Arrow (Supernaturals of Las Vegas Book 4)

by Carina Cook

  He was supposed to be working. In all of the excitement, he’d completely forgotten.

  So he rushed back to the restaurant and was now running inside, hoping that she’d managed to keep up somehow. That she wasn’t mad at him. That she was okay.

  He shoved his way through the doors, making the bells jingle violently. The two tables at the front of the house were empty, with no one waiting impatiently for orders. And the lot out back had also been empty. That could mean good news—no backlog of orders, or other delivery people out on the job—or bad—no one had shown up, and Jin was trying to run the entire operation herself.

  “Just a second!” her familiar raspy voice called from the back. “I will be there in a second!”

  “It’s just me!” he yelled. “I’m so sorry!”

  “Fuckwit!” she replied, but it was a term of endearment for Jin. She liked to swear. Vincent thought of it like pulling pigtails in kindergarten. It might be obnoxious behavior, but if she swore at you, it meant she really liked you.

  After a moment, she came through the beaded curtain that separated the kitchen from the front counter. Jin was plump and middle aged, with her hair dyed bright purple. She liked to wear brightly patterned shirts with goofy prints. Today’s was the one that looked like paisley until you took a closer look and realized it was really penises. She’d bought it by mistake—or so she claimed—and had laughed uproariously when he’d pointed it out.

  “What happened?” she demanded, wiping her hands dry on a towel. “You scared the ever loving bejeezus out of me!”

  “I… I’m sorry, Jin,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  This was one of his least favorite things about being an angel of death. He hated lying to her, but what else could he do? She wouldn’t have believed him if he’d told the truth anyway.

  “Did you get into an accident?” she asked. “Good thing your car is a piece of crap, but still.”

  “No, I didn’t get into an accident.”

  “Then what happened? That last delivery should have taken forty-five minutes tops, but you were gone for nearly two hours. I called you and called you.”

  Emotions warred on her face. For all of her goofy behaviors, Jin really cared about him, and he could see beneath all of the bluster that she’d been really scared. He felt terrible about it, and even more so because he couldn’t explain it to her in a way that would help her understand that he hadn’t meant to frighten her.

  “I…met a girl,” he said slowly. “It’s stupid.”

  She put a hand to her heart, a wicked grin lighting up her lined face. “Wait. You met a girl? Like, a live one? Not one that you need to blow up?”

  “I am not into blow up dolls. I prefer my women live and breathing.”

  He tried to declare this without emotion to show how serious he was, but having to say it out loud was ludicrous. He ended up snickering uncontrollably by the end.

  Jin threw up her hands as if to absolve herself of the entire conversation. “Who am I to judge? I haven’t had sex with a real person in nine years. If you’re into airheaded bimbos, that’s your business.”

  “Well, I’m not. I met a girl, and we got to talking, and I offered her a ride. I completely lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

  There. It was close enough to the truth to have a whiff of believability, but far enough that she wouldn’t have him committed. He’d have to deal with endless teasing on his new “love interest,” but that was much better than the alternative. And if he was going to be honest about it, Lara was his dream woman. Capable, tough, and yet caring once you got to know her. She’d really been kind when he’d confessed all, and she didn’t have to be. He was looking forward to hearing from her again, and not just because he expected her to have news about Ignazio.

  “So what’s she like, this dream girl?” asked Jin. “Help me bag up this order while you tell me all about her.”

  He followed her back to the kitchen obediently. The list of orders to fill was relatively small. Jin saw the look he gave them and said, “You lucked out, you careless bastard. All takeout orders while you were gone. So you’ll get laid and you won’t get fired.”

  “Pfft!” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t fire me. I’m the only employee you have who doesn’t get all uncomfortable at your jokes.”

  “That’s because you’re just as sexually repressed as I am,” she said. “Hand me one of the big Styrofoam containers?”

