The Lady in Pink - Deadly Ever After 2 (14 page)

I
hailed a taxi outside the bar. Or more to the point, I attempted to hail a taxi. But it was after midnight, and I was a blue-haired thug carrying a guy wearing loafers. Therefore I had better odds of being struck by lightning than getting a cab. I glanced up at the night sky, thankful there wasn’t a cloud in sight.

Hefting Clark’s deadweight to my other arm, I half walked/half dragged him two blocks to the Fey Train station. He mumbled incoherently, which brought a smile to my lips. The evening hadn’t gone as the poor bastard had hoped. Rather than holding Izzy in his arms, he had the puke-splattered likes of me holding him up. Maybe it was harder to be a Boyer than I’d thought.

Since I couldn’t just leave him on the Fey Train in this condition, I pulled out my cell phone to look up his home address. Not surprisingly Clark resided uptown in a fancy loft apartment in a building built by his family more than a hundred years ago. A place with armed doormen and a concierge service at the tenants’ beck and call. Even though the trip uptown would take me an hour out of the way from home, I dragged Clark aboard the train and off we went.

Half an hour later I staggered under Clark’s weight as we headed up the well-lit and very clean street. Gone were the scents of urine and body odor, replaced with the fresh scents of pine and money. Luckily for me, most of the people we passed on the paved-in-gold street knew the man in my arms. Otherwise I suspect I would’ve been shot on sight.

When we finally arrived at Clark’s expensive abode, I took a deep breath before I dug my hand into his pocket for his keys. Thankfully, by this time, Clark was completely unconscious. His head lolled to one side, and a bit of drool slipped from his lips. If Izzy saw him now she would never date his sorry ass again. I grabbed my phone, snapping a selfie of Clark and me just in case.

Once I got the door to his loft open, I pulled him inside and dropped him on the floor just inside his door. Let his maid drag him to bed. I planned to turn around and leave, but two things made me change my mind—the aroma of roasted meat and my bladder, but not in that order.

“Mind if I use your head?” I asked Clark, who let out a loud snore in response. Taking that as a yes, I left him in search of a bathroom I suspected was bigger than my entire office. When I found it I wasn’t disappointed. The room was at least twice the size of my and Izzy’s offices combined. A toilet sat toward the very back. I half ran to it, flipping open the lid in preparation, when a woman’s voice called out, “Hello.”

I quickly shoved my dick back in my pants and looked around for the chick. I soon realized the voice had come from the toilet when the sound of a babbling brook filled the room. With a sigh, I finished what I came for and then moved to the sink to wash my hands. I half expected the sink to talk to me as well and was sort of disappointed when it stayed silent.

I finished washing my hands and then glanced in the mirror. “No,” I said to myself as temptation filled me. But I couldn’t stop the investigator inside. I pulled on the mirror, revealing the medicine cabinet behind it. Though I was hoping for an array of embarrassing tubes and creams, I found only a handful of prescription medications, a whole lot of hair gel, and an unopened box of hair dye. Midnight black. None of which came as a surprise. I’d suspected Clark had a mean streak of vanity the first time I’d met him. His clothes and perfectly kept hair had told me—a trained investigator—as much.

Though I was ashamed to admit it, in high school I’d dabbled a bit, experimenting with whatever new product I could get my hands on. But none of them ever covered the natural color of my hair for longer than a few days. I’d tried every color known to man, from the blackest of blacks to ginger red. Then, much to my dismay, a few days after I’d dyed my hair, the blue would start to show through. I’d finally given up after a dye job left me with a splotchy red rash up and down my face, along with purple eyebrows.

I’d only wanted to fit in.

To be laughed at and teased for being an awkward teen with zits rather than an electrical menace. I had a feeling Clark knew nothing about being an awkward teen or living with faulty wiring like myself. I suspected he dyed his hair for very different reasons, namely, to get into a certain fairy’s panties.

What did Izzy see in him? I wondered for the tenth time today. Though I had to admit he wasn’t nearly the rich, empty-headed pretty boy I’d first thought, even if he couldn’t hold his liquor.

