Real Vampires Live Large (7 page)

I grabbed the robe that had landed on the floor beside the bed and slipped into it. “Give that here. What have you done to my clothes?” The last was a wail. My XL shirt had shrunk to a barely medium.

“I didn't put this stuff in the dryer.” Mara's smirk was not attractive. “On hot.”

“Oh, jeez.” I sat on the edge of the bed. I hadn't exactly been firing on all cylinders the night before. And I'd been paying way too much attention to Blade's personal equipment and not nearly enough to his laundry equipment.

“Check out the jeans. I'd pay money to see you fit into these.” She tossed my vintage jeans, the well-worn ones that had actually fit like a glove, into my lap.

“I'll make them fit.” I ignored Valdez's chuff of amusement. He'd seen me struggle into tight jeans before. Not a pretty picture. “Where's Blade?”

“Out.” Mara frowned and sat on the foot of the bed. Obviously Jerry hadn't deigned to include her in his plans.

“I've got to get to the shop. I'm meeting an arson investigator. ” I stood and fished underwear and a bra out of the basket. They hadn't shrunk, but then a thong doesn't have much to it anyway. The bra looked a little sad, but the double D industrial strength ones I wore most days could take a lot of punishment.

“Arson. You know it had to be Westwood.” Mara's hands were fisted on her knees. She had on the kind of low slung skinny jeans I'd have killed to be able to wear and a tank top that almost hit the waist band. Men loved the look. All she needed was a belly ring. But piercings close during vamp sleep. I know, I've tried and ain't that a bitch?

“Yes, probably Westwood.” I started to put my hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it. She is an old, old, old acquaintance. We'd never been friends, because I'm a low class actress type and she's practically royalty to hear her tell it. But I've known her since my first visit to Scotland and Campbell Castle. She and MacTavish had been so in love. And Westwood now sported Mac's fangs on his trophy necklace.

“Valdez says you and Jerry were talking about Westwood earlier.”

“Talking?” She grimaced at my dog, who sat at her feet as if hoping she'd actually pet him. Did I mention Mara is gorgeous? “We were yelling, more like.”

“I know. I hate the hunter too.” I sat next to her on the bed. Not touching. She'd not appreciate that kind of familiarity from an underling. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Jeremiah and I are going to hunt him down. And . . .” Her green eyes shimmered with unshed tears. One crystal drop slid down her porcelain cheek. Of course she cried prettily. I get a red nose and puffy eyes. It's common among us underlings.

“You have to be careful, Mara. Westwood's got more money than God and all the latest technology.” Including a high-tech vamp detector. I hate that thing. I've blended with mortals successfully for centuries. And with one blast of his ray gun, the hunter had seen through all my excellent acting skills.

“We'll be careful. But we
will
destroy him.” Mara jumped to her feet. All tears had dried up in the heat of her rage. “But not before we make him suffer.”

I watched Valdez scoot out of range when she stomped one foot. Not that Prada sandals could do him much harm.

“Cute shoes.” I'd heard these rants before and Westwood wasn't the only one richer than God.

“You are so . . . useless.” She gave me a disdainful look and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

“Low blow.”
Valdez jumped up on the bed and nosed my jeans.
“These are going to be a challenge.”

“You should have bit her on her skinny ass. She insulted me.” I snatched up the jeans and the rest of what I needed and headed for the bathroom.

“Blade wouldn't allow me to hurt her.”
Valdez stayed on the bed and watched me.
“He's very protective of her.”

“I know.” I leaned against the door jamb. “And she's right. I
am
useless.”

“Not true. You saved the day or night on Halloween.”
Valdez licked one paw.
“You would be nothing but a set of fangs on a necklace right now if you hadn't distracted Westwood at the critical moment.”

“That
was
pretty cool.” I'd been inches away from being skewered, but I'd practiced a little self-defense and visualization and actually saved myself. Unfortunately, the ensuing chaos had allowed Westwood to get away from Blade. Jerry had wounded him, but Mara wasn't ever going to forget that I'd caused Jerry to focus on me instead of Westwood. I was sorry about the guy getting away, but I
hadn't
been useless that night.

