Wicked Fantasy (14 page)

Gerry slipped into the bathroom, and when she came out she was dressed for the hunt. Lucky she couldn't see herself in a mirror. If she'd looked into one and asked, “Does this make me look fat?” it would've shattered. She'd morphed into El Blimpo, supersized superhero.

Her hips looked, well, hippy with the four deep pockets of her loose tan pants stuffed with goodies like a sealed plastic bottle of holy water, a wooden stake, a taser, a mini hatchet, and a few extra Securers. Her loose red T-shirt hid her shoulder holster and gun along with the throwing knife suspended between her shoulder blades.

If she ever fell, she'd assassinate herself.

The two pockets in her light jacket held her cell phone and a PDA where she'd stored tons of helpful info for dealing with a variety of entities.

Too bad she couldn't ID any of those entities. She needed her own personal Fo. Hmm, Fo was pregnant . . . How long did it take a baby demon detector to reach employment age?

She hadn't bothered dressing to kill for Jinx. But for a being that had gone through five hundred wives in his search for wedded bliss . . . ? Yeah, she needed all the help she could get. September in Galveston was hot, but she'd sweat for the cause.

Gerry decided to let Conall sleep. He needed his rest. Besides, he had to work tonight. She'd be fine by herself. She was awake, alert, and loaded for werebear or any other bully being who got in her way.

Before leaving, Gerry tiptoed over to turn off the TV. She reached for the remote. The news was on, so she paused to listen.

“Now for our most unusual story of the day. Live the Fantasy theme park in Galveston was the site of a bizarre robbery. Nola Keady took her diamond bracelet off to show a friend while they shared a few drinks at the Dead Eye Saloon. When she set it on the bar for a few seconds, a thief stole it.”

The anchorman smiled into the camera. “What's so bizarre about that? Well, Nola swears she saw a tarantula toting her bracelet away on its back. That's right, a
tarantula
. She tried to catch the thieving arachnid, but it just wasn't Nola's lucky day. So all of you who have plans for spending the weekend in Galveston, don't take off your jewelry, and watch out for those spiders.” Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Damn it. Jinx.

Gerry turned off the TV, strode from the room, and tripped over Asima. She fell to her knees and found herself nose to nose with the cat. “What the . . . ?”

“A woman should move gracefully. Like a cat. Like me. I'll schedule some lessons.”
Asima's blue eyes grew larger as she checked out Gerry's clothes.
“Oh, dear. That outfit is a disaster. You look like you should be on a stage somewhere doing something disgusting like . . . rapping.”

Gerry refused to wince. These clothes were all about survival. “I wouldn't have tripped if your arrogant little butt wasn't planted in front of the door. Why?”

“Conall has an affinity for cats. I'm a cat.”
She did a passable imitation of a cat shrug.
“So I protect him.”

Sounded suspicious to Gerry. “Are you sure that's all?”

Asima gazed at Gerry with innocence oozing from every kitty pore.
“What else would it be?”

Gerry climbed to her feet. “Am I the only one who sees the irony here? You're protecting Conall, who's protecting me.”

Asima looked at her blankly.

“Never mind. Do you always sit outside his door?”

“Only since you came. If someone's trying to kill you, they might hurt Conall, too.”
Asima looked determined.
“If Conall gets between you and the would-be killer, I'll have to get him out fast.”

“And leave me to the killer?”

Asima blinked at her.
“Why would I possibly care?”

Gerry sighed. “Right. No caring.”

“Ohmigod! Tell me you weren't listening at the door.”

Okay, Gerry was outta here. She willed the heat from her face as she walked down to Jinx's room and pounded on his door. She should've stuck a can of Raid in her pocket. He didn't answer, and she didn't have the power to open doors like Holgarth could. She'd eat dirt before asking Asima to do it.

Anyway, Jinx was probably out robbing people in all his sneaky forms. And she couldn't find him. The Securer would tell her if he went out of range, but as long as he stayed within the park, she couldn't get a fix on him. Flawed technology. The Securer needed a mental GPS device.

