Not that she’d minded at the time, of course. But now, she was pretty sure they’d exhausted every position in the Kama Sutra, and she was still no closer to apologizing to him, thanks to his disappearing act while she’d fallen into an exhausted, sex-drugged slumber.
She’d waited around for him as long as possible, hoping he’d just stepped out and would return shortly. But after an hour or so, it was clear he was purposefully avoiding her, and she had to get to work.
So, she’d been forced to steal a T-shirt from his closet (her clothes looked like they’d been shredded by a pack of angry badgers) and walk-of-shame it upstairs to Harper Hall Investigations.
“Say nothing,” she’d growled as she walked past Benny, Leon and a slack-jawed Harper to get to the bathroom, where she kept an emergency change of clothes.
Her time as a skip-tracer had taught her that any manner of disgusting things could happen to one’s clothing when apprehending bail-jumping vampires and shapeshifters, and having a fresh set of clothes handy was always prudent.
Half an hour later, freshly changed and with the stench of humiliation forcibly scrubbed from her skin, she sat with Harper, Benny, and Leon, discussing the case of the missing beauty queens.
“So, Barbie has worked it out with the judges so that you’ll make it through every elimination until the winner is chosen. Of course, if we solve this thing before then, you’ll be disqualified. I’ll make up some cover story for you.”
The glitter in Harper’s eyes spelled her doom, so Mischa quickly said, “I get to pick the reason for my disqualification.”
Harper pouted. “Party pooper.”
Better to be called a party pooper than to be publically disqualified for posing for a smackthatbigass.com webcam, or for offering to blow the judges, or whatever horrific story Harper came up with. It was always best to never give Harper creative freedom over, well, pretty much anything.
“Anyhoo,” Harper went on, “I’ll go in with you as your assistant,” she made finger quotes on assistant, “to help with your hair and makeup. All the other contestants have an assistant, so it won’t seem weird to anyone.”
Well, that was a relief since Mischa didn’t even own any makeup. If left to her own devices, she’d probably end up looking like Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight.
“Barbie assigned Riddick to the lighting crew, which he’s thrilled about.”
Mischa could imagine. The thought of antisocial Riddick in a room with fifty pageant contestants was downright comical.
“So, I think that covers all our bases,” Harper said, looking pretty pleased with herself. “I can chat up the other assistants and see if I can pick up any visions, you can chat up the contestants, and Riddick can…” she paused, looking thoughtful, knowing damn well Riddick would never chat up anyone, “well, he can threaten the crew into telling him anything he wants to know.”
Benny rubbed his hands together and leaned forward in his chair. “Great. What do I do on this one, Harp?”
She frowned. “First of all, you never call me Harp again. Second, I’ll need you to run down any leads any of us get while we’re on the inside. You just need to be available to us whenever we call, basically.”
Leon snickered. “You’re their bitch, in other words.” Benny gave him the finger, which Leon ignored. “What do you need me to do, Harper?”
Harper looked him dead in the eye, serious as a heart attack, and said, “You have the most important mission of all.”
He puffed up in his chair, shot Benny a snooty glare, and said, “Yeah? What’s that?”
“My lunch. I need cheesy tots and a bacon double cheeseburger. Stat.”
Benny laughed and it was Leon’s turn to give him the finger. Mischa just shook her head, fondly. Sure, there were times when she felt like she was the only adult in the room and it irked the shit out of her, but today wasn’t one of them.
Funny what, oh, thirty or forty orgasms can do for a girl’s attitude.
Leon clapped his hands together. “Good. Now that business is out of the way, can finally address the elephant in the room?”
There was a pause before Harper deadpanned, “Everyone better quit looking at me or someone’s gonna die.”
Benny chuckled as Leon rolled his eyes and said, “No. Not you. Her!” He pointed at Mischa. “Is no one going to ask why she came in here wearing nothing but a T-shirt and a guilty look?”
