Dangerous Lovers (113 page)

“That’s a crime against sugar!” she said and then gasped.

I laughed. “Actually, the crime was the way they tasted.”

“Everything you make tastes great. You’re just too hard on yourself.”

“Yeah, well, when there’s a place like the Iced Princess to compare yourself to, standards are high.”

Piper made a tsking sound as she pulled out the Chinese from her bag. I grabbed some plates and we loaded up on noodles, veggies, and chicken. We ate in silence at the tiny table on the far end of the kitchen for a few minutes before I brought up the hard stuff.

“So how ya doing?” I asked.

She knew it wasn’t a general question. She set down her fork and looked at me. “Better, I think. I still miss him. It helps, you know, knowing that he’s not somewhere suffering.”

I nodded. Piper fell in love with a Death Escort, a guy who worked for the Grim Reaper, and was assigned the job of killing her. But in the end he couldn’t kill her, and it cost him his life. He somehow got a message to her that he wasn’t suffering in death, but he was still dead. And she was alive, but left to deal with everything that happened alone.

I wasn’t sure if I should tell her who I saw today or not. I thought she had a right to know that Charming was here, but I also didn’t want to disrupt any kind of healing she was doing.

“Out with it,” Piper said, cutting into my mental ping-pong.

“With what?” I asked, batting my eyes at her.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head. “That won’t work on me. I know you are far from innocent.”

I pushed away from the table and went to the living room to grab my bag of stash, stopping at the fridge to put away the Yoo-hoo and Cherry Coke. Then I grabbed a pack of Junior Mints from the back and carried them back to the table.

This conversation required chocolate.

“I saw Charming today.” I didn’t bother beating around the bush. It wouldn’t make the news any less hard.

Her fork clattered against her plate and her skin paled a little. “Where?”

“He came into the DMV. He was registering his car in this state.”

“He’s staying here?” she whispered.

“I don’t really know. Seems that way.”

She nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

My eyes about fell out of my head. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say about the guy who stuffed you in a trunk and tried to kill you?”

“What else am I gonna say, Frank?” She pushed away from the table and stood. “That I hate him? That I blame him for Dex’s death? That we should call the cops and have him arrested?” She sank back down in the chair and looked at me. “What’s the point? We can’t fight him. We can’t fight the Grim Reaper. I’m tired. I just want to move on.”

I pushed the Junior Mints toward her. “Have some candy.”

She snorted. But she picked up the box and dug out a piece. “You got his address, didn’t you?” she asked me quietly.

I helped myself to a piece of minty goodness. “Yep.”

She moved fast, faster than I expected, her hand shooting out to grab my wrist, and she pinned me with serious brown eyes. “Stay away from him, Frankie. Promise me.”

How did a girl get around making promises she had no intention of keeping?

I used my free hand to shove a couple more candies in my mouth. “It’s not polite to speak with a full mouth,” I mumbled.

“I’m serious. These people… they live by their own rules. I almost died. Dex did die. Going around them, it’s like lighting a match in a room full of gasoline. Stay away from them before you become death’s next Target.”

“Piper,” I protested, but she shook her head vehemently and squeezed my wrist.

“Promise me, Frankie. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you too.”

She looked down at where she held me and let go like I burned her skin.

“What did you see?” I asked, watching her face. Piper had this ability to see visions of the future. All she had to do was touch someone.

“Nothing,” she said. “I’d like to keep it that way.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve had enough visions to last me a lifetime.”

“Come on,” I said, abandoning my plate and grabbing up the box of candy. “Let’s go watch something completely trashy on TV. I’m sure there’s some reality show on that will make us feel better about ourselves.”

She laughed but pinned me with a serious gaze. “Promise me, Frankie.”

“I promise,” I agreed.

That seemed to make her feel better, her steps lighter as we walked toward the TV. I wondered what she would say if she knew the promise I made wasn’t the one she’d exactly asked for.

I had no intention of staying away from Charming. I fully intended to find out what the hell he was up to. I just promised not to die while doing it.

* * *

It was after ten by the time Piper left for her apartment. She stayed later than she usually did, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she needed the company or if she was afraid that the minute she left I’d be up to no good.

She was right, of course.

The minute she left, I ran into my bedroom and ransacked the pile of black clothing lying on the floor. I pulled out a pair of black leggings and a long-sleeved black T-shirt and quickly pulled them on. The clothes felt like a second skin against me. I checked myself out in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, leaning against my bedroom wall, and smiled with satisfaction.

I wasn’t a girl that suffered from low self-esteem.

I liked the way I looked and I worked hard to maintain the curves that shaped my body. I wasn’t fat, though by today’s standards (which basically said you should look like a stick with a head), some people probably thought I was, but I didn’t really care what those people thought. In my opinion, a woman should have a shape; she should be a body of swells and valleys. She should have something for a man to grab on to in bed—a solid form to hold on to in the night—not some twig that he couldn’t even find between the sheets.

I stood at average height, 5’5”, and had a classic hourglass shape (just like Marilyn Monroe) with full hips that gave way to a waist that dipped in on each side and rose up to meet an ample chest and a strong set of shoulders. My thighs rubbed together when I walked and someone once compared my booty to an onion (he said it made a brother want to cry).