Was it the money? I shook my head. It wasn’t like Izzy was hurting for cash. Reynolds & Davis was a complete success. In another year she could buy a loft right next door if she wanted. Though I had a feeling the co-op board might have something to say about a fairy living in their midst. Was that it, then? Was Izzy dating Clark as some sort of way to gain legitimacy? Ridiculous. Izzy had been the freaking Tooth Fairy for goodness’ sake.

Who cared what anyone else thought? I figured I’d tell her that tomorrow morning. And then she could forget all about Clark Boyer.

Except when it came time for our monthly marketing meeting.

I shut the medicine cabinet and left the bathroom.

I swore the toilet waved good-bye.

It was good to be Clark.

Unless one considered the hangover he would have come morning. The sides of my mouth curved into a smile at the thought.

A
nd not so good to be Blue, either. I groaned two hours later when a knock sounded at my apartment door. A very loud knock. I closed my eyes, hoping whoever it was at the door would have mercy on me and go away. After all, I’d just dropped into bed less than half an hour ago and had yet to reach full REM sleep. No rest for the blue haired and wicked, though, as the pounding continued, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was internal or external. My head felt much like Humpty Dumpty after his fall from grace. A much-deserved fall too. After all, what sort of idiot took a selfie while smoking fairy dust in a hotel room with three hookers?

Even I knew better.

I staggered from my bed after another round of knocking accompanied by a bout of loud swearing aimed at my naughty bits. Rubbing my hands together, I prepared for whatever evil intentions my visitor had in store. With a deep breath to clear my whiskey-soaked brain, I threw the door wide and then froze at the sight in front of me. “What the hell?” I yelled, ushering a half-naked Izzy, a towel wrapped around her body and her wings drenched with water, inside my apartment. “Are you all right?”

Clumps of wet hair hung around her, nearly obscuring her beautiful and soot-stained face. She waved a hand at the door and the blackened towel wrapped around her slipped a few inches, showing off way more than a nice set of wings. With supreme effort I glanced away. “Why didn’t you answer the door?” she screamed. “I was standing out there while your degenerate neighbors took photos for ten minutes.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t hear you.” Over the marching band in my brain, I added silently. The less she knew about my bonding experience with Clark, the better. Hell, the less anyone knew about it ... “What happened?” I asked.

She clutched the towel tighter. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

“Yeah. Of course,” I said, motioning to my bedroom. Izzy ran past me, disappearing behind my makeshift door, which was nothing more than a rubber ducky shower curtain and duct tape. The sound of drawers opening and closing echoed from the room. I imaged Izzy standing naked in my bedroom, and electrical heat pulsed through me. I swallowed hard, disgusted with myself. Izzy was obviously distressed. It was not the time to picture her naked, in my bedroom, where my bed sat only a few feet away ...

Hell, I must still be drunk.

“Blue,” she said as she came out dressed in a pair of my boxer shorts and a T-shirt that hit her midthigh, “everything’s gone. Destroyed. What am I going to do?”

I shook off my bedroom fantasy and focused on what she was saying. “What happened?” I asked again.

She gazed up at me, her eyes dewy with tears. “My brownstone burned down. To the cellar, Blue. Nothing was left.” She paused, choking up. “I barely made it out alive.”

I
stood at the side of my bed watching Izzy sleep. She moaned and her wings fluttered, sending up a cloud of toxic fairy dust, but she didn’t wake. I shook my head, swallowing back a hundred terrifying thoughts about what could’ve happened to her. Two fires and one burned intern were much more than a coincidence.

Yeah, I was an investigative genius.

After she’d settled in with a very large tumbler of whiskey, she had walked me through the events leading up to the fire and then immediately following. Once Clark and I had left, she changed out of her “date” attire. I could only assume that her “date” attire included sexy lingerie, the kind women rarely wore outside catalogs and those sexy Golden Goose’s Secret commercials. (FYI, after an investigation two months ago I knew that Goose had much more than that one secret.) Not that I had much experience with upscale lingerie. My dates opted for inedible, nonconductive undies and rubber gloves.

After a quick shower Izzy had heard someone or something rustling around on the first floor. She grabbed a baseball bat and started down the stairs. I began to lecture her about the dangers of confronting an intruder, in nothing but a towel, but she waved me off. “I can take care of myself,” she said, her voice sounding as if she’d chewed broken glass. “How many times do I have to say it?”

