“And no more than
you
get to blame yourself for Rockefeller’s murder.” I met Scott’s narrowed eyes and nodded at his words. Victor Esteban had fooled a
lot
of people—some far wiser than myself—over the years. Wallowing in selfblame would do nothing to stop his madness or see him brought to justice.
“Time to set a trap for our
pal
Vic the Slick,” I drawled with a tight smile. “And
this
time, the predator will become the prey.”
MY FINGERS TREMBLED AS I RANG THE DOORBELL to Victor’s home and stepped back. I’d called him to ask if we could finally have our postponed dinner—this time at his place. Goose bumps pricked my flesh—not entirely due to the autumn evening breeze washing over my nearly bare back. Scott couldn’t comprehend why I went to so much effort to look drop-dead gorgeous for the man who killed four men and tried to have his way with me. Trinity, once she’d gotten me to confide the details, understood all too well. If I let what he did to me change how I handled myself on the job—or in my personal life, for that matter—he would win; and I would start to die a little on the inside. I’d be
damned
if I let that happen.
I drew on the Rage bubbling below the surface to steady my nerves, allowing my gaze to wander from the door in front of me to the nearby window of Victor’s double garage. No big surprise to see a flashy Mercedes Benz parked closest to where I stood, but the oversized dark gray van next to it didn’t fit with his overly polished persona. I shook that observation away and focused on the role I needed to play. No way could I risk cluing Victor in to the fact we were on to him. He had to go on thinking that this was just another date between him and the new object of his obsession—Sierra Nieves. Only after I got him to make some sort of incriminating statement—whether regarding the murders or his drugging of me—could I let the guise of adoring new lover drop and do what I was itching to do: kick him where the sun don’t shine.
Just thinking that put a smile on my face. Convenient because Victor chose just that moment to open the door.
A matching smile that struck me as overly proprietary crossed his face. “Good evening,
querida
. Come here.” He reached out to touch me before I could retreat farther, a good thing for the ruse I was trying to pull off. The moment his fingers skimmed the bare skin of my arms, I realized the problem dressing so skimpily posed: Somehow, Victor was administering his lust-inducing drug via skin-on-skin contact, and I’d just made his goal a hell of a lot easier.
“It’s okay, baby, we’re here.” Scott’s voice came through the magically concealed earpiece, pitched low enough I could barely hear, which meant Victor had no chance of picking it up. Just hearing Scott helped me firm up my resolve. The cavalry in the form of Scott, Trinity, Cass, Kale, and Mahina waited a half block away inside our undercover van, with the added backup of Mac, Ellie, and several other Shadowhounds concealed throughout the neighborhood.
Even if this coldhearted bastard
was
drugging me, now I knew and had protectors nearby who wouldn’t let him take advantage of me again. They’d stop him even if I couldn’t. Just knowing that gave me the strength to do what I
could
and they
couldn’t
. Get him to say something we could use against him in court.
The sparks skittering from his hands to my body confirmed my suspicions. Pleasure radiated along my shoulders and arms, and I gave in to the sensation. I had a role to play, and play it I would. For this one last evening, I
was
Sierra Nieves, Wedding Planner to the Stars and woman in love.
Victor tugged me into his arms and breathed heavily into my hair. I broke away and sat down on the couch. He sat down next to me and placed his hand on my knee. Thanks to his pharmaceutical manipulations, I didn’t have to fake an enthusiastic response. “I knew you couldn’t stay away,
querida
, ” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
I forced myself to tap into Rage just enough to give a teasing smile and then push away. “Good evening to you, too,
guapo
. While I’d love to spend all night gobbling you up, I haven’t eaten since this morning, and I’m hungry for other things, too.” Not a lie, either. I’d been too apprehensive to eat and only choked down donuts with my morning coffee because Scott and Trinity ganged up on me.
