Hollyweird (10 page)

Jameson

“Toy or destroy?” Dakota mused, as if he was talking about a set of matchbox cars and not Missy King's life.

He spoke on his cell, Bluetooth anchored to his ear, slouched down in his canvas director's chair in a back corner of the set where he probably thought he couldn't be heard. Thank God, literally, for my superior hearing. I didn't have much in the way of super powers, of course, but I could listen better than most; the big guy said angels always needed to keep their ears open for prayers, pleas, and peril. Sometimes I could even tune into another person's thoughts if I really concentrated. Preternaturals were hard to get a read on—sometimes impossible, like Dakota. But I only tapped into my ability for emergencies because I considered it a massive invasion of privacy.

Overhearing Dakota's conversation, I had no doubt Missy was truly in peril. But I'd yet to figure out his exact plan.

I poured myself a cup of coffee from the refreshment table and then, so I wouldn't look too conspicuous, I walked over to him and raised my
Paranormal PI
emblazoned mug in question:
Want some?
He shook his head and motioned to his earpiece.

Yessir, Mr. Dakota, sir. I'll just step out of earshot and wait for your next order.

Fortunately, Dakota never really asked me to do any dirty work. You could call him a lot of things, but you couldn't call him stupid. He understood that old saying, “A man is known by the company he keeps,” so he made sure to keep a large circle of quality, legit—albeit mostly unsuspecting—people like me and Francis on staff to act as front bumpers for his “clean” image. But enter his inner sanctum and you'd find monstrous slags, most of them blood relatives.

Usually he turned to his cousins Ethan and Andrew when he wanted something questionable done. The two demi-demons had an uncanny ability to get in, cause chaos, and get out without ever being seen or heard. Chances were Dakota was speaking to one of them right now.

“So how's she doing?” I heard him ask. Then, “No shit,” he said with grudging admiration. “She's actually that good?”

The Folgers started to taste acrid on the back of my tongue and I set my cup down. Dakota seemed surprised by Missy's genuine talent. How would he choose to exploit that?

“She could go far, which means she could fall far. Of course, I've already got Destiny Dovalo set for that kind of strike. It might be better to play with this one awhile. We'll keep throwing her auditions, see what she can accomplish on her own, and after Destiny's nosedive I'll take another look at Missy and see what's what. In the meantime, I feel like having some fun while waiting for you to get back from Vienna. I'm going to see how our Colorado visitors handle the seven deadly sins. You just get what I sent you for and hurry back.”

Aw, hell.

I looked heavenward as if to say, “Really? How do you expect me to take this dude down when he's playing hardball with capital vices?”

The answer came immediately in the form of a text message:

For every sin there is a virtue. And u asked for backup.
Now have faith in them.

Holy crap! Aly and Des were my backup? I'd been asking for help since I got here. It hadn't taken me long to figure out I couldn't take Dakota down by myself, but I never imagined God would send me two girls from out of town as reinforcements. Clearly that's why they were meant to stay. But they didn't belong in this world. Or mine.

I almost sent up a “what're you thinking?” look, but thought better of it. I knew He had his reasons and eventually I'd figure them out. In the meantime, I had to warn my counterparts about Dakota's plan.

How exactly do you start that kind of conversation?

ALY

“I don't understand,” I told Jameson on my cell phone. “What do you mean we're about to face ‘the ultimate test' and should be ‘prepared for anything'?” I bit my fingernail and gave Des a “holy harps and halos” look.

“No, Missy's in the shower, singing at the top of her lungs,” I continued, rolling my eyes. “Trust me, she can't hear us. Just tell me what's going on.”

“Are we talking hell hounds and flames here?” Des asked, pacing at the end of our beds.

I repeated the question and gave a heaving sigh of relief when Jameson said I had the wrong idea.

“He's going to lead us into temptation?”

“That doesn't sound so bad,” Des said with a cheeky grin.

I swatted her with my down pillow and then slumped on the corner of the bed at Dakota's next words: “Giving in means certain doom.'”

“Then again,” Des said with a pout.

“Okay, Jameson,” I said, my tone matching the gravity of his. “Yes, I understand and we won't be led astray. Promise. Jameson!” I snipped at his nagging. “We do have some self-control, and we'll make sure Missy does too. Don't worry. Just get here when you can.”

I hung up wishing he'd hurry over—not because his warning had particularly scared me, although it did, but because I really wanted to see him again.

“The shit's about to hit the fan?” Des asked.

“Sounds like,” I said, refocusing on why he'd called. “Apparently Dakota is planning to whammy us with the seven deadly sins … just for fun.”

“Niiice. What a prince. Prince of Darkness.”

I gave a weak chuckle.

“You still wanna keep all this quiet from Missy?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I answered without hesitation. “Ignorance is bliss. Let her stay in her blond bubble.”

“ 'Kay.” Des flopped down on her back next to me. “So what exactly does ‘whammying us' mean?”

