Your Coffin or Mine? (20 page)

“You and me both. So what are you doing here?”

“A friend of mine lost her purse and didn’t realize it. She tried to ditch a cab fare and the driver called the cops. He pressed charges and now she’s here. I’m her
go to
person: If she needs help, she goes to me. If I need help, I go to her. What about you?”

“A friend of mine lost his mind, and I’m here to make sure no one commits him.”

We chatted for a few minutes and I gave her a handful of Dead End Dating cards to pass out to her girlfriends (just in case they got tired of men paying them for sex and wanted to go back to giving it away for free) before Ash finally walked into the station. He was my only connection with the NYPD and so I’d called and asked for his help.

He had two men with him. Both shared his dark good looks and pitch-black eyes. The man on his right, however, wore his hair long and loose, while the man on his left had his hair buzzed to the scalp. All three had the same flame tattoos decorating their right arms. They were hot and hunky and…demons.

The thought registered as I noticed the way they drew the attention of every female in the busy room. Only vamps could mesmerize like that. Or weird cult leaders.

Since Ash was neither (he hadn’t once slipped me a pamphlet or asked me to drink a glass of Kool-Aid), he had to be a demon.

Specifically, an incubus.

I felt a lightbulb go on over my head. Duh. That was it. I should have known.

Rumor had it that my great, great, great, great grandmother’s lady’s maid had been seduced by one. One minute she’d been sleeping like a baby and the next she’d been rutting and bucking and begging some stud muffin for his seed (my mother’s words, not mine). Anyhow, the stud muffin had given it to her and then, poof! he’d disappeared. Half the castle had claimed an incubus. The other half had claimed a no-good stable boy by the name of Sean. But no one really knew for sure.

I’d never met a demon myself, let alone three, until now.

So far no one was bucking or rutting or begging, unless you count the con artist in the corner who was trying to talk one of the cops out of her badge, which meant there was a slight possibility (shocked gasp) that I could be wrong.

I made a mental note to Google demons the moment I got back to my computer and pushed to my feet just as Ash and his buds approached.

“Thanks for coming,” I told him.

“No problem. Me and the boys were headed to the Bronx on a case.” He motioned to the guy with long hair and said, “Mo, this is Lil. Lil, my brother, Mo.” He motioned to the buzz cut. “This is my other brother, Zee.”

“Hey,” said Mo.

“What’s up?” asked Zee.

I smiled and felt my stomach quiver beneath their scrutiny. I had a sudden vision of the three of us, naked and panting and…
oh, boy.

My smile died and the three Prince brothers grinned.

Forget Google. They most definitely
were
demons—that, or I was really sexually frustrated and susceptible to anything in pants. While this had been the case before Ty (we’re talking one hundred years without a serious relationship), it wasn’t the case now. I’d had really great sex (albeit for only one night) and satisfied my urges for at least a good six months.

Which meant I was staring at three demons of sexual delight.

“I called the desk sergeant about your friend on the way over here,” Ash told me.

“Friend?” I forced aside the lewd and lascivious images and struggled for a coherent thought. “Oh, yeah, my friend. John. Did you find out anything? They didn’t arrest him, did they? I mean, I know he murdered his dress when he dove onto the floor, but that isn’t against the law, is it?”

“They didn’t arrest him, but the show’s producers aren’t very happy. They want to press charges for female impersonation.”

“But that isn’t against the law.”

“Exactly, which is why nothing’s going to come of it. But management did file a restraining order. Schumacker won’t be allowed to set foot inside any of the network buildings ever again and he won’t be allowed within fifty feet of Mr. Weather, or any of the female contestants.”

“What about his fraud case?”

“It turned out to be legitimate, but during the ruckus, she slipped and now she’s in the emergency room about to undergo a laminectomy on her lower back.”

“Oh, no.”

“That’s why John’s still in the interrogation room, even though everyone’s told him he’s free to go. He says his life is over and he would rather stay here than go home and eat SpaghtettiOs until he kicks the bucket.” He leveled a stare at me. “You have to get him out of here. He’s driving everybody nuts.”

I thought of poor John sitting back there, feeling like his life was over. I could sympathize. Ty had been kidnapped by a psycho, my preternatural fall from grace had been caught on videotape and I still hadn’t figured out an answer for the wedding dress situation. I was definitely feeling pretty icky myself. The urge to go home and plunge face-first into the kitty litter was pretty strong.

But while I didn’t have a shoulder to cry on (not unless you count the three sets standing in front of me, but I
so
wasn’t going there), John did. He wasn’t alone in the world, even though he might feel like it at the moment.

I pulled out my phone.

“You calling for backup?” Ash asked. I nodded and he added, “A couple of gonzo guerrillas to drag him out?”

I smiled. “I’ve got a better idea.”

I’d never actually met Rosie, the adjuster from John’s agency, but I knew her the moment she walked in.

The clues? She was dressed in rumpled jeans, an oversized sleep T, and house slippers, as if someone (guilty) had gotten her out of bed in the middle of the night. Her eyes were filled with worry.

Oh, and she had
Ask Me About Life Insurance
emblazoned across the front of her shirt.

“Rosie?” I met her near the information desk. “I’m Lil. I’m the one who called you.”

“Where is he? Is he all right? Can I see him?”

If I’d had any hope that Rosie would be as interested in John as he was in her, one look into her blue eyes was enough to convince me that my instincts had been dead wrong.

Rosie didn’t like John.

She loved him. Hopelessly. Desperately.

Awww.

“He’s in the interrogation room, but he’s fine,” I assured her.

“No one’s beating his face into the table or shoving pencils up his nose to get him to spill his guts?”

