Chapter Fourteen

ERIN

A week passed. Quietly enough to lull a girl into a false sense of security if she wasn’t on guard.

And, boy, was I on guard. I jumped at every shadow and scrutinized every unfamiliar face for any sign of trouble. I watched Nash like a hawk and kept a shotgun by my bedside. I’d even been tempted to research silver bullets. Not something I could pick up at the local ammo supplier.

I’d talked it all over with Pippa and Abby, and they were on high alert too. Well, once they’d gotten over the shock of it all. My ears still rang with Abby’s screech.

“You turned down twenty million dollars?”

Twenty-one, actually, but I’d rounded down a little.

Luckily, Abby had come around once I explained Harlon’s devious actions.

“Arrogant son of bitch,” she’d muttered.

So, Abby was on board. Pippa, too. It helped that she was fresh off her triumph at Harlon’s party.

“You were brilliant,” I’d told her. “I would never have thought of distracting a vampire with spareribs.”

Pippa had shrugged smugly. “I knew the minute she waltzed in on those thousand-dollar stilettos that she was up to no good.”

The stilettos weren’t what had put me off. More like the vampire fangs Angelina had been hiding — and her connection to Nash.

I ground my teeth, just thinking of it. They’d definitely been an item. What on earth had he seen in her?

It made me feel sick, though I couldn’t understand why I cared, or why the air sizzled every time he and I bumped or made extended eye contact. On the other hand, maybe that caveman-level physical attraction was to be expected. Nash was a strapping shifter in his prime. I was…well, just me, but hey. Maybe he dug women who didn’t have time for perfect hair, nails, or makeup.

Anyway, the important thing was to save our ranch — and possibly my skin — from the likes of Harlon.

All three of us sisters had put out feelers around town, though Pippa’s network was by far the biggest. Abby and I mostly kept to ourselves, while Pippa was best friends with just about everyone in Sedona, from the cute guy who drove the garbage truck to park rangers to the cackling old fortune-teller from the little shop on Main Street.

“If there’s any dirt to dig up on Harlon, we’ll find it,” Pippa promised as the three of us took our weekly ride across the ranch.

Apache, her pinto, shook his mane, emphasizing her point.

“No way is Harlon getting his hands on this ranch,” Abby growled. “No way.”

She rode Lucky, a sweet, good-natured palomino — her polar opposite, in other words — while I rode Buckeye, my favorite roan.

Two of the three were holdovers from my great-aunt’s time; the other, and the additional four horses grazing in the east paddock, were rescues, along with a pair of scruffy miniature ponies and one colicky donkey. They all had Abby to thank for their lives. She was tough on the outside but all heart inside — especially when it came to orphans and outcasts.

The ranch stretched out all around us, sweeping across flatlands, snaking into canyons, and wrapping around mesas. I’d grown up in Albuquerque, but no place had ever felt more like home than Painted Rock Ranch.

And no place I’d ever cared about had ever been as threatened. I pictured resort buildings in place of our beautiful cottonwoods. Groomed golf greens standing in for prickly pears and gnarled junipers. Our overgrown natural spring would be tamed and transformed into an infinity pool, and the purple and green dragonflies that hovered over it would be nothing more than a memory.

Over my dead body, I nearly grunted.

The question was, how to outtrick a warlock and a scheming vampire?

Abby and Pippa rode ahead while I stared off in the direction of the petroglyphs. My fingers went tight around the reins as I pictured the spiral.

Buckeye snorted and pawed the ground, anxious to move on.

“You coming, Erin?” Pippa called.

I looked up, then nudged Buckeye into motion.

“Coming,” I whispered.

* * *

Nash had been doing his own snooping. Where he went after work each morning, I wasn’t sure, but we’d agreed to check in with each other in town every afternoon at three.

“Anything new?” I asked, taking a seat beside him on Friday.

The food court in the center of town sported a huge back patio, and Nash was in the far corner, soaking in the winter sun and gazing at the spectacularly colored bands of Wilson Mountain.

Nodding in greeting, he pushed out the chair next to his and slid over his platter of nachos. Which was actually pretty thoughtful. Go figure.

I took a chip, dipped it in guacamole, and crunched away.

Nash leaned in with his side of our daily report. “A friend at the agency checked the records for Harlon but hasn’t found anything.”

