A Righteous Kill (37 page)

“That rule makes no sense and yet… explains so much. How do you know all this stuff?”

“You forget I’ve been married like, two-and-a-half times.”

Hero appeared in the bedroom door. “What do you think?” she asked breathlessly as she held her arms out and rotated for a full three sixty view.

Luca became abruptly glad he was sitting down. He couldn’t have formed a response if he’d tried. She wore a soft skirt in butter yellow that flared from the hips and ended above her knees paired with a silky cream tank draped in gold beads. Her hair was pulled back and twisted on top of her head in some kind of braid thingy Luca guessed was held in place by gel, pins and probably magic.

She was a lemon-drop wet dream and all Luca wanted to do was puddle the silky fabric on the floor and lick her from head to toe. In a word, she looked delicious.

“Meh.” Vince made a skeptical sound. “That green dress you brought home the other day made your ass look better, plus it’s probably more appropriate for an almost-Christmas show. Not that this one doesn’t look great, but it makes me think summer, you know?”

“I told you so!” Stef sang from the bedroom.

Hero looked thoughtful, and then smiled. “Got it, the green one. Thanks!” She tossed Luca a look of disapproval and disappeared back into the bedroom.

Luca shook his head as the spell broke. He instantly turned on Vince. “What the fuck, man? She looked incredible. Not to mention it’s time to
go
.”

“I know, but if you always just tell a woman she looks good in whatever, she’ll think you don’t really pay attention,” Vince said sagely.

Luca made a sound of extreme irritation. “How did you manage to get divorced, anyway? You seem to be an expert in all the feminine rules.”

“Depending on whom you ask, I’m sexually selfish, I don’t make enough money, and I work too much.” Vince ticked the reasons on his fingers. “Oh, and I’m an asshole, that one comes up a lot.”

“You
are
kind of an asshole.”

“That’s the only one I agreed with.” His partner threw him a rueful smile. “I work over time to make more-than-decent money and I’m a genius in the sack. A mother fucking revelation. At least, that’s what they’re screaming until they get angry with me.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Luca smirked, shaking his head. “Oh, and Vince?”

“Yeah?”

“Comment on Hero’s ass again—”

Vince cut him off with a deep laugh. “I know, I know, you’ll knock me so hard I’ll be shitting my own teeth for a week. Roger that.”

“Roger what?” Hero asked.

“Oh, nothing. I’m an asshole. Let’s get out of here.” Vince heaved himself out of the couch and strode toward the door.

Luca stayed rooted right where he was, his eyes glued to Hero.

The green dress sheathed Hero’s lithe body like a caress. It was the kind of dress that either enhanced a flawless form or exposed every lump and imperfection. Made of a shimmery material that begged to be touched, it grazed her pale thighs in a way that mocked and summoned at the same time.

“What do you think?” A little knowing smile shined on her glossy lips.

Luca’s hands curled at his sides.
Well. Shit.
He was fucked up one side and down the other. What did he think? He thought she was asking for trouble in that dress. The kind of trouble he ached to give her. The kind of trouble that had you walking funny the next day.

“I think you look too good to leave the house,” he aimed for casual, and other than a hoarse thread in his voice, he was pretty sure he hit his mark.

Stef bopped around Hero posing in his studded and carefully ripped skinny jeans and a baby-doll tank, complete with heart-shaped sunglasses he wore over the now bright, cherry red tips of his hair. “Thank you!” he sang. “But ain’t nobody going to keep this queen from gracing her subjects tonight.” He did his signature head toss and sashayed to the door. “Also, shotgun.”

Vince opened the door for him and grinned. “Okay, but I’m driving.”

“Works for me.” Stef checked him out from head to toe. “You look like a man who knows how to handle a stick.”

Vince’s smile stalled and Stef giggled, flicking polished fingers at him. “I’m just teasing you, sugar; don’t get your knickers in a knot. I can tell you’re strictly for innies, not outies and I’m too busy to change your mind. Now, let’s get this drag show on the
road
!”

Luca stood, making a surreptitious adjustment of his jeans, then he held his hand out to Hero. Just for the sake of Stef. Didn’t matter that the guy was half-way to the car by now. “You ready?”