Victor smiled indulgently, took my hand into his, and led me into a candle-lit dining room. Bloodred roses—exactly the kind he had given me before—painted the snow-white tablecloth with brilliant splashes of color. Fine china and elegant wineglasses added further romantic touches to this seductive scene. Before, I would have been utterly charmed at the same time guilt burned inside for feeling emotions that betrayed my relationship with Scott. Knowing what I knew now, however, I just found it spooky.
He seated me at the table with an elegant flourish before sitting across from me and serving up a mouthwatering array of Italian food every bit as delicious as the meal we’d shared at Rigazzi’s. One thing to say for the man—he really pulled out all the stops when it came to wining and dining the woman in his life.
Including the magical equivalent to GHB. Something best to remember.
Some sort of aphrodisiac to make sure the one he wants finds him impossible to resist. Guess he learned his lesson with Sylvia and makes sure no woman shatters his fragile little ego.
That helped me focus on why I was here, and I steered our dinner conversation in a roundabout way toward the wedding, along with the requisite worry surrounding the killer preying upon the bride’s ex-lovers. Victor didn’t seem to find this suspicious; in fact, he embraced the topic.
“I have every confidence in the security team I hired to keep us all safe. Unlike whoever that poor SOB Paul Meritton hired.” He shook his head with an expression that didn’t seem particularly sincere. “Then again, rumor has it he gave his security detail the slip, which is how the killer was able to attack him in the first place.”
Wow, was Victor going to make this easier than expected? We hadn’t made that detail public knowledge, so only the killer would know that. My breath hitched as I made another connection. Meritton had slipped away from his bodyguards in order to meet his supplier, who we now knew to be Victor. That meant that either Meritton had lied to us or Victor had set up that meeting in order to ambush him.
I tried to keep my tone casual. “He
left
the bodyguards he hired to protect him just before he got attacked? That sounds awfully suspicious.”
Victor’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Indeed. Not to mention the fact he suffered barely a scratch in the attack.” His voice grew thoughtful. “I’ve never trusted him entirely.”
“Oh? You know him personally?”
“Not so much personally as professionally. He’s financing a side project of mine. Our relationship the past few months has become somewhat—strained.”
I let my fingers caress the silky petals of the nearest rose and inhaled its unusually refreshing fragrance.
You should ask him what breed of rose this is. Not every day you find one that doesn’t make you sick.
“So you think that
he
could be the one behind these murders?” If only
I
could so easily believe that. It wouldn’t make Victor any less a murderer, but Sylvia’s death
could
have conceivably been an accident he covered up out of desperation.
These
murders were sadistic acts of violence that could not be so easily explained away. Not even to assuage my own feelings of guilt for being fooled by the charming monster calmly eating pasta across from me.
His expression sobered. “I certainly think it makes far more sense for the police to be investigating
him
as a suspect than me.”
Our gazes locked and my heart skipped a beat. Gods, was he on to us? Did he know my true identity? My body tensed as I gathered magical energy to burst into asskicking Fury mode before responding to him.
“Why on
earth
would the police be investigating you? That’s—that’s absurd.”
“Precisely.” Drops of merlot sloshed from his wineglass as he set it down forcefully. “I suspect that he faked his own attack in order to throw the police off his trail. Who knows what incriminating comments he made about me to get them sniffing around friends and ex-girlfriends of mine?”
Okay. So apparently one of
them
had spilled the beans to Victor that the police had been asking questions about him. Considering Meredith’s very obvious fear of him versus Jillian’s gratitude he’d been the reason she reunited with dear old Richard, it seemed safe to bet on the school principal as the big mouth. What I had more trouble deciphering was whether this was all a routine staged to make himself look innocent—or if
Meritton
was the one now pulling our strings.
Don’t be stupid, Riss. No need to second-guess yourself.
He
is the one who is abusing his own hybrid drugs.
He
is the one who has the inside info on Harper’s wedding plans and is close enough to her to learn everything he needs to know to attack her exes. And
he
is the one who uses drugs on unsuspecting women to get what he wants from them.
Of course, another part of my psyche insisted on playing devil’s advocate.
