“Gin?” His voice was thick with sleep. “Is everything okay? You were mumbling in your sleep.”
“Everything’s fine,” I whispered, trying to calm my racing heart. “Just fine.”
But Owen heard the tension in my voice, and he blinked, coming a little more fully awake. “What is it? Did you have another bad dream?”
Owen and I often spent the night together, so he was well acquainted with my nightmares, all the memories of the past that crowded into my mind when I slept. More than once, I’d woken him in the middle of the night as I thrashed around and screamed my fool head off about some long-ago battle.
But I hardly ever dreamed about my mother, save for her murder. That nightmare had haunted me for years until I’d gotten my revenge on Mab Monroe—revenge that had seemed false, hollow, and empty ever since Tucker had told me that the Circle had given Mab the go-ahead to kill my mother. Now, to realize that he and Deirdre had been in her office, in our mansion, threatening her and my sisters . . . it was just another horror show to add to my ever-growing collection. I rubbed my hand across my forehead. I wondered what other terrible things I would remember before this was all said and done.
“What did you dream about this time?” Owen asked.
I turned over onto my side so that I was facing him. “It was Christmas. The last Christmas that my mother and Annabella were alive. We were decorating our tree, and I went to my mother’s office to see if she wanted to help us. Tucker was there. So was Deirdre.”
Owen frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately.”
I told him all the dirty details, and he lay there, digesting my words. “But you don’t know what they were meeting about?”
I shook my head. “No. But I know there’s more to the dream than that. There always is. It’ll come to me sooner or later. Given what she was involved in, I might wish that it was later, though.”
“Nobody’s parents are perfect,” Owen pointed out. “Mine certainly weren’t, especially not my dad with his gambling problems.”
“I know.” I sighed. “But I always thought that my mom was this good person, this great woman. She always seemed so kind, caring, and strong. So much better than me. I know that I don’t have any right to judge her, not given all the terrible things that I’ve done. But now to realize that she was involved with the Circle, that she probably did a lot of bad things, either on their orders or of her own free will . . . I don’t know what to think about that. I don’t know what to feel about that.”
Owen pulled me into his arms, so that my head was resting on his shoulder, and pressed a kiss to my temple. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
He held me like that for a long time, both of us lost in our own troubled thoughts about our parents.
But eventually, I grew sick of wondering and worrying about my mother, Tucker, and the Circle. I didn’t want to do that anymore. No, for the rest of this night, I wanted to focus on the one thing that I knew was true—my love for Owen and his for me.
I propped myself up on one elbow, staring down at him. Moonlight slipped in through the crack in the white curtains, casting Owen’s face in shadow, except for the glitter of his violet eyes. I reached out and traced my fingers over the sharp planes of his face, dipping into all the shadows that the night created. He grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm, right in the center of my spider rune scar.
Owen was only wearing black boxers, and he lay back against the pillows as I continued my slow, languid explorations, trailing my fingers down his bare chest, enjoying the feel of his warm, solid muscles. One spot right along his ribs was particularly sensitive, bunching and flexing under every flick of my fingers.
“Why, Mr. Grayson,” I murmured, “I do believe that you’re a bit ticklish tonight.”
“Me? Ticklish? Never.”
He cleared his throat and pressed his lips together, as though holding back a laugh. That only made me concentrate on that one spot, lightly running my fingers over it again and again, staring at him the whole time.
Finally, Owen gave in and started laughing, his whole chest shaking with his soft chuckles. I laughed with him, tickling him for another minute, before sliding my hand lower, dipping below the waistband of his boxers, and wrapping my fingers around his thick, hard length.
His laughter vanished, replaced by sharp, ragged gasps as I started stroking him.
“Is this ticklish too?” I teased.
He slid his hand up underneath the soft T-shirt I was wearing and cupped my breast, rolling my nipple in his fingers. “Just as ticklish as this is.”
The soft, warm desire that had been simmering in my veins flared hotter, and I rose up and stripped off my T-shirt and panties while he got rid of his boxers. Owen moved forward, flicking his tongue over my nipple before nipping at it with his teeth. I groaned, and he drew me down on top of him, his lips coming up to meet mine. He kissed me, his tongue plunging into my mouth over and over again. I wound my fingers in his hair and drew him closer.
Owen rolled me onto my back, sucking one of my nipples, then the other, even as his hand dipped between my legs. His finger slid inside me, and this time, I gasped.
“Ticklish indeed,” he murmured in a low, satisfied voice. “Ticklish indeed.”
I dug my nails into his back, wanting him to keep going, but Owen moved even lower on the bed, eased my thighs apart, and put his mouth on me, his tongue darting in and out. His movements were slow at first, as he teased me just the way that I had him, but then his strokes grew quicker, sharper, harder. I arched back on the bed, my fingers twisting into the sheets, feeling the pressure and pleasure mount in equal parts, heat roaring through my entire body.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered. “Let go for me.”
And I did.
The climax exploded, and I fell back against the pillows, enjoying the languid heat that flooded my veins, making every part of me feel warm, relaxed, and satisfied. Owen kissed his way back up my body and started to gather me in his arms again.