“I'm not sure.” I shrugged. “Do you remember all seven sins? Jameson rattled them off so fast … ”

“You're the former Catholic,” Desi said with a snort. “But I might remember a few from
Seven
, that Brad Pitt movie. Let's see … ” She started counting them off on her fingers. “There was the fat guy who bit it from eating too much, ha ha, bit it. Get it?”

I gave her a disapproving frown.

“Sorry,” she said with an unrepentant giggle. “Then the greedy attorney and the model whose nose was cut off and, of course, poor Gwen Paltrow lost her head to envy.”

“Right!” I pointed to her. “Which made Brad turn into wrath. So that's Wrath, Envy, Pride, Greed, and Gluttony. What're we missing?” I tapped my fingers against my forehead to trigger my memory. “I know! Sloth and Lust.”

“Oh, yeah,” Des said with a droll smile. “The two that could be my downfall. No wonder I forgot them.”

“Selective memory,” I said with a nod. “Anyhow, that SOB—” I stopped and reconsidered whose son I spoke of. “Make that SOS, Son of Satan, is doing this for his own entertainment. How twisted is that?”

Des winced as Missy hit a particularly painful note in the shower. “Even more twisted than that falsetto.”

“Jameson said we should be extra vigilant because even something seemingly innocent could be—”

“Evil in a clown suit?”

I shuddered at the thought. “Seriously,” I whispered, after hearing Missy shut off the shower. “Jameson seemed really worried. I think we should stay here as much as possible. I know, I hate to say that,” I said at Des's grimace. “But I imagine we're a little more insulated from temptation here, and, I don't know about you, but I feel like we're waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop.”

“Shoes?” Missy asked as she emerged from the bathroom in a fragrant steam cloud. She wore one of the hotel's decadent white robes with a turbaned towel on her head. “Bestill my heart,” she said, her hand pressed to her chest. “Surely my ears deceive me because I thought I heard you two discussing shoes, and I would swear you couldn't tell the difference between a Ked and a Kors, a Madden and a Manolo.”

“Hmm,” Des said, hand to chin in mock contemplation. “The difference is about four hundred dollars.”

Missy clapped in approval. “Hey!” Her eyes widened and she bounced on her toes. “Let's go shoe shopping! There's a pair of Louboutin heels I've been dyyyying to buy.”

“NO!” Des and I shouted.

“Er, that is,” I stammered, “we were thinking about hanging here. We've been running around so much, and—”

“Saved by the bell,” Des muttered when someone knocked on our door. She scrambled off the bed and whipped open the door so fast my mouth gaped open with my unspoken warning.

So much for vigilance.

I pushed Missy toward her dresser and told her to get dressed while I went to see who'd arrived. If it were one of Dakota's cronies would he have to be invited in before he could cross the threshold? Chances were, vampire rules didn't apply to demons. Only instead of finding a fiend with Des I found—

“Room service?”

“Cool, huh?” she said as she locked the door behind her. “This way-hot waiter called it a special delivery, whatever that means. It smells positively diii-vine.” Silver lids covered the contents and Des grabbed the handle on one, about to peek underneath. “My nose knows chocolate.”

“Wait.” I stayed her hand with my own. “I didn't order it. Did you?”

“No,” she said, then repeated it with a whine. “But I'm sure it's—”

“What's this?” Missy asked. She'd thrown on a pair of Candie's sweatshorts and a lace-trimmed tank. She looked like such an innocent, fresh-faced beauty that my instinct to protect her flared even higher.

“Mis, did you order this?”

“No,” she said, “but I bet I know who did.”

“Who?” Des asked as she rubbed her hands in excitement.

Missy plucked up a white envelope that had been tucked between two fancy-folded napkins and waved it as if to say “the answer's right here.” The handwritten card inside read:
From your friends at Rich & Famous. You'll be hearing from us.

Missy shrieked and jumped up and down before grabbing Des and me by the hands to join her. “That's got to be good news!”

Des and I couldn't help but get caught up in her joy. “They really, really love you. They really, really love you,” we chanted as we bounced in time to our own little conga beat.

Missy laughed, fluffed her hair, and took a toe-touching bow like only she could. “Let's see what they sent,” she said and pulled the cart farther into the room.

“
The guy at the door said it was a special delivery,” Des said as she arranged two chairs around the cart and motioned to Missy to sit on the end of the bed for a third seat.

“That means it came from outside the hotel,” Missy said. “Which means it must be really, really good.” She placed each of her hands on a silver lid and motioned to Des and me to do the same. “One, two, three!” she shouted and we all uncovered our dishes.

Anyone hearing our squeals would think the three little piggies had moved into the Wilshire.

“It's, it's—” I stammered, unable to find a word for the nirvana laid before us.

“It's chocstasy,” Des said in total reverence.

Fondue and fudge, truffles and toffee. From exquisite candies—pralines, caramels, ganaches—to mouthwatering pastries and pies—cannolis, éclairs, Black Forest and Oreo cheesecake—it was a buffet of beauty. For just a second we stared in prayerful awe, and then we dove into the trays … fingers first.

