She wasn’t sure if Rafael’s smart-ass remark had been a threat, but it felt like it. Already, talking to him had cost her a couple bags of groceries, her much needed wine, a blouse, a bra, and a lot of embarrassment.
The knock sounded again. Pressing her hand to the door, she lifted on her tiptoes and spied through the peephole.
“Crap!” She pulled back. Not Rafael. Her racing heart took on a different tune. Austin Brookshire. Why his name had stuck so easily in her memory bank, she didn’t know.
Oh, hell, she did know.
She hadn’t stopped thinking about him. His smile, the devilish twinkle in his blue eyes, the feel of his naked chest.
Sara! It was Sara’s fault for talking about missing a man’s touch. But blaming someone wasn’t going to answer the door, or fix her problem. Problem being it was getting harder to deny that part of herself that craved a little company. Male company.
“Damn! Damn! Damn,” she muttered.
Chapter Four
Austin heard the expletive and leaned a bit closer.
“Leah? It’s me, Austin,” he said, even though he’d seen the peephole go dark and knew she’d peered out.
“I’m not home.” It was little more than a murmur, but the words still traveled through the cheap-ass apartment door.
“You know I can hear you, right?”
“Shit!” Her voice carried again, and he grinned trying to imagine her expression when flustered. Did her soft brown eyes get a little darker? Did those pouty lips get a little poutier?
“I come bearing gifts,” he said, his mind envisioning her mouth.
“I don’t want any gifts.” Her tone sounded extra-defiant. “I don’t like gifts.”
“Why wouldn’t you like gifts?” He leaned his hip against the door frame, genuinely curious. Every woman he’d dated loved gifts. At the beginning of every relationship, he always brought them gifts.
When she didn’t answer, he replied, “They really aren’t gifts. They’re . . . replacements. For the groceries I turned into roadkill. Please open the door.”
She opened the door, but not enough to be an invitation to come inside. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did,” he said. How else are you going to trust me enough to tell me what I need to know? The thought brought tension in his shoulders. Or was the tension from feeling the punch of attraction again?
She’d changed out of wine-soaked clothes. She wore a light blue T-shirt and a pair of gray sweats. Both fit her very well and showcased a body that was all curves.
“I was careful to get all the same items.” He held out the bag in his hand.
She stepped out a few inches, eyeing the bags. Her hair hung loose and locks of it kept shifting over her breasts.
“My frozen mushroom pizza?” Hunger flashed in her eyes. Her tongue dipped out and swiped across her bottom lip.
“Got it.” His gaze stayed glued to her mouth when she leaned forward and glanced inside the bag.
She looked up and smiled. “Wow. You must have felt really bad.”
“Because I got your mushroom pizza?”
“No”—she pointed inside the bag—“because you bought me tampons.” Her dimples deepened in her cheeks. “Never met a man who’d do that.”
“There’s always a first time. And a last.” Damn she was pretty. And in a refreshing way. Not made up, or artificial. Half the women he dated used clothes and makeup as a mask. This petite little feminine package before him wore no mask; there was nothing counterfeit or artificial about her.
She rolled her eyes. “You really didn’t have to do this. I didn’t blame you.”
He didn’t blame her, either. The realization hit. He’d thought he’d instantly dislike her. He thought every time he looked at her, he would think of the scumbag who’d framed him and cheated him out of eighteen months of his life.
But, nope. Right now he knew that she couldn’t help who her brother was, any more than he could help who his mother was. Or his father for that matter.
But that didn’t change anything.
If she knew where DeLuna was, he intended to find out. Just because he didn’t hold a grudge against her didn’t mean he didn’t hold one against her brother.
“The only thing I gave you an upgrade on was the wine.” He set the bag on the floor and pulled out the bottle of Cabernet from the other.
Temptation flashed in her eyes.
He couldn’t help wondering what else tempted her. “I have a couple of glasses in my apartment.”
She jerked her eyes up. The longing and humor vanished.
Glancing at the bag at his feet, she said, “I tell you what. I’ll take everything but the wine.”
“No. I mean . . .” He wasn’t accustomed to being turned down. “You sharing the wine with me wasn’t a condition. I just thought . . . since we’re neighbors . . .” He motioned to the door to his left.
“You live . . . there?” Her expression looked as if she’d just sniffed sour milk.
“Don’t worry, I’m a good neighbor. No loud music, no wild parties.” And as soon as I get the info I need, I’ll never bother you again. His gut tightened. “I’m just new in town and thought . . .”
“I’m not interested in . . .” She paused.
“Conversation?” he finished for her. “Because that’s all I was asking for.”
She bit down on the edge of her bottom lip and studied him. “Gay?”
“What?” he asked, certain he’d misunderstood.
“Are you gay?”
“No! Hell, no. Not even a little bit. I meant . . . I wasn’t looking . . . I just wanted . . .”
She leaned closer. “Keep your eye out for the woman who lives in two-oh-six and the one in two hundred. Both blondes, they have guys come and go all the time, so I know they are open to”—she shrugged—“conversation.”
“You’re difficult,” he said, not even meaning to state it out loud.
“And you’re pushy,” she said, pursing her lips into a tight bow.
