Hollywood Dragon: BBW Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance (4 page)

“Remember Tom Hsing’s gang of banditos—”

“Focus,” JP said. And he felt their intent sharpen. Right now he needed the bear’s sense of environmental awareness and the tiger’s hunt instinct. “The month after that, we received official notice from Sacramento that . . . well, never mind the details. It was a bureaucratic end run that would have effectively redistricted Sanluce in a way to take away its autonomy. But Jennifer Kim, my contact in Sacramento, effectively squashed it.”

“I love having a weasel on our side,” Dennis joked, then quickly, “I know, I know, Jennifer’s a ferret. You know what I mean. So far it sounds like paper pushers dicking around. That doesn’t spell action to me.”

“I’m not done. A couple weeks ago, Jennifer reported that someone with enough clout to get results had been requesting all the old records of Santa Lucia.”

“Why?” Dennis asked. “My dad told me there
aren’t
any written records, other than a couple of letters between the old hacienda owners, and the one bill of sale to your family, JP.”

JP turned to Dennis. “Because of the vans. They first started appearing about the same time as the requests for the old maps. Once or twice a month. Here and there, always far afield.”

“Setting fires? Doing damage?” Dennis gave a tigerish growl.

“No. People casually mentioned them, so casually they were driving under the radar until Alma Jimenez happened to notice two different vans out at the old smelting site in separate months while she was on regular patrol. She ran the license plate of the second one. It was legit, but a rental from some LA company. She told Chief Albert, who drove out himself, but by the time he got there, it was gone.”

“Why would anyone be at the old smelting site once, much less twice? That building came down after World War I, right?” Mick asked. “That’s city land, too. It’s not being sold?”

“Funny you should ask that,” JP said. “Less than a week after Alma pinged that license plate, the city council was approached by a high priced lawyer with a glossy brochure about building a huge trade complex here ‘at the hub of the agricultural world.’”

The other two laughed.

“Promised all kinds of economic boost, jobs, yadda, but the city council told him the land is zoned for a public park.”

“Who did he represent?” Dennis asked.

“I checked out the brochure myself. Shell company, main headquarters overseas. Dead end.”

“Except that lawyers, brochures, overseas accounts, that suggests major bucks,” Mick commented.

“Yes,” JP said. “So I took the opportunity to launch my own, let’s go ahead and call it a counter-attack, through a connection at the IRS, who sounded very interested in this mysterious company.”

Mick and Dennis laughed, Mick high fiving Dennis. “That’s our Jeep,” Dennis said.

“Meanwhile, more vans, seen here and there around town. It’s been escalating, which is why I called you, Dennis. After I called you, it began escalating fast. And that brings me to today, and you guys. There were two vans out at either end of the old Gutierrez ranch site this morning.”

“That ranch burned down a hundred years ago,” Mick exclaimed. “Nothing’s been on it since then. It’s still LaFleur property, right?”

“Yes. Chief Albert’s oldest kid Jason had overheard the talk about the vans. You probably don’t remember him, as both of you have been gone a lot, but he wants to become a detective. Anyway, he was out running today. Saw them, went back and changed to human. Rode back on his bike to confront them. Said he saw a couple of guys working over the ground down in one of the ditches. It looked like a big, supercharged metal detector. But when he asked them who they were and what they were doing, he said, a huge guy came around the side of the van and beat the crap out of him.”

Mick growled low in his big chest, and Dennis shifted from his bad leg to his good, as if he wanted to shift to his tiger and go on the hunt right then.

“When he woke up, they were gone. He called home, and Chief Albert called me. I was just pulling up to your house, Mick, when I got the call.”

“Hell,” Mick exclaimed. “I think I saw those vans on the taxi ride in from the airport. I didn’t see the kid, though.”

“They’d tossed him down into the ditch, and his bike on top of him. You wouldn’t have seen him from the road.”

“Beat him up? Without saying a word?” Dennis asked.

JP nodded once after each question. “I’d say we’re looking at a change in tactics here.”

“Metal detector . . .” Mick sighed. “They’re nosing for gold.”