Hero’s smile dimmed as she put a small sparkly bag with a gold chain over her bare shoulder. She regarded his hand as though trying to figure out what to do with it. “Just let me get my coat,” she murmured, turning back into her room.

Luca considered her bedroom door with a dark frown. Hero was still avoiding physical contact with him. He should be grateful. He should be promoting this behavior. He should appreciate the ease the distance created and use the extra bandwidth to focus on the case. But as he stood there feeling like his favorite toy had been taken away from him, he decided that was just one too many
shoulds
.

What was she trying to pull? Did his constant refusals finally sink in? Was this her playing
hard to get
? Pulling some kind of reverse psychology on him? Maybe she thought if she didn’t seem interested anymore it would bring him to heel. Problem was it was fucking
working
.

***

Hero’s favorite part about these gallery shows was the after parties. What she needed was a damn drink. Preferably something sweet, tropical, and expensive with enough top shelf alcohol to pass as an elephant tranquilizer. She could afford it. She’d cleaned
up
tonight.

The
Terpsichore Gallerie D’Art
was smack dab in the middle of Portland’s Alberta Arts district, a posh area just northeast of downtown. Situated in a converted brick building that may have been a mechanic shop in the neighborhood’s more blue collar days, the outside of the gallery was as dazzling as the inside covered in ever-changing free-handed street murals. Since Hero’s pieces were all sculpture and pottery, the gallery had combined her show with a local land and seascape artist named Chloe Whysper, though Hero doubted that was her real name. But, who knew? When it came to strange names, she was in no position to point fingers.

Chloe was in her mid-thirties, but dressed like she was still twenty-one. Tonight she wore a long mesh tunic with black leggings. In deference to propriety, bright red pasties covered her nipples beneath the mesh. She bounced up to where Hero stood against the far gallery wall, taking momentary refuge from the dimming crowd. “Club Françoise is having a Mardi Gras practice weekend.” Chloe tossed her black, red and platinum streaked hair over her shoulder. It made her look like a comic book character, but in a good way. “I wanted to see if you were interested before I posed it to everyone else, seeing as it’s your big night and all.”

That explained the pasties. Chloe would get Mardi Gras beads just for showing up. Hero plastered on a smile for her and did her best to project warmth into it. “It’s
our
big night. And I’m down for whatever everyone decides.” Everyone being Stef, their mutual friend, Summer Dawn, who owned a gluten-free bakery in Laurelhurst, and a few other artist acquaintances of both Hero’s and Chloe’s. One of whom was, unfortunately, Talia Malone.

“That’s just great!” Chloe gushed. “Well, this night calls for a celebration. I haven’t made this much money since the recession hit.” She winked and bounced away, drifting into the crowd to spread the word about their late-night plans. What she hadn’t mentioned was that Hero’s recent ordeal had created a certain celebrity around her work. More than a few prospective buyers and members of the press had shown to take a gander at the surviving John the Baptist victim. People who shook her hands lingered over the scars, some going so far as to ask about them. Hero had thought it wouldn’t trouble her. But the idea that her art would sell because she’d been a victim rather than on its own merit bothered her more than she had expected it to. She did her best to shrug it off. A sale was a sale, and this night would keep her until the summer festival circuit and then some. How many artists could say they made a living doing what they loved? She didn’t want the universe to think she was ungrateful.

Hero went back to scanning the crowd. As per usual, her gaze jumped to the most powerful, salient presence in the entire place.

Luca.

Hero had already said goodbye to her family, who’d all come to show their support. Her mother and father had left only moments ago, and Luca now stood by the door in a crowd of her brothers, Andra and Vince, exclaiming over some fight reconstruction video on Knox’s tablet. As Luca and the Katrova-Connor men stood head—if not shoulders—above the rest of the crowd, they drew as much attention as any of the art on display, mostly from the female contingent. Hero had to admit, though she was related to most of them, it was hard to find that much handsome muscle packed into such a small space.

