The Secret Guide to Dating Monsters: Secret McQueen Story (2 page)

Thanks to the combined agility of both my werewolf and vampire halves, I was capable of running in heels. But if you’ve ever tried to chase a vampire across Battery Park in four-inch stilettos, you’d know agility is the least of your worries.

But right now, Battery Park was miles away from being an issue, and running didn’t seem too likely as we walked south on 6th. The constant noise of the city washed away any concern of us being overheard.

The sky was a pretty shade of night-time blue, and every block or so I’d catch a glimpse of the Chrysler Building on the skyline, grinning at me with its art deco teeth like an upside-down Cheshire cat.

I’d stopped tugging at the hem of the dress before we were out of Hell’s Kitchen and only received one catcall since. Wearing a short skirt on a Saturday night hardly qualified you as interesting or unique enough to warrant sideways glances, especially on 6th Avenue.

“Sig left me a message asking me to come to the main hall after sundown,” Holden explained.

The vampires had their headquarters West of SoHo, on Green, which even the keenest human observer wouldn’t know was there. It was so cloaked by magic the only thing humans would see was an ugly, unwelcoming hole in the wall. What was actually there was a sight to behold. It was a sister building to Grand Central Terminal, and the windows had been replaced by artificial light sources many decades before, giving the interior the ambient glow of a time long past. It was there members of the council ran the day-to-day—or night-to-night—business of all vampires.

It was like a government, only less bloodthirsty.

The hub also housed, in the dungeon-like depths of its basement, the most powerful members of vampire society—the Tribunal. They were the three who kept control and balance in the vampire world.

Sig, the undisputed leader among the three, and the most powerful vampire on the East Coast if not all of North America, was the one who issued all the warrants. And it was the Tribunal who told me who to kill.

Of course, since I was something of a black sheep among the vampire community and therefore
persona non grata
at headquarters, it fell to Holden to pass the warrants along to me. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d had to visit the hub, and on each of those occasions I’d been in trouble. The current arrangement suited me fine since Sig and the other Tribunal leaders scared the bejesus out of me.

I was waiting for Holden to elaborate on whatever Sig had told him in their nightfall meeting. It didn’t escape my attention, though, that in order for Sig’s message to have arrived before nightfall, he would have been awake during daylight hours.

Most vampires sleep like the dead whether they want to or not. It was only the very old or the very powerful who could escape the daylight death. I was sometimes able to rouse myself in the morning thanks to my mixed blood, but I couldn’t go outside, so there wasn’t much of a point. For Sig, a full vampire, to be awake during the day meant he was either much older or stronger than I’d once assumed him to be.

We crossed the street on a Do Not Walk, narrowly avoiding an overzealous cab, and Holden guided me onto East 33rd by placing his hand on the small of my back and motioning me in the appropriate direction. We must have looked for all the world like one of those beautiful couples people love to hate.
He
made us pretty, I just helped make us a pair. It didn’t hurt that the dress gave me the illusion of being more stunning than I actually was.

When we were angled the right way, his hand lingered below my shoulders in a protective gesture. His fingers were level with my hair, and from time to time he would catch and hold one of the curls for a second, then release it.

“You realize we’re almost there, don’t you?” I asked, running out of patience.

It wasn’t his touch that bothered me. It was the delay in his narrative. Vampires have no sense of urgency, which drives me mental. They’ll forget what they’re saying and muse silently to themselves for hours if you don’t remind them to resume their story. I guess living for centuries must make time feel different.

He dropped his hand, as though touching me was part of his distraction, then licked his lips as he prepared to speak.

“It would seem, according to the West Coast Tribunal, one of their rogues has crossed into our jurisdiction.” His hands were now stuffed in the pockets of his gray dress pants. Summer or not, Holden Chancery would never be caught dead in shorts. Climate control isn’t really an issue for vampires.

Plus he was already dead.

“Oh?” I didn’t want to say too much, just wanted him to continue speaking.

Holden reached into his blazer and withdrew a familiar white envelope. The paper was a heavy linen finish and smelled sweet but faintly peppery. It was closed with an honest-to-God wax seal, stamped with Sig’s personal insignia.

