Dead End Dating - Dead And Dateless Part 10

"It takes longer than that just to punch in my pa.s.sword."

"Thirty," he ground out, "or I might as well turn you in myself."

"You wouldn't do that."

He eyed me. "Wouldn't I?"

No. Yes. I held his gaze for several long seconds before I finally nodded. Not that I felt one hundred percent certain that he would. I just wasn't one hundred percent certain that he wouldn't. "Thirty seconds," I grumbled.

"Good. And keep-"

"-the door locked," I finished for him. "Yeah, yeah, I got it."

He stared at me long and hard before his expression softened. "I'll be back around two. Just behave yourself until then and we'll talk." He winked and then he was gone.

I locked the door and barely resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call the cops myself.Thirty seconds? Was he crazy in addition to being totally megawatt hot?

I dropped to the sofa and stared at the cordless phone sitting on the coffee table. I thought of Viola and the desperation I'd seen in her eyes. And then I thought about the big, fat check that had been left in my desk amid the chaos of my arrest and escape.

And then I thought of at least a zillion other things I needed to discuss with Evie.

Thirty seconds?

Totally impossible.

I simply couldn't do it.

I wouldn't.

But thirty seconds was longer than the initial twenty. On top of that, while Ty had limited the call length, he hadn't limited the number of calls. I wasn't an expert, but I'd seen enough cop shows to know that the good guys couldn't trace short and sweet no matter how many. I could make as many phone calls as I wanted which beat, hands down, the one phone call from jail. It wasn't the ideal way to do business, but a vamp had to do what a vamp had to do.

I smiled and reached for the phone.

Chapter Eleven.

I pinched my nose the minute I heard Evie's familiar h.e.l.lo? "Yes, this is Mrs. Vanderflunkinpitt"-the voice came out very high- pitched and nasal-"from your local telephone provider. We received a service call stating that you were having difficulty with your phone line in Room A."

"We don't have a phone line in-"

"The trouble started yesterday evening. Big trouble."

"Lil," Evie's incredulous voice asked. "Is that-"

"I promised your owner-a Miss Lilliana Marchette-that we would deal with the problem ASAP and we are. We're fixing everything as we speak. Just proceed with business as usual while we make the necessary adjustments to get things back to normal."

"What did you say your name-" Clunk.

I let loose of my nose and counted the seconds on Ty's digital clock until a full minute had pa.s.sed (I wasn't sure how long it took to fully disconnect, but I wasn't taking any chances) and hit redial.

"Vanderflunkinpitt," I said when Evie picked up the phone. "Mrs. Vanderflunkinpitt." I emphasized the last syllable and silently begged her understanding.

"Oh." Two seconds ticked by. "Oh." Evie's voice perked up. "Well, urn, thank you. I was, um, really worried about the, er, problem with that line. That's my favorite line and I've grown really fond of it and I don't know what I would do if it were out of commission permanently."

Previous Top Next"You and me both."

"But you're okay? I mean, you're sure the line is all right? It isn't permanently damaged or traumatized or anything like that?"

"Nothing a new outfit won't fix." Open mouth, insert designer-clad foot. "New wiring," I blurted, "Nothing new wiring outfitted to the, um, initial wire won't fix. You just keep things running on your end and take care of new clients and I-that is-we will do our part on this end with the pre-existing ones. That is, we'll make sure your phone calls get through. And make sure to go to the bank. I-that is-we usually charge an arm and a leg, so you'll need lots of funds, particularly that extra large check from your latest client. Not that I know the exact amount or anything, it's just that Miss Marchette mentioned it when she placed the service call and I've got a good memory for these things."

"I'll take care of-" Click.

"Sorry," I told Evie when she picked up the phone the third time. "I must be losing signal on this end." I crackled for effect.

"Take care and I'll see you-that is, we'll contact you as soon as we can. In the meantime, just tell Miss Marchette when she calls from Costa Rica where she's on special a.s.signment until her communication problems are fixed, that Vanderwalkenpitt is on the job."

"I thought is was Vanderflunkinpitt?"

"Whatever. Just keep things going."

"You're the boss. I mean," she rushed on, "you're obviously the boss at your service center because you sound so authoritative and in control. You're not my boss, of course. She's, um, in Costa Rica, probably basking in the sun and buying really cool souvenirs."

"Exactly. Don't worry about anything," I rea.s.sured her again. "Everything's going to be all right."

I hope.

The thought lingered in my head as I made more phone calls to everyone on my close, personal friends list-The Ninas. Francis and Melissa. The Ninas.

I know, I know. Depressing. But at least I didn't have to keep pinching my nose or thinking up stupid names. Besides, it wasn't the quant.i.ty of friends that mattered, it was the quality. And I happened to think that mine were right up there with a silver lame Fendi and a Tiffany bangle bracelet.

I set the phone on the coffee table and ignored the urge to push to my feet and pace. Pacing would mean that I was worried and I was not-repeat not-worried. Everything would be okay. It was just a matter of laying low until the police realized their mistake.