She noticed Luca positioned himself in the circle to face her, and as though he could feel her regard, he looked up from the tablet and speared her with his solemn gaze. He hadn’t taken those observant eyes off of her once the entire night. In fact, he’d barely taken his
hands
off her, which had been both titillating and troubling. He’d been her constant shadow as she mingled with friends, strangers, and customers, his big warm fingers possessively resting on her lower back, on her elbow, or dancing where only a lover’s might. He’d been all smiles and dimples and
pleasure-to-meet-you
s, though his black eyes remained restless, constantly searching the crowd for a threat.

Hero offered him a tentative smile. He jerked his chin at her in acknowledgement, then glanced back down at whatever the guys and Andra found so amusing. Something had shimmered across his features before he’d hid it from her. On a less masculine face, she would have called it hurt. But that couldn’t be right, could it? What could she possibly have done to hurt his feelings? This entire week, she’d been behaving herself. Working and allowing him the space to work. She’d been doing her level best not to dick-tease, touch him when she ought not too, or otherwise toss out invitations that might land him in trouble. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted? Was he still mad at her for talking to Father Michael on Sunday? Was he upset about their kiss? About Mazure? Dammit, what did he want from her?

She blew her breath out in a frustrated puff. She certainly knew what he
didn’t
want from her, at least not enough to go for it. And considering her conversation with Rown, perhaps that was for the best. Hero tried for the millionth time to really self-examine her feelings for him. Could her brother have been right? Was she just misdirecting vulnerable emotions onto him because he made her feel so safe? If she continued to pursue this, would Luca end up breaking her heart, or worse? She’d never really been afraid of that happening before, but then, a few uncommon terrors dogged her steps nowadays. Now she had to be afraid of everything. It helped keep her alive.

Feeling suddenly very heavy and emotionally exhausted, her eyes moved on, studying the rest of the crowd. She picked up the other two agents attending the exhibit. They appeared to be gallery-hired security guards, and people seemed to accept that they were loss-prevention or whatever.

No one realized they were on the lookout for a serial killer to jump out of the shadows and nab her at any moment. Hero put one arm around her middle, her fingers brushing over the healed spear wound on her side, and told herself she was being melodramatic. However, anxious questions swirled around her head reminding her of the stars or birds after a cartoon head wound. Had John the Baptist come tonight? Had she shaken his hand or offered him a smile? Had he bought one of her pieces?

Was he watching her right now?

“You look like you could use this.” A wine glass appeared in her hand at the same time a thrill of unease raised chill bumps over her skin.

“Alec.” She dropped her hand from her side and turned around to face him. “What are you doing here?”

His wounded expression was much more practiced than Luca’s and smacked of insincerity. “I came to support a dear friend. I wanted to see the lovely pieces that came out of my kiln find good homes. Was I mistaken in thinking I’d be welcome tonight?”

Hero shook her head. “No, no, I invited you.” That had been before John the Baptist, Luca, and the demon symbol, but still. “You just startled me, is all.”

“It looks like you’ve done well tonight.” He motioned with his own wine glass at the many empty columns and daises that had once displayed her pieces.

She nodded, wishing she could feel the pride and pleasure she ought to be feeling, but it just wasn’t there. It seemed her eternal well of sunny thoughts and optimism suddenly dried up and she mourned that fact more than anything. “It’s been a—lucrative night.”

Alec raised his glass for a toast and she obliged, but merely stared into the wide glass bulb at the thick red liquid inside. How come everything reminded her of blood?

“It’s bad luck not to drink after a toast,” Alec prompted.

She blinked up at him. Well, she’d take her chances with the bad luck.

An expression both thoughtful and dissatisfied crossed his handsome features, and Hero noted how his cream sweater brought out the gold highlights in his hair. He’d been so fascinating to her once. Older and mysterious and a little forbidden. Was this some kind of emerging trend she should be worried about?

She found Luca with a quick and nervous glance over her shoulder. He’d just noticed them, and a dark frown clouded his already swarthy features. He said something to Rown and Demetri that was probably excusing himself, and he detached from the circle.

“Are you hungry?” Alec motioned to one of the waist-coated waiters wandering with
hors d’oeuvres
trays. “They have these delightful goat cheese brochettes that I think you would appreciate.”