by Ann Charles
“Answer the question, Electra.”
“The night Clint was killed, I was in my tent in bed.”
His gaze hardened. “Alone?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Alone or not?”
“Of course I was alone.”
“Right, because there were no other drunk, half-breed suckers willing to follow you back to your tent.”
I pointed at him. “That is your problem, Bruno. Not mine. You’re the one who has an issue with my bloodline.”
“No, I have an issue with you.”
I crossed my arms. “Because you think I’m a liar.”
“Mischief is a coyote’s middle name.”
“You’re half-coyote, too.”
His disgust about his were-father’s bloodline showed on his face. “Not by choice.”
God, he was such a jackass. I planted my hands on my hips. “What do you want from me? I swear I didn’t kill Clint.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Leave where?”
“My tent. You left in the middle of the night. When I went looking for you the next morning, you were gone.”
I walked over and straightened my tarot cards. “I didn’t want to see you leave.” That was the honest truth.
“Why not?”
Because I didn’t trust myself not to tell him the truth about my past crimes, my true identity, or my feelings for him. If I leaked any of those spicy bits it would only muck up the mess I’d already made of my life. Bruno didn’t need to be dragged into my grand catastro-fuck. This was my penance to pay, not his.
“You might’ve gotten the wrong idea about us,” I said.
His laugh sounded bitter. “What us? We had sex, most of which I can’t even remember because I was falling-down drunk. There is no us.”
I winced, even though his words were exactly what I’d been aiming to achieve with my buffering and continued withdrawal.
“Are you really here to find out who killed Clint?”
He nodded.
“Am I your only suspect?”
“Maybe.” He pointed at the lock box where I’d put Ol’ Blue. “I need your help.”
I guffawed. “First you accuse me of killing my good friend and then you want my help?”
“I didn’t accuse you of killing Clint, just questioned your whereabouts.”
“Same difference.”
“I’ve been ordered to seek your help.”
“Ordered? By whom?”
“The owner. It appears your reputation for predicting the future has not escaped AC’s attention.”
“So, let me get this straight. You want me to help you figure out who killed Clint by using my abilities, while at the same time you suspect I could be the one behind his death?”
“Irony is a bitch, isn’t it?”
Giving him the directions to Hell was on the tip of my tongue, but then I thought about Clint. If I could help bring his killer to justice, then I needed to put my emotions for Bruno aside and do whatever I could. Whoever murdered my friend needed to be drawn and quartered … or at least thrown in jail.
“Fine, I’ll help you, but only because I loved Clint. He was a true friend and a wonderful person.”
Bruno snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“What do you mean?”
“After digging into Clint’s background, we found out some surprising news. It seems our clown friend had been placed in the circus to hide his true identity.”
My pulse started to gallop. “Hide his identity?” That sounded a smidgeon familiar.
“Have you ever heard of the Gone Were program?”
I turned away so he couldn’t see my cheeks turning red. “Gone Were?” I repeated, pretending to look for something in my trunk. I knew plenty about the organization that helped “Were-folks” disappear.
Bruno continued, “It’s a witness protection program into which shapeshifters are placed when they’ve broken the law and turned state’s witness against their criminal counterparts. Turns out Clint was part of that program.”
I schooled my features, facing him. “You think that has something to do with Clint’s murder?”
He nodded slowly, his dark eyes searching. “I don’t think, I know.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Have you heard how Clint was killed?”
“Only that there was a knife involved.”
His gaze hardened. “He was cut into pieces. Forty-eight pieces, to be exact.”
Chapter Two
Later that evening, after the crowds had dispersed, I sat on the floor in my tent meditating. It was part of my nightly routine of cleansing my aura, removing any lingering attachments from the customers who’d paid me a visit. This was a ritual my grandmother had taught me as a young child under the wide western, star-dazzled sky.
How I missed those moments with her from so long ago when I’d lose myself in the sound of her chants. The breeze would rattle the mesquite trees next to her small abode, channeling through the canyon below in a long, sad howl that she claimed was an echo of our ancestors.
Thinking of the howling wind reminded me of the cries of sorrow during Clint’s memorial. I sighed, my heart growing heavy with grief again.
I couldn’t believe he’d been in the Gone Were program, just like me. What were the chances?
When I’d agreed to testify against my cousin and the crime boss he worked for, the attorney had sworn to me that I’d be tucked far away from those who might want to see me hanged from a tree. Gone Were had a good reputation for making witnesses of crimes disappear from the public eye, moving them safely out of harm’s way. I’d signed on, knowing it was the only way to put my cousin away for good while saving my parents’ welfare from being jeopardized along with mine.
Yet here I was with a dead friend who’d been part of the same protection program. Was it a coincidence?
I stood up and stretched, my attention drifting from Clint to Bruno. Thoughts of the stubborn shifter had haunted me all evening. Those dark, dark eyes ever present during my visions, piercing the swirls of light and fog each time I sought Ol’ Blue’s advice.
