“No way. Put me in the shower. Like you do at home.” He leaped off the bed and practically knocked me down getting into the bathroom. “Please, Blondie. You know I hate those places. They leave a guy no dignity.”
He’d managed to get the shower door open and stood looking at me hopefully. I had a handheld showerhead at home and bathing him was a weekly ritual I’d insisted on. I looked at the gleaming glass box with everything from a rain showerhead to multiple body sprays. I couldn’t wait to check it out for myself.
“You leave yourself no dignity. Propositioning the shampoo girl. You got her fired.” I opened a cabinet and found a bottle of shower gel, a manly scent that Valdez would approve of. He hated my flowery gels. Too bad I’d left the flea shampoo at home.
“Not my fault. She got soap in my eyes. I couldn’t just bark. And then when I’d already blown my cover and I could see again, I thought, hey, she’s cute. Why waste an opportunity?” Valdez let me squirt the gel all over him. There was a toe tester and it took a moment to get the temperature to his liking. Then I reached in to turn on the shower, jumped out of the way, and watched him sit under the spray.
“Any woman who would accept a proposition from a dog, sorry, but that’s what you are, my friend, is not a woman you would want anything to do with.” I sat on the closed toilet and watched as he positioned himself in front of one particular showerhead with what I swear was a smile on his face. “You’re grossing me out. Move around or the groomer gets you first thing in the morning.”
“Hah! Like you’re not going to check out all of these features.” Valdez snorted and did his own version of a doggy break dance. “Satisfied?”
“Not really. But I guess it’ll have to do.”
He stuck his head under a showerhead and let it rinse him clean. “I smell better already. And once we’re back home, you can do me over. With the flea shampoo again.”
“Fine. I think you’re done.” I reached in and turned off the water. By the time I’d rubbed him down with a bath sheet, my robe was as wet as he was. “Out. And don’t get on the bed.” I pulled the towel off of him. “Go down to the kitchen and lie on the tile.”
“Maybe I’ll shake a little of this water off on Miss Mara. Would that make you feel better?” Valdez shook, flinging water all over the bathroom. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. Reflex. It’s hell being a dog.”
“Yeah, go spray the wench. Cool her down.” I slammed the door in his face and dropped the wet robe on the floor. Useless. I refused to think so. Sure I had a business to put back together, so I couldn’t go running off to wherever in search of Westwood. But I was not useless. I adjusted the water and stepped into Blade’s decadent shower. Oh, boy, there was one showerhead that hit me right where I was just a little sore. From the gymnastics Blade and I had done. I wondered where he’d gone. I’d love for him to surprise me in the shower. I had lots of ideas for things we could do here. Hey, I was useful for some things. Did that make me a slut? I could live with that.
"You’re late.”
“No, you said eleven-thirty.” I looked into the mortal’s eyes and willed him to believe me.
“Right. I forgot.” Steve Fleming was a well-built man in his thirties who had a young Hugh Grant look to him. Dark curly hair, twinkling eyes and, hmm, a black cowboy hat. I’d be attracted if I hadn’t just had vampire sex with a man who could light every fire a woman never knew she had. Mortals, even hunky ones reeking of AB negative, are so . . . ordinary. This one wore jeans and a plaid western shirt that brought out the color of his eyes, a surprising blue. He glanced at his watch. “Sorry ma’am.” He tipped his hat. How cute was that? “Don’t know where my manners went. Can we start over?” He grinned. Great teeth. Some of the older vampires . . . Well, an orthodontist would have made a killing a few centuries ago.
“Uh, sure, Steve, no problem.”
“Let me show you what I’ve found.” Steve unlocked the burglar bars. I’d never liked the look of those things, like we were doing business in a prison. But they were saving my shop from vandalism now. Yeah, right. Vandals would be salivating over my burnt offerings.
“Where’d you get the key?” I did not want to go inside.
“Landlord. Watch your step now. There’s glass and debris. ”
Debris. Cute vintage clothing store with stock like fifties ’ cocktail dresses reduced to debris. I couldn’t avoid it so I stepped inside.
“Oh, man, this is a disaster!” Despite a vow to be tough, I felt tears fill my eyes. Piles of filthy, wet clothes, fried furniture and swollen books littered the floor. The plate glass windows had been shattered. Glass crunched under our feet as we walked around.
“The fire must have been pretty intense.” I sniffled and rubbed my burning eyes. “Sorry, the smell’s getting to me.”
Steve patted my arm. “And the damage. I know this is hard to take.”
