Final Cut Miami: Voodoo You Love?
Belinda McBride
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2011 Belinda McBride
ISBN: 978-1-59596-662-1
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Changeling Press LLC
PO Box 1046
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www.ChangelingPress.com
Editor: Vicki S. Burklund
Cover Artist: Bryan Keller
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Final Cut Miami: Voodoo You Love?
Belinda McBride
He’s a PI, she’s a beach bum. True love is something you can’t escape, even when it seems all wrong.
Hired by Jedidiah Wormwood Worth to locate a missing lawyer, former model Antonio Silva heads to Miami to begin his career as a PI. Instead of finding Chloe O’Shea, he stumbles upon a ditzy surfer named Coco in the local paranormal bar. To his dismay, this odd woman with dreadlocks proves to be everything he needs, but nothing he wants.
Coco is a Siberian shifter, but she’s lost her inner animal. Heck, she just might have lost her mind as well, because one day she was living in a condo and driving a sports car, the next she’s camping out in a boathouse, teaching tourists how to kiteboard. Now, a big, scary shifter in a designer suit is tailing her every move, claiming to be her mate. And every time she turns around, he’s trying to paddle her ass!
Antonio would just like to finish his job and get out of town. Coco would like to get a comb through her hair. Unfortunately, true love is something you can’t escape, even if it seems all wrong.
Chapter One
“Please, Master, may I come?”
Antonio Silva stood back, critically surveying his sub. His nose twitched, telling him the bleached blonde surfer boy wasn’t really, truly, where he needed to be. Disappointment tickled and played in his mind.
Another night, another fake.
He could put the wannabe sub through a few more hoops to let him earn his cookie, but the young man wasn’t into the scene; he was into Antonio.
“Please, Master, fuck me…” Breathless and seductive.
And there was the heart of the matter. If the sub had picked him up in a bar, they’d probably do it out in an alley somewhere. They’d just managed to hook up in a dungeon. This one wasn’t into submission; he was looking for sex, the hotter the better. Antonio was looking for something else completely. Not some silly sex game. The animal in him wanted more.
Still, he had a hot piece of ass right there in front of him, naked and willing. He could put him on his knees; they could both get their rocks off for the night…
“Oh, now that’s lovely.”
“Shit!” Antonio jumped, dropping the leather flogger to the floor.
“Oy, boss, I’ve seen better. I do like the outfit though, that whole metrosexual Dom look.”
He turned, cursing under his breath. What the hell was the boss doing here in Seattle? And why was Jasper O’Shea tagging along? Cautiously he glanced around, checking to see if Jasper’s wolf, Brutal, was in the room. That man was one nasty piece of work. He had no clue how the Siberian and the wolf ended up together. Whatever. There was no accounting for true love.
“Of course, me clients always preferred the black leather look. I was glad to oblige.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t do it for money, Jasper.”
The redhead shrugged. “I never saw the point in giving it away for free.”
Antonio clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. Brutal might not be around, but Jedidiah Wormwood Worth was, and he was inordinately fond of the Irishman. Belatedly, he remembered the bound sub, glancing back to make certain the young man was still blindfolded.
“He’s fine. In fact…” Jedidiah waved a hand in his direction and the sub cried out, arching and flexing in shocked bliss. His ejaculate spattered his torso, glistening as it drizzled down his tanned, taut belly. “Problem solved.” The bindings fell away and the sub staggered blindly through the room, guided by the demon’s casual attention. He collapsed onto a sheet-covered sofa in an alcove. The young man promptly fell asleep.
“Wee poser.” Jasper snorted in disgust. “He just wanted to get laid by the supermodel.”
Antonio wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t. And he felt oddly relieved. If he needed to get off, he had a hand. Ignoring Jasper, he turned back to Worth.
“What’s so important that you’d hunt me down in the middle of a BDSM club?” He gathered his toys and equipment, busying himself with cleanup. He didn’t worry about onlookers. Jedidiah would see to their privacy.
Jasper hopped up onto a spanking bench while Jedidiah casually examined a St. Andrew’s cross. To Antonio’s dismay, tiny horns were dividing the dark waves of his hair. Jedidiah never showed horns unless his was very, very angry -- or if he was trying to make a point.
“I have a job for you. It’s of the utmost importance and must be undertaken without delay.”
Antonio straightened and glanced at Jasper, hoping for a clue to what was going on. Normally Jedidiah simply called. Once he’d even Skyped. Damned demon had booted up Antonio’s laptop in the middle of the night. Knowing Jedidiah, he probably wasn’t using a computer on his end.
“Mya has a case here in the U.S. The prosecutor has asked for several delays, I believe because he knows she’ll be giving birth soon. He managed to get the plea on the calendar next month. Mya will not be able to travel by then.”
“But what about you?” Jedidiah managed to come up with the documentation needed to practice law virtually anywhere in the world. But then, a demon could pull off tricks like that.