How would I be able to work with Bruno day after day without giving in to my need for him? One time—one stupid time—I’d let my guard down and enjoyed the pleasure of his skin. I groaned at my foolishness. I should have never given in to the craving to touch. After months of resisting, I’d known a single taste would never satisfy, but he was supposed to leave the circus and my life for good, dammit.
I tugged out the pins that had secured my hair under the turban and veil I wore for my show and shook out my auburn curls. I pulled off my beaded satin tunic, checking for tears or loose threads before hanging it from a tent pole for tomorrow’s show.
Bruno’s brooding presence replayed in my head as I stepped out of my long, layered velvet skirt and shook the dust from it. One drunken mating and now the brute was mad at me for leaving him in the night. Of course he’d attributed it to his bias about me being an uppity purebred. Had I just been another piece of ass, would my disappearance come morning have mattered? Probably not. I had little doubt Bruno had enjoyed plenty of females before I came along. His skills in bed even while inebriated had proved his expertise at pleasuring the female body.
Damn it. Of all the shapeshifters out there, why did Bruno have to be my fated mate? And why did he have to come back into my world? Why couldn’t Runash figure out who murdered Clint on her own? According to Ming and her big nose, Runash’s resume and references were quite impressive. Apparently, they weren’t good enough for the owner to let her solve Clint’s murder on her own.
I grabbed my thigh-length robe from my bedchamber, sliding it on over my camisole and underwear. I’d have to be careful not to be in close proximity to Bruno for too long. There was only so much I could shield from him when we were in close range.
“Knock, knock,” said a high-pitched voice.
I stepped back int
o my fortune-telling parlor. “Lemon Drop?”
The curtains parted, ushering in one of the petite, silver-haired contortionist identical twins. “No, it’s Lolli Pop. I need your help, Electra.”
Dagnabbit, I couldn’t keep those two straight. I pointed to the chair across my parlor table. “Have a seat. How did your show go tonight?”
“Not so good.” She lowered onto the chair, crossing her legs and arms, looking very pretzel-ish. “Lemon got stuck halfway through a tennis racket and I had to pull on her arm a little to get her loose. She says I tugged too hard and popped her shoulder out of joint, but I reminded her that in order to fit through the racket she has to pop her shoulder out of joint, so I just put it back into position.”
I blinked, my tired brain trying to process that after a houseful of patrons needing to know everything from if any dead relatives would be crashing their All Hallow’s Eve bash to the chances of finding their fated mates anytime this century.
“Was she able to shift and finish your act?”
Lolli’s head bobble-nodded, her silvery blue eyes wide for such a late hour. “But she had trouble landing on her front paws in that last box. It’s such a tight fit, you know.”
I did know. I’d watched their act several times.
A mix of Siamese and Persian, Lemon Drop and Lolli Pop were left as tiny kittens in an orphanage in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Since they came as a two-for-one deal and weren’t purebred Persian or Siamese, parents were hard to come by. They ran away from the orphanage at the tender age of twelve and joined the circus, where the monkey brothers soon adopted them, sharing custody of the sweet girls. Now, ten years later, the two still lived with their adopted parents and traveled with us, contorting each night in their human form to fit through impossible obstacles. After they shifted into kitty cats, they performed an acrobatic ritual involving boxes that started out piled together like Russian stacking dolls. Their show was a big hit with the kids, especially with them in their adorable shapeshifter forms.
“What can I do for you tonight?” I asked.
Lolli stared down at her fingernails, frowning. “I think Lemon is sleeping with my boyfriend.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Not again.” There seemed to be no limit to what the two girls shared.
“She’s acting strange lately, and you know how Tom is.”
Yeah, I did. Tom was a two-timing alley cat. Unfortunately, he was also an amazing trainer of the well-loved waltzing wildebeests and no other shifter could hitch a ride on their dancing backs around the big top ring without getting bucked off.
“Will you look at the tarot cards for me?” Lolli asked.
“Tonight?”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep without knowing for sure.”
“I already put my tarot cards away. How about I just use a deck of cards?”
“You can do that?”
“Sure. The different suits and cards each have meaning.” I mixed up the deck of cards and spread them out before her. “Choose four.” After she selected them, I flipped over the first. “Jack of hearts. That means you are continually in someone’s thoughts.”
Lolli giggled. “That must be Tom.”
Or Lemon’s since she was probably screwing around with her sister’s boyfriend.
I turned over the second. “Ace of spades. That stands for the death of a friend.”
“Do you think that means poor Clint?” she asked, her voice solemn.
“Probably.” I flipped the third card. It was the ace of diamonds. “That means there is an important letter you need to read.”
“What letter? A love letter? Tom always likes to slip me little love notes before my show.”
The question was, what was Tom slipping her sister when Lolli wasn’t looking?
I turned over the final card: Five of clubs. “You’ll have a meeting soon with someone who will be interested in you.”
“Oh, that’s exciting. Who do you think it will be?”
Before I could answer, a gravelly voice answered from behind her. “Probably Ming,” Bruno said, stepping into my parlor.
How had I not heard him coming? He must have snuck in using the age-old stealth ability most of us coyote shapeshifters possessed. He might despise his heritage, but I’d witnessed it serving him well in his career several times.
