Beauty Dates the Beast

by Jessica Sims

  Beau opened my door and I slid out of the car. “Marie will be okay?”

  “Yes. Two of the boys will stay with her.”

  “How come you didn’t smell the blood?” I asked.

  “There were too many other smells—the dust, the cologne, flowers. You.” He glanced over at me. “The Old Spice was bothering my nose, so I focused on the smell of you and nothing else.” He looked angry. “It was stupid of me.”

  I sat in flattered silence as Beau got in, then pulled out onto the street. I had a million questions, but all I could think about was that pool of half-dried blood under Giselle’s chair.

  We drove back to the hotel in silence. I was lost in thought, and Beau didn’t seem inclined to talk, either. The hotel was bustling this morning—people getting coffee before heading off to conferences or meetings, people with suitcases checking out. I shivered every time someone looked at me, then realized it was because I was wearing a dirty sweaterdress and no tights in winter.

  My hand clenched tight in his, Beau led me back through the maze of hotel rooms, his face bleak, his eyes slitted and cold. Determined. Angry. He paused in front of our door, sniffing the air, then pulled out the key-card.

  “Beau,” I said, “I don’t have any clothes.” With the angry protective state he was in, I might not emerge for days.

  He gave me a hard look. “You’re not going back home.”

  “So what am I supposed to do?”

  He glanced at my dress. “Wash it in the sink.”

  Typical male response. “Are you on drugs?” An elderly couple passed us in the hallway, staring. Maybe I’d been a little too loud. Oops. I leaned in, dropping my voice to a whisper. “I don’t have any panties.”

  A slight smile lightened his expression. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “No! I’m telling you I need some panties,” I whispered furiously. “We need to go to the store—”

  “Too risky,” he interrupted.

  The store? Risky? Was he mad? “Then you need to call Ramsey and tell him to bring me panties.”

  He stared at me for a moment. “No.”

  I blinked in surprise. “What do you mean, no? I need clothing.”

  He pushed the door open and gestured for me to go in. “Your life is in danger. You can go shopping later.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. The vein throbbing there was going to burst soon if I didn’t get to punch something. “You’re not listening to me,” I began.

  “You’re not listening to me,” he said, putting his hand on the small of my back and basically shoving me forward.

  I planted my feet, furious. “Beauregard Russell. If I have to stand in this hall all day arguing over panties to get some, then by God, that’s what I’m going to do.” I braced my feet against the door frame, glaring at him.

  He tickled my sides and I collapsed in a fit of giggles. He grabbed me by the waist and carried me inside, dumped me on the bed, then crawled on top of me. A hint of a smile had returned to his stern face.

  “Panties?” he asked.

  “Panties,” I affirmed. “Jeans and a T-shirt would be appreciated, too.”

  He leaned over and kissed me. “Your wish is my command. I’ll see what Ramsey can scrounge up.”

  I had mental images of a bear scrounging for frilly underpants, and snorted. “Maybe Sara should help him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ramsey knocked at our hotel door an hour later, bags in hand. Beau stepped outside to have a private conversation with his lieutenant, and I spent the next few minutes picking through the clothing and changing into jeans, a T-shirt with Beau’s business logo on it, and fresh panties. There was even a pair of Keds slides. Nice.

  I tucked my cell phone into my back pocket and it immediately began to vibrate. Surprised, I pulled it out and stared at the screen.

  It read Gis-cell. I flipped it open and answered warily. “Giselle, where are you—”

  “Hello, Bathsheba.” The voice was overly sugary, smug. I didn’t recognize it, and it sure wasn’t Giselle. There was something about the tone that niggled at my memory. “Be very quiet and listen to what I say, or your sister Sara is going to die.”

  I went cold, blackness crawling before my eyes. The breath whooshed out of my lungs. How had they gotten Sara? Ramsey was keeping her safe … I glanced toward the hallway, where I’d just seen him, then swallowed. “Who is this?”