I looked around. My distraction had involved setting a fire. Hey, I could start something right now, just to prove I still had it in me. Forget the bed—brass, and I'd developed a real fondness for it.

“Blade's not gonna like it if you set his stuff on fire, Blondie. Besides, I for one never want to smell smoke again.”
Valdez snorted and licked his other paw.

I sniffed. Thanks to my sensitive nose, I didn't have to be close to realize Valdez reeked. “You're going to the groomer in the morning. You'd better behave.”

“No way. Put me in the shower. Like you do at home.”
He leaped off the bed and practically knocked me down getting into the bathroom.
“Please, Blondie. You know I hate those places. They leave a guy no dignity.”

He'd managed to get the shower door open and stood looking at me hopefully. I had a handheld showerhead at home and bathing him was a weekly ritual I'd insisted on. I looked at the gleaming glass box with everything from a rain showerhead to multiple body sprays. I couldn't wait to check it out for myself.

“You leave
yourself
no dignity. Propositioning the shampoo girl. You got her fired.” I opened a cabinet and found a bottle of shower gel, a manly scent that Valdez would approve of. He hated my flowery gels. Too bad I'd left the flea shampoo at home.

“Not my fault. She got soap in my eyes. I couldn't just
bark.
And then when I'd already blown my cover and I could see again, I thought, hey, she's cute. Why waste an opportunity?”
Valdez let me squirt the gel all over him. There was a toe tester and it took a moment to get the temperature to his liking. Then I reached in to turn on the shower, jumped out of the way, and watched him sit under the spray.

“Any woman who would accept a proposition from a dog, sorry, but that's what you are, my friend, is not a woman you would want anything to do with.” I sat on the closed toilet and watched as he positioned himself in front of one particular showerhead with what I swear was a smile on his face. “You're grossing me out. Move around or the groomer gets you first thing in the morning.”

“Hah! Like you're not going to check out all of these features.”
Valdez snorted and did his own version of a doggy break dance.
“Satisfied?”

“Not really. But I guess it'll have to do.”

He stuck his head under a showerhead and let it rinse him clean.
“I smell better already. And once we're back home, you can do me over. With the flea shampoo again.”

“Fine. I think you're done.” I reached in and turned off the water. By the time I'd rubbed him down with a bath sheet, my robe was as wet as he was. “Out. And don't get on the bed.” I pulled the towel off of him. “Go down to the kitchen and lie on the tile.”

“Maybe I'll shake a little of this water off on Miss Mara. Would that make you feel better?”
Valdez shook, flinging water all over the bathroom.
“Sorry. Couldn't help it. Reflex. It's hell being a dog.”

“Yeah, go spray the wench. Cool her down.” I slammed the door in his face and dropped the wet robe on the floor. Useless. I refused to think so. Sure I had a business to put back together, so I couldn't go running off to wherever in search of Westwood. But I was
not
useless. I adjusted the water and stepped into Blade's decadent shower.

Oh, boy, there was one showerhead that hit me right where I was just a little sore. From the gymnastics Blade and I had done. I wondered where he'd gone. I'd love for him to surprise me in the shower. I had lots of ideas for things we could do here. Hey, I was useful for some things. Did that make me a slut? I could live with that.

"You're late.”

“No, you said eleven-thirty.” I looked into the mortal's eyes and willed him to believe me.

“Right. I forgot.” Steve Fleming was a well-built man in his thirties who had a young Hugh Grant look to him. Dark curly hair, twinkling eyes and, hmm, a black cowboy hat. I'd be attracted if I hadn't just had vampire sex with a man who could light every fire a woman never knew she had. Mortals, even hunky ones reeking of AB negative, are so . . . ordinary. This one wore jeans and a plaid western shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, a surprising blue.

He glanced at his watch. “Sorry ma'am.” He tipped his hat. How cute was that? “Don't know where my manners went. Can we start over?” He grinned. Great teeth. Some of the older vampires . . . Well, an orthodontist would have made a killing a few centuries ago.