“Right,” JP said. “So I was going to ask you to go out there. Sniff around, see what you can pick up. I want you to be able to recognize their scents again. I’m going to do an aerial scan.”

“Dammit.” Dennis thumped his cane on the ground. “I want to help, but I’m tied by this damn leg.”

JP said, “Dennis, tough as you are, and fast as we heal, you
know
that shifting with half-healed bones is a bad idea. Wait until we need desperate measures. I’m just glad you’re back. If they’re after the LaFleur hoard, the non-shifter part of town can’t be involved. We have to settle it ourselves.”

All three men paused, Dennis and Mick sniffing the air. JP could feel the two letting their animals rise part way, just enough for their stronger senses of hearing and smell to surface. He waited, his dragon quiescent, listening below the surface of human sound. But his mental awareness homed straight into the Volkovs’ house, and that golden voice. He shut the inner door. This was not time to indulge a sudden attraction. He waited until the bear and the tiger had subsided again.

“Nothing bad on the air in the neighborhood,” Mick said. “Let me get Dennis back to his place, then I’ll do a ramble. You do a flyover.  If nothing’s wrong, we’ll talk in the morning.”

Chapter Five

When the three guys left, the house suddenly seemed empty. Jan turned her attention to Shelley, to catch a somber expression on her face. But the second their eyes met, her face smoothed out. “Want to lend a hand with the dishes?”

“There is no need,” Baba Marisia said. “Misha insisted upon buying us this dishwasher. It is the work of a moment to load everything into it.”

“I promise we’ll be even faster,” Shelley said.

Jan sensed that this had been arranged between Mick and Shelley, and raised her hand. “I can’t cook, but I am the best dishwasher in L.A.”

Baba Marisia relented, and Jan and Shelley pitched in. Jan bit back the nearly overwhelming desire to ask questions about JP. Her crush was totally impossible. But as they worked, she could not get his voice, his face, the elusive, masculine scent of him out of her mind. She stayed silent as the other two chattered. Soon the kitchen was clean and the dishwasher humming and sloshing. By then the old folks were looking tired. Shelley said, “We had a long drive. How about calling it a night?”

After a round of thanks and good wishes for pleasant dreams, Shelley walked out with Jan. The air was soft, the heat slowly dying away. Tiny lights flickered here and there.

“What is that?” Jan asked.

Shelley’s grin was invisible in the dark, but Jan could hear it in her voice. “Fireflies.”

“Fireflies! I thought   . . . wait,” Jan exclaimed. “I had to do a report in high school about fireflies. The ones west of the Rocky Mountains don’t flash.”

“Well, they do here, I guess. Anyway, that’s what Mick said they were when we came last month. Shall I walk you back to the motel?”

Jan snorted. “I can see it from here. And even if I couldn’t, it’s not like I’d get lost. Or mugged. Or is there a crime wave in Sanluce, and I need your karate skills to guard me?”

“Based on two whole days of being here a month ago, I would say that you should be safe from muggers. I’ll give you a call before breakfast, okay? I promised Mick we’d eat in town, otherwise his grandmother would feel it her duty to cook three squares a day for all of us.”

“I feel guilty enough already about her doing that fabulous dinner,” Jan said. “What is she, at least ninety?”

“She insists that she loves doing it. But we’re a lot of people for someone who’s been around nearly a century.”

“No argument here!” Jan flipped up her hand. “See you in the morning.”

Shelley turned back toward the Volkovs, leaving Jan to walk on alone. As her eyes watched for more fireflies, her mind zapped straight back to that moment before dinner, and that flash of heat when she’d touched JP.

The pack of ghosts promptly rose, the Scorn Ghost curling her lip and rolling her eyes as she said,
What are you, sixteen?
Because what else could it be? She didn’t know the guy, and she’d stopped believing in love at first sight when she got old enough to rewatch Disney’s
Sleeping Beauty
and realize, ew, that prince was a total stranger, kissing Aurora while she was zonked? Eww, eww, eww!