I held out my hand, stopping him. “Oh, no.” I gave him a wicked grin. “We’re not done yet.”
I pushed him flat on his back, then got a condom from his wallet on the nightstand. I took my little white pills, but we always used extra protection. That wasn’t the only thing that I grabbed from the nightstand. The gray Stetson that Owen had bought earlier was sitting there, so I plopped it on his forehead.
“I told you that I wanted you to wear this for me.”
“That’s just fine with me, ma’am,” he drawled. “I always aim to please.”
“Me too.”
Owen laughed and tipped his hat at me before pushing it back from his forehead so he could see me better. I gave him a devilish grin, then went to work, kissing, licking, stroking, and sucking him just as he had me.
“Oh, yeah,” he rasped, his entire body twitching as he struggled to hold still and make the pleasure last as long as possible.
But I didn’t make him wait long. When he was ready for me, I unrolled the condom over him, then rose up onto my knees and straddled him, sinking down onto his long, hard length in one smooth stroke. This time, we groaned together.
I rode him hard and fast, and Owen put his hands on my hips, urging me on. The pressure and the pleasure started building again, each stroke rougher, quicker, and more satisfying than the last. This time, we both moaned and went over the edge together.
And I lost myself in him for the rest of the night.
14
I would have liked to sleep in late the next morning, but my phone rang at exactly seven o’clock. I knew who was calling this early and why. I was surprised that he’d waited this long to update me.
Owen grunted, rolled over to the far side of the bed, and pulled the covers up over his head while I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand.
“Do
n’t you ever sleep?” I grumbled when I finally brought the device up to my ear.
“A good assistant never sleeps when there is work to be done.” Silvio sounded annoyingly alert and cheerful. “Or when there is information to share. Just think of this as our morning briefing, Gin. Brought to you through the magic of technology.”
I managed to swallow down my snarky retort, although I flopped back onto the pillows, not so much holding the phone as wedging it between my ear and shoulder. “I take it that you dug into Roxy and Brody?”
“Of course. You were right. Neither one of them has been very secretive about their movements, so it was easy to track them. Not even a challenge.” Silvio sounded disappointed by that. “Both Roxy Wyatt and Brody Dalton grew up in Blue Marsh. Seems their fathers were hunting buddies who ran charters out into the swamps, helping tourists bag deer, bears, gators, and the like. From what I’ve gathered, Roxy, in particular, took to the family business like a duck to water, leading the charters after her father died. She’s also exceptionally good with guns. She’s won several trick-shooting competitions all around the country, and she even makes her own bullets.”
I thought of how easily she’d shot those bottles off the roof during the high-noon show yesterday and how they had all exploded with her Fire magic. “Of course she makes her own bullets. Because she’s not nearly deadly enough on her own.”
Silvio ignored my sarcasm. “I don’t know exactly how she ended up working at Bullet Pointe, if Deirdre was the one who hired her or if Tucker strong-armed Deirdre into bringing her on board, but Roxy actually has a background in the resort business. She’s worked for several carnivals and theme parks over the years, doing everything from running the concession stands, to being the resident sharpshooter, to actually managing some of the businesses.” He cleared his throat. “But in all the cities where she’s worked, there’s been more than one murder and missing person’s case reported shortly after she arrived, although nothing’s ever pointed back to her.”
“Surprise, surprise,” I said.
Roxy must have worked at all those places as cover jobs while she was waiting for Tucker to call and tell her whom to kill next for him.
“Brody? What’s his story?”
“Your typical giant muscle. He’s followed Roxy around the country, working at all the same places that she has. They appear to be friends, but nothing more.”
“So he’s her hunting buddy,” I mused. “Just like their fathers were before them.”
“Something like that,” Silvio agreed. “I’m still digging into the murders in the areas where they worked. I’ll call you again later today with an update. Try not to get into too much trouble in the meantime, okay?”
“Me?” I scoffed. “Get into trouble? Never.”
Silence, although I could well imagine the vampire rolling his eyes. Silvio said that he had more people to contact, and the two of us said our good-byes and hung up.
I couldn’t go back to sleep, and neither could Owen, so the two of us got up and took a nice, long hot shower together before we got dressed and went next door to Finn and Bria’s suite. My foster brother and my sister were sitting on one of the couches, sipping coffee and looking at printouts of the hotel schematics again.
“Finally,” Finn said. “I was wondering if the two of you were just going to laze about your room all day.”
I arched my eyebrows. “And what were you two doing in your suite last night and this morning?”
Finn grinned, while Bria blushed and focused on sipping her coffee.
“I rest my case.” I nodded at the papers covering the table. “Do you see anything new or different in those this morning?”
Finn sighed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, not. Nothing obvious. But those rocks have to be around here somewhere. And someone’s going to find them sooner or later, so it might as well be us, right?”
He tried to inject some cheer and optimism into his voice, but his words came out as a low growl, and I could tell that he was still as upset, disgusted, and disheartened as he’d been after we’d come up empty in Deirdre’s suite yesterday. Yeah, me too.
