I stared at the spike-heeled excuse for boots, and my feet started aching at the thought of putting them on. I was so exhausted all I wanted to do was crawl back in between the sheets of my snug little bed, pull the quilt up over my head, and sleep for a week. As I flipped over, my head landed on my soft, down-filled pillow, and I seriously debated doing just that.
For the past four days, I’d spent the mornings and afternoons investigating with Ian, and then, after a few hours of sleep in the evenings, patrolling the bars and other nightspots of Broadway all night. Despite all the time we’d spent, we still weren’t any closer to finding any of the missing mages, including Farah Purcell.
Over the last three days, Ian and I had visited the homes and work places of every missing person that fit the pattern, spoken to all of their families, and visited the places they were last seen. So far, not a single lead had turned up.
We couldn’t find anything that linked any of the victims. As far as we could tell, none of them knew each other, or had mutual friends or acquaintances. They all had very different jobs, friends, personalities, and lifestyles. They did all have two things in common, but even those commonalities were varied. First, they all were last seen either at an establishment on Broadway or on their way to somewhere on Broadway, but some of them never met up with their parties, so we have no idea if they even made it to Broadway. Second, they were all mages, but their levels of power ranged from just barely enough to register as a mage to a level seven on the ten-scale.
After our visit to the Purcell’s home, Ian and I weren’t sure if Farah’s disappearance was related to the others. There was a very good chance she had just run away. She did have good reason to want to stay away from her family. However, considering the extremely risky behavior she and her friends engaged in on a regular basis, any number of terrible things could have happened to her. It could just be a coincidence that it happened in the same area and timeframe as the other victims. But, I didn’t think so. Something told me that whoever took the other missing mages and tried to take Millie Linton had Farah Purcell.
With that thought in my head reminding me why I needed to get up and get dressed, I pulled my aching body into a sitting position and grabbed the boots. I slid my foot in, the supple leather sliding up my leg and over my knee. I tightened the laces that held the wide strip of leather together from the tip of my toe to my lower thigh and tied them tightly. Luckily, the brown leather contraptions also had a thick piece of leather resembling a belt attached to the top that wrapped around the lower part of my thigh and fastened with a heavy, metal buckle. I suspected the belt was for fashion purposes as much as to keep the boot from falling off.
The boots weren’t mine. I had never seen the point in wearing shoes that made me four inches taller than my already considerable height, were precarious to walk on, and impossible to run in. After all, my job involved a lot of running. Though, I had to admit, the boots would make a handy weapon when kicking someone in the head. Unfortunately, I’d never be able to balance on just one of the thin, little heels.
I borrowed the boots and the other shoes, as well as some of the clothes I’d worn over the past few nights, from Anya. Her clothes, even those she worked in, were a little more appropriate for “party girl” cover than my own. I was supposed to look sexy and approachable, but according to Anya, Pinky, and to my dismay, Sam, my clothes were less “come hither, big boy,” and more “touch me and I’ll fuck you up.”
I stood up to look at tonight’s get-up in my wall mirror. The outfit I wore was one that Anya had made herself. It was a fluttery concoction of four wide ruffles made out of a pale lavender, thin, semi-transparent fabric cut at an angle so that the back reached down to the back of my knee but the front just skimmed the middle of my thigh. The ruffles layered over each other so that only a few inches on the bottom was actually see-through.
The top was a lavender brocade half-corset that ended at least two inches above my belly button and laced up in the back with a matching lavender ribbon. The effect of it all together was actually quite flattering, even if it wasn’t my usual style. I think I would have even liked the outfit if the boots had a more practical heel.
Brushing my hair, I let it fall in soft waves around my shoulders. I preferred having it braided or at least tied back, hating when it blew in my face. It was also more practical, but I couldn’t deny that leaving it loose made me look softer, more approachable. Deciding I looked presentable enough, I tucked a small, throwing dagger in the top of each of the thigh-high boots. The bulk of the belt and buckle hid them from prying eyes, despite the snug fit of the thin leather against my skin. I would have felt more comfortable with my hanbo, or even my large dagger at my hip, but weapons didn’t project the friendly and cuddly attitude I was going for.
The wardrobe choices for the patrols had been made based on what many of the missing women had been wearing the nights they disappeared. Several of them, like Farah, had been out partying, either with friends or alone. After the first night when I’d showed up in what I would normally wear down to Pinky’s, Anya had been quickly enlisted by Sam to usher me upstairs and make me look a little more feminine. Since then, Anya had made all clothing decisions and approved my look before each night’s op.
I took one more look in the mirror, decided it was as good as it was going to get, and went out into the living room to get my inspection.
“Wow,” Anya said, letting out a loud wolf whistle. “Ian’s brain is going to explode when he gets a load of you in that outfit.”