Yeah, Steve had probably seen this kind of thing dozens of times. He got down to business, aiming a large flashlight and using a probe to move a few things around.
My mannequins lay like dead, formerly well-dressed ladies who lunch in their fifties suits. With their scorched faces and fried wigs, they stared at a blackened ceiling. A book shelf had fallen over, the contents scattered. I love old books and picked up a 1936 edition of Gone With the Wind from a puddle. A total loss. My tears dried up in a wave of fury. My fangs swelled against my gums and I barely swallowed a snarl. Valdez was right outside, obviously mind reading. He barked, reminding me I had company. I coughed, like the acrid stench was choking me.
“Hey, you okay?” Steve looked at me with concern.
“No,” I croaked. “I’m pissed. Who would do such a thing?”
“That was goin’ to be my first question.” Steve patted my shoulder again. “At least no one was hurt. The sprinklers and alarm system saved the day. Response time was good. It could have been a lot worse.” Steve walked over and opened the door to the storeroom. “See? Fire didn’t penetrate.”
I glanced inside. “That’s good. Except that everything’s wet.” Did I mention that I deal mostly in vintage clothing? A wet cotton shirtwaist was no problem. But the silk Chanel suit from the sixties that I ’d paid big bucks for . . . ? I stroked the limp sleeve. Emerald green silk.
I swallowed a sob and looked for a place to sit. No such luck, unless I wanted a wet butt. I followed Steve back into the main room. My friend and semipartner, the Countess Cecilia von Repsdorf, otherwise known as CiCi, had consigned a few pieces of furniture, but the Queen Anne chairs were Queen Anne kindling now.
Steve pointed to a piece of fluorescent tape. “This is where we found the incendiary device. I reckon someone broke the window and tossed it inside. The place has been processed as a crime scene, but the firebomb’s all we found.”
“Firebomb.” I shuddered. If a vampire has a worst nightmare, it’s fire. Consumed while you slept. Steve’s arm came around my shoulders. He was looking at me like he felt my pain. He wasn’t all that tall, maybe five ten to my five five, but he had a nice face that oozed sympathy. I thought about leaning against him for a moment.
Another bark brought me back to reality. Valdez was up, like he was about to come inside from where I’d ordered him to sit in the doorway.
“You really don’t want the dog in here. Broken glass. It’s too dangerous for a pet.”
My “pet” growled, showing some serious teeth. Steve stiffened.
“Valdez!” I put a foot between me and the fireman and smiled at Steve. “Sorry, he’s very protective of me.” He was standing in for Jerry too. Blade had a business appointment, so he’d loaned me one of his cars, a Mercedes convertible he’d offered to give me more than once. Then he’d ordered Valdez to keep an eye on me. Apparently arson investigators posed a threat.
“Hey, I love dogs.” Steve walked to the door. “Hey, cute fella. What’s the breed?”
“Labradoodle.” Steve looked a question. “You know a Lab poodle mix.” Steve seemed like he was about to offer his hand.
“Careful, he’s been known to bite.” I sent the dog a mental message to play nice. “He’s still upset by the whole fire thing. His barking actually alerted the residents and helped save us.”
Valdez gave me a look and growled. Steve backed up.
“Yeah, that’s in my report. The smoke was pretty dense. The dog definitely saved your lives, especially if you sleep hard.”
“Sleep hard? Uh, yeah, you could say that. Several of us in the building work nights.”
Steve gave Valdez a final look then turned back to me. “Now why don’t you tell me who might want to put you out of business.”
Six
"Me? Why do you think I was the target?” Give this girl an Oscar. I really wanted to shout Brent Westwood’s name. The vamp killer knew way too much about me and my shop. But the billionaire had made a fortune here in Austin. His high -tech company employed thousands in the area. Pointing the finger at him would get me nothing but a quick trip to the loony bin.
“Doesn’t look like random vandalism. But the store next door did get the same treatment.” Steve walked over to the door and looked outside. “Vandals, gangs, would have tagged the place. You know, with spray paint. I don’t see any graffiti.”
“Maybe somebody had a bad coffee at Mugs and Muffins. I sure don’t have any enemies.” Not that I knew of anyway, other than Westwood. And I was convinced that he would have hired this done, making sure he was far, far away before the whole thing went down.
We’d take care of him anyway. There was nowhere he could hide that a vampire couldn’t find him eventually. And take him out. I had to believe that.
“I’ll talk to the owner of Mugs and Muffins next. You both seem to be night people.” Steve set his high-powered flashlight on the counter, pulled a notebook out of his back pocket and flipped it open. “Diana Marchand.”