So what was the cause? Merely that he wore such beautiful clothes—and he wore them so well? Or was it that hint of a very taut body inside the clothes? She had to reduce the stupid crush to its component parts in order to scorn it away, because really. This was Shelley’s week, after which Jan would be going back to “Would you care for a beverage with that?” and dealing with automatic phone trees when making audition calls.

You know, real life.

Another firefly flicker caught her eye, and she welcomed the distraction. They were fairly scarce, a blink here and there in the soft, still night air, the brilliant canopy of stars overhead far brighter than in LA. It was a relief and a disappointment both that Shelley had said they were a regular occurrence, because though Jan had given up believing in love at first sight, she still believed in magic. It would have been cool to have the fireflies all to herself.

When Jan reached the motel, she glanced across that stubbly field, her attention caught by a twinkle of fireflies farther away. She let herself into the motel room but left the light off as she threw the key on the bed.

She stood at the window watching the firefly ballet, but her mind stubbornly brought back the elegant JP LaFleur. Why hadn’t Shelley prepared her for
him?
Because Shelley had always gone for brawn, of course. She probably thought JP merely cute, or somewhat handsome, without being aware that he was the hottest thing to ever walk the earth.

Down
,
girl! At least no one can see me seriously breaking Rule One
, Jan thought as the fireflies twinkled and wove their dance.

Was there a significance to those flashes? What kind of hidden life was going on right in front of her nose here? There were so many of them, and only in that direction.

As she stood there, she realized that though it was after ten, she wasn’t the least bit tired. Buzzed a bit from the wine—and from the after-image of JP’s thick-fringed, tilted black eyes—but not tired.

She hesitated. Lots of LA was perfectly safe at night, as long as you used your head. Especially if you knew the territory. Jan had been taking the bus and walking for a couple of years now, but this was unknown territory.

Still, how dangerous could Sanluce be? Four stoplights! No traffic!

She slipped her cell into her pocket, picked up the key, let herself out and started across the field. The ground was uneven, forcing her to slow down. Her stylish sandals were definitely not made for invisible pot holes, so she set her feet down carefully, hoping this was not a stupid idea—that the fireflies would vanish around her like some mirage.

When she had crossed the empty lot, she found herself on firmer footing. Beyond some low buildings to her left what appeared to be a path slanted away and down a gentle incline into an area with dark patches of trees and shrubs. Far beyond Jan barely made out a row of very tall trees, ink-black silhouettes against the slightly less stygian darkness. Around the pathway the fireflies swarmed, dancing frenetically.

She walked down the path, smelling not only grass but the faint fragrance of roses on the air. A sense of excitement seized her, the thrill of possibility. She knew it was stupid, that in the glaring light of day this would be a rain parched field in the middle of a bunch of boring automotive repair shops, or tractor barns, or something similar.

But now . . . she sensed an elusive quality to the air, the starlight, the dancing fireflies, and the fragrance of unknown blossoms. There was a sense of promise, almost of magic.

She walked until she became aware that she stood in the center of the swarm. The fireflies danced around her, weaving, darting, signaling. What stories unfolded around her, unknown by her blunted human senses?

A breeze swirled across the grasses, rustling through the trees and whispering through the grass. Quite suddenly the fireflies all blinked out, except for a tiny wink here and there.

The air felt different. Smelled different . . . a bit like burning leaves. Or hot metal? It was too faint to define for sure, though the hairs on the back of her neck tightened. She was suddenly aware that she was alone in a place she couldn’t really see, and it was very late.

She gripped the key tightly in one hand, her cell in the other and started marching back. Because no houses were in sight, she tipped her chin up, filled her lungs, and began to sing.

* * *

How, JP thought, as he drove home, could Mick have possibly considered Jan a Persian cat, much less a bulldog? If she were a shifter, she would be a finch, or a hummingbird: small, quick, gracefully round in shape, beautiful in plumage. Or a lark, which had the most beautiful voice. A nightingale?

He got home and shed his clothing, then stood in the courtyard outside his rooms, shaded by trees, and breathed deeply. He had to focus.

He shifted to his phoenix form, and took off into the sky, opening himself to the mental plane.

