Dead End Dating (25 page)

“Happy hunting,” she said, as she reached for a black leather coat that hung near her desk.

“Yeah, you, too.” I smiled and she stiffened.

“I told you.” She pulled on the coat and straightened the collar. “It’s not like that.”

“Of course it isn’t.” I came around the desk and pulled the band that held her ponytail in place. I fluffed. “Just because it isn’t
like that
doesn’t mean you can’t look ultra hot and show him what he’s missing out on.”

“I couldn’t care less what he thinks so long as he gives sound financial advice.”

“And I’ve got this great little condo in Hawaii smack dab on the beach that’s screaming your name.”

She made a face. “You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes.”

My smile widened. This was the most fun I’d had all night—that didn’t involve a hands-off vampire and lots of tongue action, that is. “It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it.”

I
spent the next night combing Laundromats for the perfect mate.

Not for myself, of course.

I’d given up that idea last night. Once I’d taxied home from Jersey and handed out cards at four different twenty-four-hour health clubs, I’d gone home, crawled into bed, and come to the realization that I’d totally overreacted. The eye-opener? Two words: multispeed vibrator. (Technically we’re talking three words, but if memory serves me, I distinctly remember my tutor Jacques saying something about the hyphen serving as a sort of wedding ring…forever and ever and all that jazz.)

Imagine
moi
actually
considering
one of my mother’s prospects just because I needed a good orgasm. Or a good dozen.

Talk about the deep end.

With the midnight soiree a little over a week away, I needed to drum up some business in a major way.

Not only did I have Mrs. Wilhelm breathing down my neck, but my mother had sent a handful of her other friends to Dead End Dating to find a date for the annual event.

Luckily, no one really wanted an eternity mate. The entire club consisted of much older female vampires who had already gone the commitment route. They’d had their children and contributed to the survival of the race and had now kicked back to enjoy life. Some were widows, and some just had an agreement with their significant other to dabble with other men. Overall, they wanted a good time, which meant I didn’t have to fix them up with a born vamp with an off-the-charts fertility rating.

“You’re paying me mega overtime for this,” Evie said after a twenty-minute conversation with a not so-cute guy debating the merits of liquid bleach versus powder. She had the business casual look down pat—with a small side of trendy—in a Rebecca Taylor denim pencil skirt, a cotton sweater, a denim jacket, and (what really pulled it all together) a beaded ribbon pendant.

I was keeping it real with an embroidered Vivienne Tam skirt, a silk shell, and a pair of Nancy Geist leather stilettos. And a Furla leather hobo bag.

I know, I know. So
not
on my current budget, but luckily Nina One and I were the same size and she was a total sucker for begging.

“Just think of it as a night out on the town with your best girlfriend.”

“This isn’t Avalon.” She referred to one of my favorite dance spots over in Chelsea. “It’s the Fold-n-Dry on Seventy-sixth.”

That’s what Nina One had said when I’d invited her after raiding her closet. (While I was back on the I-don’t-need-a-mate-to-validate-me bandwagon, I wasn’t in any hurry to be alone.) Nina Two had had another financial powwow with Wilson; that’s right, Saturday night, drinks at the Bubble Lounge, strictly business—I’m not touching
that
one. With The Ninas both busy, that left Evie.

“It’s still fun.” When Evie gave me a pointed look, I added, “Or at least educational.”

She shrugged. “That is true. Who would’ve thought you could tell so much about a person by what’s in their laundry basket? Whether they’re single or married. If they have kids or not. How many kids they have.”

“How many times they change their underwear.” I eyed a guy who’d just walked in with a minuscule laundry bag. He made a beeline for the nearest washing machine, up-ended the canvas sack, and three T-shirts rolled into the washing machine. “Or not.”

“You think?” Evie eyed the guy as he fished quarters out of his pocket. He stood well over six feet. Decent build. Dark hair. He wasn’t exactly a fashion guru in a plain T-shirt and jeans, but he did have good taste in running shoes—Nike. “I would have made him for a boxer guy.”

I stared the man up and down before focusing on his butt. “Trust me, he’s flying solo at the moment.”

“How do you know this stuff?”

“Sixth sense.” Aka super vamp X-ray vision. I walked over to him, introduced myself, and handed him a business card. Turns out his name is Jeff, human, works construction, doesn’t date much but he’d like to, and he doesn’t wear underwear on account of he’s allergic to elastic and the waistbands make him itch.

Okay, that last part was a tad more than I needed to know, but at least the guy was friendly. And excited. He promised to give me a call when his current project slowed down and he had some free time.

Meanwhile, Evie handed out three cards and had two thrown back at her. One from a born-again virgin who was taking a lengthy hiatus from the opposite sex. The other? A divorcé still hopelessly in love with his ex. The single pair of women’s panties mingled in with his socks should have clued her in, but she’d given him the benefit of the doubt and chalked it up to a fetish.

Hey, we all had to learn.

We were about to leave our eighth location when Evie’s voice stopped me just shy of the door.

“Hey, isn’t that one of our clients?”

I turned and followed Evie’s gaze to the large television that sat bolted high on the far wall. It was tuned to a rerun of tonight’s local news which, of course, I’d missed. As usual.

A woman’s familiar face stared back at me, and my stomach hollowed out.

“She was almost one of our clients,” I told Evie. Before I’d chased her away during the fake Prada incident. I’d run out of freebies and so she’d run across town to Match Me for the complimentary strawberry-filled donuts (with powdered sugar).

And now she was missing.

“…police are asking for witnesses to step forward.” The announcer’s voice rose above the steady whir of the washers and dryers. “If you’ve seen this woman or have any information regarding her whereabouts, please call our tips hotline posted at the bottom of this screen.”

