my hands to keep them from trembling.
Okay, so I folded them to keep from reaching out and tracing the scar on his cheek. What can I say? I’m fascinated with scars. Born vamps don’t have them. If we are injured in any way, a full day of sleep rejuvenates us and makes us whole again. Talk about beauty sleep. Anyhow, a few zzz’s worked the same for made vamps as well. Once they were turned, that is. But before then, they were as vulnerable as any human.
The phone chose that moment to ring, and I snatched it up, eager for a distraction. “Dead End Dating. Where true happiness is just a profile away.” I know, I know. It was a lame motto. But the Golden Arches weren’t built in a day.
“Lilliana Marchette,” my mother snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. Don’t you remember your own mother’s phone number?”
“I’m sorry.” I raised my voice a few octaves and did my best Evie imitation. “I’m afraid Lil’s, um, not in right now. This is her receptionist/personal assistant.”
“Excuse me?”
“Evie. My name’s Evie Dalton.”
“This is Jacqueline Marchette. Lilliana’s mother.”
“You don’t say? It’s such an honor to finally speak with you. Lil has said some wonderful things about you.”
My mother hesitated as if she wasn’t buying it. “She has?”
“Of course! I’m so sorry that you missed her, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to call you back as soon as she gets in.”
That did it. No way would I use the word happy when referring to calling my mother back.
“Tell her to call me as soon as possible. It’s imperative that I speak with her right away.”
“Will do. And let me just say what a gorgeous daughter you have.”
“Why, um, thank you.”
“I mean it. She’s positively stunning.”
“She’s always been a beauty.”
“And brilliant.”
“Well, she does take after my side of the family.”
“Obviously. Take care now and it was wonderful talking with you.” I ignored a rush of guilt, slid the phone into its cradle, and glanced up to see Ty eyeing me. “I couldn’t tell her I was too busy to talk to her. That would just hurt her feelings.”
“I would have been glad to step out while you took the call.”
“Now you tell me.” I tried to look annoyed as I leaned back in my desk chair and motioned him into the seat opposite me. “So what do a bunch of kidnappings have to do with me?”
“Nothing.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Yet.”
“S o you work for a bail bond company?” I eyed Ty.
While I didn’t watch much television, I did find time—in between pedicures—to read. I lived for Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum novels.
“Once in a while.” He shrugged. “For the most part, I work for myself. The feds pay big bucks when you bring in one of their Most Wanted.”
I noted the stainless steel TAG Heuer that circled his wrist. The closest I’d ever come to a real bounty hunter was a dog catcher I’d met via my youngest brother Jack (he’d dated her and she’d worshipped him—duh). She’d worn a white jumpsuit and smelled like flea powder. She’d also worn a slobber-proof Timex. “You must be good at what you do.”
He shrugged. “I get by.”
I had the brief thought that I should reconsider my chosen profession and seriously think about tracking down a few bad guys myself. Not that I would know where to start. But I could learn from, say, Ty. He’d be the lead badass bounty hunter, and I could be his sidekick. Together we could mete out justice to bad guys the world over. He could teach me the ropes. And then maybe use a few on me.
“Handcuffs.”
“Excuse me?”
“He doesn’t tie up his victims with a rope. He handcuffs them. The kidnappings started in Los Angeles,” he went on before I could point out the fact that he’d just read my thoughts.
Because no friggin’ way could he read my thoughts.
Vamps couldn’t read other vamp thoughts. They could project thoughts and
Okay, so I folded them to keep from reaching out and tracing the scar on his cheek. What can I say? I’m fascinated with scars. Born vamps don’t have them. If we are injured in any way, a full day of sleep rejuvenates us and makes us whole again. Talk about beauty sleep. Anyhow, a few zzz’s worked the same for made vamps as well. Once they were turned, that is. But before then, they were as vulnerable as any human.
The phone chose that moment to ring, and I snatched it up, eager for a distraction. “Dead End Dating. Where true happiness is just a profile away.” I know, I know. It was a lame motto. But the Golden Arches weren’t built in a day.
“Lilliana Marchette,” my mother snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for ages. Don’t you remember your own mother’s phone number?”
“I’m sorry.” I raised my voice a few octaves and did my best Evie imitation. “I’m afraid Lil’s, um, not in right now. This is her receptionist/personal assistant.”
“Excuse me?”
“Evie. My name’s Evie Dalton.”
“This is Jacqueline Marchette. Lilliana’s mother.”
“You don’t say? It’s such an honor to finally speak with you. Lil has said some wonderful things about you.”
My mother hesitated as if she wasn’t buying it. “She has?”
“Of course! I’m so sorry that you missed her, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to call you back as soon as she gets in.”
That did it. No way would I use the word happy when referring to calling my mother back.
“Tell her to call me as soon as possible. It’s imperative that I speak with her right away.”
“Will do. And let me just say what a gorgeous daughter you have.”
“Why, um, thank you.”
“I mean it. She’s positively stunning.”
“She’s always been a beauty.”
“And brilliant.”
“Well, she does take after my side of the family.”
“Obviously. Take care now and it was wonderful talking with you.” I ignored a rush of guilt, slid the phone into its cradle, and glanced up to see Ty eyeing me. “I couldn’t tell her I was too busy to talk to her. That would just hurt her feelings.”
“I would have been glad to step out while you took the call.”
“Now you tell me.” I tried to look annoyed as I leaned back in my desk chair and motioned him into the seat opposite me. “So what do a bunch of kidnappings have to do with me?”
“Nothing.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Yet.”
“S o you work for a bail bond company?” I eyed Ty.
While I didn’t watch much television, I did find time—in between pedicures—to read. I lived for Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum novels.
“Once in a while.” He shrugged. “For the most part, I work for myself. The feds pay big bucks when you bring in one of their Most Wanted.”
I noted the stainless steel TAG Heuer that circled his wrist. The closest I’d ever come to a real bounty hunter was a dog catcher I’d met via my youngest brother Jack (he’d dated her and she’d worshipped him—duh). She’d worn a white jumpsuit and smelled like flea powder. She’d also worn a slobber-proof Timex. “You must be good at what you do.”
He shrugged. “I get by.”
I had the brief thought that I should reconsider my chosen profession and seriously think about tracking down a few bad guys myself. Not that I would know where to start. But I could learn from, say, Ty. He’d be the lead badass bounty hunter, and I could be his sidekick. Together we could mete out justice to bad guys the world over. He could teach me the ropes. And then maybe use a few on me.
“Handcuffs.”
“Excuse me?”
“He doesn’t tie up his victims with a rope. He handcuffs them. The kidnappings started in Los Angeles,” he went on before I could point out the fact that he’d just read my thoughts.
Because no friggin’ way could he read my thoughts.
Vamps couldn’t read other vamp thoughts. They could project thoughts and
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