  “This is Arabella. Remember me?”

  “I remember you.” I looked at the door, but the men were still murmuring out there. I moved to the bathroom and shut the door behind me. “You have Sara?”

  “I do,” she crowed. “And your boss, too, who happens to be in terrible pain at the moment. Want to talk to her?”

  God, no. But that wasn’t a good answer. “Yes.”

  There was a bit of static, and then I heard a groan of pain, followed by a sob. Giselle?

  The phone jerked away and I heard Arabella’s soft laugh. “Oops. Sounds like she can’t come to the phone right now. Too bad.”

  “Let me talk to Sara.”

  “She’s currently unconscious.”

  My heart froze. “If you’ve hurt her—”

  “I haven’t yet,” she interrupted. “At least not too much. I’m going to leave that for the wolf pack, since they’re so hot and bothered about finding her. Unless you and I want to work something out?”

  Every ounce of my body wanted to fling the phone away. “Yes,” I gritted. “What do you want?”

  “Good.” She sounded pleased. “If you want your sister to live, I need you to do a few things.”

  I hesitated. Giselle gave a shout of pain in the background, and that decided me, even though I had an awful feeling in my stomach that this wasn’t going to turn out well. “I’m listening.”

  “I want you to meet me,” she said calmly, as if she’d been discussing a dinner date. “Alone. I’m going to text you the address, and I want you to be there in a half hour. If I get one sniff of someone helping you or accompanying you, I’ll cut Sara’s throat. Understand?”

  I swallowed. “I’ll come alone.” I didn’t know how I’d get away from Beau, but I wouldn’t let Sara down.

  “Good.” She chuckled. “Be here in a half hour or I start cutting off fingers. And claws. Your little sister can’t afford to lose much more.”

  She hung up.

  I clenched my fists, trying to think. I couldn’t break down. I had to do something. Fast. If I told Beau, he’d stop me from going and Sara would die.

  I needed a plan.

  The room door shut and Beau called out, “Bathsheba?”

  I smoothed my hands down my jeans, wiping away the clamminess. “Be out in just a minute.” I took that time to compose myself and then left the bathroom, my face carefully blank. One wrong facial expression, and Beau would figure me out.

  “If I get one sniff of someone helping you or accompanying you, I’ll cut Sara’s throat.”

  So I had to get rid of Beau. I ignored the smile he was aiming in my direction and sat on the edge of the bed. “So what’s the plan?”

  He came and sat next to me, his warm arm rubbing against mine. His arm slid around my waist and he pulled me closer. “What do you mean?”

  I pried away from him and leapt off the bed. Time to play innocent, to get him off the trail. “I mean, what’s your plan to find out where Giselle is? What if the same people that are after me have her?”

  He looked exasperated. “Giselle can take care of herself, and I don’t give a damn where she’s at. All I care about is keeping you safe.”

  I nearly crumbled at that, but I decided to use it against him instead. “So you’re just going to leave her there, helpless? What if the wolves have her and are torturing her to find out where Sara is?”

  He shook his head. “They wouldn’t torture one female to get another. And Giselle is anything but helpless.”

  No, she wasn’t. If there was anyone that could turn a kidnapping into
roses, it would be Giselle. But then I remembered the blood under her desk. “We can’t just leave her with whoever has her, Beau. She’s my boss.” My voice rose an octave.

  “Leave it alone, Bathsheba.”

  “No. We need to help find her.”

  He glared at me as I paced. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “No.” I can’t.

  “Why are you so loyal to her? She’s used you over and over again.”

  “She’s given me a job. A good-paying job,” I shot back. “She’s stood up for me. The least I can do is not leave her to the wolves.”

  “Not wolves,” he said dismissively. “Whatever is behind this attacked the wolves.”

  “It was a figure of speech,” I snapped, starting to get worried at how close he was to the truth. “We have to rescue Giselle. I won’t be able to live with myself if we don’t. Remember that finger on your property? Whoever is behind this is eating people. And they have her.”