  She held out a hand, and he slapped the container into it. For a few moments, they busied themselves with the automated movements of people who had been at their jobs for a long time. Soup was boxed and wrapped in plastic. Crunchy noodles packed in a container alongside. They moved in concert, easily stepping around each other, passing utensils and other necessary objects without being asked. Once it was all done, Jin stapled the bag closed with a flourish.

  “Voila!” she said. “And now tell me all the gory details.”

  “There aren’t any,” said Vincent, blushing a little. “And if there were, I wouldn’t tell you. It’s like having a sex talk with my mother.”

  “I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult,” replied Jin in arch tones. “I’m going to settle on a compliment. At least tell me her name. What’s she like? Will you bring her to the restaurant so I can meet her?”

  “We’re not dating. So I’m not bringing her anywhere.”

  Jin threw a fortune cookie at him. The plastic wrapped cookie bounced off his forehead and fell on the ground at his feet. He swept it up in one long, graceful swoop of his arm and threw it in the trash.

  “What. Is. Her. Name?” asked Jin.

  “Lara. Her name is Lara. She’s…she’s a badass. She’d give you a run for your money, I bet.”

  Jin smiled at him. One of her real, rare smiles, one that she’d only bring out when they were alone. For all of her ridiculous behavior, he thought she really did care. Frankly, if you asked him, he’d say she was lonely. Her husband had died years ago, and now it was just her and her son, and he never came to visit. Vincent had never even met the guy, although he lived here in Vegas. Jin had moved her very successful restaurant business from Chicago to here in Vegas, just to be near a son who was too busy and important to ever come and see her. He tried to fill that void for her as best as he could, and he knew she appreciated it. But he also knew that it just wasn’t the same. She could be like a mother to him, but that didn’t fill the aching hole in his heart that begged to be filled by family.

  “Did you just call me a badass?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I did,” he said, grinning.

  “That’s a nice compliment. I’ll forgive you for disappearing and nearly giving an old lady a heart attack,” she said, putting a hand to her chest in a mock tragic movement.

  “Well, thank you. It won’t happen again.”

  “But you’ll see this Lara again? You have her number?”

  “Yes, I do. And I will.”

  “Good. You are alone too much. I worry about you.”

  She put the bag into his hands and then, unexpectedly, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He put his hand to the spot, touched by the gesture, and she gave him a shy smile that slowly widened to her usual impish grin.

  “Go on,” she urged. “Deliver that food quickly and get a good tip so you can show this Lara a good time. And maybe your tip.” Then she laughed uproariously, like she hadn’t made that tip joke about five hundred times before.

  He rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep from grinning back. When he’d applied for the job, he’d had no clue that the quiet lady who ran the store would turn out to be such a character, and such an influence on his life. She’d been wearing the penis shirt that day too, but he hadn’t noticed it.

  As he let himself out the back door and got into his car, he reflected on the past few years. Although his life might seem shabby from the outside, he was proud of what he’d accomplished. The first thing he remembered was standing in the middl
e of a San Francisco park in the pouring rain, with no recollection of who he was or where he’d come from. He had no identification and no possessions other than the clothes on his back. To go from that stark lack of anything to an apartment, even if it was small, and a job, even if it was a simple one? That was pretty astounding.

  And then there was Jin. She was perhaps borderline insane, and she loved pulling his strings. Anyone’s strings, really. But she was an excellent cook and an understanding boss, and she was the closest thing to a mother that he could remember knowing. Of course, she couldn’t understand his visions, but that was a special circumstance. He couldn’t expect everything from her, after all.

  But then there was Lara. Now that he’d met her, it felt like his life was complete. Here was someone who accepted him as he was, strange visions, killer touch and all. She hadn’t even seemed to think it was weird, and she came with her own strangeness. To think that cupids were real! He’d known that some things were out there—once, he’d gotten a vision of what he was pretty sure was a vampire. But when he’d touched the pale-faced creature, it had fallen dead and still just like everyone else. So he hadn’t been too shocked by what Lara had told him. Mostly just relieved.

