Pixie The Lion Tamer (Shifters, Inc.) (6 page)

             
Pixie burst out laughing.

             
With newfound strength and resolve flowing into her, she squeezed his hand and then let go.

             
“Let’s get this party started,” she said.

Pixie paused outside
the penthouse room on the 15
th
floor and turned to look at Dominick,  annoyance rippling through her.  She had enough to worry about; she didn’t need Dominick freaking out on her right now.

“Dominick, seriously,
what is wrong with you?” she asked.

He was still breathing hard, clenching and unclenching his fists, and he couldn’t look Pixie in the eye.  What was his problem? Pixie knew she annoyed the hell out of him with the way she
needled him, and he’d threatened her with dire consequences more than once, but she’d always assumed  that she and he were mostly joking around.  Apparently not. Apparently he really couldn’t stand her.

She’d never been forced to
work this closely with him before, and obviously he was hating every second of it, which stung more than she’d expected it to. 

What was with him squeezing her hand like that before? With him acting jealous of her when Fraser leered at her?  Why was he suddenly sending weird, mixed signals? She liked it better when he was consistently grouchy.  At least she knew what to expect.

“I’m fine.”  He didn’t look fine, but Pixie didn’t have anyone else to call on as backup.  She’d just have to pray that he didn’t screw things up.

Earlier, Pixie and Dominick had gone to the dry
cleaners that was used by the Gilded Swan, and while Dominick distracted the owner, she’d stolen two bellhop’s uniforms.

Then
Pixie had taken out her lip piercing, scrubbed off her cat eye makeup, and slapped on a wig that they’d picked up from a wig shop, to hide her purple hair.  She now had sleek blond hair, subtle makeup in natural tones, and frosty pink lip gloss.  Her best friend in the world wouldn’t recognize her.

The bell hop uniforms came with
a hat.  Dominick had shaved his scruffy beard off and donned brown contact lenses, and Pixie had used stage makeup to darken his skin and hands.  With the hat and the uniform, Ion was unlikely to recognize him, or so she hoped.

Fraser’s men were parked in a car across the street from the hotel, watching out in case Ion
left the hotel.  Tyler had shown them the passport picture of him.

Tucked discretely under both her and Dom
inick’s uniform were smoke bombs and goggles.  If they decided that they could grab Ion and make it out of the hotel, Fraser had a car full of his thugs parked outside.  Their next move depended on how well guarded their target was.

Now they were standing outside
Ion Barbu’s room with a room service tray, with a stolen bottle of champagne on it.

“Calm down and act normal,” she snapped. “If you go in there acting like you’re about to have a stroke, you’ll blow our cover.”

He nodded, slowed his breathing, and forced a smile on his face. “I’m okay,” he said.

“Bullshit,” she muttered, but they had no choice but to forge ahead.

“Room service!” she called out cheerfully, disguising her voice and giving it a southern lilt.

“We didn’t order any room service!” 
A voice from inside snarled back.

             
“We’ve got a magnum of champagne, compliments of management.”

             
There was a pause, and Pixie saw someone looking through the peephole.   Then the door swung open, and she and Dominick wheeled the cart in.

             
The room was lavishly decorated with 18
th
century gilded furniture and plush sofas and loveseats, with a floor to ceiling view of the city.   Ion Barbu sat at a table across the room, playing cards with two men in dark suits.  He was still wearing the dark glasses.  He glanced up as they walked in.  She and Pixie had their heads down as they wheeled the cart inside.

             
Pixie could hear Dominick’s harsh breathing as they walked in the room.  Keep it together, keep it together, she thought.

             
As they wheeled the cart, she casually slipped a small electronic bug under a small side table.  Nobody seemed to notice. Pixie was a master of sleight of hand.

             
Dominick caught Pixie’s eye and he gave a slight shake of his head. There were too many people in the room for them to grab Ion.  They needed to leave, and  discuss their next move.  They might have to call the cops after all;  waiting for Ion to make his next move was too risky.

             
There were a dozen men in the room.  Some of them had their jackets off, and their gun holsters were clearly visible.   There were semi-automatic weapons lying on the coffee tables, on the couches,  and on the table in front of Ion and his card playing body-guards…so a quick snatch and grab of Ion was probably out.  Especially if they had silver-coated bullets, which, even though they were illegal, was pretty likely.  None of these people looked like the type who’d let the law put a crimp in their style.

             
She and Dominick would have to go back to Fraser’s headquarters, sit down with Tyler, and figure out their next move.  Maybe they’d have to call the cops in after all.  Time was running out.

             
One of the men glanced over at Pixie, a long appraising glance that ran up and down her body like filthy hands.  Dominick let out a low rumbling growl.

             
No, no, no…

             
“Is she on the menu?” the man smirked.  He reached out and grabbed her ass, causing Pixie to yelp and jump back.

             
With a roar, Dominick shifted, exploding out of his uniform.  His skin rippled and was covered with golden fur in an instant, and claws shot from massive paws.  Within seconds he was an enormous, tawny lion with a flowing mane, his tail thrashing violently as he crouched to leap.

             
The guards jumped to their feet, shouting.  One of them leveled a gun at Dominick and, as Dominick leaped through the air, he fired, and a tranquilizer dart lodged in Dominick’s thick neck.   Dominick crashed to the ground on top of the man who’d grabbed Pixie, knocking him down and pinning him underneath his unconscious body.