With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone and punched in Ty Bonner’s phone number.

“I knew this woman,” I told Ty a half hour later. I’d dropped Evie off at her apartment and headed back to the office to find him waiting for me. “I
knew
her.”

“Then you know this guy is sticking to his MO.” He wore black jeans, a black and silver San Antonio Spurs T-shirt, and boots. His black leather duster lay draped over the back of the chair where he sat. He had his legs stretched out in front of him, his ankles crossed. He was all hard muscle and dark brooding looks, and he watched me from beneath a black cowboy hat tipped low on his forehead. His neon blue eyes followed my every step as I walked from one end of the rug to the other. “While he’s changed location, he’s still after the same type of female. Laura Lindsey fit the bill to a T.”

“Laura?”

“The woman he just abducted. She was divorced. No children. She’s got a grandmother back in Kentucky, but no other family. She came here on a job transfer last year and hasn’t made many friends since. She worked at the Metropolitan Life Building, went to the library twice a week, and liked her coffee with sugar and extra cream.”

“Okay, so I didn’t
know
know her. But I knew about her. She filled out a profile.”

His facial expression didn’t change, but a gleam lit his eyes. “Did you set her up with anybody?”

“I didn’t get a chance.” I explained the freebie ad incident and how I’d run out of goodies. (I was still going for the hot, unattainable born vamp image, so I figured it best to leave out the crawling around on the floor over the lost Prada nameplate.) “She got mad and acted like a total bitch. Still, she didn’t deserve this.” I paused midstep and my gaze met his. “You have to find her. Or at least find out what happened to her.”

“I will.” He pushed to his feet and crossed the distance that separated us.

I had half a mind to run. Unfortunately, the other half had its own ideas (which involved a lot more touching than running), and so I stayed put.

“What?” I asked when he simply stared down at me, a funny look on his face.

“You’re too much.”

“Meaning?”

He tipped his hat back, as if to get a better look at me. “You’re scared, aren’t you? That’s why you called me and asked me to meet you here. Because you’re really
scared.
”

“I am not. I called you because I thought you might want the inside scoop on the latest victim.”

“I already know the inside scoop.”

“You didn’t know that she’d been here.”

“No, but I don’t see as how it’s relevant in this particular situation.”

I didn’t see how, either, but it had seemed relevant when I’d seen her picture flash on the television screen and I’d felt this overwhelming sense of loss. I’d wanted to do something. To say something. “Okay, so maybe it’s not. But you never know where a lead might turn up. I just thought you could get an even better picture of her if you knew she’d been here. And that she’s into freebies. And that she’s lonely enough to visit more than one matchmaking service.”

“Actually, she was lonely enough to visit three, not counting this one. They all set her up on dates. We’re investigating all of them.”

“You’re kidding. Do you think the kidnapper has been to all three?”

“Maybe.”

Which meant there was a really good chance that he might end up at Dead End Dating.

The notion didn’t make me half as excited as it had before I’d kissed Ty Bonner the night before. I told myself it was because the danger had become that much more real. No way was it because I no longer wanted to save the day and set Ty up with Esther. Or with anyone, for that matter. Or that I was saving him for myself.

No
way.

He eyed me. “You’re scared, all right.”

“I’m a vampire. I don’t get scared. I’m just concerned.”

“Vampires don’t get concerned.”

Good point. “Look, I’ve already told you, I have a business to think of. If my clients start disappearing, it will destroy everything I’ve built.” I knew we’d had this discussion before, but it sounded much better than
You’re right. I’m scared shitless.
It was one thing to see an anonymous picture on the television—like the first victim—and quite another to have actually met someone face-to-face and then have her disappear. It made it all seem so…
real.

“Business, huh?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s why you’ve been pacing since I walked in the door. Because you’re worried about business?”

“I have not been pacing.”

“You’ve been moving so fast your shoes are smoking.”

I glanced down to see white wisps circling my ankles. “All right, I’ve been pacing. From frustration, not fear.” He started to point out the obvious—vampires didn’t get frustrated—but I held up a hand. “Don’t say it. Just don’t.” I nailed him with a stare. “So what are you going to do?”

“What I’ve been doing. I’m going to keep tracking him until he slips up.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“He will. They always do.”

“But what if he doesn’t right away?” I persisted.

“What if he keeps getting away with it? What if he kidnaps another woman? What if he decides to go after one of my clients? He could walk away with Melissa or Action-Adventure, or any of the other nice women who’ve come to me for help.”

I wanted him to say it wasn’t going to happen. That he would find the guy first and kick his ass, and all that other macho bullshit that most men dished out like pizza at a Super Bowl party.

Instead, he simply stared at me. “That’s a very real possibility.”

His words sank in and settled into a tight knot in the middle of my chest. “Shit, he could, couldn’t he? He really could.” The truth weighed on me for a long, silent moment. I shook my head. “No, he couldn’t. Because that means he would have to get by me, and that’s not going to happen.”

He grinned. “Atta vampire.” He touched me then, his cool fingertips stroking my cheek. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last one hundred years, it’s patience. It may take a while, but I always get what I want.”

“Is that so?”

He leaned down. His mouth moved closer to mine. “Always.” The word was a soft rush of air against my lips, and I felt a rush of electricity zip up my spine.

Hello? Is this the wrong guy or what? Made vamp,
my conscience reminded me.
Zero fertility rating. Bottom dweller. Low end of the food chain…

Yeah, yeah.

Here’s the thing. I wasn’t going to kiss him.
He
was going to kiss
me,
which put an entirely different spin on things. I couldn’t very well do the wrong thing (and beat myself up over it) if I wasn’t the one making the decision. I was an innocent bystander. A rose just waiting to be plucked. A ripe strawberry ready to burst—