“Uh, sure, Steve, no problem.”

“Let me show you what I've found.” Steve unlocked the burglar bars. I'd never liked the look of those things, like we were doing business in a prison. But they were saving my shop from vandalism now. Yeah, right. Vandals would be salivating over my burnt offerings.

“Where'd you get the key?” I did not want to go inside.

“Landlord. Watch your step now. There's glass and debris. ”

Debris. Cute vintage clothing store with stock like fifties' cocktail dresses reduced to debris. I couldn't avoid it so I stepped inside.

“Oh, man, this is a disaster!” Despite a vow to be tough, I felt tears fill my eyes. Piles of filthy, wet clothes, fried furniture and swollen books littered the floor. The plate glass windows had been shattered. Glass crunched under our feet as we walked around.

“The fire must have been pretty intense.” I sniffled and rubbed my burning eyes. “Sorry, the smell's getting to me.”

Steve patted my arm. “And the damage. I know this is hard to take.”

Yeah, Steve had probably seen this kind of thing dozens of times. He got down to business, aiming a large flashlight and using a probe to move a few things around.

My mannequins lay like dead, formerly well-dressed ladies who lunch in their fifties suits. With their scorched faces and fried wigs, they stared at a blackened ceiling. A book shelf had fallen over, the contents scattered.

I love old books and picked up a 1936 edition of
Gone With the Wind
from a puddle. A total loss. My tears dried up in a wave of fury. My fangs swelled against my gums and I barely swallowed a snarl. Valdez was right outside, obviously mind reading. He barked, reminding me I had company. I coughed, like the acrid stench was choking me.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve looked at me with concern.

“No,” I croaked. “I'm pissed. Who would do such a thing?”

“That was goin' to be my first question.” Steve patted my shoulder again. “At least no one was hurt. The sprinklers and alarm system saved the day. Response time was good. It could have been a lot worse.” Steve walked over and opened the door to the storeroom. “See? Fire didn't penetrate.”

I glanced inside. “That's good. Except that everything's wet.” Did I mention that I deal mostly in vintage clothing? A wet cotton shirtwaist was no problem. But the silk Chanel suit from the sixties that I'd paid big bucks for . . . ? I stroked the limp sleeve. Emerald green silk.

I swallowed a sob and looked for a place to sit. No such luck, unless I wanted a wet butt. I followed Steve back into the main room. My friend and semipartner, the Countess Cecilia von Repsdorf, otherwise known as CiCi, had consigned a few pieces of furniture, but the Queen Anne chairs were Queen Anne kindling now.

Steve pointed to a piece of fluorescent tape. “This is where we found the incendiary device. I reckon someone broke the window and tossed it inside. The place has been processed as a crime scene, but the firebomb's all we found.”

“Firebomb.” I shuddered. If a vampire has a worst nightmare, it's fire. Consumed while you slept. Steve's arm came around my shoulders. He was looking at me like he felt my pain. He wasn't all that tall, maybe five ten to my five five, but he had a nice face that oozed sympathy. I thought about leaning against him for a moment.

Another bark brought me back to reality. Valdez was up, like he was about to come inside from where I'd ordered him to sit in the doorway.

“You really don't want the dog in here. Broken glass. It's too dangerous for a pet.”

My “pet” growled, showing some serious teeth. Steve stiffened.

“Valdez!” I put a foot between me and the fireman and smiled at Steve. “Sorry, he's very protective of me.” He was standing in for Jerry too. Blade had a business appointment, so he'd loaned me one of his cars, a Mercedes convertible he'd offered to give me more than once. Then he'd ordered Valdez to keep an eye on me. Apparently arson investigators posed a threat.

“Hey, I love dogs.” Steve walked to the door. “Hey, cute fella. What's the breed?”

“Labradoodle.” Steve looked a question. “You know a Lab poodle mix.” Steve seemed like he was about to offer his hand. “Careful, he's been known to bite.” I sent the dog a mental message to play nice. “He's still upset by the whole fire thing. His barking actually alerted the residents and helped save us.”