My heart always caught with butterflies when Holden brought me one of these deliveries, and tonight was no different. With the slightest tremor of excitement, I took the envelope and held it close for a moment. Here it was, the promise of the hunt. The reward of the chase. The killer inside both my monsters lived for this.

I got down to brass tacks. “How much?”

“Ten.” Thousand. Wow, this guy must have been pretty naughty. The average rogue was worth five hundred if they were part of a sect, a thousand if they ran solo.

Yup. I’ve killed vampires for a mere five hundred dollars. But considering rogues would always be an issue, and I had a menacing reputation to uphold, five hundred bucks for a night’s work wasn’t too shabby. The most I’d ever earned on a single job was ten thousand, so this was a pretty nice number to hear again.

The warrant in my hands would cover almost seven months of rent.

Or five months and some new clothes to replace what Holden had insisted I throw out.

I popped the seal with a satisfying crack and was unfolding the paper when Holden’s attention shifted. A second later I knew why.

“Secret?” The voice was low, comforting and masculine without being overwhelming. It did happy things to parts of me I rarely acknowledged. He also didn’t stumble over my name, so he scored points early in the game for that. With a name like Secret McQueen, it was easy for people to make a mess out of it.

I turned away from Holden, the envelope still in my hand, and was pleasantly surprised by what greeted me.

Detective Tyler Nowakowski lived up to Mercedes’s designation of handsome. He was tall, at least six foot two, and lean without bending towards lanky. His eyes were a little too large, but it gave him a look of attentive curiosity. In contrast, his mouth was small, giving his face the appearance of an inverted triangle. His nose and jaw were strong, alluding to the Slavic heritage hinted at by his name. His hair, short and black, was styled with a minimal amount of gel.

He wore dark jeans, about half a size too big, based on how low they had fallen on his narrow hips, and he’d topped it with a white dress shirt fresh from the dry cleaner. I could smell the chemicals under the scent of his nice, but inexpensive, cologne.

Tyler looked at Holden apprehensively, and his thick black brows drew closer together. When he looked back to me, they went the opposite direction, and I accepted I’d made the right choice in agreeing to wear the dress.

“Yes. Secret. That’s me,” I managed to reply, struggling to shove the envelope into my purse.

Why are clutches so small? What’s the point of carrying a bag if all you can fit into it is your cell phone and a lip gloss? I could have found room for those in my bra.

Feeling foolish, I stuck my hand out to him and flashed him my brightest smile. “You must be Tyler. Cedes has told me all about you,” I fibbed.

“Likewise.” He shook my hand, and while I could tell the firmness of my grip surprised him, I was pleased he matched it in return. More points for Detective Tyler. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“What?”

Holden cleared his throat dramatically behind me.

“Oh, him?” I gave a dismissive wave at the vampire, who proceeded to stand next to me, far too close, and offered his own hand to Tyler.

“Holden Chancery,” he said, and Tyler winced when Holden shook his hand. “Secret and I are—”

“Work colleagues.” I wasn’t sure what Holden was up to, but I wasn’t about to let him ruin my night. Not now that I saw what I had to look forward to.

The bewildered look on Tyler’s face softened, but he didn’t totally relax. A good detective never takes anything at face value, and Holden had placed his other hand on my back again, which wasn’t very businessy of him.

“Holden was just leaving.” I stared at the vampire with pointed ferocity.

“I don’t know.” He eyed the fetching brunette hostess standing inside the door. “This place looks pretty tasty.”

He released Tyler’s hand, and the detective flexed it next to his side, making me wonder how hard Holden had squeezed. I would have expected this kind of a territorial pissing contest if Holden had been a werewolf. Not that I knew any werewolves personally, but the theatrical masculinity seemed to be more their style.

Vampires were a little more cut and dry about claiming their property. All one had to do was announce that someone belonged to them and boundaries were respected.

But I sure as hell didn’t belong to Holden, or to anyone else for that matter. I also doubted Holden declaring
mine
right before Tyler’s and my date would have gone over well.

