Nightingale (17 page)

“You said the same thing when I got fried by that amp at The Blues. That me getting struck dumb with supersenses was destiny. That I was going to do great things with my new powers. All I’ve done is see the world in high-def and hear it in surround sound. Frankly, I’ve had enough of destiny and the migraines that go with it.”

Because I wasn’t answering destiny’s call, Piper tried another avenue. “The sex, Abby. Think of the sex. Wouldn’t you like to have more of that?”

As badly as an ubervillain wanted world domination. But I wasn’t going to admit that. It would only make her more determined.
 

Piper argued some more, but I didn’t budge. She might be a romantic, but I was a realist—and more stubborn. She finally agreed to let me handle Wesley my own way, even though she told me I was making a terrible mistake. She also made me promise to give her hourly updates, if the situation warranted. Like if I somehow tripped and found myself naked in Talon’s arms again. I only wished I could be that clumsy.

I ignored the mistake talk, but I gave in to the updates demand. After all, what are best friends for if not to dish about dreamy guys? Especially the ones you’ll never have?

We talked for a few more minutes about Talon and Wesley. I also asked Piper about Oomph and Glo-Glo, the two competing cosmetics companies.
 

“Meet me at Oodles o’ Stuff at nine tomorrow morning,” she said. “There’s someone down there who should be able to give you all the details.”

“See you there.”

After we hung up, I grabbed a bottled water and a chocolate granola bar. Then I went over to my desk, tugged a legal pad out of a drawer, and plopped down in my chair. Rascal curled up in the basket Chloe had bought and slept while I worked on themes for the Weston event.
   

Wesley wanted something hip and young and fresh and cool. Something memorable. Something that would blow Octavia and Oomph away. I tapped my pen against my chin, trying to come up with something I hadn’t done a thousand times before. It was tough. I planned more than a hundred events a year, from birthdays to weddings to business conferences. I’d done just about every imaginable theme as well.
 

As I thought, I sang along with Green Day, and the perfect idea came to me—rock ’n’ roll.

Nothing was cooler than that. Rock ’n’ roll was the very essence of being hip. Plus, Talon—or rather Wesley—liked it. And I found myself wanting to please him, even if he would only think I was doing my job.

So, I started to plan.
 

I’d booked the convention center this morning. With the right decorations and lights, I could transform the space into an upscale rock concert complete with disco balls and neon strobe lights. Maybe even a couple of ice sculptures shaped like guitars.
 

I’d forgo the usual orchestra and get Melody Masters to do the music. In addition to owning The Blues
karaoke bar, Melody fronted Miked, a popular indie rock band. They could play some of their own tunes, mixed in with covers. Classic rock with a contemporary twist—tailored for the rich set. I couldn’t go too wild or I’d scare off the society matrons, but it would definitely be hip and cool.

An hour later, I had ten pages of notes and people I needed to call to get the ball rolling. Music, decorations, food, table and chair rentals, all of the usual things to nail down. I looked at the clock. After nine. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. I should crash now and get as much sleep as I could.
 

I took a quick shower, and put on my pajamas, determined to go to bed, but Rascal had other ideas. The puppy waited for me outside the bathroom. He barked once, then bounced over to the front door. He stared at it expectantly, as if he could open it by the sheer force of his mind. When it didn’t oblige him, Rascal looked over his shoulder at me—and whined.

I sighed. “Let me guess. You want me take you for a walk, don’t you? So you can go do your business?”

I might have imagined it, but I thought Rascal nodded. So, I threw on my jacket and gloves on over my jammies. Unfortunately, Chloe hadn’t thought to buy a leash or collar at the pet store, so I had to scoop up Rascal, and carry him into the elevator and then outside onto the street. I placed the puppy on the sidewalk next to a snow-covered fire hydrant and stepped back.

“All right, dog,” I muttered. “Let’s make this quick.”

Rascal wandered around, trying to find the
perfect
spot. He sniffed the hydrant. The car parked next to it. The mailbox. The car parked next to that. Finally, just when I was tempted to leave him out in the cold, Rascal did his thing.
 

When he finished, I reached down to pick him up, but Rascal squirmed out of my gloved grasp. Damn, he was quick. Or maybe I was just getting old and slow. I was twenty-nine now. Unlike Olivia O’Hara, I was saving my mental breakdown and freak-out for next year, when I turned thirty.
 

“Rascal! Come here!”

The puppy might have been tiny, but he leapt over the snowdrifts like he was a deer. What had been in that food Chloe had bought? Some radioactive drug like euphoridon? Because Rascal acted like he was on something good.
 

The puppy bounded across the street, ears pointed sky-high, and I started to panic. I darted after him, my boots skidding on a patch of ice. Piper would never forgive me if I let him get run over by a car. Rascal kept right on going and started climbing up the steps of the brownstone that took up the opposite block—Jasper’s brownstone.
 

Not good.

Rascal made it to the top of the steps, looked up at the door, and wagged his tail. Not a second later, the front door opened, and a woman stepped outside. That in and of itself was strange enough because Jasper didn’t have many visitors, but I would have recognized that tall, skinny figure anywhere—Joanne James.
 

Joanne wore a long, lavender coat with matching gloves and boots, and her black hair spilled down her shoulders. Maybe it was the soft glow from the streetlight, but Joanne looked younger than her forty-something years, her face smooth in the dark night.
 

Joanne James was the richest woman in the city, having married and divorced several men over the years, getting millions in alimony every time. She had inherited billions more last year when ubervillains murdered her husband, Berkley Brighton.
 

Rascal barked, and Joanne caught sight of him. She arched an eyebrow, and amusement flashed across her face. She stood there, one hand holding the door open, and stared at the puppy. Rascal, of course, took this as an invitation to gallop inside. It was bad enough he’d dashed across the street. Now he’d invaded someone else’s home. That dog was going to be the death of me.
 