I frowned. “Nothing? Not even a mention?”

Nash shook his head. “Not even a mention.”

Not the news I’d been hoping for. “How comprehensive are the agency’s records?”

“Not very. There are supernaturals everywhere, and they like to keep a low profile. Hell, one of the most powerful wolf packs in the West is only a few miles away from here, and they’re barely listed.” When I tilted my head, Nash waved his hand curtly. “Twin Moon Pack.”

“Never heard of them.”

“That’s the way they like it.”

“Like Harlon,” I muttered, stabbing another chip into the sour cream. “Is your friend sure? Harlon’s not even on their radar?”

“Not even a blip, or…” He trailed off, thinking.

“Or?” I prompted.

Nash dropped his voice. “Or he’s had himself erased from the records.”

I mulled over the implications in silence before Nash leaned back with a sigh. “Either way, that’s a dead end. What did you find?”

“Not much. But Pippa’s hairdresser’s dog groomer knows the cleaner at the—”

Nash cut in. “Pippa’s what ?”

“Pippa’s hairdresser’s dog groomer. She knows the woman who cleans the architect’s office — the architect who made that mock-up we saw in Harlon’s office.” I shrugged at his expression. “Never underestimate the power of a cleaner. See?” I pulled out my phone and swiped through the images the Pippa had forwarded, pausing at each for Nash to see. “The model we saw corresponds to these plans. It looks like Harlon is planning a big spread, but not a commercial one. Space enough for all the luxuries for himself and about ten guests.”

The plans were so detailed, Nash had to lean in close to see them. Our shoulders touched, and I didn’t catch myself inhaling his leather-and-lavender aftershave until it was too late.

My girl parts sighed longingly.

I ordered myself to hand the phone over and give Nash his own space. But somehow, I failed to achieve that, and Nash stayed nice and close.

“I don’t see a tennis court.” Nash pretended not to be impressed. When I swiped to the next picture, he snorted. “Oh. There it is.”

“And there’s my balloon shed…” I quipped, swiping again.

Nash chuckled, making my body go all warm. “What would Henry say about that?”

I sighed. Henry was still in Denver, and his brother was recovering, thank goodness. But I still hadn’t had a chance to pilot one of the balloons.

“Henry would tell me to follow the money,” I said, then put away my phone. “Not that I would, especially not in this case.”

Nash nudged the nacho platter, and I helped myself to another chip. I’d hoped our investigation would reveal more, but even if it had, what would I do with the information? Confront Harlon? Call in the agency? Find an indigenous shaman who could tell me something about the vortex?

Nash grabbed his empty soda bottle and stood. “I’m getting another drink. Would you like one?”

I nodded.

“Ginger ale?” he asked.

I had to give it to the guy. He actually remembered my preferences. But maybe that was something he’d learned at the agency — memorizing details that could be useful to his case.

I wasn’t his case, though. Harlon was.

And, oops. Technically, Harlon wasn’t his case either, because Nash had left the agency.

I did my best not to wonder what exactly had led to that…and failed miserably.

“With a slice of lemon?” he went on.

God, were we turning into an old couple. Too bad we’d skipped over many happy, horny years of courtship to get there.

“Yes, please.”

On the first day of our uneasy alliance, simple questions like that had turned into major negotiations. Who would fetch what? One bill or two? And so forth and so on. By now, we’d started going with the flow. And gee, was that easier.

As Nash walked away, my eyes followed his perfect ass.

The woman sitting two tables over watched just as closely, then shot me a look that said, Lucky you.

I wanted to tell her it wasn’t like that between us — God, no! But when I glanced back at Nash, my mind went blank. It was only when he turned the corner that I focused on Sedona’s second-best sight: the red rocky outcrops. I zipped my jacket high, turtled my chin into the collar, and stuck my hands into my pockets, feeling the cold for the first time. Hadn’t it been warmer a moment earlier?

I stared off into the distance, thinking. When footsteps sounded behind me, I almost stuck out a hand for my drink. Then the hair on the back of my neck stood in warning.

That wasn’t the familiar stomp of Nash’s work boots. More like the light click of a woman’s heels.

“Well, well. Who do we have here?” a haughty voice snipped.