  “I realize that,” he said patiently. “But your safety is first and foremost in my mind. Someone is out there hunting blondes. That’s in addition to the wolf pack, which is looking for your sister and has my cousin. We have enough problems without trying to play white knight to a woman who was trying to pimp you out to the highest bidder! Bath,” he said, moving to my side and rubbing my arms to soothe me. “With everything that’s going on, why don’t you just lay low for the next few days and let me take care of things.”

  The offer was sweet, and thoughtful … and meant me sitting on my ass waiting for him to make magic happen.

  That wasn’t how I worked.

  Beau’s phone vibrated and he glanced down at the screen, then back at me. “Ramsey’s got an update on Savannah. Can you wait in here?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  As soon as he was out the door, I plucked the keys from the nightstand and climbed out the window—luckily, we were on the bottom floor—and then I shut it again. Then I dashed across the parking lot to the rental car. Even if I was running into a trap, I’d do it. Sara needed me.

  As I pulled out of the parking lot, my cell phone buzzed. The message that popped up was a text with an address.

  I memorized it without really comprehending the words and pulled onto the high-way.

  Beau would be panicking, wondering where I’d gone. He’d asked me to trust him, and I hadn’t. As soon as he’d turned his back, I’d run. Again. If I ever saw him again, I hoped he would understand.

  Chapter Twenty

  Twenty minutes later, I pulled off the high-way and onto the service road, following the GPS to the address I’d been given.

  I had no plan. My mind was racing at a million different angles, and the best I could come up with was Free Giselle and Sara; escape by any means necessary. In other words, I was doomed.

  I pulled up to a familiar driveway, my eyes widening at the sight of the iron gates with JTC emblazoned across it. No fucking way. What was Arabella doing at Jason’s house? I remembered the maid’s fright and the way he’d sniffed the bloody handkerchief, and I swallowed hard.

  I pulled up to the speaker box, pressing my finger on the call button.

  “Who is it?” Arabella’s sweet voice came through the speaker.

  Who the hell did she think it would be? “It’s me. I’m here, and I’m alone.”

  A buzz sounded and the gate began to swing open. “If you’re not alone, I’m going to disembowel Sara,” she warned.

  My finger stabbed at the button, my mouth watering as if I was going to throw up. “Don’t hurt her,” I yelled in. “I’m alone. I swear.”

  No response. I drove up the long, winding driveway.

  No one came to the door to greet me. I hesitated before ringing the doorbell, and headed to the side of the massive house, trying to look into the windows and see what I was up against.

  Most of the windows were closed, the heavy curtains drawn over the panes. There was a window at the back of the house, though, and it revealed an empty, white-tiled kitchen bigger than my first apartment. A sunny, cheerful yellow split door nearby led into the kitchen. I placed my hand on the doorknob. What if there was an alarm? Well, Arabella was expecting me anyway. I turned the knob.

  No alarm. Good.

  My heart hammering, I tiptoed into the house. Around me was a blanket of silence, uncomfortable and oppressing. My shoes sounded heavily on the floor. I crossed the kitchen quickly, spotted a knife in a butcher block, and grabbed it. No sense charging in without a weapon. Clutching it tight in my hand, I turned down the hall.

  Somewhere in this maze of a house, Arabella was waiting for me. To kick my ass or eat me, I had no idea which. I slid forward along the wall, and I suddenly understood why they did that in movies. If you had your back to something, you felt less vulnerable. If I could have pressed both my front and my back to the wall, I would have done it.

  The stairwell loomed up ahead, and I walked toward it. Quietly.

  A whiff of Arabella’s heavy perfume, powdery with a rancid undertone, caught my nose. At the smell a few things clicked in my brain. Whenever we’d been at a scene where the Wendigo had been present, the smell of rot and decay had been present. Inside my house, the putrid stench had been chokingly strong.