“Mya and David prefer I not stray too far from home until the babies are born.” The admission was given grudgingly.
Antonio glanced at Jasper and saw a fleeting dimple as the Siberian shifter hid a smile. It appeared the powerful demon was pussy-whipped by his tigers. Literally. What tigers owned, tigers kept, and Jedidiah’s tigers had laid claim to the demon the very first time they’d been together. Even a demon couldn’t escape their obsessive attentions. Anyhow, tiger shifters were nearly extinct and their pregnancies were dangerous and complicated. He didn’t know if Jedidiah had any healing mojo, but he’d not bet against that possibility. He wasn’t surprised David and Mya wouldn’t allow him to stray too far.
“And what is my role in this?” Antonio lifted his jacket from the hook on the wall and slipped into it. The dungeon was a
bit warm for fine wool, but outside, Seattle would be chilly. He wound a scarf around his neck; his raincoat was in the coat check on the way out.
“We had an attorney in mind to stand in for Mya; unfortunately, she seems to have gone missing. We need you to find her. Quickly.” Jedidiah leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
Antonio prided himself on his appearance. His clothing was expensive and immaculately tailored, but next to Jedidiah, he always felt a bit gauche.
Worth was garbed in his customary Saville Row suit, this one grey with muted pinstripes. His shoes were made of fine Italian leather, custom designed for him. His hair was unfashionably long, but the waves gleamed. He twirled an exquisite carved walking stick in his hand. He was as comfortable rubbing shoulders with royalty as he was lounging in the dungeon of a BDSM club.
Actually, he probably hosted royalty in his personal dungeon.
“So who am I looking for?”
“Here.” Jasper tugged a file from the front of his leather jacket, leaning over to hand it to Antonio.
“Her name is Chloe O’Shea.”
Antonio shot Jasper a look.
“Yes, she’s family. Me little sister.” He’d lost his ever present grin.
“And why aren’t you looking into her disappearance?”
“Jasper and Brutal are needed elsewhere. I need you not only to find her, but to assist her on the case. It won’t be an easy one and she might need protection.” Jedidiah’s horns had receded and Antonio felt marginally better. An angry demon was a dangerous demon, even if he was the demon who signed the paycheck. Antonio glanced at the Siberian again, noticing Jasper didn’t look happy. If Antonio’s sister had gone missing, he’d be a bit angry to have someone else assigned to search for her. He took a moment to feel for the man.
A moment was enough. “So, where do I start?”
Chapter Two
Miami. Not quite home, but close enough for Antonio. As a Siberian, he should prefer the cooler climates of the north. Even Seattle’s chilly fog should have made him happy, but as the sun soaked into his bones, he felt better than he had since leaving Rio. No, it wasn’t home, but Miami had the sun and the ocean and all the nightlife he could possibly crave. The only source of his current discontent was an elusive Siberian husky shifter named Chloe O’Shea. There was no sign of her anywhere.
He slipped her photo from the file, studying the pretty face in the portrait. It was a professionally done shot, a publicity photo for her law firm. Like her disreputable brother Jasper, she had red hair, but hers was darker in color, styled in a conservative bob that dropped to her shoulders. She had enormous blue-gray eyes and full lips. She smiled up at him, and even in an image, she made him want to smile back.
It was difficult to gauge her height and weight from the photo, but Antonio guessed she was petite. She looked every bit the professional, but the impish nature of the Siberian husky lurked there in her uptilted eyes.
More than anything, he was surprised she’d managed to not only complete law school, but land a job with a major firm. Siberians generally gravitated to jobs that offered more excitement and adventure. Case in point: her brother Jasper, who’d gone from professional Dom to police officer, to private investigator. Factor in his scary-ass boyfriend and you had a clear case of adrenaline addiction. Compared to her brother, Chloe’s life had been sedate.
Antonio had started the search at the firm she’d worked for in Ft. Lauderdale. Well, officially she still worked for them, but had taken an extended leave of absence and hadn’t yet returned. No, they didn’t know where she’d gone. She was enough of an asset that they were willing to wait for their truant attorney. The address they’d provided had been a bust as well; she’d sub-let her chic little condo. Her car was in storage. It appeared she’d vanished because that’s what she wanted.
One lead had sent him to Minnesota, trekking around in the frigid countryside. Another led to the British Virgin Islands. It was as though she’d deliberately set out to lay a false trail. He’d been on the road for two weeks now and things were not looking good. Not for him, and not for Chloe O’Shea. The only reasons he knew of for a lawyer to vanish so completely gave him no comfort at all.
Still, he had a couple weeks before the client was due in court for her plea. The woman was in jail now, and every day that passed brought her closer to disaster. Vampires didn’t flourish in confinement. He’d visited her, letting her feed from his arm while she fogged the vision of the guards. He’d need Jedidiah’s help to erase the surveillance video. Unfortunately, the boss was not particularly available these days. He hoped no one would feel the need to review the footage of his brief visits. Her teeth in his wrist would be difficult to explain.