I wore my golden-blond hair short (just past my chin), and I liked to style it in messy curls or waves that framed blue eyes and a creamy complexion.

To finish off the body-hugging outfit, I pulled on a pair of high-heeled black boots and the black cap I’d found earlier. Cat Woman could eat her heart out. On my way out the door, I grabbed a black coat and my bag that contained the address I got illegally out of the DMV computer system. What? What’s the point in working at a job you hate if you can’t benefit from it sometimes?

It took about forty-five minutes to get to his house. Of course he lived in some ritzy part of town. What was surprising and to my advantage was that his house sat apart from everyone else’s. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he would value privacy—I mean, he
was
a killer.

The house was dark and instead of parking close to the yard, I turned around and went back the way I came, parking near a cluster of houses just down the road. Making sure there wasn’t anyone else lurking around (besides me), I walked the rest of the way to his property.

I wasn’t about to knock on the door so I went around the side of the house, peaking into darkened windows and snooping through the bushes. The house was large, made of some kind of stone, and had a lot of wide windows. When I came around to the back, I noticed there was a light on in what appeared to be a family room with an adjoining kitchen.

I tiptoed up onto the back deck, creeping closer to a nearby window. I pressed myself up against the side of the house and then stealthily peaked around and into the house. There was a really tall dining table with four leather chairs sitting in the center, acting as a divider between the spaces. On it was an open laptop and papers scattered all around.

There was no one there. I heard no sounds, even after I stood there for a good ten minutes. No other lights went on or off. The back of the yard remained dark; not even a neighbor’s dog barked.

Maybe he wasn’t home.

I wanted to know what was written on all those papers.

I pushed off the stone and stepped up to the French doors, pulling out a credit card from my coat pocket. Before I attempted to jimmy open the door with my plastic, I had a twinge of doubt… This guy was a Death Escort—an assassin. His house was probably wired to the max with some high-tech security to keep out the crazies.

Then again… wasn’t he one of the crazies?

Besides, Charming practically had a God complex. He probably hadn’t bothered with an alarm because he thought he was invincible.

I snorted in amusement but then froze, afraid someone heard me.

Seconds ticked by and no one yelled, “Hey, you!” or “Freeze!” so I figured I was good to go. I had the door open in seconds, grinning to myself about my expert use of a credit card as I slid it back into my pocket.

The door closed soundlessly and I crept over to the table, my heart pounding so hard that I actually looked over my shoulder, thinking someone else was there.

I was still alone.

I reached out and touched one of the keys on the computer and it sprang to life out of slumber. It was some sort of confirmation for something purchased. A ticket of some kind. I hit back a couple times and was redirected to a website advertising some sort of charity ball.

Interesting.

Charming didn’t really seem like the charitable type.

Next I looked through the papers that were scattered out of a vanilla-colored folder. It was all facts and information about a woman… I came across her photo and recognized her immediately. It was the senator’s daughter.

What was he up to?

I looked back at the screen and I was hit in the face with a gust of wind. The laptop’s lid slammed closed and the papers blew, some of them falling onto the floor.

Startled, I gasped, drawing back away from the table and spinning around to run for the door. But the weird just kept on coming.

The lights flickered off and on, the TV roared to life, and flames exploded out of the fireplace.

I almost peed my pants.

Was this place haunted? Is that why he didn’t have a security system? It would be just like him to buy some creepy place filled with ghosts—ghosts of people he probably killed—and use it to scare the crap out of anyone who stopped by.

The door was just steps away, the darkness like a beacon. It promised concealment if I could just get there… Someone or something grabbed me from behind, locking their arms around me like a set of vices.

A scream caught in my throat and I swallowed it. I wasn’t going down like this. I stomped down, using the heel on my booth as a weapon. When the man howled in pain, I took off again. He grabbed at me and the cap on my head was ripped away, but I kept going. I could buy a new hat… but the rest of me…

Piper’s words echoed through my head.
I don’t know what I would do if I lost you too.
And I bit back a cry.
I’m so sorry, Piper,
I thought.

He caught me again, this time around the waist, and hauled me backward up against his chest, which was solid and much wider than me.
I will not scream, I will not scream,
I ordered myself.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?” he growled into my ear.

Are you freaking kidding me? That was
him
? Forget peeing my pants. I was going to give him a black eye for scaring me like that! “How did you move that fast?” I demanded.

I caught his heavy sigh once he heard my voice. I hope I was irritating the hell out of him right now. “You better have a damn good explanation for why I found you in my house, going through my things, George.”

George!
He called me that just to drive me insane. Clearly, I hadn’t done enough damage the first time I stomped on his foot, so I prepared to do it again.

“Ah—ah—ah,” he warned. “Now is not the time to piss me off any more than you already have.”

Before I could do anything, he spun me around, his fingers digging into my arms, but I barely noticed the pain. I barely thought about the way he’d scared me—the way he moved so fast.

He wasn’t wearing any clothes.

His skin was bare and carried the sheen of being slightly damp. His muscles…
Dear Lord…
He was wearing a towel. A towel that was dipping dangerously low on his narrow hips…

Why!
someone inside me demanded.
Why is it fair for someone so damn deadly to look so damn good?

The thought shook me and I squeezed my eyes shut. Man candy or not, this guy was not made of sugar.

So I kept my eyes closed and began to scream.