I whirled, then froze at the sight of a too-thin, too-pale woman with strangely dark lips, black hair, and an outfit better suited to Beverly Hills than Sedona.

Angelina.

Her outfit was rounded out by a silk scarf and a pair of huge, movie-star sunglasses, so as not to leave too much skin exposed. Because, you know. Vampires. The sun didn’t fry them instantly — that was an urban legend — but it did hurt enough that they preferred the indoors and nighttime.

“We?” I glanced behind her, searching for her evil twin or reinforcements.

God, please, no, I prayed quietly. No twin, no reinforcements. This vampire alone is bad enough.

Luckily, it was a royal we. So, whew. Just one vampire to deal with, though that was still one too many.

I glanced again. The table, chairs, and my body all threw shadows. Not Angelina, though.

Angelina’s cheek twitched. “You’re the balloon pilot, aren’t you?”

I did my best not to show my unease. Harlon hadn’t introduced us, but clearly, they’d talked.

“And you’re a friend of Harlon’s,” I said flatly.

She flashed a shark-attack smile, all teeth and gums. “Business associate.”

Her eyes swept over the table, and her nostrils twitched as if to locate someone.

Shit. She was after Nash, wasn’t she?

When she half turned to check the entrance, I snatched away the sole evidence of his presence — a crumpled napkin. Boy, did I hope Nash would spot her in time to stay away.

“Angela…” I started.

Her voice turned to pure ice. “Angelina. Angelina Saint James.”

I didn’t offer my name, figuring Harlon had mentioned that too.

Which was just plain creepy — the idea that a warlock and a vampire had been discussing me.

Angelina looked around a moment longer, then took the chair opposite mine. “Well, seeing as I’ve bumped into you, we might as well talk business.”

Bumped into? I doubted it. And as for business…

Alarms rang through my mind.

“Business?”

Placing her purse on the seat beside her, she rested her elbows on the table and folded her gloved hands. “Yes, business. Apparently, you own the Painted Rock property.”

My throat went dry, but I managed to shrug. “One of the properties out there.”

Angelina’s hawk eyes said, The only one that matters.

“Have you considered Harlon’s offer?” she snipped.

Ha. I’d considered it plenty, though not in the way she meant.

I shook my head slowly. “Not really. It’s not for sale.”

With her lips pursed that tightly, Angelina looked like a fish. The really pale, creepy kind that lived in the deepest parts of the ocean.

“No? Well, Harlon asked me to remind you of his offer. Twenty-five million dollars.”

My eyes nearly bugged out, and I squeaked, “Twenty-five million?”

She nodded, amused, the way one might with a child content with a trifle, like a lollipop or a balloon. “Twenty-five million.”

My mind spun. The ranch wasn’t worth anywhere near that. Was Harlon desperate to close the deal before anyone else could? Or did the price reflect what he thought he could gain from harnessing the power of the vortex?

I gulped and checked the door to the food court.

Angelina lifted one eyebrow, following my gaze. “Are you expecting someone?”

I laughed as if to say, Of course not. Especially not a former agent of the BSDM — er, ADMSA.

“Just checking the time,” I bluffed.

“You should be checking with the co-owners of the property. Your two half sisters, I mean.”

Crap. She’d done her homework.

“Oh, and that adorable niece of yours…” she added.

My gut lurched. She knew about Claire, Abby’s eight-year-old daughter?

Angelina leaned in like we were besties. “I like you, Miss Sattler. I really do.”

Ha. More like, I despise you . The feeling was mutual.

“So much, it would pain me to find myself at odds with you,” she continued.

Her tone told me the consequences would pain me too.

I did my best to keep cool. “I’m not at odds with you or Harlon. It’s just that I’m not interested in selling. The ranch goes way back in the family, and we promised to keep it that way.”

Her eyes were a storm with my name on it. “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Is that a threat?”

She laughed. “Finally, you’re getting the idea.”

There was more coming — I was sure of it — but she stopped suddenly, turning to the door. In the space of one heartbeat, her expression went from vengeful to coy.

“Why, there you are, Nash,” she practically purred.

And, whoosh! The wave of anger creeping through me became a tsunami, roaring in my ears. Because that was Nash in the doorway, and the drinks he held were his and mine.

Mine , dammit. Not hers.

But Angelina’s expression said, Mine. All mine.