Dead End Dating (22 page)

“…love Madonna, too.”

“I’m a total Madonna fan. Pre-Marilyn phase.”

“I actually liked her during the Marilyn phase. And the stuff after—”

“Come on,” Phil said as he took my hand and snagged my attention again. “Tell me what you’d like to eat.”

“Trust me,” I told him. “You really don’t want to know.”

He obviously thought I was flirting because he smiled, leaned in front of me, and blocked my line of vision. “I’d love to buy you dinner. Or we could just go straight for the dessert.”

“All right, all right.” I leaned toward his right and peered around him. “You can buy me another drink.”

“But you’re not done with the first.” He indicated my full glass that sat on the bar.

I turned and downed the ice water in one gulp. “There. All gone and ready for number two.”

“Great.” He smiled as if I’d just opened up my cookie jar and handed him a great big double-stuffed Oreo.

As if.

I ordered another ice water and watched Hunka-hunka-handcuffs pull out his wallet to reveal an official Madonna Fan Club card. Oy.

“So what do you do?” Phil asked me. He braced his elbow on the bar, rested his chin on his fist, and stared at me as if he’d like to take a big bite. “What’s your claim to fame?”

I thought of a dozen responses all intended to scare the crap out of the average heterosexual male—from Grim Reaper to proctologist—and blurted out the most terrifying. “Wedding consultant.”

He didn’t so much as blink. “No way.” Excitement infused his voice. “I love weddings.”

Nix average heterosexual male. This guy was a workaholic, which meant socially deprived, which meant lonely. Which meant he didn’t just want to boff me. He wanted to
talk
to me.

“So how long have you been coordinating weddings?” he went on.

“For a long, long time.” I shifted my gaze back to the couple and tried a human tactic. Ignore him and he’ll go away.

“How long?” Phil persisted.

“Too long.” So much for ignoring him.
Shut up,
I willed.
Shut. Up.

“…never actually joined her fan club, but—what did you just say?” The smile faded from Action-Adventure’s face as she stared across the table at her date.

“I’ve been a member since I was sixteen.”

“Not that. After that. You told me to shut up,” she said accusingly. “You did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Uh-oh. Multitasking was definitely not my strong suit.

“Really, I didn’t say that. It must have been somebody else. I’m interested in what you have to say. Very interested. Please go on.”

“Really?” She eyed him uncertainly and he nodded.

“Please.”

“Well, okay. So I thought about joining the fan club after ‘Material Girl’ came out, but I was busy in high school and my babysitting money was tight and I just didn’t get around to it…”

“How did you know you wanted to be a wedding coordinator?” The deep voice pushed into my thoughts again.

Get out of here.
The command flew from my head before I could stop it.

“…she wasn’t half bad as an actress, either. She’s an all-around dynamite performer…” Action-Adventure’s words stumbled to a halt as she frowned. “Fine, I’ll go.” She tossed her napkin down while Hunka-hunka scrambled to his feet.

“Wait. What’s wrong?”

“I appreciate your honesty. This obviously isn’t working, and you’re in no hurry to prolong the pain. Fine by me. You don’t have to say it twice.” She snatched up her purse and started for the door.

“But wait—” He bolted to his feet and tried to follow. The tip of his shoe caught the chair and sent it tumbling as he raced after her. “Wait up.”

I practically jumped off the bar stool.

“Where are you going?” Phil caught my hand.

“Out of here.” I tugged free, which really didn’t re quire much tugging at all since I might as well be wearing a great big SV on my chest—Super Vamp in the house. “Alone.”

“I’ll go with you—” His voice died as I whirled on him and did something I don’t normally do in mixed company: I flashed him a little fang.

“I’m leavinth,” I told him, the words cold and deadly and slightly slurred—you try talking with two gargantuan fangs hanging out of your mouth. “And you’ll thtay here if you know whath good for you.”

His eyes widened and he sank back down to his bar stool. He looked as if I’d kicked his favorite puppy.

Okay, so he looked more like I’d eaten his favorite puppy, and a pang of guilt shot through me.

“I
have
to go,” The fangs retracted. My voice lost its frosty edge and the speech impediment. “But call me sometime.” I handed him one of my business cards and his fear vanished at the brush of my hand against his. “I’ll hook you up with someone. Not with me,” I rushed on. “But someone else. Someone just as nice.” When he didn’t look all that excited, I added, “Someone just as nice, and just as hot.”

What can I say? I’m a softie. In the interest of good business, of course. Lonely?
Check.
Desperate?
Check.
Well-dressed professional with lots to offer but not enough finesse to meet the right woman?
Check.
This guy was a matchmaker’s dream come true; therefore, I couldn’t leave him with the impression that I was Queen of the Damned.

“We’ll talk later,” I promised.

“But—”

I was already pushing my way to the door before he could say anything else.

“Excuse me.” I tapped the maître d’ on the back as I shouldered my way through the entrance. “Did you see a couple just leave here? Tall guy, sort of balding? He was with a redhead with a Madonna fetish?”

He pointed to the left, and I swiveled my head in time to see the duo disappear into the back of a cab just up the street. The door slammed, the brake lights dimmed, and the yellow Chevy swerved into the flow of traffic.

I spent the next ten minutes trying to hail a cab of my own before I finally gave up and decided to go it on foot. I wasn’t sure where they were going, but I knew that if my hunch was correct and he did turn out to be the kidnapper, he would have to take her someplace private. That meant his place. Or hers. Or a third, undisclosed location where he took his victims, in which case I was out of luck because the Dead End Dating profile didn’t list a blank for
PLEASE LIST A THIRD, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION PERFECT FOR SLICING AND DICING VICTIMS
. As for the first two…

I decided to head for Action-Adventure’s SoHo apartment as fast as my shoes could carry me—pretty fast considering I had the whole preternatural speed thing going for me and I’d actually toned down my look—low profile, remember?—and worn a pair of low-heeled Christian Louboutins I’d gotten on sale at Barney’s.