“Omwwwgd,” I groaned in bliss around a mocha truffle that melted like silk across my tongue.

“I think,” Des said, between bites of her turtle brownie, “that I just had my first orgasm.”

Missy never said a word. Her eyes were closed in rapture as she savored a plump éclair. Then she scooped up a handful of ganaches and pralines, making little appreciative sighs for every bite of candy she took.

I dipped butter-rich pound cake and lush strawberries in a fondue that seduced my soul while Des swore she would gladly give up her firstborn if only she could have that Oreo cheesecake for the rest of her life.

We ate, we sighed in bliss, and we ate some more. Never in my life have I tasted things so delectable, so luxuriant, so sinful.

Screeeeech …

Feeling like I'd snapped out of a cocoa coma, I peered at the toffee in my hand with suspicion and then eyed the tray before us. “This isn't right,” I murmured, setting down my candy.

“I know. Right,” Des said with a hazed look in her eye. “It's wicked good.”

“Exactly,” I said, as I tried to pry a caramel from her fingers.
“
Wicked
”—
I finally managed to yank the candy from her and throw it on the tray—“being the operative word. This is Satan on a silver platter!”

My fierceness broke through Desi's bewitchment and she looked at me in befuddlement.

I glanced down at my watch and then held it closer to my eyes to be sure I'd read it right. “Sweet Jesus! We've gone loco for cocoa.”

“What'dya mean?” Des asked.

“We've been scarfing chocolate for forty-five minutes.”

Des's eyes widened and she shook her head in denial. “No, no, no.”

“Yes,” I said and pointed to the trays. “And the trays haven't grown emptier and I don't even feel full.”

Des placed her hands on her belly. “Neither do I and I must've eaten … ” She blanched as she realized just how many pounds of chocolate she'd inhaled.

“Dakota!” we both yelled.

“We've been served a heaping dose of Gluttony,” I moaned.

Then my gaze snapped to Missy. She remained en-tranced, a chocolate-crème-filled cannoli clutched in her hand.

Leaping up, I snatched the baked treat from her and got a baked stare in return.

“She looks high,” Des said with alarm. “Did I look like that too?”

Nodding, I said, “We were all under the influence of sinister sweets.” I pushed the tray away from Missy. “Please go hide that by the ice machines while I get Missy, uh, sober?”

Des started pushing the cart away.

“Don't eat anything else!” I said.

Des nodded and spread our napkins over everything to hide the temptation from herself and anyone else who came along.

While she took the cart away, I lightly slapped Missy's cheeks. She seemed even more affected than we were, maybe because we'd had a warning to watch for devil's snares.

“Missy. You okay?”

She gave me a loopy smile. “Soooo gooooood,” she drawled.

Could coffee clear away choxication? Figuring it couldn't hurt, I pushed Missy back onto the bed and ran into the bathroom to brew some complimentary Starbucks coffee from those handy-dandy pre-portioned sealed filters. A fuming mad Des returned from ditching the cart.

“Death by chocolate!” she snapped. “Do you realize what could've happened if you hadn't snapped out of it? We either would've exploded in a grotesque fountain of melted chocolate or become paralyzed by our own obscenely obese bodies. Talk about overindulgence.”

“I'm sure a diabetic coma would've hit first,” I said as I poured out two cups of coffee. I handed Des one and took the other out to Missy. Propping her up, I made her take several sips and watched her blue eyes slowly clear from their sugar shock.

“Whoa,” she finally said, clutching her head. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” I asked.

“Chocolate. Lots and lots of chocolate.”

“Let's just say you ate too much and made yourself sick.”

“The crash freakin' sucks,” she said. “Thanks for the coffee. I don't want to see anything sugary for at least another week.” She drained her cup and headed to the bathroom for a refill and some Advil.

Des shook her head and I got the sense she wasn't only mad at Dakota, but herself, too. “I shouldn't have answered the door,” she said.

“It's okay.” I gave her arm a comforting pat. “Dude didn't waste any time. And there was that note on the tray. I thought it was okay after we read that.”

Des picked up the hotel phone. “May I speak with the manager, please?”

I looked at her questioningly.

“Yes, sir. This is Missy King's assistant in room 312. A short time ago someone delivered a cart full of chocolate and now Miss King is ill. Please put a note on her account that
no
deliveries should be made to this room. You don't? Uh huh. Then I think security has been breached. Yes, thank you. We'd definitely like that. Okay, okay, we'll be looking for you.”

Des hung up with a smug grin of satisfaction.

I folded my arms over my chest and raised my eyebrows. “Well?”

“The manager said they don't show anyone on their delivery log for Miss King and he can't imagine how someone got our room number. He's personally going to escort us to the Presidential Suite and he profusely apologizes for the transgression.”

“When he knocks on the door, how will we know it's him?”

“He'll be wearing a black suit and his nametag says ‘Armond.' ”

“Thanks, Des. I know I'll feel a little better when we get into a different room.”