Gerry was so ticked she was running on steam by the time she reached the castle's great hall. It looked like workers were setting up for the night's fantasies. A long, wooden banquet table dominated the room from a raised platform in front of the massive hearth. Costumed men and women wandered around. People were already buying tickets. She hoped Conall woke up in time.

She searched for Holgarth. Ah, she spied his pointy blue hat at the door. Probably insulting all the customers as they handed over their money. She'd rather not talk to him, but she needed to make sure he woke Conall. Besides, he might give her a hint where she could find Edge.

Gerry took a deep breath, promised herself she wouldn't lose her temper with the wizard, and tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned with his supercilious sneer already in place. “Ah, our intrepid defender of the law has risen.” His gaze picked her apart before abandoning her pile of pieces as obviously not worth putting together again.

She squirmed. Gerry hated her automatic response to him.

“One never ceases to marvel at what passes for style today. I might point out that your plethora of deadly weapons is weighing down your pants. Only that rather gruesome T-shirt hides how far they've slipped.”

“And you know all this how?” She threw out a few mental curses. He was right. The pants were too big for her, but she'd needed something with a bunch of pockets for her weapons. They didn't have anything in her size. Now only her hip bones held them up. Yay, hip bones.

He shrugged. “They're pooling around your ankles. Of course, that might be perceived as a good thing, because your shoes are . . . Well, let's just say that Sparkle would be appalled.”

She clamped her lips shut before something really ugly slipped out. Cute, strappy sandals were a no-no when she was hunting. She couldn't chase bad guys in cute, strappy sandals, and they sure wouldn't do much to hide her ankle knife.

“I know about your weapons because I'm a wizard. Knowing the unknown is a wizardy skill.” He paused to turn his “wizardy” tongue on a customer. “A hundred-dollar bill? I haven't looked lately, but perhaps I have BANK tattooed across my forehead? Madam, please tell me you have something smaller. If not, I'll have to take your husband as security until you break this ridiculous bill.”

He waited while the woman huffed and puffed, rooted through her purse, and came up with a twenty.

Holgarth smiled coldly. “That was rather painless, wasn't it?”

“I don't know why this place hasn't gone bankrupt with you manning the entrance.” Okay, Gerry had to lose the insults and say what she had to say. “Conall is asleep. Someone will probably have to wake him when it's time for the fantasies. And have you seen Edge around anywhere?”

Holgarth touched his chin with one finger and rolled his eyes in mock thought. “Hmm, I wonder where I might find Conall to wake him? In his room? In your room? So many places to look.”

“Give me a break. You know damn well where he is. You know everything, right?” The sweet taste of violence tempted her. Gerry wondered if Holgarth did this to everyone.

“Of course I do this to everyone. Sarcasm is my talent, my calling, my destiny if you will.” He offered her a huge dramatic sigh. “Never mind. I know where Conall is. And I believe you'll find Edge in Wicked Fantasy.” Holgarth turned to offend another customer.

Gerry hurried away just in case he wasn't finished insulting her.

When she entered Wicked Fantasy, she paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. It didn't take long to spot Edge. He was sitting at a table with the three sisters Gerry had met in the Sultan's Palace. As she watched, the women got up and left. He was probably interviewing for his next too-rich-to-live wife.

Gerry wound her way across the room and around the small dance floor to his table. Perfect. He was alone and vulnerable. Or as vulnerable as a possible serial killer could be.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Gerry sat in the chair to his right before he could say no. She had to get a look at his arm. Drat, he was wearing a sexy white poet's shirt, open at the neck to expose a great chest. The drat was for the long sleeves.

Edge gazed at her from those spectacular amber eyes and smiled his incredibly sexy smile. Jeez, women would marry him even if he met them at the altar with an ax in one hand and a shotgun in the other. He was that kind of guy.

“Funny, but I was thinking about you, Gerry.”