If they realized it.

They would, I promised myself. Meanwhile, I was going to forget all about chopped-up undercover reporters and Death Row and the way the handcuffs had felt when they'd snapped around my wrists.

Relax. Ty's deep voice echoed through my head.

He was right. I needed to relax. Even more, I deserved to relax. I'd been under nonstop stress since opening Dead End Dating and so this confinement could be viewed as a good thing. This was my time. I could rest. Regroup. I could even take a nap if I wanted, provided I could calm my hormones down long enough to think about sleeping rather than the fact that I was stretched out in Ty's spot, in Ty's bed, in Ty's apartment.

Okay, so I wasn't going to take a lot of naps, but the point was I could. Just like I could take a long, leisurely bubble bath and give myself a facial and do my toenails and watch oodles of cable TV.

Why, before I knew it, it would be daybreak and another night closer to freedom. I pushed off the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom.

It turns out that Ty didn't actually have a bathtub and I didn't actually have any facial scrubs, much less a pedicure kit. I ended up taking a quick shower (he definitely needed a new hot water heater), before pulling on my favorite terry bathrobe and planting myself on the sofa, remote in hand.

I channel surfed for the next thirty minutes before finally settling on an infomercial for a breakthrough exercise machine called the b.o.o.b Buster. Tell me about it. I followed several women as they increased their bra size with a measly commitment of forty-five minutes a day, six days a week, before I switched to MTV.

I found myself watching a show called Pimp My Ride. h.e.l.lo? Where were the music videos?

Here's the thing, I don't actually watch television very often. And when I do, it's usually something I've specifically recorded- Dr. Phil, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Lost, QVC's designer hour-you know, the really important stuff I simply cannot miss.

Forget the TV. You can still relax.

I leaned my head back and stared at the darkness just beyond the windows. The stars twinkled and the moon lit up the skyline.

A far cry from beach-basking in Costa Rica, but that was the point. With any luck, the police had been tapping Evie's line and maybe, just maybe, they might take the Costa Rica comment seriously.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would really feel like. Warm, I knew. I tuned in to my skin and tried to conjure the sensation, but nothing came. While I'd felt the sun's effects before-drained and powerless because I'm a born vamp and all that-I'd never felt the breezy, airy sensation of being outside, fully exposed to the sun's rays.

The closest I'd ever come had been this really cool papier mache lamp I'd bought down in SoHo. It had been a hanging light shaped like the sun. I'd suspended it in the corner of my apartment and stood under it many times and thought about the real thing.

Not that I wasn't happy being a denizen of the dark, mind you. I love my life. Absolutely, positively, completely and totally adore being a vampire and all its perks-enhanced senses, super fas.h.i.+on sense, and primo shape-changing abilities.

But sometimes (don't tell my folks) I still wonder what it would be like to be, you know, human.

I lifted the edge of Ty's forgotten duster, which lay draped over the back of the couch, and ran my palm over the cool material.

While he couldn't walk in the sun any more than I could, he hadn't always been so limited. I conjured an image of him poolside at a posh resort, a mai tai in one hand and a bottle of suntan oil in the other.

While I could totally get into a slick, coconut-scented version of Ty, the mai tai thing (complete with a little umbrella) sort of blew the big, bad alpha bounty hunter image.

I wrinkled my nose and let go of the jacket.

Then again, such a scenario might prove helpful. The next time I wanted to rip off my clothes and do a little mattress dancing, I could picture him with a plastic umbrella drink. Even worse, I could put him in a Speedo, wearing some of those paper sungla.s.ses they hand out at the eye doctor's office. I'd had a client walk in just a week ago wearing a pair of those because- quote-they served a purpose and saved him from having to spend his hard-earned money to buy some real ones-end quote.

I know, right? Needless to say, I'd yet to find a woman who didn't want to smack the cheapskate in the first five minutes, much less one willing to sit through an entire date with him.I pictured a cheap sungla.s.ses version of Ty wearing a Speedo, but since he was ultra-hot, the skimpy bathing suit didn't have the desired effect. Add forty pounds and back hair. Yep, I wanted to smack him, all right.

I flipped open Ty's laptop and double-clicked on a word processing program. I spent the next ten minutes keying a list of possible meet markets for Viola's twenty-seven alpha males. When I finished, I made a few more notes on some pre-existing clients, including Esther Crutch, an old maid made vampire desperately looking for love. Or at the very least, companions.h.i.+p.

Surely Ty knew some other made vamps like himself? I made a note to pick his brain for possibilities when he came home and then spent the next half hour Internet surfing.

Unfortunately, I'd left my purse back at the office which meant no credit cards, which meant no shopping, which meant no W-A- Y. I was bored out of my mind in a matter of minutes.

I stretched out on the couch, determined to kill a few hours with a nap. Easy, right? I mean, the couch was totally nons.e.xual and in no way connected to Ty's half-naked, sleeping body. Except, of course, for the fact that he'd slept on it the night before while I'd been in his bed. And he'd definitely been half-naked with just his worn jeans and s.e.xy grin. I sat up. I so wasn't going to be able to do this.