Benny and Harper glanced at her, then said, “Nope,” in stereo.
Mischa raised a brow at him and smirked.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But if I showed up in nothing but a T-shirt, you’d have questions.”
Since Leon lived in his mom’s basement and hadn’t had a date in, well, ever, as far as Mischa knew, him showing up half naked probably meant someone had rolled him the parking lot.
“Listen, I have a doctor’s appointment,” Harper said, “so you should have plenty of time to go home and get ready before the contestant welcome meeting. I’ll meet you there.”
Mischa frowned down at her jeans, black T-shirt, and black leather jacket. “I am ready.”
Harper blinked at her, then burst out laughing. “Have you ever seen a beauty pageant? Do you think Honey Boo Boo would wear jeans and a T-shirt to orientation?”
Mischa had no idea why her outfit was funny, or who the fuck Honey Boo Boo was. It totally sounded like something Harper had made up.
Harper swiped at her watering eyes and said, “No, seriously, you can’t wear that. It’s adorable that you thought you could, though. Stop by my place on the way to the convention center and get my black dress. You can wear that today. Barbie will provide clothes for the rest of the competition.”
Mischa pinched the bridge of her nose, praying for strength as she thought about the frilly pink Cinderella-looking nightmare Barbie would most certainly have her wearing if given the opportunity.
Guess her panty-less walk of shame into work was really just the tip of her humiliation iceberg.
Awesome.
Chapter Thirteen
Falling asleep during beauty pageant orientation was not the best way to make friends among the contestants.
Mischa would just file that tidbit away under “stuff that would’ve been good to know about an hour ago.”
Honestly, who the hell would’ve known there were so many rules in a competition like this! No posing for photos outside the competition, not even selfies, until the show aired. No fraternization with the crew. No use of self-tanners, colored contact lenses or fang extensions. (Really? That was a real thing? Why would anyone do that?) Failure to disclose felony convictions or past indiscretions resulted in automatic disqualification.
Before dozing off, Mischa had gotten some clarification on that last one, because indiscretions was a really broad field. And she’d had some doozies, not even counting her recent panty-less walk of shame.
But, fortunately, none of Mischa’s indiscretions made the list of concerns Barbie had. Apparently in the vampire world, indiscretions usually meant killing humans when in the throes of bloodlust.
Oopsie…don’t you just hate it when that happens?
Miss Texas had jabbed her pointy little elbow into Mischa’s ribs when she’d apparently started snoring. She’d startled awake with a muttered, “What the fuck?”, only to find everyone in the room, Barbie included, giving her the stink eye.
She’d mumbled an apology, but no one seemed to be in a forgiving mood.
Try thirty or forty orgasms, ladies. Perks the mood right up.
But at that point, it didn’t really matter because orientation was over. So, she’d collected her welcome bag and orientation booklet (which she could’ve just read on her own, thank you very much. The whole orientation process was really just a thinly veiled opportunity to let the contestants psych each other out) and strolled to the auditorium, where a photographer was going to be taking headshots of each contestant for the pageant’s marketing efforts.
When she got there, she w
as surprised that Harper was missing. Mischa assumed her doctor’s appointment was running late. But that presented somewhat of a challenge. She was pretty sure she was the only vampire in the room not wearing makeup, and something told her that Barbie would be pissed to have a headshot of a contestant sporting the natural look. Especially a headshot of her, since she was already on the pageant princess’s shit list.
And that’s when she saw something that would’ve stopped her heart if it still beat. Two somethings, actually. Somethings that most assuredly meant her day was about to get more…complicated.
First of all, the source of her walk of shame rock-bottom had just walked in, wearing a flannel work shirt, left unbuttoned over an ab-hugging, beat-up gray T-shirt. He was carrying some kind of complicated, heavy-looking lighting rig over one shoulder and a video camera and tripod over the other. A tool belt was slung around his lean hips and looked like it belonged there.
