Fire Dancer (Spellbound in Sedona #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

PIPPA

Hours later, I watched the gate at La Puebla slide open, admitting the catering crew — and me. Somehow, the motion pulled the plug on my confidence, which drained the moment we were through.

Make that, whirlpooled away with a dramatic slurp. Suddenly, Ingo’s worries didn’t seem like such exaggerations any more.

Security personnel. Vampires. Cold-blooded killers.

Shit, shit, shit.

Thank goodness for Nancy, who directed her helpers — Wendy, me, and two guys from the staff at La Puebla — in unloading supplies with her usual efficiency.

“Start with the drinks, please. Those four crates need to go straight to the fridge, and those four can stay on the floor in the kitchen.”

Every time I shuttled between the van and the kitchen, I eyed the landscape beyond the fence. Somewhere out there, Ingo was stalking around — in wolf form? Human? I wasn’t sure. He’d packed enough equipment for an entire commando force before setting off, though I had a hunch he relied more on raw animal instincts than technology. I sniffed the air, not that I had a chance of locating him. He would be downwind, for one thing, and blended in with the scenery.

Back and forth I went, van to kitchen, then kitchen to living room, where Nancy had me stack plates, silverware, and napkins on a table. I did so, then held a knife up to the light, checking for any blemishes. Then a fork, and so on. In between, I slid a hand into my pocket, pulled out the nanny cam Ingo had given me, and set it quickly on a shelf. It was already programmed with the Wi-Fi password, so it ought to be transmitting to Ingo.

I raised another knife, checking the camera angle out of the corner of my eye, then decided to declare my mission accomplished.

Wow. I was practically a secret agent now.

I even went in search of a bathroom and “accidentally” detoured toward Victor’s office next. But when footsteps sounded down the hallway, I lost my nerve and scurried back to the kitchen.

Okay, maybe not that great a secret agent.

I was so frazzled, I genuinely lost my way back to the kitchen, opening the door to a utility closet instead. I closed it just as quickly, then froze, thinking.

I looked left. Right. The coast was clear, but my heart was hammering.

The utility closet door squeaked when I opened it for the second time. I stared at the conveniently labeled circuit breakers there, including one marked sprinkler system .

Click.

I flipped it. Because, well…you never knew.

And, yikes. I could now add saboteur to my résumé too.

Then I shot out of there, wincing in anticipation of alarms going off.

They didn’t, but my pulse still hadn’t dropped when I entered the kitchen. Especially not when I spotted the butler talking to Nancy.

I skidded into a sharp turn and stepped into the walk-in cooler before he spotted me. I could explain myself readily enough if anyone recognized me from my previous visit — after all, I really did moonlight for Nancy’s catering company — but ideally, I would prefer to stay off the radar.

I snorted. Ideally, Ingo would have La Puebla surrounded by dozens of secret agents, and I would be miles away. Ideally, Stacy would have lived to see this day and many, many more.

I took a deep breath and worked my determination back into place like a bad hairdo. It didn’t sit well, but I would have to live with it. Because right now, I needed evidence. Fast.

But, shoot. How likely was I to find that in a walk-in cooler?

My skin prickled the moment I entered the cold, dim space. Wendy was already there, rubbing her arms against the temperature.

“God, it’s freezing in here,” she complained. “And the sticky notes aren’t sticking.”

One fluttered off a tray of hors d’oeuvres as I walked by, and I chased it around like a butterfly.

“Dammit…” I kneeled down and peered into the back corner it landed in.

Reaching it meant moving one big box, then another.

“I’ll be right back with some tape,” Wendy said, stepping away.

The note was still out of reach, so I shifted another box, then froze at a familiar clink .

I sat back on my haunches and stared. Except for the dull whirr of the refrigerator’s cooler, silence reigned.

I glanced at the open door, then back at the box. Ten loud thumps of my heart later, I pulled the box closer.

Ten more thumps. Two more glances at the door. A couple more screwdriver twists to my determination. Finally, I eased the box open and tipped it toward the light. My shadow fell over the contents, but I already knew what was in there.

Vials. Dozens and dozens of vials.

I plucked one out, pinching it with the tips of my fingers, more like a dead mouse than a piece of glass I’d shaped with my own hands.

With one important difference. I’d delivered them empty. Now, the vial was full of sluggish red liquid.