“Not yet, but if he doesn’t vacate the premises soon, they’re likely to start.” I explained the situation and how low he was feeling.

“That’s terrible,” she told me. “Just terrible.”

“I know. That’s why I called you.” Time to start laying the groundwork. “I thought if anyone could make him feel better, it would be you. He talks about you all the time.”

“He does? What does he say?”

“That you’re a really good friend.” Her face fell and I rushed on, “And that he
really
likes you.”

“He said that?”

“Well, not in so many words, but I know that’s what he was thinking.”

“How do you know?”

Because I’m a lean, mean, mind reading machine. “Just a lucky guess, but I know I’m right. He really does like you; he just doesn’t realize how much. Yet.”

“We’ve worked together for six years. Six years of lunches and softball. Six years of Friday night beer and pizza. He knows my life story and I know his. If he doesn’t know how much he likes me by now, he never will.”

“Men are slow. Extremely slow.” She seemed to think and her face perked up. “They’re also creatures of habit. He’s used to you being his buddy. The key is to spice things up and show him you’re more than just the beer and pizza girl.”

“You mean I should order spaghetti instead of pepperoni?”

“I mean you should jump his bones the next time you see him. In addition to being slow, men are clueless. Unless it’s written right in front of them, even tattooed on their foreheads, they won’t get it. You have to go in there and tell him what you really want from him. Outright. In plain English.”

“Really?”

“That or you could strip naked and show him, but since there are cops watching I’d save that part for when you get him home. Right now, though, you should definitely tell him how you feel. Confess. And flirt. Can you flirt?”

“I can wink and whistle. And I can even turn my eyelids inside out.”

“Winking is good. I’d nix the whistling and the eyelids. You want him to want to have sex with you, not have you exorcised.”

“Good point.” She shook her head. “But how do you even know that this will work?”

Because I’m an ultra vamp and I know these things. “Women’s intuition.”

“He must be feeling like an idiot. This case was the opportunity of his lifetime.”

“No,” I stared deep into her eyes. “You’re the opportunity of his lifetime.”

What can I say? I’m a sucker for the big L.

She smiled. “You might be right.” She stiffened and seemed to gather her courage. “He definitely needs a wake-up call.”

I smiled and handed her the hair. “Go in there and get your man.”

Twenty-three

W
hen Rosie left to coax John out of the interrogation room, I walked over to Ash to get a quick update on Ty.

“Any news?” I asked him while Mo and Zee strutted over to a nearby vending machine. No sooner had Mo fed his quarters into the slot, than an entire row of hookers rushed forward to give their support in helping lift the drink from the dispenser.

“We located the burglar,” Ash told me.

“With Ty’s tongue?”

He shook his head. “Just his own. Says he went to Ty’s place to confront him, but no one was there. The guy also said he found the loft just the way we did—a mess. He didn’t call the cops for obvious reasons.”

“Did he see anything suspicious?”

“He’s got so much coke up his nose that he can barely see his feet.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid we’re back to square one.” He eyed me. “He whispering any sweet nothings your way?”

“Don’t I wish.” I did, I realized. With all my un-dead heart. I missed Ty. I missed talking to him and lusting after him. I missed him lusting after me.

A longing that must have shown in my eyes because Ash touched my arm with a firm, comforting press of his fingertips. Yep, he was an incubus, all right. He had to be. Heat sizzled through me and stirred my hormones.

The slutty bitches reared their ugly heads, gave a half-hearted
yowza
then settled back into
nah, I’ve got a headache
mode. It was nearly morning, my muscles were weak, and I hadn’t slept in three days. Forget hot, incredible, mind-blowing sex with an ultra hunky incubus. All I wanted at the moment was my bed, my Victoria’s Secret jersey knit pj’s, and Killer.

Not because I liked the cat, mind you.

It’s just he was going through an adjustment period, what with his new surroundings, and I didn’t want him to feel unwelcome. Then he might freak out on me and start marking his territory on my couch or my Serta Pillow Top. The one thing I needed even less than an old, snotty cat was an old, snotty, psychotic cat
and
smelly furniture.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I told Ash. “I’m just not in the mood.

“Really?” He looked stunned, as if “nah” wasn’t in the realm of possibility.

Then again, if he
was
an incubus, it totally was NOT in the realm and I’d definitely thrown him for a loop. Guilt wiggled its way through me and I heard myself say, “It’s not that you’re not uber sexy and I don’t want to, it’s just that I’m washing my hair today.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. Disbelief and shock played tag team on his face.

“And my cat’s hair.”

“Right.”

I smiled. “But definitely next time.”

He seemed floored for a split second before a grin curved his lips. “Ty did say you were different.”

“I thought he said I had a big mouth.”

“After he said you were different.” His grin widened and he winked. “He was right.”

“Would that be different in a good way or a bad way?”

“Good for you. Bad for me.” His gaze sizzled with sudden heat. “Unless you change your mind.”

“Sorry, buddy. It’s not going to happen. One man is enough in my life.”

“Ty?”

“Killer.”

He winked and motioned to his brothers that it was time to go.

“But while I’m not interested, I know someone who is.” I pointed out Debbie, who sat waiting for news about her friend. “Maybe you and your posse could show her what she’s been missing all these years.”

His gaze collided with Debbie’s and her cheeks turned pink. I knew she was having the same hot thoughts about the Prince brothers that I’d had.

“I’ve got work right now,” he told me, “but I’ll see what I can do later.”

I nodded, watched him turn and then I found myself standing all by my lonesome.

I checked on John and Rosie, found out she’d coaxed him from the interrogation room into the bathroom, and smiled. I said goodbye to Debbie and handed out a few more cards to several officers on my way to the door. Then I caught a cab and headed home.