But Finn was right. Someone had to find the jewels sooner or later, and I wanted it to be us, instead of Tucker and his minions.
I needed it to be us—I needed a win right now, and so did Finn.
* * *
We studied the hotel schematics for a few more minutes, then headed down to the lobby, since that was the most logical place for Deirdre to have hidden the gems besides her suite. She wouldn’t have risked stashing them in a guest room for a visitor or housekeeper to accidentally stumble across.
So we rode the elevator down to the first floor and split up, each one of us heading to our designated section to start searching. Finn went over to the bar area, while Bria scoped out the massive fireplace and surrounding chairs. Owen disappeared down the left hallway to check out the shops and restaurants there. I headed in the other direction and took the opposite, right hallway to do the same to the shops and restaurants on that side of the hotel.
Splitting up was a risk, but the group of us poking around would look strange and probably tip off Roxy and Brody as to what we were really doing. Besides, this way, they had four people to follow, which would make keeping track of all of us at the same time a little more difficult. Maybe we could at least identify how many people Roxy and Brody had watching us, so we would know exactly who all our enemies were. I’d take whatever small advantages I could get.
It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet, but the hotel lobby was already full of people, with more and more guests arriving to take the places of those checking out on this Saturday morning. Still more people moved in and out of the shops and restaurants, while the costumed waitstaff hustled to bring out food and drinks to all the guests. Instrumental carols trilled in the background, and the lights on all the Christmas trees burned bright and steady. It was a lovely scene. Too bad so much darkness lurked beneath the holiday cheer.
I wandered up and down the hallway, going into all the shops and restaurants, and looking at everything. A couple of costumed clerks took an interest in me, pulling out their phones and texting as I roamed around their shops, but no one actually followed me, so I felt safe enough to keep going.
As I moved from one area to the next, I put myself in Deirdre’s shoes, trying to figure out where I would hide a sack full of precious stones. But the more I looked, the more frustrated I became. So many people and so many staff members were constantly moving through the lobby, hallways, and shops. Even in the wee hours of the morning, a few folks would still be out and about, cleaning, straightening up, and getting ready for the next business day. I couldn’t imagine Deirdre’s stashing the jewels without someone realizing what she was doing, much less their staying hidden for so long with no one finding them, especially given the highly publicized treasure hunt and how hard folks had been searching, including Roxy and Brody.
Or maybe Deirdre Shaw was just that much more clever than I was, and I’d never find the stones.
Either way, my frustration had morphed into a mixture of anger, disgust, and depression by the time I reached the end of the hallway where Ira Morris’s office was. I peered through the glass door, but the office was dark. No one was home. I seriously doubted that Deirdre had hidden anything in there, given that Ira hated her for demoting him to this hole in the wall, but it was worth a shot. Besides, it was the only place in my section that I hadn’t looked yet.
The hallway was deserted, so I reached for my magic, letting it pool in the palm of my hand. A second later, I was clutching two slender Ice picks, which I inserted into the lock. It snicked open less than a minute later, and I slipped through to the other side, making sure to shut and lock the door behind me.
There were no windows, so I was forced to turn on the lights. Besides, the mood I was in, I just didn’t care if anyone realized
that I’d broken in here. I squinted against the sudden glare, staring out at the mess. Stacks of papers everywhere, framed photos crammed together on the walls, cameras, lenses, and other photography equipment scattered here and there. How could the dwarf possibly find anything in here? But there was nothing for me to do but tiptoe into the trenches.
So I looked at the first towering stack of papers that I came to, then the next, then the next. To my surprise, all of them had to do with the resort business. Supply invoices, shipping notices, pay stubs. I even found a couple of thick ledgers where guests had scrawled their names upon checking into the hotel thirty years ago. Seemed like Ira Morris was a pack rat who never threw anything away, just like Fletcher. Thinking about the old man brought a smile to my face and eased some of my anger.
Still, after about fifteen minutes of searching, I gave up. If Deirdre had hidden the jewels in here, they were buried under so many papers that I’d need a bulldozer to unearth them. I turned around to leave the office, having to sidestep all the stacks of papers I’d passed on the way in. I moved to my left, which put me close to one of the walls. A gleam of glass caught my eye, and I looked up at the picture closest to me.
Deirdre Shaw stared down at me.
I gasped and stopped so suddenly that I almost knocked over a paper tower that was taller than I was. Even then, I had to lunge forward, grab, and steady it. When I was sure that the papers weren’t going to come crashing down, I let go and stared up at the photo.
It must have been taken the day Deirdre bought the resort because she looked to be in her early twenties. She was holding a giant pair of scissors and cutting through a big swath of red tape, even as she smiled and stared straight into the camera. Her pale blue eyes seemed to be directly focused on mine, and I shivered, a little creeped out by this particular ghost.
But then a thought occurred to me—if Ira had this photo of Deirdre, then maybe he had others. We hadn’t found any pictures in her suite, but maybe some were in here that I could swipe and give to Finn. Oh, the pictures wouldn’t answer any of his questions about his mother, but at least our trip down here wouldn’t have been a complete bust.