“She was looking for you earlier,” he told Lolli. “She said she had a bonus check for some marketing work you’ve been doing for her.”
Lolli leapt out of her chair with a squeal of pleasure and threw herself at him. “Bruno!” She hugged him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Are you back for good?”
Bruno’s dark gaze met mine. “Probably not.”
“That’s a bummer. You always make me feel safe when you’re around.”
Bruno made me feel safe, too, when I wasn’t lusting after him like a fifteen-year-old groupie.
“Thanks for helping me tonight, Electra,” Lolli said, blowing me a kiss good-bye. She squeezed Bruno’s arm and then left us alone.
I collected my cards, stacking the deck on the table in front of me. “It’s late, Bruno,” I said without looking up.
He took Lolli’s seat. Apparently, he was going to make himself comfortable. “How do you remember all of the tricks?”
“What tricks?”
“The card stuff, for starters. There are fifty-two different answers you could’ve given her.”
“You were eavesdropping.” Crap, I needed to be more careful about picking up the sounds and smells of others with a possible murderer out there. Damn Bruno for clouding my senses.
“I was waiting my turn. It’s not my fault I was born with excellent hearing.”
I walked over to my narrow chest of drawers, packing away the cards, putting several feet of space between us. “I learned the different meanings long ago from my grandmother. She would test me often.” Most of our time together was spent talking about the old ways, even older tricks of the trade, or methods to guide others in times of need.
“So you didn’t just pull those out of your ass?”
“Contrary to what you believe, Bruno, I’m the real deal, with years of training under my belt.”
His eyes narrowed in response, and then he glanced toward Ol’ Blue’s box. “If that’s true, how about you get that tell-all ball of yours out and tell me what happened the night Clint died?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” I told him, staying put.
“How does it work then?”
“We make a connection first, usually a handshake will do, and then I look into it while you ask questions.”
He held out his hand toward me.
“The questions have to be about you, not Clint.” That wasn’t the whole truth, but Bruno didn’t need to know the secrets of my trade.
“Fine, I’ll ask a few questions of my own then.” He kept his hand out, waiting for me to take it.
The way he was staring at the belt of my silk robe made my mouth dry. Shit, after a long night of sifting through clients’ thoughts and worries, my ability to shield my scent must be wavering.
I took a step backward, bumping into the tent wall behind me. “Not tonight, Bruno.”
His mouth set into a thin line. He lowered his hand. “You’re hiding something from me, Electra.”
I was hiding a lot of things from him, including my real name. “Madam Electra” was the moniker Gone Were had given me when they’d dropped me off at the circus with my chest of clothes and Ol’ Blue. I’d said good-bye to a quivering, skittish Nora Mai that day and sank into my Madam Electra role with nothing left to lose.
“Bruno, I’m too tired to fight with you. It’s after midnight and we have an early start tomorrow afternoon. Come back in the morning to harass me.”
He stood, closing the distance between us. I held still while his finger trailed down my cheek. “I remember bits and pieces of that night, Electra,” he whispered. “Your beautiful eyes, honeyed lips, and soft skin h
aunt me.”
I gulped, holding completely still. The urge to press against him filled me from head to toe.
“And when I dream,” he said, leaning closer, sniffing my neck, “you’re there with me, so wet and willing, crying out my name as I sink into you.” He leaned back, his focus returning to my eyes. “But as soon as I wake up,” he finished, snapping his fingers, “you disappear again.”
I licked my dry lips. “We had a good time,” I said huskily, breaking eye contact.
“Going out to the movies is a good time, Electra. We had sex, and if it was anything like my dreams, it was hot as hell. I passed out from the pleasure alone.”
Goosebumps trailed down my arms at the memory of sensations during that intimate moment of flesh-on-flesh with him. He had passed out, but I hadn’t been sure if it had been from sex or too much alcohol. “You were wasted, remember? You passed out from too much of the monkey brothers’ hard cider.”
“Bullshit. I’ve been drunk before. What you did to me was different. The sex was different.”
“The sex was nice.” I tried to sound apathetic about it. “But I’m not really your type, Bruno.”
I could feel his gaze burning into me, but refused to meet his dark eyes. “You’re right.” He stepped back, giving me some much needed breathing room. “You’re not my type, Electra. I don’t like lying purebreds.”
That stung, even though I deserved the slight right then. “We’re back to name calling, are we?”
“For tonight we are.” He walked toward the curtains, pausing to frown back at me. “Tomorrow, we’ll start working together. Don’t think you can run off and hide from me again, because I’m not leaving the circus until I figure out what you’re hiding, and if it has anything to do with Clint’s death.”
Without another word, he left.
Trembling, I waited, my breath held in hopes that he’d return to bust down my barriers and make me his again. But he didn’t. I heard his footsteps moving farther away.
Blowing out a breath of relief mixed with pent-up need, I pulled out Ol’ Blue from the lock box. Somehow, I needed to find out who killed Clint pronto. If Bruno stood that close to me again tomorrow, I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep my hands to myself.