Was he measuring her for wife number 501? This could work for her. “How wonderful.” She tried to stare deeply into his eyes, but a pair of angry gray eyes kept getting in the way.

Conall would be totally ticked if he knew what she was doing. Too bad. This was her job. “I would've stopped by sooner, but I had sooo many things to take care of. I had to speak with my family's attorney about my trust fund. I don't understand all that legal junk, so I just sign whatever he shoves in front of me.” Did she sound like a bored rich bitch? More to the point, did she sound like a
stupid
one?

“Trust fund?”

“Uh-huh. Of course, I have all the money I need without it, so I don't think about it much. It's tied up until I marry. Isn't that absolutely prehistoric?” She shrugged. “Anyway, if I ever find Mr. Right, we'll share all those cool millions. And if we don't have any kids, he'll inherit what's left if I die.” Could she get any more obvious? She giggled. Did her giggle sound suitably dumb?

“Die?”

Was there a flare of interest in his eyes? “Yeah, if I die, he gets it all. But I'll be living and shopping for a long time, so there won't be much left for him to spend.” She tried for a flirty laugh.

Was she good at shoveling crap or what?

Edge definitely was into the conversation. “You'll probably need a prenup to protect your fortune in case you guys split.”

She widened her eyes to simulate stupid naiveté. “Oh, I'd only marry for love. I mean, if I ask the man I love to sign a prenup, it'll look like I don't believe in his long-term commitment to me.”
Gag.

“Yeah, I can see your point.” He upped the wattage in his smile. “You came in with Conall last time. Be careful. I hear he's a violent man when he doesn't get what he wants. I hope you didn't tell
him
about your trust.”

For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder about Conall's violent past. She also gave herself permission to be amazed at how much she wanted to know about that past.

“Oh, no. You're the first one I've told.” If Edge was as powerful as Payton said, then he'd know she was vampire. “And I think I can take care of Conall if he tries anything.” She leaned toward him and smiled, letting him see a little fang. “But sometimes it's tough for a woman who has a hunger for more than . . . the usual.”

His expression gave nothing away. “Spell out ‘hunger.' ”

Gerry didn't want to drag this on any longer than she had to. Besides, she could only spout so much idiocy before it became redundant. Better to make it short and to the point. “Blood and tattoos. I love a man with tattoos. Do you have any?” She hoped he didn't pick up on her eagerness. And if he could read her mind, she hoped he wasn't doing it now.

Edge rolled up his right sleeve. “One.”

She gulped. “The grim reaper. Pretty dark symbolism.”

“I'm a pretty dark kind of guy.”

Hmm. Powerful being, amber eyes, and grim reaper tattoo. Everything fit. She glanced around. It'd be tough taking him down here. Violent guy plus lots of innocent people made for a bad mixture. “Gee, it's crowded in here. Want to go outside and get some fresh air?”

“No.” Something that might've been amusement flickered in his eyes.

Okay, on to plan B. Maybe she should've thought of a plan B ahead of time. She'd slap the Securer on him while she came up with one. “No fresh air. Right.” She eased her hand into her pants pocket and palmed her tiny electronic leash.

With the Securer in her hand, she reached toward him as if to touch his tattoo. Almost there, almost there. She had that promotion locked up.

Her hand hit what felt like a brick wall about two inches from his arm. Well, maybe not exactly locked up.

Edge put back his head and laughed, really laughed. And if she didn't know what a dirtbag he was, she'd say it was a sexy laugh.

“Good try. You had me going for a while. I was into your lies and the whole I'm-incredibly-dumb act. Didn't jump into your head until the end. Why do you want to ‘take me down'?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“For the five hundred wives you've killed.” She pressed against the barrier, tried to go around it, and then gave up. “How'd you do that?”

“Power. More power than you want to mess with.
Five hundred wives?
”

A point for her side. He really looked shocked. “You won't get away from me. You run, I'll follow.” She studied his expression. He didn't look guilty, but then serial killers rarely did.