             
Under the tranquilizer’s effects, Dominick rippled again, his fur sinking back into his skin, his limbs straightening, massive jaw sinking back in until his face was back in human form.  He lay naked and unconscious on the floor, and the guard shoved his body off, and leaped to his feet, kicking him.

             
“Get the hell off him!” Pixie hurled herself at the guard and they went down on the floor.  She kneed him in the groin so hard he doubled over, wheezing, tears streaming from his eyes. Then she slammed the palm of her hand upward into his nose, shattering it with a crunch, and sending a spray of blood across the room.

             
Within seconds, she was yanked off him by two of the bodyguards, and hauled to her feet, kicking and cursing.

             
Ion stood facing her, a look of amusement on his face.

             
“Pixie.  So good of you to drop in,” he said.

              * * *

Tyler, Fraser and Hillary were gathered around the laptop, which played back the sounds emanating from
the bug planted in Ion Barbu’s room.    

They’d hidden their plans from her for most of the evening, to her indignation.  By the time she realized what they were up to, it was too late to convince them that what they were planning was far too dangerous.

Now they heard shouts, screams, curses in the background.   She’d heard Dominick’s angry roar, and Pixie’s screech of rage. 

“We’ve been made.” It was a man’s voice.
“They know we’re here.”

“Indeed.”
Another man, this one with an Eastern European accent.   That must be Ion Barbu.  “We need to move to the countryside.”

“
Where are you taking us?” Pixie’s voice, loud and angry. 

“You’ll find out when we get there.”  Well, shoot. If only he’d rattled off an address.  That would have been much too easy, though?

“Should we take him, or leave him? You only need her, right? We could just kill him and dump his body.”

Hillary and Tyler exchanged panicked glances.

“We’ll bring him.  He could actually be useful tomorrow night,” Tyler said.

“I should…I don’t know.  I should go to the hotel.  See if there’s anything I can do.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Fraser growled. “My men will follow them.”  He smirked at her.  “You should stay here and entertain me.”

Hillary sniffed.  Oh, the things she did for her job.  This
type of thing certainly hadn’t been in the Human Resources Manager job description.  Someone owed her a huge, huge bonus.

“First of all, I’d rather bathe in the sewer.  And secondly, what if your men lose them?”

“They won’t.  And you don’t know what you’re missing.”

She curled her lip. “I’m guessing a trip to the STD clinic.”

              Before he could answer, his cell phone rang, and he answered quickly.

             
“Anastasia? What have you found out?” He paused and listened to her talk.  Hillary strained to hear, but she couldn’t make out the words.  “All right, that’s great news. Good to hear.  Keep me posted.”

             
He hung up the phone.             

             
“She called a contact of hers in Romania.  She says that they’ve already identified the man who provided Ion Barbu with that spell; there aren’t many people who can do work that specialized, and there’s only one in all of Eastern Europe.   Her contact in Romania turned it over to Interpol.   Authorities in Europe have an APB out for him, and if they pick him up, they can force him to give up Ion’s real identity.”

             
“If he even knows it,” Tyler sighed.  “Okay, here’s my guess. Pixie is a talented thief.  I suspect there’s a good chance that Ion wants her to steal something for him, and he’ll make Dominick help her.  I don’t think they’ll be harmed before tomorrow night.  So we can just-”

             
Fraser’s phone rang again, and he answered it, and then scowled.

             
“Fucking morons,” he snarled.

             
“What?” Hillary said, wincing at his entirely inappropriate language.

             
“My men lost them.”

The mansion they’d been taken to was faux-Mediterranean , with red barrel tile roof and a cream colored stucco exterior. Dominick had a sheet from the hotel wrapped around his naked body, since when he’d shifted he’d destroyed his bell-hop uniform.     They didn’t get much time to check out their surroundings, however.   Pixie and Dominick were led through a courtyard decorated with gigantic potted palms and hustled inside quickly, at gunpoint.

Dominick could smell the silver coating
on the bodyguard’s bullets, which meant there was no point in resisting; they’d kill him within seconds, and then where would that leave his friends?   He’d just have to bide his time until an opportunity presented itself – and then, he promised himself, he’d rip Ion’s intestines out.

He couldn’t believe how badly he’d screwed
things up back at the hotel.  Pixie was furious at him, as well she should be; it was obvious from the dirty looks she kept shooting him.

They paused inside the cavernous
entry room as the guards locked the door behind them.

“What is this place?” Pixie asked, glancing around. 

Ion shrugged.  “One of my backups.  I’ve survived as long as I have because I always have a backup plan.  Remember that.” There was a hard edge to his voice as he spoke. 

“So why are we here? What is it that you need me to do?” Pixie asked.

“You’ll find out at the appropriate time.”

He gestured at one of his guards.

“Put a collar on him. No point in taking chances.”

Dominick glowered as one of the guards knelt down and snapped a thick copper ring on his ankle.  Now he wouldn’t be able to shift.

Ion reached out and grabbed Pixie’s wig, pulling it off her head.  “Well, well, a set of lock picking tools,” he said, smiling at the set of picks she’d taped to the scalp of the wig.  “How resourceful of you.  Sorry, I’ll have to keep those.”

He nodded to his guards. 
“Lock them in.”

The guards hustled them down
a hallway, and into a room without windows.   There was a bed with a wooden frame, and no other furniture.  The door was thick, solid wood.