so furiously her glasses slid down her nose. “Harper, you need to steer clear of him. He’s…not like other slayers. Trust me on this.”
“I need to convince him to work with me and help the police find a missing kid. Riddick would be the perfect replacement for Romeo.”
“Harper, you really need to listen to me. Riddick is dangerous.”
Harper went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “We’d have to get him a PI license, but that shouldn’t be too hard…”
“Oh,for God’s sake, Harper—”
“…And once I have another slayer working with me, the cops will be able to hire us, and other clients won’t feel weird about hiring a woman—”
Mischa scooped up a pad of post it notes and flung it at Harper’s head.
“Hey!” Harper rubbed her forehead. “What the hell?”
Nerds rushed to her rescue from all corners of the building, but Mischa scared them off with a harsh glare and a graphic threat of bodily harm. They slunk back to their cubicles, defeated.
She turned her attention back on Harper, who wished she could slink away with her would-be defenders. “You don’t listen to a damn thing I say! My God, Harper, the last thing in the world this guy needs right now is to be around a seer. After what happened to him with Cecelia, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”
Harper’s brain reeled. Cecelia. Cecelia…oh, Cecelia Reeves. Tall, blonde, pencil-thin, big-boobed Cecelia. Riddick’s seer. Easily the best-looking one in the business. But her ratio of good to worthless premonitions was one-to-five. Not exactly top-notch as far
as Sentry was concerned. The girl had been lucky to remain on the payroll as long as she had. In Harper’s opinion, she’d either been sleeping with Sentry’s Director, or she had pictures of him in compromising positions with farm animals.
Or maybe, seeing as she’d been paired with Romeo, Sentry had an unwritten policy of pairing the crappy seers with the best slayers, and vice versa.
“What happened with Cecelia?”
Mischa stopped her tirade and blinked at her. “You didn’t hear?”
Harper rolled her eyes. “I generally was the gossip. No one ever told me anything.”
Mischa leaned forward and lowered her voice. “When Sentry disbanded and the names of the slayers with the best kill ratios were leaked to the press, one of the vampire rights groups approached Cecelia about setting a trap for Riddick.”
Oh shit, Harper thought, realizing where this story was going and not liking it at all. Hell, even as much as she hated Romeo, she’d never set him up to be murdered. Marinated in melted popsicles and staked to an ant hill, sure. Murdered, no.
“Supposedly,” Mischa went on, “whoever approached her told her they’d kill her kid if she didn’t cooperate. But anyway, they convinced her to set Riddick up. Long story short, she faked a premonition, got him to go to some abandoned warehouse, and Riddick got his throat slit.”
Harper’s hands went instinctively to her own throat. Poor Riddick. If she ever saw that bitch Cecelia again, she’d wipe the floor with her anorexic little size zero ass.
After what his seer had done to him, Harper was lucky he hadn’t let that vampire eat her for dinner. No wonder he’d been so quick to get out of her house. He probably thought she was going to turn him over to those People for Vampires freaks. “How did he survive?”
Mischa shrugged. “No one is sure. Some random anonymous guy found him and called an ambulance. He was in Riverview Hospital for two days before he walked out without saying a word to anyone. And no one’s heard from him since. Except you, that is.”
Semi-Charmed Page 3