I ignored her comment, asking what happened once she came down the stairs. “It was dark so I couldn’t see anyone, but I smelled smoke.” She paused, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “I grabbed a few things, like my purse and some cash, and ran out the door while dialing nine-one-one on my cell phone. My hands were shaking so badly I couldn’t dial the nine.”

“You grabbed your cell but forgot to put on some clothes?” I asked, my eyebrow arching. Izzy wasn’t being completely honest. I could tell by the way she enhanced her story, adding details to cement it. It was Liar 101. “What aren’t you telling me, Izzy?”

She glanced right and then left, swallowing hard before answering. “Your file ... The one with all the information about your birth . . .”

The one I’d stupidly left at her place when she tossed me out.

“I’m sorry, Blue ... It was destroyed in the fire . . .” She licked her dry lips. “For real this time.”

 

As the sun hit the top of the sky I lit a cigarette, annoying the patrons surrounding me in the outdoor café. Good. The farther away people stayed, the better. I fingered the gun in my pocket. Someone had nearly killed Izzy last night. The attempt on my own life, which resulted in James’s death, was one thing. But harming even a hair on Izzy’s fiery red head was the last mistake whoever was behind this mess would make. I would destroy them. Not just kill, but twist them into a pretzel and then rip out their ... some body part or other.

Let’s call it assassin’s choice.

Izzy joined me at the table waving a hand in front of her face. “Blue,” she yelled. “You said you’d quit.”

I shook my head, taking another drag. “That’s what you’re concerned about right now?”

“Oh, forgive me for being worried about your health,” she said flopping down in the seat across from me. She took a long drink of her iced coffee before addressing me again. “It was my brownstone that burned to the ground. So what has your boxers in a bunch?”

I laughed. “My boxers are not in a bunch, as you put it. But yes, I’m a little on edge. After all,” I said, my voice rising with each word, “someone almost killed you.” The very thought chilled me as no other. Keeping Izzy safe was top priority. Forget the missing fairies. Nothing mattered to me more than protecting Izzy from a killer. But to accomplish that goal, I first had to find out who had killed James and why.

“Keep your voice down,” she said. “Yes, it looks like we’re in someone’s sights. But instead of going all vigilante, let’s find out why and then we can decide what to do about it.” She stopped, her eyes on mine. “Together, Blue.”

I agreed with a small shake of my head, mostly to shut her up. No way would I risk her life. This was my case and mine alone. I planned to do some very permanent damage to the villain responsible. Not that I’d share my plans with her. It would only upset her.

I smiled in anticipation.

Izzy returned my smile with a satisfied grin of her own.

A shiver of warning sent the hairs on the back of my neck rising.

A
few hours later, Izzy safely tucked away at Reynolds & Davis, I hit the streets for some old-fashioned investigating. Sadly I wasn’t alone. Izzy had insisted, by blackmailing me, that I bring our genius albeit clumsy investigator, Alice, along for the ride once she learned of my destination. “Are you crazy?” Izzy had yelled loud enough to wake the lawyers one floor below.

“No.” I folded my arms over my chest. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but I have to do this. It’s the only way.”

“Damn you, Blue,” she cursed. “If you get yourself killed . . .”

“I won’t.”

“Fine,” she said. “If you insist on this asinine mission, then I’m coming with you.”

The merely thought of involving Izzy in more danger had my hair turning that weird bluish grey color favored by women of a certain age. “No way.” I ended our conversation by turning and walking out of her office. She stormed after me. “Blue . . .”

I kept walking.

Finally Izzy relented. “Okay. You win. I won’t join you. But you have to take Alice with you. She’ll watch your back.”

I slowly turned around to face her. “You trust her?”

“With your life,” Izzy responded.

And with that, I found myself standing on the street with Alice at my side rather than my fairyguards, who were now glued to Izzy’s side despite her very loud, screeching protests. I wasn’t about to take another chance on Izzy’s safety.

“You follow my lead,” I said to Alice for the tenth time since we’d left Reynolds & Davis. She glanced up, her glasses slipping down her nose. She pushed them back in place before answering, “This isn’t my first investigation, Mr. Reynolds.”