I plodded up the stairs, muttering vague curses at Piper under my breath and wrapping my coat tighter around my body in hopes that Joanne wouldn’t notice my blue snowflake jammies peeking out the bottom. Her head whipped around at the sound of my footsteps scuffling in the snow.

“Hi, Joanne. What are you doing here?”

Her violet eyes narrowed. “Just visiting. What are you doing here, Abby?”

I pointed to my building. “I live across the street. My dog just ran inside Jasper’s brownstone.”

“That puppy is yours?” she asked. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

There was that
tone
again. The one intimating it was the shock of a lifetime to learn I had an animal in my care.

“He’s not mine. I’m just babysitting until I can find him a good home …” My voice trailed off suggestively.
 

Joanne cut me off with a laugh. “Oh honey, don’t even ask me to take him off your hands. I don’t do well with animals unless they’re grilled and on my dinner plate.”

Joanne was Bigtime’s equivalent of a black widow spider. She survived on men, money, and the occasional glass of champagne. I doubted food ever passed through her lips.
 

We stood there in the cold, staring at each other. Because she was here, I might as well give her the latest information on her event. It would save me a phone call tomorrow.
 

“Everything’s set for the library dedication. I tried to call you earlier today, but Berkley’s secretary said you weren’t in.”
 

“I was busy,” Joanne said in a stiff voice. She batted her eyes, as if blinking back tears.

“Of course.”

Seconds ticked by in silence.

“Well, if you need anything or want to know more about the dedication, just call me. You have my number,” I said, my voice a little kinder.
 

Joanne might be a brittle society queen, but she had just lost her husband. I knew she was grieving. I’d planned Berkley’s funeral. I’d seen how she’d cried over his grave when she thought everyone else had gone.
 

Joanne looked at me. “You’re such a marshmallow, just like Bella.”

“Excuse me? I’m a marshmallow?” Surely I didn’t look that fat in this coat.

“Yeah, a toasted marshmallow. All black, tough, and crunchy on the outside, all warm, sweet, and gooey on the inside.” She shook her head. “It’ll get you into trouble someday.”

I started to say I wasn’t a marshmallow any more than she was, but Joanne opened the door wider. “Come on. Let’s get your dog.”

She strolled into the house. I lunged forward to keep the door from closing shut and followed her in.
 

“Jasper!” Joanne called out. “You’ve got a visitor!”

“I know,” a low voice sounded. “I’ve got him right here.”

Jasper appeared at the end of the hall and walked toward us. He held Rascal in his arms, scratching the puppy’s head with obvious affection. I let out a quiet sigh of relief that he hadn’t been annoyed at the dog for slipping inside.
 

I’d first met Jasper a few months ago when I’d moved into my loft. I’d been walking home from work when I’d passed him on the street. He was struggling to pick up some mail he’d dropped. His arm and leg had been in casts at the time, the result of being mugged and beaten. I’d gotten his mail and helped him inside his house. He’d tried to pay me for helping, but I’d refused. Now I said hello to Jasper whenever I passed him on the street, but I still didn’t know him very well.

“See, Abby? Your dog is fine,” Joanne said.

“I told you, he’s not my dog.” I turned to Jasper. “I’m so sorry. I was walking him, and he just got away from me. He’s very fast for a puppy.”

“Yes, he is,” Jasper murmured, rubbing one of Rascal’s ears between his fingers. “But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“It is?”

“Given his breed,” he said.

“Oh.”

Jasper looked at Rascal, then at me, then at Joanne. The whole situation was strange, but then again, Jasper was a strange sort of guy. Glasses squatted on the end of his nose, while a small diamond twinkled in his ear. His voice was low and soft, and he always wore grayish clothes on his tall, thin frame, as though he wanted to fade into the background. At the moment, Jasper had on what looked like gray coveralls with house slippers. If I’d passed him on the street, I would have thought he was some sort of mechanic.

I didn’t even know if Jasper was his first or his last name. Everyone on the block called him
Mr. Jasper
in the respectful, hushed tones you’d use to talk about an ubervillain or mob boss. I’d seen him at some of my events, but like other society folks, he didn’t speak to me unless he wanted something. Even then, he seemed to keep mostly to himself, avoiding the limelight whenever possible. Still, he’d always been nice and polite to me.

Rascal started wrestling around, so Jasper put him down. Rascal made a beeline down the hall, stopping in front of a closed door. The puppy sniffed around the door’s edges, leaving me standing between Jasper and Joanne. Not exactly where I wanted to be.

“So, how do you two know each other?” I finally asked.

“We’re brother and sister,” Jasper said. “Joanne and I were having dinner to talk about some old family business.”

Joanne’s mouth tightened and she gave Jasper a sharp look, like she wanted to strangle him for revealing state secrets.
 

I remembered Bella and Joanne talking about Joanne’s brother Jasper at the O’Hara party. I just hadn’t thought he would be this Jasper. I looked at him, then back at her. They really didn’t look much alike. Joanne wore what amounted to a winter power suit, while Jasper looked like he’d be perfectly happy with grease on his ratty coveralls and a monkey wrench in his hand.

Then, I noticed their eyes. Joanne’s were a vivid violet color. Jasper’s were lighter, but just as intense. Both of them had the same sort of hard wariness in their gaze, as if they expected trouble at any moment. Weird.
 

Rascal put his paw on the door and barked, like he’d found the entrance to a mine full of dog biscuits. Jasper seemed amused by the puppy’s antics. I was not. Every
yip-yap
pounded into my brain, adding to the pain and strangeness of the day.
 

“Well, I’ve got to run, Jasper. We’ll talk again tomorrow. Good night, Abby.” Joanne nodded at us, then sashayed out the front door.