“The point of this get-up isn’t to make Ian’s brain explode; it is to make me look sexy enough to have the kidnapper approach me,” I said, though if Ian had a meltdown, it would be a happy coincidence. It had actually been quite fun seeing his reaction to the skimpy outfits Anya had provided for me over the past few nights.
He never made a verbal comment, as we were always surrounded by people during our evening briefings and then were separated the rest of the night, but I saw the way his eyes darkened and he swallowed hard every time he saw me in a new outfit. Surprisingly, he hadn’t said anything during the day to me either. Though we had been working alone together over the past few days, he had been completely professional, except once.
Unbidden, the memory of the day we got the case popped into my head. After we left the Purcell home, we rode back to Nash City while discussing everything we learned from the Purcells and Farah’s two friends. Our earlier baiting of each other was forgotten as we debated the different possibilities of what may have happened to Farah. When we arrived at Blade Headquarters, we took care of the horses, and then walked out together, making plans about what we would do the next day. But as we took the stairs to the main floor, Ian grabbed my arm, pushed me gently against the wall, and leaned in to me, one hand on the wall on either side of my head, our bodies separated by mere centimeters.
“You know,” he said, softly, his breath fluttering warmly against my cheek. “Sam was right. We do have something between us we need to work out.”
My body screamed, “Yes, our clothes are between us. We definitely need to work on that.” But my brain was a little more sensible. Well, not much. I suddenly didn’t want to fight the attraction anymore; my only objection was that this wasn’t the time or place to explore the sexual heat between us.
“Ian, I…” He cut of my words by laying his index finger against my mouth.
“Shhh. Just listen.” He slid his finger along my cheek and down my throat, his hand resting on the curve of my neck and shoulder. “We have to focus on this case, but when it is over, we will work it out. No more running away, for either of us. But, until then, a little something to tide us over.”
Before I could say anything, he slid his fingers to the back of my neck, leaned into me, and lowered his lips to mine. My objections to our location faded away as every cell in my body focused on the feel of him against me, the taste of him on my lips. My arms went around him, pulling him closer, my hands slidin
g over the taut muscles of his back.
The kiss wasn’t frenzied and fierce like the one we’d shared on the dance floor at Pinky’s; it was slow, sensual, and brain-meltingly intense. His lips moved over mine, leisurely, tauntingly. I pressed harder against him, pushing for more, but he held back, setting his own pace. His tongue traced the outline of my lips thoroughly, as if mapping them as he tasted. When I opened my mouth to give him access, he sucked my bottom lip into his. Heat pooled in my abdomen and slowly sank lower.
My whole body went limp and I let out soft moan as he pulled away, his teeth pulling and grazing my lip as he let it go. He pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “I’ll see you tonight.”
Then he pulled completely way from me and he was gone, taking the stairs up to the next floor before I even had the energy to open my eyes. I sagged against the wall for quite a while, until my knees solidified enough for my legs to work.
Despite my training, I hadn’t reacted when he grabbed me. There were so many things I could have done, so many ways I could have kept him from cornering me, yet I had done nothing. I would use the excuse that I was surprised and startled, but I’m trained to always be on guard, to anticipate everything, and to think and react quickly when in danger. The only explanation I could come up with over the countless times I’d thought about it over the past few days was that I had instinctively known I wasn’t in danger, so there had been no reason to break Ian’s wrist or body slam him into the concrete floor.
That kiss had been the singular most sensual moment of my entire life, and it had lasted all of half a minute. I had a hell of a time getting rest that evening before our first night of stakeouts with that little interlude playing repeatedly in my mind. True to his word, except for the lust in his eyes when he saw me in the barely there outfit Anya made me change into, Ian had been one hundred percent professional that night, and every night since. Even though we spent our days together, alone much of the time, our focus had been on working, and he hadn’t even baited me once. I missed it a little, and seeing his reactions to the outfits Anya cooked up had become something I looked forward to each night.
“Earth to Fiona.” Anya waved a hand in front of my face.
“Huh? What?”
“I was explaining, for the hundredth time this week, that you don’t need any extra help in the sexy department; my clothes just make you look a little less intimidating. But, of course, you were zoned out again. That seems to happen every time Ian’s name gets mentioned, big sister. What’s going on with you two?” Anya asked.
“Nothing,” I said. She didn’t buy it. “Don’t look at me like that. There isn’t anything going on, at least not right now. But when this case is over, well, I’m not sure then.”
Anya grinned. “Oh? What happened to change your mind since last week? After that kiss he laid on you on the dance floor downstairs, you were impossible to live with and insisted it was a fluke. That there would never be anything between you two.”
“I protested too much, did I?” I asked, wincing a bit.
“Only a little.” She laughed. “So, what happened?”
“He kissed me again, and I changed my mind,” I said, shrugging as if it were no big deal.
“Ooh, do tell!”