Okay,
okay.
So Barney’s didn’t actually put Christian Louboutins on sale, but they were very moderately priced considering the designer, and so I hadn’t been able to pass them up.

But that’s neither here nor there. The point was, I couldn’t leap any tall buildings in a single bound, not without kissing my low-profile image good-bye, but I did make quick work of the sidewalks and give new meaning to the phrase
power walking.

I arrived to find the street empty. Which meant they’d beaten me here and Action-Adventure had already gone inside. Or they’d opted for his address.

I walked up the front steps and buzzed her apartment and waited. Nothing. She obviously wasn’t home.

I’d just turned to head back down the steps when I heard the peel of tires. Yellow flashed in my peripheral vision, and my head swiveled. I saw the cab catch the far corner and barrel up the street toward me. My heart jumped into my throat, and I glanced frantically to my left. I leapt over the railing and dropped to the ground. Fading into the shadows of the next building, I watched as the cab peeled to a stop.

The door opened and both Action-Adventure and Hunka-hunka climbed out. Obviously they’d resolved the whole “get out of here” issue, because both seemed happy. They laughed and smiled as they climbed the steps to the front door of her apartment building. They held hands until they reached the top step.

Hand-holding? Laughing? Smiling?
Kissing?

I watched them embrace and started to think that maybe I’d been wrong. Maybe this guy wasn’t the kidnapper. Maybe the handcuffs I’d glimpsed when I’d looked into his eyes had just been some sort of leftover impression from a freaky movie.

Maybe.

Probably.

“You have the prettiest eyes.”

Okay, so it was the cheesiest line ever invented, but with the moon so full and bright overhead—so romantic—it actually sounded kind of sweet.

Awww…

No way was this sweetheart of a guy—however unoriginal—a cold-blooded kidnapper.

“I really had a nice time,” Action-Adventure murmured when they came up for air.

“So did I.” He leaned in and kissed her again, tenderly, as if he had all the time in the world and he wanted to spend it with her.

Deep sigh.

“I would love to do it again,” she told him. “That is, if you want to.”

“Actually”—he slid his hand up her back to the nape of her neck and threaded his fingers into her hair—“I
would
like to do it again.” His grip tightened, and she stiffened. “But I’m done with nice.” He urged her backward into the building. The door slammed shut.

Ohmigod. OHMIGOD. OH. MY. GOD.

This was it. He was it. He was the guy and he was going to…And I was going to…

I had to stop it. First, I had to call Ty, and then I had to stop it. No, first I had to call Ty, wait for him to get here to catch the guy just this side of a felony, and then I had to stop it. Yeah, that was it. That was the plan.

I whipped out my cell phone, punched in his number, and waited for him to pick up.

“Get over here right now,” I said the moment I heard his deep
“Hey.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Lil, and I’ve got your kidnapper. He’s right here, and he’s about to nab another one.” Nab? Since when did I say nab? Oh, yeah. Since I’d decided to lurk in alleyways in order to catch serial kidnappers in the interest of my business. “Hurry!” I gave him the address, punched the off button, and racked my brain for some way to stall what was happening until Ty could get here.

I rummaged through my purse and pulled out a miniature can of hairspray to use as a weapon if things got too out of hand.

Hairspray?
I had fangs, for Pete’s sake. What kind of evil creature of the night was I even to think of using a can of aerosol?

Duh. The materialistic kind, of course. I was wearing my new Guess mini tee with the rhinestone etching. Not major dollars, but we’re talking
rhinestones,
which require dry cleaning. Nix any spewing blood and flying body parts. While I could subdue him with my superduper strength, I wanted some backup in case he whipped out a weapon of his own.

Can in hand, I willed my feet to leave the ground and floated up to the eighth floor.

I’d peeped into all the windows on one side and was just about to round the corner of the building when I heard the deep, familiar voice behind me.

“Where are they?”

I whirled to find Ty looking as dark and delicious as ever in a pair of black leather pants and a black T-shirt. He was minus the duster tonight, and I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or worried.

I could see the ripples of muscles in his upper arms. The soft material of his T-shirt framed his broad chest and narrow waist. Forget dark and delicious. This guy was positively mouthwatering.

Crazy, considering he was a
made
vampire. It wasn’t as if he had even one thing to offer me. Except maybe some really hot sex. He definitely looked capable of that.

“Hello?” His brows drew together into a tight frown that snapped me out of my trek down into the gutter where raunchy sex reigned supreme and fertility ratings didn’t mean a hill of beans.

“You’re fast.”
Waaay original, Lil.
Of course he was fast. He was a vampire.

“Where are they?” he asked again.

“Somewhere on this floor.” I moved around the corner, and he followed. Several windows later, at the very rear of the square structure, we hit pay dirt.

“I knew it,” I said as I stared through the window and watched Hunka-hunka knot a black blindfold firmly over Action-Adventure’s eyes. Her hands were secured behind her back with the handcuffs I’d glimpsed in his thoughts. He held a menacing-looking leather belt in one hand and a large black vibrator in the other—wait a second.

“I don’t think he’s kidnapping her.” Ty said a few heartbeats later while we watched the scene unfolding before our eyes.

“No, he’s definitely not kidnapping her,” I managed to croak out the words despite my suddenly dry throat.

He was doing something a hundred times more pleasurable. And I was watching with Ty Bonner, of all vampires.

Hot, hunky, I-wish-he’d-touch-me-like-that-and-do-even-more
Ty.

Yowza.