My stomach lurched as I held the vial up to the light.

Neat, rounded script graced the label, recording a name, a date, and a symbol.

Saanvi , it read, with last week’s date and the sketch of a tiger.

I gulped and plucked out another.

Rob, that one said. Same date, different sketch. A lion.

A good thing I’d been too keyed up to eat earlier. I might have spewed my lunch over the vials.

Becca, the next one said. I didn’t understand what the fishtail sketch indicated until I thought of the plus-sized beauty who’d been lounging in the hot tub that day I’d catered to the “escorts.”

Then it clicked. Becca, the mermaid relic.

My blood went cold, and not from the refrigerator.

Evidence. Sort of. Maybe.

I pulled out my phone and snapped several pictures, zooming in on some labels as well as getting an overhead shot of the entire box. I’d delivered the vials in recycled “peanut” packaging, but now, they were stacked in neat racks like so many test tubes in a mad scientist’s lab.

Or neat racks like the ones Nancy used for hors d’oeuvres, just as clearly labeled as these.

My stomach twisted the other way, forming a pretzel. Partly from the blood, partly from the fear that pictures of vials might not cut it as evidence. But I sure as hell wasn’t sticking one of those vials down my bra to smuggle out of there.

I settled for grabbing two and working them gingerly into my pocket.

And, boy, was that gross. The vials were just cool glass, but my skin crawled as I pictured blood dripping down my pant leg. Double gross — and how the hell would I explain a stain like that ?

“Okay, next try.” Wendy stomped back into the cooler.

I shoved the box back into place, wincing at the clinks that ensued.

“You want a wine label for that?” Wendy asked.

My throat was too dry to gulp. “No. The box is labeled.”

It wasn’t, but I was desperate to get out of there. So desperate, I rushed into the kitchen — directly into a hulking, familiar body.

“Sorry,” he said.

I blinked into a handsome, all-American face. It was Rob, the escort I’d pegged as a football player.

He tilted his head. “You okay?”

Other than having a vial of his blood in my pocket? Sure. Perfect.

“Yes. Thanks. Sorry.” I flattened my hand over the side of my pants.

He grinned in the manner of a confident, airheaded football player — a lot like Ryder, my occasional dance buddy — and tapped his chest proudly.

“I’m on grill duty tonight.”

I pinched my lips together before I blurted something like, I hope not.

“Can you show me where to find the steaks?” he continued.

I could picture it now — vampires trading small talk with “escorts” out on that beautiful terrace while bloody steaks simmered on the grill.

“Um, Wendy would know.” I motioned toward her.

The good news was, he hadn’t recognized me. The bad news was, I had a goddamn vial of his blood in my pocket, and I feared he’d be “donating” more soon.

I watched him go. How much desperation, greed, or twisted desire did it take to sign on as a vampire escort? How could the money possibly be worth it?

Grabbing a dish towel, I hurried over to one of Nancy’s portable coolers, wrapped the vials in the cloth, and dropped them into the ice at the bottom. Those coolers had been brought in full and would soon be shuttled away empty. I snapped a picture of the cooler number, then hunched over my phone in the walk-in pantry, working my thumbs at warp speed.

Evidence? was all I had time to write before attaching the pictures and hitting send .

The symbol on my phone turned in agonizingly slow circles.

Then, whew — a check mark. They were on their way.

My thumbs flew over the screen again, erasing every picture, then emptying the trash.

I exhaled, stuffing the phone back into my pocket. There. I’d done it. Evidence…hopefully. Even if it wasn’t, I’d had enough of La Puebla. It was time to pack up and clear out with Nancy.

I turned back to the kitchen, so eager to depart that I bumped into Rob again.

“Sorry,” I said, drawing back.

Then I froze. It wasn’t Rob or Deirdre or the butler. It was my worst nightmare.

Victor Jananovich.

Thin, pale lips curled into a tight smile as he took me in.

“Ah, Ms. Martin, the glass artist.”

Shit. The average guy took five tries to get my name right. This vampire had it memorized.

Worse, the way he looked at me said he had me memorized.

His nostrils flared, and his eyes flickered. If I could have ordered my blood to stop swishing through my veins, I would have.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

I forced a smile. “Pleasure’s all mine.” I waved toward Nancy. “I moonlight for the catering company.”