I was trying to figure out how to extricate myself from the conversation when she turned her head and I noticed a dark purple smudge along her hairline just over her ear. Looking closer, I realized the top of her ear was the same dark shade.
“You’ve been fighting again,” I accused, my voice slightly smug at having found a way to avoid answering her question and turn the tables on her at the same time. I let out a small hoot of laughter at the horrified look of guilt on her face. “You know, if you want to keep from getting found out, you might want to get River to make you some heavier makeup.”
“This is the best she has; I must have missed a spot.” She ran over to the mirror on the wall near the door and tossed her head around, looking for the telltale bruise.
“Over your left ear. No, your other left. You know, Pinky is going to kill you when he finds out,” I told her.
She rubbed some tinted cream along her hairline and over the top of her ear. The bruise faded away as if it had never been there. “He’s not going to find out. Unless you tell him.” The last was accompanied by a pointed glare.
“Down girl, you know I’m not going to rat you out. But you know he always finds out,” I said, grinning at her.
“I know. Damn. I just don’t get it. He doesn’t give you any grief when you come home with bruises.”
“Oh, he does, just maybe not as much as you. But there are some differences, you know. For one, fighting is a part of my job. I’m not cruising the docks and back alleys for street fights.”
She flashed a grin at me. “You could technically call it a job for me, since I made two hundred bucks off today’s bets.”
My forehead met my palm with an audible smack. “Crap, Anya, do I even want to know how you managed to bring in that much in one afternoon?”
“Probably not. Sit so I can do your makeup.”
I did as I was told, but leveled an expectant glare on her as she began rubbing cream into my face. “Tell me anyway.”
“Oh, sheesh. It was no big deal. There was a fight down at the docks. They were all sailors, new around here. They got taken in by the tiny little girl that wanted in on the action. Got me good odds. I cleaned out four of them without a mark on me. The last guy just got a few lucky shots in. Wouldn’t have gotten those if he hadn’t been juiced up.”
She was brushing shimmery mineral powder over my eyelids so I couldn’t facepalm. I settled for a heavy sigh. Juicers were the opposite of suckers. Instead of letting vamps sink their fangs into them, juicers got their high by drinking shifter blood. When ingested, components in Were blood caused increased hormone and adrenaline production, which gave the user a temporary boost in speed and strength. Juicing also caused aggression, rage, and loss of control.
“Damn it, Anya, you are going to get yourself killed,” I told her, my words coming out muffled and distorted because she was rubbing some concoction of River’s on my lips to make them fuller and redder.
“Be still, unless you want to look like a hornet stung you repeatedly in the face. Don’t worry. I’m a better fighter than any of those guys. Hell, I’m a better fighter than you, and you come home from every mission with no problem.”
On one point, she was completely right. She was a better fighter than I was. But I had advantages she didn’t have. My skill, or rather luck, at always coming out of fights alive relied as much on my magic as it did my fighting abilities. More, sometimes. I also usually had a partner, or Mal, watching my back. Even so, there had been a few times that I’d barely made it out alive. If Anya had ever seen me right after some of those fights, she’d be on Pinky’s side when he got on his kicks and tried to get me to quit the Blades. But she never had, and if I could help it, she never would see me that hurt.
Mages usually healed a little faster than norms, but the nature of my power, the fact that I could pull energy into my body before dispelling it, seemed to make me heal much faster than any mage I knew, except those with self-healing powers. I couldn’t heal vampire fast, but if I were conscious enough to pull in a little energy, it would take just a matter of hours to get rid of cuts and bruises, and only a couple of days to mend broken bones.
Anya had no such advantages, but reminding her of that fact would do nothing but piss her off. Being a norm was a sore spot with my sister. It kept her from the one thing she wanted most. A norm couldn’t be a Blade. She could work for the Blades or the City Guard as an analyst or in the typing pool, or some other menial desk job that would drive her crazy. No matter how good a fighter she was, and she was likely the best in Nash, she could never do fieldwork.
As if reading my mind, she said, “Don’t feel sorry for me. And don’t worry about me either. I carry packets of River’s potions with me.”
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“There are injuries her potions and brews can’t protect you from, or heal. If you don’t think about yourself, think about how River will feel if something happens to you that is beyond her power.”
Anya leaned back and inspected her handy work on my face. “Okay, you’re done. And, if something does happen to me, it won’t be River’s fault.”
“Yeah, but you won’t be around to tell her that, now will you?” It was playing dirty, I knew, but I had no doubt that if the argument had been reversed, Anya would have played the River card herself, and it would have worked as well as it did now. We may both be a little reckless with our own lives, but we would do anything to protect River, even from ourselves.
“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll stop fighting,” she said as I helped her put away the tubs of makeup goo.
I laughed. “That’s a lie.”
She grinned. “Okay, I’ll pick the little ones and stay away from juicers.”
“Good enough. Now come on, you’ve dolled me up enough, and we both have jobs to get too.”