I walked toward the windows and stared out at the surrounding view. It was early in the evening-barely seven o'clock-and cars zipped up and down the street. People walked here and there, some coming home from work, others heading out. In the apartment building across the way, I caught a glimpse of a man and woman cooking dinner. Another man sat Indian-style in the middle of his floor, his palms upturned, his face a pa.s.sive mask of yoga contentment.

I'd just tuned in to a twenty-something female with a cell phone in one hand and a giant slice of pizza in the other when the sensation hit me. My arms p.r.i.c.kled and awareness zipped up my spine. My gaze swiveled to the street below. A group of women headed for the corner. A businessman walked the opposite way, a newspaper under one arm. A taxi idled at the curb several feet away while a woman held a small boy with one hand and dug in her purse with the other.

There were no suspicious-looking characters dressed in black. No sharpshooters staring at me from the opposite rooftop.

Nothing looked frightening or out of the ordinary.

Yet, I felt it. Fear and an insistent niggle that something wasn't quite right.

That, or paranoia.

I decided on number two, shook away the strange sensation, and turned my mind back to the matter at hand: finding something-anything-to do. I paced from one end of the apartment to the other. I turned on the stereo and Fuel blasted from the speakers. I tried dancing, but heavy metal rock ballads didn't lend themselves to b.u.mping and grinding, so I ended up lip- synching.

Before I gave in to the impulse to clean (I know-I needed out in the worst way), I headed for the bedroom area. Two a.m.

was a long way away and I just couldn't make it. After rummaging in Ty's drawers, I walked toward the bathroom, my arms full.

A few minutes later, I eyed my reflection. (The whole thing about vamps not having a reflection? So not true. Thankfully. I mean, can you imagine an eternity of not being able to apply a decent coat of lip gloss?) But I digress.

I eyed myself from various angles. Where rest and relaxation hadn't been enticement enough to stay in, this was.

Since going out in my usual, fas.h.i.+onable glory was completely out of the question, I'd done my best to come up with an effective disguise. Ty was more the cowboy type-nix any baseball caps lying around-and I wasn't in a hurry to draw unnecessary attention to myself. Therefore, I'd bypa.s.sed the black Stetson and gone for a red and black Harley handkerchief I'd found in his top drawer. I'd tied my hair up into a ponytail, wrapped the handkerchief around my head in my best biker chick imitation, and donned a spare pair of his sungla.s.ses. I'd slipped on one of his black T-s.h.i.+rts that swallowed me up and fell to mid-thigh.A pair of old sweats covered my bottom half. The only thing that hinted at my fantabulous taste was my shoes (I couldn't very well wear Ty's size twelves). I had on my black Nine West ankle boots I'd scooped up back at my apartment. Not ultra- expensive, mind you, but they'd been handy and they did go with everything.

Except for sweat pants.

No way was I setting foot outside Ty's place dressed like this.

I toed off the boots, padded back to the couch, and finished watching Pimp My Ride. By the time the third episode of Date My Mom (don't ask) came on, I'd pulled on the boots and was back to eyeing my reflection.

Okay, it was sort of retro looking. Especially if I knotted the T-s.h.i.+rt at the waist and rolled the sweatpants to midcalf and added a few bracelets... There. Not too bad. It's not like I was going out cruising for a man. Not my own, that is. Besides, I still had the underlying vamp magnetism to outweigh the semi-lameness of my outfit and tip the scales in my favor.

My decision made, I took one last look in the mirror and killed the television. I left Ty a quick note and let myself out of his apartment. I had places to go and people to see and the night was still young.

First on my list of must do? Pay a visit to Dead End Dating.

I know. Dangerous with a capital D. But I'd left my purse (complete with my favorite bronzer and blush duo) and business cards during the arrest and so I really had no choice. Besides, I was going to be extremely careful. I would be in and out before anyone was the wiser. At least that's what I was telling myself.

Chapter Twelve.

Via taxi, Ty's place was approximately ten minutes from Dead End Dating. Via cute, pink, furry bat, it took two and a half, which included dodging a drive-by courtesy of two high-flying pigeons.

I landed in the narrow alley that ran behind the building that housed Dead End Dating, an interior decorating company, a small CPA firm, and a mom-and-pop health food store. My body vibrated and hummed and quickly the frantic beat of wings faded into the steady pound of my own heart. I glanced down and stared at the tips of my Nine West boots. Present and accounted for. Whew. See, sometimes all the trappings didn't always make the transition. Then again, I'd gotten quite a bit of practice perfecting my technique in the last forty-eight hours.

The air was sharp with the scent of empty vitamin containers and whole wheat. Add a box of old toner cartridges (wasn't recycling a tax write-off?) and the one breath I'd been foolish enough to take had me wrinkling my nose.

I eyed a small ledge that protruded at the top of the building and my body lifted. I floated the three stories up and retrieved the spare key I'd hidden beneath the loose edge of one of the bricks.