I gritted my teeth into what could have passed for a frustrated smile, but below the register of human hearing I growled at my liaison. I may not have been a huge fan of my furry brethren, but sometimes my lupine DNA really pays off. Vampires can snarl, but no one growls like a werewolf.

“Sadly, I have a date elsewhere.” He stopped touching me and tipped an imaginary hat towards us.

The whole encounter had been entirely unlike Holden. He had been almost…playful. He was usually so serious. His unusual behavior tonight made me wonder about the envelope in my purse. My new target
had
to be good.

“Good night,” Tyler said with more politeness than I would have managed.

I stepped away from Holden and was about to speak to Tyler when the vampire got in his last word. “Don’t forget to have a look at the contract, Secret. Wouldn’t want that one to get away.”

I turned to say something that promised to be painfully clever, but Holden was already gone.

Chapter Three

I liked Tyler Nowakowski.

I liked that he laughed easily, his smile was genuine and he never smelled like he was lying. He talked with his hands during his stories, and his eyebrows were enthusiastic exclamation points when he told a good punch line.

He wanted very much for me to like him, and his efforts proved to make me like him that much more. It was nice to be thought worthy of the effort.

He mentioned that they called him Novak at the station because his Polish last name proved cumbersome for a few officers, and the name had stuck. I gathered he was giving me permission to do the same, but the faint blush on his cheeks made it obvious he didn’t love the nickname.

“I think I’ll keep calling you Detective Tyler.”

His smile deepened, and he reached across the table to take my hand. I didn’t pull back, so he launched into a story about a drug dealer he’d busted as a rookie, who had tried to hide out at a kid’s birthday party by stealing a clown costume.

His delivery was so motivated, and the story so fluid, I could tell he’d told it a dozen times before, probably on other dates. In spite of that, I found myself giggling when the crook tripped over his own floppy shoes and got hauled in.

A pleasant sort of silence settled between us, and I grinned at him like a love-struck teenager. He began to say something when his phone rang, and he was forced to let go of my hand to answer it.

“Nowakowski.” He listened and frowned, then smiled at me, both embarrassed and apologetic. He mouthed the word
sorry
, then got up and left the room.

I should have been proud of him for not being one of those dicks—no pun intended—who had cell conversations at the dinner table. But I couldn’t overhear the discussion if he wasn’t here, and I wanted to know if he’d arranged for a safety call from a friend.

When it became apparent Tyler wasn’t coming straight back, I picked up my purse and pulled out the envelope Holden had given me. With the seal already broken, it was easy to open the rest of the way. Inside was the usual stiff card, handwritten by Sig in his elegant, slanted script. It took me a second to absorb the name, and when I did, I laughed out loud at the absurdity.

Charlie Conaway.

Certainly it was just a coincidence that the West Coast rogue I’d been asked to kill had the exact same name as the biggest movie star in Hollywood.

I looked inside the envelope, and my heart sank when I saw something else wedged within. I slipped out the thin piece of paper, a clipping from a tabloid magazine, and placed it next to the card on the table.

There he was, pearly white teeth grinning wolfishly, his eyes hidden behind
très chic
Ray-Ban Wayfarers. Hollywood vamps
love
Wayfarers. It was their demented nod to the vampires in Bret Easton Ellis’s
The Informers
. The man in the photo looked like he hadn’t bathed in a week and wore a loose knit cap over his brown hair. He was flirting with some girls outside The Ivy at night.

Charlie Conaway.

This guy, according to any entertainment magazine or show out there, was only supposed to be in his twenties, but had a net worth of over forty million dollars and was the beloved star of a pair of moony vampire dramas, ironically enough.

I was almost insulted that he was a real vampire. Maybe the council wanted him dead for giving them a bad public image. I wouldn’t put it past them.

I
did
wonder what he’d done to incite their wrath, but the creed of a council assassin was simple—ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do or die. It’s a bit more dramatic when they take the die part as seriously as they do. But Conaway was a high-profile target, which explained the high payoff. Perhaps his popularity really was their concern.