“Blue,” I said. “If we’re going to be working together, you need to call me Blue. And above all else, watch your back. This is serious. One man is already dead. Who knows what we’re going to find inside.” I gave an affected shiver to emphasis the horrors that might wait.

“I know,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’m well aware of the danger.”

“Good.” I shot her a small smile. “Then, let’s do this.”

She nodded once, and together we headed for our target.

Little Bo Peep’s apartment in the sky.

If anyone knew anything about what had happened over the last week, it would be Peep. The night Izzy caught Peep and me together, Peep had gotten me there by claiming she had information about James’s murder. Now I planned on finding out exactly what she’d meant, even if I killed a few sheep in the process. If only I could get past the doorman.

Peep was meticulous about her security, probably because even those who called her a friend wanted to see her six feet under. I stepped inside the building and quickly found myself surrounded by eight guns pointed at various nonblue parts of my body.

I held up my gloved hands. “Take it easy, boys,” I said. “I come in peace.”

“Ha,” snorted one of the guards with a blank spot where his left eyebrow should be.

“I’m here to talk to Bo Peep.” I shot them all my most innocent of smiles as I pulled off my gloves. “Just talk. No one needs to get hurt.”

All the guards took a collective step back.

The guard with the off-putting lack of eyebrow shook his gun at me. “That’s what you told me three months ago.”

I snapped my fingers. “Now I remember. Sorry, I couldn’t place you without the other brow.” Unfortunately for him, a few months ago the guard and I had a brief altercation involving my frying off various bits of his facial hair after he’d accused me of stealing from an upscale men’s store. I’d naturally taken offense at his blue-haired profiling. It only escalated from there, until I sent fifty thousand volts through his badge-heavy body.

Before things turned ugly—or uglier, as one eyebrow didn’t look good on anyone—I noticed a slight woman edging her way toward the nearest guard. I made shooing motions with my head. But Alice didn’t listen. Instead she moved even closer and then promptly disappeared. I frowned, not so much at her disappearing act but at the police baton jamming into my sternum. It was quickly followed up with a smack to my left knee. I dropped to the ground, stifling a scream. Good thing too, since Bo Peep’s voice crackled, barely discernable, from the speaker on the security console. “Please show Mr. Reynolds and his Girl Friday to my penthouse.”

Girl Friday? I rolled my eyes. Alice really needed to work on her PI slang.

Not that the guards thought so. They quickly jumped to attention, lowering their weapons and ushering me as well as my supposed Girl Friday, Alice, who suddenly appeared at my side, into the elevator. I held my smile in place until the doors closed.

“Damn it, Alice,” I began, spinning toward her. “I had everything under control. I didn’t need you to interfere.”

“Yes, I could see that, sir,” she said without a hint of sarcasm. “Why, you had them just where you wanted them.”

Little did she know, but I had. Sometimes in my business you took a beating as a way of making amends. I’d cost the one-eyebrow guard more than just his brow. I’d cost him his job too. Not to mention his pride. Letting him smack me with a baton a few times made up for that. I could’ve explained all of this to Alice, but being a chick, she would never comprehend the vast inner workings of the male mind.

But she had gotten us inside with her Bo Peep impersonation.

I shook my head at her as we rode the elevator toward Bo Peep’s penthouse. “I’ll let it go this time, but next time I tell you to wait outside until I give the all clear, you do it.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Blue,” I reminded her.

“Yes, Blue,” she corrected herself.

After a moment of awkward silence, I licked my lips and then, against my better judgment, asked her just how she’d managed to hack the intercom to make it sound like Bo Peep had invited us upstairs. I sighed as my judgment proved right and Alice launched into a long-winded explanation of circuits, physics, and a bunch of other terms used to put those of us with IQs under 160 in our place.

Halfway through her tale I longed for a sharp stick in the eye.

But rather than a sharpened stick, a much bigger pain materialized in the sexy form of Bo Peep as the elevator door slid wide. “Well, hello, Blue.” Her smile widened as she looked me up and down like I was the flavor of the week. “Look who came back for more.”