He was every girl’s blue-collar fantasy made real, a walking Diet Coke commercial. And his focus was entirely on her. She could feel his gaze moving over her from the top of her head, to the pointy toes of the ridiculously complicated high-heeled shoes she’d borrowed from Harper.
Her nipples immediately went on high alert.
Christ, the no-fraternization with event staff policy suddenly had brand-new meaning for her. Apparently, she’d fraternized the hell out of the new lighting guy a few hours ago.
And he was currently eye-fraternizing her to the point that she was ready to jump him right there in front of an entire auditorium full of pageant contestants and assistants, policies be damned.
Next to him was another something that could prove to be problematic.
She was about five feet tall, not including her teased cloud of blond curls, and wore a smart vintage tweed suit and matching pillbox hat. She looked like she’d just stepped off the set of His Girl Friday. Not a modern remake, mind you, but the version from 1940.
Mischa had known many, many people (and creatures) in her life. She’d seen every bit of good, bad, and evil this city had ever known. Not much intimidated her anymore.
But this woman? This was the scariest bad-ass MOFO Mischa had ever met. She’d seen this woman reduce ancient vampires to tears. She’d seen this woman wrangle confessions to heinous crimes and dastardly plots out of every known species of supernatural creature. This woman had been known to make feral werewolves piss themselves in fear, and she never had to raise a fist or a weapon to do it.
Her mere presence meant Harper was desperate. She never called in this particular asset unless she had nowhere else to turn.
This woman was…gulp…Harper’s mother.
Chapter Fourteen
Tina Petrocelli was the most naturally gifted empath Hunter had ever known. Looking her in the eye was like having someone tear open your brain and take a good long look inside. In all his years, he’d never met a human empath who was able to breach his mental shields, but Harper’s mother did it with virtually no effort at all.
When he picked her up at Harper’s request, he’d said nothing more than hello, and she’d frowned and asked him if he was OK. When he said he was fine, she’d snorted and said, “Yeah, sure, and I’m a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie.”
She’d fortunately left it at that, because if she’d asked another question, Hunter probably would’ve spilled his guts, admitting how twisted and fucked up he was over Mischa. And that would’ve gotten back to Harper, who would’ve told Mischa, and wouldn’t that have just been the cherry atop the shit sundae he was currently living?
The source of his continuous vexation was currently wringing her hands, watching him approach with Tina, her expression somewhere between joy and terror.
She’s happy to see you, his pathetic heart practically sang.
His brain shut down that train of thought before it could go any further. Of course she’s happy to see you, you loser. She hadn’t had sex or real blood in months, and you gave her both. You’re a one-stop shop, all wrapped up in one handy, available, pathetically loyal package.
He stopped so close to her that she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. “Nice dress,” he said.
It was most likely his body that had put voice to that particular sentiment, since it was his body—not his head or heart—that most appreciated the clingy black slip of nothing that hugged her delicate curves like, well, he had the night before.
The dress that made it pretty damn obvious she was cold. Or turned on.
Mischa blinked up at him, looking a little dazed. “Thanks,” she said after swallowing hard. “It’s Harper’s.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Tina muttered, wrinkling her nose and waving her hands in the air between them as if she smelled something bad. “The lust and angst and need in the air between you two is choking me. Can you rein that in or something?”
If only.
Mischa cleared her throat and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she said, “Mrs. Petrocelli, it’s nice to see you, but where’s Harper? Is everything all right?”
She adjusted her hat daintily. “Oh, honey, she’s mad enough to chew nails and spit tacks. Her doctor said her blood pressure was up and she’s in danger of preeclampsia, so he put her on bedrest until the end of the pregnancy.”
Mischa’s eyes got wide. “Holy shit. Harper stuck in bed all day?”
Hunter was pretty much a man without fear, and that particular thought made even him a little nervous. Harper was a whirling dervish. Staying in bed all day would be torture for her. And for everyone around her, most likely.
“How’s Riddick taking this?” Mischa asked.