The LaFleur shifters tended to inherit the golden phoenix, the smallest of all the many types of dragon. As a phoenix he could sense wrongness in the earth, the water, and the growing things in it. He could also sense living things on the mental plane, though as no more than twinkling lights. He had to know someone before he could identify those lights.

The fact that his awareness zoomed straight to Jan’s sun-bright aura was not a good sign. He had to forget that attraction. It was merely physical, and as such dangerously distracting. He didn’t know
her
. Didn’t know if he could trust her.

Worse, she seemed to be heading out alone, in the dark—straight toward the border of LaFleur property.

Meeting someone?

He veered, flying swiftly over the quiet town. Here and there lights winked out as people settled down to sleep. He was halfway over the north end when he sensed a roil on the mental plane, straight ahead. In the same direction that Jan walked.

He snapped his wings out, flying hard. He felt the wakening of his fire dragon beneath his golden phoenix, and shut him down hard. Letting his dragon free could only be a desperate measure of last resort, dangerous to everyone.

Most of all to him.

He widened his awareness.

In the time it took for his wings to flap twice he imagined a horrible scenario: whoever had ordered the Albert boy to be beaten cynically sending exactly the sort of woman JP would want, to winnow her way into . . .

No. No. No.

He’d been taught all his life to think ahead, to peer beneath the surface of words and actions for hidden motivations. But speculation was never truth until it was proved. It was too easy to tip over into paranoia.

On the third beat he felt it when the roiling darkness sensed him. It seemed to rear up, then zap! It vanished like smoke.

Another sort of dragon shifter was out there, something very big, very powerful, and very dangerous.

He flung his wings out and banked hard, looking down at Jan, who had stopped below, one arm nervously clutching something that glinted like brass, the other hand plunged into her pocket. His sharp night vision made out the familiar square of a cell phone. His phoenix’s sight was far sharper than his hearing or smell, but high as he was, he caught the faint sound of singing.

He was too high to hear her voice well. Emotion carried better than pitch or timbre: she was clearly scared, and fighting it.

Why was she out here alone so late? He circled silently above once, twice, flying low enough to capture a few words of her song, he then flew upward on silent wings, circling above her as the fireflies, feeling safe enough to waken, rose to swarm all about her.

He yearned to remain, but duty
mus
t come first. He knew she was safe, or his little cousins would have gone silent. He felt the fireflies’ simple joy—they were so responsive to harmonic sound, especially one so extraordinarily beautiful—and reflected it back at them before he drifted away over the rooftops to finish his round.

* * *

When Jan reached the top of the gentle rise, the aromatic breeze rifled through her clothes and hair. The fireflies had reappeared, and she sang to them as she lengthened her strides. Almost as if they danced with her, the fireflies swirled upward. The breeze had to be responsible—she doubted they could even hear her—but the idea cheered her. She brought the aria to a close, humming the last few bars when she saw the lit windows of the motel about the length of a football field away.

Then she spotted something glowing on the ground in front of her, and nearly stepped on it. She stopped. It was far too large and long to be a firefly. She took a careful step and stared down in amazement at a golden . . . feather?

She bent down and tentatively touched it. It gleamed with ruddy highlights, so bright that she half expected it to feel hot. But it was merely a long feather, very soft, and not burning at all. So she picked it up, and carefully carried it on her palm the rest of the way.

When she let herself into the motel room, she laid it on the night table, half expecting it to vanish before morning. Then she shut the curtains, took a fast shower, plugged in her phone charger, and climbed into bed.

She turned out the light—and as soon as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she made out the faint golden glow of the feather. But already it was dimmer than it had been earlier.

Her mind ranged over the evening, always coming back around to JP LaFleur. She thought she could count every word he’d said, always in that pure register. Just thinking about him . . . she fell asleep trying to imagine what music would fit his beautiful whisper-silver voice  . . .

* * *

As soon as he got home, JP pulled on a pair of pants, then dropped into his computer chair and slapped the machine to life. He swiftly typed in the phrases he’d overheard Jan singing.

Google promptly identified the aria belonging to a very minor operetta by Rudolf Frimi, called
The Firefly
.