“A woman of many talents,” he said amiably.

His eyes, however, dropped to my neck. Right about to where my pulse was hammering.

The laugh I forced came out as more of a cackle. “I guess you could say that.”

I looked at Nancy, desperate for her to snap her notebook shut and announce, Well, we really must be going.

But she went right on talking garnishes and sauces with George, the butler.

My heart thumped harder while sinking to about the level of my liver. As tempted as I was to get the hell out of Dodge, was my mission here really over? Would pictures of vials constitute hard evidence?

Doubtful, my heart — or my liver — concluded.

Certainly not enough to usher the agency in for a raid tonight, just in time to catch Jananovich at his game and rescue the likes of Becca, Saanvi, and stunning, stupid Rob.

I yanked the sentiment back an instant later. Maybe Rob wasn’t stupid. Maybe Saanvi wasn’t reckless and Becca perfectly sane. Maybe they were here for noble causes, like saving money for a relative’s cancer treatment or to pay off crippling loans. Maybe, just maybe, one of them had a ranch that meant everything to their family, and they couldn’t find any other way to meet a sudden hike in back taxes.

That one sure sounded familiar.

So, was my mission here accomplished?

No. Not by a long shot.

My mind spun as a whole new idea hatched. A foolproof way to collect evidence…or one that would prove me a fool.

“And, my. What a coincidence.” Jananovich raised his eyebrows at my moonlighting remark.

He looked at me, then around the kitchen, working out the odds of such a coincidence.

Not very high, and we both knew it.

It was time to take the offensive.

I pulled his business card out of my back pocket. I’d brought it as a get-out-of-jail-free card in case one of the security guards questioned my presence on the premises. That way, I could always claim to have been invited by the big boss.

I never imagined selling a different version of that story to the big boss himself, but here I was. And Stacy was waiting for me to avenge her.

“Actually, I jumped at the chance to come here again,” I lied, showing him the card. “I was hoping to talk to you about that opportunity you mentioned.”

His eyes lasered through me in a mixture of temptation and suspicion.

“Did you, now?”

I did my best to ooze honesty. “I did. But I see it’s not a good time.”

“Not the best…but perhaps opportune in a different way.”

My pulse quickened.

“Oh yes?”

His eyes flickered ominously, but Nancy called out before he spoke.

“Thank you, everyone. We’ll be going now. Pippa. Wendy…” She nodded us toward the door.

The left side of my body burned to join her. The right side hung back, ready to play avenging angel. Both impulses canceled each other out, and in the end, my body simply jolted, getting nowhere.

“Pippa?” Nancy cocked her head.

Leave while you’re still ahead, my mind screamed.

Not done here yet, my heart insisted.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

“Give us a minute, please,” Jananovich murmured.

Like that, the kitchen emptied. Even Nancy went after a last, questioning look.

“I’ll get a ride home later,” I assured her.

Another promise I really, really hoped to make good on.

Silence fell like a curtain. Jananovich leaned in slowly, ominously, putting the onus on me to begin.

A very big, very creepy onus.

I took a deep breath, then started.

“As I said, I was hoping to see you.”

Somehow, my voice didn’t waver. Bonus points for me.

“Indeed.” His voice was as smooth as ever, but his eyes took on a hunter’s sheen.

I took a deep breath, then let it all out. Go big or go home, right? I just hoped it wouldn’t be in a body bag.

“I know you’re a vampire,” I started as matter-of-factly as I could.

Jananovich’s eyes sparkled in a way that said, Now, this sounds interesting.

“I know what the vials are for. I know what the escorts are for. I know your guests are interested in exotic flavors ,” I said, using air quotes.

He looked neither surprised nor offended, which really pissed me off.

“Aha. Let me guess. You’re here to blackmail me.”

“Ha. Like I’m stupid enough to blackmail a vampire. I’d be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

“As long as your life lasted,” he agreed, oh-so casually.

I snorted. “Like I said, not stupid.”

On the other hand, I was in his lair and laying out everything I knew. Well, almost everything. So, stupid? Maybe.

Vampires were a pale bunch, but Jananovich’s cheeks were practically ruddy with curiosity.

“Then what exactly are you offering?”

I lifted my chin and stuck my chest out. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

“What do I have to offer? Simple.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Me.”