“About as well as can be expected,” Tina said. “I’m pretty sure he’s not allowed back at the doctor’s office, though, given how he yelled at everyone for letting this happen to his wife. Made some fairly creative death threats, too.” She chuckled. “It was so cute.”
Death threats from Noah Riddick could only be called cute by Tina Petrocelli. Those on the receiving end had been known to shit their pants.
Tina clapped her hands together. “So, long-story-short, I’m here to help you with your hair and makeup.” In a stage whisper, she added, “And I’ll see if I can pick up any negative feelings towards the missing girls while I’m at it, and Hunter here will take Riddick’s place on the lighting crew.”
Hunter didn’t have to use his telepathic ability to realize the thought of Tina doing her hair pretty much scared Mischa shitless. He smirked at her, imagining her hair arranged in Tina’s poufy, teased-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life style.
Mischa narrowed her eyes at him and, against his will, his smirk grew into a genuine smile. For some reason, irritating her had always been one of his favorite hobbies.
She held on to her irritation for a moment, but it faded slowly until she ended up smiling back at him—and damned if that smile didn’t hit him on a visceral level.
“Oh, enough of that,” Tina groused. “You’re making me have hot flashes, for God’s sake.” She fanned herself with her hand before giving Hunter a shove. “You, go hang a light or something.” Pointing a stern mom finger at Mischa, she added, “And you, show me to the dressing room so we can get you ready for your photo session.”
He gave Tina a two-finger salute and a “yes, ma’am” before clicking his heels together old-school military style to set up the lighting rig.
Behind him, he heard Tina say, “He’s cheeky. Cocky, too.”
Mischa didn’t say anything that he heard, but a second or two later, Tina gasped and said, “Oh, my God, I didn’t mean it like that! Get your emotions out of the gutter, girl. I swear, before this is all over I’m going to end up turning a hose on the two of you.”
And with that, Hunter did something he was pretty sure he hadn’t done since before he’d been carted off the prison.
He laughed.
Chapter Fifteen
The next day just after dark, Mischa and Hunter sat in Harper and Riddick’s
bedroom, recounting the evening’s events for Harper.
Propped up on about twenty pillows while Riddick rubbed her swollen feet, Harper looked like a queen—albeit an uncomfortable and agitated queen—addressing her court.
Given the sheer volume of food-laden trays surrounding the bed, Mischa assumed Riddick had moved the entire contents of the fridge so that everything was within his wife’s reach.
“Where the hell is Benny with my damn cheesy tots?” she grumbled.
“I sent him away,” Riddick said calmly, even as Harper’s expression promised hellfire and brimstone. “We’re watching your salt intake, remember? Too much salt raises your blood pressure, which isn’t good for the baby.”
Harper threw her head back against her pillows and groaned. “But I love salt! Salt is everything that is good and beautiful on this earth.”
“You told me yesterday that doughnuts are everything that is good and beautiful on this earth,” Mischa reminded her.
Her eyes lit up. “Ooohhh, doughnuts.” She gave Riddick big, pleading eyes. “Can I have doughnuts?”
He sighed. “The doctor didn’t say anything about fat and sugar, just salt.”
Mischa called Benny and changed his cheesy tots mission to a doughnuts mission, which he accepted with minimal grousing. “He’ll be here in twenty-five minutes,” she said after disconnecting the call.
Mollified, Harper leaned back and rested her hands on her belly. “So, did you get to talk to many of the other contestants?”
Mischa nodded. “Most of them were out of state with rock-solid alibis when the missing girls disappeared. Benny’s done the research and cleared everyone except Miss Texas, Jaslene Sanchez, and Miss Utah, Emily Brooks. Emily seems nice enough. Quiet, a little shy. Your mom says her emotions are all pure, innocent joy to be there. She’s probably not our girl. Texas is hard to read.”
And she has really pointy elbows, Mischa thought, rubbing her ribs.
Semi-Twisted: Page 7