  Some days, he felt sorry for himself. He wanted more than anything to have a home and a family that sometimes drove him nuts. Some kind of education and plans for a future that would lead somewhere instead of this strange, aimless existence he’d been living. But as he drove to deliver the food he’d bagged with Jin, he realized that if none of those happened, he could still be content. Jin and Lara accepted him as he was, and they cared about him. Wasn’t that what family was supposed to do?

  He stopped at a light, grinning. He was more than just content. For the first time he could remember, he realized he was actually happy.

  CHAPTER 7

  After Lara left Mick’s warehouse, she was angry. Angry at him for being such a cad. Angry at herself for not kicking his balls up into his esophagus. Angry at Annamarie for continuing to work with him and not taking a hard line on the appropriate treatment of her employees. Angry that she was a real bounty hunter with supernatural powers and more than a few ass kicking skills, and somehow this low life of a man could still make her feel small.

  The temptation was strong to blame all men for the state of the world, but Lara was a cupid. She’d seen men so deeply in love that they would give their lives for that person. She’d felt a deep love for men, and even if it hadn’t lasted, at least some of them had been worth her attention. And those that weren’t? Well, she still got something out of the experience. Life knowledge at the very least. The last one had resulted in a new friendship with the other girl he’d been seeing at the time.

  She couldn’t blame men, not as a group. She couldn’t let the actions of a few dictate her opinion about them all. But she could entertain delightfully ornate visions of humiliating the crap out of Mick while she angry drove around the back streets of Las Vegas, blasting rap music. That’s what she did for a while, until she could cool off.

  It took a while. The urge to tank this whole job and tell Annamarie to find someone else was high. If it weren’t for Vincent, she would have done it.

  Vincent. The thought of him cooled her jets more than anything else had, even the angry driving. He was such a strange combination of things. Smoking hot on the exterior, if she was going to be honest with herself. She’d always liked that lone gunman look—the black clothes, slim hips, and chiseled features. He looked like the kind of guy who was sensitive to his lover’s needs in bed but still knew when to take the reins. An intoxicating mix of toughness and vulnerability.

  She laughed out loud at herself and slowed down to a more reasonable speed. Obviously, it had been too long since she’d been properly laid, if she was thinking of Vincent like that. The last thing the poor guy needed was her lusting over him atop everything else. He already had amnesia and the whole angel of death thing to deal with, not to mention Ignazio. If Vincent was right, they didn’t have long to find him, and here she was, driving around town like they had tons of time to waste. Normally, she would. She’d have the luxury of holding tight until the target made the first move and showed himself to her. But this time was different, and she needed to quit feeling sorry for herself and get to work.

  Energized by the realization, she pulled into a 7/11 parking lot and got herself an iced coffee before pulling up the files on Ignazio. Annamarie had done her usual thorough backgrounding job. She’d posed as Ignazio’s worried mother and had the cops do a well check on his apartment. He hadn’t been there, but that didn’t mean that the place wouldn’t contain clues as to his whereabouts. She ought to check it out.

  She plugged the address into her GPS and took off. En route, she dropped a call to Vincent. From the sounds of it, he was in the car when he answered.

  “Hello?” he said tentatively.

  “It’s Lara,” she replied, trying to keep her mind on business. But now that she’d opened the Pandora ’s Box of sexual fantasies, they just kept coming whether she wanted them to or not. She wondered if all cupids were so ridiculously horny or if it was just her, but of course she had no one to ask. It wasn’t as bad as total amnesia, but it sure was annoying.

  “Hey, Lara.” He sounded happy to hear from her. “I was just thinking about you.”

  She couldn’t exactly admit the same, even if it was true. “Maybe you’re psychic,” she joked. “I’m on my way to Ignazio’s apartment and wanted to check in. See if you’d like to come with.”

  “I would, but I’m actually on the clock. If I’m needed, I could see what I could do…”

  He trailed off uncertainly.