Yeah, but Scott said before that Victor couldn’t have had time to pull off Rockefeller’s murder. He had an alibi for at least one of the other attacks. And
who
is the one now in hiding, refusing to see you in person? Paul Meritton.
I sipped the last bit of wine in my glass to gain another few moments to
think
. So now we were down to two viable suspects: Victor Esteban and Paul Meritton. Partners in a joint hybrid-pharmaceutical venture, which meant either of them had easy access to the type of drugs used in this case. Both were ex-lovers of Harper’s. Victor still enjoyed a close, cordial friendship with her while Meritton openly expressed disdain and resentment toward her. Victor, however, abused the very drugs he developed and used them on others against their will. Meritton was the sole surviving victim and had suffered very minor injuries. He had also pointed the finger of suspicion in Victor’s direction without obviously doing so. Was he really afraid
Victor
was the killer and would come after him again, or was
he
the killer trying to keep us focused on the wrong person?
Victor noticed when I set down my empty wineglass. “Here, let me top you off.” He leaned forward and poured more merlot in my glass.
“It’s very good wine,” I said absently, mind still whirring.
“It should be. Cost an arm and a leg.” He went to pull back the bottle, but it slipped from his hand, knocked over the wineglass, and sent merlot splashing down the front of my light-colored dress.
I let out an undignified squeal and shoved back from the table. He apologized profusely and cursed himself before coming around to dab ineffectually at the wine-splotched fabric clinging to my curves.
“Victor, really, it’s okay. No, stop, you’re just making it worse.”
His hands fell away and he looked distraught. Was this
really
the face of a heartless murderer? I didn’t know
what
to think anymore.
“I need to soak this in cold water before the stain sets.”
“Shit, of course. Let me find something you can wear. The bathroom door’s right behind you.”
I locked myself inside the spa-like room. My—make that Sierra’s—face looked normal enough in the vanity mirror. No sign of the turmoil eating me alive on the inside. The purplish patches of wine across the front of my dress, on the other hand, seemed a fitting complement to my jumbled emotions. Gods, why couldn’t any of this be easier?
Because you’re not a little kid anymore and this is the
real
world. It’s hard and it’s messy and sometimes it hurts. Now
deal
with it.
A knock sounded at the door. I tried to pull myself together and moved to unlock the door, only to hear sudden commotion on the other side. Scuffling noises, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Victor shouting, “Keep the door locked, Sierra! Call 911!” Several more panicked shouts pierced the air followed by a single ominous thud.
Holy shit,
what
is going on out there?
Instinct kicked in and I threw the door open. Victor sprawled in a bloody, unmoving heap halfway between the bathroom door and his bedroom. I frowned as an unfamiliar odor tingled my nose, but the shadowy image of an unknown figure disappearing into the bedroom caught my attention. My first instinct was to run after it, but Victor gave a low groan and I knew I had to check on him first.
Well,
this
is gonna blow my cover all to hell.
Magic answered my sudden call and washed along my body, nipping and tucking like crazy until a midnighthaired, emerald-eyed demigoddess in red leather stood where an elegantly clad Hound had been seconds earlier. I ducked down beside Victor only to find wide, glazed eyes staring at me in amazement.
“You—you’re a Fury?” His eyes rolled to the back of his head and blood foamed from his mouth.
I channeled Rage to fight back fear and tried to clinically catalog his injuries. Obvious claw marks riddled his body, leaving his clothing in a shredded mess. Flesh and bone could be seen through the tears in fabric and made me want to puke. Gods, he was in
bad
shape. If he didn’t get help soon, he was going to die right in front of me.
No, not again!
Adrenaline surged, and I murmured the spell key to unlock the magical camo hiding the headset serving as my lifeline. A quick finger tap activated the mike, putting me into immediate touch with Scott and company.
“Call an ambulance ASAP—Victor’s been attacked and is in
very
bad shape.” Ignoring Scott’s shocked outburst, I hastened to add the realization that had just clicked. “Victor’s not the killer after all. Paul Meritton is.”