When he’d left Gracie Tallerico there in the dingy jail, he’d felt like a creep. The firm could have bailed her out, but she was a baby vampire with little self-control. He couldn’t babysit the vamp, and bringing in yet another outsider would be a risk. As long as the staff of the jail believed her story about a sun allergy, she’d be safe enough, though a trifle peckish till he visited again. Maybe she’d get a little control over that bloodlust problem of hers.
He wandered the streets of Miami, eyeing the bikini clad beauties and their Speedo wearing counterparts, but not really feeling the need to spend time with humans. He’d done his time in their world, letting them hang their clothing on his muscular frame. He’d posed for photos, strolled their catwalks and pandered to their sexual needs. He’d allowed them to use him simply to alleviate his sense of isolation. It hadn’t worked. He’d never fit into their world. He’d never fit anywhere until he’d wandered into a smoky little bar in San Francisco, and found himself surrounded by vamps and shifters and paranormals of all shapes and flavors.
On impulse, he sped up, heading for the single place he hadn’t searched for a shapeshifter in Miami: the Final Cut bar. If it was anything like his favorite bar at home, it would be limited to paranormals only. He might be able to dig up some dirt on the missing woman. No sooner had he thought of the place than it rose up before him, a small sign noting it was under new ownership.
He snorted. Judging by the vibes emanating from the distressed wooden façade, the bar didn’t really care whose name was on the title. No doubt it had kept itself open even when there was no owner.
He stepped through the door, sliding his sunglasses down his nose, blinking at his surroundings. The place was a work in progress; it was casually furnished and partially paneled in rich woods and brass accents. Televisions were mounted at strategic points in the room, proclaiming Final Cut a sports bar, but the clientele elaborately ignored the display. After all, what self-respecting werewolf or vampire really cared about a human sports team?
Round wooden tables dotted the room but the space was dominated by a spectacular bar. Shelf upon shelf of bottles rose in majesty behind the hustling bartender. The bar itself was made of gleaming wood and surrounded by tall stools with low backs. Off to the right, a despondent demon sat facing a beer; a giant shifter of some sort watched him suspiciously. No doubt the oversize chrome dome was the resident bouncer.
Various patrons scattered through the bar, some drinking in solitude, others clustered together in small, chatty groups. A woman caught his eye. She was dark skinned and mysterious, and gave off the vibe of a talented human rather than a paranormal. She had an array of cards before her, studying them carefully. She sat in profile to him, her head bowed. For a moment, he thought he knew her.
Laughter spread through the room, distracting him from the human. Off at the end of the bar, a dreadlocked beach bunny spun in circles on her stool, first one direction, and then the other. He narrowed his eyes… If he wasn’t mistaken, she had no business being here at all. Her humanity radiated from her tanned skin. Not a whisper of talent shimmered in her aura. She whooped, losing her balance, and the stool teetered precariously.
“Coco, you’re gonna fall!” The bartender looked more amused than annoyed. But the
n it was difficult to be annoyed when a tiny blonde bombshell was happily wasting her afternoon putting on a show for hungry -- and horny -- clientele. More than one avaricious gaze was locked on her curvy body.
She seemed pretty ordinary to Antonio, who regretfully ruled her out of his search. He chose a spot at the bar where he was unlikely to be overheard and dropped a bill on the gleaming wood.
“What’ll it be?” The bartender was a decent enough to look at: fit, handsome and clueless. Another human. Antonio bit back a smile. The economic crash had resulted in some unusual changes in Miami real estate.
“Rum and cola. And information.” He pushed the photograph forward, his PI credentials on top of it. The guy seemed pretty straight up, like he was former law enforcement or something. He wiped his hands and peered at the photo, frowning. He picked up the ID and compared the photo to Antonio, then looked at the photo of the woman.
“She’s familiar. What’s this, a skip trace?”
“No, missing person. I’m doing the case as a favor to her brother. He lives overseas and hasn’t heard from his little sister for a while.” It didn’t hurt to play the family card. If the guy knew anything, he might hold back if he thought someone meant her harm. Sure enough, the bartender gave Antonio the once over.
“South American?”
“Brazilian by birth, American by citizenship.” Antonio smiled blandly. He nodded at the photo. “Look again. Maybe she’s been in here?” He briefly wondered what would happen if he cued the bartender off to the fact that his bar was filled with characters from his nightmares. The chaos would be fun, but more in the style of Jedidiah, or even Jasper. Antonio had a bit more class.
“Wheeeee!”
The girl spun and Antonio gazed at her appreciatively. She was tanned and buff, wearing knee-length board shorts, a bikini top, and mismatched flip-flops. She’d probably dropped a little too much acid at some point. She giggled, grabbed her drink, knocking it back in one gulp, then slipped down onto the stool, lying back, her dreads nearly touching the floor.
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