  That was why Arabella had been able to hide her true nature for so long—she’d nearly choked us with her perfume, disguising the awful smell of death that accompanied her stolen powers. Jason wore an equal amount of cologne. And now I realized why Arabella was hiding at Jason’s house.

  They were working together.

  My eyes watered and I crouched low, eyeing my surroundings. No sign of her. Maybe the smell was everywhere inside.

  The house felt eerily deserted. I glanced at a nearby clock—I still had a few minutes before my deadline. With a final glance around me, I proceeded silently up the stairs. If I had been a vicious Wendigo looking to get revenge on my ex-boyfriend, I’d have hidden my prisoners on the highest floor, in the most inaccessible room.

  The second floor was more open than the first, which made me nervous. I stuck close to one side of the hallway, pausing only to quickly pass a red and white bathroom.

  Then I paused again. And turned back.

  The bathroom wasn’t decorated in red.

  Blood covered the floor, splattered across the ceramic bowl of the toilet, across the edge of the columned sink. The edge of the fabric shower curtain was soaked in it.

  A hand dangled out of the bathtub, long red nails perfectly manicured.

  I knew whose hand that was.

  Giselle’s.

  Where was Sara? Was she still alive?

  Jason’s voice rang out from down the hall. “ ’Sheba, I see you’ve arrived.”

  Gripping the knife tighter, I followed the sound of his voice.

  I found him two rooms down, reclining on a pool table. His hair was a mess and his neat, expensive clothes were ripped at the shoulders and seams. He grinned at the sight of me. “You’re here. Welcome!”

  I froze, fear pounding through my blood. “Where’s Sara?”

  “I haven’t seen her,” he said, his grin widening. I could smell his thick cologne from where I stood several feet away.

  A very, very bad feeling crept over me and I turned back to the door.

  Arabella stood there, reeking of floral, powdery perfume and rot. A bit of red tinged her mouth, and as I watched, she delicately wiped at the corners. “Oh, is Sara not here?” she said in a dulcet voice. “Shit. I guess we lied. That makes me a bad, bad girl, doesn’t it?’ ”

  I took a step backward, reaching for the wall. Back against the wall. Back against the wall. My palms began to sweat, and I adjusted my grip on the knife, “Sara’s not here?”

  Arabella grinned at Jason. “What a moron.”

  Sara wasn’t here? Relief flooded through me. My sister was safe, then.

  Arabella went over to the table and caressed Jason’s jaw. “JT’s plan was brilliant.”

  My gaz
e grew horrified as a few more things clicked into place. Beau’s story about his childhood friend, then enemy. The absolute terror of his servants. The big honking JTC on the main gate.

  I was a moron. “Jason … you’re JT?”

  His smile seemed entirely too toothy. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on. I really had you going.”

  “You sure did,” I agreed, moving along the wall until I bumped into the corner, and huddled there. The smell of both of them was overpowering, and coupled with my frantic mind, I thought it might make me faint.

  With a possessive look on her face, Arabella watched JT slide off the table.

  “So,” JT said as he sidled toward me.

  Cornered, I brandished the knife and glared at him. “I suppose this is the part where I’m supposed to ask you what you plan to do with me.”

  He took another step forward and I swung, but he was unnaturally strong and fast. He knocked the knife out of my arm so hard that I thought my wrist would snap from the impact, then he shoved me against the wall. The plaster gave a little behind me, and the wind was knocked out of me from the force of his blow.

  I struggled for breath, trying to gasp it in. When it finally returned, I sucked in huge, noxious lungfuls of Jason’s scent and gagged.

  He planted his mouth on mine, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I gagged at the taste of carrion and tried to shove him away, but it was like shoving against brick itself. I pounded on his shoulders, waiting for him to be done with me.

  Arabella cleared her throat, sounding annoyed. “Jason.”

  He pulled away from me and chucked me on the chin, looking amused. “You, my dear, even taste immune.”

  “Immune?” I stared up at him.