He frowned. “Because I asked you to share a glass of wine with me?”
“No. Because I refused your offer and you can’t accept it.”
“I can accept it.” He just didn’t like it.
“Good. Then enjoy the wine.” She nodded at the bottle and reached for the other bag.
“No,” he said, getting more agitated, “the wine stays with the pizza.” He leaned down and snatched up the other bag before she did, and placed the bottle inside. Then he handed both bags off to her. “Take it.”
She did but didn’t look happy. “See, you’re pushy.”
“And you’re still difficult,” he answered back. But then he spotted the grin flashing in her eyes and couldn’t stop himself from laughing. The sound of her laugh followed his and had her dimples winking at him. He got the oddest desire to touch her cheek. Since when had he enjoyed arguing with a woman?
“Okay,” she said, her smile still on her lips. “I’ll be the bigger person and say thank you.”
He quirked another brow at her. “But you still won’t share it?”
“Nope.” She didn’t even hesitate. “But I’m still the bigger person.”
Not by a long shot, he almost said, remembering how small she’d felt in his arms. Warm. Soft. Almost fragile. “How tall are you?”
She rolled her eyes. “I meant ‘bigger’ hypothetically. I’m five-two and a half.”
“With or without shoes?” He laughed again. But the laugh was cut short when not one, but two, yellow-eyed creatures appeared at the door. One was black, and one was orange. Their presence had the air he’d just inhaled hitching in his chest. Then the black one hissed.
He forced himself to step, not jump, back. He should have been better at hiding his fear since Tyler occasionally brought his wife’s cat to the office. And maybe Austin was better, but his skin still crawled, and the two-inch scar under his arm that he’d carried since he was four started to itch.
“You have two cats?”
“No,” she said. “Four. Two are just semi-feral.”
“Four,” he said. “I thought that was illegal.”
She made a cute face. “No. Well, I mean the apartment manager thinks I have two. But that’s our secret.” She studied him. “You don’t like cats?”
His gaze shifted from the devilish looking creatures to her soft brown eyes. “What’s not to like?” It came out sounding sincere, but only because he started thinking about her.
“You have one?” she asked.
“Yes, I mean, no. I just lost one, not too long ago.” See, he could wing it.
“Sorry. That’s hard. I’m a vet. Purrfect Pets. I specialize in felines.” Her empathy-filled eyes widened. “Are you open to adopting? I have one I’m trying to place in a good home.”
Oh, shit. “No, I . . .” Absolutely no more winging it.
“Too soon?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He jumped at that answer.
“You know sometimes it can help.”
“That’s the case,” he said quickly.
She nodded and looked at the wine in the bag and then she met his gaze. Temptation filled her eyes. And just like that, he knew. She was reconsidering. They were going to share the wine.
“Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing . . .” A phone rang. She looked back inside, then up at him. The spark of promise in her eyes vanished.
“I should . . . take this. It’s probably my brother. Thanks again.”
Austin’s gut tightened as she closed the door.
Which brother?
He stood there, even moved in to see if he could hear. The cheap-ass door was just thick enough to prevent eavesdropping from across the room.
Frowning, he swung back to his apartment.
Looked like he was going with plan B.
Read on for the first chapterof
Saved at Sunrise,
a novella kicking off
New York Times bestselling
author Christie Craig’s
Shadow Falls: After Hours series
(writing as C. C. Hunter),
available now as a $1.99 ebook
wherever books are sold.
The first full-length novel in the series,
Reborn,
is due out in April 2014.
Chapter One
“Do not put yourselves in any jeopardy. Your job is to infiltrate the gang by showing interest in joining, find out if they’re using murder as a rite of initiation, and then get out. Alive.”
“That’s my plan, too.” Della Tsang answered with sass looking up at Burnett James, one of the Shadow Falls Academy owners who also just so happened to work for the FRU—Fallen Research Unit—which was basically the FBI of the supernatural world.
“We don’t want you to bring anyone in. We don’t want you to take care of the bad guys.” Burnett continued staring right at her.
Afternoon sun poured into the window of the Shadow Falls office behind him. The crystals sitting on shelves caught the light and cast rainbow-colored mirages on the wall. They danced and shifted as if magical. And maybe they were. Crap like that happened all the time here.
“Actually, Burnett said, drawing Della’s attention back to him, “we don’t think this is the group, but if it is, with your testimony, we’ll have enough proof to get a search warrant and we’re pretty damn positive we should find all the evidence we need to convict.”
Burnett, six feet plus, with dark hair and eyes, was a hard-ass who worried way too much, but being a vampire like herself, Della respected him and his hardassness.
She just wished the respect was mutual. Seriously, didn’t he trust her? Didn’t he know she could friggin’ take care of herself? Did he really have to go over this again?
“I understand, sir.” Steve, the brown-haired, brown-eyed, great-bodied guy sitting next to her spoke up when she didn’t. For the first time, Della noticed his voice held a hint of a Southern accent that wasn’t just Texan.
Della glanced over. Steve gave Burnett his complete attention. What an ass-kisser.