I shook my head, stepping out of the elevator and into Bo’s opulent penthouse. The room itself looked much like it had a few days ago. Floor-to-ceiling windows gleamed against the backdrop of the city. Expensive artwork lined every wall, showing off both the taste and wealth of the woman standing in front of me, a woman who was staring at Alice, her eyebrow arched as if considering some nefarious plan. I stepped between the two women, gaining Peep’s attention before she talked Alice into working at her Peep show.

Bo reached her hand out, running her finger down my tie. “I see you’ve traded up.”

My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“This one”—she pointed to Alice—“for the other one. The bitchy one with wings. Smart move.”

“This one”—Alice stepped from behind me, her eyes blazing behind her glasses—“has a name. And”—her eyes flickered over my face—“better taste in men.”

I winced. “You do know I’m standing right here . . .”

Alice stepped closer to Bo as if to intimidate the older woman. But Bo wasn’t a pushover. She stood her ground, leaving Alice and her nose to nose. Neither woman backed down, and tension filled the air. Something more was going on here just below the surface. Something I was missing, which, given the number of X and Y chromosomes in the room, I was fairly used to. I cleared my throat to gain their attention. “Ladies,” I said, “why don’t we take a seat? Bo”—I motioned to the couch, half expecting her to shank Alice with the nearest sheep-sharpened object instead—“I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“That’s all you want anymore, Blue,” Bo said, blowing out a long-suffering sigh, but she did as I asked, taking a seat on her plush leather sofa.

Once she was seated, I motioned for Alice to wait by the elevator, for two reasons. The first was to keep her as far away from Bo as possible, and the second, to make sure no sudden surprises appeared like the last time I was here. Though I knew for a fact Izzy was back at the office and that Right and Left would keep her there. But who knew what Bo had up her wool sleeves.

Bo shifted on the couch, crossing her long, tanned legs. For a moment, my mind went blank, and judging by the gleam in her eyes, I might’ve let out a little drool. I shook off the rising electrical heat inside me. Bo wouldn’t get to me. Not this time. “No games, Peep. I need answers. Now.”

She leaned in. “I have answers to all sorts of things. What, exactly, did you want to know?”

I swallowed, shaking my head. “Do you know who killed James or not?”

“Maybe,” she said, sliding her hand up my thigh. “Maybe not.”

I pushed her away. “Stop playing around. This is serious.”

“If you say so.”

God, I was stupid. Peep knew nothing about James’s murder. She had led me to her penthouse with promises of finding James’s killer, but she’d really had another motive in mind. “Why did you invite me up here the other night? Was it so Izzy would find us? Did you think it would matter to her?”

Bo laughed, a wicked-sounding cackle. “You think your relationship or lack thereof with Isabella Davis means anything to me? You know me better than that.”

I did indeed. Bo never did anything for free. A piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “Someone paid you to set me up.”

Her smile grew.

“Why?” I asked, more to myself than to the greedy, sheep-hoarding witch next to me. I hadn’t expected her to answer, so I was surprised when she leaned back against the soft leather and began to speak.

“I got a call a few hours before I contacted you,” she said.

“From who?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t recognize the voice. But it was a man . . . I think . . .”

“You’re not sure?”

Her lips flattened to an unflattering thin line. “The caller was disguising his voice. It sounded almost mechanical, like a computer.”

I considered how easy it was for Alice to use the intercom to affect Bo Peep’s voice. Was it that easy for the caller? I frowned. “What did the caller want?” I asked, though I had a pretty good idea. The caller wanted Izzy to find me with Bo. And that meant the caller knew my sheepish history with Bo Peep. I wasn’t sure what the caller had expected to happen. Maybe he—or possibly the mysterious blonde whom the Ferns saw, if she had disguised her voice—wanted to ruin my and Izzy’s partnership? As if a simple roll in the wool would have any impact.

“He wanted your girlfriend to find you in a compromising situation,” Peep said. “I told him it would cost him, and I named a price. Ten minutes later, my bank account had a nice chunk of change deposited, and I had a call to make.”

I shook my head, disgusted. “How much?”

“Ten grand.”

My eyes narrowed. That was a little more than a chunk of change. “That’s a lot of dough for a simple setup.”

She shrugged again. “Express charge.”

“What?”

“He wanted it done right then.” She frowned, shivering a little in the sunlit room. “Insisted on it, as a matter of fact.”