  “No, that’s not necessary. But I could call you after and let you know if I find anything useful. What time are you done? We could meet up and hunt. See if you can stir up one of your visions. Unless you need solitude and quiet for that kind of thing.”

  She wasn’t exactly babbling, but she didn’t usually run at the mouth like this. It was tough to keep on topic, because she kept having these intrusive mental pictures about Vincent and that futon of his. It was unprofessional, and she pushed them away with an effort. She could think of that—and possibly act on it, if she still wanted to—after this job was over. But not before. She had high standards, and she took pride in her work. She wasn’t going to let her libido get in the way of it.

  Once she’d come to that conclusion, the whole thing felt much better.

  “That sounds great,” he responded. “But I’m not off work until 9, so don’t wait for me. I promise not to feel left out if you find him without me.”

  She giggled. “That’s good to know. I wouldn’t want to offend an angel of death.”

  “It could be worse,” he said. “I could have a flaming sword.”

  They made arrangements to meet at a bar he said was near his work, and signed off with a little more friendly banter. Lara thought it felt pretty good. She’d never had a partner, always working alone with only Annamarie as her contact. But with someone like Vincent, she could see how it might be fun.

  By the time she pulled up to Vincent’s fancy high rise apartment, she was back to her usual focused self. Her swell of hormones seemed to have subsided—at least for the moment. Now, she was wholly focused on the job.

  The building used to be one of the premier luxury high rises in the area—just close enough to the Strip to make commuting somewhat feasible, but far enough away that it wasn’t all neon and drunk tourists. Lara could remember when it was under construction, because she’d had a timeshare about a half mile away. She’d since moved further out into the suburbs and was much happier with that, but she still knew the neighborhood well enough.

  In the intervening years, newer and fancier buildings had cropped up, and the Heights fell solidly into the upper mid-tier of apartment living. She could expect that level of security, likely. Cameras in the main areas and stairways, but probably not outside the door. Some kind of security or desk
person, and possibly a buzzer system, but hopefully not the kind of set up where visitors had to call up to the apartment first. She took a moment to check the building’s website to see what security arrangements were advertised for prospective tenants and was relieved to see that this wasn’t the case.

  Okay, so she’d go in and play it by ear. She stashed a pile of flyers advertising a mock tutoring service in her bag; if she was stopped, she’d explain that she was delivering flyers and possibly get in that way. If not, at least she wouldn’t be memorable. Flyer delivery in an apartment building this big was about as inevitable as death and taxes.

  Underneath the flyers, she tucked her little leather pouch of lock picks and made sure that her phone had plenty of memory for the camera. Her leather gloves sat tucked in their inner pocket. It was doubtful that anyone would be dusting Ignazio’s apartment for prints—unless they failed to find him before he killed someone like Vincent predicted. So her better safe than sorry tendencies were even more important today.

  It turned out that all of the preparations were unnecessary. The pimply college aged security guard was too busy trying to get a good look at her ass to ask her where she was going. If she hadn’t been working, she might have told him to pick his jaw up off the ground, but as it was, the situation worked to her advantage so she let it ride. Even gave him a little fluttery wave as the elevator doors closed behind her.

  Okay, so entering the building was a non-issue. She kept her hands folded in the elevator, not fidgeting, knowing that the security cameras were on her. The security guy might be watching her at this very moment, trying to get a peek down her shirt. She resisted the urge to tug at it and contented herself with turning so the angle wouldn’t be very good.

  When the door opened, she exited the elevator with confidence. She’d lucked out. Ignazio’s apartment was all the way down near the end of the hall. No cameras here. She paused at his doorway and knocked lightly just in case he’d come home. No answer. Shielding the view of the door from anyone who might happen to come by, she pulled out her lock picks. The lock was nothing special, just a standard tumbler anyone could buy at Home Depot. She’d trained on much more difficult locks, and so opening this one was simple. It took less than a minute, and she was inside.