Steve was evidence that Burnett didn’t trust her. Why else would Burnett insist Steve go with her? She didn’t need the shape-shifter. He was just going to slow her down.
“Wait,” Burnett said, pacing across the office again. “Let me rephrase that. I don’t want you to just get out alive. I want you to get out just the way you went in. Not wounded, not bruised, and for God’s sake, don’t leave any dead bodies behind. You got that?”
“Now you’re taking all the fun out of it,” Della smarted off.
Burnett growled. “I’m not joking and if you can’t take this seriously then get your vampire butt out of here, because I’m not playing around.”
Della slumped back in her chair, knowing when to shut her mouth. She really wanted to do this assignment for the FRU. Wanted to win Burnett’s respect. Everyone needed someone to impress. And since impressing her parents wasn’t an option anymore, she’d settle for Burnett.
Not that impressing anyone was the only reason she wanted to go. Even before she’d been turned into a vampire, she’d considered a career in criminal justice—something that allowed her to kick butt. Of course, her parents had frowned on that. They had her earmarked to be a doctor. They had her earmarked to be a lot of things.
But not a vampire.
Not that they knew what she was. The way Della figured it, if they went bat-shit crazy just because she’d stopping eating rice—which after being turned tasted like curdled toe jam—how the hell were they going to accept that she was a blood-drinking vampire? The answer was obvious. They wouldn’t, couldn’t accept it.
Lucky for her, she’d been accepted into Shadow Falls—a boarding school for supernaturals—and didn’t have to worry what her parents thought about her choice of careers, or whether she ate her rice or not. And yet . . . now Della couldn’t help but question if they ever thought or worried about her at all. Did they sit down to eat dinner and notice her chair was empty? Did her mom ever forget and set an extra plate at the table?
She doubted it.
Yes, they came to the parents’ day visitations, but they were always the first to leave, and eager to do it. Especially her father, the man Della had spent her entire life trying to impress.
A daddy’s girl, her mom used to call her.
Not anymore.
No doubt her sister had taken over that role.
Turning vampire hadn’t been Della’s choice. It was one of those things life slapped on your ass and you just had to accept it. Which meant she’d had to accept that her family would never be able to accept her. Not that it really bothered her. Not anymore.
She was so over it.
“Am I making myself clear?” Burnett asked, yanking her back to reality.
“One hundred percent,” Della said, working hard to keep her attitude from spilling over.
“Yes, sir.” Steve nodded.
Yup, an ass-kisser.
“Okay, you got your orders?” Burnett said. “You know where to go and what your cover is? They expect you to meet them at four in the morning. Don’t be late, don’t be too early. Don’t let them lure you back to their compound. The policy, if they follow their own policy, is that three of the members will meet with you to talk. You get the information about joining, you get out.”
“Got it.” Della held up the brown envelope. And you’ve gone over this ten times.
“Then go get your things.” Burnett eyed Della. “And please, don’t make me regret sending you on this.”
“You won’t,” Della said.
Della and Steve stood to leave.
“Steve,” Burnett said. “Give me a few minutes.”
Della looked from Steve to Burnett. What the hell did he need to talk with Steve about that couldn’t be said in front of her?
Burnett shifted his gaze to Della and then cut his eyes to the door.
Frowning, Della shot up from the chair and left. She s
topped about fifty feet from the porch, holding her breath and not moving a muscle. Hoping Burnett wasn’t still listening, she tuned her own vampire hearing and waited to discover what the hell was up. The afternoon sun spilled over the trees, casting shadows on the ground as she stood frozen in one spot.
“I’m trusting you to keep Della safe,” Burnett said.
Della inwardly growled at Burnett’s chauvinistic approach and fought the need to rush back in there and give him some lip. I’m the one who’s gonna have to protect his butt!
“I do not believe this is the gang we’re looking for.” Burnett’s voice carried well. “Or I wouldn’t be sending you two. This is just a clearance check. But that doesn’t mean this group isn’t dangerous.”
“Don’t worry,” Steve’s deep voice answered. “I’ll keep her in my sight at all times.”
Like hell you will. She already had a plan of doing a little side trip, and she didn’t need Steve tagging along.
• • •
At six that evening they arrived at the cabin the FRU had rented them right outside the vampire compound. To call the place a dump would have been like calling one of those roach-coach vans fine dining.
Of course, she and Steve were supposed to look like a couple of supernatural teen runaways. She supposed it would have looked suspicious if they’d rented anything with even part of a star attached to its reputation. But damn, this was supposed to have been a fun trip.
She wasn’t a prima donna, but sleeping on a mattress that was more dust mites than filling, with sheets that looked as if they hadn’t been changed in a year or so wasn’t her idea of fun. The bed’s covers were half on and half off the mattress, and the pillow sported an indented greasy spot in the center as if someone with not-so-clean hair had slept there.
Or maybe died there.
As disgusting as that thought was, one even worse hit. Someone had probably done the humpty dance on that bed.
Yuck.
She could probably get a disease sleeping on it.
Walking back into the tiny living area, she found Steve staring at the sofa with about as much distaste as she had while gaping at the bed.
The Cop Who Stole Christmas (Tall, Hot & Texan) Page 19
